#Gets a glimpse of purple eyes from under her hat and gets even more interested cuz what's a human *mage* doing wandering around those parts? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

letapollojusticesayfuck · 3 years ago

Note

"the way you flirt is shameful." Klavier (klapollo) and ema ?

"short fics," I said, like a liar.

anyway please enjoy almost 2k of Klapollo Nonsense.

Send me a random line of dialogue and some characters, and I'll write a short fic!

---

Another grey morning, another lukewarm cup of coffee. Apollo pulls his coat a little tighter around him, scowling at nothing in particular. It’s just his luck, isn’t it, that this week’s defendant is a fisherman, accused of murdering their boat’s captain out on the docks.

It’s also just his luck that it’s March, and he hadn’t even thought anyone would be out on the water this early in the year. Shows how much he knows about the fishing industry.

He jumps when an arm lands around his shoulders, and has to fight to keep his awful beverage from sloshing entirely out of its styrofoam cup. With an irritated huff, Apollo turns to reprimand his unexpected company, but the words die in his throat when he looks over to see Klavier Gavin—and, more specifically, the woolly hat perched on his head. It appears to be lovingly hand-knitted, in a shade of purple he’d swear he’d seen in scraps of wool lying around the office in previous weeks. It also happens to be emblazoned with Gavin’s ridiculous logo, the angular G as distinctive as ever.

“Uh…” he says instead, eyebrow raised in what he hopes is a skeptical, yet bewildered expression. He’s not sure he succeeds with that, though, considering the way Gavin’s casual smile crooks up at the edges into a more genuine grin.

“Ja, Herr Forehead? How goes the investigation?” Lazy curls of steam rise from the stainless steel travel mug clasped in his hand, dissipating into the pervasive fog that’s blanketing the docks. Typical. Apollo considers asking him if he’d like to swap drinks.

“Cold. Damp. And is this a good time to mention that I’m allergic to shellfish? I think that’s probably an important detail, considering….this.” he replies, poking an errant mussel with the point of his dress shoe. His dress shoe that he’s for some reason wearing to a crime scene out by the harbour, because Apollo has misplaced ideas of professionalism, apparently.

“Ach, it’s not that bad! For one, you have my company to brighten up your day! And for another thing...I have news for you about the case.”

“Really. And it’s not just going to be something that you’ll immediately rescind in court tomorrow?”

“HerrForehead, what kind of prosecutor do you take me for? We’re on the same side, you know—both seeking the truth.”

“That’s cheesy as anything.”

“But correct! Anyway. FräuleinSkye has just uncovered something tangled around one of the fishing lines on the boat, and she’s attempting to piece it back together. If you hurry, you might get a glimpse before it goes straight into the evidence dossier.”

Apollo hmms, considering. He’s not sure he wants to just take Klavier’s tip-off; it could be seen as collusion under some circumstances. But he’s really not accomplishing anything on his own, and any new evidence could help him prove Annette Sloop’s innocence.

He also realizes, belatedly, that Klavier still has his arm around his shoulders, and that he’s been unconsciously leaning into the warmth of the taller man’s down jacket.

“Okay, sure—it’s gotta be better than anything I can find here,” Apollo decides, and tries to subtly extricate himself from Klavier’s grasp without drawing attention to the fact that he’s actually found some kind of comfort in their proximity, that he’s really not particularly enthusiastic about losing his human space-heater.

Luckily, Klavier realizes that he’ll have to grant Apollo his freedom if he wants the shorter man to be able to take advantage of his newly-gained intel, and drops his arm back to his own side. Apollo stifles a shiver as the cool, damp air rushes back against him, clinging to his skin with a pervasive chill.

He’d assumed that Klavier had business to take care of on the dock, so the fact that the prosecutor follows him as he boards the fishing boat takes him by surprise. What also takes him by surprise is the intensity of the fishy aroma around the vessel, something that Apollo really should have considered as a factor beforehand. He wrinkles his nose and tries to breathe shallowly—and when that doesn’t work out, he buries his nose in the collar of his jacket.

And that brings with it its own set of problems, because somehow the short amount of time his jacket was in contact with Klavier’s own was enough to allow the other man’s sandalwood cologne to seep into the thin fabric. Apollo wishes this wasn’t his life. Isn’t this the kind of stuff teenagers write about?

Luckily, his panicking is cut short by Ema Skye clearing her throat from the other end of the deck, midway through spreading fabric scraps onto a plastic folding table. She appears decidedly unimpressed, but waves them over.

“Justice. I take it you were informed of the recent developments by the fop here?” she remarks, as disinterestedly as possible for someone who’s practically vibrating with the excitement of being able to do something actually forensically significant.

“Er...yeah, Klavier told me that you’d found something?” Apollo replies, trying to look as though he understands more of the situation than he actually does. He thinks he pulls it off. If not, Ema doesn’t comment on it.

Klavier, however, smiles impossibly wide at Apollo’s words, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s because he’d called the man by his first name, as opposed to his more professional title. A slip of the tongue, nothing more! And yet…

If it’d get a reaction like that, Apollo might start using Klavier’s first name significantly more often.

“Oh, come on, do neither of you actually care about this T-shirt I found? This apparently-bloodstainedT-shirt?” Ema taps her foot against the plank wood of the ship’s deck. Apollo breaks out of his thoughts with just about enough time to look marginally interested in the new evidence—which he hopes is convincing.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want to solve the murder! It’s really just that—well, Klavier is just there, being distracting, like he always is—except it’s worse, recently, somehow. Apollo swears he used to be able to spend time focusing on other things, that he wasn’t always this preoccupied with what the prosecutor was doing, where he was standing, if he was looking at--

“Oh, for God’s sake. The way you flirt is shameful,” Ema says, entirely exasperated. She also seems to be looking at Apollo, for some reason.

“Are you talking to me?” he asks, confused. The detective rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically, visibly resisting the urge to throw up her hands.

“You, him, both of you! This used to be almost funny, you know, watching Gavin be all glimmerous in your direction and seeing you shut him down. But recently you’ve been playing into it and—you know what? I’m done! You don’t get to listen to my stunning forensic breakthroughs until you’ve sorted your shit out, because I just can’t be doing with this. It’s ridiculous. Why can’t you just act like adults?”

The outburst is followed by Ema Skye whirling around, the sensible shoes she’s wearing clacking against the ship’s deck. Halfway to the door to the crew’s quarters, she remembers that she’s left all her forensic materials spread out next to where Klavier and Apollo are standing, and backtracks with increasingly evident frustration.

“You know what? I’m not leaving! You two—off my ship!Go figure yourselves out, and I won’t tell you about this case-changing evidence until you’ve stopped acting like this.”

Apollo’s a little taken-aback—not the least because he doesn’t think that he’s been doing any flirting, especially not with Klavier. He’s been hiding his feelings far too well for that—right?

Klavier looks at him and shrugs, motioning with his head that they should retreat the way they’d arrived. It’s not necessarily the most dignified thing, climbing off a boat in shame after being reprimanded by the detective on the case.

Once they’re back on “solid” ground (as solid as one can call a fishing boat’s dock, anyway), Apollo turns to Klavier.

“So, what was that about? I’ve never seen her that angry.”

Interestingly enough, color rises to Klavier’s cheeks. “Well...I think that, perhaps, she’s...misinterpreting the situation?”

And if Klavier’s strange statement hadn’t been enough to tip Apollo off that maybe something strange is going on here, there’s the familiar pinch of warm metal against his left wrist, his bracelet constricting at the taller man’s fib.

And—they know each other well enough, by this point, that all Apollo has to do is level an unimpressed stare in the prosecutor’s direction, and deadpan “Klavier” with all the air of a man who is taking no bullshit for an answer, for him to deflate and give up, shoving a hand in his back pocket awkwardly.

“Ugh. Okay. Erm. So, HerrForehead, this wasn’t...exactly...unprovoked. It’s possible that FräuleinSkye has been on the receiving end of many conversations about how I would like to….uh…”

It’s quite something, seeing Klavier at a loss for words. Apollo hadn’t thought that the former rockstar could look as awkward as he does now, the hand not trapped in his pocket fiddling with a loose strand of his hair.

He really, really tries not to think about how endearing it is.

Klavier seems to have reached a point, however, where he’s just decided to say things and worry about the consequences later. So Apollo’s contemplations are brought to a screeching halt when the man sighs, flips his hair, and stares at him straight-on, enunciating with perfect clarity:

“Apollo Justice, would you like to go out with me? On a date? Because I must say, I’ve been trying to find the best way to ask you for a while now, but unfortunately all I’ve succeeded in doing is, apparently, annoying the FräuleinDetective until not even Snackoos are a valid enough weapon.”

And—this isn’t the setting Apollo had pictured, in his often-hastily-repressed daydreams about Klavier asking him out. For one, he’d not quite imagined the quantity of fish, or the less-than-steady footing. But Klavier looks so earnest about his request, and Apollo can’t deny the way his heart’s skipped a beat, the way he’s almost petrified to say anything just in case this isn’t real—and so, he takes a deep breath, steps forward, and twines his fingers with Klavier’s.

“You know what? I’d love to. I’ll go anywhere you’d like—with the exception of a sushi restaurant” Apollo smiles, hesitantly at first, and then more genuinely as he sees the softly disbelieving expression on Klavier’s face.

“Really?” the prosecutor asks, and isn’t that incredible—that Klavier Gavin had been worried about being turned down. Apollo can’t quite believe it himself, yet.

“Yeah, really,” he says, smiling up at Klavier, who beams down at him in return. He feels the other man squeeze his hand briefly, and can’t quite contain the impulse to lean in closer to him, consciously this time, sharing both warmth and physical contact in a meaningful way.

When they return to the fishing vessel, Ema takes one look at the two of them and narrows her eyes, proceeding to mime nausea at the way they’re still holding hands.

However, she does follow through on her promise—and by the time they’re ready to leave the crime scene, both Klavier and Apollo are fairly certain of the next day’s trial’s outcome—as well as of the location of their post-trial dinner date.

#lucy's thoughts #my writing #klapollo #thank you for the prompt!!#mogoliz #ask #asks #ask game #sorry these are taking me ages!!#you might have noticed that they keep getting away from me #also i am going to be on an island for five days starting tomorrow #so i will be very slow in answering the other two i've got sitting in my inbox #just know i am getting around to them!!#i will just have to write them out on paper rather than on a laptop #and then type them up later

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tarithenurse · 3 years ago

Text

In the eyes

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Uchiha Itachi x fem!reader Content: Feels. Angst. Loss. Love. Reference to killing (war and murder). Captivity. Sorrow. Hope. Anger. You name it, it’s there. A/N: I just want to say in my defence that this story isn’t my fault. Blame @maladaptive-ninja-returns...it’s her birthday present (yes, I’m late)!

In the eyes

The steam is long gone together with your interest in the drink when you drain the cup of tea as the black-haired man gets up to leave. The cape hides what he’s missing – if only it was his leg instead – that way you wouldn’t have to keep the distance to the bare minimum, constantly risking him discovering that you’re following him. It doesn’t help to complain, though: he’s alive and mobile...and you have to watch your every move.

Volunteering for the assignment has probably been one of the more masochistic choices you’ve made, but you just couldn’t let the last Uchiha go yet.

For years, watching the kid grow older had kept a wound alive that no one knew about. It festered, saturating you with a sickening, rotten, sadness that never washed off but wasn’t detected by your peers. You should have let it heal. Should have moved on. But there had always been something keeping you from accepting what everyone else had decided must be true.

You weren’t the only one dealing with grief, of course. The life of a Leaf ninja was to say goodbye too soon and then to live with the numbing ache, renewed each time memories stirred.

Before the fourth war, the newfangled gossip of the dead returning was treated as ghost stories by most people until the climax of it all, when too many stood face to face with loved ones. Lost ones. And you were too weak to prevent the hope from being rekindled, so once peace was a reality and all the shinobis prepared to celebrate in the chaotic haze of the aftermath, you made a decision.

That is why, three seconds after the door closes behind Uchiha Sasuke, you get up...

...and sit right down again to avoid pressing against the sharp blade of the person suddenly appearing beside you.

The newcomer’s face is hidden partially under the wide-rimmed hat and the rest behind a dark and tattered cloak. Glancing down, a hand with purple-painted nails slips the kunai into the darkness of the cloak, leaving you with the knowledge that it’s there.

There’s no doubt in your mind that this is a shinobi. Where did you come from? Admittedly, there are others frequenting the little tea house because it’s a popular stop at a major crossroads...even if it mainly services those without national affiliations. None of the rest of the clientele reacts to the scene unfolding discreetly and you have no wish to catch their attention before you know what and who you’re dealing with.

“What do you want?”

It takes a second before you realize the question isn’t asked by you. Another one to recover from the smooth dusk that is the stranger’s voice. A voice with a hint of familiarity in the timbre which you decide must be your mind playing games.

“Nothing. I’m no enemy of yours,” you try to placate them, silently counting the seconds worth of head start separating you from Sasuke, “and I hold nothing of value...you should let me go.”

The tickle of a laugh surprises you. “If I’d wanted your possessions, they’d already be mine. I want answers, Konoha-girl.”

The headband you carry is hidden under your clothes, well out of sight from any prying eyes. Finally giving up on stalking your initial target, you turn your undivided attention to the person who has seated them-self before you.

The little skin you can see is pale, and a few black strands have escaped the slack ponytail and fallen in front of the face where only chin and jawline is visible. As if knowing your annoyance, the head is tipped slightly, allowing you to glimpse soft, gently smiling lips. Kissable. The thought jars you.

“I recommend you give up that wish.” No one should be able to hear the nervousness in your voice...but the stranger smirks. “My business is my own.”

“Not when it involves him,” they says, inclining the hat towards the door where Uchiha left.

You’re out to get him? You almost feel sorry for this fool who clearly doesn’t have a clue about the one-armed ninja’s identity.

“Don’t be mistaken,” the person smiles as if reading your thoughts, “I know who he is and what he’s capable of, after all...he’s my brother.”

Calmly meeting your gaze, the eyes meeting you flash red.

...

“Don’t look an Uchiha in the eyes”. It was the warning that was whispered into your ears as soon as you were big enough to run errands on your own. Naturally, you had to do it, and what met you was not as demonic as the warning stories had made you think – rather, they were kind, and wiser than the smooth face hinted at – although you never looked another Uchiha in the eyes just to be on the safe side.

It was impossible to discern the colour. Some days, they seemed leaden as if the rain clouds were gathered inside the boy too. A few times, in the morning when he watched where his fists struck the wood, the sparks from the cozy fire of the evening before still lingered in the warmest of black. What you loved the most, though, was when the gaze was locked onto infinity and they were soft like liquid.

...

Everything is different: the stuffy tea room with its noisy patrons has been replaced by somewhere deserted that seems to be carved out of grey stone.

How did I get here? Careful to move as little as possible, you take in the new surroundings only to find the place empty and with only one way in and out. A dull cold has already seeped into your feet as you stand there, lost as your bearings have nothing to latch on to – the only light is a torch in a wall sconce to your left.

Feet. They are bare, and a quick pat-down reveals that all of your weapons, your belt, and your headband have been stripped from you too. The sensation is uncanny, akin to nakedness. The logic behind it is obvious as it reduces the chances of a successful escape even if you were to make it out and establish a route.

On the other hand: you’re unharmed and unbound.

Turning, you have no doubt that the wooden door is locked but of course you go over to try, heart frozen near your throat when you push against it with your shoulder. Surprisingly, it does open and the screaming hinges sets the tiniest hairs on your body on end.

“Not wasting any time, Konoha-girl.”

You recognize the voice and the decorated nails on the hand that appears to pull open the door completely, and not just from the rest stop but from years of aching recollections that have been warped by watching Sasuke grow up with this man’s shadow lingering over his life. Over your life.

No. There’s no way. He died. Now your heart jackhammers a frenzied rhythm.

It’s a fool’s hope that powers the jab towards his neck. An idiot’s dream urging you to sprint past him. At least I tried, a bitter thought comments the moment both attempts are thwarted as a rib-crushing kick sends your tumbling backwards and you land sprawled in the middle of the room.

The ceiling is still spinning, it seems, when you sense the man’s presence loom over you. The fingers are cool (and surprisingly gentle) as the curl around the back of your skull, fingers digging into your hair to grant a tight grip to pull you closer by. Very close. A hand’s length separates the tips of your noses and you want to be oblivious to the way his mouth curves softly.

“You’re not leaving,” he whispers, “until I say so.”

Feeling and strength are beginning to return to your arms, including a sharp ache in your chest that grows with every shallow breath which you try to ignore. Should have restrained me, fool...and the thought dies there as everything shifts and the ground swallows your limbs.

“N-no...how...? No!”

He watches your struggles lazily before releasing his grip and sitting down next to you on the hard floor. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But you did. Wait...no! You haven’t...it wasn’t you...it can’t have been...

“You lie about your identity,” you scoff, regretting the outburst immediately as pain stabs coldly into your side, “so excuse me for not trusting you on this either.” There is a little smile there on his lips, full of sadness and regret that makes your insides cringe momentarily until you have the breath to explain to him (or yourself) why it can’t be true: “Uchiha Itachi has been killed!”

“Yes...and then I was brought back.” He’s impossibly calm as though he’s simply discussing the weather. “Twice.”

Double reanimated? As if! The war had been a horror to live through and would have been without people facing their deceased comrades and family members on the battlefield. However, once destroyed or sealed, none of the animated dead had walked again and all of them had been dealt with properly in the end.

Looking at the ninja, none of the signs of reanimation are prominent. On the other hand...even if they had been, you might not even notice it now that you meet the man’s gaze and the liquid infinity there.

“I could show you...but I’m afraid your mind can’t take the strain in your current state,” the so-called Itachi explains.

Mind, your aching heart still reels from fear of being broken once more, this is all in my mind.

Zoning out everything else, you focus on the flow of chakra within. Calming it, soothing it, until abruptly forcing the flow to revert. It feels as if your very soul drops for a second but the moment it returns to its place, the world is no longer made up of lies and imaginary sensations...and you’re still lying on the ground in a room made of stone, your ribs feeling as if they’re speared by frost. The only improvement is that at least your limbs are free.

And Itachi? Yes, you have to call him that because deep within you can’t deny it any longer.

The official reports hadn’t been released by the time you left Konoha and you’re not high enough up in the ranks as a shinobi to get the juicy information unless it’s necessary for a mission – and since your missions tend to be B or simpler A rank...well, I guess my current mission’s a bust but this is an important discovery!

A silky chuckle refocuses your attention. “Very good...I suppose I must strengthen my genjutsu against you.”

He’s so close, you could touch him. Shifting to lean against the wall, he rests his arms casually on the knees and begins to pick at the chapping nail polish.

“No need to,” you bite back a groan as you roll over to sit up, “I take it that’s how you got me here?” Pretty eyes are watching your every move as he nods in agreement. “Hm. It’ll probably be useless to ask where we are, so...why? Why show yourself now?”

Sitting cross legged, you find the pain lessens if you pull your clothes and arms tightly around your torso, restricting the depth of your breathing. Broken or bent ribs? Not that it really matters. First of all, he would be able to beat you in a fight anyways; secondly, even if you got out of here you wouldn’t know where “here” is; and third (but not least), you don’t really want to run from him.

Rather than answer, Itachi stands up and holds out his left hand for you. Puzzled, you take it. Soft fingers curl around yours and he pulls you to your feet, studying your movements and the twisting facial expressions.

He doesn’t let go.

Not when he guides you out the door and into a hallway shaped of the same kind of stone as the room was made of. Carved from.

Not when he slows down at the sound of the squeaky breathing the pace forces from you.

There doesn’t seem to be many rooms along the winding path. Here and there a door bars the way or you catch a glimpse of a dead-end that looks as though the excavation was abandoned or even disrupted by cave-ins.

You do your best to memorize the path, but frankly, your mind is getting fuzzy from pain and exhaustion. You have no sense of time, just hunger and tiredness weighing you down to indicate the loss of many hours.

“Just a bit longer, [Y/N],” Itachi soothes.

When did I tell him my name? You want to ask or at least protest, but it would be a choice between talking or getting to wherever he’s leading you...and you doubt he’ll let you pause.

A few dozen steps later and a short flight of stairs up, he ushers you through a door into a room that looks like a mix between a kitchen and work station. A fire is the only light and heat source (the smoke venting up through a chimney too narrow to be an escape route), casting a warm glow over the solid wooden table and chairs. Everything else is hewn from whatever mountain you’re inside.

“Sit,” your captor finally releases the grip and points at a chair near the fire and you obediently do as you’re told.

There are shelves and niches almost hidden in the dancing shadows at first holding with boxes, bundles, and various utensils. He knows where everything is, grabbing a few items before returning and laying it out in the light. Bandages. His movements are fluid and elegant, just like you remembered.

He motions towards your upper body, then turns to tend to the fire. “Strip.”

“That’s really not -”

“Some of your ribs are broken. Restraining them will minimize the pain.”

He’s right. Of course he is.

With clipped movements, you pull off the layers until you hesitate at the poor excuse of a bra. Despite the now roaring fire, the cold from the stone still seeps into your body and raises waves of goosebumps and tightens your nipples. It would be easier to apply the bandages correctly without the last bit of clothing in the way, but right now it feels like the only shield left at your disposal as Itachi turns back to you.

“We’ll work around that,” the man offers softly.

He works quietly at first. Hands winding the linen bandages around you adeptly, pausing each time the ministration intensifies the pain and causes the discomfort to escape as stubborn hisses. The purple nail polish is mesmerizing – simultaneously a contrast to the horrific stories of a killer and perfectly fitting the pretty, nearly feminine, traits you see. Especially the eyes. Sure, they’re filled with a bottomless sadness that you don’t feel comfortable acknowledging, but they’re beautiful. Haunting.

“You’re staring,” he hums without looking up.

Shit. “No. I just -...let’s say you’re who you claim to be,” you try to recover, “why’re you back?”

“To be his watcher.”

“Says who?”

This time, he stops and looks you dead in the eyes. “Otsutsuki Hagoromo, the Sage of Six Paths.” There are very few proper comebacks to that, so your captor continues without giving you a chance to think of something, “Otsutsuki told me about the bonds of families and that it can transcend blood. He knows hatred can cause – and has caused – too much harm...but something rekindled his hope that it can be overcome.“

I don’t have an eye on Uchiha constantly, but... “Does Sasuke know?” Returning to his work, Itachi avoids your gaze. “He doesn’t...”

“He’s finally found peace and is on the right path...I can’t risk undoing it.”

Bullshit! “Or you’re a coward who doesn’t have the guts to fa-” the rest is cut off as soft fingers tighten around your throat.

Blood-red eyes pierce your mind, numbing you for an eternity or a millisecond.

...

They were a means to reach the goal but their words still hurt as you followed meekly in their footsteps. Snobbery. Disdain. Considering how proud your two team members clearly felt, they had very little to show for their reputation as Uchihas and frankly, it was your skills rather than theirs that ensured successful missions and still, you never once looked them in their face. Instead, you kept an eye out for two other of the clan.

Where one was, so would the other be. Thick as thieves, the boys had found a companionship that complemented their differences in the same manner as the sun and the moon. But as opposed to your teammates who swooned at the brightness of the sun, you were drawn to the night and the calmness it brought whenever that boy was near – each time he met your eyes, time became meaningless.

...

The two of you sit in silence as the steam from the soup caresses your face. Your mind is blank, slowly starting to pick up on the absence of stone walls – wood has replaced the cold surfaces, making it almost unbearably warm with the bandages underneath your layers of clothes – and a plethora of questions begin to press against your conscious only to be held back as most of your thoughts get derailed whenever you look at the man before you.

Without the hat and cloak to conceal him, it’s impossible to ignore all the details you’ve nurtured in your memory for ages, such as the slight pull of his lips as he thinks or the elegance of his movements now that he gets up and refills his bowl from the pot hanging over the fire.

“Why are you following Sasuke?”

You should be diplomatic. “I could ask you the same.” You’re not.

“I already told you,” Itachi shrugs.

“Well I...I don’t believe you.”

But you do. There’s no denying anymore that this man is who he claims to be and so, why would he lie about his purpose? The sad smile. The quiet mannerisms. The idea that Itachi would somehow transcend death to watch over his little brother? That’s a mysterious intricacy that fits with your memories of him from before that night.

“You do...but something else is bothering you.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Am I not what you expected?”

No, you’re not. However, he’s what you remember with a layer of sorrow added on top. He doesn’t get to be sad. The little spark of anger is what you need. You nurse it, feed it until it flares up hot and bright and consumes your regrets and self-pity.

“Expected? I don’t know what I expected from someone like you!” Your voice is rising, shaking with years of frustration. “Clan killer. Murderer. I never told anyone but I was in love with an Uchiha! That night, I’d gone to bed, finally sure that I was gonna tell him but when I woke up...” Something inside you had broken that day and it still hurts now. “They told me how you’d left Sasuke alive...but the boy I loved was gone and no one knew I was mourning. Each time I saw him -” you can’t hold back a strangled sound and you realize, you’re crying -”I saw the ghost of...” The bowl of floating vegetables looks blurry until you blink angrily. “Ugh! But what does a teenager know of love, right? They’ll grow up. Get over it. Except I knew you were out there still and that you had all the answers. Why? The Itachi I remember wasn’t a mindless monster! I was told a story, but it doesn’t make any sense. If all the monster wanted was power then why spare Sasuke? Why did everyone else have to die?”

The inhalations are shallow and rapid, making you dizzy as you cling to the table and the spoon. It burns in your lungs and cheeks.

“I am sorry for the pain, I’ve caused you.”

Your gaze snaps to his face and you know he’s speaking the truth but it doesn’t matter right now.

“Sorry? Sorry?! You don’t get to be sorry! I missed y-...the boy, I loved was gone and it took ages before I could let go and stop mourning, finally accepting the truth had died with you and now...now you’re here? And it’s all back and I don’t understand! How could you?” Itachi doesn’t flinch as you launch the bowl towards him – he doesn’t have to because your aim is off and it clatters to the floor in a shower of shards and wasted food after hitting the wall behind him. “How? The boy I loved was not a monster! He wouldn’t do what they s-”

The echoes of your wheezing shouts ring through the room after the abrupt stop. Holding your breath, you wait for the ground to swallow you whole or for the man at the other end of the table to react and the fear is colder than the burning in your chest.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” Itachi eventually whispers, “they were just people who had been wronged and misguided until their arrogance made them blind.”

What? That’s not exactly what you had expected. Without explaining further, your captor gets up, handing you his bowl of food before beginning to clean the mess you’ve made.

“Don’t...I’ll get tha-” you begin.

He only has to look at you.

...

The dew had soaked your toes, cooling and soothing them after each kick that you landed on the wood stump. Pine. The new splinters refreshed the scent as they fell to the ground and you knew that birds would rummage through them in the hope of finding a morning snack once the training grounds were free of people again – they were already gathering at the edge of the clearing except for where Itachi stood.

The realization made you stop mid-kick, gaze locked with his and heart fluttering in your chest. How long had he stood there?

“They’re wrong.” You could barely believe he was talking to you. “Your teammates...don’t listen to what they say.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Itachi was gone and maybe it had all been your imagination running free.

...

Sitting up abruptly, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the low light of the dying embers. Where am I?

Salt and drying seaweed is heavy in the air, somehow worming its way into what appears to be yet another room of stone. No...it’s a cave. You’re sitting on a bedroll splayed out onto the sand filling the place and you have no memory of arriving.

The dark form on the other side of the fire pit makes no move as you slip a hand underneath your shirt to confirm what you already know: the bandages are gone and there’s only a muted tenderness as you prod at the ribs. How long has it been?

“You’re safe,” Itachi’s gentle voice assures, and you feel your pulse slow despite the ominous situation, “go back to sleep.”

Yes. Sleep...hang on! Shaking your head, you fight the urge to succumb to the fuzziness that weighs your thoughts. “Why’re you doing this?” you mumble.

It doesn’t make sense why the man wouldn’t simply get the answers he want and then dispose of you or at the very least leave you locked up somewhere while he keeps following Sasuke from the shadows. Instead, your captor has put an effort into keeping you comfortable. Feeding you.

“I remember you.” His eyes reflect the red coals as they burn into your soul all over again. “Memories don’t do your justice, though.”

...

There is no world beyond the walls of the garden but a red sheet of sky dotted with storm clouds. The sliding doors have been pushed aside, opening the hallway to the view, and you know the wood beneath your bare feet should be silky from decades of use. You can’t feel it. There are no scents either, no breeze to toy with the soft fabric of your yukata, nor insects clicking from the rhododendron.

“This isn’t real.”

“No,” Itachi confirms from behind you, “but here I can create what you need. Who you need.”

Turning at last, there’s no reason to shy away from meeting his gaze even if it matches the fake sky. He looks real – as opposed to the familiarity of the home of your childhood that surrounds the two of you – and the ghost of a smile kindly tries to hide the sadness.

“...need. For what?”

The black strands falling into his face are strangely dull in the nightmarish light. “Closure.”

“That’s not possible.”

Wanting to leave, to run away and avoid what Itachi intends, you find yourself rooted in place by an invisible force. Even turning your face away is impossible and you pray that he doesn’t understand the well of emotions he must be able to see in your eyes.

“This is a chance for you to say goodbye to the one I killed. The one you...love,” he pauses to scrutinize your expression and you try to remain neutral, “because you do. You still love him.”

“You have no right...” swallowing hard, you fight to keep the words back, “no right t-to claim to know what I need!” Finally, you manage to close your eyes but they snap open again at the touch of his fingertips on your forehead. “This isn’t something you get to fix like -”

...

The world has shifted again and you’re back in the ocean side cave. You can feel how uneven the sand is under your knees and shins even with the bedroll to soften the press and some some the grains have found their way in between your toes...but none of that matters because Itachi is still right before you, his fingers gently resting on your brow.

A pop-and-crackle from the fire pit is the only sound other than your shallow breathing. You know, he knows. Eyes widened in nigh-comedic understanding, it’s as if he sees you for the first time.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N].”

You barely manage to whisper, “for what?”

His fingertips send shivers along your spine as they trace a path, allowing him to cradle the back of your neck in his palm.

“Everything” Itachi’s lips brush your cheek, “for breaking your heart in so many ways and for making you think your love was unrequited.”

#Itachi #Uchiha Itachi #Uchiha Itachi x fem!reader #In the eyes #Itachi x fem!reader #Itachi x you #Itachi x y/n #Itachi Uchiha #post naruto shippuuden #naruto fandom #itachi fanfiction #itachi fanfic #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #naruto #anime #x reader #x fem!reader

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everything-person · 4 years ago

Text

CS January Joy Day 7: The Rescue

A/N: So this fic idea spawned from a Wander Over Yonder short called The Hero. Its really funny highly suggest you watch it. This has been an idea of mine for a while and has been in the draft graveyard for maybe 3 years. Point is its been a long time idea and I’m super excited about finally being able to post it especially for an amazing event such as @csjanuaryjoy. Special thanks to @profdanglaisstuff who hoped on as my beta last minute.

Summary: Princess Emma has gone missing and with the kings promise of a special reward for the one to bring her home safely her friends plan to be the ones to do just that.

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Once upon a time the princess turned bandit met the shepherd turned prince. They fell in love and together they defeated the Evil Queen. They became the rulers of a grand land best known as The Enchanted Forest. Under the rule of Queen Snow White and King James the Enchanted Forest came a time of peace and prosperity.

One fortunate day Queen Snow White and King James announced the birth of a beautiful baby girl, a new princess for the kingdom, and she was given the name Emma. The princess was the product of True Love and would wield the most powerful light magic in all the realms. She would be known as the Savior. The kingdom rejoiced, days of celebration were held in honor of the princess. Nobility and Royalty from all over came to pay their respects and welcome the new princess.

Though the princess’s birth was a happy and welcome one, a great danger lay hidden. For with great light there must be great darkness. A prophecy told of a day when the Savior would be stolen away by darkness. Only to be rescued by one true hero, with the help of his sidekick-

“Whoa,” Pinocchio interrupted, “which one of us is the sidekick?”

Baelfire froze, looking at his friend. Even in the dim light of the tavern he could make out Pinocchio’s confused and slightly agitated glare.“Well I don't mean to be rude, my friend, but you're the sidekick.”

“Oh,” Pinocchio leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “And how do we know you're not the sidekick?”

“It says that the hero is Emma's True Love.” Baelfire stated, gesturing to the book open in front of him.

“That proves nothing.”

Baelfire let out a frustrated sigh, slamming the book closed. “Okay well I guess whoever saves her is the hero and her true love.”

Pinocchio’s eyebrows furrowed, “Allow me understand you. Are you suggesting when we go retrieve Her Royal Highness, Rightful Heir to Misthaven’s Throne, The Savior, most powerful light magic wielder in this and any known realm, that whoever gets to her first will be the one she marries? Am I understanding you correctly?”

Baelfire shrugged his shoulders. “Do you have a better idea?”

Pinocchio stared at the man across from him. The buzz of the tavern surrounded them.

The two men had grown up with Princess Emma. For a time she wasn’t Her Royal Highness Princess Emma, she was just Emma, their friend. They were all playmates but as they grew Baelfire and Pinocchio saw her as Princess Emma and perhaps a bit more. They both wished to court her but before they had a chance to make a request she was stolen away from her 21st birthday ball. She's been missing for months and in their Majesties’ desperation they decreed that ‘the one who saves Princess Emma and brings her home will be the one to take her hand in marriage.’ Many have already tried but no one has even caught a glimpse of the princess. After hearing the news, Baelfire and Pinocchio decided they would save the princess and they would have a better chance of that together. Baelfire was in charge of finding out information on where the princess might be, hence the tavern they’ve been sitting in for nearly two hours. Pinocchio was in charge of transportation both getting to where the princess was and their escape route.

“I'm taking your silence as a no. So whoever gets to Emma first is the one who marries her, agreed?” Baelfire stuck his hand across the table.

Pinocchio stared at the offensive hand for a moment. Baelfire was right, he didn't have a better idea and Emma's father did say whoever saved Emma had her hand. So technically whichever one of them got to her first is the one to save her. Pinocchio grabbed his friend's hand and gave it a firm shake, “Agreed.”

“Good, because I think our man just showed up.” Baelfire nodded towards the man entering the tavern as he stuffed the book holding the prophecy in his satchel.

The tricorn hat on his head, long hair draped over the shoulders of his long coat hiding the sword and pistol at his hip all gave him away.

Pirate.

Pinocchio made to stand but a kick to the leg made him fall back in his chair. “Ow,” he exaggerated, glaring at his friend.

“What are you doing?” Baelfire questioned him.

“I'm going -”

Baelfire interrupted, “That's not how you deal with pirates. You make them” he holds up a purse of coins, “come to you.” He finalized his statement by slamming down the coins on the table.

Though Pinocchio doubted him at first once the pirate saw the gold he knew they had him. The man sauntered over to them. “That’s quite a bit of coin you have there mate.” He stood over their table with his thumb in his belt. He wore a smirk that was anything but friendly.

“More than a bit and I was hoping to win some more.” Baelfire leaned back in his seat meeting the man's gaze.

The man's smirk turned into a smile, “Well you're in luck, we were just about to set up a game. Perhaps you'd like to join us.”

=====================================

His father beckoned him over. “Pinocchio come meet the new princess.”

The little boy cautiously walked to where his father was standing next to the King and Queen. They smiled kindly at the boy as he approached. Once he was at the side of the crib he stood on the tips of his toes in order to see.

There laying in the crib was a small baby. She was wrapped in a white knitted blanket lined with a purple ribbon and in the corner read a name. “Pinocchio this is Emma.” the queen introduced him with a quiet voice.

“Hello Emma.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked back at him with big soft eyes, her mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape. He couldn’t help but reach into the crib and pet her head lightly . “She is so soft and so small.”

The adults chuckled at his observation. “Yes she is.”

“Pinocchio,” His father's voice caught his attention. He turned to see his father had knelt down. “Princess Emma is going to need a friend. Someone to help her and teach her things. Someone she can rely on. Can you do that? Can you be Princess Emma's friend?”

Pinocchio smiled and nodded. “Yes father. I will try to be the best friend I can to Princess Emma.”

“Good boy.” His father said and gave him a pat on his head.

A small whine came from the crib. Emma was rubbing her face letting out more noise. Pinocchio looked over the side. “Oh no Emma don’t cry. Look.” He pulled on his ears, sticking his tongue out and made silly noises until the princess calmed down. “See it’s okay.”

“Thank you Pinocchio. You are sure to be a very good friend for the princess.” the king assured him.

====================================

Baelfire had the pirates in the palm of his hand. With each hand he would buy another round for the table. He had now gotten the table thoroughly drunk, with all the men laughing jovially and ready to spill their guts at the right question. This is why he's sure he is the hero the prophecy spoke of, only the hero would be clever enough to persuade pirates into giving him the information he required.

“So Captain I hear you’re quite the fearsome pirate,” Baelfire started.

“Aye the most fearsome on the seas. No one dares cross Blackbeard's sword.”

“Having that kind of reputation I’m sure you pass through many ports and hear many different tales.”

“Aye I keep my ear to the ground for the best treasure to pillage and plunder. Are you in the market for some jewels or magical trinket?”

“None actually. I was hoping to hear what the best gossip pirates have to offer. Who’s picked up what?”

“Sorry to disappoint mate but I can’t think of anything worth telling.”

A drunken crew member piped up at this, “Capt’n what about that blonde woman? She was certainly interesting to look at.”

Baelfire's eyes darted from the crew member to his captain. Hoping he was right, he asked “What blonde woman?”

(A couple hours later)

“I know where Emma is!” Baelfire burst through the door of Pinocchio's workshop. Pinocchio jumped at the noise, dropping his tools. His glare at his intruder morphed into a curious gaze.

“Well where is she?”

Baelfire strode up to the workshop table pulling out a map. “The pirates said they came across a ship that held a beautiful blonde woman aboard.”

Pinocchio’s face pinched together as he stared at the man before him, “You do realize Emma isn't the only blonde woman in all the realms.”

“They said she wields a sword like a warrior, has the tongue of a sailor, fought like a man, backed down to no one all while looking as if she'd come down from heaven.” Baelfire cocked his head to the side, “You know as well as I do how fiery Emma can be.”

The former puppet nodded, “Alright where did he say she was?”

“Here.” Baelfire pointed to the map.

“So how are you getting us there?” Baelfire asked as Pinnochio looked to where they were going, plotting the fastest path they must take. Pinnochio smirked at the question, “Well what's a hero without a noble steed?”

===================================

Baelfire’s feet pounded against the earth beneath him as he weaved through the trees. His rage and frustrations fueling him forward. It'd been two days since Pan tricked him and sent him back to the realm he detested. Back to the father that chose power over him.

He found his papa stood by his word and got a castle for him. The castle was filled with all kinds of magical items but that wasn't all. There was a woman there as well. His papa found a new love. He was making a new family.

Baelfire rubbed at his eyes, fighting the tears that desperately wanted to fall. He didn't care about his papa or this new family he wanted to make. All he wanted was out of the realm and away from all things magical.

The further he ran the more his vision blurred. He began bumping into trees, swatting away branches that crossed his path. The more obstacles in his path the more determined he was to run faster. A root caught his foot, causing him to tumble forward, landing face first into the dirt below. He rubbed his head as he took in his new surroundings. He was in a small clearing filled with tall grass and flowers swaying in the breeze. He pushed up onto his hands and knees, feeling the pressure mounting inside him. He felt as if he was going to burst. He clutched at the dirt beneath him, squeezing his eyes shut. Just as he was about to let it all out he heard something.

Something that made him freeze.

He heard laughter.

He lifted up his head to see a girl running into the clearing, looking behind her. Since she was looking behind and not where she was going she tripped, tumbling forward and landing face first a few feet away from him. She pushed up into the same position he was in, shaking her head before lifting it and noticing him for the first time. They looked at each other for a moment, neither sure what to say or make of the other.

The girl cocked her head to the side before asking, “What are you doing?”

Baelfire scrunched up his face and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Playing,” she answered simply.

Baelfire scoffed, “Little girls shouldn’t be playing in the forest.”

Before he knew it Baelfire was being knocked back in the dirt. He looked up to see the girl now standing over him.

“I’m not a little girl. I can take care of myself.”

Baelfire looked up at this strange girl standing there with her arms crossed. “Who are you?”

She dropped her arms, looking him over before offering her hand to him, “I’m Emma.”

==============================

Baelfire thought fondly of when he met Emma in that clearing all those years ago. They continued to meet in that clearing a few more times, both curious about the other. She would allow him to air his grievances about his father, about magic, about all that's happened to him. He told her about his plan to leave this realm and he asked if she would want to join him. That was when he found out who she was and what she was. Her Royal Highness Emma, Crown Princess of Misthaven. When he found out who she was he was afraid that her parents wouldn’t let him see her anymore because of who his father was. So he made a deal with his father to make a deal with the King and Queen.

Baelfire promised to forgive his father if his father went to the King and Queen with a deal. Rumplestiltskin promised to never harm anyone in their kingdom if his son could continue to be friends with the princess. But she wasn’t just a princess. She was also the Savior, product of True Love, wielder of the most powerful light magic. Though she had light magic he asked that she didn’t use it in front of him. He saw what magic did to his father and the magic of Neverland. No matter what kind of magic it was Baelfire didn’t trust it.

“Hey! You awake back there?” Pinocchio called out to him from his seat at the front of the wagon.

Blackbeard said the ship that held the blonde woman was heading south. Baelfire suspected that they would need to make port within the next couple days before they headed back onto open water, so they are heading to a port town known to harbor pirates. With any luck they’ll find the ship Emma is on.

“No one could fall asleep with the way you're steering,” Baelfire grumbled. “This uncomfortable wagon wasn't what I had in mind when you said ‘noble steed.’”

“Well what do you expect the sidekick to ride in? Besides, a wagon any bigger would slow us down. You might want to try getting some rest while you can. By the map you gave me, we will be there by sundown.”

“The hero doesn’t need rest and is always prepared to leap into action.”

Pinocchio was right. They arrived in the small seaside village by the time the sun had fallen past the horizon. They were able to find a place to rest their horse and hide their wagon until they can determine whether or not Emma is here.

“So You head to the tavern and I’ll head to the docks-”

“No,” Baelfire cut off his friend.

“What? That was our plan. You go see if you can get any information from the tavern. While I go see if I can spot Emma on any of the ships in the dock.”

“There's no need for that plan anymore.”

Pinocchio pinched the bridge of his nose, getting annoyed with Baelfire’s know it all attitude. “And why the hell not?”

Baelfire rolled his eyes, grabbing his companion’s arm, turning him around. He stretched his arm out, pointing towards a porky little man wearing a red cap, “That is why.” Baelfire dropped his arm, “We’ll follow him.”

Pinocchio looked between the man they are now apparently following and his accomplice in this quest. “Okay I give up, who is he?”

“He is the first mate of the pirate that will lead us to Emma.”

“How could you possibly know that?” asked Pinocchio, exasperated.

“Look just trust me. If they don’t have Emma, they will know where she is.”

Pinocchio eyed Baelfire, not really believing him until he saw the look in his eye. It was a look of conviction. Baelfire fully believed that this man would lead them to Emma.

Pinocchio slowly began to nod. “Okay let's go.”

The pair followed this man as he, along with three others, went from shop to shop. When the group of men seemed to be finished they carried three barrels, four sacks, and two crates between the four of them. The men walked down towards the docks.

“Where's their ship? I don’t see it,” Pinocchio inquired, looking up and down the pier.

Baelfire watched as the men they were following walked down to a row boat. He then cast his eyes on the water. “The pier was too small for them to dock.”

Pinocchio followed Baelfire's gaze and saw the men in a row boat rowing towards a ship in the distance. Baelfire, frustrated, began to rub the back of his neck, trying to come up with a new plan. “Okay good news this allows us to sneak onto the ship easier. Charging up the gangplank wasn’t the best idea in hindsight. Bad news is you need to build a boat right now.”

“Just because I was wood once doesn’t make me a miracle worker.” Pinocchio looked up and down the docks until he saw something that could help them. “Look there.”

Pinocchio pointed to a small sailboat haphazardly tied to a post. They waited until the row boat was halfway to the vessel when they made their move. Baelfire threw the rope off its post, while Pinocchio pushed the boat in the water. They both jumped in before it got too far from the dock.

They laid low so as not to be seen. Pinocchio was able to steer which way their boat drifted with the rudder.

“Oi Smee look,” a crew man called out when they made it back to the ship, pointing back towards the docks. “Some poor bloke lost ‘is sail.”

The man laughed as they raised their boat, unaware of the floating vessel's intent. Because they were unable to use the available oars, over fear of being spotted, they simply drifted hoping the rudder would be enough to lead them close enough to climb aboard. After a while of just drifting Baelfire began lightly drumming his fingers against the wood beneath them.

“Stop that.”

“Can’t you make this thing go faster?” Baelfire growled at his companion.

“Unless you think I can control the waves and wind we are at the mercy of both,” Pinocchio huffed.

“We wouldn’t be if we were able to row-”

“That’s a great idea if part of your plan is to get caught. With an idea like that you must be the hero from the prophecy,” Pinocchio drawled, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Listen. The possibility of being caught is better than aimlessly drifting.”

“You just have to be patient.”

“Translation: I’m a sidekick and wait for stuff to happen.”

Pinocchio punched Baelfire's leg, tired of his arrogant attitude. Baelfire glared at him, thrusting his leg forward, kicking Pinocchio in the shoulder. Pinocchio grunted then grabbed hold of Baelfire's foot, twisting it in an unnatural way. Baelfire gasped, yanking his foot out of the other man's grip. Before Baelfire could retaliate they both were jostled as the boat bumped into something. They looked up to see that while they were busy arguing they had drifted right next to the ship. They both looked at each other before Pinocchio dropped anchor and they prepared to board the ship.

“Alright let's go.”

Pinocchio grabbed Baelfire's arm, pulling him back down in his seat. “Wait,” he aggressively whispered.

“What?”

“Do you hear that?”

Underneath the sound of the wind and the waves crashing against the hull of the ship, was the sound of cheers. They could just make out the sounds of cups clashing, laughter, and music floating down from the deck above.

Baelfire's brows furrowed, “Why are they celebrating?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is they are drinking. We both know how pirates like their drink.”

“So?” Baelfire said through gritted teeth, wanting him to get to the point.

“So we wait until they are too drunk to stand then board the ship, grab Emma, then row back to shore. By the time they gather themselves we will be headed for home.”

Baelfire turned his head back up, contemplating this new plan. “If we go now with half, if not all the crew on deck, we risk a better chance of being captured if not killed. Then who will save Emma?”

Baelfire closed his eyes and balled his fist, “Fine. We wait.”

So they waited and waited. Though their plan was smart they did not count on the waves rocking their small boat, effectively putting them to sleep. The sun cresting over the horizon woke Baelfire. Once he was fully awake it dawned on him what had happened. He bolted upright, jostling the boat as he did. He turned to his side to see Pinocchio sprawled out asleep, and he gave him a quick kick to rouse him.

“Wake up, we fell asleep.”

Pinocchio's head rolled as a groan escaped his mouth. Baelfire sighed before bending down, running his hand across the water's surface and flicking his wrist, causing the water to hit Pinocchio in the face. Pinocchio sputtered, now wide awake. He turned to shout at his attacker but his anger quickly vanished when he saw the sun. Both men jumped to action. Pinocchio attached his short sword to his hip as Baelfire threw his cutlass onto his back.

“They say you can truly measure a man by his sword,” Baelfire commented, eyeing his companion’s choice of weapon.

“The size of the sword doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to use it.”

As they prepared to board, Pinocchio turned to his friend, “Hey.”

Baelfire turned to see a sincere and serious look in his eye.

“No matter what happens up there, Emma's safety and happiness comes first.”

Baelfire nodded, reaching out his hand. Pinocchio accepted it, giving it a firm shake.

“May the best man win,” Baelfire said as they both turned to the next part of their journey. They prepared themselves for a moment before grabbing hold and ascending the ship.

==========================================

“Come on. Let’s go,” Emma encouraged her friends as she entered the tavern.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Pinocchio warned warily.

“Yeah Ems we can get better drinks and food back at the castle.”

Emma turned facing her supposed friends, fixing them with a look. “You both promised me a drink so I suggest you stop your squawking and accept that we are here.”

Baelfire huffed as Pinocchio gestured for Emma to lead the way. The three of them settled on a table in the corner near the exit at Pinocchio's insistence. A bar maid came over and distributed three mugs of grog. Baelfire paid the wench and the three friends cheered their glasses together. Baelfire begrudgingly took a sip of his drink, grimacing as he swallowed the foul beverage. Pinocchio put his drink back on the table, wanting to have a clear mind in case any problems arose. Emma finished her drink in record time.

“Okay you've had your drink, can we leave now?”

“Come on Pinocchio lighten up.” Emma nudged his shoulder with her own, “This is supposed to be fun.”

“And what is so fun about spending a night in a dirty tavern, drinking gross grog, and being surrounded by drunkards?”

Emma glared at Baelfire. “It’s freeing. No one knows who we are, no guards, no one telling you what to do, being able to see how people really live.”

“Yes because who wouldn’t want to be a part of the adultery, lying, and thievery part of everyday people's lives.”

“Look, if you're going to act like this all night you can just leave.”

There was an awkward pause as the two friends stared each other down. Without breaking eye contact, Baelfire rose out of his chair, turned and left the tavern without another word. Emma huffed, leaning her elbows on the table, looking into her glass. This wasn’t her first time sneaking out of the castle but it was the first time she asked her friends to join her. She was excited to spend the night with them without having to be the proper princess everyone expected her to be. But it seemed her friends didn’t understand that.

“Come on Emma. Let's go, I'll walk you back to the castle.”

“Pinocchio if you're so eager to leave why don't you just go too.”

“Emma-”

Emma slammed her hands on the table, fixing him with a look, “Look if you don’t want to have a drink then just go.”

A burst of laughter turned her attention to the back of the bar. Emma smiled, “If you guys don’t want to have fun then I’ll go find my own.”

Emma pushed off the table, walking toward the table that caught her attention just moments before. Coming up to the group she placed her hands on their table, leaning forward addressing the man that seemed to be the center of attention. “So what are you boys playing?”

=========================================

The sound of swords clashing filled the air. The night's rest was all the pirates needed to sober up enough to fight the invaders. Pinocchio and Baelfire weren’t making it easy on them.

“What the bloody hell is going on up here?!”

The outburst distracted Pinocchio and Baelfire just enough for the crew to disarm them of their weapons. They grabbed the men, forcing their arms behind their backs and them onto their knees.

A man dressed in only leather pants descended the stairs onto the main deck. He wore chains around his neck, at the end of one arm was a brace holding a hook in place of a hand, and at the end of the other he clutched a sword in his grip, prepared for battle.

“Well?” The man paused, looking around waiting for someone to speak up, “Your Captain asked you a question, I expect an answer.”

“Cap’n these two snuck on board at day break.”

The captain looked over these two men, “Let me guess, more heroes come to take on the great Captain Hook.”

“There is nothing great about you. You filthy pirate,” Baelfire spat.

“You know I’ve grown rather tired of boys still wet behind their ears thinking they can come aboard my ship,” The captain spoke louder. “Why don’t we make an example out of these two? To remind everyone why they don’t cross Captain Hook and the crew of the Jolly Roger.”

The crew cheered as Baelfire and Pinocchio began to struggle out of their ropes, but two crew men firmly held them down.

“Now,” Hook raised his sword towards the men on their knees. “What shall we do with you?”

The crew erupted with suggestions but just as soon as the shouting started it stopped.

“What is with all the yelling this morning?”

Everyone's attention turned to the stairs, where stood the woman they were looking for. She made her way down the stairs dressed only in a black shirt that came down mid thigh on her, her blonde tresses falling in gentle waves over her shoulders. Her face scrunched up, as if she were in pain, her hand rubbing circles onto her head.

“Emma.” Hook dropped his sword, running over to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. He made it just in time as she tripped on the last step, falling into his arms. Hook opened his mouth to speak again but Emma held her hand to stop him.

“Caspian,” Emma pointed to the crewman, “what was that devil juice you gave me last night?”

“Tequila ma’am.”

Emma waved her hand, “Never. Never again is that allowed aboard this ship.”

“Love, what are you doing up?”

Emma snaked her hand that was resting on his bicep around his neck while the other began playing with the chain hanging from his neck. “Well, I got cold and had the unpleasant experience of waking up alone.” She paused, looking up at the captain through her lashes, “Then I got a splitting headache from all the shouting so I decided to find out what pulled my captain from my bed.”

“It wasn’t by choice, love. But it seems we have some unexpected visitors.” Hook nodded his head toward the middle of the deck.

Emma finally turned her head to see her two childhood friends being held on their knees, bound and gagged. “What the hell,” she whispered to herself.

Disentangling herself from Hook she moved to stand in front of the two men. She waved her hand, removing their gags. “What are you guys doing here?” Emma crossed her arms waiting for an answer.

“We came to rescue you and bring you home.”

Emma brows furrowed in confusion, “What?”

“You were kidnapped-” Pinocchio was cut off by the crew bursting with laughter.

“I wasn’t kidnapped, I left willingly.”

“But the prophecy-”

“Prophecy?”

A crew member came forward holding a book, “They had this with them ma’am.”

Emma took the book, offering a smile as thanks. She looked down and realized what she was holding in her hands, “You mean the storybook you made for me when I was ten?”

“But your father offered your hand to anyone who could bring you home safely,” Baelfire informed her.

“EXCUSE ME!? He did what?!”

“I thought you said you left your parents a note, lass,” Hook piped up from the railing he was leaning against.

“I did, they either didn’t read it or didn't believe it. Fuck! We’ve been gone for months now. They must be worried sick.” Emma began pacing. While she never wanted to cause her parents and distress she just wanted some space. In the midst of her pacing a thought occurred to her and she stopped.

“Wait,” she turned back to the men on their knees, “There are two of you. So if this was a “rescue mission” and the prize was my hand how was that going to work, huh?”

The men stayed silent.

“What? Was it whoever got to me first cause I know for damn sure neither of you are keen on sharing.”

Baelfire and Pinocchio hung their heads in shame.

“Really? I can’t believe you two.”

Hook approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her back to his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder, “What do you wish to do, love?”

Emma relaxed in his embrace, her gaze still fixed on the men before her. “Take them to the brig for now.”

As the crew stood them up they struggled against their restraints, pleading with Emma to listen to them. Their pleas fell on deaf ears as Emma and Hook retreated to the captain's quarters. Hook closed the door behind them, looking wearily at Emma, who had her back to him, her hands placed on his desk with her head hanging down.

“Emma? Love? Are you alright?”

Emma sighed, turning around, “I’m just in shock I guess. What were they thinking? What was my father thinking?”

“I would assume your father was desperate to have his daughter back safe at home. And as for your friends, they saw this as an opportunity for you to view them more than just your friends.”

Emma huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Did you ever have feelings for them as they do you?”

Emma turned to see him inspecting his hook. At the sight of his uncertainty her shoulders dropped and her face softened. She walked over to where he leaned against his bookcase, moving to stand before him. She gently cupped his face, making him look at her. “Never. I would be lying if I said I never thought about being with one of them but I never felt for them the way I do you.”

Killian smiled, turning his head to give her palm a tender kiss.

“I do care for them. Pinocchio has been there for me ever since I could remember, and he is great.”

“But..?”

“But he has it in his mind that he has to take care of me.”

“Ah and we both know you are a lass that can take care of herself.”

Emma hummed in agreement before continuing, “And Baelfire hates magic because of his father. So he would always hate a part of me. And I know he still plans to find a way out of this realm, never to return. I would love to explore other realms, hell it’s why I ran off with you, but the Enchanted Forest is my home.”

Emma looked up to see Hook's eyes had gone wide and his jaw set. “Killian, what’s wrong?”

“That man was Baelfire? The Dark One’s son?”

“Yeah why?”

A look of pain crossed his face as he moved away from Emma.

“Killian what is it?”

“You remember the woman I told you about? The reason for my revenge against the Dark One?”

“Yes, Milah wh-” then it dawned on her, “Milah was Baelfire's mother.”

“Aye,” he tried to force a laugh, “The dark humor of the gods I suppose. I not only took his mother from him but the woman he’s in love with.”

“Hey stop that.” Emma placed a hand on his shoulder, “You didn’t take anyone. We both left on our own.”

Killian looked at Emma, still feeling the weight of guilt on his shoulders.

“Do you regret meeting me?”

“Never. Meeting you was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”

Killian leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft reassuring kiss. When the kiss ended they pressed their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry for what happened with Baelfire, Milah and you. But I refuse to feel bad about falling in love with you,” Emma whispered.

Killian sighed contentedly, “So what do we do now?”

========================================

A week later

King James sat on his throne in the council room with his head in his hands. His heart was heavy with grief. A gentle hand laid on his shoulder, he looked up to see his wife wearing a sad smile.

“I just want her home.”

“So do I. We just have to have hope-”

His wife was cut off by the sound of the doors bursting open, a dwarf running into the room.

“Grumpy what is it? What's wrong?”

The dwarf in question was out of breath, leaning forward on his knees. “It’s...It's Emma,” he panted.

The king stood with a force that sent his chair to the floor. “What? What about Emma? Has she been found?”

“She *inhale* She..*cough cough*”

“She’s what?” Charming demanded.

“She’s home.”

They heard a small voice coming from the entryway. Snow and Charming’s eyes both snapped to the door behind the dwarf to see their daughter standing there in a pair of black boots, brown trousers, and a white long sleeved shirt underneath a blue vest.

“Emma!” The couple gasped before they made their way around the table, past the still out of breath dwarf, engulfing their daughter in an embrace.

After a couple minutes they pulled back slightly, looking over their daughter.

“Emma we were so worried about you,” Snow said.

“Are you alright? How did you get back?” Charming inquired. That's when he noticed there were three men standing in the room. All of them stood straight shoulder to shoulder, with their hands behind their backs. He recognized two of them as being Baelfire and Pinocchio, the third man he’s never seen before but by the sight of him dressed head to toe in leather he assumed this was the man that stole his daughter away.

“I see.” The King let go of his family, stepping towards the men. “So who was it? Which one of you brought my daughter home to me,” he asked, smiling brightly, overjoyed that his daughter was home.

He waited for Baelfire or Pinocchio to step forward. For one of them to take credit for the rescue. He was taken aback when the pirate stepped forward, revealing his arms weren’t in restraints.

“Actually, Your Majesty, it was I that captained the vessel that brought your daughter home.”

Charming’s brows furrowed, he approached Baelfire and Pinocchio, turning them to see their hands tied. Charming turned back to his daughter and saw her holding the pirate's hand.

“What's going on?” Charming asked.

“Emma?” Snow looked between her husband and their daughter.

“I wasn’t kidnapped, I left willingly. I love you both and this kingdom, but it’s suffocating being the Savior and Princess of Misthaven. I wanted to explore, have adventures, like the ones you used to tell me about.”

“So you ran away with this pirate?”

“Killian Jones, at your service Your Majesty.” Killian bowed, hoping the show of respect would give him some brownie points.

“I met Killian about a year ago-”

“And where exactly was that?” Charming now stood with his arms crossed.

“At a tavern in the village.”

“You’ve been sneaking out of the castle!”

“Charming,” Snow chided her husband. “We’re listening, Emma, go on.”

“We met about a year ago and he would tell me about all the places he’s gone and things he’s seen. Then he offered to take me with him. And we fell in love.”

“A simplified version of events but the truth.”

“Why did you come back now? After all these months?”

Emma gestured to the men next to them, “These two tried a dashing rescue, and informed me you offered my hand as a prize to whoever could get to me first.”

The frustration and confusion that once captured his features melted away and shame replaced them, “Emma you must understand. We didn’t know where you went, what happened to you, if you were even alive. We grew desperate.”

Emma sighed, “I know. That is why we are here.”

Confusion once again crossed the King and Queen’s face.

“Ahem. I suppose it’s my turn to speak. Your Majesties, as the one to bring the princess home, I humbly ask for your blessing to marry your daughter.”

====================================

“Captain on deck!”

Killian boarded the ship that he’d called home for over 300 years.

“How’d it go Captain?” Mr. Smee asked as he approached him.

“It went as expected.”

“So, Mistress Emma?”

Killian smiled, “She just saying her goodbyes.”

Emma stood on the docks with her friends who were now unbound. The king and queen had given them their blessing. So while the King and Queen were busy planning their wedding, that will take place a year from now, Emma and Killian were free to travel and have adventures. Emma said goodbye to her parents this time around now all there was left was the unfinished business between the three friends.

Emma shuffled from foot to foot, unsure what to say, “Guys I-”

“Are you happy?”

Emma looked at Pinocchio. “What?”

“Does this, traveling on a pirate ship, being with Hook, make you happy?”

Emma smiled. “Yeah. It makes me really happy.”

“Then go.” Pinocchio nodded towards the ship. “Be happy.”

Emma embraced her long time friend, before letting go, turning to Baelfire.

“I know one day you’ll find whatever it is you're looking for.”

Baelfire stayed silent as he embraced her. Once he let her go she made her way up the gangplank onto the ship. She approached the man that won her heart.

“You ready for that adventure I promised you, love?”

Emma wrapped her arms around Killian’s neck as his looped around her waist, “I believe we were headed to Agrabah before we were rudely interrupted.”

Killian chuckled, “You heard her lads. Set course to Agrabah.”

#cs jj #cs january joy #cs fanfic #cs ff #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #baelfire #pinocchio #captain duckling

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Divide”

Hello, everyone, and welcome back! It feels good to be doing some normal RWBY-ing in this strange world of ours. First, some supplementary materials.

Number One: In response to any (valid) questions along the lines of, “Hey Clyde, it’s now been a full year since Volume 7 was airing and you still haven’t answered my ask about it. Or the ones about Volume 6… what’s up with that?” I’ve created what I hope is an informative video detailing the problem:

vimeo

(I assure you, the Earth, Wind & Fire was a happy accident during the screen recording.)

Needless to say, there’s a lot and I’ve known for some time now that I will LITERALLY never get through all my asks. Which doesn’t mean I don’t want you to send future thoughts in! Just know that as we head into Volume 8 territory I’ll most likely prioritize those, as well as any Volume 7 asks that aren’t woefully out of date. But I do want everyone to know that I read all the asks I receive, appreciate them immensely, and think too much about hypothetical answers, even if I don’t have time to actually write them out 💜

Number Two: There’s a bingo board this year!

Jury’s out on whether I’ll remember to update it, but at the very least this serves as a decent glimpse into my — and others’ — expectations going into this volume.

Number Three: I’ve collected a list of things I’ve heard about Volume 8 from what seem to be reputable sources. I did this because RT is developing a tendency to talk up certain points and then fail to deliver, either because something was taken out of a volume/moved to another, or because RT apparently has radically different ideas about what including something means. So this might be handy to keep on file and ask ourselves two months from now, “Did RT actually deliver on what they promised?”

Emphasis on Ruby’s leadership and how Summer’s death has impacted her

Insight into Ren and Nora’s flaws

May Merigold will supposedly have a larger part

More information about The Long Memory (Ozpin’s cane)

Theme of the volume is that you can respect someone but that doesn’t necessarily mean you agree with them

Very short timeline (supposedly just two days)

Yang in particular is very suspicious and distrustful

I was also going to include a list of all the threads that need to be continued/wrapped up, but honestly that would have taken too large a chunk off my life. Let’s just throw out the highlights:

Are we really going to have Qrow gunning for Ironwood?

Clover is dead regardless. Press ‘F’ to pay respects

Oscar bb you got shot please acknowledge this

Ozpin bb you got done dirty please acknowledge this

Penny is a Maiden now. I feel like the fandom has been sleeping on this (myself included)

Queer baiting, queer baiting… you’re on thin ice at this point, RWBY. Just skate on over to the queer snack bar before you fall straight into the lake.

Ren spill your deep dark secret already and it had better be something more than just ‘Oh no Nora might someday die :( ’

Salem is here so how the actual fuck is the cast surviving this?

Will Ironwood likewise survive his descent into antagonism? Yes or please yes no?

I think that’s all the biggies. I strive to keep lists like this in mind while analyzing, but honestly RWBY has a hundred moving parts that are abandoned or changed or simply retconned at the drop of a hat. So an attempt will be made.

Number Four (last one I promise!): Normal disclaimers and reminders for Recaps apply:

Please don’t fill up the already full inbox with flames. It’s still 2020. No one has time for that nonsense.

There will absolutely be typos and wonky parts because I try to get these out the same day an episode premieres. I have now been working on this for ten hours, nearly straight, and have no more energy for edits. Apologies in advance and RIP to my Saturdays.

I reserve the right to use stupid GIFs and memes at my discretion.

I strive to keep my focus on recapping/analyzing but salt tends to worm its way in… If you’re a die-hard RWBY fan with little patience for criticism, let alone (at times) snarky criticism, please proceed with caution.

No wait I lied, this is the last thing:

Okay, got that out of my system LET’S DO THIS!

We start not with the episode itself but rather Rooster Teeth’s (RT’s) strange non-promotion of it. If you follow my blog you may have caught the post where I pointed out that there was nothing on RT’s website to suggest that one of their most popular shows—if not the most popular show—was premiering today. Nothing on the main page. Nothing on the RWBY page either, not unless you count the Volume 8 poster background (easily mistaken for the Volume 7 poster) and the trailer buried all the way down past Episodes, past Merch, in the Bonus Features section along with videos like Live From Remnant and the volume intros. RT… the promotion of your feature show is not a bonus. This should be front and center! Honest to god, five minutes before the episode dropped I was checking the website for a Volume 8 section, a countdown, anything that would tell me the episode was imminent without relying on fans on tumblr to keep me in the loop. We got nada, zilch. I’m not sure whether that speaks more to RT’s iffy management of the series or simply the website’s horrible design—RIP losing RWBY on Youtube—but I was surprised when I saw the episode a few minutes after 11:00am. At that point I honestly expected to hear about a dely.

So that’s the mood I entered the premiere in, but truly? We start off strong. Things take a pretty severe nosedive later on, we’ll get to that, but I was impressed with our beginning and that probably has a lot to do with the fact that we start with our villains.

We open on a Cinderella character, Cinder, and thus I’m immediately pleased that we’re getting something about her backstory after all this time. Seven years! She appeared in episode one, folks! To say we’re overdue is an understatement. There isn’t a whole lot to go on, just a younger Cinder sadly scrubbing the floor, poised under a spotlight. What we learn, or potentially learn, is based far more in cultural knowledge than this scene. We know Cinderella’s story, which includes the abusive family, the longing for more, the eventual escape, and thus we’re able to read all of that in this image, despite the image itself not telling us any of this overtly. That means we could be wrong in our interpretation, but if we’re not it’s an easy shorthand in an already packed story.

What I’m really impressed with is the sound bridge between the scrubbing and her nails on the back of Neo’s chair. Fantastic way to confirm that this is Cinder as well as showcasing just how far she’s come. The sound of her labor has been replaced with the sound of her power and given that Cinder’s power is stolen, tied to a grimm arm, the property of a genocidal maniac… that’s messed up. It’s a Cinderella story gone wrong.

So yeah, Cinder tells Neo to head straight into the creepy, grimm infested blood cloud to see Salem and Neo is like, ‘Uh… no thank you?’ lol.

RT does a good job this episode with her expressions, ensuring we know exactly what she’s thinking despite an unwillingness/inability to speak.

Poor Neo might be in too deep, but I quite like the overall atmosphere of this opening. Say what we will about Salem’s awful characterization, at least she has style. This woman knows how to make an entrance and, piggybacking off of the Apathy, RT knows how to infuse horror elements into their fantasy. The red and purple coloring of the clouds, spiked whale teeth peeking through, bright orange in the background looking like explosions… that’s all 👌 Including the intro card.

The only thing I want to gripe about is this:

I’m sorry, why does the whale grimm have landing pads? Or something like it?? The whale otherwise works because it’s poised between the natural and the fantasy synthetic. It looks like a real grimm whale on the outside, but is sporting a throne room, a control panel, and other unnatural elements on the inside. It’s a visual indicator of Salem’s ability to control and change grimm. Now though, the additions are wrong, infringing on the line between organic and tech, the line between what helps the grimm individually (giving monkeys wings) and what just helps Salem. Every other aspect of the whale straddles that line wonderfully, adding to the creep factor, like a grimm version of the Uncanny Valley: it’s not quite a whale anymore… but landing pads? That looks ridiculous. Why does Salem even have that? How many ships are her people feasibly using? Why are there five?

Take it away, please.

Cinder waltzes in like this is a normal home visit, but Neo has an appropriate ‘What the actual fuck?’ face going on.

They approach Salem on her throne where Cinder immediately kneels, greeting her with, “My queen.” I mentioned during my trailer breakdown that I think Cinder is lying her ass off here, and I still think that based on a line we’ll get in a minute, but now at least we have a sense of how she can pull this off. A woman who started out as a (presumed) servant is going to know how to mimic subservience, even if her heart isn’t in it. Salem is very good at playing the girl who will still kneel and scrub the floor for you. She will scrub the floor, she’ll do everything you want, she’ll just be plotting her own rise to power while she does it.

There’s quite a bit of interesting cinematography in this episode, not all of it good, and I think one of the mistakes is here when we get a closeup on Salem’s mouth as she greets Cinder. A closeup like that should be reserved for more significant dialogue—“Rosebud”—and yet we get this shot again when Cinder tells Emerald to be quiet. It’s awkward and coupled with the numerous eye closeups we got in the trailer, I think RT is playing a little fast and loose with the camera. Each shot should add something to the scene, not distract from it. If you don’t have a reason for including a technique like that then leave it be.

Back to the actual dialogue though. We knew that Salem knew Cinder was alive and now it seems that she just expected her to come back? I’m slightly lost. It feels like we’re missing something here. Cinder goes off to secure the lamp, fails, nearly dies, wanders on her own for months, and then randomly shows back up on Salem’s whale doorstep, yet Salem isn’t angry at all? Did she have faith that Cinder would return when she has something to offer? Did she just not care about Cinder, considering her return an unnecessary but otherwise welcome surprise? That would make the least sense given that she holds the key to accessing Beacon’s relic… but that circles right back around to why Salem is seemingly indifferent to Cinder’s comings and goings. Surely she can’t actually believe that Cinder is loyal?

“So I trust you wouldn’t return to me empty handed,” she says. Yeah, trust means nothing in this show, Salem, didn’t you watch Volumes 6 and 7? Again, I simply don’t know. I suppose I’ll just chalk it up to confidence, that if Cinder did bail Salem knew she could track her down again. Deciphering her motivations and beliefs is a lost cause when the show continually gives us so little.

The important thing now is that Cinder does indeed have an offering and you can see that Salem is somewhat surprised at being handed the relic.

Cinder, of course, takes credit for the victory and we’re given another wonderful shot of Neo. ‘YOU took it?’

Oh, Neo. Best get out while you still can.

Tyrian appears having obviously made his way to Salem’s ship sometime between her arrival and now. The exchange is pretty standard for this group. He insults Cinder for failing and needing this victory to make amends, talks about how any win against Ironwood says more about his lack of intelligence than her skill, and Cinder… doesn’t have a whole lot of comebacks, actually. I’d say Tyrian won that verbal spar, enhanced by a better use of the camera when we get his tail looming menacingly towards Cinder and Neo.

He goes on to say that Watts was a “necessary sacrifice” so, uh… I’m just going to toss out the ask I answered yesterday. Based on our intro I’d say Watts is still significant to the volume—hacking Penny is my guess—but by the end? He could be in trouble.

(As a side note: I plan to analyze the intro next week. It’s just easier when it comes first.)

Tyrian also calls Neo “little one” which I just found absolutely hilarious. In an on brand creepy manner, that is. Not that Neo couldn’t kick his ass, but there’s something wonderfully chilling about having the serial killer use an endearment towards a potential victim, one that comments on her size while he’s looming.

In contrast, Cinder refers to Neo as a “valuable asset” and we get our third mood of the episode.

Who’s going to start a Neo reaction image collection?

It’s true enough on the surface—who wouldn’t want an ally who can turn into anyone else?—but we’re still bumping up against question of why Salem needs this. She’s immortal! She has an endless army! Magic! This scene works well with a villain who needs a skillset like Neo’s to succeed, but Salem doesn’t. RT is doing a great job writing a story thus far, just not the story we’ve previously been given. This isn’t the story they set up.

This will come back up when we reach the RWBYJNOR group. Just wait.

Before that though, the gang’s all here as Emerald, Mercury, and Hazel show up, all in new outfits.

I think I like everything except for the weird Xs on Emerald’s jacket—it’s way too distracting and frankly makes an otherwise good look ugly—and the fact that she’s showing her midriff in Atlas. Hazel doesn’t have any sleeves! Oh my god, why doesn’t anyone dress for the weather in this show?

Frankly, I found their reunion to be kind of lackluster. I mean, there was nothing wrong with it. Emerald does sound briefly excited, she does run, and it’s in character for Cinder to cut her off… it just didn’t resonate with me emotionally. I thought after two volumes of thinking she’s dead, then working through the knowledge that she’s alive, that I would feel Emerald’s shock and relief more, but I didn’t. And I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t want to level any accusations at the voice acting because frankly I know next to nothing about that skill (and from what I’ve seen it’s usually praised in the fandom), but I will say that throughout the premiere I was noticing it more than I ever have before. The lack of emotion here and some awkward deliveries later, like when Yang goes, “Ruby, there is no way Ironwood will cooperate with us” and I immediately thought, “Wow, that came out stilted.” These observations stick with me because, as said, voice acting usually isn’t on my radar. It’s not something I’ve studied or had practice analyzing. If you’d never told me that Ren or Qrow’s VA changed then after a year hiatus I literally wouldn’t notice… but there’s something about this episode that didn’t sit right. Anyone else get that sense, or was it just me?

Regardless, the arrival of our other three villains really doesn’t amount to much, though I’m happy for all the Emerald and Mercury fans who get to see them in new outfits. The focus is still on Cinder as she delivers a line indicative of her true motivations: “That power will be mine.” Yeah, she’s not loyal to Salem, she’s just power hungry. Of course, Salem immediately takes note of this and raises her hand, in another nice use of the foreground, reminding her that she hasn’t given that order.

Cinder is shocked, angry even, but quickly covers it up with her “Without you I am nothing” line. If I caught it right I think she also calls Salem “Ma’am”? Hilarious. Again, skilled at playing the servant.

Also, before I forget, it’s worth noting that almost everything from our trailer appeared in this episode. Yeah, there are a few details like Nora attacking some tech and the group on their bikes, but on the whole we’ve already seen the majority of our promo material and will likely get most of the rest next week. It makes me both interested and nervous for what another twelve episodes are going to hold.

Salem opens her whale, or opens a portal type view in it, something that gives us a long-distance look at Atlas. I don’t know what exactly is going on here, but it’s pretty so I’ll take it.

She also delivers the frankly badass line, “Just because you’re more valuable to me than a pawn does not make you a player.”

She waves them all away with perfect ‘You mean nothing to me’ attitude and we sadly leave our villains.

Sad not because I don’t love my farm boy, but because things are about to get a whole lot messier.

Oscar has made his way to a camp of civilian survivors… all of whom are just hanging out in the supposedly deadly cold. Yeah, there’s a single fire, but at least four of them aren’t anywhere near it. Three of them also aren’t wearing gloves. What was that survival rate again?

A nice if gruff dude gives Oscar soup—water?—while showing off his… badger claws? I don’t know what kind of faunus he’s supposed to be, but he feels like the sort of two second, minor character who could easily become a meme lol.

Oscar thanks him (my polite son!) and hands the bowl back after a single sip. Which is impressive because I would have assumed the guy was giving me the whole bowl and just taken it. Hell, I’ve done that even when I didn’t assume it’s all for me. A Starbucks barista once approached me with a tray and a plate of samples, I knew I was supposed to take just one, yet for some reason my hand went to take the whole goddamn plate. He had to tell me off, then I was trying to explain that I didn’t actually want or think I should have eight shots of cappuccino all to myself, I don’t even like coffee, he clearly didn’t believe me… it was awkward. So good job, Oscar. You’re less awkward than me (though that’s not saying much).

Now a question, Oscar. Darling. Brilliant boy who has been through too much: why the fuck aren’t you talking to Ozpin? This will be A Thing later when he presents a lack of time to talk as justification for keeping more secrets (we’ll get to that too…) yet here is time! You’re just sitting there for who knows how long, with plenty of privacy to hide a supposedly one-sided conversation so the Mantle citizens don’t get weirded out or suspicious. Talk to Ozpin. Our headmaster gets two lines in this episode, utterly inconsequential lines like his airship scene, lines that feel like they exist to say, “See? He’s still included in the story!” even though he absolutely is not. Two volumes of mostly silence, a perfect setup to start the reconciliation process, but we’re going to put it off again?

Instead Ruby randomly and conveniently appears. I want to know how she found him. Oscar isn’t wearing a tracker. He clearly didn’t call them because he’s surprised when Ruby shows up. He fell alllllllll the way back down to Mantle and then wandered to a random part of the slums. You’re telling me they flew over the entire city—after beginning this search thinking he was in Atlas—and somehow managed to spot him from up in the air? C’mon. I would have rather had a beginning where Oscar makes his way back to the group himself, giving him and Ozpin time to hash things out.

“Need a lift?” Ruby says, eliminating that potential. Sigh.

Oscar immediately starts beating himself up when he gets onboard, saying that he “was stupid to think the General would listen.” Nah, you were stupid to buy into Ruby’s nonsensical confidence and for telling Ironwood he’s as bad as Salem. Sorry, Oscar, but everyone is written badly these days. I will, however, say that I am THRILLED at the group’s reaction to his return. Ruby says that she’s “just glad you’re alright.” Nora has a wonderfully tender moment where she hugs him gently rather than her usual glomp.

That? That added a year to my life. Everyone else seems relieved that he’s okay too, so kudos there. After four years of Oscar being an outsider in the group, this is one of the few moments that feel like he’s 100% accepted. Really glad to see it.

Now let’s see if it sticks after they learn Ozpin is back...

They fly to the Happy Huntresses’ base and I again feel like I’ve missed something crucial. When did they team up? I mean, RWBYJNOR was working directly under Ironwood up until the last hour and Robyn ran off to fight Tyrian/Clover in the last couple episodes. When did she have time to explain her (briefly) changed allegiance and why would the Happy Huntresses trust the group without that? Did Robyn share that Blake and Yang went behind Ironwood’s back for her? Do the Huntresses instinctively trust them because they’re now wanted by the military? How did they even run into each other?

Again, I think we would have been better served to have an episode before all this. Let Oscar make his way back and let the group struggle with the magnitude of their situation on the airship, before they find new allies. Transferring directly to, “They have help and a secret base and a plan in the works!” makes me feel like I missed the real premiere last week. You know, the one where Salem unexpectedly arrived and we left the group like this.

This is where we’ve ended up though. The group is cozy in this hideout, getting info from Joanna, and my only other thought is, “Why is she giving all this exposition?”

Shouldn’t it be May? I mean, we were told that she was going to play more of a role this volume, a promise that’s pretty important imo given her status as a (so far off screen) trans character, so why not put her in the role of mediator between the Happy Huntresses and RWBYJNR? Giving her that setup as a leader among her people as well as lots of lines would be meaningful. A trans character just existing and being a part of this fight! May could obviously still fill that role—I’m well aware that we’re only one episode in—but it just seems like a missed opportunity to me. Out of all the undeveloped Happy Huntresses, our premiere focuses on the one who has the least importance to the fandom.

As said, Joanna talks a fair bit but what it basically boils down to is trying to get everyone to the crater below Atlas. It’s apparently not safe, but it’s warm, which is what matters right now.

So… let me get this straight. You want to gather everyone into a not safe crater, by leading them through an army of grimm, so that they can wait there in case someone moves the Staff, thus dropping an entire city on top of their heads? That’s the plan? Which admittedly isn’t Joanna’s fault. This is another instance of RWBYJNOR having information that a leader does not and they should really consider speaking up about it. But of course they don’t.

Also, how long does everyone have in regards to the cold? Shouldn’t there be dead civilians by now? The time it would take to find the Happy Huntresses, team up with them, get settled in the base, and find Oscar says that things should be pretty grim right now (pardon the pun), yet every non-aura user in this city seems content to just hang out in the snow. Either the cold is deadly enough to justify moving everyone to the crater, or it’s mild enough to let everyone survive this long, not both.

After hugs are given everyone obviously wants to know what happened to Oscar. His response?

“It’s a… long story. I get the feeling there’s been a few of those tonight.”

That’s a check for the bingo card! We’re halfway through the first episode and we’ve already got another secret. Yes, this is a secret. Oscar actively chooses not to tell anyone that Ozpin is back—something Ozpin himself comments on—and then skillfully draws attention away from himself with “I get the feeling there’s been a few of those tonight.” Indeed, all eyes go to Penny. Oscar’s plight is forgotten, which is what he wanted. His justification?

Ozpin: “You’re not going to tell them?”

Oscar: “You and I aren’t done talking yet.”

Along with this look.

Oscar no. There’s so much wrong with this I don’t even know where to begin. Let’s create a list.

As said, you had plenty of time to talk to Ozpin and chose not to. Miss me with this excuse.

You are now doing to your friends exactly what you and your friends did to Ironwood, which in turn is what Ozpin did to you! I can’t believe we’ve got Oscar critically side-eyeing him when they are still—still—repeating the behavior they drove Ozpin away for.

What is there to even talk about now? Oscar didn’t punch himself/Ozpin (lol) but he did steal Jinn’s name from Ozpin in the first place. You got what you wanted, drove him away, and have been lying and keeping secrets ever since. The only thing they should be talking about involves apologizing. Any further criticism—which is what Oscar’s expression and curt reply suggests—is beyond hypocritical.

Seriously, what needs to be discussed? There’s no reason not to tell the group unless Oscar wants to talk about whether they should tell them. There’s no good ending here...

Don’t you think it would be nice to know that Ozpin is back and you’ve got super magic powers while making plans to save the entire world?

This is all especially stupid given Oscar’s “Salem wants to divide us” reminder to Ruby in a moment. Oscar, you are doing the most to divide the group right now. By not forgiving Ozpin. By refusing to work with him. By keeping him secret from everyone else.

This is bad, friends, I worry for what the rest of the volume will bring…

The story is done with Ozpin for now so I guess I will be too. The group continues filling Oscar in and we get some shots of the base, including a rather prominent poster of what I assume are two Happy Huntresses. Did they die in battle perhaps?

It’s a little strange.

Oscar: “Where’s Qrow?”

Me: “Likely still making bad decisions.”

No one knows so they just drop it. Which I kind of get, only so much you can do to find him if he’s not out on the streets like Oscar, but it still reads as kind of iffy that two nieces look down at the ground for a hot second and then move on with their plans, content to leave Qrow to whatever fate befell him. In a minute we’ll see Yang firmly take Ren’s side regarding helping the people they can in Mantle, which frankly comes out of nowhere for her. I think an easy motivation would have been Qrow. Ruby wants to save the world, Yang wants to find and save their uncle, and that just happens to align with Ren’s desire to save the civilians who need immediate grimm and cold help. Don’t get me wrong, I like that there’s finally some division between the sisters, I just wish it hadn’t come about so abruptly. Ren had setup for standing up to Ruby. Yang did not.

But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Joanna lists the grimm horde and no heat as the major threats to everyone. The group agrees.

Me: What about Salem?

Joanna says that this is all doubly dangerous because there’s “no more military protection.”

Me: Oh, so now you want the military?

This is all so disjointed. Even more-so when Joanna mentions that Ironwood has stopped all evacuations to Atlas, likely due to the “hard light shields” that are the only thing standing between Salem and the city. Thing is, the show never makes this connection, I just did it myself based on this scene and the one that comes later. The show presents Joanna’s line as a pure condemnation. Ironwood won’t let more evacuees in because… he’s just evil, I guess. Yet there is a justification here, namely that continuing the evacuations even while he’s stuck without Penny leaves him wide open to a Salem attack, the death of everyone currently safe, but that argument is never presented to the viewer. I don’t need people to agree with Ironwood’s perspective, I just wish that perspective was offered as an option. The show is very good about acting like RWBYJNOR’s opinion is the only justified opinion, or simply the only opinion at all.

After everything is laid out Weiss goes, “We’re never going to sleep again, I just know it.”

I could make a crack about the lack of continuity and how the group should be collapsing right now… but that was a funny line. It can stay.

What is far more of a problem is the fact that no one is talking about Salem. Okay, that’s a lie. They do talk about her, but in a roundabout way like her presence isn’t impacting every decision they make. That’s the real issue. They’re acting as if Salem isn’t here right now, like she’s off far away, maybe approaching slowly, and they’re arguing over how best to prep the world for her eventual attack. There’s no emotion here—let alone action—to reflect that the series’ Big Bad has arrived and is poised to murder them all. Literally what is this? Ruby is yelling about warning the world and, ignoring the continued question of why that’s a good thing when the world can do nothing to stop Salem and knowledge of her continually drives people to horrible acts, she has yet to acknowledge that… she’s the world? Ruby is the world in this conflict. She, Mantle, and Atlas. Salem is here for you all. Right now. You are, this instant, in the situation you want to warn others about, so why don’t you try to do something about it? Or at least acknowledge it. Ruby wants to warn the neighborhood about a potential fire while her house is actively ablaze, and the fire could have totally killed her by now but decided not to for… reasons.

“Ruby’s right,” Nora says. They have to tell the world so “they can prepare.” How? How are they supposed to prepare for this? The story cannot continue ignoring Salem’s immortality.

“Ruby’s right,” is all Blake says and I’m starting to thinks that’s why her character exists now, to agree with Ruby. It’s great that she’s getting a little distance from Yang, but man.

As Ruby asks whether Pietro can get Amity up and running despite it not being finished (called it) we start an incredibly odd sequence of flashforwards to their individual missions. I’ve seen a lot of praise for this already and though I agree that, in theory, it’s a good way to save time, I found the actual execution to be jarring. Upon thinking back through our timeline, it became clear they were flashforwards, but while watching I thought they might be flashbacks (especially since that’s more common).

Some of the shots, like Nora’s, just look awkward when you’ve got the exact expression and pose transplanted from one scene to another, like she’s a cardboard cutout behind a green screen. To say nothing of how the flashforwards ruin any suspense (I use that word loosely) in the conversation itself. If the question is, “Will they decide to go to the military compound?” then that question is answered when we see Ruby scoping out the compound, not when the group actually decides on the course of action.

It just made an already muddled scene worse for me, so I hope this trend doesn’t continue.

And of course, Amity can be used despite all the info last volume claiming that it wasn’t finished. Pietro suddenly acts like it is finished and the only thing standing in their way is Ironwood providing access. If that were the case, he would have used Amity weeks or days ago like he wanted to! When was it finished? Not after Watts commented on how incomplete it was. When did they get back the resources they needed from Robyn? It’s as ridiculous and retcon-y as I thought it would be.

Yang points out that Ironwood will never listen to them and Ruby counters that “he doesn’t have to.” They’ll just take the access from him. Because why wouldn’t they in a series where they’ve already stolen two airships? Stealing from the super evil military that Joanna wishes were helping them right now is just the group’s go-to plan nowadays.

Pietro isn’t sold on this plan though. He lists at least three obstacles they’d need to get through “and then… oh boy, I might need to think about this some more.” “And just to clarify,” Oscar says, “This is the easy option?” Um...no it’s not? We also know there’s an access point in Ironwood’s office so… why not go there instead? They really think the Academy is less guarded than the military base? There’s a potential justification here along the lines of, “After Neo and Cinder broke into his office Ironwood will have the place on high alert,” but unless I missed it the group doesn’t assume anything like that. They just listen to Pietro point out all the ways they can’t get into the military base and jump straight to that being the best option. It feels like a transparent way to create conflict for the group. We’ll just have them taking the most dangerous route despite an easy route being offered alongside it. Why bother mentioning his office at all? Just have the access in the military base. Boom, done.

It’s that conflict and the fact that Ruby tends to hear “You can’t” and digs in her heels. You can’t go to Atlas. I’ll just steal a ship then. You can’t defeat Salem. Watch me. You can’t break into this base. Guess what I’m doing! She’s dangerous in her fairy tale, meta-driven insistence that everything will turn out her way because she wants it to.

Speaking of, we finally—FINALLY—get someone challenging Ruby. Sort of. Not actually but it’s the closest we’ve ever gotten:

Yang: “Ruby, when we came here we said we’d follow your lead… but things haven’t exactly worked out.”

Now, there are two things to take away from this moment. The first is how utterly shocked Ruby and the others are. I mean, take a look at these expressions.

Ruby straight up can’t believe what she’s hearing. Weiss put her hand to her mouth like this is the most dramatic thing to ever happen to her. Oscar looks down in a ‘Yeah, I agree but please don’t look at me and make me admit that’ way. And Nora looks indifferent in the screenshot but animated she goes sort of stern, likely pissed that Yang would dare say that given her own agreement with Ruby. This not only reiterates that Yang’s challenge came out of nowhere—seriously, how did we move from following Ruby no matter what to this? Last volume she asked a single question along the lines of, ‘You sure?’ and when Ruby said ‘Yes’ Yang was entirely on board—but also demonstrates that no one has EVER said no to her before. Ruby is amazed that someone would challenge her. The act of challenging Ruby is, in and of itself, shocking. This group has gotten so used to following Ruby blindly that the teensiest little pushback is greeted with this.

Because it is teensy. This is the second takeaway: Yang barely challenges her and that challenge leads nowhere. She doesn’t accuse Ruby of anything, she doesn’t question her continued authority, she just broadly implies that things could be better. We followed you, now things are bad, take from that what you will. It’s incredibly mild as far as criticism goes, making the shock all the more, well, shocking, but it also amounts to—wait for it—nothing! Because Yang didn’t truly challenge Ruby’s leadership. She’s still in charge, she’s still calling the shots, and they’re still listening to her. We might have gotten some change if this division had been allowed to play out, but instead Jaune comes in with a, “Let’s go for both!” solution. It let’s both groups get what they want which, in turn, releases them from the need to grapple with whether they’ll listen to Ruby when she’s advocating for something they don’t agree with. We have now lost the chance to see whether, when push comes to shove, Ren and Yang will cave to Ruby’s will or stick by their own beliefs.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s more conflict than we’ve gotten in years, but that doesn’t mean it’s particularly compelling conflict. It’s good by RWBY’s standards, which doesn’t necessarily make it good. The actual issues at hand—Ruby’s dangerous arrogance, the group’s loyalty, her choices up until now—are just swept under the rug. For all the visuals we get insisting that there’s this great divide in the group… there’s really not. Not in any way that matters.

Also, Ruby is an idiot. Okay, that was mean, but she really is in this scene. She’s actually not an idiot overall because she was written as wonderfully intelligent in the early volumes, but now? Lately? She makes me want to bang my head against a wall.

“But that’s how Salem got this far,” she cries. “By dividing us!”

Ruby… oh my god, Ruby. No one should have to explain to you that dividing people means turning them against each other, not literally dividing your team to complete separate tasks. This girl honestly thought that because there was this teensy disagreement and that half the team would complete Plan A while she and the other half completed Plan B, both of which notably work towards the goal of, “Protect people from Salem,” that this was somehow what Salem wanted. That is was dangerous. Honestly, it’s a scary look at her view of leadership too: If everyone doesn’t 100% agree with me and do what I say, that’s an objectively bad thing that the grimm queen wants, right? Does Ruby think that unification means following a single person (her) without question or variation? That would explain a lot...

The fact that Oscar needs to explain the difference to her is not good. It really doesn’t say great things about this version of Ruby. Though he was comparing Ironwood to Salem last volume, so really they should all be wearing dunce hats.

Penny offers to take the relic directly to Salem in exchange for her leaving the kingdom alone. I honestly didn’t expect that. If anyone took that risk I would have put my money on Ozpin (but of course, during all this talk of the women he knows best, he’s kept quiet). Oscar is again the voice of wisdom, pointing out that they have no reassurance that Salem will keep her word. At least Penny is thinking about Salem as a threat though, so kudos for that. When this plan is shot down she volunteers to get Ruby past the military security instead and, uh, she’s a little intense about it.

I’m not entirely sure what is going on with Penny. She disagreed with Winter but then seemed to come around to her point of view, enough to help anyway. They had another (stupid) disagreement about the value of individual lives, so that helps to explain why she’s teaming up with RWBYJNOR (if you ignore that Ironwood is also trying to save individual lives...). Did watching Fria die shake her up? Is it being the Winter Maiden that’s not sitting right? Does Penny have lingering feelings about the framing that haven’t shown up until now? Her status as a ‘real girl’? We’ve got a lot of reasons that could definitely explain this sudden need to fight, but we’re not told which—if any of these—is the driving force.

We’re then given a lot of little details. Someone points out that if Salem gets the staff and “create[s] anything else” then Atlas will fall (so yeah, let’s move the people underneath it). We still don’t know what exactly the Staff does because “creation” is kind of broad and “powering a city to float” doesn’t seem to sit within that category at all. Pietro gives Yang the keys to his lab so they can get the bikes. We see the group dividing in the flashforwards, something I do like, especially since the show has gone out of its way to break up most of the usual duos. Nora in particular is pissed at Ren for his choice.

“Oh, I’m saving Mantle because I actually believe we can do this.”

#yikes. Well, I did say I wanted a conflict other than ‘Oh no, one of us might die’ and it looks like I got it. But Nora, the only reason you can do this is because the plot is in your corner: none of you are collapsing from two major fights, you didn’t lose your aura so the cold isn’t a danger, the military is barely a threat all of a sudden, Salem is helpfully hanging out in her whale instead of killing you, and the story decided that Amity can function so long as you all are the ones who get to use it. That’s why you can do this. Ren, who follows in-world logic and doesn’t want to risk a whole kingdom’s worth of lives on a pipe dream, thinks differently, oddly enough.

As they leave though Penny gets a call from Ironwood. I know precisely what the fandom is going to say here: “This evil man is just trying to use Penny to open the vault!” Of course he is. He needs it open to save everyone he can, Penny included. Plus the concept of “using” her is a double-edged sword. What do we think the group is doing right now? Using her to get past the security. Penny’s power is a tool any way you slice it. Granted, Penny volunteers to help the group, but notably here Ruby speaks for her. Penny seems torn and Ruby takes the scroll away with, “She’s not going anywhere until you change your mind about Mantle.”

Sorry, Ruby, but coming from you that sounds less like a reassurance for Penny and more like just an order for Ironwood. Remember Harriet? We’ll stop attacking you provided you do what we want. Ruby has yet to learn about compromises, let alone acknowledge that she might be wrong. How about you let Penny decide where she goes, especially since by all logic she should have a lot of loyalty to Ironwood. She knew him before she ever met you. She’s worked with him since she was rebuild post-Volume 3. Despite what Penny has said, if the story would just let her think about his actions for a hot second—making her the protector of Mantle, sticking up for her after the framing, sending her to the party, teaming her up with Ruby, etc.—she might realize that the ‘He doesn’t want me to have friends’ and ‘He just treats me like a tool’ assumptions are just that, unfounded assumptions. But no, Ruby speaks for them both because Ironwood is evil now.

“If she makes it through our defenses,” Ironwood says, “everything that follows will be on your hands.”

That’s true! Kind of like how it’s own Qrow’s hands that Clover died. When you insist on making a bad situation worse you hold responsibility when the shit hits the fan. You know though that Salem won’t get through their defenses now, somehow, so that there’s no chance RWBYJNOR will be blamed for it. Or, by that point Ironwood will be so crazed that anything coming out of his mouth is dismissed, no matter how accurate it might be.

We then transfer to the Ace Ops who are, despite what the fandom theorized for many months, clearly upset about Clover. Also pissed. Which they have every right to be. Their friend and leader was killed. Imagine for a moment that Ruby had been murdered by Tyrian with an allies’ help. Exactly what do you think the group would do? Swallow it quietly and get over it? Ha.

I’ve already seen some speculation that Clover survived due to details like showing us the bandage and his room being listed as for a “Patient,” but he looks pretty dead to me.

He got gutted through the chest and left out in the snow for who knows how long. We saw him slip away. Qrow screamed over his dead body. He’s not breathing now. If RWBY suddenly claims he survived this, I’m calling BS.

Most of the other visuals we get here were already dropped in the trailer. Winter is pretty injured from her encounter with Cinder, likely permanently based on her new outfit. Ironwood had to replace his arm—and I am calling BS on that “Losing his arm is reflective of him losing his humanity” commentary from RT. Please go read up on a couple decades worth of ableism in media and then get back to me.

We get Ironwood’s line about the light shields and, notably, a whole lot of empathy. Regardless of what he might want Penny for, he still called her with compassion. He’s watching the Ace Ops mourn their friend. He’s talking about protecting his kingdom. The first thing he says to Winter is, “Thank you, Winter. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Ironwood has a heart! It’s always on display, which makes this scene utterly ridiculous.

I literally don’t know how to respond to this. The gunshot made me jump, both because it’s a gunshot and because, again, what the fuck? I know I said that next volume RT might just have Ironwood descend into full villainy, shooting whoever he pleases now that he’s shot Oscar, but I didn’t actually expect them to do it. Because he never should have shot Oscar in the first place! I wanted the story to let Oscar grapple with it a bit and then quietly backtrack, acknowledging it as the mistake it was. The concept that Ironwood, empathetic Ironwood, rational Ironwood, always thinks before he acts Ironwood, let’s kids yell at him Ironwood, tried to team up with Robyn Ironwood, did everything Ruby wanted Ironwood, won’t kill Watts after he destroyed his arm Ironwood would shoot this guy just to shut him up is absurd. It was absurd then, it’s absurd now.

That being said, there’s a possibility he didn’t actually shoot the council member, but rather just (“just”) gave a warning shot down the hallway. I say this because the reactions to this are pretty tame. Everyone looks startled, yeah, but after the initial shot there’s nothing that I would expect if there was now a guy bleeding out on the floor. The council woman doesn’t scream. Winter doesn’t seem overly shocked. No one is running to try and help him. Basically, if Ironwood had just killed a political figure in front of six witnesses, entirely unprovoked, I would expect a bit more of a reaction than this. This feels far more like a, “Damn he’s not joking around, letting off warning shots to get people to leave him alone” not “WOW, our general just killed someone in cold blood!”

What I really hate though—beyond just assassinating his character—is how many fans think my friends and I are delusional for calling it character assassination at all. I hopped onto the RWBY tag for five minutes this morning and was bombarded with posts about how Ironwood needs to be murdered horrifically, anyone who likes him is sick, the Ironwood stans are as bad as Adam stans, you’re an idiot if you want him redeemed… because apparently the concept of a story writing a character badly doesn’t compute. I’m not here to argue that Ironwood didn’t do these awful things (regardless of whether he actually killed the guy or not). I’m not here to argue that they’re not awful. I’m just here to say that we never should have gotten these scenes in the first place, or if we were going to get them, we deserved an actual descent into murder at the drop of a hat territory. I’ve already explained extensively on this blog how early Ironwood was not accurate foreshadowing for this, and Volume 7 certainly wasn’t setup, but it looks like the majority of fans aren’t interested in examining whether any of this adds up. Which makes my job, as someone trying to examine this series somewhat objectively—in as much as that’s possible for any single viewer—as well as simply enjoy it as a show, really hard. It’s bad enough when a story keeps taking the characters you love and villainizing them, and doing that badly, but then when you turn to the community and see them rallying around the idea that you’re awful for being dissatisfied—you’re the bootlicker, you’re the blind stan, you can’t see what’s ‘really’ going on here… that sucks. For those of you happy and satisfied with Ironwood’s arc, that’s great! I’ve also seen a lot of posts hyping up the complexity of his character now. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying what we’ve been given and I’d never want to imply that just because it’s not what I wanted it’s somehow wrong. I’m honestly thrilled that after a year of worry so many people have adored our premiere, including this scene. I just wish that I could say RWBY had given me something I didn’t want in a persuasive manner and that the fandom as a whole was a bit more welcoming of differing criticisms.

Not that I didn’t already know the RWBY fandom had its flaws, but still lol.

That’s basically it for our premiere. Nice note to end on, huh? Our final scene is of Salem using the lamp to set her bloodhound grimm on the city. Why doesn’t she just go herself? What was she planning to do here in Atlas in the first place, considering that getting the relic was a surprise? Who knows. Little about this holds together. But we do end with another awesome shot, so small favors.

It’s always strange concluding a recap, but even more-so when it’s a premiere, during a historical moment in the U.S., amidst all the nonsense that is 2020. So for now I’ll just conclude with three quick things:

The updated bingo board will be listed at the end of each recap, provided I don’t forget about it lol. Today I’m checking off tone (not nearly enough freaking out about Salem), the team keeping secrets (Oscar), and major plot point dropped (Amity is suddenly finished). I could also probably check off the cold not killing civilians and getting Amity up and running, but we’ll see if any changes with those.

I’m including my Ko-Fi link at the end of recaps now. Not with any expectations. Not with anything resembling pressure. I thought long and hard over whether to include it at all—let alone mention it here—because I love doing these and never want anyone to feel like it comes with strings attached. But life is a little harder and weirder than it was last year, so I figure it can’t hurt. Feel free to pass on by and I won’t be bringing it up past this note.

Far more importantly: thank you for reading! :D

(Bonus 4. Editing this was an absolute nightmare — damn you, tumblr! — so I apologize if anything is super wonky when I finally post.)

See you next week! 💜

[Ko-Fi]

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #mymetas #rwby recaps

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virgil-writes · 3 years ago

Photo

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 8 - great expectations

SFW, but usual blood/gore warning. around 3.5K words.

He barely remembers getting dressed and returning to his quarters after such a relaxing shower. At some point he had slipped inside his pants and slid an undershirt on, thrown himself at the desk chair and poured over plans and schematics, a mess of paper and far more motor oil than necessary. He had written and read until his eyes had grown tired, like every other night, fighting off sleep to the best of his ability. He could sleep when he was dead, or when she was dead, when he was far away from this hellhole, when nothing awaited him come morning.

Some nights he would skip it altogether, keep his eyes wide open when his mind was too fraught with dreadful thoughts. He knew what would come if he finally closed his eyes, the memories that he worked so hard to put away. A dream, it was only a dream, he would tell himself over and over, but it was hard to believe it when he would wake up drenched in sweat and tears, throat sore from screaming at the top of his lungs, that all too familiar twinge of sadness and terror balling up in his chest. It was hard to believe and hard to forget, because he would see it when he held the wrench, when he brought a cup to his lips, when he pressed the buttons to get the conveyor belt running. His hands shook, his fingers lost their strength, and then we would remember it all. It was not real, but it had been once, and he is unsure whether the knowledge makes things better or worse.

Heisenberg remembers nothing but the familiar tingle on his fingertips, the numbness that overtook him, anxiety and fear washing over him like he had been engulfed in a sea of darkness. The scribbles on the paper would be evidence of how he had lost control the night before, how he had pressed the pencil hard to try and force himself to focus, to keep going. The cut on his forehead would tell him that he exhaustion had taken the reigns and he had fallen face first into the table, head hitting the metal clamp and inadvertently helping lull him to sleep.

Much to his surprise, that night, when Heisenberg closed his eyes, he was greeted with the blissful sight of nothing. Head void of dreams, of nightmares, body protesting with the awkward way he’d scattered over his work station, but nothing else. The cut had stained some papers with blood and drool had ruined some others; his arms felt numb in the morning, as they had been left hanging off the desk with his head and neck as the only support. It took him a good few stretches of his hands to feel his fingers again - all things considered, this had been a much better night than most.

If the night was almost-pleasant, the morning was anything but. A hot gust of air blew in when the factory kicked into gear with full force, like it did every day around this time, the whirring of blades and purring of engines his usual white noise. Only this time there was an intruder, a high pitched, repetitive sound that threatened to pierce his eardrums - he woke up to the incessant sound of his phone ringing. The thing sat just inside his office, an old landline that Miranda had insisted on him keeping in case she needed to speak to him urgently. She would call him every now and again, but more often than not it was his siblings that would bother him. Moreau would call to ask if he had found any old VHS tapes or old fiction books, Donna would ask him for blades and all manner of crazy-looking schematics built. Alcina rarely called, but given her interest in the bloodsucking beast that prowled the woods, he was certain that would change very soon.

Not that he intended to answer any of them, naturally. Nine times out of ten he was nowhere near the dumb phone to answer, which made Mother angry and him even angrier, because the last thing he wanted was to interrupt important research to tend to any of their petty, cruel whims. When she called, invariably he would be thrust into something barbarous and despicable; she wanted someone kidnapped, or killed, or turned into a monstrosity. She wanted him to spy or intimidate, put on his best scary mask and drill the fear of the Black God into someone’s mind. She never once asked if his research went well, if he was doing well, and though it had been years of such abuse, he could not help but feel the sting of it every time he heard her speak. Somewhere deep down, he still held onto a sliver of hope that she cared; and she would always dig deeper and deeper, until she found it and choked his feelings to death.

Heisenberg lazily lifted his head, right arm coming up to wipe away the drool at the corner of his mouth, eyes hurting under the bright industrial lights coming in through the window. A strand of hair had sneaked into his eye when he blinked, such a small nuisance upsetting him even further, a simple strand of hair that felt like the devil’s toothpick stabbing his eyeball. The phone had stopped for a few seconds only to resurge like the wailing of a baby, and the ringing prompted him to shoot up and off his armchair in a flash, too disoriented and uncomfortable to fully register what was going on. He almost fell on his way to the phone, tripping over his unbuttoned pants, annoyance levels rising with every step. He rubbed his eyes as he approached the offending object, flicked the room’s light on like it would help him hear better. At least it would keep him awake.

“Heisenberg,” came the voice from the other side, sweet and soft-spoken, domineering and stubborn. “Any news on our quarry?” Our quarry, he mouthed to himself mockingly. As if any of it was a team effort, as if he had anything to gain from this little adventure. Well, as it turns out, he did, but lady super-sized bitch didn’t need to know that. The damn hair was still stuck somewhere between his eyelashes. “A little bird told me you left the forest quite late last night.” A little bird would die a horrible, horrible death as soon as he discovered who it was that had agreed to his sister’s asinine plan of meddling in his business.

“Oh hey, sis. Surprised you get reception all the way up there.” He heard her huff of annoyance, chuckled in response. It bought him enough time to figure out exactly what he would tell her. Hey, yeah, turns out your monster is actually this gorgeous lady with a pair of tits big enough to rival any fertility goddess’? “Slippery little thing, that monster of yours. Found some bodies, some blood,” truth was always easier to tell than lies. “Caught a glimpse of something, too, but it disappeared in the middle of the trees before I could grab it. Little shit gave me the loop, took me quite a while to find the way back.” Heisenberg could practically hear her chest rising and falling as she breathed excitedly, happy to hear something, anything, even if it was a blatant lie. He could hear her nails hitting against wood impatiently, stringing together a tune he did not recognize. “What do you want with this thing anyway, needing a new pet?” Quite the funny thought, really. He was suddenly curious to know if the little witch would put up a fight as a tight collar was snapped around her neck.

“Am I right to assume you will return to the forest soon for another search?” Oh, most definitely, though his intentions were far different from what she expected. She continued without waiting for his answer, clearly aware that he would retort in the crassest manner possible. “I will see you handsomely rewarded once I have it in my possession, brother. House Dimitrescu does not forget such acts of service.” And there it was, brother, the greatest honor she would grant him, a compliment reserved for moments like these, when she desperately needed his help and no one else’s would do.

Blah, blah, blah. What was she going to offer him, a maiden? A scrawny lady with bruises big enough to make one believe her skin was purple, bones showing through her ribs and threatening to poke out at any moment? He had long decided against experimenting on women - they were always so weak and fragile, he would tell himself. Had long left behind his whoring days, too, far too focused on his research to let himself be distracted by a pair of tits. Oh, right; the irony. What else could she give him? A casket of wine made of blood of an innocent, with its thick bouquet of brutality and mercilessness?

She could offer him riches, influence, her undying loyalty. The only reward he wanted was to see her fractured into a thousand tiny pieces, nothing left of her and her daughters but the crystal cores they would dissolve into. The jewelry he would keep, the crystals he would sell to the Duke for a hefty price; the dust he would gather, send to an artist to mix into paint and commission a portrait of himself in his best work attire, his beat up trench coat and ragged hat. To make a statement, his fly would be open and his dick out in the painting, forever immortalizing him as the large, hard Lord of the Castle. With the money he would buy the best brewery he could find and have it make the worst beer, call it Lady D’s Fresh Piss, all in her honor, naturally.

He would bring over his suitcase and set up shop in the castle, tear down every reference to the Dimistrescu family and replace it with cheap replicas of innocent, idyllic landscapes, and dozens of horrible quality photos of his face. The extra large milk pail she called a hat would be used for entertainment when he gathered guests over, shoot the ball into the dead lady’s hat or take another shot. His soldats would clean house, kill every last monster in the basement, replace those god-awful torture tools with something else, anything else - maybe pigs, to pay homage to his dear sister. He would then fire all maids and forbid them from ever setting foot inside the place again, hire an all-male crew to tend to the estate and leave him well enough alone. On a clear day he would grab all of their expensive dresses, the paperwork that dignified her as gentry, her snob literature and photo albums, pile them all into the courtyard and burn it all, the vineyard alongside it, then light his cigar in the blaze and smoke it while facing the inferno, the flames reflecting beautifully on the lenses of his glasses. Once it had all turned to cinders he would strip before going through the front door, waltz around the place while rubbing his dick on all of her favorite spots. He would dump all of her fine wine in the biggest, smelliest cesspool, grab the revenue from the last shipment and throw it from atop the church in the village to watch the peasants fight each other for riches that were supposed to be hers.

Perhaps best of all, he would invite Alcina’s little monster over, encourage her to come in while dragging all the dirt and mud gathered on her bare feet. He would give her a tour of the castle, allow her to decorate every room with a harvest wreath or handmade candle, let her cover the posh couches with handmade quilted throws. Together they would roll up the fancy carpet and throw it in the fireplace, lay down the most unrefined of straw tapestries in its place. The mantle would be a display of their crudeness and peasantry, his schematics and forgotten bits of scrap metal, her incenses and rune-inscribed bones and whatever else her little heart desired. He would allow her to have her pick of his sister’s jewelry, try and convince her to take them all, to wear nothing but her favorite set as she danced under the skylight of the atelier, the flames of all tolling bells and the bright shine of the moon as the only source of light for their unholy, delicious rituals.

When silence settled he would grab her waist and pull her closer, whisper in her ear the most delectable of invitations. Together they would desecrate every last corner of the castle, from the halls to the belfry and the stairwells to the balconies, the cries of agony the place had come to be known for replaced by their sounds of pleasure. When they were far too tired to continue they would work together in the kitchen, he would help her prepare a bloodless meal that they would savor watching the wide open doors to the courtyard. He would sit at Alcina’s spot, ignore every single piece of flatware and eat with his bare hands, audibly chew on every morsel. He would draw every curtain and open every window, let the gelid gale wipe away any trace of her and her daughters. Late at night, he would carry his prized lady up the stairs to her quarters, gently place her on the giant bed and cover her with the decadent expensive sheets. She would ask him to stay, and he would, hold her close as she slumbered and he stared at the top of the canopy and let out a tired sigh almost a hundred years in the making. He would be free, and he would have claimed it all, a fitting end to his sordid tale.

If he wasn’t sure Alcina would rise from the grave and put herself back together out of sheer spite, the whole thing didn’t sound half bad.

Heisenberg barely registered whatever she said after, far too immersed in his little happy place to give a shit. She had talked for what seemed like hours, something about training the beast to present it to Mother Miranda, to allow her to experiment and find out what sort of things they could learn of such a splendorous mutation. Some illusions of grandeur sprinkled here and there, the very obvious wish to become the best, most adored child. He felt like Alcina wished Mother would descend upon her in a ray of light, to lift her up and away towards the heavens to take a place at her side. What a load of crap, though he had to admit it was far more than he would have given her credit for when she came up with this sordid little plan.

At some point, she finally realized she had said too much, exposed too much of her grand plan, had become too excited with the prospect of having that admiration within her reach. That, or she had grown tired of sounding too friendly with the riffraff. She quickly finished saying her piece and hung up without waiting for him to say goodbye, wishing him good luck on the hunt, reminding him she had great expectations. As did he.

He found his mind wandering back to his little witch in the woods as he placed the handle back on its hook. Where did she even come from, anyway? Was she born in that miserable place, brought up among the failed experiments of this village in middle of nowhere, Romania? Did she know how to use money, or were the lei they used foreign to her? He had it in good confidence that she could read, considering all the books he had seen around, but did she know how to write? Had she ever seen electricity at work, or had her life been lived under candlelight? Could she drive a car? Operate a telephone? Did she have toilet paper in her outhouse or did she wipe her ass with ferns or something of the sort? How did she find out about nail polish, of all things?

Had she ever lived outside that lousy shack? Did she ever get a taste of luxury, of fine wine, scrumptious desserts, someone to cook and feed her, maidens to attend to her? Had she always worked the land and tended to livestock, gathered herbs and berries in the forest? Had she cared for her parents or grandparents and learned her trade then, offered her services to lice-ridden villagers when they were no longer in the picture? Had they ever met, some day when he was too busy with his own sorrow to notice her, to take in the beauty that had come to haunt him so? Had she ever shared her body with someone, with a lucky lad or lass that caught her vulnerable and willing on a lonely night? Did she… Did she think of him, as much as he had begun to think of her?

Her shroud of blood and mystery, alongside Alcina’s excitement over the prospect of having her torn apart, had a strange feeling seep within his bones, a pang of anguish tugging at his heartstrings. All the more reason for him to hide the truth for as long as he could - even if the witch turned out to be just really clever with herbs and some hallucinogens, he wouldn’t give dear sister the pleasure of sinking those rusty nails into her flesh. Not when he had so much to discover.

Finally alone with his thoughts and away from his fantasies, he looked down at himself to see his shirt tousled, the fly on his pants undone. He had slept alright, although passed out might be a better description. In his defense, he had tried to fall asleep like a normal human being: sat down and let his mind go blank, eyes firmly shut to try and get some rest. But try as he might, he always startled as he was about to drift off, the sight of the dark horse dissolving into a puddle of blood right before his very eyes, of Sturm’s decapitated arms almost comically flying in his direction. Rage followed soon after - another failure, another waste of time. How would he make that thing rise again? He was then caught in the infinite loop of thinking, and planning, and burning out in frustration, until he could carry on no more.

Of course. He remembered it now, what had finally lulled him to sleep, in the throes of his despair. The way she had distracted him with a well-placed, gentle hand on his face, to work her magic and make his pain disappear, to preserve the secret she worked so hard to maintain. The gash on his hand that had left no trace, the lycans and moroaicas dead but not quite. The way she seemed to have a knack for putting things back together again, to prop them up on strings and have them dance like a puppeteer would. If he brought her here into his den, allowed her a glimpse of his work - would she be able to help him? Would she want to?

At first, he had thought the whole thing was bullshit. So maybe she knew a few plants, knew how to make a mean incense to get him high as a kite and seeing shit. Maybe she had some medical training and could put a nose back in its place, big deal. Maybe she held the world record on fastest, most painless stitching of human flesh, and was in cahoots with the Duke to use whatever seemingly magical substance he put in his antiseptic solution. Whatever she was smoking to say that she could actually heal things, that she might just be able to murder Mother Miranda - he wanted some.

And yet the more he thought of it, the less sense it all made. Her touch was unmistakable when she held his chin up, when the monster’s wispy tendrils had done the same. There was no doubt that she had, indeed, healed his wounds. The decapitated heads were very much alive, the blood pungent, the bite as painful as it should be. If she had killed them, how had she brought them back to life? How had she kept them alive on borrowed time, negated the effects the very creator of the Cadou could not avoid? How far did her powers go? Were they powers, like his and Moreau’s and Donna’s and Alcina’s, or a clever trick of the mind?

Whatever the case, Miranda had spent the better part of a century trying to bring back a dead girl in the body of another, necromancy a far too advanced concept for her young mind back in the late twenties. She had spent countless hours, spilled gallons upon gallons of innocent blood, spread a disease that they no longer had control over in the lycans, all for naught. And suddenly some creepy girl at the ass-end of the woods was the second coming of Jesus? She had knocked him on his ass and somehow morphed into this giant mass of blood that would make the hairiest of grunts shit their pants. If there was any chance that she was for real, then it would change everything. The possibilities were endless. He just needed to tell apart the bullshit from the truth.

#resident evil #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x reader #virgil writes #a rather chill chapter but next comes soon

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yandere-society · 5 years ago

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Candy Man

Synopsis: Stepping into the world-famous Hope World Candy Factory the day of Valentine’s Day, you are filled with an overwhelming number of sweets and surprises. As a confectionary lover, this is your dream, to not only see the inside of the glittering multi-colored building, but maybe get a glimpse of the interesting man behind all the delicious desserts. There’s also something here, lingering behind every jelly bean wall or chocolate cove. After getting separated from a tour group, you think maybe this was a mistake to come in here so carefree. There may be something sinister behind these seemingly harmless candies.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Word Count: 4,300+

Admin: @mintedmango

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Trigger warnings: Yandere-themes, mentions of death/murder, mentions of gore, blood, passing out/fainting, knives, improvised weapons, being tied down/restrained, hospital beds, unhealthy thinking relationships, cannibalism.

The skin of your lips was being peeled off by your teeth as you nervously flit from foot to foot on your elevator ride up the see-through jelly tube. You could see almost every chocolate cove and red vine tree from the pink tubing your tour group was being brought down to. Your heart was pumping rapidly with a mix of excited and full of tension, and your empty stomach was rumbling as butterflies fluttered, trapped inside. You weren’t sure anymore if not eating this morning to make room for all the sweets that one could possibly enjoy was a good idea.

You were so anxious you could hardly stand it. Ever since you learned that the infamous Hope World Candy Factory was opening up one day to the public for the first time, you decided you just had to fly across the country and see it for yourself. You’ve loved the company and all the creations that they make ever since you had your first Daydream Bar at the tender age of five.

All you had to do was buy a ticket for the factory (that costs a pretty, pretty penny, mind you) and you were set for the whole day!

The only catch though was that it was only open on Valentine’s Day and it was strictly for couples to come and enjoy a romantic, sweet-filled day in the candy factory...

And of course, you were as single as single could be.

That’s just how life goes, right?

The elevator lurches to a halt suddenly and you almost stop breathing, your excitement overwhelming you.

“Everyone, step lightly, we have much to see!” Says a stout woman with green hair and carrot-colored skin as she ushers everyone out of the tube and into a dim room with a tiny, tiny door at the end of the hallway. “Now,” she whispers, as she grabs what looks to be different colored (and probably flavored you assume) gelatin keys and sticks a goldenrod one through the small keyhole. “Beyond this door is where you get to roam the marvelous Grand Garden.”

You gulp, mind full of wonder and awe as you watch her turn the key, and it glitters and sparkles with the bright light beyond the door, much like your eyes right now.

From the moment of purchasing your own golden ticket, you have been scouring the internet in hopes you would find more info about the Hope World Factory and the mysterious secrets it keeps locked up tight behind its doors. There wasn’t much on the Jung family or the current CEO of the factory. Just rumors of an immense and large edible garden, with so much grandeur and thought put into it, it was something straight out of a fairy tale book.

“Everything is edible.” She states with a smile before pushing open the door. “But please be advised to stay within the walls of the garden with your partner, or you could end up in some serious… hot chocolate.”

A few people in your group snicker at her sweet-treated pun, but you can’t focus on anything except seeing what is beyond that bland-colored door, wanting to know if the rumors of splendor are true. Your palms are sweaty and your mind blank with anticipation.

“Please come back to this door, under the raspberry truffle tree in one hour!” She smiles as she finally pushes the door open for you all to run inside, and see what the Jung family has been hiding for decades. “It’s something out of your purest imagination!”

Speaking of Jung family, you wonder if the rumors are true: the family's youngest son is in charge of the factory now, after his sister got engaged to a rival candy company’s heir. So many whispers and hush-hush with this family, you swear! Deep down you really wanted gossip and drama from them, as selfish as that sounds. You wish they were a little bit messy and spill their internal secrets to the world. So you only really knew what the internet and late-night television hosts would spread amongst the airways, which were usually ridiculous words of slander and vile garbage.

But what you do know about the famous sweet CEO was that he has an amazing taste in everything from cars, to clothes, especially to candy and you’ve heard that he has an amazing, dazzling smile. Supposedly, and according to the rumors circulating everywhere.

“Where’s your date, young lady?” The woman with white eyebrows asks up to you with a serious smile on her orange lips, breaking your inner thoughts. Her eyes rake your features up and down, like a human scanner, and you can’t help but gulp. You hoped all your hard work was not in vain.

“Uh-He’s in...the bathroom.” You lie with a wry smile, hoping she’ll buy it with just enough time to get you into the room she’s so close to unlocking.

She purses her lips and looks away from you, but doesn’t ask you anything further on the manner.

“Have fun in the garden!” She says instead of throwing you out and opens the plain door to the grandest thing you think you’ve ever seen.

Couples scream and laugh as they whiz past you on your journey to roam freely around the edible valley. You can’t be bothered though, as your mouth is going to collect dust if you leave it unhinges for too long.

There are no words. You couldn’t fathom half the things in this room. Is this even a factory anymore, or are you in heaven?

It’s… simply breathtaking.

The online forms were right - there is a giant edible garden - but the words and descriptions on screen didn’t do the real thing any justice. And, of course, they confiscated your phones even before you entered the building so you couldn’t document this creation out of a book come to life scene unfolding before your eyes.

You are stunned as you walk on the hardened peanut butter cup path towards the giant garden in the middle of four, high walls. Your eyes sparkle, filling with tears of joy upon seeing the beautiful, wonderful sights before your eyes, covering your mouth as the couples in your tour guide pass by your idle body. It is seriously extremely super overwhelming: your senses are going on overdrive as your sockets roam over every inch of the garden that you can see. You just need a moment to take everything in.

There is so much - so many details and little things going on.

Trees made of marbled dark and milk chocolate stand tall, protruding into the blue-raspberry colored sky, pastel cotton candy clouds wisping around above you. Most of the whimsical looking plants bear fruit of all kinds and gummy leaves hanging low off their perfectly carved branches. You hear a trickle of something, like a stream of water, and see that there is a tiny clear yet caffeinated creek of soda-pop softly crackling its way through the garden. Following your eyes, you see there’s realistic grey rock-candy gravel and well, rocks, underfoot as well as strings of grass you can only assume are sour green-apple flavored, or even possibly key-lime pie? You can’t be certain but you can’t wait to try it! There’s a fountain spewing caramel in the middle of the garden, surrounded by a pool of white chocolate, and it's held together by what looks to be a brick, but upon a further glance, you suspect that it’s potentially licorice or Twizzlers, or a combination of both. There’s tables, chairs, and benches made out of finely crafted shortbread cookies placed along the peanut butter paths of the edible wonderland. There are colorful flowers made of lollipops and sugared, blown glass softly billowing in the artificial breeze, seemingly waving at you as you gawk on in shock.

It’s all too beautiful. Your mind is having trouble processing everything until you hear an excited scream about life-sized gummy bear bushes and you can’t help, but want to investigate further.

Your feet finally start to move as you are openly sniffling and crying: you are such a happy mess.

A stout figure smiles at your back, a menacing aura surrounding her as she presses a single digit on her smartwatch to the man behind this beautiful room and factory.

“Fritz?” He questions, nearly shrieking through the speaker with excitement. “How are our esteemed guests doing?”

“Oh… Well, I suppose,” her upper lip curves into something dreadfully evil. “But, we have a lost little crumb who decided to bend the rules and attend the party without a date.”

The young CEO sighs into the receiver, watching everything unfold from his observation deck placed high above the ground, in order to study the humans roaming around his perfect, edible garden.

He knows. He’s known since she walked in here that she was alone and didn’t have a special someone to share this day of candy hearts and love songs to.

Which was perfect because well, you see, neither did he.

He sighs as he tips his silkened purple top hat up to view the mesmerized crowd down below, throwing up his dark leather boots on the desk in the observation deck. Deep down, the young man was lonely, hiding his family’s recipes and secrets for the rest of his life due to the enigma that was the candy business. His usually jovial smile turns into a sour frown as he watches her stand shell-shocked by the river of soda pop, staring up into the cotton candy clouds. Or, paradise, as he calls it.

It was as if she was looking at him, knowing there was someone watching her admire and take in all the hard work that he and his staff have given to the largest and most amazing room in the factory. He leans into the window, removing his boots from the desk to watch her with her mouth agape take in the splendor and majesty that was his garden. His eyes widen as he studies her expression. She hasn’t even eaten or enjoyed anything in the room yet… Why is that he wonders? Was she a spy for another company? No, it was more like she was in complete disbelief that this was even real. Almost like she was marveling at his handy work...

Suddenly, the young man clad in his expensive purple suit has a wicked thought. Oh yes! If she is a fan of confections of any kind she will be a great asset to the company and myself! A dream only someone of his caliber who’s spent so much of his time up in the clouds could fathom. Or she’ll do nicely for some company if I end up breaking her in the process then!

“Fritz,” he presses his watch up to his lips that curve into a devious smile. “Bring her up.” His amber eyes turn dark and cloudy as he thinks of his lair, a lab where he designs desserts and candies of all kinds. “I think we found our new taste tester.”

Oh wow! This is really unlike anything you could even dare of dreaming! You don’t think anything can ever compare to the concoctions and creations that the Hope World Factory has let the outside world enjoy for a mere afternoon. It didn’t seem right to you to try anything. If you ate and ruined all the time it took someone to place here so craftily and carefully. No. You didn’t think you could.

Unlike some...

A playful screech comes from your left and you duck just in time to see a flash of white pass right by your nose.

You watch with mirth as a couple runs by you, throwing marshmallow fluff off the cherry flavored giant mushrooms placed delicately around the garden. They scream and fly past you, making a mess of the precise and wonderful dessert and bakery items it probably took a whole team of people to create. You frown with judgmental eyes, studying the pair of grown adults act like they were children.

Though you suppose, candy does revert you back to your childhood, where everything was much more innocent and easy to deal with.

It was amazing what a room of sweets could do to a group of people.

They race around, running this way and that, laughing and having the time of their lives with giant smiles plastered on their faces. They disappear from view and you stand watching the space from where they left, under a chocolate tree with gummy bananas hanging off of them.

Shooting through your body, a zinging pain shoots through your heart feeling like the zap of a thousand volts of electricity that trickles down to your toes and lights its way back up your spine again.

You freeze watching the pair disappear behind a licorice willow tree. With a tired gulp and a teary blink in your eye, you have to face reality. Truth hurts, as some would say: you are incredibly lonely.

“Miss,” just then, the shrill voice of the stout lady behind you echoes from where you are standing and you nearly jump right out of your skin you are frightened by the sneaky tour guide. You all but tense up, breathing hitching as your sockets expand, fearing for the worst. “Miss, a word?” Your nerves were on fire as the soda stream pops and fizzles next to you, filling your ears with the carbonated crackling, as well as all the blood that rushes to your ears. Adrenaline running through your veins, like hot-white lightening sparking up and down from head to toe.

Shit! You think turning to face the orange lady with a sheepish smile. I’ve been caught!

“Y-Yes?” You mumble as she smiles on at you turning to face her fully.

“Who can take a sunrise?” She starts to sing an eerie tune and your stomach pits. “Sprinkle it with dew?” Your eyes are the size of the moon as you watch her bring a bag out of her pocket as she continues to smile that weird, twisted smile at you. “Cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two?” Your heart is pounding out of its chest staring at this round orange woman who reaches into her silkened purple bag, pulling up a handful of what looks like sparkling glitter. “The candy man can.” Her mouth continues to stretch across her face, as she makes invisible worms and spiders crawl along your skin that’s turned to ice. She lifts her hand and blows the dusty glitter into your eyes, as you try to recoil from the crazy action the tour guide throws your way.

Literally.

“Hey!” You yell, opening your eyes to find the world covered in glistening lights, the garden shiny and bright for some strange reason. “What the heck?!”

“Because he mixes it with love,” she ignores you and continues chanting her odd song to you. Your eyelids feel heavy, your body suddenly sluggish, “and chocolate,” you can barely stand on your own two feet as you feel yourself slumping forward and backward. You feel like you are stuck in a murky pit of blackness, and will never be able to escape from the throes of this evil she’s thrown at you. Unable to form a coherent thought, sleep seeps into your mind as you start to succumb to the feeling. Darkness creeps around your vision as you start to fall. Two pairs of hands keep your body up as you hear the orange lady say a few final words. “And makes the world taste good.”

When you come to your senses, you have a sneaking suspicion that you aren’t in the garden anymore. Your eyes are clouded with that weird dust that the weird-ass tour guide blew in your face. There’s more shining, glittering lights floating above you and you realize all the spotlights are all pointed at you. You try to blink the dust away but every move you make makes your body ache for some reason. Why were you in pain? Did you fall? No, you could have sworn there were two people holding you up, carrying you, while you heard… singing, the whole time…

So weird.

Oh crap, speaking of that green-haired tour guide… You gasp a little, foggy brain finally waking up fully, and you nearly grasp. You finally understand. You were caught! You broke the rules though and you deserve to be reprimanded and rightfully so. But, the question still stands.

With a groan and a small shift of your head, you try to grab your throbbing head, but it was sadly in vain.

You blink rapidly. No. This had to be a bad dream right? You are not strapped to a metal object, right? No. Your hands around bound and placed above you? No. You try to kick your legs, only to find your ankles confined into shackles connect to the cool metal item. Loud noises of your struggle erupt from your body, echoing throughout the small, sterile room. Metal clanging around itself was the worst thing you think you’ve ever heard.

There’s… no way�� right?

Your eyes expand, practically falling out of your head as your empty stomach flips over on itself. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, throat running dry. You let out a blood-curdling scream upon realizing that you are tied to a flat, stainless steel table in the middle of a brightly lit, sterile-looking room. You hear the faint melody that evil woman was humming in the distance and you want to throw up you feel physically sick.

This was something out of a terrible bad trip, a nightmare, a horror movie. Is this a scene from a sci-fi film? Your eyes are shaking in their sockets, unable to focus on anything.

Sure, you broke the rules. Sure, you should be punished for it or be fined a sum of money. But, wasn’t this a little extreme? What were they going to do? Torture you? Was the policy for breaking the rules to probe you? With a hard swallow, you honestly hope that’s a solid no.

“Hi there, little crumb.” Comes the awful, nails on a chalkboard, screeching sound of the stout tour guide flutters in somewhere above you. No! You plead to no one in your head. No please don’t kill me! I haven’t even eaten anything from the garden yet!

Your heart is beating, drumming, pounding at the shackles of your sternum to bust free from your chest. Her sweaty, orange meaty fingers come out of nowhere to twist your face toward her. A twisted smirk forms on her scaly lips, her white eyebrows rising to her wide forehead to reveal her pinked gums and dilated eyes beaming, honing in on you. Her yellow, laser-like eyes lock together with yours, which enlarge in fear.

“You think you are special, huh?” She laughs, throwing her head back and maniacally cackling. “You think just because the young master has chosen you of all people to be his new taste-tester you think you are something else?”

“We are going to have so much fun,” she lifts a pumpkin carving knife up to your neck, “together.” She hisses, leaning in, and you nearly taste the bile, the vomit rising in your esophagus while you can’t form a single clear thought as you watch her press the shiny blade to your throat further. Your breathing hitches as she sneers, leaning in closer to practically spit on you. “I’ve loved him for years, since he had dreams to build the garden and you think that YOU,” you wince when you feel the stinging slice of the blade a trickle of blood runs down from your skin and onto the blade. “YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST TAKE HIM FROM ME?”

You are going to die. You are going to die. You are going to be murdered in cold blood by this woman who knows nothing about you. She’s going to kill you and probably play jump-rope in your intestines.

“Hello, little lady.” A cheerful voice filters in from behind the orange lady, snapping you out of your swirling, disintegrating thoughts of your impending peril and doom. “And goodbye Fritz.”

Before the round woman could even think to turn around, your vision, that was once white and sterile, is painted in bright sticky red.

Blood to be exact.

It drips from the giant blue lollipop-shaped into a knife protruding from the orange chest of the orange tour guide. Red particles splatter upon your body, painting you in the warm, maroon color of her life force that someone is robbing from her. Her eyes roll back into her skull, removing the carving knife from your throat as she spits a lump of clotted blood out of her dry, cracked lips.

Your lips part in shock, eyes continuing to stay as wide as dinner plates as you watch the lady before you crumple in on herself and slump to the ground in a heap of orange, red, and green.

A man in silkened purple suit, with a shit-eating grin curving his lips and whose white gloves were speckled and smeared pink from the blood of his staff, was clapping enthusiastically. The sound fills the once sterile room, the noise jarring and ear-splitting as you recoil slightly every time his covered palm connects to the other.

Why is he clapping? He beams as he steps over her dead, lifeless body as yours tenses up. And who the fuck is he?

You remember where you are and why you were here in the first place and you nearly jump out of your skin.

He’s… oh my God...

The young CEO of the Hope World Factory: Jung Hoseok.

He is handsome, there’s no doubt about that. His chestnut-colored hair is barely visible due to the matching violet top hat that covers his head. Amber eyes that sparkle with mischief under the bright spotlight of the medical looking room. You can’t help but drink him in as he starts to loom over you. His slender nose sculpts into a soft-looking smirk, that's curved into a tender smile, shines gently down around you laid out on the cold metal bed. His grin really is magnetic because you are completely captivated by this man who looms lower and lower over you, until you can smell the sweet aroma wafting in around him.

Enthralled, enchanted, mesmerized… This man has a spell over you and you can't look away.

But you have to ask, “Are you going to kill me?”

He blinks at you in disbelief, smile falling only for a moment before he starts scream-laughing.

“What?” He chuckles as he clutches his sides, cackling himself into stitches. “Oh, no no no, little crumb!” His nostrils flare, honey-colored eyes dilating. “You know who I am, yes? You’ve put two and two together?”

You nod, with a weak ‘yes’ leaving your mouth.

“Then you know I’m the infamous candy man, Jung Hoseok.” He sneers, slamming his stained bloody gloves on either side of you on the metal table. “I’m solely going to play with you, little crumb.”

A gasp leaves your lips as you register his words in your head.

You struggle in the shackles, trying to retreat away from the man sneering down at you with mirth. He cocks his head to the side, the bright light being blocked from the man practically climbing on top of you. “Do you know what my main ingredient is here at the Hope World Factory?” His voice drops an octave and his playful eyes cloud over with something dark.

You swivel your head back and forth in a no.

Hoseok slams his hand down next to your head, nabbing your attention in full force. “Speak when spoken to, pet.”

“N-No.” You whisper, a tear leaves one of your eyes, sliding out of your socket, dripping onto the cold table.

“Very good.” He caresses your face with the back of his pinkened-color glove. With a menacing and misplaced smirk, Hoseok dips down to your neck where the tour guide shallowly cut you. You whimper with trembling lips, closing your eyes moving your face away from him, which only reveals the pulse point of your neck to him more. “Oh, very good.” You hear him inhale before the warm flat of his tongue laps the trickle of blood that streams out from your flesh.

Did he just… drink your blood?

Hoseok stands then, lips swollen and colored with your blood, grinning like a wild, maniac above you. “Oh, you’ll do just nicely.”

“F-for-r wh-what?” You shake, tied to the table you are straining, desperate to get out of.

He raises his hands above you, eyes dark with no sparkle left in them. “I drained my last taste tester, broke her, some would say. But, oh you,” he cups your face leaning in to grin at you with his pearly whites coated in your blood, “you just need to lay here and look pretty while your blood is our secret ingredient for all things sweet in the Hope World Factory.” He shrieks, laughing like an insane person as he cups your face in his sticky palms. “Isn’t that great?”

Your heart breaks as you silently beg for a quick and easy death like the lady on the ground. This was not what you had in mind for your Valentine's Day, as well as the rest of your life.

“You can’t keep me here.” You whisper, but it sounds like you are begging him more at this point than anything.

He ignores you and starts humming that dreadfully eerie song from earlier as he leans back over to trap your wounds in between his lips again. “The candy man can.” He hums into your skin, his tongue swirling all over your poor neck. “Because he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good.”

———

#candy man #yandere society #yandere #my bloody valentine #tw: yandere #tw: cannibalism #tw: gore #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: obsession #tw: mentions of death #tw: restraints #tw: knives

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softbiker · 5 years ago

Text

Steve Rogers One Shot

Warnings: language, no editing

Word count: 5.1k (I have no excuses for this, I don’t know what happened)

Summary: Things get a little warm on a mission downtown.

A/N: Another piece in the Agent 14 series! If you’re not familiar, I suggest checking out the masterlist first so you’ve got a background on my girl’s prior association to a particular star-spangled man ;) As always, let me know what you think!

There are certain hours of the morning that Bucky would happily never see.

4:30 a.m. he could absolutely do without.

Bleary-eyed, stiff, tasting his own stale breath, he rubs at his prickled cheeks as he yawns. Why the hell did he agree to do this? He should be back in bed - he’d give his bottom dollar to be in his cozy little blanket nest right about now…he’d had to leave 28’s apartment so damn early to get back to the tower in time to grab his running clothes. To his own nose, he still smelled of sex and her bedsheets; but with a change of clothes and his hair tucked under his vintage Dodgers cap, he hoped no one would notice. Just to be safe he had splashed a few drops of cologne on his shirt and his pulse - he knew Steve’s nose was sensitive enough to pick up on the scent. Too much of a risk.

The elevator chimes brightly and opens to reveal the man of the hour - the man of this hour, who loves that pre-dawn dewy sweetness that even city air can have, before the whole machine of it hums to life. Even Steve seems a little sleepy, ruddy flush in his pale cheeks, his normally neat beard looking unkempt. The length of his hair is swept beneath his own hat, a red one bearing the NASA logo, and he’s managed to fit all of his muscled mass into the straining seams of a Nike running shirt. Jesus but he looked like some kind of ad for protein powders, one that would have gym rats scrambling - or better yet, a poster to get elementary school kids to drink their milk.

“Mornin’ Buck,” Steve smiles, rolling his shoulders and stretching a little. “You ready?”

Bucky merely grunts in assent and shuffles into the elevator, little box stuffed to capacity with the width of their shoulders.

“Down a floor, please, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Steve requests. He is unfailingly courteous to the AI, even when Tony’s not around. Bucky can relate. Their old-fashioned manners are hard to shake, even with both feet firm in the 21st century. “We’re picking up Sam, too.”

“Ugh,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I thought we were going for a run this morning; bring Sam and we might as well just power-walk around the mall like old people.”

“Buck, we are old people.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky yawns again, his breath leaving a puff of fog on his metal hand as he half-heartedly covers his mouth. “Took a quiz on WebMD - my biological age is only 28.”

Steve doesn’t respond - he refuses to dignify Bucky’s weird internet expeditions. Too curious for his own good, he often falls down these virtual rabbit holes, only resurfacing hours later, red-eyed and chap-lipped, uncharacteristically babbling in a twitchy-fingered frenzy about moon-landing conspiracies or the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. It always takes him a little while, a few good-natured jabs from the team, before he comes back to his normal self. The only person who’s ever been really interested in his crackpot ravings is the Parker kid - but Peter doesn’t come around too often, prioritizing his schoolwork, and even then, Steve is almost certain he’s enabling Bucky’s bad habits more than anything.

Like Bucky, Sam is waiting in front of the elevator, dressed in his running shorts and favorite purple t-shirt. He squints, puffy-eyed and pouting, at the offensively harsh light coming from the open elevator doors, hitting him full in the face.

“You old farts really like to get up early, huh?” he grumbles, shuffling between them in the already cramped elevator. “Some of us still need our beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, it looks like you haven’t been getting any,” Bucky says drily, leaning one hip against the wall.

“Mm, cause I’m too busy gettin’ some-”

“Sam,” Steve interrupts, sounding every inch the exasperated father. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What?” Sam raises his hands in defense. “All I’m saying is, Tin Man can talk about his beauty rest while he goes to bed alone - that’s fine with me. Only way he’s getting dates is under threat of force.”

It’s fleeting, almost shy, that quirk in the corner of Bucky’s lips; he tucks it away just as quickly, turning his face towards the floor and tugging his cap down a little further. The shadow of the bill covers his eyes from Steve’s gaze, but he still aims a frown at Sam over Bucky’s head.

“Can you two at least try to get along?” he sighs, fighting to keep his own face neutral, stern, in spite of the hours of entertainment he gets watching his friends pretend they wouldn’t take a bullet for each other.

“Hey, he started it,” Sam protests on his way out of the elevator, skipping his feet to stay ahead of Bucky’s last ditch attempt to trip him.

Oy vey, Steve thinks, but he just rolls his eyes and follows them, a half-beat behind and listening to their muttered jabs traded back and forth as they make their way down the front steps and out of the building into the crisp New York morning.

A blanket of humidity holds the air close, promising a beautiful morning and a sweltering afternoon. In the pre-dawn hush, they stretch and warm up their muscles, Sam a little more intensely than the other two, as the only one in any real danger of hurting himself. He props one hand against a bench and swings one leg a few times, then the other, loosening his hamstrings. They’re a little quieter now, the close, quiet dark dampening their voices, though New York would protest their reverence for its show of sleep - even now, the headlights streak past them along the streets, buildings twinkling high into the skyline, crowding out the stars. Some jumping jacks, high knees - Sam is more careful of his tight hip these days - and then they’re off.

Despite some historical evidence to the contrary, most of which Bucky holds hostage, Steve Rogers isn’t a complete asshole. Which is why he always lets Sam set the pace when they run together - otherwise they wouldn’t be running together. Bucky complains, but Steve knows it’s just for show; Buck doesn’t really care about running (“Why do I need to run when no one’s shooting at me, Steve?”), so he’s not too pressed about going slow.

Falling into step, filling the width of the sidewalk, they make their way up to Central Park. If asked, Steve would say that he hates living in Manhattan - that his suite at the tower was opulent to the point of being oppressive, that he’d take his old one-room place in the Heights with Bucky over this near-embarrassing level of excess. But there is something to it, the glitter and chrome, the thrumming pulse of the city right at his fingertips, right there in the middle of it all, that he could never quite give up.

They take their time, keeping pace with Sam, on their first lap around the park; there are a few other runners out in the park at this hour, taking advantage of the lack of traffic and milling tourists to get in a few good miles. Some nod or lift their fingers as they pass, certainly recognizing their local celebrities, but no one stops, no one stares. Avengers are a common enough sight in this part of town; Steve can only speak for himself, but he certainly doesn’t mind the lack of attention.

On their second lap, the first hint of a glowing gradient lighting up the sky, Steve glances over at Bucky; neither of them are sweating - not even breathing hard. Sam on the other hand, while still managing a conversation, has beads of sweat forming on his forehead, a dark stain forming on the front of his shirt. Both Steve and Bucky can hear the extra beats of his heart, pounding a more fragile rhythm than their own steady beat; his lungs strain a little harder. Looking at Steve, Bucky cocks a silent eyebrow, darts his eyes to Sam and back again. Steve shrugs back, willing to let him make the call.

Suddenly, with practiced precision, they dart around Sam on either side and pull ahead, gaining ground and speed with every stride. With a final cry of “Assholes!” fading behind them, they leave Sam in the dust, stretching out their enhanced legs - wild horses set loose, they gallop in a blinding and furious pace, the bill of Steve’s cap flying up and nearly leaving his head before he grips it and tugs it down tighter against his skull. The trees streak past, glimpses of city lights blurred between, as they top out their speed, dodging bewildered joggers and dog walkers perilously found in their path.

It takes a moment for Steve to recognize the sound, to realize that Bucky is laughing; another moment later, he’s joining in - hardly knowing why and refusing to ask. With a pang, he remembers how often that laugh filled his life, echoed in his home, followed his shuffling footsteps on the sidewalk. It comes with the same underwhelming force as the sunrise, quiet and brilliant and inevitable, streaking joy across the horizon - they are here, they are alive, they found their way home. Steve remembers being 17 and 90 pounds and choking on his first drop of whiskey but still winding up drunk on his own youth, knees knocking Bucky’s where they dangled from the fire escape, feeling as though he could eat the world raw. He could take a bite from it this morning - him and Buck, they could devour it.

It’s useless to try to count the miles when they move this fast; no running app has yet managed to track them accurately, and besides, they could both easily run a marathon with no training. Their runs are mostly for fun - well, Steve finds it fun, the way he finds jumping out of airplanes fun, or leaping over moving cars, or throwing objects he didn’t know he could lift. There’s something about his recklessness being rewarded, through the sheer steel strength of his enhanced body, matched only by the pure-bred stubbornness of his character, that bubbles endorphins in his brain like nothing else.

Almost nothing else.

Up ahead, he notices the back of Sam’s shirt; they’ve lapped the park again, coming up on him from behind. Next to him, Steve watches the swing of a familiar ponytail, half-mesmerized by the way it sways in the sun. Then she’s turning halfway to laugh at something Sam has said, and it’s-

He stumbles over his own toes but recovers before actually falling, Bucky throwing out a hand to steady him at the elbow, and they slow their pace, settling into a jog as they catch up to Sam and his companion.

“You alright, pal?” Bucky asks, chewing his lip as he considers Steve.

“Yeah, fine,” Steve shrugs him off. They’re right behind them now, steps alerting the other two of their presence; she turns, Sam too, to see who’s coming.

Along her forehead, the sweet little baby hairs cling to her skin, wetted down with sweat. Sunlight gleams on her cheekbones, and he wonders if that’s sweat, too. She settles her hands on her hips as she turns towards him, the corner of her mouth lifted in a breathless smile.

“Morning, Cap,” she says, flicking a loose strand of hair back from her face. The weather is beautiful, sun bright and strong, and she’s wearing a red crop top and running shorts, wireless headphones tucked in her ears. Music must be paused though, because he can’t hear anything coming through them.

“Morning,” he smiles back, lifting his cap to sweep a hand through his sweaty hair before settling it back on his head. A faint, self-conscious note sounds in his brain, and he tries to remember if he brushed his teeth this morning before leaving his room.

At his shoulder, Bucky clears his throat conspicuously.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.” Bucky sticks out his hand, armed with a boyishly charming smile. “I’m Bucky.”

She shakes his hand, smiling back and offering a name, pretending not to notice Steve’s blink of surprise. Was that - surely she wouldn’t offer her real name? He didn’t even know so much as her favorite color. He zones out of the small talk bouncing between the other three, Sam sharing how they’d joined up on their respective runs, lamenting the way his so-called friends left him behind. All Steve has is a number, that and-

“Would anyone be up for some coffee?” he asks when there’s a break in the conversation.

She lifts one brow, her eyes following his as he looks to his friends.

“Oh, you know I was just thinking the same thing,” Sam nods, rubbing his hands together. “Great minds, Steve.” He taps his temple, the same way Peter does sometimes when the kid is feeling sarcastic. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Can’t believe you two are what qualifies as great minds these days,” he grumbles, combing an errant hair behind his ear. Sam takes a swing at his shoulder but misses, and they fall in together, walking towards the coffee shop, hardly noticing if the other two are following.

With a little skip, she smiles at Steve and starts after them, his strides a little shorter to match hers. Birds chirp overhead, fading in and out of the hum of the now-busy streets and park lanes. Steve steals furtive glances, trying to decide whether or not she has freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“So.” He starts, then stops himself.

“So?”

He tilts his chin up, repeating the name she’d given to Sam and Bucky.

“Yes?” 14 smirks, tugging up the waistband of her shorts.

“I mean, that isn’t…” he flounders. “It’s not…you, is it? Your real name?”

“Hmm,” she purses her lips, squinting at the men ahead of them. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

**********

He’s in his office, draining the dregs of his americano - blonde shots, a sprinkle of cinnamon - when F.R.I.D.A.Y. pages him.

“Captain Rogers, you’re needed in the briefing room - there’s a situation,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says over the intercom, soft Irish brogue managing to sound coolly concerned. Steve stands from his desk, coffee left behind.

“On my way.”

Another day, another bomb - Avenging is never dull, and why should it be? Sometimes Steve wonders if a strange law of attraction is at work in their violently non-traditional career; if it’s the insanity of every crisis they’re called to answer that has made them what they are - or, as he often suspects, is it actually the reverse?

Tony is at the head of the conference table, flicking through projected images with quick fingers, the rest of the team already seated. No one looks up when he slips into the room.

“If these preliminary scans are accurate, it looks like we’ve got explosives - sophisticated ones, I might add; really, even I’m a little impressed, which as we all know, is a pretty-”

“Tony,” Steve says, taking his own seat at the front of the table. Righteous brow lowering. “Focus.”

Tony makes a face, but impressively withholds whatever comment rises to the tip of his tongue; blowing a harsh sigh past his lips, he goes on with the briefing.

“Right, as I was saying,” he says. “We’ve got some idea of the type of devices we’re dealing with-”

“Devices? Plural?” Nat clarifies. Her pen taps a quick beat against her notepad.

“Yes,” Bruce speaks up, standing a few feet away from Tony, cracking the knuckles of his left hand. “Based on the energy signatures coming from the building, we have three distinct focal points of radiation - so I’d put my money on three devices.”

A beat of silence in the room; gravity pulling harder at their legs and stomachs, the weight of this job, this calling, sits heavy like lead. Clint stretches his arm across the back of 41’s chair. Sam leans forward, elbows on the table, meeting Steve’s eyes for a moment. They carry that weight differently, each one. It takes a moment, a thought, as each of them readjusts it, gets used to it, rolls their shoulders to feel it settle.

And then, they get up.

“Alright - all hands on deck for this one,” Steve nods, eyes circling the table. “We’ll divide into assault, evacuation, and extraction teams. Wheels up in 15.” He looks at Tony once more, now rolling up the sleeves of his well-cut silk shirt.

“Let’s suit up.”

**********

He’s first to the jet, his apartment being closest to the hangar, and he sits in the cockpit going over blueprints for the high-rise business complex they were about to save. A tech conglomerate operates in the upper half of the building, taking nearly half the available square footage; the lower floors are occupied by a couple of smaller companies, start-ups enjoying their first windfall of success. Absentmindedly rubbing his beard, Steve wonders why here, why this target. A personal score to settle, underhanded business deals padding the margins of their accounts? Nothing rings true; even F.R.I.D.A.Y.’S analysis suggested this building was a random target.

Whatever the case, his team is going in there, and he’s not letting them walk in unprepared. So he reads the schematics, twice, three times. Scans Banner’s notes on the radiation readings, what type of bombs they would be dealing with. Mentally, he begins sorting his team into smaller units; he knows 28 has some experience with bombs, Nat, too. They’d pair well for an extraction team, with instructions from Stark and Banner on the jet. Sam and 41 could handle evac, if emergency services hadn’t already emptied the building - probably he’d take Bucky and Wanda in for a strike team; the three of them could handle any lingering thugs who were stupid enough to stick around after planting heavy explosives.

His fingers tap quickly, unconsciously, against his thigh as he hears the team piling into the jet, jostling each other and trading playful insults; pre-mission nerves manifesting in their tight smiles and compulsive weapons-checking - tightening and re-tightening holsters, checking harness straps, dropping to their seats still poised and upright, muscles unwilling to relax. Stalking up the center aisle, Tony joins him in the cockpit. He claps Steve on the shoulder with a (thankfully, unsuited) hand.

“Ready to roll, Cap?” he says, rolling a piece of peppermint from one side of his mouth to the other.

Steve nods, stoic jaw set firm. He watches the control panel of the jet light up under Tony’s hands.

“Born ready.”

“Oh - we got an extra pair of hands, by the way,” Tony comments, nonchalant. He gestures over his shoulder with his chin. “She’s back there - I’m starting to think Fury only recruits beautiful women; wonder what his secret is.”

The comment makes him stop, makes him hope, and then hope not- Steve swivels in his seat and rises, taking a step to look back towards the body of the jet.

She’s smiling at something Clint just said, buckling into her seat on his other side, one down from Agent 41. Once again wearing her white catsuit, hair held back in a sleek braid, 14 pulls down a little on the harness of her seat, making sure it’s well-secured. There’s a beat before she notices, realizes that he’s noticed; she lifts her hand in a little wave when she sees him standing there.

“Hi, Cap,” she says. Her head tilts to one side, braid falling down over one shoulder. “Long time no see.”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes, making a little noise as he looks between the two of them.

“Wait,” he says, holding up a hand. “Wait. Hold up -” He repeats the name she gave them this morning, eyebrows knotting close together. “Am I missing something? Y’all know each other?”

Steve props an arm against the frame of the jet arcing above his head, feeling his cheeks heat under the new scrutiny the team directs his way. His shoulders curl in a little, his other hand reaching for his beard. In the moment, he’s not sure what to say - what to call her, what they are (friends, colleagues, certainly not partners) - and he chews his lip for a long and uncomfortable moment while the others examine his increasingly embarrassed face.

It’s Agent 41 who finally takes pity on him, huffing a sigh around the sour gummy worm hanging from the corner of her mouth.

“There’s a lot of secret agents you haven’t met yet, Sam,” she says. The limp, sugar-coated worm inches its way into her mouth as she works her lips, tucking it into her cheek. “Cause, you know, we’re secret.”

“Boom, roasted.” Clint makes a little mic drop motion with one hand, his other one working its way into the crinkling bag of gummies on 41’s lap.

Sam, attention diverted, scowls at the two of them. Now forgotten, Steve watches as Clint throws tiny pieces of sour worms at Sam’s head, never missing despite his attempts at dodging them. With a soft smile, 14 throws a wink in Steve’s direction.

Shaking his head, he turns back to the cockpit and reaches for his notes, ready to break down the plan.

**********

“Rogers, get the others out of the building.” It’s Nat’s voice, tight and panicked over the com lines.

“Romanoff?” He’s jogging up the stairwell, finger pressed to the device in his ear.

“Now, Steve.” Her characteristic sarcasm, dry and vivid in her husky voice, is gone. This is Nat, and he knows she wouldn’t sound the alarm for no reason.

“Understood.” They’re two floors above him, and he pushes his legs harder, faster. “Sam, Wanda, Tony - get the team out. The rest of the building is empty.” One more flight. “Romanoff, 28, I’m on my way up to you.”

Voices crackle over the line, confirming his orders, the team falling out one by one. Confirmation when they rendezvous on the jet, hovering a safe distance above the the skyline. Steve kicks through the bolted stairwell door and takes two left turns down glass-walled hallways, the map in his head guiding him through the frustrating maze of identical conference rooms and offices, dodging and leaping the sparse and sleek modern furniture crowding an abandoned reception room.

He finds them hunched over the harmless-looking black box, left in an unused cleaning closet - but it’s Agent 14, not 28, with her hands fluttering over an exposed circuit board while Nat looks on, curled white knuckles pressed against her mouth.

“Where’s Agent 28?”

“With the second device, lower half of the building,” 14 mutters, not looking up.

“Status?”

Natasha scowls, but she doesn’t look at him either.

“Not good.”

“The devices are all linked,” 14 says. She licks her lips, using a pair of tweezers to carefully reverse the position of a set of wires connected directly to the battery terminals. “Every time we disarm one, it receives a signal from one of the others that re-arms it.”

Steve watches her concentrate on the circuit board, a few frazzled hairs escaping her braid.

“How much time do we have?” he asks, feeling the muscles in the back of his neck tighten. Natasha finally turns, the grave line of her mouth answering him before she even speaks.

“Minutes - maybe less.” She shakes her head. “Is everyone out?”

“Building’s empty,” Steve confirms, fingers going to the comm device in his ear. “Stark - what’s our blast radius look like? This building’s gonna blow.”

Tony’s voice appears in his ear, only a second later.

“Of course it is,” he says, voice bright and resigned. “How did I not see that one coming?” Over the line, Steve hears a harsh sigh, and then Tony’s voice reappears. “We’re looking at the whole block, Steve, maybe more - emergency services already evacuated the surrounding buildings and they’ve created a perimeter, but we can’t be certain of the damage till they, you know, explode.”

“Any ideas on containment?”

“Gimme a minute,” Tony huffs. “In the meantime, you guys better start hauling ass.”

Steve turns to Nat and 14; they both already have their eyes on him. He nods, quick and commanding, authority drawing up his posture.

“You heard him,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Nat and 14 are already on their feet, and he brings up the rear as they dart out of the room and back the way they came, weaving around towards the stairs and tearing down the staircase at a breakneck pace.

They’re 2 flights from the ground floor when 14 stops, wild-eyed and panting, braid half-loose, and seizes Steve’s arm.

“28,” she says, fingernails digging into the thick fabric of his uniform. “28 never confirmed, is she -?”

Steve tugs her along after Nat, still sprinting down the stairs, and taps his comm device.

“28? Status, 28 - are you out of the building?”

The line stays quiet, heartbeats and harsh breaths in their ears.

“28? Come in, 28.”

Radio silence.

14 stops short, whirling around and away from Steve and back towards the door to the second level - 28’s last known location. Clenching his jaw, he shouts down the stairs to a waiting Natasha, who stands a flight below, tensed to spring back up the stairs after them.

“Natasha - you go, meet the others at the jet and help coordinate evac,” he says, feet already following 14. “We’ll get 28 and rendezvous with the team.”

“But-”

“Go, Nat!”

It takes him 3 seconds to catch up to her, pushing through the door and taking one look at the open floor-plan office before turning right and hustling through the neatly arranged desks towards the utility closet at the other end of the suite.

“She was here the last time she checked in,” 14 breathes, wiping her brow. Two steps ahead of her, Steve wrenches the door open.

The device lays dismantled in the center of the room, mechanical guts exposed to the drafty air - but the closet is otherwise empty, with exception of a few cleaning supplies shoved into a corner. An overturned yellow mop bucket, spray bottles with faded labels, a pair of rubber gloves.

He can hear 14’s heart rate escalate, tapping furiously at her own comm device.

“28 where are you? Come in, 28?” Her voice is thin, breath harsh from their sprint. She licks her lips as she waits for a response. Each second that passes, her eyes flit around the room again, glassy and unfocused, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

A voice that neither of them expects appears in their ears.

“28’s fine,” Bucky says, voice rough but clear. “Signal from the bomb made her line cut out. We’re outside the building, en route to the rendezvous point.”

Their eyes meet and the shared relief washes over them, soothing for the space of a heartbeat - before the device, innocuous and waiting, begins beeping with a menacing frenzy.

Without a word, Steve grips 14’s wrist and makes a mad dash for the other end of the floor. They pass the stairwell door, still swinging open, and head straight for the floor-to-ceiling windows exposing the bright afternoon sunlight outside.

Between 1943 and 1945, the number of burning buildings Steve jumped out of could be conservatively estimated at around a dozen. Bucky would argue for more, but considering the lack of other eyewitnesses, it was really anyone’s guess at this point. Regardless, it’s not the first time he’s found himself trying to outrun the laws of physics, hell quite literally at his heels - his fingers close tighter around 14’s and he glances at her face as he tucks her under one arm.

“Ready?” he breathes. Her eyes are on the window. She licks her lips, opens them to respond.

Then the building blows up.

**********

When he saw the flames blow out the windows, glass tinkling downward in a delicate deadly rain, Tony’s heart remembered the feeling of shrapnel.

“Shit.” He enhances the camera view on the explosion, scanning the surrounding street. “Steve? Come in, Rogers.” Smoke billows up, reaching ever higher towards the skyline. “Rogers? Steve?”

On the ground, Sam turns towards the police perimeter, pushing his way through the rubberneckers and uniforms. Already people are gawking at the scene, cell phones poised to record the disaster, worth at least a few likes and retweets. His feet pick up into a jog and he ducks between the roadblocks, no one even attempting to stop him.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters. The smoke starts to sting his eyes and he lowers his goggles, coughing a little. Even from this distance, still a couple hundred feet, he can feel the greedy heat of the flames, already licking their way up more than half of the enormous high rise. He keeps going until the heat is just too oppressive, the force of it too harsh and blistering; but he stands his ground, squinting through the smoke and ash, one arm pressed to his mouth and nose.

The glint of red is the first thing he sees.

“I’ve got ‘em!” he yells over the line, followed by a harsh coughing fit. “I’ve got eyes on ‘em!”

Shield first, streaked with ash but bright as a beacon, they stagger out of the smoke. Both their faces are covered in soot, 14’s uniform scorched in places, Steve’s blond head turned an ashy gray; her arm is slung around Steve’s shoulder and she leans into him as they limp towards their teammate, their friend. 14 coughs as a harsh wind, stirred by the flames, whips fresh smoke into her face. Steve’s grip around her waist tightens by a fraction, even as Sam approaches, grips his shoulder and hauls him into a rough embrace.

“You’re insane, you know that?” Sam points a finger in his face when he pulls back a moment later. “You’re a goddamn lunatic. Jesus, man.” He babbles in his relief, and they let him, following quietly towards the waiting paramedics, the line of spectators already cheering at the sight of the familiar patriotic uniform. Police and citizens alike crowd against the barricades, hoping for a glimpse of their national hero. Steve lifts the shield in a tired salute, rousing another chorus of excited whoops and cheers.

He feels different eyes on him, and he looks down to find 14, face upturned and sooty, her eyes red from the smoke. Her own fingers slip between his where his hand still rests at her waist, and she squeezes his hand twice. Like a heartbeat. Then her head drops to his shoulder.

Nearing the edge of the perimeter, Steve hears the roar of applause above the ringing in his ears, and tries to feel victorious.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader fic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x agent 14 #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers oneshot

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thefatedthoughtofyou · 5 years ago

Text

The Witcher, His Idiot, and Their Daughter

Ao3

(thank you for the prompt @superhero-geek i hope i filled it well for you!!!)

Night had fallen hours ago, the tavern was quieting down, candle light shining as everyone drank and soaked in the warmth. Maria wiped at the bar, grabbing empty glasses that her patrons had left behind. Her eyes wandering to the corner of the room every now and then, wandering to the Witcher and his… interesting, band of people. Band was probably too generous a word. The Witcher had come into town with two people, a bard, who’s lovely voice had been filling the air in her tavern nearly all day, and a girl. They were an odd group. But they’d all been very polite to Maria during their stay and she had to admit she’d be sad to see them go.

She looked across the tavern once more, past the last few scattered patrons, to see the girl laying with her head in the bard’s lap, his fingers resting in her hair as she dozed on his leg. The bard himself seemed to falling prey to sleep as well. His mouth was moving as he talked to the man next to him, but every time Maria’s eyes fell on them he’d sunk down further and further. A few other patrons had clearly taken notice as well, all of them seemingly holding their breath to see how the Witcher might react when the bard’s head finally sunk low enough to rest on the man’s shoulders.

Maria had seen enough the past few days to know that the man would do nothing, except perhaps adjust himself to be a better pillow. She smiled to herself as she wiped at a glass, glancing up to see the bard finally fall enough in his drowsy state for his head to hit the Witcher’s shoulder. She heard a few people take deep breaths, and shook her head. The Witcher pushed himself down a few inches, letting the smaller man’s head rest on his shoulder. She watched the white-haired man smile down at him, the bard’s lips still moving as if he was still talking, even though he was clearly asleep. Maria watched them, and smiled when the Witcher looked up at her. She filled a small glass with water and walked over to the table, nimbly walking around her last few swaying customers.

“For the little one. When she wakes.” She placed the glass gently on the table with a small smile. The Witcher returned the smile.

“Thank you. I’ll get them off your hands soon.” His gravely voice was low as he tried not to wake the two of them.

“You take as long as you need dear. Your rooms are upstairs so I can lock up with you in here.” She reached out, gave his non-occupied shoulder a squeeze, and walked back to the bar. As she passed the few stragglers still left, she gently guided them to the door. They left easily enough and she locked up after them. Smiling to herself again as she watched the Witcher wake his bard, and watched the bard gently pick the girl up, holding her carefully as the Witcher guided him, still half asleep, up the stairs.

~*~

The market is bustling today, people running this way and that, hands full of odds and ends. Cheerful voices fill the air as the young man scrambles through the crowd, his mother is waiting for him at their booth. He carries their lunch as carefully as he can through the crowd, stopping only when he hears whispers and gentle laughter.

“Come now Geralt, perhaps a hat is just what you need!” The voice is jovial, full of mirth and laughter. The young man pushes himself gently through a group of people and sees the owner of the voice, a bard, place a hat with a large colorful feather atop the Witcher’s head. Peter had heard a Witcher had come to town, his mother had forbidden him to try and hunt the man down to get a glimpse of him. But here he was, the fearful Witcher himself, letting this brightly smiling bard place a ridiculous hat on his head.

“Oh you look lovely! This one’s a keeper for sure, don’t you agree Ciri?” the smaller man looked down, to a girl with white hair standing beside him, a small hat in her own hands, she looked up at the Witcher and laughed, a bright bubbly sound.

“Oh it’s definitely his color.” She said, laughing harder when the Witcher hummed in annoyance. The bard laughed once more and took the hat from his head, making a face as he turned away.

“I though it looked nice. How bout this one?” he turned back around, holding a bright orange hat in hands. He moved to put it on the Witcher and was stopped with a hand on his wrist.

“This one looks to be more your color bard.” The Witcher’s deep voice carried over the crowd. The bard looked up at him for a moment.

“That is very true. I do look fantastic in summer colors.” The bard said with a wink before giving the hat a spin and placing it on his head.

“What do you think Ciri? Is it me? Does it say, ‘this man is the most glorious poet in all the land?’, cuz that’s really what I’m aiming for.” The bard looked down at the girl, she was looking up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh it says something alright.” She muttered, giving a smile to the woman sitting behind the table and walking to the next.

“Oi! That is rude, young lady!” the bard called after her, the Witcher brushed past him, knocking the hat off his head as he went. The bard struggled to catch it and place it gently back on the table, giving the woman a smile as the girl had done before stomping after them.

Peter watched them shop for a few more moments and then ran back to his own table. Telling his mother all about the Witcher as they ate their lunch. He was finishing the last of his bread when those whispered voices filled the air and the Witcher and his bard came into view again, the girl walking next to them, smiling at something the bard was saying, his musical voice carrying over the crowd, just not well enough to hear.

The girl spoke then, ‘ooh-ing’ at something she’d seen and running ahead of the two men. Peter watched as she ran to Anne and Beth O’Brien’s table. They’d set it up a few weeks ago with a few of their friends, all of them gathered around the table, chatting idly and smiling at passersby. Peter watched as the girl ran to their table, and smiled when the bard followed her, ooh-ing the same way she had done when he saw the table full of flower crowns.

The girl placed one gently on her head, and smiled up at the bard when he did the same. The Witcher walked over slowly, his face a mask of irritation. The girls behind the booth all noticed him at once and froze. The bard looked at them for a moment before turning to the Witcher, he looked between them a few times and then sighed at the Witcher.

“Fear not ladies, he’s nothing to be afraid of.” The bard lifted the flowers circling his head and placed them on the Witcher instead. The girl at his side gasped dramatically.

“Oh Jaskier he’s beautiful. Try the orange and purple one! It’ll bring out his eyes.” The girl chimed, tugging on the bard’s sleeve. He smiled brightly at her and placed another flower crown on the Witcher’s head.

“Oh my god’s, yes! He’s gorgeous! Aethereal even!” The bard, Jaskier, exclaimed, making a very dramatic display of swooning over the Witcher now dawning two flower crowns. The girl laughed by his side, her head thrown back, eyes shining with tears. The girls behind the table where smiling now too, any fear they’d been having gone with the show from the bard. Peter watched the Witcher’s eyes flow over the bard and the girls, all of them laughing and smiling at his expense, and then he watched the Witcher smile with them. Peter would have sworn he even saw the man breathe out a laugh when the bard put yet another crown upon his head, but would never be certain. That was last he saw of them before his mother shoved him away to do his chores.

~*~

The man’s hand on Ciri’s arm lights a fire inside Geralt. Jaskier sees it ignite as soon as the small sound Ciri makes hits his ears. Geralt is across the room in seconds. Jaskier does his best to keep up. The man grabbing Ciri is shoved against the wall before Jaskier has time to blink, Ciri is on the floor, tears in her eyes. Jaskier helps her to her feet gently, she holds onto him tightly as they both look to Geralt. His hand is on the man’s throat, Jaskier can see his fingers pressed deeply into the skin there. A few other men have jumped to aid the man against the wall.

“Take Ciri upstairs.” Geralt growls, his eyes never leaving the man’s face.

“Geralt.” Jaskier cautions, his voice quiet.

“Jaskier. Upstairs. Now.” Geralt looks over his shoulder, letting the rage fall from his face as he looks at the bard, Jaskier feels his stomach twist, but nods and reaches for Ciri.

He pulls her into his arms, she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder as he carries her through the gathering crowd. He reaches the top of the stairs before he hears the first scream, Ciri makes another small noise as he carries her to her room. He checks her arm before tucking her into bed, a bruise already forming. She snuggles down under her blankets, eyes wide, Jaskier sings to her. He sings to her to soothe her, and he sings to her to drown out the sounds coming from downstairs. He sings song after song after song until she’s sound asleep in her bed. And then he sings one more song, waiting for the silence that he knows will come when Geralt is done.

He closes the door to Ciri’s room as quietly as he can, walks across the hall to the room he and Geralt are sharing, Geralt had claimed the bed. Technically Jaskier had claimed the bed, but he’d learned quickly while traveling with Geralt that claiming things didn’t really seem to matter all that much to the man. He’d sleep where he damn well pleased, all else be damned. So Jaskier had made himself a small nest on the floor and tried his hardest not to sneak into bed after Geralt had fallen asleep.

He leans back against the door once he’s inside, his head falling back with a small thud. He can hear water sloshing to his left and knows Geralt must be washing off blood, possibly worse things.

“You didn’t kill them all did you?” Is all he says, eyes still closed, not moving from the door.

“No. Not all.” Is the gravely reply he gets. Jaskier sighs and pushes away from the door. He throws his jacket onto his nest in the corner and then walks to where Geralt is bathing. There are several cuts on his arms, and one very deep one on his back. Jaskier clenches his fists so he doesn’t reach out and touch him.

“Does that need stitches or will your Witcher-y- ness handle it?” Jaskier askes, wrapping his arms around himself as he circles the bath to look at Geralt. The man looks up at him, splashes water on his face, the blood there turning pink and running down his skin.

“My… Witcher-y-ness… will handle it fine.” Geralt grunts, washing away more blood.

“Hmm.” The hum being all Jaskier would allow himself to say. Geralt looked at him, watched him pace back and forth slowly, and then washed away more blood.

“Ciri?”

“Asleep.” He’d never spoken less in his life.

“Hmm. I heard you singing when I came up.” He stood up in the water and climbed out, Jaskier turning away quickly, willing himself not to stare, god knows he’s been in trouble from staring at men before. He didn’t really think Geralt would care, but he cared, for once, for his own safety.

“Yes well, I didn’t think she’d sleep very well listening the sounds of you murdering people downstairs. That’s actually not as calming a sound as you might think.” He glared at Geralt’s back as he pulled on is shirt. His arms still crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his ribs, he was doing his best to keep his anger in check.

“You’re angry.” Was all the Witcher said when he turned to look at him. Jaskier bit his lip and rolled his eyes.

“You are. I can smell it on you.” Geralt was smirking now. Jaskier darted forward, closing the distance between them and pointing his finger at the man.

“We have a child with us. Ciri. Is a child. I understand that that man hurt her. And I wanted to kill him as much as you,” he was whispering heatedly, glancing at the door once, he didn’t want to wake the girl.

“But she is a child. And the last thing she needs from you, is you getting angry at every little thing and beating the living daylights out of people in taverns. You can’t just… do that. You have to … use your head. She’s a strong girl Geralt. She was just scared. And you going all crazy Witcher murder man doesn’t help anything. For any of us. And-“ he stopped himself, rubbing at his neck as he turned away from Geralt. He was breathing heavy.

“Jaskier.”

He didn’t answer, just squeezed his eyes shut.

“Julian.” His eyes snapped open, his heart fluttering in his chest. Geralt never used that name. Jaskier turned slowly, looking at Geralt cautiously.

“You did well. Taking care of her.” He closed the space between them, walking toward Jaskier with a strange look in his eyes.

“And I’ll try to do better.” He reached out, wrapping his fingers around Jaskier’s arm, willing him to relax his arms.

“You better.” He didn’t know what else to say. His body felt tense and uncomfortable with things unsaid.

“Something else is bothering you.” Geralt reached out again, touching his neck this time, angling Jaskier’s head up to look at him.

“Tell me what it is and I’ll do my best to remedy what ales you.” Jaskier smiled up at him, a tear falling down his cheek.

“I just don’t like seeing you hurt.” He reached out, fingers gently tracing over a small cut on Geralt’s arm, it was already healing, the skin looking as if it had barely been broken. Geralt’s eyes watched his fingers move against his skin, Jaskier would swear he saw him shiver but chocked it up to wishful thinking. He pressed his fingers into the skin there and then quickly pulled his hand away. Pulling himself out of Geralt’s reach as well, the feel of his hand on Jaskier’s neck was going to make him vibrate out of his skin.

“Jaskier. I’m fine.” Geralt sighed, Jaskier sighed himself, turning to look at the Witcher, to his credit he did look a bit guilty, his shoulder slumped as he looked across the dimly lit room.

“You are this time. And what happens when you aren’t? What happens to us? What happens to Ciri when you take a job and don’t come back? Am I supposed to just… take over? Just take care of her forever. I can barely take of myself on a good day Geralt. And she isn’t mine, the way that she is yours. It's isn’t the same. It wouldn’t be right. She needs you. I n-,” Jaskier bit his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose, his fingers moving together nervously at his sides. He moved his teeth from his tongue to his lip and stared at the ground when he heard Geralt approaching him.

“You what?” his voice was soft, Jaskier closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying his best to recover, to put on a cheerful face and pretend he hadn’t almost said something he might regret. He opened his eyes and looked up at Geralt with a cheerful smile, shaking his head to clear it a bit.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. You know we should probably get to bed. We have to be up rather early in the morn-“ his voice stops in his throat when Geralt’s hand curls around his arm and stops him from walking past him. Jaskier swallows hard when Geralt pulls him close, he can feel the Witcher’s breath on his neck, his skin tingling with every breath Geralt takes.

“You what, Jaskier?” he whispers it, and Jaskier knows he pushing him now, doing it on purpose. He snaps his head to the side to glare at the Witcher.

“I need you. Is that what you want to hear? You already know that. I need you, far more, than you could ever need me. We’ve established that, time, and time again. Now will you please let go of me and let me go to bed so I can forget this ever hap-“ his throat closes up when Geralt pulls him closer still, their noses almost touching. Jaskier blinks at him slowly, his hands dangling uselessly at his sides, Geralt’s hand still firmly holding his arm, his other hand now wrapped around Jaskier, warm on his back.

“You… you annoy me to no ends sometimes. Most of the time.” Geralt started, Jaskier tried to pull away from him, a tight feeling spreading across his chest, Geralt held him easily in place.

“You never stop talking. And I enjoy silence. And I know I treat you… worse than I should. But please,” Geralt moved his hand up Jaskier’s arm, across his shoulder, letting his hand come to rest on the bard’s cheek.

“Never doubt that I need you.” Jaskier raised his eyes from Geralt’s chest where he’d been focusing them. He nearly gasped when he saw the look Geralt was giving him. He looked, wrecked. Like he was opening himself up for the first time in… ages. Jaskier furrowed his brow.

“I need you to believe me. I need you, Julian. Always.” His voice was shaking, a barely there sound but Jaskier heard it, underneath the soft growl in Geralt’s voice, it was there. He felt a tear fall down his cheek and laughed a little when Geralt brushed it away with his thumb.

“I believe you.” Jaskier whispered, it was all he could manage. His voice still very much lodged in his throat.

“More than you’ll ever know.” Geralt pressed forward, his forehead resting against Jaskier, he shivered at the contact. He moved his hands up slowly, cautiously settling them on Geralt’s arms, needing to touch.

“You could… tell me. Sometimes. We could work on that, teach you to use your words a little more, who knows, maybe you’ll like it? Maybe once we get you talking, you’ll never shut- Mmf!” Geralt pressed his lips firmly against the bard’s, Jaskier nearly toppled backwards from the force of it. He grabbed onto Geralt and hummed as the man held him impossibly closer, deepening the kiss as he held Jaskier on his feet. When Geralt finally pulled back Jaskier was breathless, blinking up at him with big doe eyes.

“Yeah or not. That- that works too. We can just… Do that… instead.” Geralt hummed, moving his nose against Jaskier’s and then pulling him back in for more. Jaskier hummed against his lips, tangling his fingers in Geralt’s hair as his Witcher held him close.

#geralt x jaskier #geraskier #geraskier fic #Geraskier ficlet #geraskier prompt #prompt #prompt fil #requests #My writing

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pigeontheoneandonly · 4 years ago

Text

Cheeseburger AU

I’m so exhausted I’m almost drunk on lack of sleep, so have some Phyto Burger insanity:

Nathaly Shepard smiled brightly over her register. “Would you like fries with that?’

The gesture was forced. The middle-aged customer pursed her lips, her pair of children swarming at hip-level, standing on tip-toes to see over the counter. “My darlings don’t need all those empty calories. They will have orange slices.”

“We don’t have oranges.”

The customer’s chest swelled. “They have oranges at Burger Town.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t,” Shepard said shortly. It was spaceport fast food. Two months and she still didn’t understand people who came in expecting a high standard of quality. “We got phyto-fries or cheese sticks. You want some or what?”

“Don’t you dare be short with me.” Her eyes narrowed. “I am a paying customer.”

The younger of the two children giggled, glancing from her mother to Shepard. Shepard sat back on her heel. “Lady, you haven’t even glimpsed short yet.”

Her face went purple. “I’m glad my daughter will never find herself working in a nasty place like this. Does your mother know you dyed your hair that filthy shade, or is she not around?”

Shepard’s hand went to her blue hair before she could stop herself, where it bunched up in the back to fit under the food-safe paper hat. Her hard gaze settled on the customer.

“My test scores are in the top three percent of my class.” There was no need to mention her grades were barely passing. “Maybe your daughter should dye her hair. Might help.”

The little girl stopped laughing. Her mother seized her hand. “I’ve never been so mistreated. Cancel the order. I’ll have your job for this!”

“Good luck with that,” Shepard replied, without interest.

The customer swept from the store. Shepard hit the void button on the register and braced for what was coming.

It didn’t take more than twenty seconds for McCandless’ door to creak open the barest crack. “Shepard! Office. Now!”

She raised her eyes briefly to the ceiling, a universal appeal for sanity, and trudged towards the back of the store.

The manager’s office was barely more than a closet, and he had to share space with the mop and bucket. Shepard yanked the door the rest of the way open and folded her arms. “What?”

Roy McCandless was a man gone to seed in the way of men who were ten years past giving up on any kind of long-term relationship or rewarding career. He lifted his eyes from his terminal. “What in the fuck did you just say to that customer?”

“She was a total bitch—”

“She was a customer.” He thumped his fist on the strip of plywood that passed for a desk. “Damn it girl, that was the fifth one this week.”

“Better than last week, then.”

He jabbed his finger at her. “I swear to god—”

“What exactly is your problem?”

“You disrespect the customers. You forget your greetings and your upsells. How fucking hard is it to remind the damn customers that all of our patties are grown in-house?”

She was in disbelief. “Nobody finds that appetizing. That convinces exactly nobody to eat here.”

“A lot of corporate people with marketing degrees think otherwise. Our same-store sales are down 15% from this time last year.”

Shepard tossed her head, exasperated. “Maybe if you came out and helped instead of sitting in here and jacking off all the time, we’d make more sales.”

He reddened. “Little girl like you has no idea what she’s talking about.”

“I’m sixteen, not eight,” she protested. “I recognize your goddamn porno music when it’s playing behind me the whole shift.”

He glanced from her to his terminal display. Clearly, he hadn’t realized it was audible. Shepard rolled her eyes. “Can I go back to work now?”

“Yeah.” He wouldn’t look at her. “Sure. Just… try to… yeah. And straighten your damn hat.”

She saluted him, facetiously, and returned to the counter. In the restaurant, a young man waited with a somewhat nervous air, glancing around for a cashier.

Shepard looked over her shoulder and saw McCandless’ beady eye staring out at her from behind the door frame. A brief fantasy of taking her hat and showing him precisely where he could stuff it flitted through her mind. But there was also her father, who was so proud that she was finally getting her life together, and the idea of telling him she quit only eight weeks in was unbearable.

So she took a breath, put on another fake smile, and did her best to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “Welcome to Phyto Burger, home of the best beef that’s never lived. What can I get you?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. The shyness was unexpected. He seemed only a few years older than her, easy on the eyes with close-cropped black hair and a warm brown gaze. Her irritation softened a bit. “We do a pretty good chocolate milkshake. You look like you could use one.”

“Nah.” He glanced up at the menu, without caring much. “I’ll have a number four combo.”

“Sure thing.” She punched in the order. Now that he’d finally looked at her, he was staring. Shepard collected stares like some kids collected shoes— a lot of people shared her earlier customer’s sentiments— but this felt different. She eyed him. “Something else you need?”

He gave himself a shake. “Sorry. You, uh, missed an eyebrow.”

“What?”

“One red, one blue.”

She leaned towards the shined countertop to inspect her reflection. “Shit. My friend did my hair. I’m going to kill her.”

“That seems a little extreme.” He shrugged. “It’s kind of cute, anyway. Different.”

Shepard smiled— real, this time. She was the kind of sixteen that was all limbs and elbows, and gifted with an abrasive personality. Cute wasn’t a word she heard a lot. “What brings you to Mars?”

“Layover on my way to Triton. I’ve got a summer internship with Ultradyne.”

She transferred the order over to the robot. “University student? What are you studying?”

“Electronic engineering.”

Shepard smirked. “Fancy.”

He blushed. It was adorable. She leaned over the counter. “You seem kind of unsure of yourself for a college kid.”

“I’m nineteen. I haven’t been in that long.” He paused. “You know what, I think I will have that milkshake.”

#wip whenever?#does it count if i wrote it a long time ago?#incomplete snippet #kind of crude in one part #honestly this thing probably shouldn't see the light of day #but it's night so whatever

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honeysuckle-writings · 5 years ago

Text

PART TWO OF THE PG AMASAI FIC

Last part. I also post these on my A03 account. Let me know if you enjoy these and I can write more pregame stuff?

Gets a little raunchy oops.

*******************************************

Saihara couldn't get their last interaction out of his mind. Too many things happened at once and honestly it was hard for him to process. Amami, his celebrity crush, had both protected him and spoken to him for the first time. He couldnt concentrate on any of his other classes because Amami's voice echoed in his head. His stomach turned with butterflies and he bit his lip. There was no doubt that anyone could see his flushed face from a mile away.

Saihara wanted to properly thank Amami. It's not often that anyone even considers his feelings or well being. Even Akamatsu would half ass try to calm Momota down. She normally had her own way of going about it.

Fantasies filled his head as Saihara imagined the dirtiest, out of the box things. Things he would never have the courage or motivation to even say outloud. He wouldnt dare let anyone know just how his thoughts could get. He was already seen as the nerdy fanboy who wouldn't shut up about Danganronpa. Adding on perverted in front of that was surely going to ruin any chance at regaining a reputation for him.

The bell rung signaling the other kids to make their way out to go home, but Saihara stayed back and made his way to the library. There weren't many kids that had to stay after that day so Saihara found an empty table and sat down. He just opted to dig out his composition book and began to write. This was notebook was where he would come up with different executions for the blackened or analysis of the trials. Also thrown in there were his secret writings about Amami; He was embarrassed to admit his "teenager in love" feelings. Often times he envisioned the two of them in a killing game together; Both of them being the survivors in the end.

The pen worked across the lined paper as he wrote out yet another version of them figuring out the mastermind of their game together. This was sure to make time fly by fast.

People came and went with little acknowledgement from him. Other students still took this time to use the computers, do homework, or check out books before the campus closed. It didn't feel like much time had passed before he heard the door of the library open again. This time he did glance up. A small framed boy with purple hair skulked in, looking in every direction with caution before he made his way into the shelves.

Kokichi Ouma. Saihara knew the kid got bullied even more than he did, which he didn't think was possible. Ouma was always seen with some sort or bandage or bruise for the day and he constantly seemed to be on edge as he pushed through the day. It was almost like prey tiptoeing through dangerous turf.

Saihara had tried to talk and befriend him on many occasions but Ouma stayed closed off. He offered conversation but anyone could tell he was uncomfortable and would push hard to keep it up. So Saihara decided to leave him alone most of the time. Plus, Ouma didn't seem at all interested in Danganronpa so Saihara would always direct the conversation there eventually and almost ruin anything he had.

Right after Ouma towered Amami. He followed Ouma towards the back shelves as he took small glances around, almost as if he was protecting Ouma as they went.

Saihara's breath hitched as he watched the two of them disappear. What could they be doing? Were they friends? More than friends? Why would Amami watch over him? So many questions filled his mind as his hands began to tremble a bit. He wanted to get up and go eavesdrop. Yes it was wrong, but he was curious. It couldn't hurt to investigate and put his mind at ease.

He closed his notebook and shoved it back into his bag. As long as he didn't leave the library, whoever was monitoring the "delinquents" of the day wouldn't say anything. He scooted his chair back quietly and quickly made his way to the back.

He weaved through, his back against the books as he looked down each aisle cautiously for any glimpse of them until at last he saw them. They stood fairly close, Ouma looking up at Amami and clutching the strap of his messenger bag. Amami stood over him, his hands in his pocket casually as he listened to Ouma whispering to him.

Saihara wished he could get closer, but he stayed hidden around the corner at the end of the aisle. Ouma was just quiet enough where all he got were broken sentences or words that he couldn't put into a cohesive statement. Saihara peeked around the corner once more to watch. Amami suddenly jerked his head toward the direction of him and Saihara jerked back and prayed that he wasn't seen.

'Fuck fuck fuck...' He thought to himself. It was time to prepare for Amami to come and find him, but he didn't. Saihara gave it a little bit and relaxed his breathing before he carefully peered once more. They hadn't moved. Oh thank god.

Ouma looked down and nodded and Amami reached out to touch his arm. Saihara knew Amami couldn't be as harsh as he was before, there really was some caring nature in him. It made his heart leap.

Amami let his hand fall from Ouma and Ouma turned to leave towards the front. This time Amami didn't follow, but instead crossed his arms and watched him leave.

Saihara turned his head away, hoping to not be seen if Amami looked around again before leaving behind Ouma. When he peeked again, he was right. Amami was no where to be seen. He must have been satisfied and tailed Ouma. Saihara took a deep breath. Part of him was actually sad that Amami had left. Today had been the closest he had ever been to Amami and it was thrilling.

Content with his investigation, Saihara turned to go back to his table but was stopped abruptly by someones chest. Saihara's breath hitched as he was faced with that familiar brown cardigan and red striped tie. This was it. He was done for.

His eyes slowly raised until he could see under the lip of his hat, Amami staring darkly down at him. Saihara froze in place. Fuck.

"Uhm. Uh. I'm so- oof!" Saihara started to apologize but was cut off as he was shoved against the shelf.

"What the hell were you doing spying on us?" Amami leaned his arm on the shelf next to Saihara's head, his other hand in Saihara's shoulder holding him in place.

"I w-wasn't spyin-"

"Don't fucking lie to me. You were eavesdropping on us. I saw you the entire time."

Did he really? Saihara thought he was actually doing a great job staying hidden.

"I just-just wanted to uhm." Saihara could not for the life of him come up with any excuse. He was so mad at himself for finding his predicament low key arousing. Amami was attractive and he was so close that Saihara could swear he felt Amami's hot breath on him.

"I swear if you are trying to get to Ouma." Amami almost growled.

"No!" Saihara interrupted, a little too loudly, causing Amami to sneer and dart his eyes side to side to make sure no one else was near them. Saihara threw his hands up in defense, his legs closing together and trembling. "I sw-swear! I just want-ted to see you." There was no use in hiding it. Anything else he could have come up with would have been worse and Saihara already was not a good liar.

"What?" Amami didn't seem like he believed him as he continued to stay, unmoving.

"I just...I saw y-you and I, I wanted to look at you more." He was not making any sense. Time for the flood gates to open and let himself ramble on. "I cant take my-my eyes off you and I'm s-sorry I just followed to look at y-you more. I have a big crush on-on you and any time I g-get to actually see you I want to g-get closer."

Amami's face was unchanging but his eyes glanced down at Saihara's frame and body language. "You're enjoying this aren't you."

That shut Saihara up immediately. "I'm s-sorry?"

"You're enjoying this." Amami stated once again before taking a step closer, his body now touched Saihara's.

Saihara could not read Amami's face, even with it being so close to his. He wanted to lean up and kiss him so badly. Amami's lips were right there and it wouldn't take much.

"You're getting off on me even being this close to you."

"Yes." Saihara's response came out quickly and very breathy. He became very aware of the body that was touching his and he longed for it to be flushed against his. Saihara spread his legs without a second thought.

Amami scoffed at the response he was given and looked down. Contrasting his statements, Amami pressed his thigh between Saihara's legs and felt just how hard he had gotten.

Saihara's eyed widened and he moved his hips to grind down on Amami's thigh involuntarily. A small squeak escaped his lips and his eyes fluttered, but he worked to keep them open.

"Fucking knew it." Amami's eyes pierced through Saihara's as he pushed his thigh up more.

Saihara reached out and grabbed Amami's cardigan tightly in an attempt to get even closer. His breathing picked up as he continued his movement of rubbing himself on Amami's thigh.

This was better than he had imagined in his dreams. He felt drool pooling into his mouth as he lost himself in the smell and touch of Amami. He had completely forgotten that they were in public and just hidden away enough to not be caught.

The hand Amami had been holding Saihara down with moved up against the shelf, trapping Saihara between both his arms.

Saihara didn't mind, not that he would go anywhere. His movements switched between pressing down hard and going slow to desperately rubbing himself. Saihara's face was so red and his abdomen began to tighten. There was no way he was going to make it much longer.

Saihara wrapped his arm's around Amami's neck to completely flush them together. He whimpered and tried to keep his moans quiet as his hips staggered in their movement. Saihara buried his face into the crook of Amami's neck in an attempt to keep himself quiet, his hat slipping back and falling on to the ground.

He could hear that Amami's breath had changed as well and for a bit, Saihara thought he may actually be enjoying this as well.

That thought was all he needed to start pushing him over the edge. Saihara felt the drool dip down from his mouth and on to Amami's shirt. The tightness in his abdomen turned into heat as the movements of his hips became more erratic.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Saihara squeezed his thighs around Amami's and held on tight as felt himself climax. He bit his lip hard to keep from making any noise as he twitched and rode out the orgasm.

It felt like they stayed like that for minutes, but it was only couple of seconds.

Amami moved his leg out from between Saihara's and was met with a whimper from the latter. Amami straightened himself up and looked down at him.

When Saihara finally got the courage to look up, Amami's eyes weren't nearly as dark as they were before.

Neither of them spoke as they looked at each other. Saihara attempted to catch his breath but he was in such a daze it was hard to concentrate.

Amami leaned down and picked up the forgotten hat on the ground before placing it haphazardly on Saihara's head.

Saihara reached up and fixed it properly.

"Uhm. Th-thank you." Saihara broke the silence.

"For?" Amami questioned as he straightened himself up.

"That. Uhm. My hat? And-d doing that. You- why did y-you do that wi-with me?"

"Your time is almost up now right?"

Time? He forgot he was supposed to basically be in detention at the moment.

"Oh." He looked over at a clock that hung on the wall above a close by shelf. It really was almost time now, but how did Amami know? "Ye-yeah."

"Alright. You're welcome." Amami walked past him and began to leave.

"Wait!" He called out, Amami stopped, and then Saihara caught himself and whispered. "Wait. P-please. I don't understand."

Amami just shrugged. Saihara started to think even he didn't know why he did that. He started to walk out again and this time Saihara did not stop him. Amami was now more confusing than ever before, but Saihara couldn't help but smile to himself at having that moment with Amami.

He was never going to forget it, but now it was time to get home and get cleaned up. Saihara wondered if anything would change between them now.

#amasai #danganronpa #shuichi saihara #rantaro amami #pregame saihara #pregame amami #pregame danganronpa #drv3 #ndrv3

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raywritesthings · 5 years ago

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All’s Fair

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Nyssa al Ghul Pairing: Laurel Lance/Nyssa al Ghul Summary: Laurel helps Nyssa celebrate her first New Year’s and complete her first Resolution. Notes: No “Eleven-Fifty-Nine” and no Crisis *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links in my bio*

“What are these ridiculous glasses?”

Laurel turned back around in the aisle, her basket hanging from an arm, to find Nyssa by the New Year’s display. She was holding a pair of floppy, glossy paper frames shaped into the numbers 2020.

“It’s for New Year’s.”

“New Year’s?”

Laurel stopped, then walked over to her friend. “Nyssa, you’re not telling me you don’t know—”

“I realize we are leaving one year behind for another,” Nyssa quickly stated. Laurel bit her lip to hide a smile. The way her friend tended to get embarrassed over not knowing things about everyday life outside of the League was endlessly cute. But Laurel didn’t know what Nyssa might say if she realized Laurel found her cute.

“Okay, well, it’s tradition to sort of celebrate. Ring in the new.”

“With silly glasses?”

Laurel nodded. “And hats and noise-makers and watching a big disco ball drop in the middle of Times Square. I haven’t done any of that in years.” It was strange to think about how many years she had let just pass by for one reason or another.

As she watched Nyssa eyeing the display with curiosity, she made a snap decision. Laurel scooped up two hats, noisemakers and another pair of the glasses, dropping them into her basket.

“Let’s do it, okay? Let’s celebrate New Year’s.”

Nyssa’s lips quirked in a bemused sort of way, and she dropped the glasses she was holding into the basket as well.

She grabbed some more things while they were out at the store, then returned home to work on putting it all together. Nyssa offered to help, but she told her to sit back and relax since this was her first ever New Year’s party. Though it wouldn’t be much of a party since their friends would all be out that night on patrol. Laurel sent Thea a text to let her know she and Nyssa would be taking the night off for themselves.

She was mixing a punch together when Thea’s reply came back. Have fun! Get a New Year’s kiss for me ;)

Laurel licked her lips and tucked the phone away. That was one aspect of the tradition she wasn’t planning to bring up with Nyssa any time soon.

It was just so unfair. Nyssa had been staying with her for a few months now, ever since she, Thea and Roy had returned from destroying the Lazarus Pits around the world. She had Thea’s old room, since Thea and Roy had gotten their own place. And rooming with Nyssa had been nice… yet endlessly frustrating.

Nyssa had certain habits, like lounging about in a towel while she let her hair air dry. Her very long, full head of hair. Her rosemary perfume tended to cling to things like the couch cushions, and she hand-washed and hang-dried everything. Including her underwear. Needless to say, Laurel’s imagination had taken her on many a trip to fantasy-land featuring rosemary and the swell of Nyssa’s breasts barely hidden under deep purple lingerie that Laurel knew for a fact her friend owned.

And it just wasn’t fair because Nyssa was off-limits. Not only was Nyssa her friend, but she was Sara’s ex — which Nyssa had only recently come to terms with after the last time Sara visited and told Laurel all about her new girlfriend, Ava. So, despite what Sara had done regarding Laurel’s boyfriend what felt a lifetime ago, Laurel knew that making any kind of move would be awkward at best and judged harshly at worst.

Never mind the fact she still hadn’t gotten around to telling anyone she might like girls.

It just never felt like the right time. She could hear the voices of her friends in her head even now: Laurel, you really have to stop trying to be your sister. It wasn’t like she’d made a conscious decision to like girls. It was mostly just little stuff, like that Mari was so strong and skilled or that Felicity was kind of adorable a lot of the time or that Nyssa was stunning and sweet and brilliant but refreshingly naive about so many things and she was everything.

God, she really was pathetic about this. But when she fell, she always fell deep.

Laurel ordered some Chinese, which was always a careful affair as Nyssa had very lofty standards where American Chinese cuisine was concerned. But Laurel hadn’t wanted to put her out by asking her to cook when Nyssa was supposed to be enjoying her first New Year’s. They turned the TV on to the channel playing the Times Square party, but kept the volume down in order to be able to hear the delivery man’s arrival.

“An interesting selection of songs so far,” Nyssa remarked. Interesting was her word for something she wasn’t quite sure she liked.

Laurel shrugged. “It’s a mix of new stuff with some classics. And some Christmas, because we didn’t get enough of it the rest of the month, apparently.” She passed her friend a glass of punch, grinning at the sight of the bright and glittery hat perched on Nyssa’s perfect hair.

“Thank you, my dearest.” Nyssa had taken to saying that a lot recently. The first time, it had been said as ‘my dearest friend’, but it had since become shortened for convenience's sake. “Mm, I like this.” Nyssa smacked her lips and licked them, which so didn’t help Laurel from openly staring at them. “How else do people celebrate the end of the year?”

“Well,” Laurel said, pausing to take a breath to collect herself. “A lot of people will make resolutions that they plan to uphold in the New Year. Like losing weight or quitting smoking or doing one random act of kindness a day. Stuff like that.”

“And do they uphold them?”

“Not usually,” Laurel admitted.

“Should we make them anyway?”

“If you want to.”

Nyssa nodded. “I do.”

“Okay, then.” Laurel heard the knock at the door and went to get their food. She returned with takeout containers she set on the coffee table, then went into her kitchen for the paper plates and utensils.

They spent the next several minutes eating silently as the night wore on. Laurel searched her brain for some kind of resolution she could say she was making. She liked where she was with her training and physical fitness right now, so that was out. Her sobriety was still intact. And she figured her vigilantism counted as random acts of good for the people of their city in a way. So that was most of the big categories.

Laurel knew that some people made romance a part of their resolution. But Laurel’s wheels were pretty much stuck in the mud when it came to relationships. She was going nowhere fast.

“Oh, it’s close to midnight,” Laurel realized, setting the remains of her Kung Pao Chicken aside and washing it down with the last of her punch.

“Very good. I have made my resolution,” Nyssa announced.

“Great.” Laurel bent down to fish the noisemakers out of her bag. “Did you want to tell me what it was?”

“Yes, as it rather involves you.”

Laurel lifted her head. “It does?”

“Yes, my dearest.” Nyssa set her own glass aside and slid closer on the couch they were sharing. “My resolution is to stop, as you Americans say it, beating around the bush.”

“Beating around the bush about what?”

“Us, of course. You hardly believe I would parade myself around as a feast for the eyes for just anyone, would you? Or allow you to glimpse my unmentionables? Not even my short-lived husband has ever seen them, and he would not be alive if he had,” Nyssa added with a wicked smirk.

Laurel was too busy gaping at her friend to really process the veiled threat towards Oliver. “I- you were doing all that on purpose? But I didn’t think—”

“Laurel, ever since I met your family, my life was changed. But you, dearest, have changed me. Perhaps more than you will ever know. How could I not hold you in my heart when at last I made room for it?”

Like most of Nyssa’s declarations, this one was nearly overwhelming in its intensity. Oddly enough, Laurel felt herself comforted by the wet sheen she could see in Nyssa’s eyes. Knowing she was just as affected as Laurel stoked something warm in her chest. “I thought I was wrong or taking advantage of you staying here. I didn’t think you could ever see me as someone to be with.”

Nyssa’s actions hadn’t been unintentional at all. She had been trying to let Laurel know that it was okay, that she was interested. That they could have this.

“To be with you as a friend and in this home has already been my greatest privilege. To be with you in every sense is now my greatest desire.”

Laurel couldn’t help a shiver. It had been so long since someone had even looked at her with something like want. To hear it laid so bare like that was doing things to her, reawakening feelings and sensations she’d thought she couldn’t have anymore.

Nyssa slid even closer, so that their knees brushed and she laid one hand on Laurel’s thigh. The touch seemed to burn through the thin cotton of the pajama bottoms she had on. “I have done some reading on this holiday while you were preparing our celebration. I understand that revelers exchange a kiss at midnight.”

Laurel nodded, not really trusting her voice.

“I would very much like to participate in that tradition.”

This required perhaps more than a nod, so Laurel just barely managed an, “Okay.”

Her friend smiled, a genuine one that was rare and thus all the more beautiful, before she leaned in. Laurel’s hand rose to cup Nyssa’s jaw, then stroke her cheek as their lips met in a tentative exploration.

Nyssa’s lips were softer than she could have expected, and warm against her own. Laurel couldn’t resist capturing the bottom one between her teeth for a moment, earning a surprised but happy hum.

They parted to breathe, foreheads leaned together, and Laurel smiled as a thought came to her. “Nyssa?”

“Yes, dearest?”

Laurel reached down and snagged one of the noise makers, blowing into it for a short, shrill burst.

Nyssa sat back, blinking in shock. “What on Earth—”

“Happy New Year.”

Nyssa let out a breath and shook her head. “Your country is ridiculous.”

Laurel laughed as Nyssa snagged the noisemaker and tossed it aside, then happily resumed their previous activity. The television flashed with fireworks as the crowds in New York City cheered. Laurel closed her eyes to all of that, too happy to surrender her lips and her mouth and her body to Nyssa’s touch. Her friend, her trainer and now so much more.

Maybe life was fair, sometimes.

#lauryssa #laurel lance #nyssa al ghul #arrow #black canary #my writing

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hazzasgayvodka · 5 years ago

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mister long term booty call chapter two “If I bust my ass, I’m gonna bust yours”

August 21st, 2011

Despite asking your new friend Jacob in your class for directions, you can’t seem to find your way around anywhere. You look down the row of classrooms and once again don’t see the room number you’re looking for. You huff in frustration before turning back the way you came and trying the other hallway, maybe you’ve just got it backwards, again. It’s hard enough starting middle school and being sorted into nearly all eighth-grade classes but doing so alone after moving to a new city was something else entirely.

You’re just about to duck into the nearest classroom and ask for some directions when suddenly two boys come barreling down the hallway. You try to dodge them against the wall but end up smacking straight into one of them, dropping all of your books to the ground in front of you and scraping your knees against the pavement. You look up to meet the face of the boy who nearly trampled you, expecting him to help you up and maybe even gather your books like in the movies.

“Dude, watch it.” He laughs, standing up and brushing himself off before taking back off after his friend down the hall.

You roll your eyes as you stack your books back up and pull yourself to your feet, wincing a little as you stand on your ankle. The teacher from the room in front of you steps out for a minute to ask if you’re okay and you have to withdraw from making a snide remark about how you’re doing just fucking peachy, instead electing to ask for directions so you can just get to your class already.

After walking back down the rest of the hall and taking the first right as instructed, your eyes finally land on the room you’ve been looking for. You take a deep breath as you twist the handle of room D-145, preparing yourself to stalk to the back and pray no one notices you.

“Oh, tardy on the first day, are we?” Ms. Barger asks as soon as you step in the room.

“I um, couldn’t find the room, I’m new.” You say quietly, wishing you could crawl into a hole.

“Ah, you must be the sixth grader,” She nods, “Why don’t you go take a seat behind Harry.”

You look in the direction of her pointing finger and see none other than the unruly haired boy that knocked you to the ground in the hallway earlier. He’s giving you a giant lopsided grin now, pointing at the seat behind him. You inwardly groan, dragging your feet over to the empty desk and dropping your books at your feet. You slide into your seat and he immediately turns around as Ms. Barger goes on to take role.

“Hey, what’s your name?” He asks, fully leaning on your desk.

You don’t answer him, trying to wrap your head around why the hell he’s interested in talking to you now when he couldn’t even help you up off the pavement earlier.

“Alright nameless girl,” He sighs, visibly annoyed, “Do you play Pokémon?”

“Styles?” Ms. Barger asks, cutting him off with a certain tone to her voice.

“Yes, Winona?” He grins, clearly pleased with himself and you have to bite your lip to conceal your laugh.

“What have I said about calling me by my first name?” Ms. Barger scolds, “Do you really want to start off this school year with detention?”

“Personally, I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate the coming of a new year of bullshit in this ward.” He smirks, kicking his feet up on his desk in front of him to which Ms. Barger rolls her eyes and turns to the board to start teaching.

“So, as I was saying,” He grins, turning back around and taking out a deck of cards, “You play Pokémon?”

Present Day

“Harry, Harry! I’m falling!”

“You’re not falling, Jesus Christ,” He laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you in place, “Besides you’re on a skateboard a few inches off the ground, not plummeting to your death.”

“Why did I allow you to put me on this death trap again?” You groan, wobbling slightly as he pulls you along by your hips.

“Because it’s a trade, we do something I want to do and then we do something you want to do.” He explains, helping you off the board.

As soon as your feet touch solid ground again you puff out a breath of relief. He laughs as he easily flips the board upside down and flips it back over with his feet, landing right on top of it and skating back around you in circle.

“Show off.” You scoff, trying to shove him off but he grabs your hands and pulls you on instead.

“What were you saying?” He smirks, hopping off the board and leaving you standing on it once again, holding onto his hand for dear life.

“Wait, Harry-“

“You got this,” He laughs, squeezing your hand and walking beside you, “Just try pushing off with your right foot.”

You give him a glare and he grins, reaching up to take his hat off and brush his hair out of his face before putting it back on backwards. He’s totally in his element here in his ridiculously skinny jeans and giant oversized t-shirt. You look back up to meet his face and he’s got his eyebrows raised waiting for you to push off by yourself.

“If I bust my ass, I’m gonna bust yours.” You say definitively, pointing your finger into his chest.

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” He laughs, “Now come on, just try.”

You bite your lip as you transfer all your weight to your left foot and lean over, pushing off on your right foot. He nearly trips to catch up with you as you push off and skate a good distance.

“See!” He grins, grabbing both your hands to stop you, “You did just fine.”

“Okay, okay,” You breathe, trying to catch your breath after holding it the whole time you were skating, “Let’s do it again.”

“Yeah?” He asks eagerly, positioning himself on your left side again, “Whenever you’re ready.”

You do it again, grabbing his right hand in a death grip as you push off and skate even further with him jogging beside you to keep up. You do it a couple more times, getting even more adventurous each time and skating even further across the pavement.

“Okay, now this time, when you get to the end of the pavement, don’t stop, try to turn.” He instructs.

“Try to turn?” You scoff, “How?”

“Here, hop off,” He says, getting on the board himself and pushing off with ease, skating to the end of the pavement, and then leaning on his back foot and jutting the board to the left before pushing off again and skating back over to you, “Did you see it?”

“Kinda?” You say but it comes out sounding more like a question.

“Come on, you got this.” He nods, getting back off the board and rolling it over to you.

You roll your eyes as you grab his hand again and carefully step back on the board. He’s holding your hand nice and tight as you lean over and push off once again, skating towards the end of the pavement.

“See you’ve got it down,” He chuckles, “Now just lean back on your right foot and turn.”

You try to do what you watched him do but the board beneath you is rocking side to side under your wobbly legs and suddenly you’re stumbling right off it and into his arms. He’s laughing his ass off as you nearly trip over your own feet and the board but grabs you in his arms, stabilizing you anyways. You finally allow yourself to laugh with him when you look up and see the giant grin on his face as you lean back in his arms.

“Wanna take a break?” He laughs, letting you go and snapping his board back up into his hand.

“Yeah, besides, it’s my turn.” You smirk, grabbing his hand and tugging him behind you.

In a matter of an hour before you’re both back at your apartment after he showed off a bit more around the skate park hitting the rails. You have no idea how he’s able to grind the board down the slope of the rail without hitting the pavement face first but he’s certainly good at it and likes to remind you of that.

“Y/N, it’s burning, is it supposed to be burning?” He winces, attempting to crane his neck to see his face in the mirror.

“Stop moving,” You giggle, grabbing him by the jaw and turning his face back to yours as he wiggles around on the lid of the toilet seat, “I’m almost done, and the burning means it’s working.”

“What is it supposed to be doing? Melting off my top layer of skin?” He groans as you scoop out more of the purple shimmery face mask and paint it on his chin.

“Yes, exactly.” You nod and the horrified look on his face makes you laugh so hard you bury your face in his chest before standing back up to admire your work.

His hair is pushed back off his forehead with a zebra print headband that perfectly matches the santa cruz t-shirt on his shoulders and his entire face is painted a bright shimmery purple to match my own. He finally stands up off the toilet lid when you tell him you’re finished, and he nearly jumps when he catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror.

“Holy shit I look like a fucking alien,” He chuckles, leaning closer to the mirror, “How long till I can wash this shit off?”

“You don’t wash it off,” You explain, swatting his hands away from his face, “You peel it off in like twenty minutes.”

“Peel it?” He scoffs, turning around to face you, “I can’t peel it off! It’s gonna rip out my stubble!”

“What stubble,” You laugh, shoving him out of the way to walk back to the kitchen, “You have the facial hair of a prepubescent twelve-year-old.”

“Do not,” He huffs, following you to the pantry and grabbing the bag of chips right over your head, “I could totally grow a beard if I wanted to.”

“Oh, sure.” You mock sarcastically, following him over to the couch and immediately shoving your feet in his lap.

“I could!” He huffs through a mouthful of chips, “This shit isn’t going to like dye my face purple is it; I’ve got to get to work in like an hour.”

“You work tonight?” You groan, leaning back against the couch and folding your arms over your chest.

“Five to ten,” He shrugs, cautiously wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to not smear purple everywhere, “Why? You wanna do something?”

“No, just thought we were hanging out tonight since you’re here.” You say nonchalantly, masking your disappointment.

He opens his mouth to speak just as his phone starts ringing in his pocket and he sits up quickly, digging it out of his jeans. He rolls his eyes when they land on the caller ID but he answers it anyways and presses his phone to his ear.

“What’s up?” He asks, sounding less than enthused, “Yeah, yeah I can, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He ends the call and you perk up a bit, waiting for him to fill you in but suddenly he’s shoving your feet off of him and jogging over to the door to slide on his Vans.

“Who was that?” You ask.

“Work,” He groans, “Austin never came in so now I have to go in early to cover him.”

“Oh no, whatever shall Zumiez do with one less salesperson on the floor.” You sigh dramatically to which he gives you a pointed look.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I happen to be the top salesperson on that floor.” He smirks, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.

“I’m sure you’re their pride and joy, H,” You laugh, pointing to the purple face mask smeared all over his face, “But aren’t you forgetting something.”

“Oh shit! Yeah, get it off.” He says, leaning down so his face is level with yours.

You lift up the mask around his mouth and he winces all the while as you drag it off his skin little by little. You can’t help but laugh as he sucks in a breath when you rip the last bit off his tiny bit of mustache.

“Jesus Y/N, just do it like a Band-Aid this shit hurts.” He whines and you roll your eyes as you do as he requested and peel the rest off in one swift motion.

He scrunches his face up as you do so, gasping as you rip the last bit off his nose and toss the discarded mask in the trash. He opens his eyes once again and runs a hand over his face feeling his skin.

“Am I purple?” He laughs.

“You’re absolutely glowing.” You tease as he leans down and grabs his skateboard.

“Awesome, I’m never doing that shit again,” He jokes, “I gotta go, I’ll text you.”

You’re surprised when he opens the door and just before walking through it turns back around and lands a quick peck to your lips. You hardly have any time to react before he’s pulling away, dropping his board onto the sidewalk, and skating off.

You close the door almost hesitantly, waiting for him to look back over his shoulder or something but you know he’s not going to. What the hell was that? A kiss goodbye? Whatever it was for some reason it managed to make your knees weak.

You pull yourself away from leaning your back against the door and into the confines of your bedroom, plopping yourself right down at your desk. It’s about an hour later that you’re still mind-numbingly reading through your calculus book and imagining where that goodbye kiss could have headed if he didn’t have to go to work when your phone buzzes beside you and you’re surprised to see his name pop up on your screen.

H: wyd

Y/N: calc reading

H: rough

Y/N: tell me about it

H: finals coming up yeah?

Y/N: next week, super stressed

H: you know there’s a pretty easy way to destress

H: only requires like two fingers

Y/N: omg shut up

H: just stating some facts

Y/N: didn’t ask for your “facts”

H: fine but don’t say I didn’t try to help

H: brb gotta work

You set your phone back down and sigh, inadvertently clenching your thighs together as your mind goes to the last place you want it to. If he wants to make jokes about you getting off maybe he should have offered to help while he was here. You huff in frustration as you get up out of your chair and retreat to your bathroom instead, turning the water on as cold as you think you can take it and stepping in behind the curtain. You try to clear your head as you stand under the freezing water and suds yourself up with vanilla scented body wash. You rinse yourself off one more time before escaping the cold and wrapping up in a warm towel before walking back into your bedroom to hear your phone buzzing on your desk.

H: I’m back

H: wow love it when you don’t text back

H: it turns me on

H: ignore me harder

Y/N: well if you insist

H: kidding

H: come back

Y/N: that’s what I thought

H: where did you go

Y/N: shower

H: ah someone took my advice

Y/N: no dipshit, someone took a shower

H: oh good

H: I was worried you only lasted fifteen minutes

Y/N: oh shut up

H: you shut up

Y/N: make me loser

H: I definitely can

H: but you might moan a little

Y/N: HARRY

H: see, told you

Y/N: the only moaning you’re getting out of me is in sheer annoyance dumbass

H: there we go

H: who needs flirting and affection when you can just have blind hatred

Y/N: you’re such an idiot

H: mmmmm say it again

Y/N: oh shut up

H: are we really going down that road again

Y/N: I don’t know

Y/N: I quite liked where we were headed before

H: you did?

Y/N: are you really going to make me spell it out for you?

H: fucking hell

H: I’m at work woman

Y/N: and now that’s an issue?

Y/N: you were talking pretty big game there Styles

H: okay fine

H: you have exactly three minutes to be naked on your bed while I get to the storage closet

H: and don’t you dare start without me

Your heart is absolutely hammering in your chest when your eyes read over the words as they pop up on your screen. Are you really doing this? While he’s at work? What the hell are you thinking? You know you should stop this right here before things get carried away but something else has already come over you and before you can think straight, you’re stripped of all your clothing, lying back against your headboard. The cold air oscillating from your ceiling fan has you covered in goosebumps nearly instantly, every hair on your body standing up and your jittering hands reaching for your phone to see if he’s texted back just as it starts to ring in your hand.

“Shit, shit, shit,” You swear under your breath, staring at your ceiling as your phone rings in your hand and you try to force yourself to answer it, “Fuck it.”

You answer the call and immediately want to slap yourself for doing so, trying to regulate your breathing as your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

“You naked, sweetheart?” He breathes through the phone, instantly making your thighs clench together.

“Maybe.” You say, your voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, come on,” He laughs, “Don’t start with that shy shit now, Y/N.”

“Who said I’m being shy?” You smirk, trying to be just as equally witty as he always is, “Perhaps I’m teasing.”

“And we all know just how good you are at that.” He chuckles, trying to break through the awkward tension between the two of you.

What is it about talking dirty to each other over the phone rather than in person that makes it so much harder?

“Surely I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You sigh sarcastically, adjusting the pillows underneath you to get comfortable.

“This innocent act isn’t gonna last sweetheart.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” You giggle, “What makes you so sure?”

“Well we could start with the soaking spot I’m sure you have in your underwear,” He says and you picture the proud smirk on his face when you let your eyes flutter closed, “And end with the fact that you’re on your bed naked for me right now if you’d like.”

“Now come on Styles,” You muse, sounding a lot braver than you feel, “I think we both know I’m the one running the show here, I’ve got you in a supply closet after all.”

“That you do babygirl,” He laughs, and you just know he’s shaking his head at you, “Now sit up against your headboard and spread your legs for me.”

“Way ahead of you.” You smirk, balancing the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you let your fingers lightly circle your opening, making your thighs clench.

“Fuck, of course you are,” He breathes, and you hear the clink of his belt buckle as he undoes it, “Do you have music playing?”

“Mhm,” You hum, “Brockhampton.”

“Jesus,” He pants, “I wanna fuck you to so many songs.”

“Oh yeah?” You hum once again, trying to not let your moans sound too pornstar as you slip your fingers past your entrance, “Like what?”

“I’ll tell you later, promise,” He grunts, “But right now I need you to move your hips as sinfully as you can and imagine it’s my face you’re riding instead of your fingers.”

“Ahead of you again,” You grin, trying to keep your panting in check as your fingers speed up, “You have really got to learn to catch up, H.”

“Fuck off.” He chuckles.

“Tell me what you want to do to me.” You breathe, shocking yourself as the words fall past your lips.

“Christ,” He hisses, and you can picture him biting his lip purple, “I want to tie you down and make you beg, fuck you till you can’t walk straight,” He pants, moans spilling out of his mouth in between every word, “Fuck, please tell me you’re touching yourself cause god knows I am.”

“Way past touching, Harry.” You laugh, your left hand reaching to your chest to tweak your nipples.

“What are you thinking about right now?” He asks.

“You.”

“What about me?” He inquires further.

“Riding you,” You gasp, nearly choking on the end of the word as you hit that perfect spot, “Pushing you down against my bed and climbing on top of you, sliding onto you, marking up your neck with my mouth.”

“Holy fuck,” He groans in the back of his throat, “I want to bend you over my bed and smack your ass so hard you can’t sit for two days.”

“But you’ll handcuff me first of course,” You tease, trying to get a rise out of him, “Right, Harry?”

“Fuck, I’ll chain you to the bed if you want.” He chuckles.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” You bait him, whimpering as your left hand moves from your nipples back to your clit.

“Sweetheart, it can be whatever the hell you want it to be.”

Your stomach does a series of backflips when the words come out of his mouth in that deep gravelly tone and you find yourself beaming ear to ear as your head relaxes against the pillow behind you.

“You still stressed about calculus?” He teases.

“Funny,” You pant, “Can’t say calculus is necessarily in the forefront of my mind at the current moment, no.”

“Then I’d say I’m doing a pretty good job, huh?”

“Do you think you could get over here and put your mouth to better use than patting yourself on the back?” You suggest, biting your lip as you await his response.

“Don’t tease a weak man, Y/N,” He groans, a small chuckle escaping his mouth, “I don’t get off for another three hours.”

“It’ll be a lot sooner than that if I have anything to do with it.” You grin, an idea coming to fruition in your head.

“What? Y/N?”

You don’t answer any of his questions or respond to your name. Instead, you hang up hastily and climb off your bed, shimmying your underwear back up your legs followed by a pair of jeans and his plain yellow hoodie hanging in your closet.

You slip your phone in your back pocket as you shove your feet into a pair of sneakers and grab your keys, rushing out your bedroom door and nearly coming face to face with your roommate Matt. He has an all assuming smirk on his face as he takes a sip of the can of mountain dew in his hand, eyeing your haphazard outfit and messy hair.

“Heading out?” He laughs.

“Something like that,” You say quickly, heading for the front door, “How long have you uh, been home exactly?”

“Not long,” He shrugs, taking a seat on the couch as you open the door, “Of course it was long enough to hear you screaming, Oh Harry! Harry!”

You turn around with a start, shooting daggers at him as he moans obnoxiously loud, mocking the sounds you were undoubtedly making only minutes ago.

“Fuck off!” You shout, your face burning as you close the door behind you and collapse in the front seat of your car.

You start your car, swearing under your breath as you back out of your parking spot, your hands shaking nervously as you reluctantly make good on your promise, he’ll surely be getting off in a lot sooner than three hours.

HARRY

The call drops and he’s swearing under his breath as he fumbles with his phone trying to call you back, but it just rings over and over, angering him further. What kind of game are you trying to play? Getting him this worked up at work and then vanishing right when he’s at the edge.

He takes out his earbuds and tosses his phone back in his pocket with a huff of frustration, rubbing the back of his hand over his now sweaty forehead and lifting his damp hair out of his eyes. He grabs himself in his other hand once again, pumping his hand over his throbbing cock but without your breathy moans surrounding him through his headphones he just ends up frustrating himself even further.

“Fucking hell.” He pants under his breath, finally giving up and leaning against the storage room wall behind him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to imagine your picture perfect chest right in front of him, your eyes rolled back in your head as you bounce on him, biting your lip to stifle your moans before he grabs your jaw and reminds you to be loud for him. The images running through his head are tantalizing for sure, but they’re nothing compared to the whimpers and mewls and filthy words you were spewing straight into his ears only a few minutes ago.

“Fuck it.” He huffs, standing back up straight and stuffing himself in his boxers.

When he buttons his jeans and does up his zipper, he’s thankful for the baggy t-shirt he decided to wear today. He adjusts himself another three times trying to get comfortable with his rock-hard cock straining against the confines of his clothes but once again he gives up and decides to just try and get through the rest of his shift already.

He unlocks the storage room door and emerges quietly, hoping he doesn’t raise any red flags with his other associate considering he was in there at least twenty minutes.

“Oh, there you are man,” Cody laughs, straightening the shirts on the front table, “Thought you might have went to get some food or something.”

“Nope,” He chuckles nervously, “Just uh, straightening all the shoes back there, it was a mess.” He explains, mentally slapping himself when he realizes he’s actually going to have to do that later now.

Cody goes on to complain about some other aspect of the store that’s equally messy but Harry doesn’t hear a word he says as his gaze lands on none other than Y/N, walking hurriedly down the aisle of stores and making a b-line for him as soon as they lock eyes.

“Hey um,” Harry speaks up, cutting Cody off, “Did you want to get out of here early tonight? I can close up myself, we’ve had like three people all night.”

“Serious dude?” Cody grins, “That would be awesome.”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it,” He shrugs, sending you a very pointed look warning you to stay outside, “Grab your stuff and clock out.”

“Thanks, Harry.” He smiles, patting him on the back as he passes him to the back room.

Harry beckons you over quickly, shushing you when you start to speak and nearly dragging you over to the door to the small storage closet.

“Stay in here and don’t make a fucking sound,” He says, his voice pure gravel, “You better be ready for me when I get back.”

Your legs clench on their own accord at the needy tone of his voice before he opens the door and shoves you inside, closing it once again. His head is a clouded, fuzzy mess as he drags his feet back over to the computer at the register and manually clocks Cody out so he can fucking get out of here already.

“Alright, I’m out of here man-“

“Already clocked you out, you’re all good dude.” Harry grins nearly painfully, leaning back against the counter.

“Oh, awesome, thanks,” Cody nods, hiking his skateboard up under his arm and walking towards the front of the store, “See you later.”

Harry lets out the biggest sigh of relief when Cody finally turns the corner and he runs to the entrance of the store, jumping up to grab the gate and pull it down to the floor, kicking the lock closed and nearly running back to the storage room where you’re waiting for him.

He throws the door open roughly and instantly grabs your face in his hands, smashing his lips onto yours as you reach out to grab the door handle and yank it closed. Your hands immediately reach for his belt buckle under his t-shirt, followed by the button and the zipper on his pants. You start to sink down to your knees, but he grabs your arms and stands you back up, lifting his hoodie up off you and biting back a moan as your full chest he was trying to picture earlier is now right in front of him.

“Wanna fuck you,” He grinds out, undoing your jeans as well, “Not gonna last if you try to blow me.”

You try not to laugh at how needy he is, already teetering on the edge. He sucks in a breath as you untuck him from his boxers, just barely pumping your hand over him while his cup your chest, making you whimper.

“You’re not gonna last either, huh?” He smirks proudly, giving your right nipple a pinch and making your knees wobble.

“Well I’m assuming we should be rather quick about this,” You breathe, stepping out of your jeans, “Can’t hide in here all night.”

“Fucking wish we could,” He pants, pressing his thumb against your center, “Lot more fun than folding t-shirts.”

You’re nearly doubling over in pleasure as he rubs his thumb against your clit over your soaking panties. He’s got that cocky smirk on his face as he eases them out of your slit and eases a finger inside you, making you gasp. He circles your clit, spreading your arousal before delving back inside you and making you lean against the wall behind you.

“Harry,” You breathe, “I could have fingered myself at home.”

You let your eyes flutter back open to catch the look on his face as he gives you a teasing glare, withdrawing his fingers from you once again and pushing them past his lips instead, hollowing his cheeks and sucking them clean.

“As you wish, princess.” He mocks, grabbing you in his arms roughly and pressing you against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist.

You don’t even have time to worry about if you’re too heavy for him to be holding you up like this before he’s sliding into you and filling you to the hilt. You both gasp at the sudden contact, his head instantly falling to your shoulder, his lips messily sponging kisses down your jaw.

“Fuck how are you always,” He pants, pulling out and rutting into you again, “So tight.”

You can’t even comprehend the words coming out of his mouth as your hands thread through his hair, your head leaning back against the wall behind you as your back arches further with every thrust. He’s already so close, desperately thrusting into you at a punishing pace that has you moaning carelessly, nearly screaming his name despite the two of you being locked in a thin-walled closet.

“Please tell me you’re close.” He begs, his nails threatening to dig into the underside of your thighs as he grips you even tighter.

“So close, H,” You pant, grabbing desperately at his back and hardly noticing as you rake your nails across his skin, “Fuck, so close.”

“Cum with me then,” He groans, his moans purely guttural, “Come on Y/N, cum with me babygirl.”

His words are just enough to push you over the edge, squeezing your walls around him as your head rolls back against the wall behind you. Your eyes threaten to flutter closed as your orgasm washes over you, but you force yourself to watch him, relishing in the way his swollen pink lips part perfectly, his eyes screwing shut, and a colorful string of swears falling past his trembling lips. You feel him release inside you, making you clench around him again earning you a gravelly moan from the back of his throat.

He carefully sets you back on the ground, pulling out of you and the empty aching feeling between your thighs returns. He lifts up his t-shirt to wipe his forehead and you want to slap yourself when you feel your thighs still clenching together when you get a quick look at his hardened stomach, his jutting hips and very visible v-line making your mouth water. He pulls his shirt back down, snapping you out of your daze as he pulls his jeans back up and you stumble over yourself as you realize you should be doing the same.

“So, what are your plans for the rest of tonight?” He asks, running a hand through his thoroughly fucked out hair.

“Um,” You think aloud, “Not sure, might have a date with my couch and the ice cream in my freezer.”

“You want to organize some shoes instead?” He laughs, gesturing to the wall of shoe boxes beside you, “After I’ll take you out for all the ice cream you can eat.”

#harry #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry smut #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #mltbc #fuckboyrry

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adreamfromnevermore · 5 years ago

Text

Shadows on the Rooftops

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196670/chapters/47862427

Chapter 2 - Whispers in the Dark

Gotham, couldn’t be that different from Central. And he was looking for exactly one hero. One that going off his name, dressed as a giant bat. It couldn’t be that hard for the fastest man alive right?

Barry was practically vibrating with excitement. Tugging at the sleeves of the leather jacket he’d decided would help him fit in, he tried to school his face into a scowl. Glaring into the mirror on the wall as Hal laughed behind him. Barry swung around with a huff, glare slipping before returning twofold.

“If you aren’t going to help, then why are you even hear.” Ok so maybe he was really just whining but hey, he’d been tasked with an important job! Intel gathering! He was never tasked with intel gathering. Diana always said he didn’t quite have the mannerism for it. Too chattery.

“Nah man, I’ll help, I’ll help.” Hal tugged his own jacket off as he stepped forward to lean against the wall. “Just uh, when exactly are you planning to go down there? Cause it’s getting kind of late man.”

“Well, as the newspapers said, the Bats only seen at night!” Swinging back towards the mirror he shuffled through the pile of newspaper clippings he’d printed the night before. “See! If you’re hunting something nocturnal, like our Bat here, you have to go out at night.”

Swinging around once more before Hal could even respond Barry was off. And back again a second later, a baseball cap clutched in one hand. “Do you think the hat’s too much?”

Hal shrugged, smirk pulling into wide grin as he leaned back. “Man, I’ve never been to Gotham. I’ve got no idea what they wear up there.”

“Up there? You’re on like, the opposite coast bro, I don’t think up there cuts it.” As Barry turned towards him, newspaper clippings quickly tucked away into a drawstring back that he slung across his shoulder. Hal laughed again.

“Better start heading down there man. Don’t want to miss anything cause you’re up here right?” And he was off.

Gotham watch out, Flash was on his way!

“Well? Have you finished your homework?” Bruce’s voice echoed through the cave as he slipped up behind them. A chorus of affirmative following it before the lot of them turned towards him.

“So, who’s going out tonight boss man? Spoiler getting to see the light of day? Uh night? Moon light? Whatever.” Stephanie was on her feet, cloak and uniform already on.

“Spoiler will be out tonight. You’ll be running with Red Robin, I need the two of you to look into any rumours about Scarecrow. He may still be locked up in Akham but word on the street agrees that he has something planned.” Turning away from Stephanie as she punched a fist into the air he instead looked towards Damian and Dick. Both already in uniform and clearly waiting for the go ahead to head out.

“Dev says Jason isn’t patrolling for the next 3 days. Remember that, Barbara won’t be out tonight either, so if you have need for backup Kate and Bette will be on standby.” Turning away Bruce slipped through the doors to the locker room as the chatter started up once more.

“Steph, you’re kidding. You spilled coffee on Superman? Superman.”

“What else was I supposed to do? Walk up and ask if he wanted an interview?”

Barry had barely arrived before the sun was well and truly down. The moon rising to take its place in the sky, and Gotham’s criminal underbelly slipping out of the woodwork. Not that they didn’t have a presence in the day time, he just hadn’t been there to witness it. And well that was moving beyond the scope of why he was in Gotham just after the sun had gone down to begin with.

His subtle questioning of people on the streets had slowly led him further and further into the city. And now, standing under the only working street light on the block Barry couldn’t help his own unease. The gang of what he was pretty sure were thugs that seemed to be wandering the other alley seemed just as nervous.

Eyes searching the sky every time someone so much as whispered, and hands clenched in their pockets. He was thinking guns. Maybe a knife or two, it was hard to tell in Gotham. Back in Central most thugs he dealt with stuck to knives or bats, guns were rare when they expected him to pop up.

Then again, maybe they didn’t expect a hero and were waiting for another gang to fight?

Oh well. That was unimportant, what was important was finding the Bat. Then again, maybe this was his ticket?

He’d been waiting nearly an hour before something changed. The truck that pulled up was empty, and well that was fairly disappointing up until the moment when they started filling it and then Barry was well and truly interested. The odd canisters looked like oxygen but, from the way they were handled he figured they were probably much more dangerous.

And well, he was here to find the Bat yes. But it wouldn’t be an issue if he stepped in? It would only take a moment for him to change and then he could-

The street light above him flickered once, twice, and went out.

The sudden terrified scream put a halt to any and all plans he may have been making. A thin twisted creature seeming to slip free of the shadows at the same time as an odd piercing howl filled the air and a creature dressed in a purple cloak seemed to appear out of thin air atop the truck.

Hooded and cloaked all he could see of it was a void where the face should’ve been. And then it was gone moving amongst the suddenly panicked thugs as the other creature rose, limbs bending and twisting in what might have been a poor imitation at humanity. Before it rose to full height, and he caught a glimpse of what may have once been a boy. Skin pale and pitch black eyes surrounded by blood and dirt that streaked across its face.

Maybe he had missed something.

As its mouth opened, revealing what looked like sharp teeth, an odd inhuman chirp echoed through the air. And the howl returned, the purple cloaked figure pinning a man to the ground in seconds and rising slowly a moment later.

The void where its face should have been twisting and changing as a face seemed to form across it. Male and pale with terror. Barry felt his breath catch in his throat as he froze staring in his own sudden burst of terror at the face of the thug the creature had pinned to the ground, and then the mouth began to open. Almost grotesque in the way it seemed to shift and show the void beneath.

Twisted english echoing through the alley as it turned towards the thugs still standing. “Who?” And cut off with another vicious howl as part of the face almost seemed to tear and twist and then the cloaked figure was gone. And the one in red and black was all that was left.

Moving towards the thugs it seemed almost to twist in and out of reality, and then it was on them. And in seconds the thugs were down. All of them save one on the ground unconscious and injured as it turned towards the last.

“I uh, I don’t know what that meant man?” Stumbling back the thug almost seemed to weigh his own loyalty, or his life, before meeting the creatures eyes. “Crane, boss said he thought the job mighta been for Crane but I don’t know! It was done through a middle man!” And as he spoke the creature froze, head cocked to the side like a bird.

And then its head jerked forward in what Barry thought might have been an imitation of a nod, and it was gone. Seemingly slipping into the shadows it had come from as the man screamed and was pulled upwards by his feet. Wire coiled around his ankles as he hung, suspended in mid air.

Barry had barely calmed his racing heart when a hand grasped the back of his jacket and he was spun around and slammed to the ground. A purple cloak swaying above him as his eyes locked onto a twisting void where a face should of been. And he blinked, screwing his eyes shut as an odd chirping sound came from his left and the figure above him shifted. Shaking him lightly as he forced himself to look once more at the creature above him and bit back a yelp as his own face stared down at him.

“Leave.” The voice was twisted and broken, his face seeming to break even as the words were uttered and the void once more filled the space where the face should have been.

“Unwelcome. Unwanted.” And that was the other one. A pair of inky black eyes in the darkness as it crept forward, drawing back before it had reached the light. Voice odd and twisted, almost too young for the face that watched him.

Clark had been right. There was no way these things were human, and no matter what Diana said they were beyond terrifying.

He blinked and they were gone, leaving him flat on his back just in time to hear the sound of sirens drawing closer and stumble to his feet. Glancing over as he stepped back and into the shadows behind him, he was almost surprised to see the first man the purple one had taken down beginning to shift only to slump back to the ground as the first cop cars arrived.

Stumbling back and further into the alley Barry forced himself to breath and turned. Taking off a second later without a destination in mind.

Well, there was technically a destination. He was getting the fuck out of Gotham, and then maybe he’d take a breath and pause and think through whatever had just happened.

There had been two of them, and if he was honest with himself he didn’t think either of them matched what they knew of the Bat. Which meant there were three in Gotham. Three, how the hell had they missed three new vigilantes popping up?

Sliding too a stop Barry let himself fall heavily against the side of a building as he surveyed his surroundings. Metropolis, made sense. Maybe he could snag Supes and they could talk about whatever twilight zone Gotham was.

And he’d thought Supes ghost girl had been wild. The purple one had stolen his face, what was even the purpose of that? Aside from the scare factor?

Sliding to a stop two rooftops away Steph let herself lean into TIm’s side. “You are terrifying and I will never get used to whatever contortionist crap Nightwing’s been teaching you.” As the other stilled beside her and turned, face mostly obscured by the mask of grime he’d applied.

“Like you’re one to talk, your mask copies faces well enough that they can be recognized now. Its fucking terrifying Spoiler.” Grinning back she leaned away for a moment to watch the streak disappear. And then almost laughed as she remembered he couldn’t see her face. “I’m laughing at you behind the mask you know.”

“Bat, the Flash is gone. Spoiler and I warned him away.” And Tim was back on track and completely focused on their task.

“We’ve tracked Crane’s supplier down, but the goons moving it didn’t even know for certain whether they were working for Crane or not they only guessed.”

“Yes. We’ll head back to the cave, we’ve run out of leads for the night. And I want to un-encrypt the chip I picked up at the first location.”

Leaning against the wall Stephanie was silent as she listened to the chatter over the comms and watched the cops swarm over the newest location they’d tipped them off too. As the comms fell silent once more Tim joined her in watching.

“Ready?” His voice was barely a hiss as he stepped up onto the small ledge.

Laughing Steph stepped passed him, and let herself fall. Already activating the grapple to swing herself back up as she heard him leap off behind her.

Barry didn’t have to wander long before he caught sight of Superman. Hanging high above him, almost as if waiting for a crime to occur.

“Supes! Down here!” And maybe shouting hadn’t been necessary but Barry was pretty sure he was still shaking from earlier. As the other swung around and then easily dropped down to join him, raising an eyebrow as he got closer.

“I thought you would be in Gotham for the night?” Barry was shaking his head before Clark had even made it halfway through the sentence.

“No, uh uh. You thought your bloody ghost girl was bad? Try a face stealing void creature!” For a moment Clark stared down at him, seemingly lost for words before dropping the last few feet to the ground.

“Did you say face stealing void creature? Is that what the Bat is?” And once more Barry was shaking his head.

“Oh no, no, no, that isn’t even the half of it.there was this, this, well, it was, I don;t even know! It was kinda like a bird I guess? Kept chirping like one, and well I don’t think english was really either of their suits.” Ringing his hands he couldn’t help but glance upwards as if expecting one of the two to appear once more. “It almost looked like it had blood all over its face, and its eyes were pitch black! All the way, no white’s at all. Everything else it wore was black and red, and you know now that I’m thinking about it. I think it had some kind of cloak er, maybe wings or something?”

He wasn’t surprised when Clark watched him silently for a moment before nodding slowly. “There were two? We haven’t heard anything about a second hero. We’d barely heard about a first.” Shaking his head with a frustrated sight Clark turned away for a moment.

“We’ve been looking into this Bat for barely a week, and it’s already thrown how many curveballs at us? Barry, I’ll call another meeting for tomorrow.” Lifting off the ground once more Clark paused before letting out a soft curse as he swept one hand up and through his air. “Who ever can make it, and then we can discuss what our next step should be.”

Nodding Barry took a few steps back and shrugged. “Sure, sure Supes. See ya then I guess.” And Superman was gone leaving Barry alone in the alley.

“Welp.” Turning around Barry shook himself out, and took off sliding to a stop just inside the small forensic lab of his precinct. He had time to take care of a few things, might as well get it done if he wasn’t spending the night in Gotham.

And besides after that? He sure as hell wasn’t sleeping.

Diana had only just returned to her apartment, nearly one in the morning when the alert was sent out. A meeting scheduled for the next day, though not a pressing one.

And that was enough to tell her just what it was about. Her phone was by her ear before she’d finished reading the message on her comm. And unsurprisingly, her call was answered after precisely 3 rings.

“Diana.”

“Bruce.”

“Is something-”

“What did your kids do to Flash and how traumatized is he going to be tomorrow?”

And well, that wasn’t quite how she’d meant to word it. But the startled laugh she recieved was worth it.

If only for the fact that she’d startled a laugh out of the original Bat himself.

#barry allen #clark kent #batman #batfamily #spoiler #red robin #timothy drake #stephanie brown #diana prince #Justice league #audreycritter #Diana really should've thought this through #and she's only just realized that

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96percentdone · 5 years ago

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The Moonlit Prince and the Lying Thief (Part 4)

@oumasaiweek I’m a day late I’m so sorry! I couldn’t finish this chapter on time yesterday I got burnt out and it hit like 3am and I was dying inside. I’ll try my best to keep the daily schedule from here on out though!

But Happy birthday Ouma! This is the fourth entry in a series. If you’re interested, go on my blog and check the tag v3 tangled AU. Thanks!

“I have so many regrets,” Shuuichi groans, voice muffled. His face is starting to hurt a little from the way he flopped right on top of a hedge, leaves and twigs poking and digging into his cheeks, but the darkness the bush provides matches his emotional state, so he stays. If Tsumugi ever found out about this she would be so hurt. He’d never earn her trust back. She’d probably punish him for years, and he’d deserve it. “Why did I do this.”

“Beats me.” Doukeshi leans on a nearby tree, tossing a grey stone up and down. At this rate this side-quest of his will be over sooner than he thought. “Guess you can’t handle this after all, huh?”

“I can do it!” Shuuichi jumps back up, determination in his stance. “It’ll be fine! She’ll just never find out!”

“She?”

“My aunt.” And with that Shuuichi whines again, and falls back to sitting on the floor. “She’ll totally find out…” He’s in so much trouble if he does this. If he goes back right now, he can probably dodge it, right? He’ll tell her he jumped out the window, regretted it, and ran right back in. Does he leave the thief part in?

“You could just lie.” Doukeshi points out. Lying has gotten him out of so many conundrums. There seems to be just a whole lot of backstory here, and while he’s curious, he’s not planning on diving into it. He just wants to get this over with as soon as possible, so he can go home.

“I can’t just lie to her! She’d find me out, and it’d be wrong.” Never mind that Shuuichi is a poor liar, but to betray and then deceive her? No, absolutely not. He needs to just tell the truth, and go back, and this whole thing was a mistake. “I’m going back.”

“Suit yourself.” Doukeshi keeps tossing that rock, staring blankly up at the sky. “Toss me my satchel while you’re up there, will ya?”

“No!” At that, Shuuichi bolts up, and starts marching away from the tower. “We’re not doing that. I’m—I’m going to see those lanterns. You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

“Okay~” Tossing the rock aside, Doukeshi strolls along behind him. He doesn’t point out that this is the wrong direction, just watches as Shuuichi walks several more feet and abruptly stopping.

“I don’t know which way we’re supposed to go,” Shuuichi says, and Doukeshi can’t stifle his snorting, which earns him an embarrassed glare. “Very funny. Lead the way.”

“As you wish, detective-chan.”

They don’t get very far, maybe another few feet, before something rustles nearby. “What was that?” Shuuichi asks, eyes darting around before landing on the bush up ahead.

“I dunno.” Doukeshi shrugs. “Bandits?”

“Bandits?!” The rustling continues. Frying pan armed in sweaty hands, he freezes, eyes glued to the bush.

“Thugs?” Realizing that Shuuichi stopped moving, Doukeshi turns around.

“Thugs?!” Shuuichi takes a small step backward, eyes never leaving the bush.

“Axe murderers?”

“Mur—murderers?”

Something jumps out of the bush, and Shuuichi finds himself hovering behind the thief. After a few seconds, he peers over Doukeshi’s smaller, vest clad shoulder, to see—“It’s just a rabbit.” Small, and furry, and brown. Oh. That…that’s perfectly normal and harmless. He puts the frying pan away.

“You do know we’re outside, right?” Doukeshi asks, glancing behind him, and they both resume walking. “Maybe you can’t handle this.”

“I’ll be fine!” Of course, he knows that. He knows about animals too, but there’s so many other things out here besides just those. Even so, “It was just because you scared me.”

“Nishishi~ Sorry! I can’t help myself!” So Shuuichi is easily scared, huh? Maybe that works in his favor. They only just started but it might be time for a small detour. “Hey, you hungry? Cause I seriously need something to eat!”

“Um, sure.” Beyond the cave, there’s a seemingly endless array of trees. Every tree passed takes Shuuichi one step closer to his dream.

Tsumugi stops in her tracks, scanning the forest for the seventh time in the past half hour. There’s something off about these woods. She’s never been truly alone here—there’s that tavern on the way to town, and there’s always been the occasional child playing dangerous games—but there’s too many people out today. What happened?

The sound of hooves galloping across dirt approaches from behind, and on instinct she hides behind a large maple tree. Citizen? Or worse? A black mare flies past her. Tsumugi only manages to get a brief glimpse at the woman riding it, but the shining chestplate tells all. “No.”

What is a royal guard doing out this deep in her woods? The crown was stolen by someone, but if they’re this far in, they might find him! The trees blur together as she tears through the woods, knocking aside any stray branches or vines in her way. She has to go back. She has to go back!

There it is. The tower. “Shuuichi?” No response. “Shuuichi, let down your hair!” Still nothing. Where is he? Did they find him? She needs to get inside now. Wrenching away at the stones that make up the backside of the tower reveals a hidden stairwell. As soon as there’s enough space for her to crawl through, she does, sprinting up the stairs.

But there’s no one in the main room. “Shuuichi?” And there’s no one in his room. “This just plain isn’t funny!” And there’s no one in her room. No matter where she looks, there’s no sign of silver anywhere in the dark tower. She’s alone.

The noon sun shines through the window, and something shimmers under the stairs to her missing “nephew’s” room. What is that? Pulling the stair reveals a bag containing the stolen crown. But that’s not all. Slowly, Tsumugi pulls out a mask, black and red and resembling a joker’s hat. So Doukeshi took Shuuichi away.

Opening a nearby drawer reveals a glimmering dagger. She’ll find him. She’ll find them both.

“To your right, as previously stated, is more trees,” Shuuichi rolls his eyes as Doukeshi narrates their same-y surroundings. He’s been doing this for at least 20 minutes now, for reasons Shuuichi can’t understand. “But to your left is, voila!” With a grand gesture, the thief showcases a quiet trail that leads to a small building. “Our destination, Saishuu Tavern.”

“Final Tavern…?” What an ominous name. “What happened to the other taverns?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Huh?” What does he mean by that? Did something happen? What could have possibly—“Are you messing with me again?”

“Nishishi~ You make it so easy.” Doukeshi pushes and holds the door open as Shuuichi makes a whining noise in response. “After you.”

“Thank…you…” Shuuichi trails off upon seeing the interior of the pub. It’s…a lot to process. There’s a hodgepodge of stuff furnishing the somewhat-circular room. Some of it is innocent (a portrait or two, a piano), some of it is strange (the steering wheel of a boat, a racket), and some of it…terrifying. The array of knives and spears, a taxidermy deer head, a guillotine, and god there are just so many people. All their eyes are on him. Shuuichi freezes in place.

Except they’re not on him, but on the purple vested man behind him. “Doesn’t that gremlin by the door look familiar to anyone?” Miu wipes her messy blond hair away from her goggles and squints.

“Hmm…Tenko agrees, but she just can’t quite place it,” says Tenko, walking up past Shuuichi to Doukeshi. He’s just glad a woman that buff doesn’t have those threatening eyes on him.

“Who, me? Nah, I’m no one,” Doukeshi waves her off, strolling into the tavern without worry. He takes a seat in a nearby rickety wooden chair. “Sides I think my partner here is the weirder one.”

And everyone is staring at Shuuichi. This time for real. Nobody says anything, they just look dumbstruck at the sheer amount of hair. Until Rantarou pipes up, pressing a finger to his lips revealing the anchor tattoo running down the length of his arm. “No, I know who that is. That’s that thief. Doukeshi.”

“With the hair?” Miu shouts.

“He’s talking about the short one,” says Ryouma who isn’t much taller than the wooden table he’s standing around.

“You don’t get to call me short, dwarf-chan!” Doukeshi pouts, folding his arms and turning away. He looks like a petulant child when he does this, but despite this, is entirely unconcerned about being called out. He’s been in worse situations.

“Nyehh, shouldn’t someone get the guards then?” Himiko says, uncaring that her cape and hat are getting in the way of her attempt to nap on the table.

“It would seem like a logical source of progression,” says Kirumi from behind the bar. Without even looking, she catches the empty glass sliding back her way in her gloved hands.

“I’ll go get them! They should still be nearby!” Kiibo jumps up, one leg made of metal.

“Um—” Shuuichi starts, but the boy is already out the door. Great. He just got here, and he’s already going to lose his guide.

“Heyyy, barmaid-chan, can you get me the most disgustingly sweet drink you have?” Doukeshi waves his arm from his corner table, but she just ignores him. Even better: the thief doesn’t care at all.

“Um, Doukeshi-san, maybe we should—”

“Relaaaax, Detective-chan. I’m not getting caught. ‘Sides,” Doukeshi looks around the room with an easy-going grin, and Shuuichi is once again reminded of the weaponry on the wall. What kind of place is this? Is he in danger? “Don’t you wanna take in the experience? This is a five-star joint!”

“Actually, I think I really don’t—”

“Excuse me,” blue eyes bore directly into Shuuichi’s own, cutting off his line of thought, “but Angie was wondering why you’re with a wanted thief?”

“Gonta wants to know that too.” Lumbering over from the back, Gonta stares curiously at Shuuichi’s hair. “Also, why do you have so much hair?”

“Is it not possible that this menace is one of the accomplices to the crime?” Tenko says.

Ryouma scans Shuuichi briefly, and says, “Doesn’t seem practical with this much hair.”

“Obviously it’s a fuckin’ wig,” Miu says. “They’re both just trying shitty disguises.”

“They definitely don’t make wigs that long…” Himiko mumbles.

“Even if they did, I heard there were two accomplices,” Rantarou says.

The debate goes on around Shuuichi, with numerous voices piping in with their theories or suspicions. He wants to take Doukeshi and leave, but the thief shows no sign of leaving, kicking his feet back on the table and even egging them on. Not helping! The room is stifling. It’s so hard to breathe. Why did he leave the tower? He wants to go home. This was a mistake. There are so many people, and they’re all getting closer, and arguing, and arguing, about him, and Doukeshi, and his hair, and him and him and him—

“Hey guys, maybe we should let him talk,” Kaede says. She gets up from her seat at the piano, and walks over to Shuuichi, who all this time was still paralyzed at the door. With a gentle smile, she asks, “What’s your name?”

Deep breaths. Shuuichi exhales, slow and long, before finally speaking up. “I’m um, Shuuichi. Just Shuuichi.”

“Shuuichi-kun then. Then you can call me Kaede.” Her voice is warm and reassuring, like Shuuichi always imagined his mother would be like. He nods. “Do you want to explain why you’re here?”

“Well…” How does he begin with this? Obviously, Shuuichi can’t say anything about the hair, but the rest? Can he tell them about the deal? Probably not. So all that’s left is his dream. Are they really going to accept something so simple? So childish? It’s worth a shot. “I wanted to see the lantern festival. I’ve never gone, well…anywhere, before, so I need him to take me.”

“And the hair?” Miu asks. Crap he’s not out of this after all. What does he say? Does he lie? Can he lie? Should he lie? The longer he stays silent, the more suspicious this looks. But he doesn’t know what to say! What should he do—?

“He’s going for a world record,” Doukeshi answers. He’s not looking at Miu, but Shuuichi, and winks. A rescue; thank god. “I want in on the cash prize, so I struck a deal with him.” It’s a lie, but it saved him. Shuuichi will have to thank him for that.

“Stealing the crown wasn’t enough?” Gonta exclaims.

“Is the lantern festival really that important to you?” Kirumi asks. Nobody says it, but the question is implied: is it worth getting tangled up with a thief for this?

But to Shuuichi, that’s something he doesn’t even have to think about. “Yes.” It’s resolute, something he hasn’t been since he arrived. Maybe even before that. “I’ve been dreaming about them my entire life, so now that I have that chance, I need to take it.” And maybe he’s working with a thief, but he thinks that Doukeshi isn’t all that evil. He didn’t have to help. In fact, he could have probably snuck out while they all focused on him, and ran back to the tower, but he stayed. He’s risked a lot just to be here.

But they’re going to turn him in if Kiibo gets back before they can leave. Shuuichi’s chance ends right here, unless he does something. He can’t let that happen. “So…I need you to let us leave.”

Doukeshi raises an eyebrow. Is he serious? Does he really think they’re just going to let him leave? Let Shuuichi go, maybe, but not him. Doukeshi is pretty sure he’s going to have to think fast to get out. Is he really that naïve?

“You can tell the guards where we went, if you want,” Shuuichi continues, looking around at the skeptical group, “I think that’s perfectly fair, but please just let us go. I’m sure all of you have dreams, right?”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” Angie asks, leaning over to the side. On her belt he can see a bunch of painting supplies.

“All of the stuff in the room,” Shuuichi explains. He’s been wondering about the eclectic collection this whole time. The knives, and spears, and taxidermy, all scream ‘thug bar’, and so do the tattoos some of the patrons have, but the other things? “Like Angie-san, you painted all the portraits hanging here, right?”

Angie lights up. “I did!”

“Kaede-san plays that piano.”

Kaede nods.

“And I think you—” Shuuichi points to the green-haired man.

“Amami Rantarou. You can call me Rantarou.”

“Rantarou-san’s a sailor. That wheel on the wall was your idea, right?”

One by one, Shuuichi wanders through the tavern, going through all the items in the room. He matches them from person to person, based on things they’re wearing, or things nearby where they were. Even for Kiibo, who is no longer in the room. And one by one, he captures the interests and names and hearts of every single person he figures out. He thought for sure that if Shuuichi came here, he’d be so overwhelmed he’d want to go back home, and yet. It’s kind of amazing, Doukeshi thinks, that someone so naïve is still so capable. Despite himself, he finds himself a little impressed.

“What about his dream?” Kaede asks, pointing to Doukeshi, and once again everyone’s attention is on him.

“Eh, don’t bother,” Doukeshi says, getting up from his seat. “It’s to be insanely rich so I can lord it over everyone else.” That’s a lie, of course, but nobody here needs to know that.

“That’s horrible,” Tenko says, and everyone nods in agreement, making their own judgmental remarks amongst themselves.

In that instant, the door bursts open, and Kiibo returns with around five or six guards. “I found them!”

And just as suddenly, he’s being grabbed, dragged behind the bar along with Shuuichi. He looks around bewildered, just in time to see Kirumi pull a lever, and the wooden floor beneath them lowers into a ramp, leading into a tunnel. An escape route. So all that touchy-feely stuff paid off. “Go. And don’t come back, or we’ll have to turn you in,” she says, with a stern gaze.

“Thank you, Kirumi-san.” Shuuichi bows a little from his spot on the floor. He didn’t think he’d be able to sway them, but he did. Somehow.

Her stern gaze turns soft, and she smiles at him. “Make your dream come true, Shuuichi-san. I hope it’s everything you’ve imagined.”

“Where is he?” Kaito is talking to the patrons about their disappeared thief while the other guards patrol outside, but they seem to be giving mixed stories. Maki tunes them out.

Those stories never mattered, because he definitely didn’t leave through the door. She has her own witness confirming it. So how did he escape? She’s examined every square inch of this room, but she doesn’t see that pesky thief at all. There has to be some trick. Going up to the bar, she runs her hands along the taps, until she finds one that moves. A lever. A yank, and the floor opens up to reveal a tunnel. “So that’s where he went. Momota. Get everyone. We’re leaving.”

“Harumaki—” But she’s already gone. Kaito sighs. “Fine, I’ll get them.”

Tsumugi watches from the window as Maki storms into the tunnel. It was quite easy to manipulate such an impulsive guard. She needs someone to catch that thief, after all, and dealing with a pest is their job. But she has to get to Shuuichi first, before they do.

He was traipsing around this tavern—carelessly—happily. She saw him. He had the audacity to betray her like this? Oh no. She’s not having that. He’ll have to be punished too.

“Oh, hello Miss.” She finds herself being addressed by a young boy with a metal leg. “Can I do anything for you?”

“You can actually,” Tsumugi replies with a plastic grin, before pointing the dagger right between his eyes. “Tell me where that tunnel lets out.”

Shuuichi will get his punishment, she just has to catch him first.

#oumasaiweek #oumasai #saiouma #Ouma Kokichi #Saihara Shuuichi #hope.txt #v3 Tangled AU #my fic #dangan ronpa #ndrv3 #I feel bad I'm late #I'm so sorry y'all #I fucked it up #BUT HERE IT IS #I HOPE ITS WORTH IT

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yurivil · 6 years ago

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Tails of St. Vesperia

Unfinished TOV mermaid AU no one asked for that’s been sitting on my computer for 8 years and I totally forgot about it until TOV:DE was released and I fell back into TOV hell. Will 100% never be finished and if someone wants to take the reins to this fic have at it. I like slow burn Fluri so this is mostly self indulgent.

Tails of St. Vesperia

Rating: T for language

Characters: PS3/DE main cast (Flynn & Yuri main)

Pairings: Undecided

Genre: Fantasy/Adventure/Drama

Warnings: AU, spoilers for Patty’s past.

Summary: Flynn, a student at the University of St. Vesperia, was surprised that Headmaster Dionia wanted to see him. He was even more surprised to find out why. “The Headmaster wants to see me so he can show me a fish?”

Magic!College AU

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Nets. They entangled his limbs, restricting his flailing attempts to free himself. Part of his panicked mind was vaguely aware of being tugged upwards. No. He couldn’t be seen. He had to get away, back to –Hell, anywhere but here. The man thrashed violently, only succeeding in entangling himself more. A sharp cold was suddenly present on his back.

‘…Damn!’

They had managed to pull him to the surface. The warmth of the water was suddenly completely gone, the chilled air taking its place. In desperation, he used his freed hand to try shoving away from the hull of the boat. His arm was suddenly grabbed and jerked upwards, yanking him into the boat only to land hard on the deck.

“--ty, get back!” A gruff voice yelled.

Pushing himself off the deck, he managed to glimpse through the net. He caught sight of a small blonde girl with striking blue eyes and a… pirate hat? There was a piercing pain on the back of his head. And everything went black.

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Flynn was surprised. Never in his years at the University of St. Vesperia had he received such an urgent request for his presence directly from the Headmaster. Well, he had. But only for last minute check ups on things such as arranging homecoming, speaking at ceremonies, and giving financial reports of clubs. Those were to be expected of any student council president. He walked briskly across the campus, freshly frosted grass crunching under his feet, eager to complete whatever task he presumed Headmaster Dionia would ask of him.

Rounding a corner, the aquarium facility came into full view. He couldn’t figure out why the Headmaster would ask to see him here of all places. The blond shivered, pulling his uniform jacket closer as he made his way across the parking lot. The facility’s size never failed to impress him. Next to law and medical degrees, St. Vesperia also specialized heavily in marine biology. This was said to be due to the former headmaster Cypher’s influence. Now retired, the man was still in love with the sea, as he often took his granddaughter with him on his weekly fishing excursions. Flynn smiled at the memory of the little girl.

“Flyyyyn~!” A young girl’s voice rang out in the late autumn air.

Speak of the devil. She was running towards him from across the street, red beret on her head and binoculars slung over her shoulder.

“Hello, Patty.” He smiled at her as she approached.

A lengthy conversation followed the rest of their trip across the parking lot. It revolved mostly around Patty making him ‘guess what,’ Flynn guessing, and Patty just returning a ‘guess again.’ Approaching the door, Patty had slipped on a small patch of ice, though luckily for her, Flynn had grabbed the back of her vest, setting her back on her feet. She stared back at the patch of ice as if it were from another dimension.

“…Patty?” He questioned.

“Don’t you know what this means? It’s ice fishing season!” She turned to look at him, grinning, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Right, fishing. He should have guessed. Wait a minute… That was it!

“Did you catch a fish last weekend?”

“Kind of.” She looked to the side, as if unsure how to explain it.

“Kind of?” He pulled open the glass door, stepping inside.

“You’ll just have to see. That’s why the headmaster called you.”

Flynn faltered for a moment, before looking at her incredulously. “The Headmaster wants to see me so he can show me a fish?”

“It’s… Well...” Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Not comp—“

“Miss Fluer!”

Flynn’s back straightened automatically at the voice, letting the door close on Patty, who simply stuck her tongue out before running off. Flynn turned and all but saluted to the man. “Headmaster Dionia.”

“Schifo.” The taller man nodded to him. “I appreciate you coming on such short notice.”

“It’s not a problem, sir.” Was his reply, “But, if I may, why the aquarium facility?”

The Headmaster turned and began walking down the hall, Flynn following, before he spoke, “I would presume you know of the previous Headmaster Cypher’s… hobby. Regardless, he and his granddaughter came upon a rather interesting discovery on their last expedition. Cypher requested that it be kept here, and that the public not know of its existence just yet. That said, anything you are about to see or hear is not to leave this building, understood?” He came to stop in front of a door labeled intensive care.

“Y-yes, sir.” He managed. Flynn’s mind was reeling. So he really was here to see a fish? And an extremely rare one, from the sounds of it. Despite feeling flattered to be one of the few people that had the chance this supposedly rare fish, the blond couldn't help but wonder why in the hell that he was here. He was a criminal and justice major, not a marine biology specialist.

After undoing what Flynn counted as three separate locks, the Headmaster opened the door and they stepped inside. There were no lights on in the room, save for those illuminating a massive tank on the far wall. The water glowed a surreal blue-green, but a flicker of purple instantly caught Flynn's attention. Whatever it been, it darted behind the large coral-head that took up nearly a third of the tank.

"Was that…?" Flynn trailed off, casting a glance at the other man as he came to stand next to him in front of the tank.

The Headmaster nodded, "It's extremely cautious about anything new. Unfortunately, it also seems to have a very strong dislike for both myself and most of the caretakers here at the aquarium."

As Alexei finished speaking, he raised a knuckle to the glass and rapped on it as though he were knocking on a door.

The harsh sound made Flynn wince, and he actually felt a little sorry for the fish. "Erm… Headmaster, not to be rude, but don't most fish-"

"I think you'll find this fish to be more intelligent than most."

There was a loud thunk in front of Flynn that made him start, but by the time he turned to look, he only saw a lone chunk of coral sinking to the flat, sandy bottom of the tank.

"What in the world…?" Flynn stared.

The taller man chuckled, "Regardless, I'd like you to spend some time here."

"Here, sir?"

"Simply put, in this room. You may use it as your own private study hall, if you like."

While the idea of a study hall in which he could work uninterrupted was very appealing to Flynn…

"What exactly will I be doing while I'm here?""I suppose you could say that you'll be socializing. The reason is that this fish is extremely dangerous for the aquarium staff to even feed. Leblanc was almost drowned yesterday. I hope that, through showing it humans aren't a threat, it will allow us closer, so we can study it in further detail. You may read, study, whatever you wish."

A study hall all to himself it was, then.

"I understand. I'll come everyday after classes."

"Good. Any other questions?"

"...You had said Mr. Leblanc was almost drowned?"

"I was told that the fish stole something from him and that he dove in to get it back. Ridiculous as it sounds, Leblanc was never really… Suited to be swim-team captain."

"Aha…"

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It had been about two weeks since Flynn started going to his private study hall at the aquarium. He enjoyed finishing his school and student council work nearly two hours earlier. It gave him time to… Actually have spare time. As per instructions, Flynn wasn't allowed to turn on any lights save a small desk lamp for when he was working. A few times, feeling as though he were being watched, Flynn would jerk his head around, only to catch the literal tail-end of the creature as it dove behind the coral. Rather than stress over not seeing the fish, Flynn preferred to spend an extra hour either reading a book or watching a movie. The blonde had discovered a small TV on the desk near the tank, and also an old DVD player. So, Flynn would watch all of his favorite classics he was lucky enough to have on disk.

Today was a marathon of John Wayne movies that Flynn never got tired of. Half-way through True Grit, even Flynn couldn't help but smile and roll his eyes at the corny movie lines. In doing so, he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye. It was in the tank. And it was definitely not a fish. Flynn blinked.

There was a person. Watching John Wayne. From in the tank.

Why would someone- When did they- How had Flynn not noticed?

Cobalt eyes flickered to the side, as if to make sure Flynn wasn’t looking. Which he was, much to the tank-dweller’s surprise. Their eyes went wide and their mouth fell open, allowing bubbles of air to escape, before they jerked back, speeding away in a blur of… purple?

Flynn stared to where it -they- had disappeared behind the coral head. They would have to come up for air at some point. The sound of gunshots rang out from the TV. The blond didn’t move an inch, hardly daring to breathe. He kept his eyes on the coral head, not letting his attention falter for even a moment. He was vaguely aware of the clock in the room ticking.

Minutes passed. Flynn had at some point started counting the seconds of the ticking clock, and had already counted to sixty some twenty times. He was just about to resume his movie marathon when, tentatively, half a body appeared from behind the coral, partially obscured by a sea fan. The face and upper body were most definitely human, but... The lower half was decidedly not. There were scales and a tail and... A mermaid.

Those cobalt eyes bore into him, and Flynn could do nothing but gape in return. There was a mermaid -merMAN- directly in front of him and his mind was reeling. What kind of creature was this? It seemed intelligent enough to enjoy movies. It was obviously sentient.

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Sorry not sorry ran out of juice for this AU. My further idea is that Yuri only writes in Russian so when given an underwater dry erase board, Flynn has to take pictures and ask (language major) Judith to translate (or alternatively google translate the hell out of it). The entire Vesperia gang does their best to get Yuri back to the ocean but meanwhile Yuri is internally debating if he’d rather stay with Flynn or return home.

#Tales of vesperia #Fluri #Yuri lowell #flynn scifo #I'm sorry TOV fandom #I could have done so much better here #But this is it #I will go down with this ship

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