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skyahri · 1 year ago

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Arranged Marriage |Zuko X Reader| HC

Summary: Caught up in his personal conflict, Zuko completely neglects his marriage.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, forced marriage, whatever. Mentions of violence. Angsty Zuko and reader. Fem pronouns.

Masterlist Ko-fi

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You'd married Zuko a little over a year into his reign as Fire Lord. You're the oldest daughter from a noble family, and the council decided it was best if Zuko married someone well liked by the community.

He didn't take it well. He was still hoping Mai would come back to him, and you being there completely obliterated those chances.

Not that there was a shot to begin with. Mai had made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with Zuko, even if she admitted to still having feelings for him.

Your relationship was staged to be perfect in the eyes of the people. Young love against all odds sort of thing.

The marriage ceremony was beautiful. Your robes were elegant, the flowers were perfect, and even your soon-to-be husband was handsome.

Zuko was charming towards the guests, really selling the story and gaining a lot of trust with his people. He was awkward but personable, something everyone ate up.

But he wasn't like that with you.

As soon as the two of you were away from public eyes, he didn't so much as look your way.

You slept in different rooms and ate at opposite ends of the table. He excluded you from as many duties as he could, stating something about him not wanting to concern you.

Life in a palace was pretty isolating. The only people you could talk to were servants, and even then, your topics were extremely limited.

You'd taken to the gardens as much as possible. It felt nice to be outside and even better to see the plants and animals.

Tending to the flowers was one of the few things you were allowed to do without constant eyes on you. The lonely atmosphere felt intentional instead of forced.

But after a year of this, not even the newly budding flowers could heal your disdain. Your once bubbly exterior had been chipped away by the dread and disappointment that lingered in your heart.

You were truly just a shell of your former self by this point.

There was no change with Zuko. He'd made no effort to get to know you or even just not hate you. Any attempt you'd made in the beginning to soften the relationship had been put out the moment it left your lips. It seemed like public pleasantries would be the extent of your marriage.

You'd long given up on trying to befriend the older women who waited on you. They had no desire to be anything more than the people who got you through the day.

You'd given up on trying to sneak away with the kitchen staff to the market. They feared being held responsible for you, even if you claimed to be plenty capable of taking care of yourself.

All that was really left to do was to just stay quiet and look pretty. The sad fate of the Fire Lord's wife.

You'd been laying in bed all morning. It was one of the few days where nothing was planned. No meetings, no guests, no events- nothing.

Well, at least you thought.

"Miss Y/N, Lord Zuko has requested your presence. We must get you ready immediately."

They'd dragged you out of bed and stuffed you into a pair of your nicest robes. They're doing your hair up and rushing to cover your face in makeup.

"Why am I being summoned?"

"The Avatar and his friends have arrived. They were the ones to request you."

"I see."

It made sense. You had met the Gaang at your wedding, and they were everything you'd expected; kind, loud, and passionate. Just like Zuko was said to be.

At the time, they'd promised to come by often, but you hadn't seen them since. You'd heard something about the rebuilding of the air temple and having some unexpected issues arise, so they just hadn't had time until now.

You met Zuko at the front gates. His friends arrived just after, allowing the servants to take their things to their rooms. Without a word, Katara grabbed your arm and dragged you away with the other girls. You turned back to see the same happening with Zuko and the boys.

They pulled you all around the surrounding area. For the first time in a long time, the dread started to fade away.

You'd bought some new incense, hair pins, and seeds for the flower beds. They were small purchases in comparison to the others, who had gone all out with new clothes, trinkets, and a heap of spicy snacks for Sokka.

You'd suggested several times over the last few hours that it was time to head back to the palace, but only now that it was growing dark did the trio actually listen.

Just as you had begun packing up, a string of explosions started on the next block and made its way towards the plaza you were in.

Toph was quick to make a stone barrier, but that didn't stop the cloud of soot from staining your skin and clothes.

A group of men had emerged from the smoke and revealed themselves to be Ozai supporters. Not everyone was pleased with the fundamentals Zuko was running the country on, so rebels had started causing a bit of an uproar.

Katara, Toph, and Suki did their best to take the men down swiftly, but that didn't stop you from getting injured in the process.

Your forearms had been severely burned when you'd covered your face from an attack. Katara offered to heal you, but it'd have to wait until you got back to the palace where her spirit water was.

The trip back was uneventful. Some of the local guards stationed in the city had insisted on escorting you guys back, which at this point you couldn't deny.

Apparently, word had already gotten back to Fire Lord Zuko, who was waiting at the front doors of the palace for your arrival.

He immediately stepped forward and picked up your hand, letting the scorched fabric fall and reveal your burn. He did the same with the other and sighed.

"Please give us the room."

You watched as everyone filed out of the room, the guards towards the exit and your friends towards the south wing.

"These are severe,"

He cupped your face in his hands and tilted your head so he could get a good look. His thumb swiped over some of the soot on your face.

You were confused by his actions, but the pain from your burns created a bit of a blur in your mind, keeping you from thinking too hard about it.

"The others couldn't protect you?"

"They did what they could. I apologize for the hassle-"

"Why are you apologizing? None of this is your fault."

You opted to stay silent. You weren't sure what to say. This is the longest conversation you'd had in private since you'd met, and you were finding it hard to navigate.

It was silent for a minute. The vibe was awkward, and you desperately wanted to hide away from all of it.

His face contorted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. You didn't pry. It didn't feel like your place to ask.

"Why don't you head to your room for a bath, and I'll have Katara meet you in there once you're done."

You nodded and made your way down the corridor. You stripped down and opted to just toss your clothes in the trash. Between the ash and scorch marks, there was no saving anything.

The second the water touched your wounds, you winced. Tears pricked your eyes as you watched small bits of charred skin go down the drain. The pain quickly went from a sharp sting to almost mind-numbing. You sat down and let the water just run down your body while you waited for the brunt of the discomfort to pass.

In your hazy state of mind, you hadn't heard the knock on the door, so you were surprised when Zuko entered in much more casual clothing.

When he saw you hunched over on the shower floor, he didn't say anything. He moved to the side of the tub and went to touch you, but you weakly swatted his hands away.

"I'm not comfortable with you being in here whole I'm naked."

"I'm your husband-"

"You're a stranger."

Ouch. Harsh but fair, and he knew it.

"Look, I know I haven't been good to you over the past year, and I'm sorry. We can talk about it more when you're feeling better, but for now just let me take care of you."

Satisfied with his response, you stopped resisting his help. You let him wash your hair and scrub your skin. His touch was gentle despite how rough his hands were.

He never once made you feel uncomfortable. He was thourough but never lingered. It was almost as if this was a normal occurrence.

When he was done, he offered you a towel and left you alone in the bathroom to get dressed. When you entered your bedroom, Katara was on your bed, but Zuko was nowhere in sight.

"Just me. Sorry to disappoint."

"No, no. I'm glad you're here."

You sat in front of her on the bed and let her examine your burns. She positioned your arms for easy access and opened her canister. You watched the water glow and the skin slowly heal itself. It was amazing, nothing like anything youd seem before.

"So," she broke the silence, "Has he warmed up to you at all?"

You were surprised by her words. You weren't sure how much they knew or what all you should say. Last thing you wanted to do was incriminate him.

Sensing your hesitation to respond, Katara clarified her question.

"I know everything, at least, from his side. You can be honest with me."

"Honest?"

"Honest."

A small smile crept onto your face.

"I think you're friend is an ass."

"I couldn't agree more."

You told her everything; the loneliness, the isolation, the lack of, well, everything in your relationship and life. She listened, something you're eternally grateful for. It felt nice just to get it off your chest instead of suffering silently.

"Today was the greatest day I've had in a long time. I got to leave the palace and talk to people and for once it felt like my husband didn't hate me."

"Zuko doesn't hate you."

"Could've fooled me."

"He doesn't hate you. Just talk to him. I know he has a lot to say, and it seems you do as well."

Once your arms were healed good as new, Katara left your quarters and returned to her own. You'd crawled under the covers and passed out, completely exhausted from the day.

The next day, you took Katara's advice and decided to speak with Zuko. You woke up early, before the sun had risen and made your way to his room.

He was surprised to see you, much less in your nightwear at such an hour. He invited you in nonetheless, where you then entered and decided to sit on his bed. You patted the spot in front of you, and he hesitantly sat.

"Katara said we should talk."

"Okay."

Sensing that he wasn't going to be the one to initiate anything, you decided to get the ball rolling.

It was a long conversation. Zuko confessed a lot of things, mostly about bitter feelings towards life and guilt over his actions. He apologized for everything and listened to everything you had to say. He made a lot of promises to be better.

He stuck to his word. He began including you in anything you were welcome to. Dinners became more personal, and eventually, you started sleeping in his room like a proper married couple.

By the time team Avatar had visited again, things had visibly changed. You were both happier, and your once fake marriage had become real. You meshed into the group just fine, making the pseudo family that much bigger.

All thanks to a simple conversation.

#avatar the last airbender #avatar #atla #zuko #prince zuko #atla zuko #fire lord zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko angst #zuko fluff #zuko hc #zuko headcanon

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eu-nicola · 6 months ago

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the fastest driver part 3

summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc

warnings: take of pills

word counter: 7364

author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request, thanks for the comments 🤍

tags: @ilovechickenwings @amortentiaaaa @ananyasribughead @supertrashbread @amalialeclerc @rawr-123s-stuff @wierdflowerpower @malvikareader @freyathehuntress @sweetmuffynsblog @vjbillno

Endless hours passed after the accident before the first clear update about your condition reached the media and the paddock. Everyone was anxiously waiting for news about your health. The uncertainty left fans, journalists, and especially those who truly knew you in a state of tense anticipation.

Finally, a statement from the hospital's medical team brought some relief: you were stable and conscious. While initial tests had ruled out serious spinal injuries or significant fractures, the impact had been severe, leaving you with a moderate concussion and several internal bruises that required monitoring. What concerned the doctors most were the potential psychological and emotional aftereffects: the nature of the crash, the impact, and all the built-up stress could take a toll later.

Hours later, you woke up in a hospital room softly lit by the afternoon light. Everything was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside your bed. Your body felt heavy, like it was filled with lead, and the headache was sharp and constant. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed someone sitting nearby.

It was Charles. He was there, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, as if praying or just trying to calm his own nerves. When he saw you stir slightly, he lifted his head, and his expression changed a mix of relief and worry crossed his face.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, as if he didn’t want to scare you. “Thank God.”

You hadn’t expected to see him there. In fact, you hadn’t expected to see anyone. And yet, here he was.

“Charles…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out as barely a whisper.

“Shhh, don’t talk too much. The doctors said you need to rest.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, ignoring his warning, even though just talking felt like needles stabbing your skull.

He shrugged, offering a light but sincere smile.

“Someone had to make sure you were okay.”

Charles stayed by your side for hours, even when the doctors came in and out to check on you. He answered questions from the journalists crowding outside the hospital, desperate for a statement, and refused requests from photographers trying to get a shot of you. There was something unusually warm and protective about the way he acted.

As you lay back, eyes closed to avoid making the headache worse, you heard his voice.

“You scared me, you know? I’ve never seen anything so…” He paused, searching for the right word. “So violent. Not since Jules. And when I saw the crash on the screen, I thought the worst.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. There was sincerity in his face, something you hadn’t expected.

“I’m okay… sort of.” You tried to joke, but the pain turned it into a grimace.

“No, you’re not okay. But you will be. You have to be.”

As Charles stayed with you, messages started pouring in. Your phone sat on the bedside table, just out of reach, and Charles offered to read some.

“Everyone’s worried about you. Here’s one from Lando… and even one from Toto. Seems like the entire F1 world is waiting for you to get better.”

“Who else?” you asked, almost dreading the answer.

Charles scrolled through, his expression hardening briefly before softening again.

“Max,” he said simply.

Your heart stopped for a moment. You didn’t know what to expect. Since the accident, you’d assumed Max was too caught up in his own world to care, but the fact that he’d written at all was enough to twist your stomach.

“What does it say?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though you knew Charles could see right through you.

He hesitated before answering.

“‘Hope you’re okay. Sorry I wasn’t there sooner. Let me know if you need anything.’”

The neutrality of the words didn’t match the intensity of what you felt hearing them. You closed your eyes, trying to process it all. What did that message even mean? Was it just courtesy, or was there something more behind those words?

Charles noticed your discomfort and set the phone aside.

“You don’t have to reply if you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you said quickly, though part of you knew that wasn’t true.

As night fell, Charles finally said goodbye, promising to return the next day. There was something comforting about his presence, how he’d set aside any competitiveness or formality just to be there for you. Yet, when you were left alone, the thoughts began to overwhelm you.

The crash, the messages, the worries it all tangled into a mess of emotions you couldn’t unravel. The only thing clear was that while you were physically stable, emotionally, you were far from okay.

After that day in the hospital, Charles became a constant presence in your life. His support wasn’t limited to encouraging messages or occasional visits. He went beyond that. Where others saw a moral obligation or an opportunity to score points with the media, he saw something else: a chance to show you that you weren’t alone.

The medical team made it clear you could return to racing, but not without certain restrictions. You had to stick to a strict combination of medications after every race: anti-inflammatories, painkillers, and supplements to manage the physical and mental stress you still felt after the accident. Charles was the first person to offer to help you with this. It wasn’t his responsibility, but he seemed to take on the role without hesitation.

The first race after the accident was a mental and physical challenge. As you prepared to get back in the cockpit, fear swirled in your chest. The accident was fresh in your memory, and even though you knew you were capable, there was a shadow of doubt you couldn’t shake.

The day before the race, Charles showed up at your hotel. He had a small bag in hand and a calm expression, almost as if it was meant to soothe you.

"I thought you might need this," he said, placing the bag on the table.

Inside, there was a box of relaxing tea, a small book about mental strategies in sports, and a handwritten note. When you opened it, you found a simple phrase: "You’re stronger than you think."

"Thank u," you said, moved by the gesture.

"You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to know I’m here, okay? If you need to talk, if you need anything..."

You nodded, grateful for his sincerity. For a long time, you’d felt alone in this world. It was strange to realize someone was willing to stand by your side without asking for anything in return.

Race day was a whirlwind. Even though you tried to stay calm, every time you sat in the car, the memory of the crash resurfaced. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, reminding yourself you’d done this thousands of times before, that you were capable—one of the best.

The race wasn’t easy, but you finished in a solid fifth place, a result any other driver would’ve considered a success under the circumstances. When you got out of the car, exhausted but relieved, Charles was the first to approach you.

"Well done," he said, patting your shoulder.

After every race, Charles made sure you followed the medical protocol. Sometimes, when you forgot the pills, he’d show up holding the box, reminding you that your health came first.

"How do you even know I haven’t taken them?" you asked one day, half-joking.

"Because I know you well enough to know you hate depending on this stuff," he said with a smile, handing you the water and pills.

It was strange how his presence had gone from sporadic to constant. He wasn’t just there for the serious moments; he also found ways to make you laugh, to lighten the weight on your shoulders.

It wasn’t something you’d planned or even imagined after everything you’d been through, but your friendship with Charles was good for you. So much so that you felt comfortable asking him something after noticing he’d been off for a while. You’d seen his behavior become quieter than usual, even in the paddock, where he usually managed to keep up appearances in front of the cameras.

"Are you okay? You seem... off."

His response came almost immediately.

"Do you have time to talk?"

You invited him to your place, where you saw a different side of Charles. He’d shed his usual composure and looked... vulnerable, almost like the facade he kept in public had cracked.

"Thanks for this," he said, sitting on the small couch as you handed him a bottle of water.

"You don’t have to thank me, Charles. What’s going on?"

He sighed, fiddling with the cap of the bottle before speaking.

"It’s... complicated. Ferrari doesn’t feel like my team anymore."

You frowned, surprised by his words.

"What do you mean?"

"Since Lewis joined this year, everything changed. I knew it would be different, it’s Lewis Hamilton, of course but I didn’t think it’d be like this," he confessed, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I feel like everything revolves around him. The strategies, the resources, even the engineers’ attention... It’s like I’m a shadow in my own team."

You felt a pang in your chest hearing that. It was almost an exact replica of what you’d felt when you shared a team with him at Ferrari.

"Charles... you don’t know how much I get it," you said, sitting across from him. "That feeling of being invisible, like your efforts don’t matter... I went through the same thing with you."

He looked up, surprised by your honesty.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Do you remember all those team orders? All those moments where no matter how fast I was, they always put me aside to favor you. It’s... frustrating. It makes you question everything you do."

Charles nodded slowly, processing your words.

"I guess I never saw it from your perspective. I always thought the team’s decisions were fair, but now... now I know what it feels like."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.

"Charles, I know how hard this is. But what you need to remember is that your talent doesn’t depend on them. Ferrari is just one team, one stage in your career—it doesn’t define who you are as a driver."

"How did you deal with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"At first, I didn’t," you admitted. "I kept everything inside, let the frustration eat me up... until I couldn’t take it anymore. But I learned something: you can’t let them take away what you love about this sport. If Ferrari doesn’t value you the way they should, then prove your worth on the track. Force them to see you."

Charles nodded slowly, as if your words were beginning to sink in.

"It’s easier said than done," he said, with a bitter smile.

"I know. But I also know you have the talent to do it."

The conversation went on for hours, shifting from serious topics to shared memories and stories from your days at Ferrari. It was strange, but comforting, to share that space with him. He’d gone from being the rival who overshadowed you at your lowest to someone you could fully trust.

When he finally stood to leave, Charles paused at the door and looked at you with an expression you hadn’t seen before.

"Thank you for this. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."

"I’m always here. You know that."

As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Charles was so much more than you’d ever thought. And somehow, he’d brought out the best in you too.

While you were helping Charles find his way in a team that relegated him to second place, you couldn’t ignore the fact that your own demons were still lurking. And, as if that wasn’t enough, Max remained a constant presence both on the track and in your personal life.

Since your move to McLaren, the rivalry with Max had reached a new level. If before you shared moments of camaraderie and confidences, now every interaction was loaded with tension. And not just on the track.

The championship was on fire. You and Max were leading the standings, swapping first and second place race after race. On every circuit, every corner, and every straight, it felt like only the two of you existed. It didn’t matter who else made it to the podium; the battle was always between you and him.

During qualifying, both of you pushed to the limit, but an incident in Q3 left Max without a lap time. As soon as he got out of the car, Max stormed straight toward you, visibly furious.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his voice sharp as he closed the distance between you in the paddock.

“What was what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though you knew exactly what he was referring to.

“You blocked me on my flying lap.”

“Max, you were too far behind when I started my lap. I didn’t block you.”

“Of course you did!” he insisted, stepping even closer. His blue eyes burned with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

The argument caught the attention of journalists and members of both teams. You knew that one wrong word could make headlines the next day, so you chose to stay calm.

“If you have a problem, take it up with the stewards, not me,” you said before turning and walking away, leaving Max with the words stuck in his throat.

But the tension wasn’t confined to the track. It had started to bleed into your personal lives. Even though both of you tried to avoid each other outside of race weekends, coincidences were inevitable especially at sponsor events or official meetings.

At one of these events, an FIA gala in Monaco, Max couldn’t resist looking for you in the crowd. When he finally spotted you, you were talking to Charles, laughing at something he’d said. The sight seemed to ignite something in Max, and he couldn’t hold back as he approached.

“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting into the conversation.

Charles glanced at you, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution, before stepping back to let you decide.

“What do you want, Max?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“You and Charles, what’s going on between you two?” he asked quietly, though his tone carried an accusatory edge.

“What kind of question is that?” you replied, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing it, but… every time I see you two together, I can’t help thinking that…”

“That what?” you interrupted, annoyed. “That maybe someone else can actually support me and understand me in this chaos that you chose to ignore?”

Max pressed his lips together, clearly feeling the sting of your words. But instead of responding, he looked away and muttered:

“You still know how to twist everything around.”

The conversation was left unfinished, but the night didn’t end there. Later, as you tried to avoid him, you found Max alone on the terrace of the venue, staring out at the sea, his figure illuminated by the lights.

“Why do you do this?” you asked, walking toward him. Your tone was no longer defiant but tired.

“Do what?” he asked without looking at you.

“Show up, disappear, demand things from me that you can’t even give yourself. You’re still with her, and yet…”

Max closed his eyes, as if your words were too heavy to bear.

“I don’t know how to handle this,” he admitted finally, turning to face you. “You and me… I don’t know how to handle it.”

“Then maybe you should stop trying,” you said, though your voice cracked at the end.

The silence between you was deafening. Too many unsaid emotions, too many decisions both of you refused to make. Finally, Max stepped back.

“It’s easier said than done, isn’t it?”

And with that, he left, leaving you alone on the terrace, feeling like the two of you were trapped in a vicious cycle neither of you knew how to escape.

In the days that followed, you tried to focus on racing and your friendship with Charles, who had become a kind of refuge in the chaos. But every time you saw Max, every time your eyes met in the paddock, you felt the storm lingering, waiting for the right moment to break again.

The rivalry on the track only grew more intense. Max and you raced as if every race was the last, as if the championship depended on who was stronger, more determined, more ruthless. But off the track, you both continued to grapple with the same internal conflict: what you felt for each other and what the world expected of you.

You and Max were the top contenders for the title, and every race turned into a war. The media called it “the battle of the century,” comparing it to the legendary Senna-Prost rivalry. Every overtake, every strategy, every word in a press conference was scrutinized.

At the Brazilian Grand Prix, things came to a head. From the first lap, the fight between you and Max was fierce. You knew every one of his tricks, every weakness, every strength. There were moments when the cars seemed to touch, pushing the limits of competition to the extreme.

On lap 43, you attempted an overtake on the inside of Turn 1, but Max, in his trademark aggressive style, shut the door almost recklessly. Your front tires brushed his, and though both of you managed to maintain control, the incident was enough to set off commentators and social media.

“This is unacceptable!” your engineer shouted over the radio. “We’re reporting it.”

But you didn’t want to win the championship through a penalty.

“Leave it. I’ll settle it on the track,” you said, with a determination that surprised even yourself.

In the end, you finished second, behind Max, but the battle was epic. Fans were divided, some siding with you, others defending Max. But in your mind, one thought started to take root: maybe you’d had enough of this world.

After that race, you decided to take a break. You flew back to your hometown to spend time with your family, seeking comfort in their presence. One night, sitting in the garden of your parents’ house, you opened up to your mom.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you admitted, staring at the stars. “Every race feels like a battle not just on the track, but inside me, too.”

Your mom, always wise and patient, looked at you with gentle understanding.

“Then why do you keep going?”

You stayed silent for a moment, searching for the words.

“Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Since I was a kid, my entire world has revolved around racing. But lately… lately, I feel like I want something more. I want a normal life, a family. I want to stop fighting all the time.”

“What’s stopping you?.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what that life would look like, or who it would be with.”

It was the first time you’d said those words out loud. The idea of giving up Formula 1, of walking away from everything you’d worked so hard for, was terrifying but also freeing.

You couldn’t help but think of Max. Even though your relationship was broken, and the rivalry had reached its peak, there was still something about him pulling you in. But the question that haunted you was: did he feel the same?

Max was still with his partner, at least publicly. But his actions, his looks, even his comments during races, hinted at something more. Could you build a life with someone who seemed incapable of facing his own feelings?

“Maybe it’s not Max,” you muttered to yourself that night, curled up on the couch in your childhood bedroom. “Maybe it’s someone else. Or maybe I just need to find myself first.”

When you returned to the paddock for the US Grand Prix, something had shifted inside you. You hadn’t made any final decisions, but you knew this chapter of your life was nearing its end. Still, as long as you were in F1, you were going to give it everything you had.

In the pre-race interviews, journalists bombarded you with questions about your rivalry with Max.

“Is it personal?,” one of them asked with a sly grin.

“Everything in Formula 1 is personal,” you replied with a wry smile, offering no further explanation.

Max, sitting next to you at the press conference, shot you a sideways glance but said nothing. The tension between you two was palpable, even in front of the cameras.

That race turned into yet another head-to-head battle between the two of you. During the final laps, the radio chatter grew more intense.

“He’s losing rear grip. Push him.”

“I already am!,” you snapped, pushing the car to its limit.

In the last lap, you pulled off a risky overtake that left everyone stunned. You won the race, and as you stepped out of the car, you felt a mix of euphoria and exhaustion.

While celebrating with your team, your thoughts drifted back to your conversation with your mom. Maybe this was the ending you’d been searching for, or maybe it was just the start of something new.

Max watched you from the podium, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t decipher. In the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder: could you ever leave it all behind, even him?

The next race, under the scorching Qatar sun, felt heavier, both in the air and in the paddock. Everything about this second-to-last race of the season felt like a countdown to something inevitable. You and Max were tied in points, both neck and neck after a season of epic battles, controversies, and moments that had pushed you to the edge emotionally.

The tension in the McLaren garage was palpable. Though your relationship with your team was excellent, you knew the pressure was on you. Lando tried to lighten the mood with his usual sense of humor, but even his energy couldn’t cut through the wall of your thoughts.

“Come on, don’t be so serious. We could both use a win today,” he joked while adjusting his gloves.

“Sure, but if you win, I won’t complain,” you replied with a faint smile, though you both knew that wasn’t true. This race meant everything to you.

Meanwhile, Charles had sent a message that morning: ‘Remember, one race at a time. You can do this. You’ve already proven you’re the best.’ His unwavering support had become one of the few things keeping you mentally afloat during this emotional rollercoaster.

From qualifying, it was clear this race would be another direct battle between you and Max. Both of you blocked every attempt the other made to set the fastest time, ending up on the front row: Max on pole, you in second.

The start was clean but intense. From the first corner, Max showed his usual aggression, shutting you out in an attempt to stay ahead. But you knew this game; he had taught you how to play it. You used the slipstream on the main straight, and on lap five, you overtook him with a surgical move in turn 6.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop as you led the race, but you knew the real battle had just begun.

Midway through the race, things heated up. Teams began to play with strategies, and tire choices became crucial. On lap 32, as you exited the pits after a tire change, Max appeared beside you. The overtake that followed was so tight the two cars brushed slightly, sparking an explosion of shouting over the radio.

“That was way too close!,” your engineer protested, but you were too focused to respond.

Max didn’t back down. In the following laps, he kept relentless pressure on you, looking for any weakness in your defense. On lap 48, he attempted an inside overtake on a tight corner, but you managed to hold your position with a move that left everyone on the edge of their seats.

In the final laps, your mind was torn between the adrenaline of the race and the mental exhaustion you’d been carrying all season. Max was glued to your diffuser, but he made a small mistake on the second-to-last corner, giving you just enough of a margin to cross the finish line first.

Your team’s shout over the radio was deafening:

“Victory! You’re incredible, what a race!.”

But you didn’t have time to celebrate. As you parked the car in parc fermé, reality hit you: this victory only meant you were still tied in points, and everything would come down to the final race.

The journalists were in a frenzy. In the post-race press conference, the questions came at you like bullets.

“How do you handle the pressure heading into the last race?.”

“Calmly. One race at a time.” you replied, echoing Charles’ words, even though calm was the last thing you felt.

Max, sitting beside you, spoke after you.

“I always knew this season would be decided in the end. I’m ready for it.”

His gaze met yours for a second, and in that brief moment, the tension between you two felt more personal than ever.

Back at the hotel, you tried to disconnect, but it was impossible. Your mind raced, replaying every detail of the race and anticipating what was to come. Charles called to congratulate you but also to remind you to rest.

“Don’t let this consume you, okay?,” he said, his tone serious but kind. “You’ve done an amazing job, and you have everything you need to win.”

“Thanks, Charles. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t know what you’d do without me either,” he joked, managing to make you laugh.

However, when you hung up, you kept staring at the ceiling of your room, wondering if you were truly ready to face everything the final race was about to bring.

Even though you hadn’t seen Max since the press conference, you knew he was just as restless as you. Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t help but think about him, about how this rivalry had consumed everything you once shared.

Is this really what you wanted? To keep fighting, keep competing, keep losing yourself in the process?

You closed your eyes, trying to calm your thoughts. Just one race left. One final battle. And after that, maybe you’d finally have the answers you’d been searching for.

The last week of the season was a whirlwind of emotions, preparations, and a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The entire paddock was on edge. Everything would be decided in Abu Dhabi.

Escaping the media’s attention was impossible. Cameras followed you everywhere, looking for any reaction that could turn into a headline. The atmosphere at McLaren was optimistic but tense. You’d brought the team to its highest point in years, and that was already a monumental achievement. But for you, it wasn’t enough. You wanted that title.

During the press conferences, the questions were relentless. You and Max were the center of attention. Though both of you kept calm outwardly, the discomfort between you was obvious. Every word, every gesture was analyzed by the journalists.

“How do you feel heading into this decisive race?” they asked you during one of the press rounds.

“Focused. This is what we’ve worked for all year. I just want to do my job and see what happens,” you replied diplomatically, though inside your heart was racing.

Max, sitting next to you, simply said:

“I’m focused too. We both know what’s at stake. May the best win.”

There was a moment when your eyes met, but it was fleeting. There were so many words left unsaid between you, and the weight of that silence felt unbearable.

In the final strategy meeting with your team, the tension was palpable. You knew every decision would matter, every detail could be the difference between winning and losing. Your race engineer, always meticulous, reviewed the plans calmly, but even you could tell he was nervous.

“I believe in you. You’ve proven you can do this,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder before you left the garage.

Lando, on the other hand, tried to lighten the mood with a joke.

“If you don’t win, can I keep the consolation trophy?” he said with a cheeky grin.

“There won’t be a consolation trophy,” you replied with a smirk.

That day, Yas Marina Circuit was lit up like a jewel in the desert, and the atmosphere was electric. Before getting in the car, you took a moment for yourself. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and visualized every corner, every move. You knew you had to give it everything.

The anthem played, and the world seemed to pause for a moment. Max was beside you on the grid. Though you didn’t speak, you could feel his presence, his energy. You both knew this race wasn’t just about the championship but also everything that had happened between you.

The start was flawless. From the first corner, you and Max were locked in an intense battle. Neither of you gave an inch. Every lap was a fight, every overtake a statement. The rest of the drivers might as well have been racing in a different category; it was as if this championship was meant to be decided between just the two of you.

On lap 35, a slow pit stop almost cost you the race, but you quickly recovered, overtaking Max in a spectacular move on lap 42. The crowd went wild.

But Max wasn’t going to give up. On lap 50, he took the lead back, forcing you slightly off the track. It was an aggressive move, but clean—classic Max.

In the final five laps, both of you were at the limit. Your hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline, but your focus was unshakable. In the penultimate lap, you found a gap on the main straight and passed Max on the inside. This time, he had no answer.

When you crossed the finish line, the world seemed to stop for a moment before exploding in celebration. You’d done it. You were a world champion.

Your team screamed over the radio, their voices full of tears and joy.

“You’re the world champion! You did it!”

As you climbed out of the car, the emotions overwhelmed you. Your team surrounded you, celebrating. Lando was one of the first to hug you, shouting:

“I told you! I knew you’d do it!”

As you stood with your team, your eyes instinctively searched for Max. He was there, watching you from a distance. Slowly, he approached, his steps a mix of pride and resignation.

When he reached you, he extended his hand.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.

“Thanks, Max,” you replied, shaking his hand. For a moment, his eyes reflected something that looked like regret, but he said nothing more. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

That night was magical. There was laughter, tears, toasts. The tension of the entire season melted away in a whirlwind of emotions. Charles called to congratulate you, and his genuine happiness was like a balm to your heart.

“I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice full of sincerity.

As the celebration went on, you took a moment to reflect. You’d reached the pinnacle of the world, but you knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your life. The future was full of uncertainty, but that night, you decided to enjoy the present, savoring every moment of your triumph.

The emotional hangover the next day was overwhelming. It wasn’t physical, nor from the celebration, but a deep emptiness you hadn’t expected to feel after achieving the dream of your life. You’d won the Formula 1 World Championship, the peak of your career, but instead of feeling complete, you felt lost.

You woke up in your hotel room, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Around you, there were remnants of the celebration: a half-empty champagne glass on the table, the dress you wore last night carelessly thrown over a chair. The trophy, shiny and imposing, sat on the nightstand, but as you looked at it, you didn’t feel the euphoria you’d imagined for years.

You got up and walked to the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was different from the one you were used to. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion from the season; it was something deeper a sense of disconnect with yourself.

You spent the morning avoiding your phone, even though you knew the notifications had to be flooding in. Messages of congratulations, articles from the media, videos of the highlights... but you weren’t ready to face it yet. Instead of feeling celebrated, you felt isolated.

The idea had been lingering in your mind for weeks, maybe even months. The crash, the endless emotional struggles, the pressure to always be the best... it had all left its mark. And now, after achieving what you’d always dreamed of, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep going anymore.

During breakfast with your parents, you decided to share your thoughts. You’d avoided bringing it up before, afraid of their reactions, but now felt like the right time.

“I’ve been thinking about something... important,” you said, breaking the silence while fiddling with your coffee mug.

Your mom looked at you with concern.

“Are you okay? Does this have to do with Formula 1?”

You shook your head.

“No… well, partly, yes. Like I said, I’ve been reflecting, and I think... I don’t want to keep racing anymore.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Your dad, ever the pragmatic one, was the first to speak.

“Are you sure? You’ve worked your whole life for this.”

“I know, Dad. But I’ve also given it everything I had. And now I feel like if I keep going, it’ll just be out of habit, not because I really want to.”

Your mom took your hand.

“We’ve always wanted you to be happy, no matter what you do. If you feel this is the time to stop, we’ll support you.”

That conversation was the turning point. Over the following days, you talked to your team, Lando, and even Charles, who, although surprised, understood your decision. Lando tried to convince you to stay for one more year.

“Are you really going to leave me here alone? We were just starting to have fun!” he joked, though there was genuine sadness in his eyes.

“It’s your time, Lando. I’m sure you’ll do amazing things,” you replied, hugging him.

Charles, on the other hand, was more serious.

“I didn’t see this coming, but I get it. Just… promise me you won’t disappear completely.”

“I won’t. I’ll always be here, even if it’s just as a spectator.”

That same night, after hours of figuring out how to word it, you sat in front of the camera in your room. You were nervous, not about the decision, but about how the world would react. You wore a simple t-shirt, your hair tied back. You wanted the message to be honest, without distractions.

‘Hi, everyone. I know this isn’t the video you were expecting after the incredible season we just had, but I wanted to share something important with you...’

You took a deep breath before continuing.

‘I’ve decided to retire from Formula 1. This year has been the most exciting but also the most exhausting of my life. Winning the championship was a dream come true, but it also made me realize it’s time to close this chapter and start a new one.’

You paused, letting your words sink in.

‘This wasn’t an easy decision. Formula 1 has been my life for so many years that I barely remember what it was like before. But I also know I want other things. I want time for myself, for my family, to explore who I am outside of this sport.’

Your voice wavered slightly, but you kept going.

‘I want to thank my team, my teammates, my rivals, and, of course, the fans. Without your support, none of this would’ve been possible.’

When you finished, you turned off the camera and fell onto the bed. It wasn’t immediate relief, but there was something freeing about putting an end to that chapter.

The video was released the next day and, as expected, caused a storm. The media debated your decision, fans flooded social media with messages of support and gratitude, and some even expressed disbelief.

Charles sent you a text:

“I saw it. I’m proud of you. You’ll do amazing things, no matter where you go.”

And Max, who had avoided talking to you since the last race, also sent a short message:

“You were the best. I always knew it. I hope you find what you’re looking for and that you forgive me.”

Even though his words were few, they left a lump in your throat.

That night, while staring at the stars from your balcony, you realized that, even though the future was uncertain, you were ready to face it.

Weeks passed since your decision, and life finally seemed to find its rhythm. The constant noise of racing and the pressure to be the best slowly faded. But deep down, you felt like something or someone was still missing.

Your house, now quieter than ever, became your sanctuary. You spent those days focusing on yourself, resting, discovering what you truly liked outside the track. But even in the peace of your own thoughts, Max lingered in your mind. He wasn’t a constant thought, but you’d remember him, especially when news of his breakup with his girlfriend started circulating. That, unexpectedly, stirred something in you, a knot in your stomach.

Late one night, your phone buzzed. The name on the screen made you hesitate for a second. Max.

The message was short, direct.

“Can I see you? I need to talk to you.”

You didn’t think much about it. You knew this conversation needed to happen eventually. You’d been avoiding it, but now it felt like the universe was putting it in your path.

You agreed to meet at your house the next day, and when the door opened, there he was. Max, with that intense, direct gaze that had known you for years. Now, though, there was something different something more vulnerable.

“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You invited him in, and he settled on the couch like it was his own home. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unresolved emotions.

“I don’t know where to start,” he began, with a nervous smile.

“Neither do I,” you replied, sitting across from him.

The two of you just sat there, watching each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Max spoke.

“Breaking up with her... wasn’t easy. I knew it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t keep lying to myself. The truth is… I never stopped thinking about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and a lump formed in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. Max, always so sure of himself, seemed completely different now.

“Max... I don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve been on such different paths. You… always so focused on F1, on competing… and me too. Things were never easy between us, and now… I don’t know if any of this makes sense.”

He nodded, understanding what you meant.

“I know. I’ve been an idiot. I thought I could keep everything under control, but in the end… I lost what mattered most.”

He looked at you intently, and in his eyes was a sincerity that made you question everything you’d been thinking until that moment.

“But that doesn’t mean I forgot about you. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about what we had. If anything, it’s taken me time to realize that… maybe there’s something here we never really figured out.”

You stayed silent, processing his words. The tension was thick, but something in his voice made you want to listen, even though you knew the situation was complicated.

“And what is it that you want, Max?” you asked, your voice a bit shaky.

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a small, sad smile. “I’m not asking you to forgive me or to go back to what we had. But I think… we should at least try. Not now, not right away, but… maybe we can see what happens, without the pressures of F1, without everything that kept us apart.”

You got up and walked to the window, staring outside without really seeing anything. Max watched you from the couch, waiting for your response. The atmosphere between you had shifted somehow, and for the first time, it felt like you had both let go of the fight to always be the best.

You turned to look at him.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to start something new. After all, I made the decision to retire for a reason, Max. I’ve spent so much time on F1 that now I need to rediscover myself. And I don’t know what I want.”

Max got up from the couch, slowly approaching you.

“I get it. I’m not expecting it to be easy, or for everything to be resolved right now. But I want you to know I’m not pressuring you. I just… wanted you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll be here. And if someday you decide what we had is worth another shot, I’ll be ready to try, no matter the past.”

A deep silence followed his words. You knew there was still so much to figure out between the two of you, but something about his attitude, about his willingness to wait, struck a chord within you.

You didn’t say anything else. You walked toward him, and for a moment, words weren’t necessary. The look in your eyes said it all. Still, there were no promises, no certainties just a silent understanding that, maybe, the future could be different. Maybe even together.

“We’ll see what happens,” you finally said.

Max nodded, not pushing, knowing that time would have to decide the course for both of you. And with that response, the future remained suspended between you, open, uncertain, but carrying a possibility that hadn’t existed before.

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lakes-writting-rambles · 10 months ago

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Out Of Choice, But Not Out Of Reach - #1 Inevitabilities And Such Unfortunate Things

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Sometimes your destiny is completely out of your hands – Danny Fenton couldn’t seem to find a way to avoid learning that lesson. First; when he was shot when Slade invaded the headquarters of the League, and subsequently his family, was using, while the fight between Slade and Grandfather was going on, he used the chaos to get to the Lazarus Pit before he bled out; a second time when he died in that godforsaken portal; the most prevalent one was definitely his first meeting with Clockwork, there he noticed that it doesn’t matter how hard you try, if it isn’t meant to be, someone will interfere. It doesn’t mean he won’t still do things as before, but now there’s forever the dread of knowing.

It’s been about a year since what he, Jazz, Sam and Tucker dubbed “The Dan Incident”, and Danny can't seem to stop thinking about it. Well, not really about Dan, no, but about Damian. He can’t stop thinking about how Dan likely ended up killing Damian – it’d be inevitable, and, considering the state the future he had been shown was in, he hoped Damian went early on, really, he also hoped it was quick, like he tried to do when he was in the League.

What really bothered Danny, though, was that he couldn’t help but wonder if staying with the Fentons even was a good idea at this point. Surely he has learned that misfortune would follow him anywhere he went, so why wait for the shoe to drop? Before the accident, he was relatively safe to live the rest of his life in Amity, sure, it was kind of a deadend, but it was tranquil, so he couldn’t really complain. Now, though? He was in constant danger inside and outside his house, being half dead meant no place with the living and no place with the dead. He should leave while he still can.

The League isn’t likely to spot him, considering it’s been years since his “death” and he probably looks different enough from Damian now… which is something he’ll have to think about later. And the threats of dissection (vivisection?) by his parents keep increasing – he doesn’t want to fuck around and find out.

So, the League is probably not an issue anymore, staying seems to get more dangerous each day and he’s pretty sure most ghosts only come to Amity to fight him.

Nevertheless, running away also came with a plethora of problems, for one: leaving Jazz and his friends. When he got adopted into the Fenton household he tried not to get attached to anyone. He couldn’t keep that up for long, as a touch starved 9 year old that came from a violent background and got thrown into a very loving family. First, he got attached to his parents, then Jazz, Tucker, and finally, Sam. He doesn’t regret it, not one bit, but it might make this choice hard to make – since the easiest way to run away would be to fake his death and forgo any contact with everyone from his old life. Maybe they’d know he wasn’t (fully) dead, maybe they’d just be extremely miserable, he wouldn't know.

Another issue is that he’s the current Ghost King, and oh boy doesn’t that complicate things? He keeps getting more powerful, which means keeping his cover is getting harder – an unsettling and overpowering aura surrounds him now, and sure, it reacts to other people’s emotions as well as his own, which in theory should make it easier to hide, since everyone in Amity seems to have differing opinions on his two personas, but the fact that his aura is big enough that others take notice is concerning enough on its own; he’s control over his abilities needs to be impeccable or he risks getting found out; and he’s pretty sure some of his more ghostly traits are beginning to bleed over into his human form. He also needs stable access to a portal, since he needs to take at least two trips per month to the Ghost Zone so he can check over things with Clockwork and parade around to remind the citizens of the realm that he is their king; he can’t officially take over since he’s still alive, once he’s entirely dead he will, but for now the observants act as regents and that’s more than fine by him.

And third: he’s not really sure where he should go. You’d think Gotham would be his first option because of his father, but he has too much media presence, so Danny’d be brought to the spotlight. Does anyone in Amity care about Gotham? Not that he knows of. But it’d still be too big of a risk. Plus, Tucker really wants to work in Wayne Enterprises in the future, he’s sure that it’d become a problem in no time.

So… what to do? Money isn’t a problem, since he has access to all the treasure hoarded by Pariah Dark over the centuries, but that’s not all he has to consider. He needs some sort of safety net, that much is obvious, and since he won’t be able to count on his regular support system, he should fall back on his blood.

Maybe he could go to Blüdhaven? It’s close enough to Gotham that he can go there if he somehow needs to come into contact with someone from his biological family but not enough that he’d be immediately clocked… but then there’s Nightwing… as long as he doesn’t get into any trouble it should be fine, right? It’s not like there’s a city without a hero nowadays… Urgh, nevermind, he’ll come back to these thoughts later, he’d rather not spend his rare moment of peace coming up with what to do after he fakes his death.

Sometimes fate decides that things should be ultimately out of your hands – but Damian Al Ghul Wayne fights with all his might to avoid such a thing becoming a rule in his life. When he came to live with his father, around 7 years ago, he held out hope that his twin had made it and would eventually return to his side. That never happened. And now Damian isn’t sure how to approach the topic of Danyal with his family, so he just… doesn’t. Even after all this time, it feels wrong to keep the memory of Danyal to himself, he should be celebrated, even if his death was premature and almost a decade has passed.

Danyal had died the same day as Grandfather, which is why his grief isn’t questioned –, even if the Bats are well aware of his distaste of his Grandfather’s actions, now that he’s recognized them for what they were. Damian isn’t sure if it’ll ever come to pass, because in quiet moments like this, he thinks of what could have been.

His twin was never needlessly violent, and his killings were virtually a mercy, compared to the others in the LoA, even himself. Maybe he would have adapted faster than Damian did, maybe he would have made a better Robin, maybe they would still wake up together and share little moments of quiet.

It’s all speculation, all it will ever be. They never found his body, but even now, years later, the image of his pierced chest is burned between the other twin’s eyes, it wasn’t likely to survive a wound like that, and even if he did, the bloodloss would’ve killed him regardless. But to a 9 year old, the what ifs often overshadow reality, which is why Damian had kept his hopes up, afterall, one of the many teachings of the League was that “if there isn’t a body then one should always consider the possibility of the victim having survived”. But now, at 16, he could see it for what it was, the foolishness of a child longing for what is gone – he’ll never admit it, but in the darkest, deepest and most hidden part of his heart, Damian still has a little bit of wonder, almost completely squashed, but a bit of hope of seeing his brother once again remains.

There’s no use for pondering at the moment, time doesn’t stop and soon one of his siblings will notice his absence at breakfast and come to pester him, thus he gets up and readies himself to face another hectic morning.

“If I were to go missing, where would you search for me first?” was not a question Tucker was ready for, like, at all, but especially at two in the afternoon on a saturday. Danny hadn’t been the same since that thing with Dan or whatever they had dubbed it, he didn’t change much, but he seemed to get lost in thought more frequently, and Tucker didn’t blame him! Really! But man, what went through his head was morbid at times, and he maybe shouldn’t voice those out of nowhere.

— Uhh I guess… your parent’s basement? — awkward silence fills the air, it’s the most obvious answer, but not a thing they normally consider outloud. A grimace crosses Danny’s face for a second.

— No, I mean, if I …ran away. — he says, and there’s some hesitancy. Obviously, there’s more to the question, but Tucker can’t for the life of him figure out what it could be.

— I’d guess Wisconsin, since it’s close by and you might be able to rely on Vlad if push comes to shove, but that is not likely at all, — Sam starts before coming to a slight pause to think. — Maybe Missouri?

— Why…?

— Cause it’s close by, it’s not like we’d let you get far before going after you. — she smirks and gives his arm a little punch.

— I think we’d find Danny in Florida, actually, — Tucker chuckles before continuing — it’s the only place where he wouldn’t stand out.

— Oh, screw you. — He says before he lunges at Tucker.

Sam watches for a bit, the conversation got to her more than it did to Tucker. She decides that now isn’t the time to worry about it, she doesn’t think Danny would leave them behind without saying anything, not after all they’ve been through, but it did leave a sour taste in her mouth. To stop herself from spiraling down a rabbit hole, she jumps – literally jumps – into the struggle.

That is how the three friends end up scratched all over, with dirt and grass stuck to their clothes and silly smiles on their faces, looking up at the sky as the clouds pass by. Moments like this used to be common, but with the chaos that is Amity Park nowadays a chance to just relax and joke around as friends seems more and more like a luxury.

Their peace is interrupted when Danny sighs, a defeated sigh that usually comes after his breath fogs – which means there is a ghost nearby. A shout ruptures the quiet and kills any hopes for the rest of their afternoon.

— BEWARE! I AM THE BOX GHOST!

— Alright, — he gets up and stretches. — Just wait for me, I’ll be back in a sec.

Sam and Tucker look at each other, worried glances on both ends – they didn’t even need to say anything. Things will never go back to the way they were before, that is something all three know intimately. Danny died. Everything they have witnessed is bound to leave some sort of mark as well. And there are the Fentons. Sam and Tucker knew Danny and Jazz loved their parents, but at this point it seemed inevitable that someday they’d turn on Danny, and it seems that even if he doesn’t talk about it, it’s also something he believes.

It feels unfair, Danny seemed to have come from a bad background and was settling into his own skin and fully letting his guard down for what felt like the first time before the accident. And wasn’t that heartbreaking? He’d adjusted to the life in Amity early on, but to actually enjoy himself? That took some 2-3 years, and to trust that he could always rely on the people around him? It had just started happening into the beginning of their ninth grade. Then the portal opened and he had to put some of those walls back up to protect himself, not just emotionally, but physically as well. Now, they’re in 11th grade, they should be looking for colleges and studying for entrance exams, but instead, Danny is thinking of running away.

They know how their friend thinks at this point, and it’s undeniable they’ll likely have to say goodbye soon.

Dealing with the Box Ghost wasn’t hard, but it sure was annoying. After the fight (if you could even call it that) ended he went back to Sam and Tuck, they laid on the grass for a while longer, ultimately, they got hungry and headed to the Nasty Burger and ate before parting ways.

Danny plops face first into his bed. Well… he could have approached that with more subtlety. Maybe it was his subconscious trying to get them to look for him, or something, to prepare them for his absence. That sounds too close to something Jazz would say…

He turns around, putting his arm on his forehead. His thoughts keep getting away from him, always back to Damian – would he have liked Amity Park? Probably not, if he was being honest with himself. He couldn’t even see himself liking it there when he arrived – in fact: He had hated it. The city was so calm it felt forced, the Fentons so loving it felt like a trap, the kids lacked any malice at all, everything screamed danger at him, like he was about to be ambushed. Nothing ever came to that, just a nice, cozy, little town.

Well, until the portal opened, that is.

He stops and just looks at his ceiling for a bit, the old glow in the dark stars already discolored and lacking any actual functionality, there was no reason for them to remain there but the attachment to what they used to be, kinda like him. There was no escaping his current reality. No escaping his need to desert this city, this family, this life.

Danny sits up and looks around his room, which for the last few years had become his safe haven. He looks at the stained carpet, marked by his many sleepovers with Sam and Tuck, he looks at his ceiling fan, that was cracked from the time the trio had tried to recreate the solar system on it, he looks at his closet, his posters, his desk, everything that was proof of the life he had lived here.

He needs some water and something to eat before setting his plan up.

As he heads down the stairs to the first floor he hears his mother’s soft voice coming from the kitchen.

— Oh Jack, I’m so worried about Danny, — the phrase startles Danny, he turns invisible and intangible, floating a bit so as to not make any sound, — his ecto-contamination has only gotten worse over the years… how can we be sure he’s okay?

— Honey, I’m sure Danno is fine! He must be building up resistance!

— But what if… what if it’s fusing to him? What if there’s no reversing this? — His mom is chewing on her lower lip, clearly distressed.

At the sight, his dad softens up and hugs her, his voice comforting as he speaks, — We’ll make sure he’s fine, Maddie. We might not know what happened, but we know each other and we know what we’re doing, we’re experts in our field.

Danny can’t stay there anymore, they know he has ecto in his system and they know it’s getting worse. They know and they want to “fix” him. He’s completely and utterly fucked.

Alongside his nervousness there is also newfound resolve. He quickly phases into his room, grabs his thermos, maybe two shirts and a pair of pants, he shoves it all inside an old backpack he hasn’t used in years. He will need to dispose of his phone, taking anything electronic with him will leave a trail and he can’t have that. Hopefully his parents don’t have his ecto signature yet, he doesn’t think he has the time to get rid of it if they do.

He checks the kitchen again, they aren’t there anymore, likely back in the lab, then. He has to leave through the front door, to not raise any suspicions. Now, how to make this realistic? Maybe he can fake being murdered? No, Amity doesn’t really have that type of violence. Maybe he can fake being a casualty in a ghost attack? But he’d have to damage public spaces to do so and he doesn’t want to endanger anyone else… Fake getting kidnapped? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, even as a human.

He could also just up and leave. It’s not like Amity has any actual investigative police force… Maybe he’s complicating things too much. He needs to go before he has time to chicken out. His parents will probably make a move on his ecto contamination within the week and he can’t be there for that.

— Bye mom, dad, be back in a bit! — and so, he shuts the door – leaving his house for what will probably be the last time.

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Inevitabilities And Such Unfortunate Things > Those We Leave Behind

AO3

#dp x dc #fanfic #crossposted on ao3 #ao3 #angst #light angst #danny runs away #my guy is not having a good time #danny phantom #danny fenton #danyal al ghul #phanfic #dc x dp crossover #crossover #dp crossover #dc crossover #not really mentioned yet appart from the league

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chuuyaspinkmotorcycle · 2 months ago

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Day 29: Fate

Dazai’s never been one to believe in trivial things like fate. There was never any need when he was a master at playing his cards right to get what he wanted.

So why bother putting his belief or trust in something that humans can’t even decide is true or not?

He’s heard all the stories – soulmates, red string, marks; was never convinced of them for a second without solid proof – and yet he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing before his eyes right now.

There, attached to his pinky finger with a cute little bow that is failing its job at quelling his rising horror, is the red string of fate he truly didn’t even consider could be real, flickering in and out of view as it reacts to his own ability.

But the worst part?

He knows exactly where it’s leading to, the same direction his eyes always wander in when he’s not paying attention or when his thoughts get the best of him and travel down memory lane to times of content comfort and feral fun.

He glances up.

The rest of the ADA office is in a state of shock as well, pinky fingers in the air as their owners examine them this way and that. At least he’s not the only one. Atsushi’s string appears to point to someone closeby, its direction heading near vertically downward.

Not one string travels in the same direction, which Dazai considers a relief, until the president walks out of his office with a string pointing in the same direction as Dazai’s.

Not so relieving. Nor information he really wanted to know, either.

No reports have come in about an ability causing mass outbreaks of this phenomenon, though it’s confirmed it is one thanks to Dazai’s ability spazzing out.

He knows what he must do.

Be a good Agency member and stay to figure out what is happening and how to fix it.

But, in his defense, it’s hard to concentrate when the bright red thing in the corner of his vision keeps flashing as if to say “Look here! Look here! A reminder of what you lost!”

So he stands up and walks out the door to the protests of one Kunikida and the complaints of “Why does he get to go?!” from one Ranpo.

He’s only down a few blocks from the Agency waiting at a crosswalk when the shimmering red string shifts directions, fast.

Ah, always impatient, that one.

He waits a moment even as the pedestrian light turns green, watching as the string goes from 12 o’clock to 2 o’clock.

Distantly, he can hear the telltale engine of a motorcycle speeding down the streets.

His best guess is an old safehouse located in between the Agency and Mafia, unused since before his defection.

So with that, he makes his way towards it.

–

The shining pink motorcycle parked in the alley next to the apartment complex creates a strange mix of nostalgia and anxiety in his chest.

It only serves as a reminder that his little fateful predicament is very much real.

He can’t run away – he’s sure the constant little pain in his side has been watching the string to anticipate his incoming self, and he’s sure said constant little pain in his side would throw an absolute fit in the form of showing up at the Agency if he were to run away – but he can’t bring himself to walk up the stairs located on the side of the building.

As much as he’s always known that they are indelibly fated, he never had something tangible to prove it – only trust and the recurrence of the redhead in his life has told him it’s true.

From somewhere up above come three bangs against the stairwell’s metal handrail, annoyance clear in the way there’s barely any space between each individual one.

Truly impatient.

Dazai sighs, beginning his dreaded trek up the seven flights of stairs to his other dreaded reason for being.

By the time he makes it all the way up – slightly out of breath because dear Lord, stairs are not his friend – he’s met with the beautiful sight of one tiny, angry chibi holding up his ring finger where a matching little red bow to Dazai’s is tied as if he’s flipping Dazai off.

“Took you so long, waste of bandages?” Chuuya scowls. He doesn’t even bother waiting for a response, already turning on his heel to walk down to their safehouse’s door.

“Why hello to you too, chibi~” This time, not turning around, Chuuya does flip him off over his shoulder. The little red string follows the movements, swinging lazily between them. At the safehouse’s door, Chuuya lets himself in, barely kicking the door open enough for Dazai to slip in behind him.

The atmosphere inside the apartment is… unique, in its own special way. Still /them/, Double Black, but now something else, something outside of their infamous duo name. Just the two of them, Dazai and Chuuya, Chuuya and Dazai, /partners/.

Chuuya’s already prepped wine for the occasion – something from his personal collection he keeps on hand in his office – and washed two old glasses for them.

Dazai makes his way towards the well-worn couch further inside the apartment. Knife slashes from their teenhood shenanigans adorn it, along with an unfortunate layer of dust.

“Make yourself useful” is all he gets as a warning sign for the wet rag flung at his head. Without looking, he catches it and actually does what Chuuya’s asked of him for once.

He’d really rather not be forced to inhale the dust as Chuuya’s punishment for his disagreeance.

Once that’s finished, he tosses the dirty rag back to Chuuya, who lets it fall to the floor with a dodge that has the glasses of wine in his hands tilting dangerously. He seethes, “Bastard!”

Dazai merely plops down on the couch, getting comfortable before his space will soon be invaded. The little bow on his finger continues its constant flickers. Still a nuisance, much like the person he’s blaming it for existing on, but he’s at least gotten used to it now.

Trailing his eyes along its path, he watches as it goes from blinking to solid shortly after, all the way to the other hand that’s currently offering him a glass of wine, the little bow wrapped tight around a strong finger.

“Fuck’s with you? Take it, or I’m dropping it,” Chuuya complains, arm dipping lower and lower before Dazai takes it gracelessly. The wine tips towards the edge dangerously, splashing back down to the core of it with a plop as Dazai sharply rolls his wrist once.

“How do I know you didn’t poison it?” The brunet asks lazily, already bringing the glass to his lips.

Chuuya snorts, not bothering to answer as he takes a sip of his own, only making sure to watch Dazai do the same.

“Hell of a way to get us to talk, huh?” The redhead starts, only a sliver of hesitancy in his voice, Dazai the sole person with the ability to detect it.

“I wouldn’t put it past Mori to have set this up,” he responds. He focuses on looking up towards the ceiling. “Whether it was for us or himself is the real question.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Chuuya roll his eyes, a knowing smirk on his lips.

The silence hangs around them, then. Dazai feels no need to speak. He’s sure Chuuya feels the same.

Until, “Well?”

He snaps his head to look at the other. “Well, what?”

“What are we?” Chuuya raises an eyebrow.

Dazai raises one back, incredulous. “Partners?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Chuuya says, gesturing with his free hand between them. Then, he switches the glass between his hands to raise up his other one, ring finger and red bow on full display. He emphasizes, “This.”

With only a moment of uncertainty, Dazai slowly says, “...Partners?”

That was not the correct answer, according to Chuuya’s look that says he wishes he had a pillow to scream into right now.

He hears a whispered “Let’s try this again,” before “What do you think this–” the redhead wiggles his ring finger, pushes it further into his face “-- means?”

With more certainty, he nods along. “Partners.”

Chuuya throws his head into the back of the couch. Finally, with a beleaguered sigh, he asks, “By definition, what does ‘partners’ mean, and what does it mean to you?”

“We’re associated together in the same activity, Double Black?”

“And the other definition?”

Now Dazai’s confused, tilting his head to an extreme angle. “We’re married??”

Chuuya facepalms. He doesn’t even get mad that a couple droplets of wine get on his pants from the action. Looking back up, “No, dumbass, what does it mean to /you/?”

With full confidence, Dazai dips his head down with a smile, “We are partners.” Glee fills him as he sees Chuuya’s eye twitch at that.

The redhead moves a hand to get him to keep going.

“...whoooo trust each other with their lives?” A nod and another movement to continue. “And who are constant thorns in each other’s sides?” Another gesture along with the mumble of ‘you can say that again. “And who are the most partneriest of partners that have ever partnered.”

“Now I know you’re just fucking with me.” Chuuya knocks back a large sip, wiping his mouth with his hand afterward. “Can we be serious about this, or no?”

Dazai squints. He draws his syllables together on the first word as he says, “Mmm maybe. What do I get out of it?”

“That depends on what you want.”

“What does Chuuya want?”

“For you to be honest with me.”

Snapping his fingers with a look of forlorn, Dazai mourns, “Shoot, I don’t think that’ll work out.”

“Then I guess you don’t get the gift I got you.”

“Gift?” He perks up. Then, “Wait, from a slug? Bleh, no thank you.”

Chuuya flicks his forehead for it. “Do you want kisses or no?”

/Now/ Dazai’s suspicious. “No…?” He doesn’t sound convinced even to his own ears.

“Tsk, tsk. And even after I practiced these past four years.”

Dazai straightens, pushing into Chuuya’s space, voice hard. “/Who–/”

Soft, wine-stained lips on his – warm and not practiced like someone claimed, but Dazai doesn’t care ‘cause it’s like a missing, forgotten piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place for them. Chuuya’s slot perfectly with his, and it’s all Dazai’s been missing these past four years of their partnership.

He can feel Chuuya smile against him before the other pulls back. “Well?”

Dazai hums, prolonging his answer as he leans forward to place his glass on the coffee table in front of them, taking and placing Chuuya’s too when it’s shoved at him.

“You’re a little liar.” Dazai pushes back up, pecking Chuuya’s lips with a smile on his own face as he brings his arms around Chuuya’s waist. “And the best partner ever.”

He dives back in.

Dazai’s never been one to believe in fate – even with the red string tied and flickering on his finger connected to the man in front of him – he doesn’t know if it’s real. But he does know that he and Chuuya are partners in every form, together now and for the rest of their lives.

#skktober #soukoku #skk #dazai x chuuya #chuuya x dazai #malaikawrites #day 29

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gingergofastboatsmojito · 6 days ago

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Sydcarmy´s blood deal

So, using the same knife without even washing it first was either a HUGE Health code violation, which Coco Storer wouldn´t have let slide, or a symbolic blood deal which was shown ON PURPOSE.

IMO the deal was to recognize the shortcomings each had to work on to get to a better place in their relationship.

Carmy needed to work on his communication congruence, meaning putting his money where his mouth was, actually following through and delivering on what he said, instead of saying one thing and doing another, consistently and fucking everyone up in the process because he´s UNRELIABLE, he means well, but does it wrong, so you can´t rely on him, ever. He means what he says, sure, but he doesn´t deliver consistently, so at the end of the day, you just can´t trust him. He´s acting like a child. Not mean, just immature, who can´t be trusted because of that lack of consistency and congruence that adult and effective communication, not to mention running a business or being part of a team in any project or endeavor, require.

Syd, on the other hand, needed to work on her honesty and accessibility, open up, be vulnerable with him like she was for a moment in S1 in the back alley and in S2 under the table.

Syd doesn´t lack honesty because she lies, but because for her communication to be effective, she needs to open up more and let him in, when Carmy wants to connect with her and brings up more personal stuff that exceed their strictly professional relationship in a bonding attempt that is meant to improve their rapport both in and outside the restaurant. He was, as usual, checking on her and being open with her, in one of the few moments throughout the season where we got a more human glimpse of who he is underneath all that rough and robotic exterior that simboliizes his inner and almost constant struggle between the man and the beast that he can be simultaneously or alternatively. His humanity is brought up by her, maybe not as often in S3, but surely, and his animal-like behavior was brought up by his quest to deliver on the only words he was ever truly congruent with, last season:

So till last season, they were still stuck in the same conflict they had been dragging since S1: She doesn´t feel heard by him, he doesn´t feel she will ever really accept him (aka: be good enough for her) unless he proves himself to her, that´s why he´s obsessed with giving her that star and self-boycots, because he´s at the same time afraid of failing at it, and thus, let her down AGAIN and lose his only chance to win her over, because without giving her a restaurant, a partnership, financial stability, a role as CDC, and a Michelin star, he can´t even begin to fathom he will be worthy of her ever seeing him as something other than a Chef, the most excellent CDC at the most excellent restaurant in the United States of America, a title he dreads because it brings him bad memories. He wants to be seen by her like a man and a potential prospect for a more "personal" connection, that´s why he´s always trying to bond with her and get her to open up every chance he gets, which aren´t many, and she keeps, most of the times, not letting him in.

The common denominators here are the 3 Cs:

COMMUNICATION

CONGRUENCE

CONSISTENCY

In that order, and they BOTH have to work on all 3.

So, when they shared that bloody knife, they sealed the deal of acknowledging that the other was right about demanding what they did because they both UNDERSTOOD each other. He understood she was right in pointing out his communication was fucked and was fucking everyone else up.

She understood he was checking on her and trying to connect on a different level, other than just professional. She showed him she understood that by asking him about how it was going with the whole "quit smoking thing" and trying to "get a taste of him",

showing she cared. Syd was trying to follow his lead in that "bonding" exercise, even when she didn´t like it at all.

She did it for him, to prove to him that for that moment at least, they were on the same page.

And when they try and put in the MUTUAL effort at the same time, they do re-connect briefly. They take turns at work and THEY WORK.

Just like they did for a short period of time here:

That alternation and clear and consistent communication is what works for them, even if it means talking about things that are not working, and it gets uncomfortable at times. When they talk it out like this, things work, and when they stop doing it, it ends up badly for both of them.

This symbolic deal they made and sealed with blood is the key to all that they will achieve in S4, all the conflicts that they keep dragging along, unsolved issues that so far have been holding them back in every aspect of their relationship, and therefore they will keep their words, they will apply the 3 Cs and get rid of the 4th one.

I wholeheartedly believe Carmy is telling Syd all of this; it´s his plea to get her to stay at the restaurant. He will speak the truth, as always, and THIS TIME AROUND HE WILL DELIVER AND FOLLOW THROUGH and SHE WILL FINALLY REALLY OPEN UP TO HIM (AND HIS FAMILY)

and as a result they will "bond" outside the restaurant as well and she will start seeing him as more than a chef and co-worker, she will start seeing and appreciating the man that Carmen Berzatto really is.

And all that can only lead to a SYDCARMY ENDGAME. PERIOD.

TONIGHT IS THE NIGHT, CHEFS! TONIGHT WE START WINNING! (but we´ll really wrap the victory up next season though because there´s probably gonna be a S5). HAPPY BEAR DAY, CHEFS!

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋 & #Gingerpredictions

#the bear meta #bear day!#the bear #sydcarmy #sydcarmy endgame #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #the bear fx #carmy x sydney #carmen berzatto #the bear hulu #syd x carmen #the bear season 4 #carmy the bear #carmy the man #effective MUTUAL and CONSISTENT communication #gingerpovs #the bear season 4 gingerpredictions #sydcarmy meta

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howling-medic · 5 months ago

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King's Facade

Summary: A look at the beginning of Aragorn's rule as King Elessar that the public never sees

Word Count: 1718

Pairing: Aragorn x Arwen

T/W: light angst, anxiety attack

Rating: General

A/N: Vanimelda is Sindarin for beloved. Also, This was initially written for a Hurtcember challenge....and now I'm posting it in February. Thank you for all your help @wisheduponastar! All mistakes are my own, and I’m sure there are at least a few I missed on my last pass.

King's Facade

The candle splutters, sparks, and then goes out with a wisp of smoke swirling up towards the ceiling. The room goes dark with it. Books and papers clutter the desk. Laws and traditions of a bygone age coupled with outdated and contradictory records of resources litter the floor on which the High King of the Reunited Realm sits with his head in his hands. Aragorn’s breaths come in staccato gasps. He prepared to rule his people. He studied their cultures, learned of their woes and fears, and walked amongst them. Long years he spent mastering the craft of war and leading men. He apprenticed under Elrond to learn the art of healing. With his kindred, he learned the ways of governance and self sufficiency.

None of it prepared Aragorn to heal an entire nation. Never did he dream of taking over from a man so young he could be his son who had only just assumed the stewardship from his father - a man driven mad by machinations of Saruman. Day after day Aragorn struggled to face his subjects and direct them in the process of rebuilding. He guessed at the best course of action with little knowledge of the feasibility of any order he gave. Each night he studied documents outlining accounts paid and owed, stores held, and gold in reserve that failed to add up. “Forgive all debts…recount…but time…men…can we?” Aragorn mutters. He fumbles to find a single scrap of parchment amongst the piles surrounding him. Then he stops. His vision swims. He chokes back a sob. Ruler of men. You can’t even make ledgers add up. If only your people could see you now. The nightly refrain echoes in his mind. The mocking voice had become a constant companion in his darkest hours.

What if his people could see him, indeed. Ever calm and optimistic in court, ever steady in a crisis - and crises there had been. Each day seemed to bring something - be it big or small - new and unforeseen. The ash from the battle fouled several water supplies. Stores of grain and salted meat are short from housing the Rohirrim and decreased crop yields after years of burnt fields and waning populations to tend the farms. Each day a new problem. To the comfort of all, the King smiles and produces an answer. Then the doors close to his study, and the dread overwhelms him.

To whom could he show this side, after all? Arwen, of course. But who else? His friends have scattered to the winds, and in court he trusts none sufficiently. If he chose to reveal his state of disquiet to the wrong person, the repercussions would be catastrophic. Trust in Gondor’s recovery would perish before any headway could be made. Which leaves nights like this the only option: where Aragorn stifles his cries lest his guards hear him.

This night’s battle is reckoning and resolving the records of Gondor’s debts. Years of invoices conflict with the numbers logged in last quarter’s ledger. Faramir had attempted to reconcile the two in the few short weeks he served as Steward after the Battle of the Pelennor. The young man gave a detailed report of the discrepancies in their days cloistered together following the coronation. The two of them had spent many hours working together to make sense of Denethor's accounting, yet his descent into madness and toll of war left no piece of the realm unmarked. Months later the matter remained unresolved. “Gondor’s citizens desperately need payment, my lord,” the accountant’s words still ring, hours later, in Aragorn’s mind. The accountant he begged to stay well past dark had long since left, yet his words remain. Still he sat, shaking, on the floor.

A trembling hand grasps the edge of the desk. Aragorn rises to unsteady feet only to collapse into his chair and face his cluttered desk once more. Only the light of the moon illuminates the papers before him now. His notes from earlier mock him. They hold more riddles than when he first sat down, and very few answers. Just as he reaches for his flint, there is a quiet knock at the door. It opens a crack, and Arwen slips into the room. For just a moment, the room is flooded with the light of the hallway, and then only that of her candle remains. “Estel, vanimelda, will you not return to our chambers?”

There is no reproach in her words, only tenderness and concern. Aragorn responds by ducking his head to obscure his face. He knows without looking, and despite the fact that he cannot hear her skirt around the mess covering his floor, that she will kneel beside him.

Just as he expects, her smooth hands grasp his. They begin the familiar dance. Aragorn leans to the side and rests his head upon hers until the tears stream down his cheeks. Once they drip down onto Arwen, she guides him to the ground next to her, and her embrace envelops him. He need not tell her what plagues his mind tonight. It does not matter. He knows there will be time for that later. For this moment, he simply lets himself rest in her arms. He has no obligation to make a decision or take charge. She guides his movements. Aragorn has no notion of time, but eventually he hears Arwen counting, and he matches his breathing to it. The tears subside. Each time he loses the rhythm, she picks it up again. Time and time again, he tries. “There you go, mêleth,” she says when he can finally look at her. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point Arwen had adjusted her hold to place two fingers on the pulse in his wrist. “How about we sit a moment?”

Aragorn shakes his head. He begins to reach for a paper beside them. Arwen gently clasps his hand in hers to stop him. For a moment, Aragorn resists. But only for a moment, then he yields, and she draws it to her lips for a gentle kiss. “The world and its troubles will be there when the sun rises. Sit with me. Let me tell you of the latest news from Elrohir.”

Aragorn swallows the lump in his throat and nods. When it is clear he has abandoned his attempt to reach for his notes, Arwen releases his hand. Then, with a gentle smile, Arwen nods and launches into a full recounting of Elrohir’s letter that arrived earlier. Apparently, Elladan had managed to set fire to the curtains in the Hall of Fire in Rivendell. No serious damage had been done to the structure or any occupants of the room, but it had caused quite the stir. Now that the fuss had died down, Elrohir thought the whole debacle the height of comedy. By the end of the tale, Aragorn finds himself laughing despite himself. He leans down and presses a kiss to Arwen's forehead. “Thank you, vanimelda.” The words are no more than a whisper carried by a sigh. There’s an uncharacteristic tremble to the words.

“Do not thank me for that which is the barest minimum of care to give the one I love.”

“Thank you nonetheless. When your father declared I must become King should I wish to wed you, I do not believe he envisioned a king behaving in this manner.” Bitter self loathing lace the statement. They were words he had said before, words he promised not to repeat. Arwen only sighs.

“In his many millennia, Aragorn, he saw man, elf, and dwarf handle tumult far less honorably than this. To struggle is to exist. To doubt oneself is to rule. Have you not seen that in your years amongst your fellow man?” Her words hold no malice, no judgement. The questions earnestly beg for self reflection, for remembrance.

The tension in Aragorn’s shoulders releases at length, and he sags. Exhaustion finally makes itself known. “Yes, I have, yet I never imagined such trivial matters as ledgers would best me.” His are eyes downcast - unwilling to face her in his defeat.

“Are the accounts of our realm, the debts to our subjects and neighbors, trivial? Should they be, I do not believe you would linger these many nights over them in favor of my company.”

“I…..suppose you may speak the truth.”

“That I do. A truth you have known and understand. While they may not be trivial concerns, however, they will all still be here come first light, which is in precious few hours. Come, we have a few things that must be done. Then, and this is nonnegotiable, Estel, you must sleep.”

“But I -” Aragorn starts, but he lifts his gaze to find a such finality in Arwen’s gaze that he stops mid-protest.

“I shall not be dissuaded. You meet with your minister of agriculture here just after you have breakfast - which is just after you are to meet Beregond for a morning sparring session that I cannot postpone again without being rude - so the room must be tidied. Would you like to do so, or shall I?”

When Aragorn begins to feel shame rising in him, which must show somewhere on his face that he cannot feel, Arwen adds, “I do not mind at all, truly. If it is more manageable for you to direct me than it is to tackle this - be it alone or at all - then tell me, Aragorn.” Her tone and expression hold no judgement, they never do, and yet every time he expects it. Many nights he accepts the offer, but not tonight. Tonight he shakes his head and rises to his knees.

Without a word, he sorts the loose papers on the floor into piles based on their year and subject, then the books of ledgers and history are sorted in similar fashion. When the floor is cleared, Aragorn does the same to his desk. Nothing is fully filed away. This is a battle that still needs to be won, but it can wait to be faced with a clear mind after a few hour’s rest. “There. Now. To bed with you,” Arwen says and playfully pushes him towards the back door to the office that passes directly to the Royal Chambers. None need see the King after such a night.

#my writing #my fanfic #aragorn #arwen #Aragorn x arwen #lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #aragorn son of arathorn #elessar #arwen undomiel #the evenstar #my fanfiction #tw: angst #tw: anxiety

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btskitten7 · 4 months ago

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The Happy Ones | One

Ship: Kim Namjoon x Fem!reader; Kim Taehyung x fem!reader

au/genre: Historic!AU (This story is loosely based on the game called "We Happy Few". You should check it out it's a very interesting plot! I'm just adding the drama!)

rating: M

wc: 2.8k

Chapter warnings: 'Joy' is often going to be referred to as a drug by joonie, he hates it.

summary: getting to know joy.

tagss: @shadowyjellyfishfest @baechugff @maunosorioh @shelylamc @princess-sunshyn @scuzmunkie @wanceu @coldcoffee2121 @maunosorioh @massivelyfullenthusiast @bangtan-famiglia-net

" A happy face means a happy place!"

A World of hurt. Pain. Chaos and lies. A place that Taehyung knew too well. It's been constant heartbreak and despair since he was a young child. Once one storm came and went, another would roll in, not allowing him to take a breath, not even a second. And once he thought he had found a friend or a companion…it was always too good to be true. They always used him and took him for granted.

Most would fall into their pity and accept their fate. But to Taehyung, this was his opportunity to change the world around him…and create a new one.

He studied for years. Became an activist, which wasn't hard for him. His parents were doctors and had a lot of connections, although he didn't use them often, it was a nice touch to ensure his new world could take effect. Taehyung even went as far as becoming a general to gain some type of control over the dreadful town, an even more dreadful country. But even if he was well respected and never in need of a thing, it still wasn't bringing him happiness. People still found ways to hurt him and make him feel less than him despite working hard and being respectful. People don't think like him. They couldn't do so.

And that's the problem.

After all these years, he finally figured out that it wasn't him. It was everyone else. No matter how much light you throw into the world, darkness is always bound to be present. He was the light, and everyone around him was the darkness. He figured…

"If everyone thought as I do, or better yet not think at all, no one would be hurt. Pain and suffering can't possibly exist if you can't think. Or if you can't remember your past."

"A happy person with no history"

He decided to change the world as you knew it. He decided to create something that would erase life's "happy accidents." It would be like Bob Ross waking up one morning and creating his world. It's perfect, and since he was well respected and looked up to, it wasn't too hard for him to get everything he needed to begin his New World 2.0 project. After all the tests, all the fails, and trials. He finally got his solution. One simple pill. One pill to solve life's biggest problems.

It was a mind-altering pill. Once consumed, you were met with a state of pure bliss. Nothing, not even a bounced check, could bring you anger. You, as well as every encounter on this pill, became…

Unbelievably chipper.

Even your sight changed, and the world around you became bright and shining. Glistening with happiness and peace. Few people reported that they saw happy fairies and such. You were in a complete bliss of LA LA land.

Amazing right?

Of course, it is. Who wouldn't want to be happy all the time? Who wouldn't want instant happiness with just one pill? Who would dare go against everything happy?

Who wouldn't want to forget their past?

"Finally…" Taehyung took his seat in front of a microscope in his pristine laboratory, something that he had put together once he graduated, he felt accomplished. He burst into your office after finishing up with the biggest smile on his face. "I figured it out! We did it! We did it!" He said, running to you and scooping you into his arms, hugging you tight. You wrapped your arms around him and hugged him just as tight, excited for the future.

Taehyung loved having you by his side. You were the one thing that he didn't hate. You thought like him, and he loved that. You had the same views as he did, you helped him achieve his dream. He had so much adoration for you you could say he was in love. But there was a little problem.

You were engaged and, clearly, very loyal to your fiance.

Although you agreed with Taehyung's point of view, you had different views. You thought that happiness is a choice,e but it shouldn't be something that's so hard to obtain. You thought having the supplement could be a way to help ones who need a pick me up, but as you continued to work alongside Taehyung, you started to see things that were a bit…off.

Many of the testers would forget simple things like locking their doors and where they may have placed their keys. Some forgot how to tie their shoes or their shoes altogether. It wasn't too big of a concern, but you did find it odd since this drug was only to change your mood, not alter your mind. Since the pill was still in its early stages, you thought with more work and research, it would fix itself. But you still told Taehyung about it, just so he's aware.

"Everything is moving smoothly. The only slight issue would be that they're becoming forgetful. It's mainly small things like locking doors and tying shoes. It'll come back to them after a few moments, but they forget every time after taking the pill. It's not a pressing matte,r but I thought I'd let you know." You said, holding onto your clipboard as both you and Taehuyng observed the testers. He took your findings and read over them closely, followed by a smile.

"That does not concern me, and it shouldn't concern you either. Some things are okay to forget…as long as they're happy, darling. That's all we care about."

He handed you back your clipboard and gave you a reassuring smile, heading to the exit, leaving you to finish up your work before leaving yourself. You sighed and turned back to the tester to get a better observation. You saw something you hadn't realized before.

While on the pill, their pupils were significantly smaller than normal, and they had a falsified smile plastered on their faces. The smile for sure didn't look genuine; it looked like a smile you would give to someone you didn't care for, but you had to be kind. It kind of freaked you out a bit.

Nevertheless, they all reported being happy and joyful.

Maybe even too happy.

As long as they stayed in this phase, it wouldn't be too bad.

It's too late now to make any changes, in just a few weeks, you will be presenting this supplement. You can't turn back. 20201320 Taehyung put out an ad offering money and the chance to be in a magazine that wanted to interview him and the testers to anyone willing to try out Joy.

The conditions were simple. All they had to do was show up and take the joy, then go on with their daily lives. Then they or their family would come and give reports on how they felt (and)or how they reacted to things. Especially negative things.

You greeted the townies like you did every morning, handing their preferred flavor of joy. Strawberry, Chocolate, Vanilla, or, on special occasions, mixed berries. Stopping at Clara, a newlywed and new mother, you smiled,

"Hello Clara, how's the baby?" To your surprise, she frowns, rather confused. "Baby? Who had a child, beloved?" she asked genuinely, causing you to let out a small laugh, thinking she was just pulling your leg. "No, seriously, what's it like being a mother? How's baby Liam?" you asked again, handing her the supplement and finally seeing her confused face. "Mmm," she started. "I think you have me mistaken for someone else love, I haven't got a child. I hardly have a spouse, darling," She responded, taking the joy and leaving you dumbfounded.

You knew some things would be forgetful, but a child? Especially a child she sees every single day? How could one forget a child, especially one that they carried for nine months? Then something in her switch, she began to laugh as she held her forehead.

"I must be tired or losing my mind. Liam is doing great; he is such an angel for his father and me. Now, how are you and Namjoon? I'm excited for the wedding!" She said with a loving smile.

You nodded with a sweet smile before writing the conversation down to review with Taehyung later. "We are doing good. He is still the sweetest kid, as we knew him in high school. He's been working a lot more lately. We haven't been able to spend time with each other, and I miss him like crazy." you shared with a small pout.

Namjoon is the smartest man in town. Too smart, some would say. He used to work with you and Taehyung until they had a little disagreement over the terms and agreements. Around the same time, Joon got an amazing offer to work on the council, so leaving wasn't that hard. Along with Kim Seokjin, he makes the decisions according to the towns they are over. So, Namjoon will be the golden ticket to get this supplement passed.

Sadly, Namjoon didn't agree with the "joy" pill. He didn't like the fact of someone dictating someone's happiness, even if it promoted safer environments. He thought happiness should come to someone voluntarily, not forced. He hated that you were working on this project because he didn't want to step on your toes. He saw how proud you were. He knew you had good intentions, but he knew Taehyung did not.

~~~~

"How was work princess? Anything new?" He asked,d rubbing small circles against the middle of your back. You hummed, "Work was the same as usual, although something weird did occur today."

Namjoon raised his eyebrow slightly before answering, "Like?" "You know Mrs. Johnson is one of the 20 that we've pulled to try out Jo,y right? Well, today, I asked her about her baby, but she told me that she didn't have one. She even implied that she wasn't married. She seemed completely confused when I asked. Then, maybe a few minutes later, she remembered. She just chalked it up to being tired, but I just don't see someone forgetting the family that they created." You said, wrapping your arm around Joonie's torso and holding onto him tightly. His hand slightly paused in the middle of your back as you continued. "Is that right?"

"Mmm, yeah. Either she seriously lost her mind, or she's an amazing actress." "It's funny that you said that," Joon frowned, "I was talking to Ty'Rik earlier this afternoon, and he told me Clara wasn't herself." You sat up a little, laying your chin gently on Joon's shoulder. "Yeah? What all did he say?" "She's been rather forgetful," Joon continued. "She has no real grasp of reality. She's still her positive self, but it's more overbearing. He could speak about something realistically, not so negative or positive, and she'd become angry. " You frowned and listened to your fiancé's words.

"Is that a side effect?" He asked. You shook your head. "Well, yes and no. Being forgetful, yes, unfortunately, but being overly positive and offended when someone says something negative isn't. Joy is supposed to suppress those negative feelings, making them disappear altogether. Even if someone around you is being negative, it shouldn't affect a person that's on Joy."

The wheels in Joon's head were turning. Suppose he had any doubts about stopping this thing from being on the street. He didn't anymore. He didn't want to go against you, nor did he want to discredit all the hard work you and Taehyung did, but day by day, he was hearing more things about this Drug that didn't sit right with him. As much as he was proud of how far you've come, he couldn't risk the lives of the townies. "Maybe this isn't a good idea, my love." "It's still being worked on! It'll be perfected so.on" You kissed your future husband. He wanted to believe you. But sadly, he couldn't.

~~~~~~~~~~

The day of the presentation came, and you were nervous. You and Taehyung had been perfecting this for a year, and it all comes down to this. Of course, it still has its flaws, but it was nothing that you couldn't fix. You were proud of this, and you knew Taehyung was just as proud.

"Why should I make this…supplement a part of everyday living? Why can't we just leave it up for the townies to choose, whether or not they want to? It seems a little demanding"

Seokjin asks to look over the paperwork with Joon. Namjoon kept looking through the data, the reports, your notes, and Taehyungs. It didn't match up. Your notes were very similar to Taehyung's but very different from what you would tell him.

"Because this pill will not only keep the people of this town happy and content, it'll keep the crime rates down, and no one will have to worry about their safety, their belongings. If everyone is happy and getting along, there won't be any need to worry. This will be the safest town on earth for children, women, and men alike! Who wouldn't want to live in peace? It's like living in Heaven before you die, and you…"

Taehyung smiled and sat back in his chair before continuing, "You'll be the one man on this forsaken earth Who has 100 percent control over his people. Everyone, everyone, will be dying to know how you did it. How-"

"You speak of the townies as if they're puppets in need of control. They are not." Joon interrupted.

Almost instantly, your eyes shot right at Joon's, pleading with him not to go any further. "I assure you, it's not like that," You said cheerfully, deeply hoping Joon would leave it where it was.

Taehyung chuckled, rubbing your shoulders. "No, no. Not puppets, that would be rude of me. I see the townies as people that need a bit more guidance." Joon adjusted himself in his chair.

"So shoving a mind-altering drug down their throat is the way to do it?"

"Mind-altering? That's insane, that would make me a monster. I don't want to change their mind; I want to change the way they think. Think of it as you going to a bar and having a drink with friends or a lovely night out with your stunning, beautiful wife, you know, Something fun but not all the memorable?" Taehyung smirked.

Your head snapped at Tae, frowning. Joon opened his mouth to speak, but Seokjin raised his hand and looked over at Joon. "I understand you are concerned, Joon, People should have the choice if they choose to participate,"

Joon nodded. "However," Seokjin continued, "I think we should give it a test run just to see how it goes. It shouldn't be too harmful How long does it take effect?"

"It's effective immediately. As soon as you take it, it induces happiness and euphoria, it shouldn't affect everyday life," you said, "It's just like taking a vitamin daily or as needed."

Namjoon couldn't believe what he was hearing. He didn't want to step on your toes or anything, but he couldn't believe you or Seokjin couldn't see through Taehyung's empty promises. Displeasure was all over his face, and he didn't care to hide it.

"You can't be serious? Mrs. Johnson forgot about her child and her husband. Is that not concerning enough?" Joon whispered to Sekojin.

Seokjin nodded before turning to Taehyung.

"It's my understanding that Mrs. Johnson has shown reports of extreme forgetfulness. Forgetting her young child and husband. What do you have to say for that?"

You were choked up. You didn't think Namjoon would go back to Seokjin and tell him what you've told him in confidence. Even Taehyung was taken by surprise,e but he couldn't let it show that long.

"Yes, that is true. Mrs. Johnson is a rare case. We're running a few tests to see if they are underlining effects that we've missed with the batch she had, but I assure you that the new batch does not have the same effect."

Seokjin turned to Namjoon and whispered, "Listen, I say we give them a month, see how it works, and then allow the townies to decide if this is a great choice. Besides," he paused, looking at you, then back at Joon. "I don't think you want to upset the future wife"

"My fiancee's and I relationship has nothing to do with my decisions as a general on this council. So I would much prefer that we keep outside relationships, outside. Here, no matter friend or wife, the lives of the townies are my main concern."

Seokjin sighed and nodded. "I understand that."

Namjoon was stern. Yo,u, of course, meant a lot to him,im and he usually agrees with your mindset since it's a lot like his. But this is something he could never agree on, not even for his engagement. Not even for you.

Taehyung chuckled upon hearing Namjoon's statement to Seokjin. "That's too bad. I'd put my wife's well-being over everything..even the townies." Taehyung challenged.

"She is a townie. She's included"

"But she's firstly your wife than a simple townie"

"In here, as I stated, she's someone who's advertising something for the townies. So for now, none of that matters."

#bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts angst #bts x reader #bts smut #bts jungkook #bts yoongi #bts jhope #bts namjoon #bts series #bts ot7 #jimin bts #bts taehyung #bts seokjin #female oc #bangtanwhq

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iztea · 8 months ago

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Can you please tell me what mouthwashing is about I keep seeing posts about it everywhere and I wanna know more but Google has been entirely unhelpful in describing me the plot of this game

it's baiscally. peak horror. i wish i were better with words to describe just how genuinely disturbing it is but not in a cheap jumpscare gorey way

The overall atmosphere has this looming feeling of unease that leaves you in a constant state of dread; it's akin to what i imagine hell to be like tbh: constant anguish

it's mostly a psychological horror, but the visuals delve into surrealism and the grotesque. There's also some really effective body horror that mainly presents in the form of the "mascot" (the burned and bandaged guy that you see in fanarts) that suffers a lot of (undeserved) physical and mental pain. They have you feed him pain medicine and he makes these verrrryy hardto listen sounds and we also feed him his own leg at some point and,,, cut him up and erugh. Honestly, in the beginning, I thought that Curly (the burned guy) was just some sort of alien-creature-failed experiment thing but it's actually the ship's team captain that suffered an accident at the hands of the guy we play as. But since he cannot talk (given his state) we shifted all the blame on him, simply because we are jealous of him. Curly is a very good man, whilst the guy we play as is this horrible piece of shit which just. adds to the tragedy of Curly's (and all the other team mates') situation and the feeling of hopelessness. It's not fair, you feel sorry for him, and you can't help him either. Quite the opposite: since we're playing as the "bad guy" we are forced to,,, torture him. There is no happy resolution to any of this..ah Did i mention they are stranded in space?

There's more that happens ofc. Think of any type of dreadful horror theme or trope and Mouthwashing probably has it

#there's also a commentary on capitalsm that can be made #anyways i really love it #it's been a while since i've felt genuinely disturbed by a piece of media #ask iztea

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naamahdarling · 11 months ago

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MY medical update:

I am beginning to feel like I will never reach the end of anything. I am legitimately folding like a wet house of cards. My mental health is being profoundly negatively affected as my identity as "a unique and vibrant human being with a meaningful life" is increasingly subsumed into a deeply trauma-adjacent and depersoning identity as "a patient", with all the associated expectations that I will repeatedly and with minimal complaint allow people I barely know or have never met access to my emotions and my traumatized and marginalized body. That is not safe space within which to exist. Medical professionals, even the very kind ones, often forget the toll that "care" can take. (Bad ones disregard it altogether.)

My unusually high degree of emotional awareness allows me to see what is happening, and even allows me to cope with it very well, but "very well" is still not enough to make this sustainable over the long term. I don't actually know where to go or what to do from here.

I am torn between wanting to get all of these appointments out of the way as quickly as possible, so that I can relax without anything hanging over my head, and spacing things out just to give myself room to fucking breathe even though that means I will always have something lurking in the near future, causing me dread. I've run the math in my head over and over and I still can't work it out. There are too many unknowns, and too many variables, and too many ways things could go wrong either way I go.

I don't even know if there is a right choice. I don't know if there is a best answer. I've never been under this kind of pressure for so long before, I have been struggling with one thing or another since before the beginning of the year, and it is genuinely starting to do what I believe could turn into lasting harm.

I had a long and helpful talk with my boyfriend tonight, and while it did not fix much, it did help me to understand that the constant pressure on me is making it difficult for him to be here for me as much as he would like to be able to, and that's obviously distressing to him. That hit me really hard, because that is exactly the position I was in earlier this year trying to get his medication refilled and trying to help him deal with a deeply incompetent dental clinic.

I very much appreciate that he shared that with me, and I probably will try to find a way to slow things down and space things out, because even if I don't know that is what is best for me, if that is what is best for him, that's what I want to do. I've been so overwhelmed trying to manage my own emotional state that I sadly have not stopped to think about the effect this has had on him. I do feel guilty about that, but the important thing is that he let me know and I heard him.

I am very tired, and I'm praying that next week is uneventful. I don't have anything scheduled, but that doesn't mean that something annoying or even actually horrible might not occur.

Right now I'm going to have a snack and go to bed and hope that the pharmacy refills my meds tomorrow so that I can go back to having 30% less ADHD.

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mothwingwritings · 2 years ago

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I'm thinking of that type of reader, sweet and naive but so morally and mentally broken after Yujiro's violence that she may not realize that her strange relationship with her father is not normal at all.

A naive reader who doesn't understand why everyone, especially her brothers, look on in confusion and horror when a huge horrible mountain of muscle kisses her in front of witnesses and maybe even touches her all over. Just for their reaction.

And Hanma brothers, who stand there just shivering, each having different obscenities in their minds about their stupid sister, but they try to behave appropriately, blowing off excited steam when left alone.

I love the way you think, anon. (´༎ຶ ͜ʖ ༎ຶ `)♡

(I apparently can’t answer asks without spitting out a small story, so I apologize. I have no idea how to shut up and this is why it takes me so long to answer lit rally anything! (ᴗ ͜ʖ ᴗ))

WARNINGS FOR INCEST/STEPCEST/UNHEALTHY FAMILY DYNAMICS PLEASE BE ADVISED!!!

You've been so sheltered your whole life, holed up in your home by your mother who lived in a constant state of fear that your father may find you. You never understood why she would chose to procreate with someone she believed was so awful, or what was even so dreadful about the man to begin with. She kept everything from you, shooting you an icy glare if you so much as uttered his name. If she hated the man so much, why were you even born? It all seemed so unfair.

Whenever you looked outside and saw a father walking hand in hand with his daughter or when you watched a tv show with a supportive and kind father figure portrayed in a loving home, you would feel a pang of jealously, be overcome with sadness. Why couldn't you have that? You spent all of your youth home schooled, constantly moving from place to place for as long as you could remember, never staying in one home for more than a year. It barred you from any normal social interaction you should be having at your age, kept you from any lasting friendships. Since an early age you felt like half of yourself is missing, and you didn’t know what to do about it.

All you really have are your brothers, both of whom you love very much, and you know love you in return. But even they have been mostly barred from you by your mother, kept away in fear that their presence may summon your father and ultimately lead to your demise. You feel stagnant, suffocated, and unable to grow-like a shell of who you should really be.

But then one day, something changes. You wake up to a man in your bedroom, imposing and dominant, leering over you with a horrible smile as soon as you wake up. It’s alarming, and you found yourself struck with an innate fear as soon as you witness him. However, you note that your mother is also in the room, hidden away in the corner. Though she refuses to look at you, her presence feels reassuring and gives you an instant clue to who this man is.

This man introduces himself as your father, and though you are still incredibly leery of this situation, the joy you feel over finally meeting him clouds your better judgement. When he asks you to follow him, you concede without much prodding.

From there your life changes drastically. You get to see much more of the world then you did under your mothers care, and while that in and of itself is quite exciting, it also fills you with a trepidation that you have never felt previously. Because of that, you usually end up clinging close to your father’s side when you are out and about, feeling much more secure when you have him around for protection. Often this seems to cause him irritation, and you have found out quite quickly that when your father is upset nothing good will come of it. You’ve seen what happens to those on the receiving end of his fury, been on that end quite a few times yourself, and it’s the worst kind of hell you can imagine. The first time you witnessed Yujiro’s true rage was also the first time you could truly grasp your mother’s life long concern over you, and the realization hit you like a ton of bricks. This is why she had raised you the way that she did, shielding you from the monster you didn’t realize your father was.

But your new life wasn’t all bad, and there were moments when your father actually showed you kindness, treating you like true family. He’d take you out to lavish restaurants and resorts, bought you pretty clothes that you never dreamed of owning. You had access to salons, your hair and makeup done up in ways you yourself would have never had the skill to accomplish. You were no longer a child, but you had also never felt so… mature. The lovely clothes he provided you hugged you in all the right places, accentuating features of yourself you previously concealed. Thick mascara and cherry lips made you look like an almost entirely different person, someone much more alluring than you ever imagined you could be.

In certain rare instances, your father would even show you affection. The hugs and kisses weren’t how you envisioned they would be- much more intrusive, something you would expect from a lover and not a family member. But he assured you it was fine, that this was all normal, that other fathers just didn’t have the courage to truly appreciate their daughters like he did. He told you the only children he had ever had were sons, so you were special and needed to be treated as such.

He wanted everyone to see just how exceptional you were, witness how gorgeous his baby girl was. So when he paraded you around the underground arena he so often frequented, pawing at you with that devilish smirk on his lips, kissing you so deeply you felt like you were choking, you couldn’t quite understand the strange looks you got from the people around you. Sure, his heavy handed doting felt a little uncomfortable, but shouldn’t these public affections be better received? Maybe the people watching were just shy, or like your father said, not brave enough to handle this type of flagrant love.

… And maybe you could convince yourself of that for strangers, but when you caught a glimpse of your brothers during these public moments of intimacy, a pit would form in your stomach. It was like staring into a tempest, a swirling miasma of revulsion and anger reflecting back in their piercing gaze. They had never looked at you with such disgust before, and you couldn’t help but feel as if you had done something horribly wrong.

You HATED feeling that way. The guilt was overwhelming; you couldn’t stand the thought of Baki and Jack being upset with you. You knew it had to be in part due to your closeness to Yujiro, you knew they never were big fans of the man, and their distaste only seemed to grow the stronger your bond with him became.

You felt as if your family was finally coming together, you didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize this new life. You would have to talk to Baki and Jack about it later-you were willing to do just about anything to get back in their good graces.

#incest cw #stepcest cw #Being in Yujiros 'care' in any capacity? A nightmare #being his daughter... even more of a nightmare #yandere baki the grappler #yandere baki #yandere baki x reader #dark fic #baki scenarios #baki x reader #yujiro hanma x y/n #yandere yujiro hanma #yujiro hanma x reader #mothwords #now that thats out of my system I hope you enjoy. :)

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artemis1214 · 5 months ago

Text

WIP "Wed?"

Heyyy sooo it's been a while since I wrote anything, and I really wanted to share this, but I know it's not technically Wed. Anywho, here is the next spoiler for 'A Siren's Purpose'.

‼️Angsty Spoilers Ahead for 'A Siren's Purpose'‼️

After the many guests had filed out of the Hotel, the staff turned their attention to the lobby - straightening up after another attempt at recruiting lost souls. After her performance, Esme was focused on polishing her piano, while also taking the time to sweep the lacer of the glittering stage her girls had so kindly made her. Her eyes follow the trail of dust bunnies on the floor as she loses herself in her thoughts from the past couple of weeks. Tonight felt like a release for her - spilling her heart’s troubles out into the lyrics and down into the keys she was playing.

A couple of more moments pass before she hears the clicking of hard dress shoes that she recognized oh too well. Through the reflection of the black shimmer, her eyes land on two red eyes piercing into her own, causing her to straighten and look up.

Esme says nothing, but instead stares up at him as he looks down at her, casting an unreadable closed-mouth smile accompanied by a stern look in his eyes.

“You’re wrong about me.” He says a matter of factly, “I know what I want, I’ve always made that abundantly clear.”

“Oh, is that so?” Esme rolls her eyes, her voice leaking with sarcasm, “Well, excuse me, then I guess you made the right choice when you decided to walk away.” She continues to sweep, raising her hand in the air and shooing him away, “Go on, do what you do best.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Leave, you’re awfully good at that.” She turns her body away and begins to push the rest of the dust to the end of the stage,

“Well, you certainly have a few things you’re good at.” He mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’m sure [REDACTED] can attest to that.”

That’s it.

She tosses the broom onto the floor with an audible thud, “You know, you are really getting on my last possible nerve.” She pivots and the sound of her heels stomping over to him echoes in the space, “You have a lot of gull prancing around here acting like you’re a cheated man when you are the only person responsible for this relationship being in the state that it is. YOU and YOU alone.” She presses her finger into his chest, “You decided we were through. You pushed me away. YOU chose all of this. For once in your life Alastor - TAKE RESPONSIBILITY!”

His hand shoots up and harshly grips hers, his claws digging into her skin, “I have no shame, I take responsibility for my actions.” He growls threateningly, his lip curling in anger.

“Oh, you do? Really?” Esme grunts as she yanks her hand back, “Well…what about when I died?”

He blinks before answering, “This is entirely unwarrant-”

“What did you tell the town? Did you go to the authorities? Did you turn yourself in?”

“Of course not, I would have ended up in the electric chair!”

“And I ended up at the bottom of the sea! For goodness sake, my bones could still be there!”

He shakes his head and turns away, heading towards the stairs. She brought this up every time, every single damn time and it tormented his brain. From the nightmares he’s had of her, to the gnawing guilt that eats away at his heart, that one dreadful day has stayed permanently engraved in his memory on a constant loop since she came back into his life. His love for her never died, for it was a candle with an eternal flame. He had never meant to hurt her, but his rage and his carelessness led her to the sea.

Every other person he had the pleasure of ending, he relished in their screams, savored their blood, and celebrated their demise.

For her, he wept.

But she wouldn’t stop, “Oh, a coward are you? Prego, correre, keep running away from everything just like you alway d-”

“I RUN AWAY FROM NOTHING!” He towers over her, his form stretching out. His antlers scrape along the ceiling of the lobby, strong enough to peel off some of the paint.

“Oh, always with the dramatics.” Esme scoffs, unimpressed, “Come down before you hurt yourself.”

His breath surges in and out in his rage as he stares down at her, but his eyes meet hers and she holds his gaze with such firmness that it takes a quick moment to crack his mind and cause him to retreat back into his usual form. He fixes his collar with a charming smile as if nothing happened, “Adieu, my dear.” He spins around, going back up the stairs.

Her eyes follow him as he walks calmly to the second floor, and her chest burns with every step he takes, “Curse you, Alastor Hartfelt.”

His foot pauses before reaching the second landing, “Do not use my mortal name in this realm.”

“Oh, I will call you whatever I damn well please.” She turns away to head back into the lobby.

He should have just continued, but his pride was never one to allow him to lose an argument. He descends back down the stairs, falling victim to this classic cat-and-mouse game.

A ping pong battle.

“And why is that, pray tell? It’s not very ladylike for you.”

“Because you vex me so!”

Disappearing into a black mist, he reappears at her slide, casually leaning against her piano and speaking in a mockingly sweet tone, “Oh, pardon me. Just if you could clarify, do I vex you so much causing you to hate me, or is it that you already hate me so much that you vex me?”

“It is because I love you despite my better judgment!” Esme shouts, turning and looking him straight in his eyes.

A beat passes, and that cocky, arrogant, way about him vanishes as he is lost on how to proceed with her confession.

“You do not love me.” He pushes himself off the piano, walking away without any destination in mind.

“What?!”

“You had relations with another.”

“Firstly, we were not explicitly intimate. Secondly, you have every right to be hurt by me sharing moments with [REDACTED], but that was only after YOU told me that YOU didn’t want this ‘pathetic’ relationship anymore.”

He remains silent,

“And from that day forward, you ignored me at every chance. You wouldn’t speak to me, you locked yourself away in your radio tower. You told me you were no longer my husband in this lifeti-”

“Stop it…please…”

She sighs, “What are we doing here, Alastor? Are we to be with other people, filling the void and soothing the pain of this whole situation?”

His body recoils at that thought. He never wanted the attention of anyone else other than her, and he couldn’t fathom the thought of anyone desiring her in the way that he did.

So, again, he falls silent.

#hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel esme #alastor x oc #esme rose #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #oc x canon #canon x oc #oc x character #oc x cc

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moominpapasfanficblog · 4 months ago

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The Dread Moomin Pirates AU

The Moomin Pirates Arrive In Moominvalley

The day that followed Snufkin’s discovery of The Oshun Oxtra in Moominvalley bay was the most exciting day of his life. He introduced Moominpapa and Moomintroll to his family, as he had promised. Then, he helped the rest of The Oshun Oxtra’s crew ashore and helped them get settled in the Mymblehouse. By that time, The Joxter had returned home from helping the very small beasts of Moominvalley get started on their home repairs.

The Snork gave his report on the damage The Oshun Oxtra had suffered from the storm to the entire assembled group soon after that, and his assessment was a little dire.

“Given the total lack of resources and difficulty in acquiring repair parts in this village, it will take at least a month, perhaps two or more, to complete the repairs The Oshun Oxtra needs. The need for as much secrecy as possible, given that word of our presence in Moominvalley has undoubtedly spread across the village already, is paramount. Our best option is to blend in here as much as possible and trouble the villagers as little as possible. Moomintroll, I know that the first instinct of you and your brothers is to threaten everyone into cooperating with us, but DON’T. Think of this as a vacation for us all. I STRONGLY suggest that you find a way to make friends with the local children and spend your time playing with them as much as possible. Start with Snufkin. He seems more than eager to be friends with you all.”, he said.

The Moomin Pirates’ main crew consisted of Moominpapa and Moominmama, Moomintroll and his five brothers, Shakespeare, Voltaire, Stoker, Machiavelli, and Cervantes, each of whom were a year younger than the last in succession. They were a fearsome, unruly bunch, who were much too accustomed to a life of deadly violence. The Muddler, his wife, The Fuzzy, and their sons, The Fuddler and Sniff rounded out the crew of The Oshun Oxtra. Sniff and The Fuddler did their best to keep up with Moomintroll and his brothers while their parents helped out wherever they could in the daily operations of The Oshun Oxtra.

Moominpapa had become the epitome of a pirate captain thanks to a long string of successful raids of coastal ports and plundered ships. Moominmama was a bold, fearsome pirate leader in her own right and was primarily responsible for keeping order and discipline among The Oshun Oxtra’s crew. The Snork was a brilliant inventor who had made constant improvements on The Oshun Oxtra since he and his sister, Snork Maiden, had joined the crew when Moominpapa recruited them after Hodgkins decided to stay on as Chief Inventor To The Autarch. Moominmama, Snork Maiden, and The Fuzzy combined their talents and efforts to take care of all the daily cooking aboard the ship.

They pitched in readily to help The Mymble, Mymble, and Little My prepare a massive feast for dinner the first night of the pirates’ stay in the Mymblehouse. Snufkin spent the entire evening in a state of extreme bliss. He sat amongst Moomintroll and his brothers, all of them lined up on one side of the dining room table, getting to know them all better. He enthusiastically offered to share his room with Moomintroll, an offer which he accepted.

That evening, Snufkin and Moomintroll barely got any sleep as he encouraged Moomintroll to tell him stories of his life as a pirate. Snufkin had been so entranced by his father’s stories of the beginning of The Dread Moomin Pirates that he had not given nearly enough thought to why they had become so dreaded. Moomintroll’s stories of the carnage that he and his brothers were responsible for were a very rude awakening. Snufkin realized that cold blooded murder was so normal to Moomintroll, that simply telling him how deranged his point of view was wasn’t going to work. He became determined to corrupt Moomintroll, his brothers, Sniff and The Fuddler to the Moominvalley way of life over the next few months. He would enlist the help of all the children of Moominvalley. With their help, he was sure he could change his new acquaintances for the better.

To Be Continued

#moomin #moominvalley #snufkin #the oshun oxtra #moominpapa #moomintroll #moominmama #the mymble's daughter #the mymble #little my #the muddler #the muddler’s family #the snork #snork maiden #moomin au

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mechanicalowls · 9 months ago

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trapped in the hotel room

a terrornoss oneshot

ao3 link

rating: m

summary: brian is stuck in a hotel in canada at the beginning of covid. he decides to call someone he cares about to pass the time.

warnings: explicit nsfw content, masturbation, graphic descriptions of sex, swearing, cheating (don't cheat on your partners guys it ain't cool)

18+ CONTENT AHEAD: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

~~~

Dreadful wasn't even a good enough descriptor of how he was feeling. If there was a word worse than dreadful, even that couldn't describe all of the emotions Brian was feeling. Terrible, awful, rotten, he was just bad. No side stepping.

He had been stuck in that hotel for a good couple of weeks at that point, the queue for those seeking approval to re-enter America was longer than a line outside of a strip club at Happy Hour. Brian was terribly bored. He'd watched his entire Netflix catalog front to back twice, scrolled as far as he cared to on YouTube, and attempted sleep more than he ever had in his life.

He'd called Lanai so many times that he could audibly hear her annoyance with his pestering. He knew the second he returned home she'd be all over him for the foreseeable months, but she had a right to be frustrated. She had her own problems to deal with, nevermind her boyfriend constantly calling her at inopportune times just because he was bored and lonely.

He called his friends too. Of course he did, and they were all too keen on joking about his circumstances. Naturally, joking was everyone's way of coping with the problems the pandemic was beginning to give them. Upon hearing how Lanai was getting annoyed at his numerous calls, Brian didn't wanna risk the same with his friends either.

He'd called Nogla and Seth each twice, he'd had a really long call with Clyde, and a very brief call with Marcel. He'd had about ten calls with Evan; almost as many as he'd had with Lanai. He was terribly worried about the man. Ever since any sort of pandemic was suggested by the news, he'd been holed up in his house, getting groceries and other necessities delivered. Brian was pretty sure Evan hadn't seen or felt unfiltered sunlight in at least two months.

He'd been worried about Evan long before the virus struck. While he always had an air of indifference to his voice, he found the Canadian sounded completely monotonous most days. It was no secret that he was depressed, everyone could see it, and hear it. He really only had Nogla, Brock and Brian to play games with, as the others moved onto the big trending games as they came. They still played together of course, but not in the same way as they once had.

All that stuff with Craig certainly hadn't helped his mental state, especially since he'd been the criminal's first target before he found Brian to be an easier kill. Maybe the culmination of everything over the last two years had finally gotten to Evan, and Brian was worried that either he himself would find Evan in a less than alive state, or he'd get the second worst phone call of his life.

He cared for Evan more deeply than he'd ever admit to anyone, including himself. He supposed that's what fueled his constant ringing of the man he called his best friend. Evan didn't seem to mind, even turning on his camera for him at one point.

Even when they weren't calling, they were texting each other to an almost obsessive degree. Evan had been lonely far longer than Brian had, and bore the same worry he did on whether or not he was pestering. Brian had once told him that he was never a nuisance to him, despite what he may claim in videos. The last thing he wanted was Evan thinking he bothered him, it was quite the opposite, actually.

He'd never have enough of him.

Even still, he refrained from texting his friend for a while. He knew the man was an insomniac, but there was no doubt in his mind that Evan was asleep at that point, his last two messages remaining on “Sent” sealing his belief. Running out of options that were anything other than going to bed at seven in the evening, Brian began scrolling through Instagram.

After passing through the mundane posts from his friends and colleagues, Brian found himself looking at Lanai's page. She was also most likely asleep at that point, and he didn't want to risk waking her if she was, so this was a valid substitute.

He scrolled through her posts, reaching some from years back, even before they met. He landed on the one that had piqued his interest all those years ago. The one that had made him pursue her in the first place. Knowing the beautiful woman in these posts about being a gamer girl and Streamer would be his future girlfriend got him all sorts of giddy.

All sorts of giddy.

He was pent up. He hadn't had sex in almost 2 months, and he hadn't jerked off in even longer. Why hadn't he thought to sooner?

Brian almost felt like a creep as he palmed himself through his shorts while looking through Lanai's Instagram. It strangely felt wrong to be getting off to his woman without her knowledge. Regardless, he had a mission in mind.

He padded to the bathroom to retrieve a towel and a roll of toilet paper. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night, especially with nothing else to do.

He spread the towel out upon his bed and fetched his hand lotion from his suitcase, placing it on the bedside table with the toilet roll. Brian kicked his shorts off, leaving them and his boxers discarded on the floor at the side of the bed. He climbed back into place, pouring some lotion into his palm and pulling his hoodie up just above his belly button. Brian retrieved his phone with his empty hand and continued his scroll through Lanai's account while working up a slow pace.

Eventually, upon releasing into his hand and onto the towel, he remembered he and Lanai had sexted at one point. Brian eagerly swiped back through their text messages, skimming through weeks and weeks worth of conversations in search of those heavenly pictures.

However, he felt his eagerness melt off almost instantaneously as he paused to read an argument they had. It was months old, but it had happened just before he left for Ireland. It was dumb, it was petty, and the more Brian read the more he realized they both were in the wrong, but were too proud to just let it go.

Suddenly, he didn't want the pictures, and the combination of spunk and lotion coating his palm felt greasy and shameful. He wiped his hand and thigh off before crumbling the paper and tossing it to the floor. Brian was about to roll over and call it a night, but his screen lit up just then, playing a notification sound he knew all too well.

“spungylarry chair :]” the message read before retreating back into his notifications. Brian pulled it back down, and smiled a little as he tapped it.

Evan was awake then, and he'd replied to Brian’s question of what he wanted for his upcoming birthday. The caption was accompanied by a photo of a pleather chair that bore Spongebob’s face. Brian smiled genuinely at the innocent facade Evan gave him. It was cheesy, but his friend was so silly at times.

Another message popped up as Brian began to type. His eyelids flew all the way open, his breath caught in his throat, and his thumbs paused over the letters he'd been typing.

Evan had sent him a selfie. One of him giving him a pout. It wasn't a silly, over-exaggerated one, oh no. His camera was a bit above his head, casting his friends face and shoulders in blue light. Evan's head was cocked to the side, leaving his neck open for Brian to stare at. His chin was raised slightly, his eyebrows loose and drooping above the dark chocolate that swirled within his eyes.

Evan must have groomed himself since that morning, when he sent a different selfie. His hair was shorter, and his dirt mustache was no longer fraying. The way his hair fell over his eyes slightly struck a violent cord in Brian. The real center of attention, however, was his mouth.

Evan's lips were puffed out into the smallest pout. He'd always thought pouting just made you look like a child that was mad about not getting their way, but there was just something about the way Evan did it that caused Brian's chest to flutter and his gut to backflip.

And his dick to perk back up.

“pretty pleaz?” the next caption read. Brian stared at the photo for a solid five minutes, committing every last stray hair and crack in his best friend’s lips to memory. The photo was mesmerizing to say the least. Not only that, but the prospect of Evan of all people begging him, pleading with him for something, flooded every logical sense in Brian's head.

He was painfully hard now, but Evan didn't need to know that. He himself wasn't even sure why this one photo of his best friend had immediately shot blood into his nethers.

He had to reply.

And Brian had to breathe.

“i'll think about it, you scare me sometimes”

Yea, that was safe. And quick. Safe and quick. So Brian could scroll back upwards and stare at the selfie again. His dick perked up a bit more, and Brian swallowed thickly.

This was alot to process. It had to be just because he was jacking off anyway, right? It wasn't a secret that he found Evan attractive, but he'd never felt quite this way about him. Especially after he began dating Lanai all those years ago.

He'd had somewhat of a schoolboy crush on Evan when the man first slid into his YouTube DM's back in 2013. He'd strived to make videos that were on par with the Canadian's, and to find out that someone he admired so much liked him, some dumb college kid from Dublin, so much that he wanted to play games with him? And continue to play with him for seven years after that?

During that very first session, Brian had found his stomach to be filled to bursting with butterflies. His heart alternated between rattling against his ribs like an automatic rifle and skipping beats all together. His palms were slick against the controller, and he cursed the nervous quiver in his voice whenever he was directly addressed; more specifically, when Evan addressed him.

Those first two years of friendship felt more akin to a monarchy, at least between him and Evan. Evan would ask him to do something, a skit, a voice, to blow up Tyler's car in GTA, and Brian would do it no questions asked. He'd mentally scold himself for wanting to thank Evan for asking him to do it. He was the Canadian's perfect little lapdog, blinded by loyalty and playground-esque infatuation.

He supposed his crush on the younger man never truly died, only receded when he met Lanai. By then, he was such good friends with Evan that getting his sole attention, while still heavily desired, was just the norm and didn't have the same effect on Brian as it once had. He'd accepted at that point that his wishes for even just a chance to be more than friends with Evan were just that, wishes. Lanai had filled that void in Brian's heart. The hole wasn't quite Lanai-shaped, but she fit in it the best she could.

Now, he was here. Seven years later, with the man he knew deep down he adored, all to himself, albeit twelve hundred miles away. Brian stared at his reflection in the blackness of his screen. It had timed-out amidst his quiet contemplation, and soon lit up again with a reply from the man of the hour.

“i know ;]” was all it took for Brian to close his phone, take his dick into his hand again, and close his eyes.

Rather than memories and pictures of Lanai that he had memorized over the years, he found his mind drifting toward Los Angeles. Memories of that dark faux hawk that every gym bro had back then, tanned muscles accentuating the shape of every t-shirt and shorts combo. Those eternally indifferent, tired looking chocolate eyes Brian found himself drowning within.

Then they shifted, that ridiculously long emo flap the man had had when he was pitching his EDM career, the beginnings of his now infamous dark circles framing the spark of excitement within his eyes.

They shifted once more, his hair now falling just barely past his shoulders, pressed down beneath a trucker hat. A tattoo cascaded down his right arm now, the owl near his wrist taking up the most real estate. The beginnings of that now ever present dirt mustache shadowed his top lip in an oddly endearing way.

Then finally, the face he'd become intimately acquainted with over the last two months. His hair was shorter now, resting a bit above his shoulders. His bangs were parted, framing his face in tendrils of darkness. The dark circles had now fully formed, the chronic insomnia finally taking root. That mustache was fully visible now as well, bridging the space between his nose and upper lip.

Brian began panting at this visage of Evan, quickening his pace exponentially. This is the Evan he loved. The one he talked to every single day of his life. The one that did everything in his power to piss him off when they were recording. The one who remained in calls with him long after everyone else left. The one who had confided his depression in him, and nobody else. The one who had seen his worth when his world was crashing down amidst the hurricane of internet drama.

The one who was just a phone call away.

Like a catastrophic tidal wave, a sudden carnal desire pulled Brian beneath the enormous crests. A desire to do more than picture his best friend within the confines of his imagination. More than scrolling through the man's Instagram like an e-girl's tier three Twitch sub.

He wanted to hear the man's voice.

He needed to hear the man's voice.

Brian reluctantly paused his strokes, still gripping his length so as to not lose any progress he'd made. He reached for his phone and dialed a number he didn't need to memorize but chose to anyway.

While it rang, Brian spat into his palm, taking himself in hand once more.

“Mr. Fong is out at the moment, can I take a message for him?” Came Evan's attempt at a female voice on the other line. Brian froze in his tracks, the realization of his actions setting in.

He was going to fucking jack off to the sound of Evan's voice. Was he a fucking lunatic?!

“Hello? Earth to Handjob, you didn't butt dial me, did you?” Evan's monotone echoed in his head. Brian's dick twitched in his hand at just the sound of his voice, and he almost moaned.

“Yea, yea… sorry. I jus’ spaced out waitin’ fer ya ta pick up. Thought I was more important than a SpongeBob chair, but once again I'm proven wrong!” Brian bit back, attempting to hide the arousal in his voice. His cheeks burned, his heart stuttered, his guts tangled, and his cock was harder than it had been in a long time.

“Whatever man. What's up?” Evan questioned innocently. The line was quiet while Brian tried to think of a good excuse for calling his friend so late.

“Ah, nothin’ much. I jus’ was uh… not feelin’ right. In my head, I mean. Lanai's a bit mad at me now, right?” He rambled, hoping he sounded believable. It's not like Evan had reason to doubt his claims. He didn't know Brian was getting off to the sound of his voice.

But Evan was smart. He picked up the small details that others didn't. Surely he wouldn't randomly figure out that his best friend was a nasty little pervert that pleasured himself to a voice that belonged to neither him or his girlfriend.

Brian was overthinking it. He focused on the task at hand. Literally.

Evan chuckled, and Brian began his ministrations almost painfully slow. He heard the little huff that always followed Evan's laughs, and he yelped and closed his fingers around the base of his cock, keeping himself from ending this too soon.

This would only be a one time thing. His desperation needed to be reigned back in.

“Yea, I get it. You can just tell me if you like the sound of my voice. I know you do.” Evan said in obvious jest.

But he couldn't know how true of a statement it was.

What a cocky son of a bitch.

“A-alright. In all seriousness, Ev. Can ye just, uh… jus’ talk ta me? I jus’... I really need it right now, OK?” Brian spoke, almost whispering to keep the moan in his throat at bay. He heard Evan inhale sharply. It was silent for a moment or ten, Brian couldn't tell. He was half expecting to hear the dial tone for a moment before Evan finally responded.

“Uh, yea man sure. I can do that. I can talk for a while. What, um… what do you wanna talk about?” The Canadian asked awkwardly. Brian could almost picture the man playing with a loose strand of hair when he asked that. He began stroking his dick again, swallowing a groan at the friction of his sticky hand against the sensitive skin.

“I don’ care. Jus talk ta me please.” Brian grunted huskily. He bit his lip, closing his eyes and imagining Evan down in LA. Was it hot there? Was Evan wearing that cropped muscle shirt he usually saved for workouts and undershirts? Had his stomach toned back up again, or was there the smallest bit of pudge from his diet? Had he trimmed his happy trail while cutting his hair and fixing his mustache? Was he wearing those loose grey sho-

“Are you beating off right now Brian?” Evan bluntly asked him, seemingly out of the blue. All of the hairs on Brian’s body stood on end, his strokes halting in place, his breath stuck in his esophagus.

Evan was a fucking psychic. There's no other way to explain it. His best friend was a fucking psychic, and he'd just been caught masturbating like he was a dumbass kid that didn't know how to clear his search history. Brian swallowed as he wordlessly floundered for a response.

“Just, the way you're breathing. And you're being weird right now.”

What in the actual fuck was this guy on? He could tell by the way he was breathing?!

The little voyeuristic pervert in his head forced his hand back up and down his cock, now dribbling with pre-cum. The fact that Evan had caught him red handed (white handed?) excited him way too much for his liking. But, what the hell? He'd made it this far, and Evan didn't sound outright disgusted. It's not like either could do more than hang up in this situation. Fuck it, right?

Brian let out a breathy moan in reply. He heard Evan inhale sharply once more.

“Alright. Ok. That's uh… that's… yea…” Evan muttered, and Brian genuinely couldn't tell what he was feeling.

“‘m sorry.” He mumbled, biting his lip to keep another moan from escaping. He was almost successful.

“No, no. That's alright. Thats… wow.” Evan exhaled deeply. He heard the man shuffling on the other line. If Brian didn't know better, he'd think he was into it. Still, now he just felt guilty. This was most definitely out of Evan’s comfort zone, and Brian preferred to stay within those confines as much as he could.

“I can just go. We can pretend this never happened. ‘m sorry, Ev, I jus-”

“No, it's really fine, Brian. Really fine. We can keep going. I'll keep talking if you keep talking.” Evan interrupted him, his voice deeper and slightly louder, like the phone was pressed to those damn lips that started this whole thing.

“Ok.” Was all Brian managed, grasping his dick once more.

“Ok.” Evan parroted.

“What, ah… what are ye wearin’?” Brian posited awkwardly. He felt his face light up red when Evan snickered at the question.

“That's cheesy, Bri.” The man giggled. Brian rolled his eyes.

“Jus’ humor me. Please.” Brian muttered in embarrassment. Evan hummed in acknowledgement.

“That Metallica tank top. You know the one. The grey shorts that were pants. Are you imagining it right now, Bri?” Evan spoke in a sultry tone that sounded almost alien coming from his mouth. It was so hot, and Brian was so hard.

“Y-yea. I know them. I can see ‘em.”

“Good. I cut my hair today. Trimmed my mustache. You could probably tell from the picture I sent.” Evan continued, his voice circling around Brian's whole being and enveloping him in a warm blanket of arousal. This was the most erotic thing he'd ever experienced.

“D'ya… oh… did ya trim anythin’ else?” What a strange question to ask anyone. But he just knew Evan would pick up exactly what he wanted to know.

“Nope. It's not long enough to trim yet. You like it a bit thicker though, don't you, Bri?” Evan asked him, the deep, roughness of his voice reverberating in Brian's bones and wringing a moan from his chest. He'd seen Evan in the nude before, when they were roomed together during PAX in 2015. Evan didn't really have much body hair to speak of, aside from his arms, legs, and nethers of course. His happy trail was dark against his belly. He had a noticeable farmers tan, so the dark hair really stood out against the lighter skin.

Brian wished in that moment that they were face to face, so he could kiss his way down that toned stomach, run his tongue and teeth through those coarse hairs. Watching the way Evan writhed beneath him as he finally sunk even further down to-

“I do. Ya got me.” Brian breathed with a humorless chuckle, banishing those thoughts for another time. He needed to focus on the here and now. Not on the wishes he once had. He heard Evan hum into the phone. He swore he heard him gasp lightly too.

“I knew it. I remember the way you stared at me back then, Bri. Back in 2015. When we shared a room. I bet you didn't think I saw you looking at me. You would've smothered me if I gave you the go ahead, wouldn't you?” Evan questioned, the pure filth spewing from his lips lighting Brian's cheeks, heart, and dick ablaze. He panted into the phone, sweat moistening his entire being.

“You wanted me so badly then. I can only ever imagine the things you'd have done to me. Kissed my mouth raw, marked me up, like you always wanted to do. Let everyone know who had the rightful claim over Mr. Evan Fong in all his glory.”

“Christ, Ev…”

“I could've given you one look and you'd have me on my back in seconds, fucking me into the mattress. No one would ever be able to compete with you, isn't that right, Bri?” Evan's words coiled around his very core, entrenching him, like a fly caught in honey.

He was putty in Evan's hands. He always had been.

Brian was almost there now, eyes squeezed shut, phone on speaker, laying next to his head. He was drenched in sweat, legs twitching violently as he built up to orgasm. He moaned and groaned in ecstasy, the younger man's words cutting deep into his heart.

“You'd ruin me for everyone else. As if I'd ever need anyone else. If you could, you'd come running down here the moment I asked. You'd come running to me, kiss all my problems away. You'd have your way with me as much as you'd want, and I'd let you, Bri. You'd finally have me allllll to yourself, just the way you've always wanted.”

“Evan… oh god, Evan…”

“You'd do anything I'd ask you to, right? You'd spend the rest of time inside me if I asked you to, wouldn't you?”

“Y-yes Ev… christ… I'd do anythin’ fer you, Ev…” Brian moaned, feeling his climax approaching quickly as he jerked vigorously, imagining his hand was Evan's insides. It had never truly festered how badly he'd wanted Evan. Hearing the man himself saying it aloud to him gaped the Evan-shaped hole in his heart once more, any thought of Lanai temporarily forgotten.

“There is one thing I'd like you to do for me now, Brian.” Evan almost whispered. Brian leaned towards his phone more.

“W-what? Whatever ye want, I'll do it.” Brian managed, swallowing harshly as he tried to hold in his release.

“Cum for me, Brian~” Was all Evan had to say before Brian erupted with a moan facing the phone, white spurts of cum spraying onto his hand, thighs and belly. His legs shook violently as he milked out his orgasm, never wanting the moment of pure bliss and ecstasy to end. When it finally began to hurt, Brian whimpered slightly, releasing his cock, and resting his hand (palm up) on the towel beneath him.

“Jesus christ, Ev. Where'd all that come from?” Brian asked the other man finally after regaining his breath. He heard Evan hum.

“I've been doing alot of thinking lately. About back then. About us.” Evan murmured, every trace of seduction in his voice vanished, like it had never happened.

“Yea?”

“Yea.”

“What about us?” Brian asked nervously. They were veering out of Evan's comfort zone quickly, Brian could tell.

“Why I never went after you. It was obvious you liked me. I mean, Tyler and Brock thought we were…” Evan trailed off, a hint of sadness tainting his tone. Brian swallowed.

“Thought we were together?” He offered.

“Yea. I… I like you too, Brian.” Evan confessed. Brian blinked, processing the words individually.

“Like?” He asked.

“I never stopped liking you. I was just… scared? I was scared that I got the wrong signs. I was scared of commitment.” Evan sighed, that sadness now fully corrupting his words.

“I was scared too, Ev. I'd never felt that way ‘bout anyone before. I didn't wanna ruin us, so I just left ya be.”

“I know. I wish things were different.” Evan confessed, his voice cracking ever so slightly. Brian hated that. He hated himself for making Evan sad; for making him cry.

“I still like you too, Ev. I never stopped likin’ ya. Had I known ye liked me back, I woulda been on a plane to LA the moment PAX ended.” Brian said with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. He heard Evan sniffle.

“I know, I know. It's just… you have Lanai now. She makes you happy, she does things for you that I never could. And I'm happy for you, Brian. I just… I just wish it was me.”

“D'you want it to be you?”

“I do, but-”

“I haven't gotten a ticket back to Washington yet. When they let me outta here, I'll fly down to ya. I'll tell Lanai I'm still stuck here. We can give it a try. Give us a try.” Brian positited without thinking, taking Evan aback.

“But… that just doesn't seem right… I don't want you to fuck up your relationship if this doesn't work. You deserve to be happy, Brian.”

“And I wanna be happy with you, Evan. I haven't been happy with Lanai in a long time, and she hasn't been happy with me in just as long. Just gimme one month. Please, Ev.” Brian pleaded, feeling his own eyes prickling with tears. The line was silent for a minute. He could hear Evan breathing.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Ok.”

“I'll see ya then, Ev. I love you.” Brian said, feeling a gigantic burden lifting off of his shoulders.

“Love you too.” Evan spoke quietly before hanging up. Brian smiled, feeling hopeful and optimistic for the first time in weeks. He looked down as his hand, and his belly, and his thighs, still covered in drying spunk.

“Goddamn Canadians…” He cursed to himself as he trudged into the bathroom.

#bitter sweet open to interpretation ending my belove #mechanicalowls #terrornoss #vanoriser #terroriser #vanossgaming #fanfic #mature content warning

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forrestfanfics · 7 days ago

Text

Bittersweet || A Goodbye at the Beginning

Masterlist

Prologue || The Magician and the Scullery Maid

-——-——-——-——-——-——-——-

Click-clack click-clack

creeaaaaak~

"Y/N, they're leaving soon."

"Come on, get up." The voice of Mrs. Saint-Simon moved from one side of the room to the other. Her words were surely reaching your ears, yet they felt more like mush trying to force itself into your head, much like the pesky vermin in the servant's kitchen. "Clochard paresseux..."

You still managed to force your upper half to rise from the uncomfortable bed that had been falling apart since you were six.

Mrs. Saint-Simon harshly pulled the curtain back on the small window high up on the wall, letting the little light pour into the dark room. The sudden ray of sunshine did no wonders for you, making you retreat into the confines of your cold and raggedy blanket.

"I would've expected you, of all people, to get up early this morning. Come on. There's no point in extending your stay here." The middle-aged woman and her big mouth were not anything to be homesick about. You were not going to miss her.

Although, she was right. You barely had a wink of sleep the night before. Too preoccupied with packing and plotting and squealing about the expedition. You were groggy and had bags under your eyes. The zombie-like state you were in almost made you resemble the lady currently stomping around the room.

Almost. She was still bonier and taller and grey-skinned like a walking skeleton. Probably even more so than an actual skeleton you've seen in the orphans' library books.

"It's always like this with you. Could never get you up quick enough to get anything done on time," the woman gestured to the messenger bag on the floor and half empty closet. "Now, you get a chance to leave, and you're as slow as a sloth."

You already finished packing everything you ever owned, which wasn't much. All you had to your name were a few clothes disguised as rags, a photograph of you and your older brother, his letters to you from various cities across the world, and a doll made out of an old potato sack and spare thread. All that had been left untouched in your living space was your servant's uniform in the closet.

No one in their right mind would take their servant's uniform with them when they leave st. Michel.

You could be stranded amidst the seven seas with not a single soul in sight and not a part of you would ever think, "Oh, how dreadful to be stranded amidst the seven seas with not a single soul in sight. I so dearly miss st. Michel and Mrs. Saint-Simon. How deeply I regret not taking my scullery maid uniform to reminisce the fond memories formed in all my years there!"

In short, you were not a fan of the orphanage.

"If you're not out of this room by 6, I'm telling the Captain you've got cold feet. And if you end up leaving anything behind, I'll have it burnt or burn it myself." The door slamming masked the puff of air you huffed out, leaving you alone once again in the room you've called yours for the past nine years.

Well, partially yours, as the constant sound of the boiler releasing steam and the pipes clinking against the wall reminded you. The home did not have spare rooms for those who weren't orphans or caretakers.

You were, unfortunately, neither.

When your older brother dropped you off with the promise to come back for you once he made a stable living for you both, the caretakers didn't see any reason to waste any of the orphan's amenities on you.

So as soon as you were old enough to reach the kitchen counters, you were simply a scullery maid with a "severe lack of gratitude for being put in a perfectly liveable room with as much space as any kid could ever want," as Mrs Saint-Simon put it.

In reality, you had as much space as the boiler and junk and clutter and whatnot would allow. Which, let's be honest, was not enough for a growing child.

Once you had gotten your hat and your bag, you were off. Past the junk, up the stairs, and into the servant's kitchen.

"Ah, bonjour, fille d'expédition!"

You mirrored the friendly smile of the unconventionally peppy man who was the complete opposite of the walking cadaver that was Mrs Saint-Simon. "Bonjour, Mr Fennel. Your French is getting better."

"I had a good teacher."

"You were taught by an eight-year-old."

Mr Fennel was the orphans' head chef.

He was also the driver and the gardener and he took care of the chickens out back, and helped with the laundry and such.

He was everything around here. Yet he was also seen as a nobody.

His family, though French, were situated in Ireland. Mr Fennel was forced to move back when he needed the extra income to help keep his parents' farm up and running.

"Look at you! All set to sail the seven seas!" Mr Fennel clapped the cake flour off his palms as he circled the counter to greet you with a warm hug.

His name, Louis Fennel, was somewhat of a coincidence as his appearance resembled that of a french herb, Fennel, better known in its origin name: Lé Fenouil. He was a bit stubby and you were almost as tall as he was, but he was still big enough to envelop you entirely in an embrace.

You let out a small giggle as you return the gesture. "In all your years, did you ever think you'd find yourself leaving France?" Mr Fennel asked, pulling back but keeping his hands on your shoulders.

"I've been curious about it. I've little knowledge of what the rest of the world has in store besides what Marcel wrote in his letters."

Despite your lack of expertise on the subject, you spent the majority of your childhood listening to your older brother go on and on about how he planned to travel the world someday.

And you suspected his hunt for work was simply an excuse to drop everything and go see what was out there. It was difficult to know whether to feel angry he left you or proud he'd made his dreams come true.

"Well, I expect you to write just the same. If I don't hear from you every so often, I'll hop on a boat m'self." Mr Fennel finally let you go and dusted the flour he had gotten on your dress.

"It would be an endless cycle of going after people on boats." You chuckle.

Mr Fennel gave a flat smile and shook his head, turning back to the counter and smacking the dough with a rolling pin, deflating it to a quarter of its initial size. "It would be if there were anyone here who'd go looking for me."

Everyone in the orphanage saw you as nothing more than the help. They treated you like you were a waste of space and resources.

Everyone except the younger children who didn't know any better and, of course, Mr Fennel.

He always made sure you were well fed and taken care of. He understood what it was like to be left with nothing but a job with low pay or, in his case, multiple jobs with low pay and no form of appreciation or acknowledgement whatsoever.

When you were first dropped off and tossed into the boiler room, Mr Fennel treated you like his own blood.

You were grateful for him and his kindness. You've spent more time with him than your own brother which was enough to consider him family.

"Well, if it were the other way around, I'd go after you, Mr Fennel." You admitted wholeheartedly.

The rolling pin fell to the floor when Mr Fennel gave you a sad look, arms open once more as he came over for a more body-crushing hug. "You've always been such a dear, Y/N. Promise you'll write."

You smiled softly, closing your eyes as you savoured what could be your last embrace from Mr Fennel.

"I'll come visit myself."

"Y/N." The voice of Mrs Saint-Simon pulled you from your bittersweet goodbye with Mr Fennel. "A word."

-——-——-——-——-——-——-——-

"Au revoir, sœur aînée! Voyager en toute sécurité!"

The sounds of the children's cheers filled you with the courage needed to drown out the nerves of getting on a boat for the first time in your life.

You waved with a mix of hesitance and excitement, watching the orphanage grow smaller and smaller as the horses pulled the hay wagon further and further.

You sigh at the spring breeze gently flowing through your hair, one hand keeping your hat from flying off and the other holding onto the edge of the wagon.

The familiar market square was as lively as ever, full of the various smells of pastries and flowers and such.

But the familiarity faded when you reached the town border. The nerves were back and made your heart beat faster as the horses slow down, passing through the gates.

You were filled with a sudden dread. So aure you've gotten over the traumatic experience you had as a child with the ocean, you were confident you'd be able to board another boat. Smug even.

The scent of the sea breeze drowning you as it did nine years ago. It only made your heart thump in your chest, your breaths grow heavy, and your hands shake around the strap of your flimsy messenger bag.

This was when thoughts started to fill your head about the entire decision to leave Chamonix.

You were only fifteen. Sure, you've heard stories of people leaving their only known home as early as ten years of age. But you had nothing of value to your name.

Going back to Saint Michel was not an option if all else failed. Not after Mrs Saint-Simon's little chat with you before you left.

Her words played in your head over and over. "If you were to find yourself back at Saint Michel's doorstep... Just know that there is no bed awaiting your return. These doors will remain shut in your presence."

It was clear you weren't wanted there, not before, not now, not ever.

You weren't sure you'd last a day in another country, let alone find your brother whose last known location was in the Peruvian Amazonia a few months back.

You weren't even sure if he was still there or if he was still alive. Not since he stopped writing letters after nine years without fail to send them.

"We're here, miss." The man on the horse looked at you from over his shoulder, snapping you out of the doubts in your head.

"Merci." You nod, sliding off the hay and onto the stone path of the harbour. You dusted the hay off your dress and lifted your hat to pat down your wind-blown hair.

The man tipped his hat and turned the wagon around, leaving you in the harbour. Suddenly, you were all by yourself for the first time in your life with no one around that you knew.

And you were about to board a boat full of complete strangers for who knows how long before you find your brother.

You navigated the harbour, eyeing each dock you passed, holding onto your bag strap as tightly as you could.

Of all the beautiful ships and cute little wooden boats around, your eyes landed on a nice ship at the end of one of the docks, clean and bold with its brand new state. The little boat docked was only the transport to the ship you'll be staying on for the next few months.

There it was over the horizon. You expected something small or something massive.

This was something in between, too big to be a fishing boat but too small to be a cargo ship. Despite the fear in the pit of your stomach, you stared on with awe sparkling in your eyes.

She was beautiful.

The Lydia Eva.

-——-——-——-——-——-——-——-

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#character x you #charlie and the chocolate factory #fanfiction #timothée chalamet #timothée chalamet x reader #willy wonka #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #willy wonka x reader #wonka 2023 #willy wonka reader insert

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gemini-magic17 · 1 year ago

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Entanglement Chapter Twenty-Nine

**One Week Later (Y/n's POV)

I haven't spoken to James since our conversation and he has made no effort to talk to me at all. The same goes for my parents they still keep their distance and I understood in the beginning. However, it's been almost a month how long can they pretend that I don't exist and that I am a disappointment to them. I thought that maybe this celebration or rather a welcome party we have for the Prince of Kilandra. Ever since the attack on Tir Asleen the constant worry the people have had that King Larikson would come back and try to finish what he started struck a fear in everyone. My father and Queen Sorsha have turned to the kingdom of Kilandra seeing as they almost have as many soldiers as Larikson does.

The town square was somewhat turned into this lavish place where decorations were placed all over in Tir Asleen colors. As I walked around the square my eyes landed on Prince Henrik. When I first met him I could hear a hint of arrogance in his voice whenever he talked especially when it came to him and the position he held. It was almost like he believed he was better than everyone else and we were beneath him I mean that is how he acted anyway. The first words I ever spoke to him were regarding how his journey had been and he turned his nose up at me. I never even met him before and apparently, I had disgusted him.

Standing next to Henrik was Kit and from the looks of it she did not seem to be amused by what he had to see. I could see her roll her eyes and take a sip from her cup dreading the conversation they were having. As she turned away from him her eyes landed on me and she gave me a look of exhaustion. This makes sense because just being near him could make someone want to die of boredom and couldn't imagine talking to him for so long it would make you want to hit him. When I say that someone might want to hit him it is not because of the way he drags on and on but it is the way he treats people. Henrik has no regard for other people or their feelings. It is almost as if he is God's gift to the world and we are just here to worship him. I could see Kit getting more and more annoyed by his antics and decided someone should go save her from him. As I made my way over Prince Henrik spotted me in the corner of his eye and he followed with an immediate eye roll when I made my appearance.

"Hello, Prince Henrik how are you doing today", I said and he said nothing just responded with a scoff.

"If you will excuse us I just need to borrow Kit for a moment", I stated and grabbed her hand trying to make an escape.

"Actually Princess Kit and I were right in the middle of a conversation so if you don't mind why don't you make yourself scarce. After all, that is what you are best at, aren't you", he said and I turned to him ready to go off.

"I'm sorry what did you just say to me?"

"You heard me. You ran off leaving your family behind letting them believe something awful had happened to you. What kind of person does that?"

"She had her reasons so why don't you apologize to Y/n otherwise I am going to shove my foot so far up your ass you will be able to taste the leather of my boots", Kit stated getting into Henrik's face.

"I would watch what you say Kit", he said with a smirk.

"And why is that?"

"Because both Tir Asleen and Zemira need my numbers for both of your kingdoms to be safe. So, I would watch it bitch before I got to make an offer to King Larikson instead and take over both of your kingdoms", he said and started to walk away from us. It was then all the rage that was building up inside of me for weeks was ready to blow.

"HEY JACKASS", I shouted which not only got the attention of the Prince but everyone there.

"What did you just call me", he said as he turned to me.

"You heard me I called you a jackass because that is what you are. Who the hell do you think you are coming here, insulting Kit and I? I don't give a fuck who you are and what you say to me but what you said to Kit I won't let stand. I don't care how many soldiers you have or rather your father does. Tir Asleen and Zemira don't need the help of some arrogant, stuck-up, pussy of a sorry excuse of a prince to help defeat Larksion", I exclaimed and the looks that I got were ones of astonishment. I could see my parents and Queen Sorsha approach us. The anger radiating off of them was intense I have never seen my father so angry not even after what I had done.

"LISTEB YOU LITTLE BITCH I AM NOT ONE TO BE TRIFLED WITH AND THE DISRESPECT YOU HAVE SHOWN ME TODAY IS CONSIDERED AN ACT OF WAR! SO WHEN I SAIL BACK TO MY KINGDOM I AM GOING TO WRITE A LETTER TO LARIKSON AND DESTROY YOU!"

After he said that I looked all around to see the terror shown on everyone's face including my parents. In that moment I knew that I may have started a war that we could not win and ultimately led to the downfall of Zemira and Tir Asleen. Yet, I was still furious about what he had said and wanted to inflict pain upon him by not only insulting Kit and me but threatening to annihilate both of our kingdoms. Before my father or Queen Sorsha could calm Henrik down a loud roar could be heard in the distance. It was then there was complete silence throughout the square.

"What was that", I heard my father say as everyone looked around for where the sound originated from. I however knew where it came from and what was coming. The sound could be heard closer and closer which is when guards surrounded us for our protection. Kit looked at me wondering what had happened and if I had some how managed to call one of the dragons here. However, I didn't it is almost as if they knew what has happened.

I pushed my way through the guards and tried to figure out if it was Tyrax that was coming closer but as I got closer I realized it was Calyx. Calyx must have followed me here not just Tyrax and almost in a blink of an eye his appearance was clearly made. The sight of him made everyone shake in fear and many shouts could be heard. As I saw Calyx he circled around the town square and landed on the stone structure that stood behind me. He let out a ferocious roar and jumped off the structure only to land beside me.

This caused everyone to back up in fear yet many couldn't turn their eyes away from the scene in front of them. The looks I was getting from everyone were one of curiosity many of them must have wondered why isn't the the beast attacking her. The death stare Calyx gave those around us especially Henrik could almost kill. When the guards who were previously surrounding us made their way towards us Calyx moved part of his body to shield me from them. Many whisperers could be heard and I could see the expression on my father's face where I could tell he knew what was going on. Well, not entirely just the fact that one of the largest dragons in history thought to be extinct is right in front of him living and breathing.

"Y/n what is the meaning of this", I hear my father ask.

"I believe you know exactly what is going on. After all, you remember telling me that dragons don't exist or rather that they were no longer alive", I stated, and the onlookers were confused about what was going on.

"Get away from that thing before it hurts you or rather kills you", when my father said that Calyx let out a growl in his direction warning him not to interfere.

"I will do no such thing Calyx will not hurt me. However, he may hurt anyone who dares to come near me or rather do me harm", as I looked at Prince Henrik who seemed to be wary of what is going on.

Calyx saw where I was looking and in turn, followed my line of sight. I could see now that he was trained on Henrik and was looking to pounce on him at any moment.

"Sweetheart I am begging you please come here", my mother asked.

"Oh, now I am your sweetheart, am I? For weeks I have been trying to talk to both of you and all I have been getting is the cold shoulder. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? I thought you both hated me I still do", I exclaimed.

"Of course we don't hate you ", I hear my father state.

"Could have fooled me."

"Please can you just come here?"

"No", I shouted.

"Y/n please-", before my mother could continue a large shadow appeared over her. As I looked up I could see Tyrax make his way down a boulder. With many eyes trained on him, I could see that Henrik was really starting to get scared.

"How many of those things are there", he shouts.

"First of all they are not things they are dragons and secondly it is best not to provoke them otherwise it might lead to something terrible happening to you", I stated.

"How dare you threaten?

"It wasn't a threat it was a warning. Regarding the so-called alliance between pour two kingdoms, it will not be needed. If you or King Larikson attack us know that you will die an imaginable death", I said and his face went as white as a sheep.

"You can't do that I am a prince!"

"And I am a Princess but yet I do not care especially when it comes to those threatening those I care about. I suggest you leave along with your companions and go back to your father to tell him what will happen if he were to go against us", I stated and Calyx roared in response to my declaration. I could see that Prince Henrik was officially spooked and decided to talk to Queen Sorsha.

"Queen Sorsha surely you won't let this stand", he said.

"Well, Prince Henrik seeing as the princess is married to my daughter and that it is also her kingdom is at stake I would say she has the right to defend her home", she states.

"You can't be serious", he exclaims and turns to my father.

"King Aiden surely you can see reason. The fact your daughter threatens my kingdom and my people is serious which must be dealt with", he said and my father turned to look at me contemplating what to do next.

"My daughter can be ill-tempered and quick to resort to extreme measures", when he said that I knew that he wasn't going to stick up for me.

"However, she gets that from me. Since King Larikson has waged war against us and you now threaten to do so is something none of us can let stand. Also, I distinctly remember my daughter threatening you, not your people. I am giving you one chance to pack your things and leave otherwise I will have no choice but to do the same", he stated and I thought that Henrik was going to piss his pants in that moment.

"You're going to regret this you know that! Kilandra is a proud country and we will not let this go", he screamed and Calyx roared in return.

"We will regret nothing and I can assure you if you are to attack us we will make sure your will pay for it with your life", I said and he walked off to the castle escorted by a number of guards to get his things.

**Kit's POV

I was shocked by everything that just happened. From Henrik talking about waging war against us to Calyx revealing himself to everyone is Tir Asleen. The awkward silence that seemed to consume the town square after Prince Henrik had left was broken by the words of Airk.

"WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED HERE", he exclaimed.

"Will you quiet down Airk you are going to spook Calyx and Tyrax", I told him and he gave me an incredulous look.

"Spook them how the hell can I spook them they are fucking dragons!"

"Yes that maybe but I don't think they react too well to someone all of a sudden shouting dumbass."

"Wait a minute is this what you were hiding", he asked.

"What do you mean hiding? Kit", my mother asked.

"I wasn't hiding anything don't be ridiculous", I stated.

"I knew you were covering up something about that day in battle. You lied about how Larikson's army was defeated and now I see why", he said pointing towards Calyx.

"Kit, is this true? Is this how we won the battle", she asked.

"Don't be ridiculous mother Airk is just paranoid."

"I am not fucking paranoid Kit!"

"Kit tell us the truth is this how we won by Y/n using dragons", King Aiden chimed in.

"No, it is not how-", before I could finish my statement Y/n spoke up.

"Yes, that is how we won. Calyx and I flew to battle when we received news that Tir Asleen was going to be attacked."

"Why wouldn't you tell us this in the first place", my mother asked me.

"I made a promise to Y/n that I wouldn't. Think about what would happen if they knew that dragons were real and that they even existed how well do you think that would have gone over with?"

"Do not blame Kit or any of the others I swore them to secrecy it is my fault not theirs."

"Wait a minute how did you find out about the battle anyway", Y/n's father asked her.

"I received a letter from Willow detailing everything that happened."

"Hold on. Kit, didn't you inform me that you also received a letter from Willow about this", my mother said and I went quiet.

"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me", King Aiden exclaimed.

"You were with my daughter when you found out about this and didn't think to tell any of us!"

"I told her not to say anything. It is not her fault", Y/n stated.

"I didn't want to come back not yet and I made that very clear to her, Boorman, and Amara."

"This is unfucking believable", he shouts.

"Be mad at me all you want after all that is what you have been doing for weeks on end but do not take it out on them", with those words, she turned towards Calyx and started climbing on his back.

"Where do you think you are going", Aiden stated.

"I am going to go see Willow that is where I am going."

"Like hell you are we are not finished talking about this any of it!"

"Maybe you are but I am. I will be back later and we can discuss everything then but for right now I have to go", she said and was about to leave when I stopped her.

"Wait, Y/n", I said and she turned to look at me.

"What is it kit?"

"I wanted to thank you", I said and she looked confused.

"For what?"

"For standing up for me when Henrik bad-mouthed me in front of the entire kingdom."

"Of course, I couldn't sit back and let him disrespect you like that", and her words made me blush. I tried to turn away before she could notice it but I don't think it worked.

"Anyway thank you."

"You are welcome", she said and proceeded to take off in the direction of Willow's home/

Calyx started to move forward not caring who he knocked down who was in his way. In a matter of seconds, he leaped off the ground, and from the flap of his wings the wind caused by it made the dirt on the ground blow around everyone. As they took off towards the skies Tyrax was not far behind them and the looks of the townspeople were one of amazement and fear.

The threat that Prince Henrik and his kingdom pose to us is grave. Only time will tell what is to happen after the events from today. If Larikson and Henrik were to join forces it would not end well for us but then again we have something they don't.

#kit tanthalos x reader #kit tanthalos #hazel callahan x reader #willow 2022 #ruby cruz #willow fanfic

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