#I am a little rusty with a pen. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crowandmousewritingco · 2 months ago

Text

If You're Reading This

Pairing: Joel Miller x nb!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Rating: PG-13, there's no spice. It's all angst bay-beeeeeee

Summary: You met Joel while out on a 'hunting run', you startle him and in return he almost shoots you. After everything settles the two of you get to talking and decide to stay in contact one of the only ways, via letters. Over the time writing each other, you grow feelings for him, and learn things about yourself that you don't know how he'll handle. Telling him, he goes silent, but you refuse to give up hope. Will your hope be enough to keep you going?

Author: Mod Crow (Got a new job so life has been ahhhhh)

Author's Note: The reader says their age. This was for @burntheedges' Roll-A-Trope! I was very back and forth on how I wanted this to play out, in the end I'm pretty happy with it.

Masterlist

Warnings: Language, mentions of suicide, and mentions of raiders and guns.

Dear Joel,

Thanks for not shooting me today, I wasn’t even in my best attire to die. I’m kidding. Not about the not shooting me thing.

It was nice really meeting someone who didn’t want to kill me or rob me. It was also nice having the help dragging a deer all the way back to this place. I only hope my butchering and fileting skills aren’t getting rusty. But hey, if they are, you said something about you showing me “the way it’s done in the big beauty of Texas” or however you worded it. I know you aren’t here, but I need you to know that I’m currently laughing. I made myself laugh. Gods, I’m losing it aren’t I?

Anyways, I should probably start cooking myself something to eat before the sun goes down. If you ever head this way and stop at this place, you should leave me a little letter or something. Obviously, I left this one for you in an obvious spot -and that’s what you should do as well- then after that we can start putting them in more well-hidden places, we can’t have someone finding them before we have a chance to. But that’s for the next letter.

-Y.F.

P.S. Y.F. means your favorite, I know what I am, you don’t have to tell me.

Hey Smartass,

Now that I like the sound of. Oh, and drop the formality, I’m not your pen pal or some shit like that. Ellie wanted me to tell you that “if you try to replace her as my favorite, she will stab you”. I don’t pick favorites. Just so you know. I haven’t had a favorite person in a while now…

God let’s stop talking about the sad shit anymore. I saw a baby squirrel on the porch as I was walking up. I thought maybe he had lost his mama or daddy; I’m thinking that’s what he also thought because when one of his -what I can only assume- parents came back they had scared that poor little thing so bad that he damn near jumped three feet high. I was kind of wishing you could have seen it, I remember you telling me how much you loved nature and all that stuff. Don’t read into that.

Anyways, I don’t know what it’s like heading up from the southwest, but Ellie and I ran into more raiders than we normally do. I don’t know why there’s more, but I’m not liking how things are looking.

I left you some ammo and rations hidden in the fireplace. Ellie left you something, she wouldn’t tell me, besides that it was hidden in the bathroom. That’s all she told me, so I’m guessing that means good luck.

-Joel

I’m not calling you my favorite, I don’t have a favorite between you two nuisances

Dear party-pooper,

Yes, that’s what I’m calling you from now on, you fucking party-pooper. ANYWAYS, I found your stash, thanks. The ammo was a life saver…literally…the rations could have at least been a good one. You left me some beef jerky (the only good thing in that damn ration), some stale ass cracker, and some unidentifiable fruit-like substance.

The raiders though, they’ve actually been better. Based on my guess, I think they might have migrated up your way. If you think it’s getting too bad for a bit, I get that, don’t feel pressured to write me back whenever you’re here next.

On a lighter note, Ellie hid a book that she’d think I’d like. So far, her shot in the dark has struck bull’s-eye. Tell her I said thank you. As for where she hid it -you’re gonna love this- she pulled the medicine cabinet off the upstairs bathroom’s wall, knocked out a small bit of drywall, and hid it in the wall before replacing the cabinet. It took me far longer than it should have, but who the fuck would look behind the cabinet on the wall? The cabinet, mind you, looked like it had never been pulled off the wall. Fuck, I really gotta give her credit for how creative she is with hiding places. You should take notes. Your hiding spots in the past have been…kinda in plain sight. Love you old man, but you suck at hiding. Expect, I give you credit to this last drop, up the chimney fluke. Maybe you still have it in you after all, old man.

Anyways…I left some things for you in the door of the fridge. It’s not much this time, things have been rough at this place. We let in this new couple, and they’ve been super suspicious. The first night they were here, the woman -Gabrielle- was found snooping around in the owner of the farm’s wife’s dresser. Gabrielle couldn’t give us a straight answer as to why she was snooping. That wasn’t even the weirdest bit, that same night the man -Kenneth- was snooping around in ALL of our shit. I woke up at gods only know, probably 3 or 4 in the morning. I didn’t think he got any of shit. I didn’t look though, and that’s on me. He got away with most of the things I was going to give you, what he didn’t take is hidden for you. I left Ellie some magazines I found about alternative bands from before the pandemic. I don’t even know if she knows what alternative music is, gods you probably don’t know what alternative music is. I’ll explain that to you in person one of these days.

-Your favorite nuisance

You fucking child,

You and Ellie act like the exact same person sometimes I swear. Sometimes I feel like it’s just Ellie leaving me these notes.

Forget all that, you said that the ammo I stashed for you came in handy? What happened? Are you okay? Were you injured? What happened to the other guy? That’s something I would have paid to see. If half of what the shit you’ve said in the past were true, then you’re a pretty good aim.

What you left me enough, the granola was honestly a god sent. You have no idea how boring coffee was getting. Ellie also said -and I quote- “Hell yeah these bitches look sick.” I have no idea where she’s heard that, because it sure as hell wasn’t me.

Backtracking -kind of- I know we’ve talked raiders, how have those fucking clickers been? I think because of that “migration” or whatever the hell you called it, they’ve been out there killing those fuckers while they snuck through the shadows. Our raider problem went up, but the clicker problem. It’s been too quiet recently. But following that thought, your raider problem went down, so that means your clicker problem got worse. Didn’t it? Fuck… You’re a pain in my ass, but I like this banter I get to have. You should come with Ellie and I back to our little place. It isn’t much, but Ellie’s been complaining that where we are isn’t “comfortable”. I swear she says what she says just to test my patience. But, yeah, Ellie would love it. She’d never shut up and it wouldn’t be me for once. Just give us the when and we’ll meet you here.

-Joel M.

Hey grumpy,

I think I like this nickname the best so far. I do swear one thing to you grumps, I am 100% NOT Ellie. I’m your…something. I’ve been kinda held up in my room at the farm this past week. I’ve been thinking about some things after the raiders. That’s not something I lied about; I am a pretty good shot. So was the leader of the little gang. He was 100% aiming for my head, I’m only alive because I got lucky. He drew his gun quicker than I did, he aimed quicker than I could, and he pulled that fucking trigger before I could…His gun jammed. It took me a minute to even register that I was still alive. When I realized though, gods, was I ready. Almost dying makes you really think about how you want to be remembered by people.

I don’t even know if what I’m thinking would make sense to you. Ellie might, but all she’s ever known is…well whatever it is she grew up knowing. These are things that I haven’t thought about since…fuck, well before the outbreak. Bare with me as I try to figure out to explain this in writing that isn’t going to be a fucking novel.

Actually, before I do that, I want to get this out there first. if you aren’t sure you want to be a part of this emotional blah, I got lucky. Ken left his bag open in Gabrielle’s room right next to her bag in her room! What’s even better? Neither of them were anywhere near the bags, Gabrielle was helping with dinner and Ken was helping with fence repair. I left you just under half of the ammo they had -hey, gotta keep myself safe- and Ken’s utility hatchet like thing (you’ll see what I mean). I also snatched you some more granola. I have no idea how this old couple is doing it, but they have so many oats. They also have a fucking bee house! You know what that means? Fresh honey! And just for you grumps, I snatched a mason jar for the two of you. Honey’s also good for a sore throat. I know it’s getting cold out there. I’ve actually been knitting (I know, I must be lying about my age. I’m not, I swear. I learned how to knit because of my grandma. When I was probably six or seven, I made a huge deal out of wanting to learn to do what my grandma was doing. So, she taught me. After the outbreak, I needed something to do with my hands, otherwise things…things would be incredibly different right now. Gods, sorry about the ramble.) some scarves for the two of you. You have no idea how much yarn got left behind in the stores. If after you read this, you decide you still want me to go with you I will. We can do it the weekend after next. Next week is my birthday and Marieann and George (the old couple of the farm) told me that it was “my day to relax and rest up after the hard year.” Who am I to go against what a sweet old lady tells me to do? That being said, I don’t like not knowing what’s going on and how the two of you are doing. At this point, what’s even the point of keeping track of birthdays anymore? Like, “Yay I lived another horrid year on this dying hunk of space rock, can’t wait to suffer through another one! Anyways, I'm sneaking out past curfew to leave you a note if the plan has changed. Anywho…I found more magazines for Ellie. I’ve hid them in the pantry. She’s smart. Your is hidden in the basement behind that dresser, it’s the same idea as what the kid did in the upstairs bathroom cabinet.

Back to the emotional blah…If anything I write doesn’t make sense, you can try asking Ellie. She may know. Gods, I thought it would be easier to write this out, not having to see your weathered (ignore that) expression change. To what? I don’t know. Anything? Fuck it…Joel when we meet, I thought I had figured myself out. When I met you, I was sure I was a woman. I don’t think that I am…I’m not a man either though. I’m neither? I don’t know how to explain this. Okay, so I was she/her when we met, you were -and still are- he/him. Well, if I’m neither of them I have to have a way to refer to myself, right? I do, instead of she or he, I’m…them. Or they! Well, it’s more like both, they/them. Gods I’m shaking so bad right now haha, I’m just really scared of losing you two…You two have been the first good thing since this shitstorm started. I know I can’t make you write me back, but I can ask you to at least leave me something saying you’ll either come back and write a new note or some kind of…I don’t know sign? That doesn’t feel like the right word, but note isn’t the word I want to use…I don’t know Joel, just please leave something. I don’t care how long it takes; I’ll keep coming back till I get another note from you. Even if that means I die doing this because you chose to leave, and I wouldn’t hate you for it.

That’s all I’ve to say. I really do…like you Joel, when thinking, remember I am the person from all of those letters and the few times we met.

-Your Raven no Magpie also no Crow now that’s one I like

Joel,

Hey, I came back this weekend, I’m 26 now! Yay! I’m not going to lie; I’m terrified right now. The clickers are getting worse around the farm, they aren’t too bad on the way here yet, but I know they will be.

I checked to see if you took the stuff, and you did. I saw that Ellie left me a comic book and a band shirt from one of those mags I gave her. I can’t believe she was able to find one, let alone one in my size. I also saw that you left me some ammo and another ration. I know it isn’t much, but it’s something. It gives me hope, and that’s all most of us have nowadays. Along with that hope, I also hope that you'll come back again. If that’s the case, I’ve left you both some things, same places as last.

Joel, for you, more granola (enough for the both of you), a scarf for you, some peach preserves (Marieann opened up some preserves she had made to be opened about this time), and some bread I baked. I warn the bread isn’t pretty, but with the chill, it should last a bit longer.

For Ellie, her scarf, a couple of mangas I found (this will be fun to hear how that goes), a Swiss army knife I found on a dead raider (I know it’s gruesome, but it’s the world we live in now), and a slightly used deck of cards. I felt like she could find a way to entertain herself why you do whatever it is you do when you want to be alone.

-Your hope filled Crow

Hey again,

You took the things again, and you left some more for me. It’s still something. No matter how little. It just hit me, these letters are going to be getting shorter and shorter until I hear from you huh?

Should I even keep writing to you? Maybe don’t answer that. Or do. You take all the time you need. I’m leaving you guys some more things, the same place as before.

-Your Crow

Hey,

I’m sorry about how long it took, I’ll be honest, I didn’t understand at all, and it freaked me out a bit. I asked Ellie if she they understood it and they did. They also came to realize that about themselves too. No, I don't fully understand it, but I’m willing to learn.

Thanks for the scarves, they’ve really helped with the chill at night. Ellie was so intrigued by that one that I’m guessing was the manga. I have no idea if they figured it out, but they’re having a blast trying.

The clickers have been a bit more active around us too. I wonder where they’re all coming from though.

Ellie and I are ready to head out, just tell us when. We’ve gathered all we could, the rest of the stuff we’re leaving is replaceable. Thanks to your scarf we’ve managed to carry a bit more stuff, not the way you meant for them to be used but they’re multifaceted.

I don’t know if Ellie has anything to leave, but I’m assuming it’s in the bathroom. I don’t have much to leave, I found some yarn. I just happened upon it when looting some cars on the main road. I also found a broken bow. I don’t know if you can fix it, but maybe that old man, George(?) could fix it, or maybe someone else in the house. They’re in the basement, it’s the only place they’d fit.

I want to help you keep that hope alive. I have one of my own, I hope we can get somewhere warm and safe together.

Joel, with…

Holy fuck,

Joel, you came back?! Thank you fuck…thank you. If you could see me, I am a mess right now. Gods you’d get a kick.

I wasn’t able to fix the bow, but George was! I guess he used to bow hunt back in the day. He said it may take him a bit; he has to dig out his tools. I’ll leave a letter the night before with an update. If you find a letter then there’s kink in the plans, if you don’t find a letter then it’s because I was there waiting, or I died. Or some other third thing, I like being dramatic sometimes.

With this plan may be happening, I’m not leaving much. This time it’s a kindle of firewood. Dry firewood hidden in the sugar in a mason jar. I remember you saying you drank coffee, and you were growing tired of the taste. So have some sugar, make it sweeter. Maybe add honey too.

-Your Crow

Dear Joel,

I know you hate the formality of these kinds of letters, but for once, just let it be. See the thing is I’m writing this as a “worst case scenario” kinda thing… I started writing about an hour ago for me, gods only know how long it’s been for you. To put in perspective the time difference, I’m writing this the same day I read your letter you had left, the letter about the plans about me coming with the two of you to find somewhere else.

I don’t know what has happened to me to force my hand in leaving this letter, but if I had to take a shot in the dark, I’ve probably been shot by other survivors. I’ve been bitten. If I remember, I’ll try to come back and write what really happened. Anyways, I know we had a plan, I also know that you’re a strong man. You don’t need me; I would have just slowed you down. So now you have to promise me you’ll keep that kid safe. Oh, and if you happen to find yourself in Omaha -I know we’re several hundred miles away, but you never know- stop by 1004 Cicada drive. It’s where I was living when all of the shit hit the fan. Now, I won’t be there to give you the tour, so you better not go tracking mud or anything inside.

Look, there are some things in that house that I think could be beneficial to you, I know you’ll find what you need. I have some things out in the garage, there’s some other things in the attic, and then there’s some things down in the basement’s crawl space. Now, it’s going to be dusty and dirty down there, but back before all of this, it was a beautiful basement. I had just finished painting it that beautiful blue color that has since been destroyed by some fucking raiders. Fuck, look at me gushing over my old basement. I must really sound like some weird fucker, huh?

Anyways, if I’m dead and that’s why you’re reading this, I just wanted to tell you some things…Where do I even start? I guess I’ll start light, that’s what you do right? I don’t know why I keep asking questions, I don’t know your answers to them. Gods do I wish I did know your answers, writing this with the unknown has been killing me. If you could see me right now, you’d have a pretty good laugh, I’m shaking like the last fall leaf in a big dying tree in the middle of a tornado. Fuck, I’m rambling…Look I’m really happy we ran into each other when we did, that day you almost shot me in the forest -behind this decrepit house- I lied to you. You asked me why I was out there, I told you I was looking for some animals to catch. I wasn’t…I couldn’t take any more of this bullshit. So, I was gonna beat the zombies to my death, and I wasn’t giving them the satisfaction of bringing me back to be some brainless creature monster. I was going to paint a bit of the forest with gray matter. When you insisted on helping me because you also needed food, I was honestly kinda pissed. But now? Now I’m happy you stuck around. Joel, I don’t wanna make you feel any type of way but…You are the only reason I’m still here on this shithole of a planet. Also…you sticking around had affected me in ways I wasn’t expecting…Joel thanks to you Joel, spending all of that time with you, getting to actually know you, exchanging stories, all of that shit. All of that meant means far more than you could understand, and in that time, I grew to fell in love with you Joel.

I should have told you in person not through a piece of paper. I know there isn’t much I can say now…. but I am sorry. I wish I could have told you in person, I really do, I wish I could have heard your lips say it back. I can only imagine how your raspy, yet honeysuckle sweet voice would say those three words “I. Love. You.” Gods the thought of it…

Anyways, if I keep going, I might accidently write you a book. For whatever reason it is that made me tell you where to find this, I’m happy I got to meet you when I did. Make sure to tell Ellie I said hi. You make sure you keep that girl safe or so Gods help you, Joel Miller.

-Your Crow, with love

P.S. Joel I don’t know how much longer I have till I turn, but I just wanted to say before I die, I love you Joel, tell Ellie I love her too. I left you my remaining ammo and handgun. I left Ellie my lucky bullet casing -we both know she’ll love it- and my bracelet, the one with that little metal rabbit foot charm. You have no idea how excited I was to leave that lonely farm. I would finally be with people I cared about and who cared about me. Like who actually cared about me.

I had a weird feeling that this is how things would go, so I planned. I know I’m leaving you my handgun and ammo. The handgun only has one bullet right now. You can fill it the rest of the way and leave, or you can do what I was too scared to do in the end…Kill me. Right now, I’m in the kitchen writing this. I don’t feel good, I feel like someone beat me with a lead pipe. My head is throbbing, and I can’t tell if I’m sweating because I’m hot with a fever, or if because of a cold chill.

I thought I’d have a bit of time, you know, write you some more, pour my heart out on paper for you, but I don’t. It wasn’t a deep bite, but it was a bite, nonetheless. I tried to sneak past this clicker, I was doing so well until I lost my balance and stumbled, twisting my ankle. I didn’t try to fight it, I thought I’d have better luck running back here. I didn’t…

I love you Joel, I really really ….

*Joel’s POV*

Your writing at the end was practically ineligible, trailed off almost. Joel wasn’t quite sure, what he was sure of, was the feeling of his heart break. An all too familiar break, one he hadn’t felt since Sarah’s mom…

Joel quickly and silently tore his path through the house, he was certain that you were playing some kind of sick cruel joke.

“Joel. Joel! Come on man,” Joel could hear Ellie, but for some reason his legs wouldn’t stop. He had to prove Ellie wrong, that’s why. Yeah, that makes sense. “Joel, Jesus fucking Christ. STOP!” Hearing Ellie’s loud voice had pulled him to a halt.

“Joel, I know you loved them man, I did too. I don’t know what hell-bent path you’re on, but you aren’t going to find them okay. I know,” Joel looked to Ellie, his unfocused eyes taking a moment. When his eyes finally focused, he could see it, he could see the tears that were pouring from Ellie’s face. That’s when he realized he too was crying. “I looked for them after I found their rabbit’s foot bracelet. I think they’re in the basement, the door is locked or jammed. I can’t get it open.” Joel swallowed the pained howls that wanted to rip through his tired body. Clearing his throat, Joel quickly wiped his face on his jacket sleeve.

“You stay up here; I’ll get it figured out. No matter what, I don’t care if you're curious or something else, don’t under any circumstances come down there am I clear?” Joel clenched his jaw, he needed something to focus on something, so why not something he can do.

Ellie never responded verbally, but Joel saw the stiff nod. Turning from Ellie Joel tried to make quick work of finding the things you left. It took him far less time than he expected. Joel also found a key; one he could only assume you left. It wasn’t particularly noteworthy or showy, but if he had to guess, it would unlock that basement door. Was that even something he wanted to do? Kill you? Or rather, kill the already dead you?

Heading back to the dining room, Joel looked at the things he had found in the house. The one catching his attention first? Your handgun. The one with only one bullet loaded in it. Picking up the gun, Joel examined it in his hand, the handle was worn, faint groves noticeable to the touch. The metal on it had definitely seen better days, days when the metal was clean and before it was used in all of this shit.

Swallowing the lump in his throat down, Joel took the key -along with the gun- to the basement door. Standing there, Joel simply stared at the handle. God only knows how long he stood there, but hearing Ellie walk into the dining room, pulled him back to the doorknob in hand. Gripping the gun tighter, Joel carefully put the key into the knob. Giving it a trying twist, Joel felt it resist for a second, before a soft ‘click’ could be heard. Gripping the knob, Joel twisted it slowly and carefully pulled the door open. There wasn’t a single sound coming from the basement, maybe you had found a way to do this. Something he was now dreading. Readying the gun, Joel carefully made his way down the stairs, trying to be as light as possible on his feet.

Once his feet hit the basement floor, Joel clicked on his flashlight. The basement wasn’t huge by any means, but it did have a smaller room off the back wall. Walking towards the doorway, Joel practically held his breath to listen for the all too well known cl-

The sound of clicking slowly filling the air as he grew closer. The sound put him to a stop. Can he really do this? Yes, because you shouldn’t have to be one of them. Clenching his jaw Joel continued on.

In the doorway, Joel could barely make out the shadow of you, or at least what used to be you. It was kind of hard to tell for certain where the bite was for certain, but it seemed as if it was your shoulder. As he stood there, Joel was silent, he wanted to remember what you were like, this wasn’t you and he knew that. You were gone by now, long gone and he knew that. Raising the gun, Joel closed his eyes for a moment. Opening his eyes, Joel cocked the handgun, the click of the hammer grabbing your attention. Staring at what used to be your face, Joel could feel the tears run down his face.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t quicker my Crow.” His last word punched through the silence, with the loud echo of a spent shell.

'''''''

The divider was made by the beautiful @mikeykuns

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fortuositywritings · 2 years ago

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Never Gonna Happen Masterlist

Summary: The way to get over someone is by finding someone new, at least that’s your friends say. You follow their advice rather reluctantly.

“Go talk to her.” Jennifer nudges you a little too hard. You nearly fall off the stool you’re sitting on.

You’ve accompanied her and her friend/coworker Nikki to a night out in the city and wound up at a fancy bar. For the past five minutes, they’ve been trying to get you to go talk to the blonde woman that hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.

“I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. “I haven’t asked anyone that wasn’t Wanda out in the longest time.”

“Damn it,” Nikki mutters, taking her purse out and fishing for some money while Jen laughs triumphantly.

You watch confused as Nikki hands Jen a ten dollar bill and Jen says, “And I still had fifteen minutes left.”

“Fifteen minutes left for what?” you ask.

“For you to bring up Wanda,” Nikki explains, making you gasp in return. “I do not talk about her that much do I?”

“Enough for me to make ten bucks out of it,” Jen answers, waving her prize in front of your face. You smack her hand away. “Oh, don’t pout. I think it’s adorable how in love with her you are.”

“I am not in love with her,” you lie.

“Okay, prove it. Go over there and ask that blonde out,” Jen challenges.

“Like I said, I’m rusty,” you claim.

“What better way to get back out there than walking over and chatting her up? This could be your trial run,” encourages Nikki.

“I don’t know. I think I should start safer. What about you, Nikki?”

“What about me?”

“You like women, right? So how about you be my first date?”

“We’ve got a nice thing going here. Let’s not ruin that, Y/N,” Nikki says, patting your shoulder.

“Boom! First rejection right there. The rest comes easier,” Jen interjects.

“Fine,” you groan and reluctantly stand up. You down one of the shots on the table before making your way over to the blonde. Your friends cheering you on can be heard faintly.

“How bad do you think that’s gonna go?” Nikki asks Jen as they watch you introduce yourself to the blonde.

“Oh so bad,” Jen responds. “But this will be good for her. If we get her asking a few girls every time we go out, someone is bound to say yes.”

“Oh, we’re thinking like men now, are we? Where is the confidence for our new friend? She’s cute! She’ll get plenty of yeses.”

“Then why didn’t you say yes?” Jen counters with a knowing smirk.

“Cause you and I both know she is still way into Wanda and the last thing I am gonna be is one of those insecure women who compare themselves to another girl throughout the whole dating period. Nuh-uh. That’s not for me, honey,” Nikki explains and then takes a sip of her drink.

“Exactly. Girls can spot a lovesick puppy from a mile away, which is why Y/N is coming back right now with that face like she’s been rejected as I predicted.” Jen looks in your direction and sure enough Nikki sees you walking back with a small frown on your face.

“It’s okay. It takes some practice, buddy,” Jen coos.

Nikki is about to sympathize until she sees the napkin in your pocket and pulls it out. She praises, “But not for Y/N! Holy shit, you got her number and on a napkin? Talk about moves.” Jen doesn’t quite believe her until Nikki hands the napkin over.

“Who even carries a pen around?”

“Don’t you have one in your bag?” you remind her.

“Yeah, but I’m a lawyer. It would be weird if I didn’t,” Jen jokes. She reads the name on the napkin. “So, are you gonna call Trish?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “She seems nice enough, but I don’t know if I am ready to date yet.”

“That’s all right. This was a good step to moving on,” Jennifer declares.

Nikki readily agrees, “A great step!”

Jennifer lifts her drink up to you two and cheers, “To moving on!”

You reluctantly join, clinking your drink to theirs.

You wake the next day to a rap on your door, initiating an equally heavy pounding in your head. Not even Wanda’s sweet voice on the other side calling your name can soothe the ache. “Y/N, are you there? We have to head out in ten minutes.”

Shit. You have a mission today.

Wanda hears shuffling on the other side of the door, then a thud and a groan. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. I’ll be right out,” you reply in embarrassment, internally thanking the lord Wanda didn’t see you trip putting on pants. Despite the slight mishap, you think you set a personal best getting ready whilst hungover.

“Morning, Wanda,” you greet her when you open your door and see her leaning against the wall seemingly waiting for you. Your raspy morning voice interrupts her reviewing key notes for the mission on her phone. She’s about to greet you back but the sunglasses on your face distract her. She narrows her eyes at you.

“Are you hungover right now?” she accuses.

“No,” you lie, before closing your door comically softly giving you away. She scoffs, “Unbelievable. Let’s go. Bucky is waiting for us.”

She walks ahead of you annoyed. She walks rather quickly too as you follow behind her. She has to be doing it on purpose. Anytime you are close to falling into step with her, she picks up her speed. If the car was any farther, you think you and Wanda would have ended up jogging. Luckily, Bucky has pulled the car up front.

Wanda and you wordlessly get into the vehicle, she taking the passenger seat and you making your way into the back seats. You close your door gently. Wanda in turn practically slams hers shut, causing you to grab your head and groan. Wanda wouldn’t say she takes pleasure in causing people pain, but in this rare instance it does satisfy her a bit.

“Someone had a good time last night. I don’t think I have to ask who you were with yesterday,” he teases you as you stretch out in the back seat throwing an arm over your face in order to block out the sun after tossing your sunglasses. He gets a grunt in response.

“Here, this should make you feel better,” he says. You look over to see him handing you a water bottle and some painkillers he apparently stashed in the car. You sit back up, taking the items gratefully.

“You’re a godsend,” you dramatically thank him and lean over the console to give him a hard kiss on the cheek. Wanda watches beside you two, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. She determines the feeling must be disappointment in herself for not being a good friend like Bucky. Had she helped you soothe your ache instead of making it worse, maybe she would be the one whose cheek you’re kissing.

Nope. Not the point, Wanda, she tells herself. The point is to be a good friend. Bucky shrugs it off and turns on the car. “Yeah, yeah. Put your seatbelt on.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply jokingly, but do as he says. “That’s the last time I'll try keeping up with Jen’s drinking,” you declare, and suddenly Wanda’s thoughts about being a better friend fly out the car window and she holds herself back from turning on the radio at full volume.

You open the water bottle, taking the pills. You go through the water rather fast. Bucky notices and warns you to slow down. “We’re cutting it close as it is, so no bathroom breaks.”

You’ve practically chugged the whole bottle already. “I can hold it.”

“You wouldn’t have to had you woken up on time,” Wanda points out.

“I thought I had set my alarms last night, but I guess I forgot,” you replied.

“Forgets to set her alarms, but not to get drunk the night before a mission,” she mutters not so under her breath. She doesn’t even know why she is so upset with you.

“Why are you mad at me?” you ask. Obviously you could feel it, but you sincerely don’t know what you did to upset her. You and Wanda both laughed when Clint showed up to work once hungover. You figured it would be Bucky who would give you an earful about it, not Wanda. Bucky doesn’t say anything, instead focuses on getting you to your destination.

“I’m not mad,” Wanda lies.

“You look mad,” you reply.

“I’m not mad,” she repeats, getting annoyed.

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not mad!” she yells.

You wince at the loudness. Bucky gives Wanda the side eye, clearly not believing her. You back off, “Okay, you’re not mad.”

The rest of the car ride is quiet, but it gives you time to get your head in the game. You have a job to do. Whatever is going on with Wanda can wait. Bucky parks the car across the building where your person of interest plans on meeting someone your team had apprehended four days ago.

“There. The black Maserati,” Bucky announces when he spots who you’ve been waiting for. The three of you wait for the sedan to make its way inside the parking structure before getting out of the car to follow.

“You two up front. I’ll go around back in case he tries to run,” Bucky orders. You and Wanda nod before heading into the structure to find the Maserati. You catch your target right as he is walking away from his vehicle.

“Wow, is that your car, Mr.?” you ask over-enthusiastically to the guy dressed in a suit and tie.

The man looks up at you two realizing you are speaking to him. He gives you and Wanda a once over before smiling to himself and replying rather smugly, “Yes, it is. You girls like cars?”

You bite your lip to hold back your laughter when Wanda grimaces after he calls you two “girls”. You reply to him, “I sure like yours.”

“If you’re a fan of this one, you should see the one I have at home,” he boasts and throws a wink at you in good measure. Wanda rolls her eyes, quickly getting annoyed with the guy and with you. Could you hurry the chit chat so she can do what she came here to do and not have to watch the guy you’re supposed to take down flirt with you?

“Wow, you have two of these?” You ask and your target is eating this up thinking you’re really impressed. You turn your head to tell Wanda, “Maybe we should get into dealing alien weaponry illegally. Seems to pay better.”

His smirk turns into a frown and he takes a step away from the two of you. “Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N and this is Wanda. We’re going to ask you kindly to come with us for questioning,” you answer. He panics, you see it in his eyes, the way they drift between you and the nearest exit. Wanda notices this too. She warns him, “Don’t run.”

He doesn’t run straight away, you’ll give him that. No, he decides to pull a gun out first and shoot Wanda’s way first before making a break for it. Luckily you saw this coming the moment he reached under his jacket, so you pull Wanda safely behind a car in time for the bullet to miss.

You make sure your body cushions Wanda’s from hitting the hard ground and yet what hurts more is her elbow hitting your rib when she lands on top of you. More shots ring so you and Wanda stay where you are. He was running towards Bucky’s way anyhow.

You hear the clattering of a gun hitting the floor and a few groans, all signs that Bucky is kicking his ass right now.

“That was close. Thank you,” Wanda says.

“Will you forgive me now for whatever I did to make you upset?” you ask sincerely.

“I wasn’t mad,” she insists with a roll of her eyes and then more quietly adds, “But yes, you’re forgiven.”

You laugh at her response and she smiles back. Your hands grasp her waist, giving her tummy a warm feeling. You couldn’t pull her any closer if you tried. Gravity is already doing its thing keeping her body flush against yours. “Wanda?”

“Yeah?” she replies. Her eyes drop to your lips and she nervously gulps. Right when she thinks of finally breaking the tension and leaning in, you tell her, “I think it’s safe for us to get up now.”

Realization that you were trying to push her up and not keep her against you dawns on her and embarrassment ensues. “Oh, sorry,” she squeaks, cheeks tinged red. She gets up off of you at the speed of a bottle rocket.

“You’re fine,” you assure her. You wish you could say the same for yourself.

“Yeah, don’t worry, ladies. Take your time. I got this,” Bucky interrupts sarcastically as he passes by you two carrying the unconscious culprit over his shoulder.

“Do you think he’ll let us stop by McDonald’s?” you ask Wanda as you both follow Bucky back to the car.

“No,” Bucky answers, having heard you. Wanda giggles while you argue, “We don’t have to stop. They have drive-throughs, you know?” You smile when she gives a full loud laugh after you say, “It doesn’t have to be McDonald’s.”

*****

“Have you texted her yet?” Nikki asks while stabbing her salad. She and Jen invited you to lunch a few days later.

“Texted who?” you ask.

“Who do you think? The woman from the bar!” Nikki reminds you. The way you scrunch your face gives her your answer.

“That’s a no,” Jen jokes.

“I totally forgot. I’ve been busy.” It’s a lame excuse. You haven’t been doing anything of importance at all after that small mission with Bucky and Wanda. Jennifer and Nikki know this too.

“Yeah, busy getting sucked right back into Wanda,” Jen comments with a laugh, but you know she means it and it annoys you that Nikki agrees.

“I am not,” you deny.

“Remind me, Jennifer. Where did Y/N say she went on Sunday?” Nikki begins with faux forgetfulness. Jen plays along.

“The farmer’s market with Wanda.”

“She asked me if I had any plans and I didn’t so she invited me to go with her and I couldn’t say no right after I just told her I wasn’t doing anything,” you defend yourself.

“What about the trip to Target on Monday?” Jen adds.

“She was buying a bookcase and wanted a second opinion,” you answer with a shrug.

“Opinion on what? There are like three choices.” Nikki has a point there.

“I don’t know. I guess she’s indecisive,” you reply and Nikki mumbles, “Sure seems like it.”

“Can we change the subject, please?” you ask, no longer feeling like being attacked by your friends.

Jen appeases you. “Fine, fine. What were you doing earlier that you were running late?”

You mumble something they don’t catch, but they already have a feeling what it might be.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear that with your head hung down shamefully. What did you say?” Nikki teases you.

“I said I was putting a bookcase together,” you repeat, rolling your eyes when they both laugh. “Well it wasn’t going to build itself!”

“Doesn’t Wanda have telekinesis or something? She doesn’t even have to lift a finger to build it,” Jen tells you.

Nikki jokes, “Bet she doesn’t have to lift a finger when Y/N’s around.”

“Y/N, how are you supposed to get over Wanda if you are always around offering her your time and services?”

“I can’t just start ignoring her. I tried it before and it was just mean. She’s my friend,” you remind them.

“A friend you have feelings for,” Jennifer returns with a serious disposition. “Look, we’re just trying to look out for you as your friends. And if Wanda is your friend like you say, she’ll understand if you need some space to get over your feelings for her.”

Yeah, that’s a conversation you don’t want to have. “That’s definitely an idea.”

“Or,” Nikki gives you a second option, “you can move on like originally planned and actually stay busy seeing someone else. Text the woman from the bar right now. Ask her out!”

You prefer Nikki’s idea. You’ll go with that one. Before lunch is over, you text Trish and by the end of the night you have a date to plan.

You freak out about what to do for a first date so you search online and the one that speaks to you is a picnic. You know that Trish is easily recognizable after she’s told you she is a radio host and you saw her face on the side of a bus so a picnic in the park would not be the best idea. Maybe you could set up on the roof. You wonder if that’s a good idea or if she’ll hate it. Self conscious about it, you ask your teammates what they think while you are in the gym with Steve and Sam.

“Is a picnic on the rooftop for a first date too much? Or what do you guys think?” You drop your weights to look at the men. Only Steve bothers to look your way.

“I think it’s a waste of time and energy if she’s just gonna say no,” Sam replies, continuing to punch the bag Steve is holding still for him.

“But she already said yes,” you say. That gets Sam to stop his punches. He and Steve look at you surprised. You wonder why they look so shocked.

“Wanda said yes?” Steve asks. Oh.

“No, not Wanda. Someone else,” you sigh.

“Tsk, man, you got me excited for nothing.” Sam goes back to working the punching bag. Steve though carries on the conversation. “Who is it? Do we know them?”

“Maybe,” you answer with a shrug. “She’s a radio host. Her name is Trish Walker.”

“No way.” Sam stops again. “You’re going on a date with Trish Walker. The Trish Walker.”

“Who’s Trish Walker?” Steve speaks up.

“She’s Patsy from ‘It’s Patsy’!”

“Patsy?” Steve looks at you in confusion but you can’t explain this to him because truth be told you don’t know what Sam is talking about either.

“How do you not know- oh yeah,” Sam interrupts himself. “I forget you’re both a different generation. It was a tv show and she starred in it. I had a huge crush on her when I was younger. And you’re going out with her?”

You nod in response, making Sam shake his head. “That’s foul. You would do that to me, your friend?”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics. “You haven’t answered my question, friend. Is a picnic a good first date?”

“I think it’s romantic. I think she will appreciate the effort and thought you put into it,” Steve pipes up. His comment makes you feel better about it. That is until Sam speaks.

“It’s corny is what it is. You have to do something fun and interesting. No restaurant, no picnic. It has to be something she’ll definitely remember. Take her scuba diving,” Sam suggests.

You look to Steve for his thoughts on this. He is shaking his head and immediately saying, “Don’t take her scuba diving.”

You leave the gym still thinking over the picnic idea but definitely not considering scuba diving as a substitute for a good first date. You don’t notice Wanda or the way her eyes linger over your body as you walk down the hallway heading toward your room for a shower until she’s two feet away.

“Oh, hey, Wanda,” you greet her with a smile. Her head snaps up and she smiles back with pink cheeks, praying you didn’t catch her checking you out. You didn’t. Instead you’re thinking Wanda is a girl. Her opinion over the first date matter would be valuable, so you ask her next, “What do you think about a picnic on the rooftop as a first date?”

Wanda was not at all expecting those to be the next words out of your mouth. It’s been so long since you’ve asked her out and she can freely admit to herself anyway that she missed it.

“You’re asking me?” Wanda double checks that this is actually happening. You look around the hallway confused. Of course you’re asking her. There’s no one else here. You nod and she asks furthermore, “For a first date?”

“Yeah, or is that too much?” You look so unsure. This is different than all the other times you’ve asked her out. You would be so confident in your delivery. This is something new. Wanda thinks it’s kind of cute.

You take Wanda’s quietness as an answer. “It’s too much isn’t it? I knew it. Damn it.”

You sigh. Back to the drawing board you guess. Scuba diving isn’t sounding so bad anymore. Wanda pulls you back from getting too far into your brain. “Wait, Y/N. No,” she starts. Is she really about to do this? Is she about to agree to go on a date with you after having said no a hundred times?

“I-” she hesitates. What if the date goes wrong? What if it ruins what you have now? This past week she realized just how much she enjoys your company, how comfortable she is when it’s just the two of you. What if it becomes awkward?

“You?” Your sweet eyes look at her, asking her to finish her thought.

What if the date goes really well? Then there is a second and a third and then you’re dating and you’re wrapping your arm around her and watching tv together and calling her beautiful. Okay, so not so different from what you’ve done before but with dating you would kiss her whenever you wanted and you’d smile when she kisses you back and... that actually doesn’t sound so bad.

Oh what the hell. It’s one date.

“A picnic on the rooftop sounds perfect.”

You smile in relief. No scuba diving for you. “Really?”

“Yes. When were you thinking?” Wanda asks.

“Oh um. We’re both free tomorrow, so I was thinking like five-ish cause the sun is supposed to set around six and the view looks awesome from the roof.”

She looks at you surprised. “You really thought it through.”

“Yeah.” You don’t give her much more than that because it would be embarrassing to admit that originally you had planned a date like that for you and Wanda. You would have had Wanda’s favorite food from her favorite places in the city and have had a cute set up you pictured in your head. But it’s fine. Hopefully Trish enjoys it. You clear your throat. “Okay, well. I should really shower.”

“Yeah, I was wondering what that smell was,” Wanda jokes.

“Hey! Three hours at the gym with Sam and Steve, this is as sweet as anyone could smell,” you defend yourself.

“Three hours?” she gasps. “Why do you do that to yourself?”

“An ass like this takes work,” you jest, turning around to walk back to your room but not without a shimmy of your butt to make her laugh. You feel proud when it works and you hear her giggle.

“You better not smell like that tomorrow,” she warns you. You laugh the rest of the way to your door. Before entering your room you call Wanda one last time. “Hey, Wanda. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?” she says, confused. It’s the first time anyone has thanked her for agreeing to go on a date. She giggles to herself after you close your door. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.

All morning Wanda radiates nervous energy. She supposed she shouldn’t overthink it. It’s just a date. She’s had her fair share of first dates before. First date jitters is a thing, but as much as she wishes it’s simply that, she thinks there is more to it this time.

She’s never dated a coworker before. Coworker? That doesn’t sound right. Teammate? Better, but still not fitting. Friend? Are you friends? You had always shown romantic interest so Wanda was always skeptical considering you a friend, but that’s what you ended up being, wasn’t it?

Any way you put it, coworker, teammate, or friend, Wanda has never dated anyone of the category. It always seemed messy. If things go wrong, you would have to see that person at work all of the time or your friendship wouldn’t be the same and you’d fall out. Was it worth it?

By 11am, Wanda has convinced herself dating you would be too complicated. So she goes to find you and tell you the date is off. Would you be upset? Would you think she’s playing with your feelings? That she’s leading you on like Natasha said?

But it’s not leading you on if she wants it too. She can confirm she does want it. Screw the outcome. Dating is meant to be fun and there is never a dull moment when you’re around.

By 11:30am, Wanda finds you with your arms full seemingly on your way to the rooftop. It looks like you are about to set up and you tell her so when you catch her staring.

“Oh, hey, Wanda. Don’t mind me. I’m just going to start setting up now so I have time to get ready. I promised I’d smell good, you know,” you joke with her. Seeing the blankets in your arms, the nerves come back to Wanda but this time they don’t feel so bad. There is excitement mixed in there too. “While I have you, do you think this is enough blankets? Is it enough cushion for the ground? I don’t want our butts numb twenty minutes into the date, you know?”

She laughs but she goes to feel the stack of blankets and decides you need more. “I think maybe two more. You can grab some of mine,” she offers.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just steal some more from Sam’s room. No need to get yours dirty,” you reply, waving her off.

“Okay, hey, Y/N,” she calls you back before you can get too far. You look up in her direction. She smiles at you and says, “I’m actually kind of happy this is happening. I’ll see you later.”

She quickly dismisses herself with a blush on her cheeks. She doesn’t know what possessed her to say that but she leaves before she does anything else more embarrassing.

You stand in the hallway with the weight of the blankets in your arms and a new weight on your heart left by Wanda’s words. She basically told you she’s glad you are moving on. Although that is probably how she feels, you think she could have taken pity on you and not say it out loud.

You can’t have this weigh on you. There’s a date you need to set up and there is still much to do. You quickly organize everything on the rooftop before moving on to getting yourself ready and by five o’clock you are greeting Trish at the door before leading her inside and up to the rooftop.

While you are hoping you don’t run into Sam on the way up, Wanda is dolled up and waiting for you to knock on her door. She grows impatient after waiting half an hour. You did say five, didn’t you? Tired of waiting, she knocks on your door. Sam catches her waiting at your door frowning down at her phone. You are not answering her texts.

“She’s not in there,” Sam tells her.

“Where is she?”

“She’s on a date,” he discloses with a pout. Then he takes notice of Wanda dressed like she is also going out. “You look nice. You have a date too?”

“Too?” She storms up to the roof, not bothering with a reply. She bursts through the exit door that leads to the rooftop. She doesn’t have time to admire your work or realize that there is someone else here with you. All she knows is she has been waiting a long ass time for you to knock on her door and you’ve been here the whole time.

“Y/N! I’ve been waiting for an hour. What have you been doing?” she snaps, startling you and your date. Wanda looks upset.

“Wanda? Did we have plans?” You ask, totally confused.

“Our date?” Wanda reminds you. She doesn’t understand why you are acting like this is the first time you are hearing about it.

“Date? I thought you weren’t seeing anybody,” the blonde woman next to you scoffs. Wanda finally turns to see a whole other human being present. Who the fuck is this?

“I’m not! This is just a misunderstanding. Give me one moment. Wanda, can I talk to you for a second?” You pull Wanda off to the side. “What are you doing?!” You ask her.

“What am I doing?? What are you doing?! Who is she?” she fumes.

“That’s Trish. I met her at a bar when I went out for drinks with Jen and Nikki.” It’s more information than she needed but it doesn’t really answer what she actually wants to know.

“Okay, what is she doing here?”

“What do you think she’s doing here? We’re on a date!” you whisper yell.

“No, you’re not.” Wanda denies.

“What? Wanda, look around. We literally talked about this yesterday,” you remind her, waving your arm in the direction of the picnic setup.

“This was supposed to be for me, not her.”

This trips you. You never thought anyone would catch you. How could Wanda possibly know that you had this planned for her originally. “Wh-who told you that?”

“You did yesterday!” she hisses, both her hands shaking in front of her in clear frustration. It’s making her angrier that you still wear the dumbfounded look as if none of this is ringing a bell.

“Wanda, what are you talking about?” You couldn’t be more confused. What is going on?

“Hey, so this looks like more than a misunderstanding. I’m gonna head out. Call me whenever you get this sorted,” Trish speaks up, grabbing her stuff, before she leaves.

“Trish, wait-” you call after your date but all you get is the sound of the rooftop door closing. You turn to your teammate to demand an explanation. “Wanda, what the hell?”

“Why did you stop?” Wanda asks instead, tone full of hurt.

You sigh, “Stop what?”

“Why did you stop asking me to dinner?”

You frown. Why is she bringing this up now? “You said no.”

“I’ve said no plenty of times and you still came back. You still texted me corny lines. You still chatted me up when I was trying read or exercise. You still sought me out and spent time with me no matter how many times I turned you down.”

You looked away from Wanda with your cheeks flushed. Yes, you tried a little too hard and it did you no good. Why is she bringing this up? Is she trying to embarrass you?

If you bothered to look back at her, you’d see the tears forming in her eyes. “You never left me alone. You still tried. Now the only time you are around is when I find an excuse for you to be. Why’d you stop trying? Why did you leave me alone?”

You work up the courage to look her in the eye and give her an honest answer, using the same words she used before. “I guess it finally clicked in my head that we are never going to happen.”

Never did she think those words would come back to bite her. Wanda swallows hard, realizing you heard her and Nat outside her room weeks ago. The hurt expression on her face morphs into a guilty one. She didn’t know you were listening, but of course you were. You were probably waiting to see her find the gift you left at her door. But she didn’t actually mean any of what she said. Maybe she thought she did, but none of it was true, at least none of what Wanda said was true. Natasha on the other hand laid out some hard truths Wanda didn’t want to own up to.

“Y/N-” she tries, but you don’t let her get very far.

“It’s okay. You’re right. I should have taken the hint. I don’t hang around you as often because I get that I can be annoying.” A lump forms in your throat from recalling that night and what was said, but you push on through.

“Y/N, you’re not-”

“And the less time I spend with you, the easier it will be for me to get over you.”

“You’re over me?” She asks sadly.

“Not yet,” you reply candidly, “but I’m trying to move on. I’m sorry if you feel like I don’t care about you anymore because I’m not there all the time, but I just need some space. I hope you can understand.”

You didn’t think it would come to this, at least you hoped it wouldn’t, but it seems Jennifer was right in the end. You need a break from Wanda. It’s the only way to move on.

Wanda doesn’t say anything and you don’t wait for her to. “Feel free to grab whatever you want.” You point to the food leftover on the picnic blanket, not wanting it to go to waste. “I’ll clean it all up later.”

You leave Wanda on the rooftop alone with her thoughts and the scraps of a date that should have been hers.

_______________________________________________________

A/N: This was meant to be posted like five days ago but I felt it was a little too short so I took the time to make the chapter longer. I hope you like it. Let me know what you think! Thanks for the patience and I hope I got everyone on the taglist thus far. Taglist: @skis1501 @xastrydx @almosttoopizza @m-r-nicely @matildeboh @ksslhdg @youlookterribleilookawesome @miss-chew @idkyidownloadedthisbutididanyway @simpformommywanda @wandanatfan @idcplss @poteitalouca @lizlil @watashiwaglr38 @natashaswifeu @unicorn2003 @kellexforthefuckingwin @sojo154 @sheriffhaughtearp @grxvitye @lissaaaa145 @pawiie @anitavdw @tearsofglitter @justyourwritter69 @natashasnoodle @vizoxx @anki-of-beleriand @an-evergreen-rose @jadechasesworld @lorsstar1st @captains-simp @natblackwidow2 @hella-hecka-gay @wandsmxmff @nothingisrealanyway @b0mbdotc0m @mmmmokdok @lonewalker17 @ageofolsen @infinnitycatchers @dark-hunter16 @ireadtofeel @reereeineedtopee @infrunamix @how-to-disappearr @username23345 @panthastichumanbeing @kurosstuff @chasethemoon @etheriaaly @youralphawolf72 @karmasgxrl @medinalethal-blog @capswife @puathepig @whataloadof @splatasha-jumpinoff @afuckingshituniverse @justlurkingforyou @maximofflover @blackluthxr @scarletswandawitch @imdreamingblo @anxietyisgreat @xxromanoffxx @romanoffomixam @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @harleyswanda @gimaximoff @simplysimping999 @cmaysf @frvny @sadpiscesheart @chasethemoon @olsensnpm @chaekhan @dumpaccdontmindme @iliketozoneout @lordesolddepression @devriesgoode @shittylittleweirdo @i-have-no-life-charlie @dutifullysuperbwitch @teenybean @nothingisrealanyway @kas1644 @m-h-r-h @bpluvie @bottomforwanda @daenerys713 @sandyche3ks @justyourwritter69 @get-the-fuck-outta-here @s1ut4nat @rooooooe @lenalesbian @alienstookourbunnies @lainjupi @mi-yo-0 @lesbesapphic @sylencr @i-wanna-be-a-deer @nightimemommy @donnietarantino @celticjess08 @esposadejoyhuerta @fxckmiup @casquinhaa @paaandiculations @detectivepineapple @oh-thats-cute-blog @jusnough @aliherreraaa @wandanats-goodgirl

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff imagine

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gayandfairycore · 2 years ago

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Marmalade and mischievous mornings

Summary: spending a morning in 35 portland row, regular shenanigans ensue between the four of you.

Word count: roughly 800 words(?)

A/n: this is my first time writing for lockwood and co. So I hope I did the characters justice! Feedback is muchly appreciated but please do be kind, This is not proof read.

The smell of toast, and marmalade filled the little kitchen at 35 Portland row, the comforting yellow light of the kitchen casted a warm shadow over the inhabitants of the house. The thinking cloth white, and yet covered in inky black doodles, and words scrawled messily down on the white tablecloth. the biscuit crumbs that seeming always found home on the table had began to make your arms itch as you sat next to your friends around the table, a warm cup of tea in hand.

As an ever drying pen is left uncapped, and discarded. The soft linen curtains blew in the mid morning air a conversation started to arise between the group of four. The conversation went a little something like George rattling on about the case they had just completed, Lucy calling the fact that it was clearly was not a low level type one and was actually very strong type two and that George was getting rusty on his research skills.

you couldn’t help finding it a bit funny that everyone around the table were in their pjs having a slow morning like usual to rejuvenate themselves after exhausting nightly escapades.

George had yet again refused to wear trousers, Lockwood a plain white tshirt on, as opposed to his regular suit and cut tie. Lucy an oversized shirt, and some comfy shorts, you having adorned something quite similar to Lucy. opting for a band shirt, pj shorts and some fluffy socks. It didn’t look like only last night three out of the four had almost died, in fact it looked as if the four of them had just had a slumber party.

Sadly it wasn’t a slumber party, instead they spent majority of last night running for their lives in a panic, away from a powerful ghost that they were unprepared to face. so majority of the group were surely going to be aching for the next few days.

munching down on a piece of toast and sipping your tea, the warmth from the chipped glass radiated to your hands, the steam from your tea momentarily being inhaled. a soft smile graced your features as you sipped your tea, Lucy and George’s bicker had yet to be stifled.

When you joined the agency Lockwood had actually warned you to usually just tune them out, that’s what he did. It made you laugh originally but dwelling on it now you’ve decided tonight you’ll pull him aside an ask him to teach you to tune out the friendly bickering.

“clearly you’re just a bit rubbish of a ghost hunter then!” George yelled, clutching his biscuit as he swung out his hands, shrugging his shoulders.

“Rubbish?!” Lucy exclaimed in faux outrage, a piece of buttered toast hanging from her mouth as she spoke the gravity of her exclamation declining as it came out muffled by the aforementioned toast.

“I am not rubbish, george karim! how many times have I come to your rescue? Hmm. You wouldn’t call me rubbish then!” The brunette persisted pointing her half eaten toast piece at him her eyes glared at the boy.

Knocking the piece of toast away from himself, “that’s different!” He retorted as slumped back in his chair slightly coy smile adorning his features.

“Oh is it?” The brunette raised her eyebrows her voice no longer yelling, George gulped quietly slumping impossibly deeper in his chair at the girl, her voice lowered in a warning. The same warning voice she used when they had first met. Watching the scene play out from across the table, toothy grin on your face as you admired your friends, your eyes caught Lockwoods. majority of his face hidden behind a crumpled and tea stained newspaper.

You watched as he shook his head at his friends antics, chuckling into his tea cup. Your eyes meeting in a silent melancholic comforting moment.

your attention only moving when you heard your name called, ”cmon y/n back me up!” Lucy’s expecting gaze told you that you had missed something.

Your eyes darting between the pair nodding unsurely and feigning confidence as you replied with an “oh yeah, absolutely what she said.” Before tilting your head in subtle exasperation taking a large sip of your tea, to mask your embarrassment of admiring Lockwood so much that you had managed to tune out the pair.

“No! Y/n how could you!” George exclaimed mock outraged taking over his expression as he slumped back in defeat, Lucy’s laughter filled the air, a lost expression passed over your face as you glanced between the pair, Lockwood pulling you into his side to answer your unspoken question,

“she just stated she’s the better researcher than him, and that anyone would agree she could do it with her eyes closed.” Lockwood smirked stifling a chuckle as he let go of your arms “and you just agreed with her”

The boy smirked, flicking out his news paper with flourish.

Your mouth formed a ‘o’ at the revelation, before a cocky smirk overtook your face “I mean George may be a the best researcher- No offence, Luce-” you pause, looking at their confused and impatient faces with a coy smile hands in in the air as you point to them.

“But what I want to know is, whose the best ghost hunter?” Leaning back in your chair you watch as chaos ensues clasping your hands tigether like you were an old villain

“I’m sorry?”

“Excuse me?”

Both Lucy and Lockwood exclaim, the latter dropping his news paper onto the table and the force shaking and spilling his tea.

A silence formed over the room, as George watched as his competitive friends began to turn on eachother in friendly competition.

“No offence Lockwood, you may be a prodigy and all that but it’s got to go to Lucy!”

“Y/n!” Lockwood exclaimed his eyes darting wildly as his mouth agape

George reclining in his seat as he stifles a laugh lockwood whirling around to face the boy attempting to look serious and upset.

“George- do you think this is funny?!” The ebony haired boy exclaims, as a chuckle breaks midway through his facade as he speaks.

A mischievous grin adorns George’s face as he replies “I do actually I think this is very funny!”

“Lucy cmon back me up here!?” Lockwood pleads his hands together in a prayer eyebrows raised

“Sorry Lockwood!” Lucy retorts “But y/ns right I’m just the superior ghost hunter.” The girl replies straightening her posture and flipping up imaginary jacket cuffs.

A plan begins to formulate in lockwoods mind “Well if it’s like that then” he states before pulling you into him and tickling you

Between bouts of giggles you exclaim “lockwood! Lockwood! No! Oh cmon!”

His fingers never stopping their assault at your side no matter how much you try to wriggle away, he only stops tickling you to bargain

“Say that I’m the best ghost hunter you’ve ever known!”

Struggling to breathe through your laughter you chuckle out an estranged “No!”

Lockwood smirks “Alright then.”

His fingers moving at your sides painfully fast breathlessness taking over you, as tears well in your eyes loud laughter fills the kitchen.

pouting your lips you exclaim in defeat“okay! Okay! You’re the best ghost hunter I’ve ever known!”

Lockwood stops his assault at your sides smiling and slinging his arm over your shoulder before he taunts the brown eyed girl

“see Luce, there’s only one person here whose the best ghost hunter-“ mischievous looks are shared between you, George, and Lucy. As you move yourself from under the arms of the boy.

Lucy exclaims a “sorry Lockwood! But it’s not you, george get him!” And with her exclamation both you and george begin to ambush the boy flinging your body onto his back watching as he loses his footing. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck like he was giving you a piggyback.

“Ah- uh oh!” His yells voice high pitched and shrieking laughter fills the room despite the mess that had somehow accumulated over the time you had been in a tickle fight.

The spilled tea over old newspaper clippings a spilled tub Or marmalade staining the thinking cloth

As the sound of a camera flashing momentarily blinds both you and Lockwood as you both come toppling down the wooden floor your body above lockwoods.

Bashfulness blooms in your chest “oh uh sorry-“

Lockwoods narrows his eyes in disappointment “No it’s quite alright” he murmurs. Moving to sit up on his elbows a look of surprise takes over his face as you turn to look behind you

Your two friends about to dog pile you both both you and Lockwood exclaim almost at the same time “George, Lucy you don’t have to do this!”

The two share a glance at eachother before flinging their bodies onto you both collectively collapsing your attempts to get up. groans leaving you and Lockwood at the added weight.

#Lockwood and co #Lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #Lucy carlyle x reader #george karim #George karim x reader #Lockwood and co fluff #x reader

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theonevoice · 1 year ago

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InktOmens - 5. Map

A Good Omens + Inktober 2023 project

(A5 size, toned gray paper, black ballpoint pen, black fountain pen ink*, white gel pen)

Stars! Everywhere!, 26 to go

* So, a little behind the scenes. I almost gave up on posting this, because my lazy ass couldn't be bothered testing the random bottle of India ink that had been in my drawer since forever - "it will surely work fine, why wouldn't it?". Turns out, it was not India ink, it was an unspecified fountain pen ink, that not only did a number on my white gel pen (RIP), but also left a satin, almost glossy finish on the paper. And let me tell you: my poor scanner did not caaare for it. My first attempt at digitizing it resulted in an almost entirely rusty-brownish-red rectangle. After many more attempts, many tears and many adjustment layers, this is all I got. I am not happy with it, but it is what it is.

Moral of the story: don't be like me, always test your supplies!

#inktomens #good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #before the fall #crowley fanart #aziraphale fanart #aziracrow fanart #good omens fanart #good omens art #inktober #inktober 2023

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dutifullylazybread · 3 months ago

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WIP Whenever Tag ✍️

Thank you for the tags @darkurgetrash and @lemonsrosesandlavender!! 💖💖💖

SO I am fighting with Deeply and Immovably So, and to keep the writing flowing, I *did* start a little Halsin x Tav one-shot. It's not to take away from the long fic so much as to keep my writing sharp while I keep working away at my main WIP (I also haven't introduced a short story series I am playing with right now that I think you'll all love).

SO here is some of what I have written thus far (content warning for mentions of blood and some violence):

Tagging @voloslobotomyservice @commander-krios @kimberbohwrites @savriea @barbwillbrb and whoever else would like to tackle this!

“Get up!”

She was hoisted up by two of her guards and taken down a short flight of stairs, the tips of her boots trailing behind her as they dragged her. Prior to fifteen minutes ago, had anyone told her that she could be overpowered by a group of goblins, she would have scoffed at them.

Then again�� she’d also set the scene rather nicely so that she would be captured. Now, she wanted to make sure she gave them a good performance. They’d done all the hard work, after all.

All they needed to do now was toss her into the empty prison cell to the right of the staircase…

…except they trudged past it and went straight ahead…

…towards the cell that held a rather large, rather incensed cave bear.

Shit.

The bear bristled, its lips peeling back into a snarl as Tav and her goblin entourage approached.

She didn’t need any additional encouragement. Tav forced her feet forward, planted them onto the floor, before pushing back, fighting to throw the goblins off kilter. This hadn’t been the plan. She was supposed to land in an empty cell or, had luck been with her, in the same cell as the archdruid—not some half-starved bear.

Three of her guards detached from the cluster surrounding her to prod the bear through the bars of its prison with their spears—they didn’t even have the decency to use the blunted ends of their weapons. No, they stabbed at it with their chipped and tarnished points.

The bear lurched away from the bars, its snarl burning away to a roar. It swiped at one of the spears, splintering its shaft and sending half of it skittering into the shadows behind it. The fur on its left front leg started to mat with blood and its large brown eyes were feral with rage. It slammed against the bars in an attempt to grab at the goblin that caused it injury, clawing at empty air as the creature bounded back, grinning delightedly.

Had Tav been reluctant to get in the cell before, she was downright opposed now. She thrashed against the goblins holding her—only to be promptly reminded that one of the camp’s bugbears had accompanied them into the worg pens. She was reminded with a swift strike to the side of her head.

Her vision swam. Her arms were released and she slumped to the stone floor. She was vaguely aware of the grit biting into her cheek and the tacky pull of the drying blood puddle on her skin and clothes. Its rusty stink was only enhanced by the clinging stench of old piss and shit.

“He’s all ready for you,” one goblin said to her before turning to the others standing idly by. “What are you waiting for? Get that fur ball away from the door! Now!”

Oh, of course they wanted to rile the beast up before tossing her into its den. The mauling to follow would only be inevitable. Hopefully it would steer clear of her skull when it supped on her—she was none too sure how a tadpoled cave bear would pan out. Nor did she want to learn. Then again, would a mind flayer tadpole survive a bear’s digestive system?

She didn’t have time to consider before a sickly crack cut through the bear’s roar, dragging it out into an agonized whimper.

#darcy was tagged #thank you for the tag #halsin #tav #halsin x tav #tav x halsin #bg3 fanfic #fanfiction #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #one-shot #cw: blood #cw: violence #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

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gghostwriter · 6 months ago

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Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 5. Everything (he) is blue

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there.

A/n: a random fact about me is that French is my third language, although I am a bit rusty from the lack of usage. Also, I opted to remove one whole chapter (for those who noticed). The original chapter five was in Spencer's pov but I wanted to stick to Cleo's for the whole Act One. Have this idea that Act Two, the groveling and angst, would almost all be in Spencer's pov.

A/n: Will be updating both my fics next week. Work has been busy lately so I’m using this weekend to draft up some more chapters or maybe even finish writing everything and queueing it here

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

"It is such a mysterious place, the land of the tears." - The Little Prince

She was out on another dinner date with Joe when her phone rang.

“Hey Pen, what’s—”

“Spencer was kidnapped—” Penelope frantically stated, no pleasantries given.

The bustling noise inside the restaurant all became distant. She felt blind-sighted. Even with her gifted IQ, her mind couldn’t process what Penelope said. It couldn’t be, she thought. Maybe if she denied it from reality, it wouldn’t be true.

“—Cleo, are you there?”

She felt the string around her eyes, a sign for an onslaught of tears to come. “Pen-Penelope, can you tell me what happened?”

“We—I can’t go into details,” Pen rushed out “But the team found him and he’s back home, alone, and as a friend of his and yours, I felt it was only right you knew.”

“I’ll go to his apartment now. I don’t think he should be alone,” she thanked Penelope and hung up.

“I am so sorry to cut our date short, Joe, but Spencer needs me,” she explained, grabbing her purse and shawl to leave.

Joe stood up and gave her a quick hug. “I understand, call me when you can, okay?”

With a kiss on the cheek, she exited the restaurant and flagged down a taxi.

———

“Spencer, are you there?” Cleo knocked on his apartment door.

Silence.

Opening her purse, she cursed when she realized the spare key was left back in her own apartment.

“Spencer please, it’s Cleo,” she knocked again.

There was a light shuffling from the other side and there he was, Spencer, looking ragged and worn down to his very bones still in work clothes. He silently stepped aside, allowing her inside. He then proceeded to lock all his deadbolts in place.

She noted the haphazardly thrown blanket on the sofa and the tossed satchel on the floor.

“Penelope called,” she stated as an explanation.

“Oh.”

“Are you—are you okay?”

He grimaced and shuffled to his barely furnished kitchen. With his back turned, he located a mug and filled it with water. “I’m fine, really,”

Without a word, she discarded her purse and shoes on the foyer and approached carefully. Taking the mug from his trembling hands, she squeezed both reassuringly. She was no profiler but she knew the signs when he tells a lie but she didn’t want to press. Didn’t want to push him off the precarious cliff edge that he was on, not unless he was ready.

“I believe you. What do you say we get you out of these clothes and into a warm bath?”

“Please,” Spencer whispered. His body seemingly curving in on itself, wanting to disappear into oblivion.

Cleo guided him to the bathroom, only letting go of his hands to set up the bath. Clothes now on the floor, sans his underwear, Spencer stepped into the bath and hugged his knees close to his chest.

“Let me help you, Spence,” she suggested, bringing his shampoo and scrub towel close.

He nodded.

Seemingly lost in his own mind, she gently lathered his wavy locks and massaged his scalp. Once his hair was finished, she took the towel and proceeded to scrub around his arms and shoulders. She noted a series of purple bruises on the inside of his elbow.

Oh.

At the moment, Spencer looked so small and helpless. Her heart twinged in sadness, willing the burn in her eyes to go away. She has never seem him like this, not once. Not when he retold his own experience with high school bullies. Not even when he failed his qualifications and the FBI took away his gun.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again and again.

She dropped the towel and cupped Spencer’s cheeks with both hands. “Hey, hey it’s alright. Look at me, there’s nothing to be sorry about,”

Taking note of her state of dress, his hazel eyes leaking tears. “I’m sorry, Cleo, I-I interrupted your date with Joe haven’t I?”

“It’s alright. You need me, I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else,” she reassured him, running her thumbs in soothing circles on his cheeks.

The emotional wall broke and Spencer started sobbing.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s going to be alright. Everything will be alright. Let’s get you dried off and into bed, okay?”

“No, not yet,” he sobbed out.

“Well, I’ll read you a bed time story in French, I know how much you like that,” she tried to bribe. “But it has to be when you’re tucked in bed.”

The pause in reply was enough for her to take that as a yes. She stood up and took a fresh pair of underwear and his fluffy purple striped robe, waiting for Spencer to follow suite.

He stared at her, blinking owlishly. “Can it be your choice of story?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

He acquiesced, taking the robe and underwear, and slowly walking out to his bedroom.

She quickly drained the bath tub and collected all the clothes from the floor. By the time she was finished, Spencer was already dressed in a pair of his pajamas and staring blankly at the wall.

“Let’s get you tucked in,” she coaxed him to lie down.

Once he was tucked, blanket reaching his shoulders, and Cleo lying on top beside him with her head on her hands propped up, she stared at him with somber eyes.

The quietness enveloping them both.

She took a deep breath and started reciting The Little Prince from her memory.

“Lorsque j’avais six and j’ai vu, une fois, une magnificent image…”

Spencer closed his eyes and reached for Cleo’s hand. Seemingly, his own anchor to the reality.

“…J’ai ainsi eu, au cours de ma vie, des tas de contacts…”

She continued on for at least 10 minutes, wanting to make sure he had fallen into deep slumber. Slowly, she pulled her hand away to get up but his grip further tightened and his eyes shot wide open.

“Don’t leave me alone, Cleo, please,”’ he begged.

“I won’t, I promise,” Cleo shuffled to make herself more comfortable. “I’m staying right here, I promise.”

“…mon ami sourit gentiment, avec indulgence…” Cleo continued on the story.

Spencer closed his eyes, assured she wasn’t going anywhere.

Cleo continued on, up until she herself fell asleep with her hand tightly in his own.

———

She woke up to a whimper. Blinking the sleep away, she turned towards Spencer still asleep but whimpering and mumbling ‘no’ again and again, stuck in his nightmare.

“Spence,” she gently shook his shoulder. “Spencer, wake up,”

He bolted up right, gasping for air. He flinched ever so slightly when he felt her hand touching his, still not back fully back to reality.

“Hey, it’s alright. You’re safe,” she reassured again. “We’re safe here at your apartment.”

“I dreamt that I was back there,” Spencer sobbed as he went in for a hug. “He wouldn’t stop—wouldn’t listen.”

Cleo soothed his hair, pulling him down back to bed and close to her chest. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Spence, it’s alright.”

“I shouldn’t have ran ahead without back up. I shouldn’t have split up with JJ,” he rambled on. “He kept injecting me with drugs to numb the pain. I begged him to stop over and over. I didn’t want to take any of them, I swear.”

She tightened her hold on him a little more. “It’s alright Spencer, I understand.”

Under his breath, he kept apologizing over and over until falling back to a dreamless sleep.

She choked back a sob, not wanting to disturb his sleep. She wished she could take away his pain. Take away his memories—memories that he’ll never forget. Memories that he’ll relive in his nightmares. She wasn’t a religious type but she was willing to kneel down and pray to any gods to take away Spencer’s pain and give it to her instead. She’ll do anything, anything at all, just to make sure this sweet and perfect being who has inevitably captured her heart and soul, doesn’t get hurt ever again.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!oc #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #gw fics #esof fanfic

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gilgamushroom · 4 months ago

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HOW TO SELL YOUR SOUL TO BILL CIPHER ‼️‼️ (+ Terms & Conditions CRACKED)

It took.... way, way too long to decode this, so I'm just gonna post it here lol. So!!

From the adorable baby bill page, we've got "ONE EYED KING" which once you put it in the laptop leads to.....

A totally normal recording with no secret messages! Nope, it's never that simple. Morse code reveals a "NAITSUAF" which can also be used in the laptop...

Well, that's fun, now let's click on and go to the contract

Which has a silly little code at the end which translates to "YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER" and that should be all! except... jesus fucking christ...

Now HERE are the hours of my life that I will never get back. The translation goes:

this contract is legal and binding 🟨 we reserve the right to use your likeness 🟨 voice and small town pluck in whatever nefarious manner is deemed necessary 🟨 sans soul 🟨

your soulmate will not recognize you and will walk right past you on a cold autumn day 🟨 never making eye contact 🟨 not even processing that you have eyes at all 🟨 no amount of interaction will move them to a place where they can remember 🟨 in feeling 🟨 they thousands of lifetimes you have already spent together 🟨 each time choosing whatever form would keep you closest like otters holding hands in a tumultuous rivers 🟨

you were birds 🟨 you were trees with roots entangled 🟨 drinking in the sunlight together 🟨 wherever we go next 🟨 whatever you choose 🟨 I will always be right there with you 🟨🟨 thats done 🟨 buddy 🟨 congratulations 🟨 you have chosen bill instead

mcdonalds reserves the right to put a giant yellow m on your torso and forehead and send you walking through a crowded times square while you scream 🟨 the fries 🟨 the fries 🟨 they don🟨t degrade in nature 🟨🟨🟨 it🟨s an immortal food 🟨🟨🟨 they will be in the landfills long past our deaths 🟨🟨

good god 🟨 the things🟨s i🟨ve seen 🟨 me 🟨 who am I 🟨 oh i🟨m bill🟨s previous lawyer 🟨 he put my soul into a quill pen so I can write his legal documents until the sun snuffs out like a candle in this sick universe 🟨 I used to be so hot 🟨 I was so fine 🟨 now i🟨m fine print 🟨 speaking of which 🟨

bill reserves the right to put your soul into an inanimate object 🟨 a strange creature 🟨 a concept 🟨 a sentence 🟨 a tasteful but rusty mason jar with wildflowers in it 🟨

if at any point you wish to have visitation rights with your soul 🟨 you will be swiftly denied 🟨 unless you had a cool day planned for the both of you 🟨 then bill might want to come along 🟨

by signing this document you forfeit any rights to eating soul food 🟨 it will turn to ash in your mouth 🟨 a fitting punishment for a fool who squandered the only true gift life owes you 🟨 bill reserves the right to dress your soul however he deems necessary 🟨 especially if your soul was a nerd before acquisition 🟨 soulmakeoverrr 🟨

your soul may become fractured and placed into different objects 🟨 this has no purpose and will not resurrect you if you die 🟨 signee has forfeited all rights to any afterlife 🟨 including but not limited to 🟨 heaven 🟨 hell 🟨 purgatory 🟨 big corner 🟨 flow state 🟨 the dream house 🟨 the reincarnation processing center 🟨 axolotl🟨s tank and consequences hole 🟨

signee can no longer board the soul train and is advised to discard all bellbottoms 🟨 signee can no longer have a puppy as a best friend 🟨 they can sense what is gone 🟨 cats are indifferent 🟨

signee may experience occasional demon possessions from horculus the red 🟨 plabos the merciless 🟨 morbus son of mortem 🟨 plaga the oozing and other such common demons roamimg earth searching for weakened 🟨 empty vessels 🟨

tips for ripping your soul out at home 🟨 watching youtube commentary channels 🟨 attending an extended family event with an open bar 🟨 using generative ai and asserting that you are creative 🟨 turning a blind eye to human suffering 🟨 amassing more wealth than needed 🟨 purchasing a blue checkmark

AND THAT'S THAT. I am seeing this code in my sleep :D Anyways, as they say, always read the fine print, unless it's THIS long in which case by god just take this post instead 👍🏼

I'll go back to seeing these symbols whenever I close my eyes now. Take care and don't sign your soul away uninformed <3

#gravity falls #the book of bill #book of bill spoilers #long post

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novasintheroom · 8 months ago

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083. Blind

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.7k

♡ Warnings - none

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Every time I

Look into your eyes

I am reminded of

The stars in the sky.

Vash sticks out his tongue, pen hovering over each line carefully. Well it…certainly was a poem. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. Is he ever going to get good at this?

Looking up, he sees you chatting with some of the locals nearby. You’re listening intently to a pregnant woman and her woes under a metal awning, nodding and humming to her gestures. You’re a good listener. Always have been. You’re probably sniffing out any odd jobs either of you can do to earn some cash as well.

As if feeling his eyes on you, you glance over and give him a quick smile and wink. It sends his face flushing, chuckling and scratching the back of his neck shyly. Vash gives his own wink back. He looks back down at the little black book in his lap. Leg shaking up and down, he tries to think. How to describe you? How to tell in a poem what you mean to him?

He tries again.

Your hair like silk –

He crosses it out.

With grace like swans, you –

Double cross. (What even are swans?)

My heart reaches for you

Even when we disagree –

He groans and closes his book. This is useless.

He hears your voice and looks up. You’re waving goodbye to the round wife and her skinny husband, calling out a ‘thank you!’ before jogging up to him. He reaches out his hand and takes your own, squeezing it. “What’d they say?” He asks.

“Do you want her life story, or just the help the blacksmith needs?” You grin.

He laughs and stands, careful on his right knee as it aches. It’s what he gets for landing on it wrong. “What does he need?”

You shrug, pulling him along gently as he puts his little black book into one of his pockets. “Just help hauling stuff around. Maybe with drawing up copies of blueprints he can sell.”

“Hm. Good work for both of us.”

It’s a quiet walk back through town. The sun is beginning to set, and it’ll be time for dinner soon. Vash’s stomach rumbles in anticipation. He’d smelled sausages somewhere near here earlier. Maybe you two could get some hot dogs.

You’re on the same wavelength, it seems. You tug him toward the market, where more people are milling about, eating, and chatting. Someone is grilling meat outside one of the shops, and it isn’t long before you both have some tomas sausage sandwiches in your hands.

“What were you writing in your little book today?” You ask around a bite.

Vash feels his ears redden, and he swallows slowly. “Nothin’. Just journaling.”

You hum, looking around at the crowds. “I need to catch up on mine. It’s been a few days.” You take another bite, hand seeking blindly out for his while your mind wanders. He gives it, squeezing back. He looks at your two hands together, intertwined and a little greasy from the sandwiches.

And suddenly, he is struck with inspiration. He finishes his sandwich quickly – he has to catch it before it leaves. He digs around for a pen frantically. Is this what artists feel when they are struck by the muses? You look over at him curiously when he pulls his hand away and takes the book out again.

Gnawing the inside of his cheek, he starts writing.

I would find you blind;

In the darkest of nights

I would seek out your hand

and know.

The tell of your breaths and beat of

Your heart –

Enough to drive me

To find your name on my tongue

In whatever life we are part of.

I hope we are one of many.

He flourishes the ‘y’ to finish the poem. It’s still rusty, but man, does it feel right. He smiles, looking up at you and falling in love again. You look back with quirked brows and a smile. “Okay, you’re writing about me; you only look at me like that when you’re getting sappy.”

Vash laughs. He laughs and laughs and kisses you, so grateful to have you. He won't show you the poem - not yet. But he'll continue to try, to write your existence in his life with the best words he can come up with.

#vash the stampede #trigun #trigun stampede #tristamp #writing #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #reader insert #self insert #nova writes #trigun x reader #150 bullets

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delenygma · 2 months ago

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FANFICTION | Rapture | Edward Nashton/The Riddler (AO3)

Takes place somewhere between issue #5 of The Riddler: Year One and just before the film, character study.

I'm a little rusty, but hope you all enjoy this anyway! It's a bit darker than my previous fics. There also might or might not be a reference to my favourite song by Mook in there.

Written whilst listening to this.

•

TW: depersonalisation, derealisation, suggestive language.

The rain hammers down on the city's rooftops with ruthless violence, distant police sirens wailing their pleas into the ether.

Edward lets out an uneven exhale, closing the lid of his laptop more forcefully than intended.

"They don't... They don't fully understand yet, do they...?" He murmurs to himself, dragging his hands across his face, slowly, wearily.

He stretches over the desk to grasp one of the numerous accounting ledgers, pain radiating through every inch of his body. Edward's vision blurs as his hand convulses, making him knock over a mug of leftover coffee.

"No... You can't rest now..." He reminds himself. "There is too much to do..."

Edward opens up the ledger and picks up a pen, his hands trembling as he begins to write.

-I CAN FEEL THIS CITY... CRYING OUT MY NAME. HER VOICE… RASPING, DESPERATE...

SHE IS DOWN ON HER BRUISED KNEES, BLEEDING, BEGGING FOR SALVATION-

Edward's breaths become heavier, strained.

He is no longer there, his body is no longer a hindrance. It is merely a vessel, an instrument to be used.

But, his mind...

-TO RECONSTRUCT YOURSELF, YOU HAVE TO ANNIHILATE YOURSELF, FIRST. BUT… GOTHAM IS SUCH A TENACIOUS LITTLE CREATURE-

His mind feels so light, bewilderingly so.

-I CAN HEAR THE SYMPHONY OF HER DYING BREATHS... BUT, IN MY HEART, I KNOW WHAT IS BEST FOR HER. I AM DOING THIS-

Edward continues to write, his scrawl becoming less and less coherent as he feels ecstasy rise in his chest.

Effervescent.

He lets out a short, hoarse laugh that hitches in his throat.

-I AM DOING THIS FOR US-

Edward’s eyelids flutter. He is so close.

-ALL THIS SUFFERING... WILL BE WORTH IT.

#del's posts #del's fanfiction #the riddler #dano riddler #edward nashton #the riddler fanfiction #dano riddler fanfiction #edward nashton fanfiction #danonation #fanfiction

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onlinekitsune · 2 years ago

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#HYPEBOY: you're my chemical hype boy ♡

ೃ⁀➷ PAIRING, GENRE, WARNINGS: mammon x gn! reader, playful teasing and sfw affection, no established relationship but a lot of flirting, no warnings! sfw, not proofread

ೃ⁀➷ SYNOPSIS: you're a good student, or at least you try to be!! daily lectures with lucifer weren't worth not trying to improve. but even when you dedicate days to studying, the one unfortunately charming demon interrupts just to tempt you to sneak out and party. is it worth just one more little lecture? or will you finally put your foot down to improve?

ೃ⁀➷ WRITER’S NOTE: hehe hiiii.... i am back from the dead whoops,, sorry for taking my sweet time on this!! i hit an kinda?? writer's block and some other not epic mental illness moments but here's the first part!! title inspired by the newjean's song bc it's what i was listening to!! i made the poll for a week but might cut it short depending!! i didn't really want it to be a day but we only get the two extremes (rip) i hope you enjoy!! i apologize for being a bit rusty!!

“Oi, human!” Mammon yelled, barging into your room. It wasn’t unusual for him to come in without any thought to knock or announce that he was coming in. You were just thankful it’d been times where you were presentable. He flopped down onto your bed, bouncing your books and papers slightly. You let out a small huff, before looking at him. “Watcha say ‘bout goin’ out tonight? Huh?” he added, stretching himself out onto your bed.

“Mm.. tonight? Can’t.” you muttered, with the end of your pen in your mouth. You tried to return your focus on your book but was interrupted by a whine. Mammon swooped your books and tossed them on your table. “Mammon… stop acting like a child.”

“You’re really gonna just stay in… and study? When you could be out and partyin’ with the coolest demon’s in the Devildom?” Mammon smirked, returning onto your bed. You roll your eyes, knowing that he wouldn’t stop unless you entertained him at least a little.

“Coolest demons? Who’s going?”

“Am I not enough for ya to go?” he pouted, resting his head on your knee. You gave him a look and booped his nose. “Fine. It’s me, your favorite. Asmodeus. He was tryin’ to convince Beel to join us. Belphie and Levi are obviously out. Satan might also join?”

“Aren’t you going to ask Lucifer?” you joked, twirling a strand of Mammon’s hair between your fingers. He was hesitant at first, until he realized you were only just joking. “We have an exam tomorrow, you know? There’s no way that Lucifer is letting anyone out tonight. You should be studying! Like moi, being a prestigious student!” you gloated, framing your hands around your jaw.

“Ya, prestigious enough to get ya a lecture from Lucifer, huh?”

Mammon was quick to shoot you down. You did intend to spend the night studying, but the exciting adrenaline of sneaking out was tempting you. You dumped the rest of your supplies onto your nightstand. Your fingers absentmindedly went back to Mammon’s hair, debating on if you were going to go to that party. “When’s the party?”

“So ya decided to go?” he beamed, going to grab his phone. You snatched it out of his hand, stopping him right in his tracks. You’d known better to give Mammon a vague answer when other people were involved. He’d drag you into it, even if you were still debating on it.

“I’m still thinking. Don’t you dare text Asmo, yet.” you replied. As you were going to hand him his phone back, a notification lit up the screen. You noticed that his lockscreen was an image of the two of you together. It was during that rare time you modeled with him. You’d be lying if that didn’t make you feel a particular way. “Cute lock screen, who’s the cutie on the left?” You teased.

Mammon’s beaming smile fell apart in seconds becoming a blushing mess. “M-Me, of course! The handsomest demon in the Devildom!”

You let out a chuckle, as you point back at his screen. Revealing to him that it was you, that was on the left. That only made his face blush ten times more.

“Lefts, rights, whatever! That ain’t fair! You’re cheatin’ little sheep!!” He pouted. You squished his face and smirked.

“How would that even be considered cheating? You silly demon.” you purred, leaning towards him. Your face was close enough to see his pupils dilate as soon as you moved your face towards his. Mammon slid beneath you and managed to toss you on your back. A move you weren’t at all expecting, but you admired his boldness. Mammon inched forward, putting you in an opposite position from the one just a few seconds ago.

“It just is darlin’... you know I'm not good with my lefts and rights.” he insinuated, pursing his lips. You tossed your head to the side and let the sly smile on your face do the talking. Your hands reached up to grab his white t-shirt he had on. The neckline was swooping low, allowing you to take a glance at his mildly chiseled chest. “Oi, my eyes are up here ya know.”

“Hmph. Now you’re cheating. You’re a model, not fair!”

“You don’t gotta be a model to be a distraction sweet thing, you should know that already.” Mammon uttered, directly in your ear. You could feel your face instantly flush. You didn’t really know what had gotten into him, but you weren’t really complaining. He pulled away and remade contact with your eyes. You lifted your body slight, leaning all your body weight on your elbows. Your nose touched his. The silence in the room was almost deafening by the ringing in your ears. Nothing in this moment matter or even made itself aware. You were too focus on the contact you had with this demon. His hands rested on your hips, making you crave for more. The physical affection was intoxicating and you couldn’t help but need more. Just a little bit more.

“Well. Are you just gonna stare at me all day or kiss me?” you whined. Mammon laughed, tossing his head down. You scrunch your nose in response. He was definitely playing hard to get, which was your usual move. Mammon regained his composure and went to kiss you. But was instead met with your hand blocking his pathway. “Nope. Changed my mind since you want to tease me.” you smirked.

“C’mon sweetheart, let me make it up to you.” He sighed, slightly muffled from your hand. “You want this kiss as bad as I do. Don’t ya even say different, it’s written’ all over your face.” You sigh, rolling your eyes to the side. He wasn’t wrong. You did want this stupid kiss. You let your hand drift from his lips slowly and made way to grasp his cheek. Your heart pounded as the two of you made way towards each other.

“Hey! Mammon!!! I’ve been texting you for thirty minutes! I hunted for you everywhere, just to see you’re in here bothering them. I got Satan to go, did you at least do your part?” a voice yelled from the door. It was Asmodeus.

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see-arcane · 1 year ago

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I am so goddamn tired.

Okay.

The Vampyres final draft is done. I’m holding off on finalizing a front, back, and spine design until I land on a good self-publishing venue so I can work with whatever format they have. ISBNs for paperback and eBook to follow. This is as far as I’ve come after an endless Promethean torture loop of:

1. Trying to comb for a self-publication option that isn’t rife with reviews listing the myriad ways authors have been fucked over by said sites’ handling and/or don’t have a mountain of user warnings about royalty-sponging and bloated service fees.

2. Dragging my brain over broken glass as every advice site yammers about the Necessity of Getting a Domain Name [$], for your Author Site [$$$], Emailing Lists, Social Media Platforming, Selling Your Brand, Befriending Fellow Authors/People in Publishing for the Sole Purpose of Social Network Ladder-Climbing, Begging for Reviews, Providing Content, Content, and More Content to Keep Your Relevance Buzzing and Your SEO Optimized!!1!

3. Marinating in the requisite mire of self-doubts and dire certainties that this whole thing is a money sink and a waste of time because for all the well-meaning encouragement from folks on and offline for me to ~*~Go For It!~*~, I’m struggling to believe that anyone will bother to drop cash for a copy of this skinny little 100+ page thing, physical, virtual or otherwise.

Rinse and repeat for weeks.

All the while I just want to have the thing done. Scraped off my hands and free to go to a shelf or a screen, maybe to get a few bucks without being gutted, so I can get back to actually making stuff. I don’t have any delusions about becoming a Big Name Author. Even those who consistently conquer the bestseller lists are rarely diving Scrooge McDuck-style into their royalty payment vault. This is just something I’ve been wanting to do. A way to get my feet wet for if/when I pen other books to fling into the world like literary frisbees. But everywhere I look, every option, every supposed requirement for doing this right, feels like handling a ball of rusty nails and razors. It’s like there’s no version of doing this that isn’t designed to take more than I or a reader-in-potentia can give.

So, you know. Sorry for the wait on this.

I’m off to ram my head into a brick wall for a while.

It’ll feel like I’ve accomplished something before I return to the slog.

#rant rave ramble #my writing #the vampyres #harker horrors

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a-littlebirdie · 2 years ago

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Foosball,Flyfishing

& "Friends"

Pairing: Price x MC (Wren, nickname Osprey) GN! Reader

Summary

John and Wren have been inseparable for the last 6 years, but neither one of them wants to admit that their relationship is nowhere near "platonic". They are released on leave for 3 months and Wren decides to take a trip back home to the states. They want to ask if John wants to go. They're just two very close friends who enjoy each others company right? What could happen?

Word Count: 5.5k ish

Author’s Note

Hello! So this is my first time posting any kind of writing since 2014. So please bare with me I may be a little rusty 😅 I just want to write some fluff and enjoy some domestic Price fly fishing. This is a two parter, maybe three depending on what I can finish by the 4th of Feb. I fly out the 6th for a job and will have limited access to internet until April, so I wanted to get this posted before I left.

Also want to note that I am not sure how much time would be between each mission, but for this we’ll say it’s around 3 months. Hope you find as much joy in this as I did!

Warnings

Too much fluff

Language

Nightmares

Slight talks of injuries

*NOT EDITED*

Part 2

______________________________________________________________

You quietly make your way through the dark and chilly halls of base. It was well into the night almost guaranteeing everyone was asleep except for the person you were looking for. A faint glow could be seen from under the door to your captain's office. Though you felt it selfish, you were relieved to see he was still awake. When you reach it you quietly knock and open the door. The room was dark with just the warm glow of the desk lamp and embers of a cigar resting on a try. John looks up and offers you a tired soft smile putting down his pen.

"Hey Osprey."

The codename made your heart flutter every time he said it.

He relaxes in his chair and opens his arms. You slowly make your way over sitting on his lap. Your normal uptight demeanour relaxes almost instantly as his strong arms engulf you making you feel safe. You hide your face in his neck, closing your eyes. This had become routine after a rough mission, but lately it's been happening more often. If you weren't going to him he'd be coming to you. You were the only ones that could bring each other back from the brink of destruction. Sometimes you'd talk about what was bothering you, but usually you just held each other until one of you fell asleep. It was your typical run-of-the-mill platonic relationship right? After all, you two had known each other for almost 6 years. Why would your relationship change all of a sudden?

You noticed that during this last mission things were evolving. Everyone noticed except John seemed to have been left out. He was much more protective over you to the point it caused the two of you to not speak for days other than exchanging plans. Thankfully the two of you made up, but there was still something off about the situation. You just couldn't put your finger on it.

You're brought out from your thoughts wincing as his hand gently grazes the wound on your shoulder. A nasty reminder of how the last mission had gone.

"Sorry love, how are you doing by the way? I know things have been hectic since we got back,"

With a yawn you sit up to look at him. His piercing blue eyes scan your face with concern.

"I'm doing alright just been having trouble sleeping because my comfy pillow has been busy." You tease with a smile and heavy eyelids. His warm presence is already lulling you to sleep. You lean back into the same position you were in with a little thud and he chuckles.

"You might need to get a new pillow then. Its seems that one isn't doing his job"

"Yeah, but he's more important things to pay attention to. I'll manage," you laugh at the ridiculous conversation.

He tightens his hold and lays his head on top of yours as he sighs,

"I know, I've been neglecting my pillow duties. I'll make it up to you."

You felt lucky. The others didn't get to see this side of John. He cared for his team and their wellbeing, but he still puts on a tough exterior, except when it was just the two of you.

"You know, this is really dangerous,"

You felt his chest rumble as he chuckles, "And why do you say that?"

"I think I'm starting to like you." You mumble sleepily. Though you said it jokingly, deep down you really mean it and it scares the life out of you. How could you start to have feelings now after all these years? Have you always had them and just pushed them down? It didn't matter. He was your captain and your friend. You're not about to ruin that.

He chuckles again and squeezes you even closer, "It's a little too late for that realisation don't you think?"

You laugh with a quiet "Mhm" and close your eyes again. You felt his large warm hand glide up and down your back lulling you asleep.

Sunshine peeks through the blinds into your face waking you up. John is still fast asleep. He's sprawled out in his chair with one foot propped on his desk and both arms wrapped securely around you. You smile to yourself enjoying the moment.

Before long John begins to stir and you feel yourself rise as he carefully sits up.

"Well good morning sunshine," You tease.

He rubs the back of his neck probably sore from the way he slept, "Good morning Osprey," his voice is raspy and tired as he tries to keep his eyes open. You wonder how much sleep he got. You try to get up, but you're pulled back into the chair. John wraps his arms around your waist and you feel sparks. A sense of giddiness floods your nerves as he rests his cheek against your back,"Please stay just a few more minutes." He whispers exhaustion radiating in his voice. He'd never been this clingy before, but you weren't complaining.

Your heart is racing as you try to compose yourself before asking, "Did you get any sleep?"

"Hmm, the last I remember is the sun coming up. What time is it now?"

You looked down at your watch,"It's only 7,"

"Have you been awake for long?"

You shake your head. You can tell he's trying to keep himself awake by how much he pauses between each word.

Rubbing your thumb over his knuckles you chuckle,"Go lay on the couch and try to get some sleep. I'll wake you before lunch."

He hums in response,”I’ll just rest my eyes for a little longer.”

His warm embrace soon releases you as you both stand up and he trudges over plopping down on the couch. Soon after you hear tiny snores escaping from his relaxed figure.

You use this time to contemplate what you were going to do now that the team was on leave for the next three months. Normally you’d stay on base or travel around the UK or Europe, but you were feeling homesick. A small town in Montana is where you call home and it's been almost two years since you had the chance to go back. You look over at John who’s still fast asleep. You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no harm in asking right? You’ve been on plenty of trips with him before. The only difference was at least one other person was always around. This time it would just be the two of you. You purse your lips before letting air escape from your nostrils. Fuck it. The worst he could say is no, and even then that wouldn’t be so bad. Confident in your decision you curl up in the chair deciding to set an alarm just in case you fall asleep, but instead your mind wanders about all the different possibilities of this trip.

Before you know it your alarm is vibrating on the desk. You glance over to John before picking it up. He turns over, his hand dropping to the floor with a thud. He grunts running his other hand over his face before sitting up and looking over at you.

“Sleep well?” You ask standing up.

“It was good enough.” He never slept as well when you weren't near him, but he wouldn't admit it.

“I’m going to go grab some food if you want to come with me or I could bring you something back?”

“I was thinking we could go off base? I need a change of scenery.” He stands up and stretches, his shirt rides up slightly and you can’t help but stare. You realise what you're doing and shake your head. You then remember back to your proposal earlier. You’d ask during lunch.

“Sounds good. These grey walls do make me gloomy.” You joke walking out the door to head back to your room.

There's a cute little restaurant nestled in the outskirts of town. Vines of ivy adorn the building giving it a cozy feel, and on the inside the walls are filled with objects and photographs of families, celebrations and the annual foosball (or as your teammates would call it “table football”) champions. The floors creak as you walk to sit down in your usual spot. You smile up at the picture of John, Soap, Gaz and you grinning triumphantly with a little plastic trophy from the last time you were here.

“Feels like ages ago doesn’t it?” John smiles at you warmly.

“Yeah we should try to do it again at some point,” you look down at the menu even though you knew what you were getting. Now was a better time than any to ask, but why were you so nervous? You lick your lips putting your menu down,”Do you have any plans for leave?”

He shakes his head,”I was just going to go back home why?”

“I was thinking of heading back home myself, to the states. Thought you’d like to tag along this time. I could show you around, and if you really wanted to I could even take you to those touristy places. I’ve got ties to most of them so we might be able to see it without all the people.”

”I’d love that,” he grins, sipping his tea,”It’ll be interesting to see what the notorious Osprey did back in the day.”

See that wasn’t so bad.

The two of you continue talking and begin planning your trip. Before you leave you decide to go a round on the foosball table. Thankfully there isn't anyone in the room which you're grateful for. You can let loose for a bit.

You stand on your side of the table with your legs spread, knees bent and serious expression as you focus on the players. John smiles at the scene. He adores your competitiveness when it comes to these types of things.

"I know the stakes are high, but damn. You're going to bore a hole in the table before we even start." He laughs, placing the tiny ball in the middle of the table.

"I'm getting that cigar and there is no way you're getting into my sketchbook,"

They were silly stakes, but if you know John Price you know how important his cigars are to him. Your sketchbook was very dear to you. You brought it everywhere to capture moments and scenery. It was a way to ground yourself and remember the special moments, but no one was allowed to look at them.

"We'll see about that," he copies your stance with a smug grin.

You're the first to have the ball as you move from side to side trying to keep it. You make the shot and it gets clipped by one of John's players flinging it back to the middle.

You groan,"Oh come on."

He takes control of the ball as you're both yelling at the little players. After constantly going back and forth for about 15 minutes John scores. You swear under your breath.

"Best 2 out of 3?" You give him a toothy grin.

He put his hands on the ridge of the table leaning forward with a smug grin, "That'd mean doubling the stakes wouldn't it?"

"Ok, what do you want?" You cross your arms across your chest.

He leans back thinking. He smiles to himself before shaking his head, "I want you to take me fly fishing."

You drop your arms to your side chuckling, "I honestly thought you were going to put me on power washing duty or something,"

"I don't trust you or Soap with the power washer. Last time you both spent over an hour drawing in the concrete," he huffs shaking his head.

"We got it cleaned in the end didn't we?" You laugh, placing the ball back on the table,"Ok for my double or nothing, forget the cigar, if I win you have to shave your face," you grin with your hands behind your back.

He scoffs, running a hand over his beard,"No way. I'll give you a whole box of my cigars before I do that,"

"Oh come on, I thought you were confident in your foosball abilities?"

He pauses for a second,"You know, you're right. What am I worrying about?"

The table rattles as you both fling and twist the rods to take control of the ball. For a split second John glances at you taking in the scene. He loved little moments like these with you. It was like you were a different person. In the field you were cold and stern except when you were comforting someone, but here right now, you're relaxed and goofy and he loves every bit of it. He's thrown out of the trance when you start doing a little happy dance spinning around.

"Baby face Price here we come!"

He gives you a hearty laugh, "Don't get cocky now sweetheart. You just caught me off guard."

"Yeah sure sure. Whatever floats your boat Captain."

The next round lasts a little longer, but John manages to score the last shot.

"Ah I can't wait to see what masterpieces you keep hidden away," he smiled triumphantly.

You sneer trying to keep the smile off your face. You were secretly excited that he'd get to see your works. You just hope he likes them. You're bummed out that you wouldn't get to see the team's reaction when they saw their Captain without any facial hair though.

"Oh come on, cheer up. You'll have other opportunities. No one likes a sore loser," a mischievous grin grows on his face as he cautiously makes his way to you.

"Johnathan Price you better not," You point at him bracing yourself to make a run for it still trying to keep the smile off your face. He takes a bigger step than you anticipate and you yelp running to the other side of the room. It's a short chase, both of you laughing like a bunch of children before he cuts you off wrapping his arms around you tickling you. Oh how he loves hearing you giggle. It always warms his heart when he is graced with the sound.

Your giggles erupt from your chest as you flail your limbs trying to get him to stop.

He stops for a moment, "Forgot to ask, but do I need to get a can of worms for the fish too?" he grins, still holding you in his lap.

You roll your eyes laughing "No Neal you don't need worms, but be sure to bring sunscreen."

He raises his eyebrows, "Oh it's going to be that type of trip huh?"

You shove him laughing,"You're such an ass."

"Ouch right in the heart," He fains hurt making you roll your eyes again.

"Ah you'll live Captain," you joke leaning back away from him. You try to hide your grimace as you roll your shoulder.

"I completely forgot about your shoulder. Are you ok?"

You give a small laugh seeing how his expression did a 180 from mischievous to worried.

"Yes I'm ok, I did too honestly," you try to look at it.

He gently lifts the bandage,"Stitches still look good. Must have just irritated it," he gives you an apologetic smile.

"That's good. I'll take something for it tonight. Don't worry, I'll be alright." You stand up offering your hand, "Now what do you say we get out of here? It's karaoke night. Remember how much we love that?" You chuckle quietly remembering the time the two of you were drunk off your asses and decided to sing a duet to Elton John's "Don't Go Breaking My Heart."

He groans, "Oh god please let's get out of here before that starts." He takes your hand as he stands up, "We might have time to go to Knacker's. I haven't had any in ages."

"Can never say no to Knacker's."

The two of you walk hand in hand back to the truck. Neither of you want to let go, but you didn't want to admit it either. Once you reach Knacker's and get your custard you decide to take a stroll along the pier and down to the beach.

It was later in the evening now and the sun was starting to set. Some families were starting to pack up and others were enjoying the sunset. A stray football comes whizzing by, but John's quick thinking keeps it from going into the ocean. He smiles at the kid kicking it back. They pick it up with a grin and a 'thank you' as they run back to the group of kids playing. It was short and sweet, but seeing John with kids always made your heart flutter.

You find a place to sit and finish your custard. The sky was now a pinkish colour with hints of gold scattered across the sky.

"It's nice being able to just relax and be normal for a change you know?" You pulled your knees to your chest and rested your hands and chin on them.

"It is. Not very often we get to huh?"

He leans back on his hands, sighing.

It was silent for a bit before a thought came to your mind.

"Have you ever thought of retiring? From the military I mean."

"Not really. It's something I always thought I'd do until I can't. I would have liked to of settled down, but it's too late for that."

You look over at him with soft eyes, "I wouldn't say it's too late. You've still got time."

You see a distant flash of sadness in his eyes as he looks to the sky, but it quickly changes to that of a more joking expression to try and hide what he's really thinking,"I've got to find someone that can handle me," he nudges your shoulder playfully, "I can be quite the handful."

You laugh,"Oh I'm well aware of that trust me."

As the sun sets further below the horizon clouds begin to form and it starts to drizzle.

"I guess we should get going before the bottom falls out," you sigh.

John gives you a questioning and amused look, "Before what?"

"Before the bottom falls out?" You roll your eyes and laugh, "before it starts raining really hard."

"Between you and McTavish I can't keep up with your slang sometimes." He chuckles,"but I guess we should get going."

He stands up and offers his hand and you grab it hoisting yourself up. You make it to the truck to see that the parking lot is empty.

Before you get in you stop,"You know what I've always wanted to do?"

"What's that?"

"Dance in the rain. It's not lightning and no one's here." You grab your phone from your pocket and go to your dance playlist.

The rain is heavier now. Not too hard, but enough that your clothes are soaked. John leans against the hood of the truck and smiles in amusement and amazement at you watching as you dance around letting the music guide your movements. You look so free and happy.

He joins and the two of you dance and laugh until you accidentally bump into him almost making the two of you fall, but John catches you pulling you back to him. You're laughing hysterically while he's looking at you with a crinkle eye smile, "You're quite something you know that?"

It all felt so euphoric. All you can do is give him a dopey smile. It was then you realise how close he was to you and you can feel your cheeks heat up.

He looks at your lips and back up at you. He's about to lean down when a clap of thunder makes both of you jump back.

"I think that's our cue to get going." He internally curses at himself for suggesting it and losing his chance.

You chuckle as you nod and the both of you take off for the truck.

A cold shiver runs down your spine as the air comes on. You quickly turn the vent away from you and turn on the heated seat. You prop up against the window with your arm looking outside.

"Have you started packing yet?"

You look over at him, "Yeah I did last night. I still have a little bit to pack though. Why?"

"I have to talk with Laswell, but I do not want to spend another night on that God awful cot. Do you want to head back to my place after?"

"It would be nice to have an actual bed," You chuckle propping your elbow on the middle console, "I hope I'm dried by then because I'm about to freeze my ass off."

He chuckles, reaching behind him,"Take my jacket. It'll keep you warm."

You grab the jacket and put it on. The famous smell of cedar and cigars engulf you as you close your eyes and smile.

"Thank you."

"Don't take too much of a liking to it though. That's one of my favourites,"

"Mmm you're never getting this back. It's mine now," you tease, shrinking into your seat closing your eyes.

He chuckles, shaking his head. He admits he loves seeing you in his clothes. Something about it just made him feel so warm inside.

The ride back was quiet compared to on the way out. The silence was filled with the gentle patter of rain and the radio. John smiles over at you. Your hair was starting to curl up as it dried. Something you had complained about multiple times in the past, but he thought it was cute.

You're still asleep as you pull into base. John gently nudges you,"Alright Osprey, we're back."

You groan not wanting to move from the warm cocoon you had made yourself, but against your better judgement you open your eyes and take the jacket off placing it on the console for later. You hop out of the truck following John into the building.

"I'll come get you when I get out of the meeting with Laswell and then we can head out." He gives you a quick smile and you part ways as you head to your room to finish packing.

You decide to wait to change until you get to John's because you didn't want to have to change again so you instead opt to just add a beanie to tame your wild curls.

You swing your duffle bag over your good shoulder as you hear a knock at your door.

"Ready?"

You nod with a smile and follow him out to the truck. It's still pouring out so you have to make a run for the truck. Once inside you repeat your routine from earlier and curl up against the console.

As you get closer to his house he turns the radio down, "Have any idea what you want for dinner while we are out?"

"I've really been craving Chinese since we got back,"

"I know a great place. We'll get it to go and bring it home."

"Sounds like a plan. Can we please watch A River Runs Through It? I've been thinking about it all day," you say sheepishly. You've seen the movie at least a 1000 times, but it's easily your favourite movie because it reminds you of home.

"Yes we can." he laughs softly.

It didn't take long to order your food and head back to John's place. When you reach it you smile seeing the quaint little cottage that sat hidden away by the tall hedge fence and trees.

You have stayed here before many times, but never just you. You and Gaz usually stayed over after long missions, and others had been a couple of times. The whole 141 team had stayed after celebrating a little too much one night. There was only one guest room and the couch pulled into a bed, but everyone wanted the bed in the guest room. At one point all of you were piled in the guest room on the queen size bed which felt a lot smaller at the time. Soap was laid on top of Ghost and Gaz laid sprawled out over you and Ghost like a starfish. How you all managed to get a decent amount of sleep was beyond you.

"I'll get our bags and you get the food." The rain had picked up and you could barely see in front of you as you ran for the door behind John. Once inside you put the food on the counter and head down the hallway to the guest room to change. You take the beanie off ruffling your curly hair and decide to pull it into a high ponytail. You then change into one of your favourite hoodies and a pair of shorts and head back to the kitchen stopping by the washer to throw in your clothes and hang John's jacket up to dry.

"So when was the last time you were able to watch this movie?" He chuckles handing you your food as both head to the den.

"When I made y'all watch it actually. So about a year or two?" You sit on the couch cross legged eagerly waiting for the movie to start.

While watching the movie you point out little details and talk about how much Missoula had changed since the film came out. John loves watching movies with you because he loves hearing what is going on in your mind. He could tell how much this movie meant to you just by the way you talk about it.

As the ending credits roll you quickly wipe away stray tears that have managed to escape and try to cover them up, "I can take you to some of the spots they filmed at, but there may be quite a few people there this time of year. I know some secret spots too so either way we can enjoy ourselves."

"Wherever you go I'll follow." He gives you that signature smile.

You return it and yawn, "I think I'm going to turn in for the night," you pat his leg and stand up stretching, "I've had a lot of fun today though. Thank you for letting me goof around for a bit. I really needed that."

"Anytime, we all need to let loose sometimes." He gives you a warm smile.

You say your goodnights and head to the kitchen to throw your trash away before heading to bed.

______________________________________________________________

You wake up in a cold sweat panting as you frantically look around the room trying to figure out where you were. You lean back against the headboard and close your eyes to breathe, but all you see are their lifeless bodies. Those who you couldn't save. This last mission had really taken a toll on you as much as you hated to admit it. You understood you couldn't save everyone, but that didn't make it any easier when it happened. You wipe your hand over your face trying to hold back the tears and slide out of bed. You notice your shoulder is sticky and you touch it seeing your finger turn red.

"Oh fuckin' hell of course." You mumble to yourself sniffling as the tears are threatening to spill over. You walk over to your bag to grab your med kit and head to the bathroom. You shut the door and hop on the sink after turning on the light. A few of your stitches had broken and they needed to be fixed. You've had to do this many times, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. You bite the inside of your lip concentrating on the stitching instead of the pain. You hit a particularly sensitive area that made you flinch and hit your head on the medicine cabinet making you exclaim a rather loud,"fuck."

You hear footsteps as you're finishing up the last couple of stitches and a knock at the door, "You okay in there?"

"Yeah I'm fine," Your voice was shaky and not very convincing. You finish off and go to bite the thread as the door opens.

You freeze. Your teeth are still on the thread. You must look ridiculous right now perched up on the sink like this, eyes bloodshot, hair in disarray.

"Wren, what the hell are you doing?" He very rarely used your real name, but when he did it usually meant he was concerned.

You laugh nervously and then bite the thread, "My stitches broke and I needed to fix them."

"What happened?" He reaches out to you but you flinch away. That's all he needs, to know exactly what happened, "You saw them again didn't you?" He spoke so softly as if any loud noises would scare you away. You just nod and the tears start falling as you start to shake. He gently wraps his arms around you and you cling to his shirt sobbing. It breaks John's heart seeing you like this. He wants nothing more than to take away all your nightmares and fears.

"Shh it's alright love, you're ok." He strokes your hair placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

You don't know how long you stay like that, but you're finally able to breathe again, "Thank you," Your voice barely audible as you pull back to look at him, "I'm sorry about your shirt by the way." You are eye level with him, something you're not used to.

"It's perfectly fine," he whispers chuckling, "Do you want to try to get some sleep?"

You nod and he helps you down. You feel so small behind him, his tall frame towering over you shielding you from anything that would come your way. You head back to your room with John and crawl up on the bed sitting up against the headboard. You didn't want to go to sleep just yet. You're too afraid of what you'll see.

John sits down on the edge of the bed and gently grabs your hand pulling you from your thoughts, "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head, "There's not really much to talk about. It's the same thing over and over again. I'm just standing there watching..." you trail off not wanting to continue.

"But you didn't just stand there when it actually happened did you?" He takes your face into his hands. They're warm and rough, but gentle at the same time, "No, you fought and gave everything you had to try and save them. It's not your fault. Nobody blames you for what happened."

You lean into his touch and close your eyes as a few tears escape, "Thank you John. That means a lot coming from you."

He leans forward and places a soft kiss on your forehead, "I don't like seeing you so beside yourself like this. You know you can come to me if you ever need someone to listen."

"I know. I appreciate you saying that." You give him a small smile.

He stands up, but you instinctively grab his arm to stop him.

"Please don't go," you responded quietly.

He looks at you with soft eyes, "I'm just going to turn the lamp off." His voice was so soft it made you feel safe and at ease.

You let him go and he walks over to turn off the lamp and then climbs on the other side of the bed. You scoot over to him and lay your head on his chest. He wraps his arm around you as you feel yourself drifting off to sleep to the sweet sound of his heart beat.

'We're just friends right?' You both think to yourselves.

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melancholicbat666 · 8 months ago

Text

Shhh...

Y/N Ray was writing in his small, unlined Moleskine notebook in the living room of the apartment, sitting in the armchair that used to be the place for Sherlock's trips to the mind palace."The patient shows mild signs of possible bipolar disorder. These are: Crises of euphoria, accompanied by-"

The woman's writing was interrupted, and not by the sound of footsteps in the apartments above, or a drunk shouting in the street, it was Sherlock, playing and strumming his violin, as he did every chance he got, even if he was in the way, of course. Sitting cross-legged, she took her eye off her notebook and looked up. Sherlock was playing looking up, staring without philosophizing or reflecting, he seemed to be trying to hear the tones he was using clearly.

"Sherlock." He didn't answer. "Sherlock?" He looked down for a millisecond, then went back to what he was doing.

He turned away, but didn't go into another room.

"Your violin can wait, Sherlock, but my clients can't."

He finally stopped, taking the violin off his shoulder and relaxing his arms. As he stared at the "horizon" in front of him, he said: "Your brain shouldn't be so underdeveloped that a noise gets in your way"

Now he's turned his head a little, giving a view of his profile to Y/N.

"The sound of your failing pen with ink drying on the tip makes me want to vomit, but I don't complain."

"Wow, that's nice, congratulations Sherlock! Am I going to be selfish and ask you to let me do my job?" She said in a sarcastic tone, and almost immediately Sherlock returned with his melody.

Y/N stared at him, seated and stressed to the max, but there's no point in stressing, not with Sherlock, the right thing to do would be to use his weak point against him, like in a cartoon. She put her notebook aside, along with her pen, and stood up quietly.

Y/N came up behind Sherlock, placing her face against his back as if he were a pillow. Holmes stopped playing and again turned his head to the side, trying to look at Ray. He went back to the melody. She didn't give up and neither did he, and insisting Y/N ran his hands over Sherlock's belly, the violin's melody shuddered.

Ray continued, and kissed the man's neck, and the symphony was interrupted:"Stop." He said, looking straight ahead, as he had done a while ago.

"No," she said, unable to accept defeat in that war. Sherlock's ears turned red, Y/N could see as she continued to hug him.

Music louder and stronger than he'd ever heard began to echo around the room, perhaps even the building, but he was still stubborn and his pride, stronger than anything she'd ever known, wouldn't let him win.

"I need to get to work." she said, now lowering her hand to Sherlock's groin, which slowly lost the rhythm and control of the violin, in the end only forming something like passing a fork through a rusty iron. The thin man seemed to get angry, turned and looked at her with his blue eyes and said "You stress me out." He's lost very little of his classic straight posture from when he played the violin "I'll find a case"

He grabbed his long coat and put the instrument away. As he walked out the door, he fiddled with his cell phone, probably texting Jhon.

"I guess I can be a bit harsh sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

#x reader fanfiction #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #history #music #violin #bbc sherlock #sherlock fandom #oneshot #221b baker street

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eudaimonia83 · 2 years ago

Text

So, first things first, hi. I’m new here. Getting used to it still, but it seems nice. 😊 Probably gonna use it mostly for fics, as I am not a theorist or an artist.

And this post is old news. It was posted for Gwynriel Weeks earlier this year. But in prep for putting up some fic teasers for a long-form WIP, here’s my little Gwynriel one shot. AO3 links included. Hope y’all enjoy.

AO3:

RESEARCH (Gwynriel Week 2023)

It was getting late. Gwyn sat back in her chair and tossed her pen and note cards onto the page to hold her place. She lit the hovering faelight with a twirl of her finger, flooding the parchment page before her in a warm golden glow; and stretched, languidly extending her neck to rub out the crick she always got when leaning forward over a book. It was worse when the book had caught her interest; she could remain in one physical position for hours then, her mind racing and pursuing and intent after the content, only to crash back to stillness and find every muscle in her back rusty with disuse.

It had been even worse when she’d started training up in the amphitheater. The natural soreness of her muscles after a morning of running, and lifting to increase the strength in her arms and back, and clenching her abdominal muscles to adjust her balance as she swung swords and threw knives, had had her feeling as though her entire body was in knots. She’d even woken up from exhausted sleep, time and again, with her legs screaming at her, her calves and thighs locked like iron.

I suppose it’s better than waking from the nightmares, she admitted to herself. No cold sweats. No racing heart. And fortunately, as she had accustomed to the routines, her strength had increased and her cramps had eased a bit. But hunching over a book for hours; that soreness was never going to stop.

Mostly because I hope I’m never going to stop getting lost in books, she thought, and smiled. The pool of faelight narrowed as the little glowing bulb drifted further above her head, and the darkness of the shelves surrounding her desk lightened ever so slightly from an inky black to a comforting blue.

Now, this current tome, for instance.

It was a massive contemporary history of the recent war, an advance copy bound much larger than standard, with many hundreds of pages of small type, footnoted and bracketed and exhaustively referenced. Merrill wanted it annotated for her chapter on the modern Valkyries as an addendum, to give context for the reason why the unit had reinstated.

Overall it was a rather dry read. For all his notoriety, the author, Hasiod, had made some choices for relating events that Gwyn could not fathom. The war with Hybern had not exclusively been a field military victory, thanks to Nesta and her sisters, but instead of giving an account of the Cauldron and its destruction and reforming, he had chosen to focus heavily on the armies that Amren had destroyed.

And that very spot was where she had been sucked in.

The passage in question detailed the Illyrian forces’ attack on the Hybern army. She leaned over the page again.

And in that region of the field Hybern arrayed his army: the king himself led his elite warriors on the right wing, eighty thousand strong. His other force, mounted and afoot, held the left. The Illyrian stalwart infantry held the centre, posted on the spider web with artillery and two thousand well-armed knights, and the light-armed archers and Wind-runners, whose long tunics carried them about like sailboats in the fierce winds of the coldest Court in the Prythian alliance.

Gwyn sighed. Hasiod had a gift for picturing fields as maps, and describing strategy with ease; but he had not given due credit to the High Lady, or even identified her as such, despite grudgingly calling her valiant. But truth be told, she had skipped over all the rest of it until her eyes caught the sentence late in the paragraph: “Azriel and two others, who laid waste their attackers with a speed that most called devastating to behold.” The line was footnoted, and she flipped to the reference page to find it attributed to a primary interview with a combatant from the second legion. She wished she could ask more questions. She wanted to know so many things. To know how it had looked, through the bristling metal forest of spears and swords and armor, sprouting like bulrushes across the field; the snow and ice ringing the dark heaving mass of the army in bright white that reflected the sun so sharply it might as well have been a mirror. Maybe it had cut the Winter sun enough to splinter light into colors at the honed edges of the blades; maybe the cobalt blasts from his siphons had slashed great holes in the opposing forces. Maybe he’d been moving too fast to see at a distance how many had engaged with him, and fallen around him. Maybe his armor reflected the light; or maybe the rippling dark scales of it sucked light away, until his shadows could encircle him and he effectively disappeared…

Fawning idiot.

Gwyn shook her head and sat up again. The annotation was due by the end of the night, and Merrill would not be pleased to see that her eyes had caught on any mention of the shadowsinger. She could hear her already, her cold voice, uninflected and spare: his battle prowess is irrelevant to our scholarly pursuits. Gwyn wrinkled her nose. Well, that might be true, but had anyone actually interviewed Azriel about what had happened in the Summer and Winter courts? An appendix, to Hasiod, written by Gwyneth Berdara…a high accolade indeed…

There was a gentle rustle from the depth of the stacks. Gwyn was instantly alert; even though she knew the library better than almost anyone, she still wasn’t quite comfortable with how easy it would be to sneak up on someone while among the massive shelves. She gently doused the faelight and, tucking the book under her arm, slipped down the row. The books yawned up into the darkness. It felt like she was walking down the hallway of a temple. With a jealous god watching, she thought with a shiver.

She saw the spill of light around the edge of the shelves at the corner of the card catalogue station. Someone was looking for something.

And she knew who it was.

Even in the darkness, she sensed the shadows, roiling and whispering and tee-hee-heeing. They spiraled around the shelves of books and ribboned up her arms. Maybe it was a feeling, or an imagining, or just a whisper at the edge of her thoughts…welcome, Valkyrie.

She smiled, unable to think of them without affection. They were like ghostly little imps. But her attention was caught by the ring of faelight…the shadowsinger underneath it, shoulders stooped, great wings rising above his back in sharp crescents, folded tightly against him.

Annoyed, the shadows confirmed. He is annoyed. She liked how they thought of “him,” with a strong and gusting affection. Or was that hers?

My heart is treacherous.

They wound into her hair and sat next to her ear. No. Loyal. One of them tweaked a dangling copper curl. Pretty too.

Then, as she blushed, they spiraled away, chittering in excitement at their own daring.

Thus they attracted the attention of their lord.

“What is the matter with all of you tonight?” he barked in frustration. “And where have you been?”

Gwyn moved closer, intentionally making noise to betray her presence. “Visiting me, of course.”

He spun and his wings lifted above his back, a huge clawed silhouette slicing across the cone of faelight. The glow refracted through the membrane, which was more delicate than she remembered, and only black if you didn’t bother to look closely. Up close, it was deep gold, the color of ancient bronze, burnished to a dark patina. Gwyn had only ever seen those wings fully extended once; even then, with her life shattered around her, it had caught her torn heart in her throat. She swallowed.

But she smiled, merrily as she could, shrugged, and said with feigned coolness, “Seems your smoky little friends are more sociable than you, shadowsinger.”

His jaw shifted, and the hazel eyes softened ever so slightly. “Berdara.”

“What are you doing here so late?”

“Reading,” he said, and there was an ember of humor in his voice that sent a thrill up her neck, soft as cobwebs. She sternly squelched it. “As one does in a library.”

“Reading, yes. This would be a poor place to practice swordplay, although that never stopped Nesta.” She laughed. “You shouldn’t be in here, though. It’s too late for Clotho to be awake to let you in. I shouldn’t be here this late and I have a researcher’s privilege…”

He shifted his balance from one foot to another; only once, keeping himself steady. The wings rustled. Troubled, whispered the gamboling shadows, before settling between the books on the shelves.

Gwyn didn’t know how she knew it, but something was wrong.

“Can I help you find anything? I know our collection well.”

“No,” he said, quickly — too quickly.

She moved forward, and the circle of light glowed in her eyes, a ripple of sun hitting the sea floor. She searched his face for a minute, earnest, keen. She knew it was foolish to press him for details. Frivolous, even. The shadowsinger was an enigma, and he always would be. But she couldn’t help but want to find him an answer, open him like a rusty latch on a locket.

“Well,” she said lightly, and perched against one of the desks that dotted the stacks. “Then perhaps you won’t mind if I do my own work while you read.” She untucked Hasiod’s advance copy from under her arm and opened it on her lap.

He frowned slightly as she removed her note sheets from the page she had been reading and picked up her quill. The pen stood at attention briskly as she swept it around the text, quoting a block of it for footnotes in Merrill’s appendix. A few shadows clustered with interest near the spine of the book.

“A History of Modern Prythian?” Azriel read. “Why would that need to be annotated in Merrill’s work? Is she not writing about the Valkyries?”

Gwyn shrugged. “Merrill is nothing if not thorough, and the source for the rebanding of the unit is the instability brought on by the war with Hybern. So we research, and we annotate.”

“Instability,” Azriel forced out. “There isn’t any instability. Not since we defeated him.”

“Oh? But there is weakness in the Spring Court, which the other courts spend days and weeks discussing how to shore up? And the humans, allied with forces mysterious even to the eldest and most wise of the High Fae? Instability is a nice way to say that. And the autocracy of Autumn and Night —“

“The Night Court is not autocratic.”

Gwyn raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps not to you or me. But I suspect you’d get a different answer on that if you asked the Lesser Fae of Spring. Or even their High Lord.”

A flicker in his eyes. Anger?

Surprise, soothed the shadows.

Gwyn filled the silence with the crinkle of a page. “But this part isn’t about politics. This is about the war, its causes, practices, and effects. And it makes mention of some of the people I know.”

She cleared her throat and read aloud.

Among General Cassian’s warriors, the Carynthian Azriel opposed the Hybern foot soldiers on the left flank with siphons agleam (and held a line of near two hundred feet while on foot and airborne on his Illyrian wings). On the opposite flank of the Prythian array came the High Lord of the Night Court and his lady, the valiant Feyre. The spears of Hybern’s phalanx, in the centre, were arrayed against Azriel and two others, who laid waste their attackers with speed that most called devastating to behold.

He held up a hand to stop her. “Who wrote this?”

“Hasiod.” She beamed at him. “One of the great academic historians.”

“Did he know, this great academian, that he was just making shit up?”

She stiffened with indignation. “His accounts are verified by at least four sources.”

He snorted. “All of whom were clearly at the back of the legions.”

She squinted. The faelight gilded her hair and the shadows, one of them bolder than the rest, crept closer to her elbow. “All right then, Carynthian,” she said briskly, leaning forward with the quill hovering over the page. “You tell me where he’s wrong and I’ll edit it for you. Then we’ll submit it for review by the Day Court scholars, and in a year or more it’ll be corrected…”

“The visibility that day was shit. Close to zero.” Azriel’s fists clenched thinking of it. “And the topography was shallow enough that no one in the fighting force could have seen the center of the field. We didn’t have the high ground and we paid dearly for it.”

Her eyes were wide, clear, verdant with interest. “So the Illyrians couldn’t see you fly?”

“They barely could see the front line of Hybern as it crashed into them,” Azriel said bitterly. “I held the line, it’s true, but they also held the line. Even as they died. They should be mentioned at least.”

She spoke quietly. “Who were they?”

“The Illyrian legion?”

“No…the others who fought with you.” She bent over the tome and found the sentence. “Hasiod says Azriel and two others. Who were they? Your friends?”

The tightness in his voice hurt her when he spoke, like touching a wire that had been extended over an open flame.

“They were not my friends,” he said. “I have no Illyrian friends. But they were decent males, and better warriors. And they fought well.”

“I guess Cassian and Emerie aren’t your friends then,” she teased, but retracted when she saw his expression. “What were their names?”

He hesitated before replying. “Rayan and Malik. From the Eastern Steppes. Oristians.”

Gwyn’s quill swept over the page, inserting the citation and labeling it as a primary source. “Were you afraid?”

Azriel stared at her. “It’s war. It’s what I’m trained for.”

“I know, but…”

“It is my honor and my duty.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“Toward my court and my brother. I would do it again, and again.”

“But Az —“

He turned away from her, back to the book he had been reading when she walked up. The wings pulled up against his back, shielding him almost completely from her view. She sat still, stunned. The shadows were silent.

She looked down at the page, which blurred before her eyes. Don’t cry.

The silence stretched between them, almost a physical thing, elongating and winding until it was tight as a drum. She had no idea what to say to break it, unless she wanted it to explode, toppling the stacks and crushing them both beneath the weight of the millions of books. In some ways, that seemed appropriate. Books could bear silence, even silence like this, angry and heavy. They kept their truth within like a jewel in a box, until someone chose to read it.

But people weren’t books.

How could anyone survive this way, with this much inside, and not go mad? It had almost happened to her, but for her friends. How did the shadowsinger bear it?

She rubbed at her neck, feeling all the tension settle there as she continued annotating. Her hands felt oddly hot. Her ears throbbed like coals. She was sure her face was crimson. The shadows stirred fretfully around Azriel’s feet. She scented something acrid.

…smoke…?

A thin ribbon of it curled up from where she was annotating. A dark spot on the page…the exact shape of her fingers…no no no no, an advance copy, Merrill would kill her in cold blood, why did she always destroy beautiful things, why, why? She snatched her hand back, the book tumbling from her lap with an uneven thud, and leapt to her feet. Azriel whirled, the shadows murmuring around him. In the faelight, he seemed made of something else, something unknown…all the light in the world, after all, could race with the speed of the angels wherever it needed to and wanted to, but it would always find the darkness had gotten there first…

“Berdara?” His voice seemed to come from very far away. “Are you all right?”

She looked up and met his eyes, and felt coolness trickle down her spine like a trail of water. “I’m well.”

The shadows spiraled up, peering curiously at her. Lying? they seemed to wonder. The shadowsinger stared at her too. He stepped closer to her, and she felt her chest catch, like her heart on a fishing line…

“Are you sure?”

The heat was receding slowly, as though it were seeping back into a crack, like those paintings she’d seen of the volcanoes on the continent where the glowing blood of the earth etched bright lines across the dark ground. She breathed, slowly in and out. Mind-stilling. Yes. Ever so slowly, back to normal.

“I’m well,” she repeated, and gave him a tense smile. “I promise.”

His eyes swept over her, appraising, sharp. “You’re wound brittle as glass.”

She let out a single syllable of a laugh. “It happens. I’m fine.”

Uncertain, the shadows fretted. Unconvinced.

She rubbed at her sore neck, seeking the relief of the pressure of her fingers.

“Here. Let me.”

He extended a hand to her and stopped, waiting for her permission. Suddenly she felt an ache that was new, searing; the ache that surrounds an emptiness, starting in her gut and creeping lower…

She nodded, and reached up to pull her hair over to the other side. His fingers alighted gently on her shoulder, pressing, slow strokes that pushed the tension from the strands of her muscles and evaporated it into the air.

“Do you get tension like this often?” he asked, his thick eyebrows closing together in a frown.

“Sometimes,” she said. Her voice sounded hollow. “It was worse when we started training.”

He nodded. “Drink water before bed,” he said, his fingers pushing closer to her neck. “A full carafe. And I’ll have one of the healers make you a poultice you can bring to the library with you.”

Her eyes rounded, and he tilted his head, expression still serious. “Well, even if you never train again, you’re not ever going to stop hovering over these dusty books, are you?”

Teasing, the shadows soothed. No anger.

Gwyn let out a shaky laugh. “No,” she agreed. “The dusty books will have me for all time.”

He pressed more firmly, and stopped when she let out a huff of air. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” she said. “It feels…nice. You can keep doing it.”

He resumed the gentle pressure, then added a hand on the other side. “If I get behind you I can get lower in your back. That’s where the tension usually begins.”

She tensed; how was he to know that she got cold with fear when anyone was behind her? She kept everyone at an angle, hoping to keep them in her peripheral vision. It’ll be well, she thought, fighting the panic that welled in her throat. It’s Azriel. It’s not them. It’s him. She closed her eyes and nodded, and he stepped behind her, then pushed out his wings with a rush of air. She could see him on either side of her now.

She relaxed, and he adjusted his grip so his thumbs pressed firmly against her upper back, right above her shoulder blades. They moved in slow circles. Slow, warm circles.

“I’m sorry I asked you that,” she said, and she felt his hands stop, before beginning to move again. “I shouldn’t pry.”

He was quiet, but it was a different kind of silence this time. Almost expectant; the silence that precedes a question.

“Were you?” he asked, just as his finger slid between her shoulder blades with firm, even pressure. How can it hurt and feel so good at the same time…?

“Afraid, I mean,” he continued. “When you awoke. In the Blood Rite.”

“Yes,” she said, and it was the wave of a whisper undulating. “I knew I would die. If I didn’t…” her voice snagged as his fingers pressed harder, rubbing upward. “…if I didn’t find a way to hide.”

He made a thoughtful noise. “Nesta said you were the one who suggested the three of you do the Breaking.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t seem fearful, Berdara.”

“That was when we were together,” she said. “And I’d always been alone before, so I knew we had a chance if we did it as one. But yes, I was still afraid. I just…” she sighed, soft as the wind in the trees. “If I died, I wanted to die the way I wanted to. If someone sang a glorious ballad about us, we at least would be a memory. A symbol. Sometimes that’s more powerful than a person.”

He rubbed more firmly. Her muscles yielded beneath those scarred, elegant fingers. No pain. Only spreading warmth, gentle and firm, seeping through her robes and shift and skin and muscles down into the flesh beneath. The flesh is weak, the songs of the Mother said. But even if it is, Gwyn thought, relaxing little by little under his touch, the spirit’s all that’s left in the end.

“I was also afraid,” he said. His hands dropped from her, and she stared, the words on the page he’d been reading materializing in fragments before her eyes.

…the Rite is a ritual held over from the ancient times and would require an ancient magic to undo it…

…there have been isolated attempts to rescue warriors from the protected area in the past, none successful…

…there is no weapon so powerful as tradition, unless it is change…

Changing the Blood Rite? With some kind of mythical ancient magic? Impossible. Nonsense.

He was still talking. She slid her attention back to him. “I knew you had the capability to survive it, but it only takes an accident or a moment of distraction for your luck to change.”

“You were afraid for me?”

“Yes.”

Terrified, elaborated the shadows. Agitated. Sleepless.

He stepped out from behind her and closed the book, then picked it up and moved away. The hovering faelight followed him. She wanted very much for him to stay, to have those strong hands touch her on her waist, her neck, her chest, to tangle in her hair…

She didn’t want him to go. But how to stop him?

“What are you reading about?” she blurted out, and he stilled, like a deer gathering all its strength to run from a wolf.

“Nothing special,” he replied. The casual tone…oh, he was good at lying, wasn’t he, her spymaster?

“Hm,” she said, and injected some light teasing inflection into her voice, so he wouldn’t feel threatened. “Researching your own people’s traditions isn’t all that special, I suppose.”

He stiffened. “They aren’t my people.”

“No?”

“No,” he said firmly. “They haven’t been since they burned my hands.”

Her eyes flicked down to where those very hands, so sure and gentle in their touch on her back, now stretched and flexed. The heat from before, which had receded to a dull throb in her spine, spread outward again.

“Who did it?” she asked. Anger rose in her like the crest of a wave. Perhaps she could demolish whoever it was. Somehow. Train until she could defeat Illyrian warriors. Burn them in their beds.

He shook his head. “They’re dead.”

Killed, corrected the shadows. Justice. Fairness.

“You killed them?”

He nodded. She could sense him pulling away from her, not wanting her to see this…

“I’m glad,” was all she said. “It’s cruel of me…but I’m glad.”

The stillness had come over him again. It was preternatural.

Disbelief, the shadows chorused.

“Did it bring you…any peace?” she asked. It was prying, still an invasion, but her curiosity was so extreme, it had to be satisfied, to know something, anything.

His face was a mask. “No…not in the way I hoped,” he said. So quiet. Some part of her knew he’d never said that aloud before.

She reached forward, and her fingertip alighted on the back of his hand, next to his siphon, alive with swirling cobalt light. “Then that’s what I’ll hope for for you,” she whispered. “However it might come to pass.”

His hand twitched under hers; she drew her finger down toward his, gentle but purposeful. The scars were leathery and ridged, like birds’ feet melded to his skin. She’d never felt anything so magical.

“Beautiful,” she murmured. He held still, and as the back of her hand brushed his, he startled, and pulled away.

“I…have to go,” he muttered.

She smiled in acknowledgement; no judgment, no blaming. It was what he had given her. She gave it back to him the best she could. “Goodnight, shadowsinger.”

He looked back at her, and she could’ve sworn he smiled. “Goodnight, Berdara.”

She bent to pick up her copy of Hasiod. “YWill you do something for me?”

Anything, the shadows chorused darkly.

“Call me Gwyn.”

He really did smile then, the brightness of it warming, the glow of a winter candle. “Goodnight, Gwyn.”

#gwynriel #acotar #fanfic #azriel #gwyneth berdara

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