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Blood in the Rivers: VIII

A/N: I apologize for the wait (again). Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on the last chapter. And thank you for all the shenanigans about dogs and unicorns last night. You all make me smile

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T - mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, my continued overuse of italics

Word Count: 9.2k (Don’t look at me)

Read Chapters I-VII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Eight: Pockets Full of Pebbles

“Raise your elbow.”

The bow was a bit too big for her little hands, even if it had been specially made just for her. But she did as her father bid and tried to focus on the target just a few feet away in the courtyard outside the keep’s armory.

“Perfect. Now loose.”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the side of the target. A shrieking giggle soon erupted from her throat as her father’s strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air.

“You are a natural, my darling girl! My little warrior!” His smiling lips pressed a kiss against her cheek as she continued to laugh.

“Oh, Brynden. You will have her running wild if you continue,” Vaella said, fondness in her tone betraying her love for her husband and child.

Brynden adjusted his grip on Y/N so he could hold her a little closer, little legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “She is already wild. Aren’t you, Y/N?”

There were few rivers in Dorne. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course. But the nearest was too far. She would not delay his soul’s rest any more than necessary. “All rivers lead to the sea, darling girl,” her father had once said. So, the Summer Sea was her only choice. It wasn’t the muddied rivers around Riverrun. It wasn’t The Trident in The Vale where her father had laid her mother to rest. “All rivers lead to the sea,” she repeated her father’s words.

She barely remembered filling a small boat with kindling and stones and small slips of parchment before carefully placing her father’s head inside, atop the makeshift body she’d made from rolls of black fabric and straw.

She would never recover the rest of his body. There had been a note shoved behind his teeth: his body was fed to a caged bear at Harrenhal. Another desecration. Oberyn had matched it by having Ilyn’s body hacked to pieces.

The words of a familiar prayer slipped by her lips as she finished, hoping his soul would find rest in the Seven Heavens and that he would be reunited with her mother. “Goodbye, papa.” The words were strangled in her throat.

Ellaria quietly stepped to her side. Oberyn soon followed. Harmen and Daisy took their places, too. Without a word, they each placed a hand on the boat and helped shove the small tender out onto the gentle waves of the sea. Her heart was in her throat as she watched it start to pull away from the shore and then Daemon was there, handing her the bow and arrow. Y/N nocked the arrow with her bandaged hand and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ to an injured-but-healing Trystane as he lit the end, letting it blaze with orange fire. A steadying breath is all she gave herself before she pulled the bow taut with perfect posture, just like her father taught, and let it loose. The arrow hit the boat and it erupted in flames. Her hands shook as she finally let the bow drop to her side. The stitches on her palm had torn. She didn’t feel it. Blood dripped onto the sand.

The boat drifted away and she watched until it sunk beneath the water.

The Realm had descended into chaos. Myrcella and her Lannister guards had disappeared the night Ilyn had tried to kill Trystane and Doran. Westerland armies tried to cross the Red Mountains into Dorne on the Prince’s Pass but were largely pushed back by the House Fowler armies. House Yronwood raised their banners and fortified the Bone Way, waiting for the Lannisters to try again.

Y/N had been wordlessly invited to join Oberyn, a healing Doran, and the lords and ladies of Dorne who had been at the Water Gardens for the feast and never left. All of them were calling for retaliation. For war. The men and women sequestered in the cooled undercroft serving as a war room did not bat a lash when she joined them. Some even voiced their approval for her plans, stating that she was a natural tactician, “a woman after Princess Nymeria’s own heart!” It almost made her smile. It was a small solace, to know that her opinion was valued enough to earn a seat at the table.

But it had kept long hours. Longer still when she would hide away in Sunspear’s grand library, poring over centuries-old texts about the Red Keep or Casterly Rock, trying to find some slip of information that could be used as a tool against the Lannisters. It had almost become some sort of sad little game to wonder who would be sent in to ask her back to bed.

“You are falling asleep in your seat,” Sansa would say. “Go to bed.”

“You look ill. You will be ill if you do not sleep,” Arya would grumble.

"You must sleep, My Tully,” Ellaria would whisper as she would gently massage the back of her neck. “Come lay with me.”

And sometimes it would work. But sometimes she would wave them on. But she found a surprising companion. Obella, not yet seventeen, quietly helped her find books in the library and show Y/N her own findings—mostly battle formations that had faded from common knowledge but would be brutally efficient. They came to a soft companionability, taking turns to bring food and hot tea to the library when the night grew dark or relighting candles that snuffed themselves out.

“Why do you come here?” Y/N finally asked after their fifth night together.

“I cannot wield a sword like Obara or a bow like you—or even a lance like Elia. But I do want to help.”

She said it with such conviction that it fractured a part of Y/N’s already broken heart. She only nodded and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward her with a sad sort of smile. “You’re helping more than you know.”

Obara, Elia, and Arya were her companions at the training grounds. The two Sand Snakes seemed to innately know the anger that had infested her bloodstream and would silently bandage Y/N’s fingers when she would rub them raw with overuse against the string of her bow.

She was a fine archer and Obara had taken it upon herself to find Y/N a Martell guard who preferred the short blades she was more comfortable with to help her train with those as well.

Her hand ached. She pulled the stitches from her skin on her own, too early for the ugly, jagged wound to be fully healed. But she did it anyway in the dead of night, tired of feeling the scratch of the knots against her palm. Obara said nothing when she saw the messy work when she bandaged Y/N’s hand the morning after

Obara would stand behind her father’s chair when she cared to attend the war stratagem but largely kept to the training grounds with their cavalry and infantry.

Time had turned strange. Days and nights melting into each other without any sort of rest. Tracking the date had not been a necessity or want. She simply needed to do all she could to help. To train. To lend her voice at the stratagem meetings. She could rest later.

Just before one of these meetings Y/N noticed a shaking servant, holding a crumpled missive in his hands. The seal of the Tyrells was broken at the edge. The poor soul looked like he was headed toward the gallows. “I’ll take it for you,” she murmured.

The servant mumbled a quiet but reverent “thank you, Princess,” before all but shoving it into her hand and then pulling open the heavy door to let her in. Her thumb slid beneath the broken seal and she quickly scanned the words, stomach curling with each line of ink

Oberyn noticed the fright on her face within a moment. “What is it, my moonlight?” He asked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she handed him the letter.

She was thankful that only Doran was present when Oberyn’s beautiful face slid into something monstrous as he read. He curled his fist around the letter as Doran lifted his head from the pile of missives from far-off Lords from the east coast of Dorne, keeping him abreast of any movement or changes in scheme they needed to employ. “Oberyn?”

“Myrcella and her guards washed up in Blackwater Bay.”

“And the Lannisters think we had a hand in it?”

“According to Olenna Tyrell, yes; Cersei thinks we killed Myrcella and she wants all of our heads on spikes.” Oberyn threw the remnants of the warning onto the table with a snarl.

While Y/N knew she would pray for the little princess’ soul to be carried off into the Seven Heavens when she was alone that night, her mind quickly turned toward how they would deal with this newest development. “They must have sailed near the Stepstones. Pirates and raiders-"

“The Lions do not care for logic, my moonlight. They have deemed us guilty.”

Her gut churned. She wanted blood, yes. But not Myrcella’s—not the innocent.

Before any other arguments or plans could be made—the door burst open and Elia was careening into the room, out of breath and dark eyes wild. “Ships! Greyjoy and Stark banners!”

Y/N scarcely recalled leaping up the stairs or dashing through the fortress and out into the dying sunlight to see the ships on the horizon—swathes of grey fabric and black wood rising from the waves like the Deep Ones of legend. Small tenders were already in the sea and rowing toward the shore. One of them had tied a bit of white fabric to their bow.

“Should we trust them?” Y/N asked.

Oberyn, at her back, sighed. “The Starks have not betrayed us yet. Remains to be seen with the Greyjoys.”

The fortress was abuzz with movement as the Northmen settled into their temporary lodging Sunspear was providing (the Ironborn loudly voiced that they’d rather row back out to their ships for rest). Battle plans were being drawn and redrawn. Alliances and promises made.

Y/N learned that after the Boltons had tortured and killed Theon as they took over Winterfell, Yara sent a raven to Robb. He would help her claim the throne of the Iron Islands against the claim of her uncle, Euron, in exchange for drawing the Boltons out beyond Winterfell’s walls so Robb’s men could attack them from behind and finally reclaim Winterfell and wipe out the Bolton line. They both had vengeance with the act and gained an ally.

The North was once again under the rule of House Stark. But Y/N could not delight in that bit of happy news as word was sent that Yara Greyjoy required a private audience with Y/N.

Daemon rowed her out to the Black Wind and promised to stay until she personally told him to go or she came back out to the tender to be taken back to Sunspear. “I would not have you languishing with the Ironborn longer than necessary, my lady,” he muttered before a rope ladder was thrown down.

As she reached the deck of the ship, several of the crew looked her up and down. She caught whispers of “the Mountain” and “princess” before she was led below deck by a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and cold, green eyes. He knocked twice on a sea-weathered door before a gruff, feminine voice called to let him in.

Y/N stepped inside and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It reeked of old hay and excrement—probably a holding cell. Yara was waiting, standing under the single beam of light the room had and holding a chain in her hands. It snaked across the hay-strewn floor and disappeared into a dark corner. This was the first time Y/N had come in contact with Yara Greyjoy—but her reputation obviously preceded her and was well earned. The smirk she had splitting her face was enough to warrant the rumors of callous humor and bloodthirsty nature.

“Ah, you’ve come. Perhaps you can get something out of him before I rip his tongue out. We caught him just off the Stepstones, trying to hide his hideous face under a hood.” She pulled at the end of a chain. The metal links seemed to sing as she continued to yank until the prisoner stepped into her line of sight.

Y/N nearly balked at the sight. “Lord Tyrion. A surprise to be sure.”

Tyrion looked no worse than he did all that time ago in the Water Gardens but his limbs were now all encased in heavy steel and his hair was a little more unkempt. “My lady.” He even bowed a bit.

“The Imp refuses to speak to anyone but you,” Yara said as she stepped forward to hand Y/N the end of the chain with a curled frown. “Was this the one you were intended to marry?”

Y/N bristled but was unsurprised that Yara knew of the Lannisters’ plot. All of Dorne seemed to know it, too. “It was Tywin, actually. His father.”

Yara sneered. “I guess the old lion does still have a cock.” She then left without another word and the door closed loudly behind her.

With a sigh, Y/N set down the chain and wiped her hands on her skirts. “Why have you asked for me, Lord Tyrion? Prince Oberyn or Doran would be the only ones to grant you more comfortable accommodations in exchange for information.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I do not trust them, just as they do not trust me.”

Y/N hummed. “I am surprised they kept you alive at all. The last time you were in the company of Starks, you were accused to trying to murder Bran and only survived Catelyn’s wrath by the gods’ grace and the help of a sellsword.”

“It was more the sellsword than the grace of the gods, my lady, I assure you. But it was under Robb’s instruction that the Ironborn did not tie me to the front of their ship to be pecked to death by gulls.” He pursed his lips. “I was nearly to Essos when my ship was blown out of the water and I was scooped up like some dead fish.”

“Then perhaps you should consider it luck that they found you and not your sister. She wants you dead. Robb wants leverage.”

“If you had counseled your dear king, he would have known that I will hold no leverage as a hostage. They would prefer me dead.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughts stirring in her mind. “You asked me here for a reason, Lord Tyrion. And it is not because you fear me the least. What is it you’re offering?”

Something crossed Tyrion’s face then. It was almost a smile. “You would have made a fearsome Lady of the Rock, you know.” But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Tell me, are the rumors of Myrcella-”

“Dorne had nothing to do with it. Doran and Oberyn may not care for your family but they do not kill children. They know the ache of the loss of a child.”

Tears gathered in Tyrion’s eyes and tracked down his dirty cheeks. “She was good and gentle.”

“She was,” Y/N said softly. “And I am sorry that the gods have called her home so soon. But we need your help to see this through. You have my word that Tommen will not be harmed when we take King’s Landing.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were waiting for her when she stepped back onto shore hours later. Y/N had slips of parchment crumpled in her hand and streaks of ink staining her fingers and across her cheek. “Is Sarella still in Oldtown?”

“You cannot believe him!” Robb snarled.

Y/N pivoted in her seat to glare at him, uncaring of the other lords and soldiers in the room. “What cause does he have to lie?”

“He is a Lannister!”

“He is hated by his family. They tried to kill him.”

Robb’s face continued to contort in rage as he stood from his seat, fist slamming against the wood of the table. But whatever words he had wanted to say stilled in his throat as Oberyn stood from his seat, too. Oberyn said nothing as he loomed at Y/N’s back. He did not move his hand to the pommel of his sword but the promise of violence was not missed.

The King in the North seemed to swallow his pride at the quiet show of strength but did not sit down. “There is no way to see if this is not a trap.”

And that was when Y/N had a smirk of her own, pulled the rolled missive, stamped with the seal of the Citadel, from the folds of her dress and unfurled it on the table. “Tyrion’s claims of the cisterns and drains of Casterly Rock have been verified, as have the rumors of Wildfire under the whole of King’s Landing.” She pushed the parchment toward Robb and watched his face as he read Sarella’s handwriting. Her findings had given Y/N hope that this war could be won without an unending number of battles. Less bloodshed. Fewer dead Dornishmen. Fewer families without sons and husbands and brothers. Tyrion had told her of how he used to smuggle his favorite girls in and out of his rooms by the way of the drains of Casterly Rock and how that flaw in the Lannisters’ fortress could be exploited and allow for an outside naval force to sack his ancestral home. He’d provided crude drawings of how the tunnels curved and turned from the cliffside up to the balustrades and towers. Tyrion’s placement of the wildfire under the capital were less precise but still damning.

“And what does The Imp want in return for this information?”

“He wants to be set free-” There was an immediate and expected uproar from the Northmen and Ironborn and a handful of the Dornish lords and ladies but Y/N pressed on. “-to live in Essos with little Tommen when this is over.”

Robb held up his hand and quieted the rabble as his lips pressed into a thin line. “We will need scouts in the Westerlands to know of any movement of their armies.”

Lady Maege Mormont, pallid face red with the heat and slicked with sweat, suddenly moved her dark eyes to Y/N and the Dornish prince at her back. “The Riverlands armies are still waiting for command.”

“The Riverlands have not declared to King Robb’s cause aside from a handful of men who still hold Riverrun,” gruffed an Ironborn who tried to hold Oberyn’s gaze but quickly wilted under the Prince’s unwavering stare.

“That is inaccurate,” Robb said, voice cutting through the room’s din without effort. “There is still a small battalion of men loyal to Brynden Tully waiting for a command just outside Pinkmaiden. It would be a sufficient number.”

Oberyn’s warm hand reached down to gently grasp her shoulder and squeeze. A quiet show of support. “Why have they not joined you in Dorne?” Y/N asked, voice steady.

That was when Robb finally sat again and he tried to look her in the eye but failed and glanced down at the maps in front of him. “Your father was waiting for my command to take the Golden Tooth.”

Y/N nodded. He had never made it to Pinkmaiden.

And everyone in the room knew it.

But Y/N’s face did not move and Oberyn’s steadying hand did not falter in its grounding warmth. “Then it seems you have your scouts.”

The meeting continued on into the night and only adjourned when Lord Stonehouse let out a snore, slumped over his plate of half-eaten supper. Y/N wrapped a bit of chicken into her napkin and set out on her own after kissing Oberyn’s cheek before he went to Doran’s side.

She was…exhausted. But, she still sought out the one frivolous activity she would allow herself. Grey Wind, Robb’s hulking direwolf, was curled on the cool marble of the grand hall and lifted his large head when he heard her approach. Ned had told her stories of direwolves during her time at Winterfell and she, a bit childishly, wanted to see one as close as she could manage. Y/N unwrapped the chicken and held out to him with a small smile that grew only a fraction bigger when it was quickly devoured and her fingers were licked clean, too. The direwolf sniffed at her hand for a little longer before pressing his head against her palm, wanting to be pet. And that almost made her laugh, this giant animal who unnerved most others he encountered was gently asking to be scratched behind the ears. (Robb had grumbled his acceptance of Grey Wind not being present in the war room because of how uncomfortable it made some of the lords and ladies of Dorne.)

“You’re just a big pup, aren’t you?”

Grey Wind whined, offended.

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice rung out in the hall and Y/N quickly gave a handful more scratches before trying to find her handmaiden. When she did, Daisy explained that Ellaria had requested Daisy get Y/N “in bed with no distractions!” when she heard the meeting had been adjourned early. So, she let Daisy lead her back to her chambers with a sigh and fuss for a moment or two before she helped her out of her clothes and into her silken nightgown with a small smile. “I feel like I have not truly spoken with you in ages, my lady.”

“I apologize, Daisy.”

“Think nothing of it. I know your heart and mind are occupied.” When she finished, Daisy lingered at her back with a nervous expression. “I know it is not my place-”

“You are my friend, Daisy. Speak freely.” She turned to softly squeeze at Daisy’s fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap.

“I worry about you. And I know others do as well.”

“I am going to sleep-”

“It is not your lack of sleep that disturbs me, Y/N. You…you are not yourself. For as long as I have known you, you have worn your heart on your sleeve. Only tucking it away when you think someone will betray you. I know your heart is broken. Let it be broken. A heart that bleeds alone still bleeds. It is easier to bear with someone at your side.”

Y/N frowned. “You are with me-”

Disappointment colored Daisy’s face as she sighed, cutting off Y/N’s words. “I know you are not this stupid, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean.”

And that poked at the festering wound Y/N had tried to seal over with brick and steel in the cavity of her chest. “When this is over, I will… I will mourn as I should. It would be selfish to do it now.”

Daisy clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “I have been told that war makes animals of men but I did not think it would make your heart stone. It is not selfish to love your father. It is not selfish to feel.” Before Y/N could even come up with some sort of rebuttal, her friend was striding toward the door and pulling it open. “Sleep, Y/N.” And then she was gone.

But Y/N did not sleep. She sat on her bed and listened to the night’s chatter die down as time slipped by. The fortress grew dark as only the necessary torches were kept aflame. The stars glittered in the moonless sky. Even as her body yearned for rest, she could not sleep.

All she could do was stare out to the sea.

But then she was moving. Slipping off her bed and slinking out of the fortress, wordlessly passing the stationed guards who made no move to stop her but watched her with careful, curious eyes.

“All rivers lead to the sea.” The words were murmured but felt like a rock had dislodged itself from the recesses of her lungs.

Cool marble gave way to paved stone and then to cold, wet sand she let squish between her toes as she walked closer to the sea’s edge. The water was calm. Gentle waves shimmered in starlight and lapped against the shore. She let the cool water splash against her ankles before she discarded her dressing gown. She took one step, then another, another, and another until she was treading open water in just her chemise, feeling the wet fabric glide around her in the water like a curious, silken fish. She dove beneath the waves to feel the chill and rhythm of the sea settle in her bones. For a moment, she wondered if she could spend forever at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the stars through the clear water, weighed down by pebbles sewn into her pockets. But when her lungs started to burn, she rose to the surface slowly and pulled in a deep breath of warm night air as she crested like a leviathan.

Y/N had always been a strong swimmer. Edmure had once joked that she was truly part trout when she would spend hot days swimming against the current of the waters around Riverrun. But she did not want to swim tonight. She wanted to simply feel the water on her skin. To feel the waves beat in time with her heart. To know that the water would always have a place for her.

Her legs stopped pumping and she let them rise to the surface and she floated atop the waves like a wash of seafoam.

The stars were shining above her in their celestial beds, bright and welcoming even as drops of salted water managed to sting at her eyes. She followed the lines of the constellations she knew by heart and licked the salt from her lips.

With each wave, she knew the shore grew closer. She could let herself mourn until then, let the salt of her tears finally meet the salt of the water. She could let herself cry here, mourn here, in the water that welcomed her family home.

They came slowly and then all at once. Great, heaving sobs shook her entire body and nearly took her under as water filled her mouth when she let out a wail—the sounds wrenching themselves free from their hiding places within her tired soul. She cried and sobbed and wept. For her father. Her mother. For Ned and Catelyn. For Rickon and Bran and Hoster. Finally letting herself feel something for longer than a few stolen minutes. Y/N barely registered the arms wrapping around her shoulders and under her knees, the grip keeping her head safely above water.

It wasn’t until the tears ebbed enough to clear her vision that she saw Oberyn standing in the water, cradling her weightless form against the waves. His features were soft in the starlight and he said nothing as her sobs came again and she curled further into his grip.

He let her cry until she was spent and then walked her closer to the shore and helped her stand.

Ellaria was waiting just outside the sea’s reach with a stack of linen towels neatly folded near her feet. She plucked one from the pile and wordlessly started to dry Y/N off with a gentle touch before wrapping another around her shoulders. Oberyn slung one around his damp breeches then leaned forward to press a kiss against Ellaria’s temple, lingering for a moment, before doing the same to Y/N.

“The night is losing its battle with dawn, my loves. We must sleep,” Ellaria said, reaching out to tighten the towel around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N nodded, beyond exhausted. But her heart felt the smallest fraction lighter. And perhaps it was not the end of her grieving—it was just the start. But she knew it was a step forward. When Ellaria pushed her into the warm silk and linen sheets of her and Oberyn’s bed and then climbed over her to settle like another blanket, Y/N knew she would finally sleep. Peacefully. Oberyn climbed in after them and murmured soft ‘sleep, my darlings. We will speak in the morning’ into their skin and snuffed out the single candle on the bedside table. One hand brushed against Ellaria’s back as his other brought Y/N’s palm up to his lips to breathe in the lingering scent of salt and water as his eyes closed. Oh yes, she could sleep for eternity if they just held her like this for a little longer.

And the sound of the water, ever-present and ever-moving, lulled them into a quiet, deep sleep.

Morning came sooner rather than later and Y/N woke to Oberyn pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, fingers sliding under the thin strap of her chemise to revel in her soft skin. Much like Ellaria had the night before, he was lounging across Y/N’s back, weight pressing her into the featherbed with a comforting pressure. Ellaria was sitting up, held up by her elbow to look down at her with a soft smile.

It was something Y/N could get used to seeing every morning. She breathed for a few moments, simply wondering in how quiet the room was, how gentle Oberyn and Ellaria were with her. Briefly, she thought of how her life had changed since she had sent that first raven to Dorne. Being this comfortable, wrapped in blankets that did not belong to her, in the arms of not one but two people she was not married to—the scandal of it all. It was a soft sort of loveliness, even with the hurt of her loss. It seemed the water and the forgiving touch of the couple she loved had given Y/N her soul back; fractured and hurt. But hers once again.

“How are you, my moonlight?” He asked, voice quiet in the still of the room.

“I think I will carry this ache until my soul leaves to join whichever of the Seven Heavens the gods deem fit for me. But I know it will be easier to bear with time. Just as it was with my mother. Knowing they are together again gives me a small bit of happiness.” Y/N tapped at his thigh so she could turn to face him, letting her fingers trail through his hair when he laid his cheek against her stomach as they once again settled in the mess of blankets. A handful of grey strands pulled her attention as she let her nails gently scratch against his scalp, gaining a soft groan in return. “Thank you for last night. You… you both seem to know what I require before I even speak.”

Oberyn looked up at her, dark eyes warm but sad. “We each have had our own brushes with loss, my moonlight.” He paused. “We watched you close yourself off to everything aside from the coming war. Your eyes did not sparkle. You did not laugh. We had you, could touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. But you were lost to us.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and reached over to let her fingers roam across her exposed collarbone and the corner of her mouth tilted up when she heard the next breath catch in Y/N’s throat.

“It was never my intention-”

“You have spent too long in places where you cannot feel. You have swallowed your pride and anger and joy and grief in order to survive.” Ellaria said, fingers continuing to trail, burning her in their wake. “That is not how we live here, that is not the life we want for you.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath and let her hands drop to the back of Oberyn’s head, twisting the black and grey locks around her fingers without thought. “What is the life you want for me?”

Oberyn suddenly moved. His hands planting on either side of her shoulders to loom over her like some beautiful, terrible heavenly body. Her legs parted as he moved, cradling his hips with her thighs. “We want you to live, my moonlight. To live freely. Without restraint.”

“We want you to be angry, to be sad, to be joyful—to feel,” Ellaria said, hooking her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make Y/N look at her. “We want you to feel.”

They spoke of their hurts and anger, of their happiness and triumphs as the sun started to rise. “But none of it means anything if you do not feel it.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss and sighed against her mouth as she lifted a hand to slide against his side, delighting in how he shivered. “We want you to take the day. Do not attend the meetings. Do not go to the training yards. Sleep. Pray if it helps your heart. Eat something. Speak with Sansa and Arya. Let yourself feel.” He kissed her again before Ellaria stole another, too. But they eventually all made their way out of the haven of their soft blankets and dressed unhurriedly to meet the day.

“Join me for lunch. The little ones miss you,” Ellaria said, catching Y/N’s hand before she left.

“I will find you,” Y/N promised with a squeeze to her wrist before setting off to find Sansa.

The day passed smoothly, for the most part. She let herself cry again when she spoke with Sansa and joined Grey Wind and Arya in the sea before setting off to join Ellaria and the younger Sand Snakes for lunch as promised. The afternoon was filled with a trip to Sunspear’s sept for prayer and speaking with Daisy. No plans for battle. No talk of alliances. It was not all her heart needed to heal from her loss. But it was another step toward acceptance. As night descended on Dorne, she was rewrapping the leather binding on the handle of Dorea’s Morningstar, having nearly stepped on it when she was walking back to her chambers. The leather had been ripped and torn under Dorea’s exuberant thrashing and Y/N had a bit of leather to spare, not minding to part with it. Oberyn found her as she finished and smiled as she, a little bashfully, showed him her work.

“She will love it,” he said with a warm smile and tired eyes.

Oberyn led her toward Dorea’s chambers and they found Ellaria asleep in Dorea’s bed with a book of fairytales from the Riverlands opened on their laps. Oberyn only tiptoed in for a moment to press a kiss to his paramour and daughter’s cheeks. Y/N had followed to carefully pull the book away and set it on the bedside table and made sure that the blankets covered the pair, tucking them into bed against the sea-scented night air. She placed the Morningstar atop a table before they both slipped out.

“She must have had a nightmare. She rarely lets us leave her bed if some sort of monster has creeped its way into her mind,” Oberyn said softly as he closed the door.

“Does she have nightmares often?” Y/N asked.

“They come and go, as it is with all children.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers with a tired smile. “You will see when you have babes of your own.”

“You want more children?” She asked, head filling with something other than plans for war for a brief moment.

Oberyn’s smile widened and he pressed a hand over her stomach, fingers splaying. “I want as many children as you desire to give me.”

Something playful and teasing and almost unfamiliar bubbled in her chest and she smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, I see. You’ve seduced me in some attempt to fill these halls with little Martells. You have no love for me—just my ability to give you more heirs.” She even laughed, quiet in the hall.

But Oberyn did not smile now and his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and yanked her close. The heat of his body enveloped her instantly and the burn of his gaze struck at her heart. “Do not say such things.”

“It was-”

“I love you, my moonlight. Even in jest, I will not have you speak of yourself that way.” He released his grip on her dress to gently hold her face in his roughened hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “But it is good to hear you laugh again. I have missed the sound.”

Y/N nearly melted into his grip with a soft sigh and closed her eyes to savor his touch a little more. But then her mind started to wander, back to when she was still untouched by war and courtly politics. “I’ve always wanted one or two.”

He leaned forward to press his head against hers and Y/N could feel him smile as he kissed her forehead. “I can give you that.”

“I want them to have your eyes and good heart.”

Oberyn chuckled and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her a little closer. “As long as they are healthy, my moonlight, I will be happy.”

And as she curled beneath her blankets that night, mouth still tingling from the kiss Oberyn left her with, she thought of little Loreza and Dorea trying to teach two little ones how to read on the shore as the Dornish sun warmed their skin.

And the thought carried over to her dreams where Oberyn crooned in her ear some lullaby she couldn’t place, a babe in his arms.

“Could you throw one more?” Y/N asked.

The young squire chuckled and nodded, pulling another bruised blood-orange from the pile collected from the groves and threw it into the air. Y/N quickly pulled back the bow’s string and loosed another arrow. It soared through the early morning air and pierced the skin of the orange and ripped through before it sunk into the target. It lined up almost perfectly with the six other speared blood-oranges on the target, dripping red-pink juice across the wood.

Y/N waved off the squire moving to clean off the target and said she didn’t mind the work. “I am sure I have kept you from your duties for far too long.”

“It is a pleasure to serve, Princess. You are a formidable archer.”

“Flatterer,” Y/N mused and watched the squire try to hide a shy smile before bowing and dismissing himself. She carefully pulled the arrows from the target and licked the juice from the tips and threw the discarded oranges out into the garden to let them feed the soil. It was still too early for most others to come to the courtyard to train. The last handful of days had seen most of the Dornish armies leave Sunspear to relieve the sorties at the border and to lead an incursion into the Stormlands.

A sudden noise had her turning and ready to nock another arrow. But it was just Robb, still haggard from sleep, with Grey Wind trailing beside him. The pair stared at each other for a moment and Y/N had to will herself to loosen her grip on the bow and carefully place the sticky arrows back into a pile. Robb approached her slowly. Much slower than Grey Wind who nosed at her leather breeches before letting out a low rumble as her gloved hand found the spot behind his left ear he loved having scratched.

“We have not spoken properly, cousin.” His mouth opened and closed twice. “I have missed you,” was all he managed.

Y/N nodded. She did miss him, too. “We are a long way from Winterfell.”

Robb’s smile was small but sincere. He took a step closer. And then another. And then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her to his chest in a tight hug. Y/N’s arms wrapped around him tightly without a thought or care. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly shut them in a half-hearted attempt to keep them at bay. But then she was holding him in earnest and remembering how he and Jon would laugh in the Wolf’s Wood and string blue roses behind her ears with dirty fingers and would always make her smile whenever they could. It was so strange to see him now, the burden of a bloody crown on his head and scars littering his skin. It was strange that the boy she knew, full of smiles and fond of laughter, was now so quiet and serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The tears were coming in earnest now and she felt Robb’s own trickling onto the shoulder of her tunic.

“You saved Sansa. Arya. You kept them alive and I repaid you with your father-”

“Don’t say it,” she said, biting back a whimper. “Do not say it.”

He held her tighter. And she tightened her hold, too.

“What happened to us, Stark?” She whispered.

The claimant king shuddered in her grip, the tears continuing their descent. “I do not know.”

And the pair held each other for a little longer until they heard other guards and soldiers approaching the training ground. Y/N stepped back first and noticed the sadness in his eyes but he blinked and turned his head and it was gone. The careful mask of kinghood was back in place. “I did come to speak to you of something else, Lady Tully. If you would permit me a moment of your time.”

She nodded, her own mask upon her face, too, and let him lead her toward a quiet corner of the training grounds with Grey Wind trailing beside them. And with each step, she noticed how Robb seemed to hold his shoulders higher to his ears. “What is it?” Y/N whispered when they finally slowed to a stop, mask slipping.

“Your father’s men want to fight. Riverrun still answers to the name Tully. And you, dear cousin, are the only Tully left alive and out of bondage.” When Y/N was quiet, Robb continued. “We sent the raven to Pinkmaiden—they responded that they wanted a commander. A leader.”

“And you think that I-”

“You are a Tully. You are Brynden Tully’s daughter. You have outmaneuvered the Lannisters at every turn. Who else would I send?”

She had kept Robb’s request to lead the Riverlanders’ forces to herself for only a handful of hours, trying to find the words to tell Ellaria and Oberyn. She thought time alone would help her, but all it did was wear on her nerves. A nervous tittering called her attention and she turned to see little Loreza staring at Grey Wind—the direwolf had made it a habit to splash around in the cool water of the Summer Sea at least a few times a day and was currently submerged up to his neck in the water, letting the waves wash over his back.

Y/N smiled despite her heavy heart and walked to Loreza’s side, biting back the question of how she’d managed to evade her Septa’s watchful eye this time. Seeing Loreza so nervous broke her heart a little. She was too young to be so scared. “He’s very big, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost as big as a horse,” the young girl murmured, dark eyes flittering back to the direwolf. “Obella said she saw him eat a man!”

“Obella is just teasing. Grey Wind is gentle—especially to little girls.” Y/N knelt down to Loreza’s level with a smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Loreza seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding. Y/N held out a hand for her to take and led her over to the lounging direwolf. She held out her hand for Grey Wind to sniff and quickly lick before she scratched behind his ears. The water was starting to soak through her leathers but she turned to show Loreza how he liked to be scratched.

“Give him your hand, just like I did. Let him smell you.”

Loreza held out a shaking hand toward Grey Wind who sniffed all around before licking a wet strip across her little fingers and Loreza let out a loud giggle at the sensation. Her little dress was floating around her like a pale yellow lily pad.

“See? He likes you.”

Grey Wind continued to nose at Loreza’s arm as she started to run her fingers through his dark fur. “He’s soft!”

“I heard King Robb brushes him every night,” Y/N said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Loreza smiled at that and then let out a surprised squeal when Grey Wind licked at her face. “I think he likes you more than me!”

Loreza finally pulled her other hand from Y/N’s hold and happily pushed her little fingers through Grey Wind’s damp fur. A particularly tall wave washed over them and Loreza laughed as Grey Wind licked the water from her hands. “Would Father let me have a direwolf?”

“Direwolves are of the North, like King Robb and Sansa and Arya. And they are rare there, too.”

The girl pouted at that but did not stop her petting. “Will King Robb let me pet him while he is here?”

Y/N nodded and promised to speak to Robb on her behalf before she noticed a figure standing on the shoreline. “It seems your father has discovered us.”

Loreza looked back at the shore and grimaced. “I did miss my lessons today.”

Y/N urged her gently to find her septa, promising to speak with Oberyn, and watched her dash away through the water toward the sand and dodged her father’s hand as he reached for her with a teasing smile.

Y/N eventually pulled away from Grey Wind and squared her shoulders before pushing against the water toward Oberyn who waited for her.

“It is good to see you with them. You are gentle—but I do think you let them get away with far too many follies.”

Y/N smiled. “Even I missed a lesson or two when I was her age. A little rebellion is good character.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and pulled her close despite her wet clothes before brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ve spoken with Doran. He wants me to lead a command of my own into the Crownlands.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She knew he was a seasoned commander but the thought of him leaving the safety of Sunspear had not come to her. Perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking he would always be safe.

“And the wolf king has told me of his plans for you.” Oberyn looked at her and she held his gaze, even as she felt his sigh against her wet skin. Slowly, far too slowly for her liking, he reached up to hold her cheeks in his hands. “Do you truly mean to lead them? If this is the wolf king pressing you-”

“I have to, my prince. Robb or not.”

“Does your honor demand it?” He asked, almost teasing. But his tone lacked its usual warmth.

“It does.” Y/N reached up to cover his hands with hers and keep him close, half-scared that he would walk away, too. “Just as yours requires you to do the same.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the waves against the sand to listen to as time stretched on. Oberyn was looking at her, truly looking at her all the while and it was the sadness and resignation in his eyes that dug straight through her heart. He kissed her softly without a word before stepping back. “I would have you safe.”

And Y/N wanted to ask what he meant but he grasped at her hand and led her without a word toward the armory. “She is an archer, she needs to be able to move,” Oberyn said as he started to dig through the careful stacks of pieces of armor and accoutrements the blacksmith had forged for the Dornish forces. He quickly found pieces of light armor; shining mail, vambraces and pauldrons stamped with Martell suns, a light cuirass which would fit her feminine form. And as she gathered all of her armor to her chest, equal parts excited and anxious, she watched Oberyn turn to her. His dark eyes held some secret sentiment. Sad and proud and something else she could not place.

When they found Ellaria, she seemed to already know their news. “Oh, my two warriors.” And then she was gathering them close and lathing slow kisses against their lips and pushing them onto the bed. “Just let me have tonight, my loves. Just tonight before the Realm rips you away from me.”

And there was nothing carnal in the way they all burrowed under the blankets as the sliver of the moon rose or the way hands roamed and lips parted with gentle sighs. It was just love, simple and soft.

The younger Sand Snakes filtered into her rooms throughout the afternoon to watch Y/N pack away the essentials, just enough to fill two small saddlebags. Dorea tried to give Y/N her beloved Morningstar, “to keep you safe!” but Y/N quickly and gently pushed it back into the young girl’s hands. “You have to keep your mother safe until your father and I return. You cannot do that if I have your Morningstar, right?”

Elia sniffed at that and suspiciously turned her head away.

“And your sister, Elia, she will protect you," Y/N said, acknowledging Elia's pain without making it a point of conversation. Elia did not like to dwell on emotion.

It earned another sniff and a curt, “don’t die. I like having you around.” ("I do, too!" Dorea added.)

Nymeria and Tyene arrived soon after with words of encouragement and two matching vials of poison. “Just in case! Father likes to slick his blades with it. Perhaps you could dip a few of your arrows?” And that spoke volumes, at least to Y/N, about how they cared for her in their own way.

But Sansa was near tears despite the steadiness of her voice as she let herself into Y/N’s chambers. “Must you go? It feels like I've just had you return.”

“You know I must, little one. Robb’s asked it of me and I know you would do the same if Winterfell was still under Bolton colors.” Y/N reached out and pulled the redhead into a familiar hold and said nothing when she felt tears start to wet the fabric of her tunic. “But I will come ba-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say something you cannot know to be true.”

Y/N pulled back and grasped at Sansa’s chin. “I am coming back. The Stranger themselves could not stop me.”

Sansa nodded with a watery hiccup and pulled her close for another hug before there was a knock at the door. Y/N kissed Sansa’s forehead before calling out a welcome to whomever it was. Ellaria stepped in, a roll tucked under her arm and Sansa quickly excused herself and shut the door tight on her way out.

Ellaria was quiet for a moment before she walked to Y/N’s side. There was a quietness to her features now but tears still pooled in her beautiful eyes. She pressed a kiss against her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, before touching her lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss that tasted like citrus and salt. She sniffled just once as she pulled back and she handed the bundle to Y/N with a single wobble of her chin.

Y/N unwrapped it and marveled as more and more of the gift was revealed. The bow was black, darker than night and stronger than steel. It was dragonbone. A rare prize indeed.

“Father said it was one of the smaller bones from Meraxes. It was meant,” she had to clear her throat. “I meant to give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would rather you have it now. I know your aim will be true.”

Y/N quickly set the bow down on the bed and pulled Ellaria close without a word, trying to somehow convey the hope that she would return through the touch alone instead of words she knew would fail. “I love you,” was the only phrase she dared whisper. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When dawn broke the next morning two Northmen Robb entrusted with her care were waiting for her at the stables. Qēlos nuzzled into her palm as the mare's tack was secured and Y/N smuggled her an apple to devour as she swung up into the saddle. Y/N was finishing saying goodbye to a tearful Sansa when Ellaria and Oberyn appeared at the stables. Oberyn was already dressed in his light armor and Ellaria had donned a fauld of four lame across her waist. A little armor of her own. Everyone around them seemed to understand the need for privacy and quickly vacated the area or decidedly avoided pointing their gazes toward them.

“We will not try to dissuade you. Your wrath is justified and glorious.” His hands reached up to cover hers on the reins. The warmth slowed the wild beating of her heart just a fraction. “But we will ask that you do not forget us.”

Y/N’s poor heart leapt into her throat and she hurried to move her grip, pulling Oberyn’s hands up to her mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “The gods themselves could not take you from my mind or heart, my prince. I will see you again when this is over, when the Lions are dead and the Realm can have peace.”

Oberyn untangled his hands from hers only to grasp the back of her head to kiss her, artfully stealing the air from her lungs with ease as his mouth moved against hers in slow, unyielding ministrations. As he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair for a moment before releasing her. His fingers trailed down her arms to tighten the lacings of her vambrace. “Then I shall see you again, my moonlight.”

Ellaria was quiet but kissed her soundly. “Come back,” was all she said.

“I will,” Y/N whispered in return.

And then they were off. Y/N looked back at the gates of Sunspear after every new turn on the road, watching it grow smaller and smaller. The Northmen offered no words but did give sympathetic smiles after they caught her sad expression.

But then there was a thundering of hooves against the sand-covered road and Obara was at her side in a moment, dressed for battle and saddlebags packed. “You will not fight alone, Little Fish.”

And then Arya, on a horse that was definitely not hers, was galloping to her side, too. “I’m coming, too!”

Y/N knew she should tell them no. Send them back to Sunspear and Oberyn and Robb and Safety. But one look at their determined faces left her sighing. “Your father and brother are going to kill me, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Obara said with a smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills @nyrnerosmartell @5hundreddaysofsummer @honestlystop @huliabitch @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @karmezii @thesadvampire @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040 @paintballkid711

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #game of thrones imagine #asoiaf

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Not A Ghost, You're In My Head (Your Move 3/3) (Branjie) - Ortega

a/n: this has had about fifty billion potential titles, but rest assured that finally this is Your Move 3, only a year and a bit late. i really hope u all enjoy the end of the saga, and sorry and thank u to those who have been so patient! i’ll shut up now bc quite frankly uv all waited long enough for this. (title’s from Forever by Charli XCX pls listen to it it’s such a Branjie song)

fic summary: “Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.”

***

The smell of coffee and the warmth of the cafe inside hits Brooke like a ton of bricks as she walks in, blinks a little, and scans the room to find a seat. Eventually her eyes settle on a small booth through the back, away from the clatter and hiss of the coffee machines and probably the closest thing to quiet that they’ll get in a public setting like this. Sliding into it, Brooke shrugs her jacket off, lifts up a menu, puts it down again, drums her nails against the tabletop and takes her phone out. She checks the time, then checks her reflection in her phone’s camera. Briefly she finds it crossing her mind that she’s probably put more effort into her outfit, hair and makeup today than she had for their first date. What had she worn for their first date again? She can’t remember. She supposes it doesn’t matter now.

Putting her phone down, Brooke digs her toes into the soles of her shoes and takes one deep breath that she intends to be calming. Instead it leaves her feeling as if she is trapped under a sheet of ice with a millimetre of air to work with before she sinks underwater. Part of her feels as if she is already sinking. The other part of her feels as if she sank a month-and-a-bit ago and here she is, sitting waiting in a cafe, a living shipwreck. Sometimes her ribs feel like huge, cracked planks of wood, an empty vessel where something once lived. Sometimes it feels as if her heart is a sail, a huge mast broken in two with two long, ragged dagger marks scarring the sheet and rendering it useless. Other times she feels like a huge, heavy propellor is cutting into her stomach and churning it up, though that’s mainly when she makes the mistake of scanning social media (and isn’t madness doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?)

Today, Brooke just feels hollow.

Suddenly her phone buzzes harshly against the table and Brooke’s heart involuntarily leaps as she picks it up, an aftershock of the past seven months that will eventually dissipate with time. At least, she hopes so.

V: i can’t do this today

V: i’m sorry

Brooke feels as if an elastic band inside her has suddenly snapped. She doesn’t know if she feels relieved or if she wants to cry. Feeling a blush prickle against her cheeks and a lump form in her throat, her body seems to make the decision for her.

B: It’s okay don’t worry. Another time x

What does she expect? Brooke isn’t supposed to be the heartbroken one, Brooke isn’t meant to be the one that is sitting crying at a coffee shop table as if she’s the one that’s been broken up with. She wipes below her eyes and dabs lightly at her lashes with her fingers before pulling her jacket back on and walking quickly back through the door of the cafe she’d stepped through not even five minutes ago.

They’ll try again when she’s ready.

***

Brooke sinks on top of her bed, letting out a huge, deep breath of air until her stomach feels as if it is concave. It had been Vanessa that was the cautious one, it had always been Brooke making the big decisions about their relationship- a fact that, she cruelly reminds herself, remained true til its very end. She blinks very slowly. Her eyelids are so fucking heavy and tired. She took the morning off work to accommodate her plans and now she has nothing to do. Sitting and staring at the ceiling until her eyes burn is a nice impromptu plan.

Her phone suddenly hums in the silence of the room. As if she’s been shocked by jump leads, Brooke spins over on her bed and grabs her phone from her bedside table, her heart hammering at an unhealthy rate. She feels the disappointment sink through her whole body when she sees the name on the screen.

“Hey.”

“Hey, boo. Calling to see how you were, but your tone kind of says it all for me.”

Brooke rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. Vanessa never showed.”

“I know. She phoned me.”

The cardiac arrest is back, alive and unwell in Brooke’s ribcage. “What did she say?”

“That she felt like an ass. I asked her what donkeys had to do with anything.”

Brooke shakes her head and laughs in spite of herself. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“I know. How are you doing?”

Brooke frowns deeply. “What, that’s all you said? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

A sigh comes from the end of the line. “Brooke, maybe you have to let her go.”

“No, come on, Yves, that’s not fair. Don’t talk to me like I’m obsessed and still clinging on because that’s not…it’s more complicated than that.”

“I mean. It was you that ended things.”

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me,” Brooke sighs, her heart feeling sick and empty.

“Look, just give her some time. You can’t just expect everything to go back to the way things were. Because…” her friend pauses on the end of the line, as if she’s about to deliver something Brooke won’t want to hear. “…well. Things might not.”

“I thought you were phoning to cheer me up,” Brooke says, deadpan. Yvie has the audacity to laugh.

“No, sorry, sorry. I just…you know. Best friends tell you shit you don’t want to hear sometimes. That’s part of the contract I signed back in high school,” Yvie’s affectionate warm laugh comes down the phone and Brooke finds herself smiling. It’s impossible to stay mad at Yvie; she may look fierce on the outside but Brooke knows she’s secretly a Care Bear brought to life via magic spell. Brooke is sincerely happy they’ve been friends for so long. They’ve helped each other and been there for each other through a lot, of course, through situations that are arguably worse than this, but Brooke is glad she has Yvie during this absolutely shit time. Vanessa had loved Yvie too when she’d met all of Brooke’s friends. Sure, she’d got along with Plastique and Nina and had eventually warmed to Bianca (although that had been a struggle after some of Bianca’s snide comments), but Yvie had welcomed her into Brooke’s life with open arms and had treated her as if they had been friends all their lives too. Brooke knows Yvie still speaks to Vanessa just to check in on her. She doesn’t mind.

“Do you wanna go for drinks tonight? Or food, if you feel like drinks will descend into stuff you’ll regret,” Yvie continues down the phone. Brooke exhales slowly.

“…Honestly Yves, it’s fine.”

“I’ll come to the apartment then. I just don’t want you wallowing. Wallowing’s for hippos. You’re not a hippo. You’re a…graceful crane.”

“You’re drunk already.”

“Maybe I am, and what the fuck of it? Right, I’m coming over tonight with lasagne in a tinfoil tray. Preheat your oven now. I’ll be round at 7. Love you, bye.”

“Bye. Love you too,” Brooke raises her eyebrows as she hangs up the phone. She remembers when she used to sign off like that all the time.

***

Brooke remembers those days of being in love with Vanessa, when the sex was passionate and gentle and full of fire and tenderness all at once. She remembers how it felt to look at her for as long as she wanted, taking in each glossy thread of hair, each small speckle of colour in her eyes, each individual and perfectly curled eyelash. Vanessa would always laugh at Brooke when she did that, telling her she was a creep, to stop staring at her. Now Brooke wishes she’d looked just a second longer, because she’s clearly not committed it all to memory.

She decides to go into the office. What else can she do? Yvie is annoying, but she’s right, Brooke can’t just sit and wallow. Or she could, but there’s case files that need updating and Brooke can either be sad at home lying in bed or sad at work doing something productive. Sad is the wrong emotion, she supposes. Empty is maybe more accurate. She is past the point of sad. Sad had happened when they’d had that argument and Brooke had played her trump card, best card in the pack at the time. Now she knows it had been a tarot card in disguise, the fool, and Brooke hadn’t at all known what her future would hold. She still doesn’t.

She walks into her office, past people that used to fear her, respect her. Perhaps they still do, but Brooke can still see the glint of sympathy in their eyes, hear the note of pity their voices hold. Brooke says good morning to Nicky, her new secretary. She hasn’t fired her yet, probably won’t ever fire a secretary again no matter how horrendous they are. Vanessa never came back after that day and Brooke doesn’t blame her, but she hopes she’s found another job. Nicky, she supposes, isn’t horrendous. She’s efficient and calm and obedient. Brooke knows she’s attractive too, and for a moment she allows herself to wonder if there is a parallel universe where she’s sought out a relationship with Nicky instead. Maybe a bit of random fucking with a pretty girl could take her mind off everything. Brooke laughs to herself in her office. She’s clearly losing it.

Detox comes in around half an hour later. Brooke’s done no work, simply staring at an excel spreadsheet and feeling her eyes glaze over but being unable to work up the motivation needed to blink. Detox puts a cup of coffee down on her desk and Brooke lets out a laugh.

“Jesus Christ, D. I’m not dying.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Seen happier faces at a fucking wake,” Detox jibes softly, pushes the cup closer to Brooke. “How are you today?”

Brooke leans back in her chair, swears she catches the scent of Vanessa’s perfume. It is gone almost as quickly as it had appeared and all Brooke is left with is approximately 45,000 memories, none of which she wants. “I’m shit. But I think that might be my new normal, I’ve felt like shit for so long. So I guess shit is the new fine. Therefore I’m fine.”

Detox exhales through her nose, the hint of a humoured smile playing on her lips. “The old you would be beating you up and taking your lunch money if she heard you talking like that.”

“Believe me, I’ve already beaten myself up enough.”

Detox gives a heavy sigh of frustration, shifts from one foot to the other. “You need to sort your shit out, Brooke.”

“What are you, my Mom?” Brooke snaps back, now as frustrated as her friend. She wants to be left alone to stew in her own lack of emotions. Detox doesn’t relent.

“Look, I’m gonna give you two choices. Number one, you accept that everything’s over with Vanessa, that you fucked it, that you’ve made your bed and now you need to lie in it. But from what I can see of how you’re acting just now, you don’t want to do that.”

“No, I’m not fucking doing that,” Brooke sighs, tearing her hands down her face and wishing Detox would leave.

“Second option is, you start a constant campaign of non-stop attempts to win V back. Flowers, texts, cards, we’re talking borderline Joe from You.”

“Of course you watch that trash.”

“But you get the point?” Detox persists, annoying incarnate. “Brooke, you can’t…you can’t go on living like this. It’s been over a month, it feels like I’ve lost this bitch that used to be my friend.”

Brooke supposes she has lost her sense of self. She goes through her days without showing a single emotion, instead preferring to let them all out in the courtroom, raining down upon witnesses relentlessly as if every case has been a personal experience. She’s won her past six in a row and she puts it down to the fact that she now focuses every single fibre of being that she possesses into her career and job and work and anything that doesn’t have to involve emotions whatsoever.

“Look, I’ll..I’ll think about it, alright?” Brooke waves her away, rubs her forehead long-sufferingly. The whole thing is annoying her, becoming less of a heartbreak and more of a headache.

Detox smiles and punches the air. “That’s my girl. Have a think. Right, I’ll leave you alone. See you later.”

Have a think. Brooke wants to laugh. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking since the day Vanessa left.

***

Brooke misses her.

She misses the way Vanessa just got her humour like no-one else did. When she’d have a client waiting for her and Vanessa would send her her first impression or opinion of them in advance, and then Brooke would have to hold in her laughter for the duration of her meeting because holy fuck yes, the woman’s hat did make her look like a bat and combined with her cloak it did make her look like the villain in a superhero movie.

She misses the way that Vanessa had sort-of-not-quite-not-officially moved in with her. Some of her clothes are still strewn around the apartment: a pair of black heels left by the door that she’d worn out to dinner with her, an emerald green lace underwear set that had fallen underneath the bed and Brooke had stuck in her washer-dryer, the cosy pyjamas that lived under one of Brooke’s pillows folded not-quite-neatly and covered in creases, and a white silk shirt that Vanessa had worn to work and Brooke had peeled off her when they’d arrived home, pressing kisses to her bare collarbones, chest and stomach. Vanessa used to crash her way through the apartment and often Brooke wondered if it was her mission to make as much noise as possible as she loaded the dishwasher, hoovered the living room, sang off-key in the shower. Brooke’s apartment has been so deathly quiet since she left, a funeral sort of quiet. Mournful and still and ghostly and cold.

Sometimes Brooke is sure she sees in black and white.

She remembers the day when they told each other they loved each other for the first time. There had been no ceremony, no grand gestures. In fact the pair of them were watching a film on Brooke’s couch- The Little Mermaid 2, Vanessa eager to force her love of Disney sequels onto her girlfriend. Brooke had looked away from the TV just for a moment, just to see Vanessa’s reaction to whatever was happening on screen, and when she lay her eyes on her she felt that familiar feeling of falling hit her like a wave all over again. It had happened quite a few times that fortnight or so, and the urge to tell her grew with every moment they shared together. Brooke watched her smile like a dork at the TV, the light in her eyes shining and the good in her heart visible just by looking at her. Brooke had laced their hands together, Vanessa taken by surprise and meeting her gaze with a funny sort of smile on her face. Her nose had crinkled up as she’d laughed at her.

“What?”

Brooke had pulled her close and kissed her without saying a word, trying to tell Vanessa without actually telling her anything. She was scared to say it first. She was scared to say it at all.

When Vanessa broke away, she gave Brooke a look that seemed to reach into her soul. Then she looked down at the blanket they’d thrown over them and gave a shy laugh.

“I wanna say something but I’m scared.”

Brooke still remembers the way her heart had beaten right out of her chest. If she tries she can still feel it.

“Say it. Say it, because I want to say it too.”

Vanessa had made eye contact again, her face nervous and hesitant, and Brooke wanted to kiss her fears away but that would have stopped her from saying what she wanted so desperately to hear.

“I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you.”

Almost as quickly as they’d said it they were pulling each other in, their lips meeting desperately as they melted into each other. And Brooke hadn’t taken her to bed and they hadn’t had passionate, lovestruck sex on the couch. They had sat and kissed on the sofa with the film playing in the background like teenagers, the feeling of being in love communicated without even having to say anything else.

Brooke had finally understood why people in musicals randomly burst into song.

She wishes she had known the last time she’d said it to her would be the final time. She wishes she could say it to Vanessa again. It’s still true. She’s still in love with her. She had fallen so hard.

The trouble with falling is that she had to hit the concrete eventually.

***

Another day goes by and a new one begins. Nicky comes in at half past nine with Brooke’s coffee. Vanessa always used to have it sitting out for her when Brooke arrived, a little heart drawn in the foam with caramel syrup making the coffee too sweet, just like her. Brooke can forgive Nicky, though. She suffered through another sleepless night and she needs the coffee more than she needs a lot of things. Doing her makeup this morning had been like painting a corpse, and Brooke tries not to feel embarrassed as she takes in Nicky’s perfectly painted face in contrast to her own. She thanks her, takes the cup and assumes Nicky will leave.

“Ms. Hytes,” Nicky says, surprising her. She stands in front of her desk, her brow furrowed in concern. “You’re hurting.”

Brooke almost drops her coffee cup in surprise. In days of old she would’ve fired a secretary on the spot for having the audacity to address her in such a way, make such an assumption, but Brooke is tired. She can’t be bothered to deny it, it would take more energy than to simply admit it. She deals in facts, and it is a fact after all. “Yes, Nicky, I am.”

Nicky pouts a little sympathetically. There is a pause in which Brooke assumes she’ll leave. She doesn’t. Instead she speaks again. “Who was the girl that broke your heart?”

Brooke can only blink back at her, her eyelids heavy from lack of sleep. She could tell Nicky to go back to her desk, she supposes, to get on with her work. But she’s in a rare mood to talk about things, so Brooke cracks a small, indulgent smile. “And how do you know it was a girl?”

“Men can’t break hearts like women can,” Nicky says softly, philosophically. Brooke isn’t sure she’s right but she supposes she’s never had any experience with men to disprove the theory. She sighs, nodding.

“Yeah, it was a girl. Her name was Vanessa,” Brooke says, the name feeling too clunky and odd in her mouth where once it had felt like a prayer. “I guess she didn’t break my heart. I broke hers and then by proxy I broke my own. It was a stupid mistake, we had a fight and…things were said that I regret but she still won’t talk to me. And fair enough, why the fuck would she?”

Nicky nods slowly, wraps her arms around herself to give herself a hug. “I have the same. Uh, I am escaping a girl who broke my heart. But even though she hurt me, I still love her. How does that work?”

“Because emotions are stupid and they don’t work in a logical way,” Brooke shrugs instantly. She’s had a lot of time to think about the subject. Looking at Nicky, she can see the pain behind her eyes, the hurt behind the calm facade of her perfect makeup. “Who was your girl?”

Nicky smiles sadly, nostalgia getting the better of her. “She was named Jaida. She was a model, like I used to be. I don’t wish to talk about her much. It’s still sore."

"Yeah. It’s still sore for me too.”

“You say you broke Vanessa’s heart?” Nicky asks shyly. The words are like a stab through Brooke’s chest, confirming the whole thing, validating it. Brooke nods wordlessly. Nicky gives a small laugh. “Then probably she still loves you too. Like me for Jaida.”

Brooke laughs, disbelieving even though she’d be lying if she said Nicky’s words don’t strike even the tiniest bit of hope into her heart. “No, I think that ship has sailed, Nicky.”

Nicky raises her eyebrows, shrugs. “You should call her.”

“Tried that.”

“Well, call her again,” Nicky persists, her voice calm and relaxed despite her insisting. “I wait for my call from Jaida every day."

Brooke feels sad for the young girl. She’s clearly lived so much of her life already at such a young age- she’s from France, but her CV stated that she moved to America to work in the modelling industry, which clearly didn’t work out if she’s making coffee for Brooke. "You should go back into modelling. You’re wasted here.”

Nicky frowns. “I am a waste…of space?”

Brooke laughs at the misunderstanding, waving her hands and shaking her head in protest. It’s the first genuine laugh she’s had in a long time. “No, no, no, no, God no! Wrong expression. Um…you’re too good at modelling to be working as a secretary. You have too nice a face.”

Nicky blushes, making Brooke’s face hot too. She hopes her compliment didn’t come out wrong. Nicky is smiling again, the regret plain on her face. “I would love to, but I would risk meeting her again and I am not ready for that.”

Brooke’s face contorted. “But you want her to call you?”

Nicky sighs, scuffs her foot. “It’s different when you have her in front of you and she’s beautiful."

Brooke shrugs in agreement. "That’s fair enough.”

Nicky lingers, tilts her head thoughtfully. “Can I do anything to help, Ms. Hytes?”

The Parisian lilt to Nicky’s voice makes everything sound like a proposition, even though Brooke doesn’t think she means it. She knows that she could probably have Nicky in her bed by the end of the day if she wanted to- they’re both hurting and broken hearted and yearning to be needed and wanted again, and Nicky is gorgeous but it’s not Nicky she wants. Her porcelain skin just reminds Brooke of Vanessa’s in contrast, her neat blonde hair brushed carefully into its bun reminds her of how wild and loose Vanessa’s used to be, her blue eyes remind her of Vanessa’s dark ones. Brooke shakes her head, gives a tight smile of gratitude. “No, Nicky. Thank you for this, but I think we’d both better get back to work.”

Nicky smiles in agreement, giving a little nod as she exits Brooke’s office and takes a seat back at her desk. Brooke looks at her phone in its place on her desk, reaches out to take it. She scrolls to Vanessa’s name in her contacts and hovers her finger over it, millimetres separating her from potentially hearing her voice again.

She discards her phone onto her desk and opens an email.

***

They had been the best months of Brooke’s life. She couldn’t stop telling Vanessa how much she loved her once she’d started and Vanessa couldn’t seem to either. They were the worst kind of honeymoon phase couple, or perhaps the best. Detox had cooed over them like a mother hen and Brooke had let her guard down a bit at work. Well, a lot. She’d loved being able to show Vanessa off as her girlfriend, she’d loved being able to kiss her throughout the day, squeeze her hand as she showed a new client into her office. They would exchange ridiculously soppy emails during meetings. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Brooke has spent so long blaming the business trip, blaming Priyanka, blaming Vanessa, blaming her work, blaming the distance. It was none of them. It was her fault. She did all of it.

Brooke had flown out to Florida for the weekend. There was a conference that her law firm had to attend there, Detox was speaking. Brooke had been looking forward to it as she knew one of her old friends from her Law degree would be there. She hadn’t seen Priyanka in ages; she was still based in Canada and practising there, but they still texted and when they’d found out they were both going Brooke had been excited. Priyanka is one of those rare exes that’s still a friend, their breakup back in their early twenties being a mutual decision, and Brooke knows there’s no attraction there anymore.

But of course, Vanessa didn’t.

Brooke should’ve done more to reassure her, she knows this. If she looks back she can see how agitated Vanessa had been during the leadup to the conference for a full week- biting her perfectly manicured nails, a small frown on her face without her knowing, moments where she’d stare off into space. Vanessa knew about Priyanka (they’d both talked about their exes) but Brooke had told her it had been amicable and mutual. Besides, she told Vanessa how much she loved her every single day. It wasn’t as if Brooke had hidden the fact that Priyanka was going to be there that weekend, or shielded her phone when they’d been texting each other. She’d had nothing to hide.

Brooke almost wishes she had been more secretive now. Maybe it would’ve changed things.

The conference had been fun, even though Brooke now holds it in the same regard as the beginning of a horror movie, the calm before the cyclone. She’d phoned Vanessa when she had arrived, eager to reassure her but she could still hear the worry in her tone, the anxiety. Still, it hadn’t stopped her meeting up for drinks with Priyanka that evening in the hotel bar, laughing and chatting like they’d always used to and doing silly Boomerangs with the cocktails they’d ordered. Brooke told her all about Vanessa and Priyanka was thrilled for her, saying how excited she was to one day meet her. Brooke had got her phone out to show her some photos when Priyanka had looked at her own and gave a little exclamation of surprise.

“Oh! Is her nickname Vanjie?”

Brooke had narrowed her eyes, watching as Priyanka scrolled. “Yeah, why?”

“She’s watched my Insta story already. Doesn’t follow me though. Probably just doesn’t want to be weird,” Priyanka had shrugged. Brooke had shrugged back, offhandedly agreeing but internally embarrassed. She’d known why Vanessa had watched her story- she’d been checking up on her. Brooke hadn’t liked that.

When she’d arrived home, everything gradually came crumbling down, the pair of them slowly removing the Jenga blocks of their relationship one at a time. Their hug had been off when they’d seen each other again, their conversation had been the small talk of strangers. And then it had happened. Vanessa had brought up Priyanka, Brooke had brought up the Instagram stalking. Vanessa had brought up how weird she found it that she still wanted to hang out with an ex, Brooke had defended herself and told her they were only friends. Vanessa had expressed how worried she’d been, Brooke had been hurt.

“When have I ever given you reason to be worried?”

“Well shit, when you met up with your ex for drinks?”

Brooke had hit out, called Vanessa out on her jealousy.

“Well maybe I do get jealous! But it’s only ‘cuz I don’t ever want to lose you, fuck, I just don’t want to think about you with anybody else, that’s all!”

“But you don’t have to! Priyanka is my friend, that’s it, that’s all there is to it!” Brooke remembers how irritated she’d been, how exasperated. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you! Of course I trust you. I just don’t trust her,” Vanessa had sighed frustratedly, pulled another block out.

“Well I’m not going to just not see one of my friends for the rest of our relationship, V!”

“So you’re choosing her over me? That it?” Vanessa had questioned. Brooke still remembers the tears in her eyes. She’d known Vanessa hadn’t meant to say that, she knew Vanessa knew she was being unreasonable. But Brooke had reacted instantly, thinking in absolutes, or perhaps not thinking entirely.

“Fuck, Vanessa, well if it’s that black and fucking white to you then what the hell are we doing anyway?” she’d yelled, the finality still hurting her if she thinks about it. The raised tensions in the room had come to a boiling point. Vanessa had gone quiet.

“What are you saying?”

Brooke had committed and she was still angry, still frustrated. She’d doubled down. “Why the hell are we doing this if there’s no trust in our relationship?”

The realisation had dawned slowly and sickly like tar over Vanessa’s face. “You’re saying you want to break up?”

Brooke hadn’t replied, only stared at the floor. Vanessa had taken it as an answer.

She’d left.

Brooke had regretted it, but she’d known they would make amends. It had just been a silly argument, and things had been said that neither of them meant. She still loved her. They still loved each other. Brooke had given it an hour, waited for her to cool off before she called her to apologise.

Vanessa hadn’t picked up.

Brooke’s still waiting on her to call back.

***

Brooke is ten minutes away from a firm meeting when she gets the text.

V: i’ll be at Rialtos for the next hour

V: your move i guess

She doesn’t even think about the decision, simply acts. She asks Nicky to send her apologies, tell the director that she’s had to go home with stomach pains. If she gets a disciplinary it’ll be worth the risk. She crashes out of her office like a tsunami, her bag and her coat swinging wildly from the crook of her arm. Rialto’s is a five minute walk from her office but she makes it in three even in her stilettos. It’s only when she sees it on the corner on the sidewalk opposite that an overwhelming feeling of panic and sickness hits her like a gut punch. She’s been waiting for this moment for the past month-and-twelve-days (she’s counted), but now that it’s here she almost doesn’t know what to do. She’s never felt nerves like this- all of her nerve endings are buzzing like broken strobe lights and every time her heart beats her whole body feels it. It had been different the first time they were supposed to meet up and talk things out because Brooke had been there first, she could sit for a while and psych herself up. But this time Brooke knows that Vanessa is sitting at a table in the bar just across the street, and all that’s separating them is a busy road, a door and a few steps. Brooke steels herself, forces herself to take a few deep breaths as she checks her reflection in the shop window beside her. She looks a fright: no makeup, sleep-deprived bags under her eyes, the only thing remotely presentable about her is her hair which she threw into a low ponytail that morning. Then again, she supposes that Vanessa’s seen her without makeup before. Brooke thinks Vanessa’s seen every possible version of her, apart from of course this one. She takes another deep breath, turns around and stares the bar down as if she’s going to war.

It’s time.

Brooke dashes across the road and it crosses her mind that perhaps it would be better to just let fate take its course and get hit by a yellow taxi, but that’s the coward’s way out so she reaches the bar entranceway, pushes the door open with a huge, held-in breath. Rialto’s is dark inside with dim red lighting, and so even at four in the afternoon it seems as if it’s midnight. There’s red booths with black lacquered tables that shine under the crimson of the lamps positioned above them and the walls are covered in framed pictures, none of which Brooke takes in because she’s searching, slowly yet frantically as if she’s attempting to both prolong and speed up this whole situation. One booth near to her to her right holds a cheerful couple, another on her far left houses an old man drinking a cup of coffee.

And then she sees her.

She’s got her back to the door but Brooke recognises the wave of her blonde hair, the tie-dye of the oversized hoodie she’s wearing. She recognises the acrylic nails and the chunky rings that pattern the hand that’s curled around what looks like a French martini on the table. A searing, painful memory of their first date at Le Bernardin wrenches Brooke’s heart. She takes another deep breath and walks forward even though she feels like she’s going to be sick. She stops just at the table and the breath is knocked out of her lungs.

Vanessa looks up at her, her face impassive. Her makeup is perfect, but then Brooke wouldn’t have expected anything else. There’s dark roots at her side parting but Brooke thinks she somehow suits them. Apart from that she looks exactly the same, just how Brooke remembers her.

“Hi,” Brooke greets her feebly. Vanessa somehow communicates a shrug through a blink.

“Hey,” she says, taking her hand off her glass to gesture to the seat opposite her. “Sit.”

Brooke nods as she sits down in the red leather seat, and it’s only then that she notices there’s a second cocktail opposite Vanessa. It looks like a pornstar martini, it’s one of Brooke’s favourites.

“I ordered you one. Figured it might make this easier,” Vanessa explains. Her expression doesn’t break. Brooke is touched by the gesture.

“Thanks,” she says. Her hands shake as she reaches out to take the glass, sips at it and feels the sweetness of the vanilla vodka and the tang of the passionfruit coat her dry mouth. Her stomach’s still churning as Vanessa sits regarding her for a moment. Brooke wants to say something. She wants to immediately apologise for it all, even though she’s left twelve voicemails and twenty texts saying the same thing. She wants to ask how Vanessa is, even though that would be the most idiotic of things to say. Eventually she decides to lead with a compliment.

“You look great.”

Vanessa sniffs. “You don’t.”

Brooke takes the hit, supposes she deserves it. “I’ve not been sleeping great.”

“Yeah. Yvie’s mentioned,” Vanessa looks down at her lap, blinks. When she looks up again she’s clearly ready to speak, and Brooke’s heart is in her mouth. “So, we need to talk properly.”

“Yes.”

Vanessa looks down at the table, then into Brooke’s eyes. Brooke can tell she’s having a hard time doing so. “Uh, first off I wanna say sorry.”

The apology knocks Brooke for six. She feels herself frown involuntarily. “For what?”

“Well, it was wrong of me to try an’ make you choose between me and your friend. I knew it was wrong the moment I said it but I was jealous, an’ I was hurt. But that don’t excuse it, so I’m sorry.”

Brooke shakes her head. She’d been annoyed at Vanessa for that at the time, and she’d have maybe appreciated an apology a month ago, but just now it only seems trivial in the grand scheme of things. “Vanessa, you don’t…you don’t need to apologise for this situation.”

Vanessa narrows her eyes at her and there’s a warning look in her gaze, so Brooke drops her protests and shrugs a little. “But I accept your apology.”

Vanessa nods, clearly following some internal script. Brooke is happy to go along with it, to play her part and say her lines, whatever they’re meant to be. She’s so used to immediately taking control of every situation she finds herself in, and even though her stomach feels sick and she feels as if she’s in an interrogation room she doesn’t mind playing the role of the witness and letting Vanessa be the lawyer for a change. She supposes she is on trial in some way.

“Now…I know that you’re sorry, you’ve made that pretty clear, so I don’t want another apology from you,” Vanessa begins, and part of Brooke doesn’t like that because she does want to say sorry, but maybe that’s just for her own benefit and not Vanessa’s. Vanessa sighs as she continues, looks down at her drink and this time doesn’t break eye contact. “But I need you to know how much you hurt me.”

Brooke winces. She realises Vanessa’s waiting for confirmation. “Okay.”

Vanessa pauses, and the breath she takes is shaky before she speaks again. “I…loved you so much, Brooke Lynn.”

The past tense slices Brooke in half.

“I never loved anyone like that before in my life. An’ I always thought you were too good to be true, like somehow one day I’d wake up and our whole relationship would be a dream. I never stopped tellin’ you how lucky I was or how much I appreciated you or how much I loved you. An’ you never stopped tellin’ me either. You made me feel so loved, an’ so precious, an’ so…fuck, sorry.”

Vanessa’s tone grows frustrated, anger layering with the tears Brooke can see in her eyes as she tips her head up, swipes at them like a tiger to wipe them away. Brooke thinks her heart might be breaking again, halves into quarters.

“An’ so that day, when we had that fight,” Vanessa continues, staring steadfastly at Brooke. “All of that, everything we had…it was like it didn’t matter anymore? Like everything we’d shared an’ everything I’d told you an’ everything you’d told me…like, what, that was all for nothing?”

“It wa-”

“Just lemme get this out, please,” Vanessa puts a hand up, stops her. “It was like everything I knew about you was just…nothing. I didn’t know you anymore. An’ I know it was a stupid fight and we shoulda been able to work that shit out, but…I was hurt. I’m still hurting. You hurt me.”

Vanessa stops. She’s done. Brooke wants to cry. She swallows the feeling down before she speaks.

“I behaved like a dick. And I said stupid things, but by the time they were out I couldn’t take them back. I didn’t mean any of it, Vanessa, I just…opened my mouth and said whatever got there first. That’s my fault, I know that. And I know I’ve apologised before but I haven’t had the chance to do it in person, so I’m honestly so sorry for hurting you. For making it seem like our relationship meant nothing to me. Like you meant nothing to me. You mean the world to me, you still do,” Brooke sighs, trying to make the deep breath she takes to stave off her tears subtle. She can’t meet Vanessa’s eyes when there’s tears in her own so she fixes her gaze on the passionfruit half floating in her drink as she continues. “And you don’t have to accept it, just as long as you hear it.”

“I know,” Vanessa says instantly. She looks calmer now she’s said her piece and heard Brooke’s, and she takes a sip from the two little black straws sticking out of the martini glass. She suddenly rolls her eyes, a bitter smile spreading across her face. “Fuck you, Brooke Lynn.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I mean…fuck you for making me still love you. Fuck me for still loving you,” Vanessa sighs, resigned. The words make Brooke’s heart give a leap and she can’t help the smile she instantly tries to suppress and fails. Vanessa narrows her eyes at her, her expression turning serious. “But that don’t mean I forgive you.”

“I know. You don’t have to,” Brooke says guiltily. She thinks about saying it, wonders if it’ll guilt-trip Vanessa and she doesn’t want that, but indulgently and selfishly she says it anyway. “I still love you. I never stopped.”

Vanessa winces as if she’s been shot, her expression instantly turning into one of discomfort and her eyes squeezing shut. Brooke frowns. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologising, Christ. You’re so fuckin’ Canadian,” Vanessa sighs exasperatedly as she puts her head in her hands, and Brooke probably would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been trying to repair the most important relationship of her life so far. Brooke feels awkward and she’s in this conversation without a map, unsure which direction it’s going in.

“Where do we go from here?”

Vanessa drains her glass, foam and syrup all that’s left. She leans back in her chair and folds her arms over. There’s a tiny smile that’s back on her face, and it makes Brooke’s hopes start to climb.

“Well,” she shrugs a little, her guard still up but ever so slightly lowered. “You can start by buyin’ me another drink an’ we can take it from there.”

Brooke nods, grabs her purse and almost sprints to the bar. She orders another French martini and another pornstar- she thinks she’ll be needing it. As she waits for their drinks and the sound of ice in a cocktail shaker cuts through the air, Brooke sneaks a look at Vanessa in the booth. She’s so gorgeous. Brooke’s happy to see her again, despite the circumstances. Just as she makes to turn back around, Vanessa’s head snaps up from the phone in her hand and their eyes meet.

Vanessa’s gaze is soft and the small smile on her face is warm.

Maybe they’re going to be okay.

#rpdr fanfiction #ortega #not a ghost you're in my head #your move #branjie #angst #lesbian au #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #detox #nicky doll #yvie oddly #priyanka

56 notes · View notes

katsitting · 4 years ago

Note

I would like to submit the word prompt 'Cage', please?

AN: So this is another one that grew a little out of control. It’s a little more emotional than I expected. I hope you enjoy, nonnie!

Ship: Tomarry

Rating: T

Tags: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Modern, Disturbing Themes, Prison, References to Murder, Unhealthy Relationships

You can read it on AO3 here.

___________________________________________________

“You’ve got an hour.”

Any response Harry could have made died in his throat when the guard opened the rusted, metal door.

The room could have been mistaken for a cupboard.

It was small, cramped, and unfurnished. There were no paintings, no desks. There wasn’t even a place for him to put his bag. All it had was a chair, a single bloody chair in the centre of the room facing a wall-sized square made of glass.

Harry tried not to make a face, already regretting coming here in the first place.

He knew it would be bad.

Prison wasn’t a pleasant place in England; it wasn’t difficult to imagine that America would be the same.

It was the first thing he’d considered when he’d made his choice to come to America, in the first place. It hadn’t been easy, convincing himself that it was the right choice, that it was the only way he could finally move forward from what happened, and yet—

Harry knew what he was getting himself into. This small, sterile place shouldn’t have come as such an unpleasant shock.

And yet—

It had.

Somewhere, deep down, Harry had had the faint hoped that it wouldn’t be that horrible, that he wouldn’t have to think about the fact that he was seeing his ex-best friend in prison and not over drinks at their local pub.

It was stupid, absolutely bonkers, but that hadn’t stopped him from hoping, hadn’t stopped his stomach from clenching tight with pain when he stepped inside.

This room that looked too much like that cupboard under the stairs, like that hellhole back in the Dursley’s home that he hadn’t thought about since he’d left.

And now Tom was living in one, had to live in one until the bloody rest of his life. He didn’t wish that on anyone, even when—

“He’ll be here in five minutes.”

Harry blinked, thoughts scattering at the low click of the door closing shut behind him. The guards had left him alone.

Five minutes.

Harry’s chest tightened at the same time his heart began to race.

Five minutes, and I will see him.

Harry sat down on the chair, unsure of what to expect, of what he could even say. He hadn’t talked to Tom in years, not since the news broke out.

Gods, how did anyone visit their loved ones in prison?

Closing his eyes, Harry tried to focus on his own breaths as he waited and not on the slow drip of the seconds ticking by, on the terrified murmurs in the back of his head telling him that he shouldn’t be there, that he should leave.

There was a clock on the opposite side of the glass window, but Harry couldn’t make out the numbers. The glass blurred the hands, muddled the minutes.

In and out.

Harry breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry jumped in his seat, a rush of fear and something that he refused to identify swimming in his veins.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Harry tried not to panic, forcing himself to suck in steady breaths to calm himself down and level Tom with the coolest glance he could muster.

This was it.

The moment he’d been waiting for since he’d made his decision.

It was foolish to think that anything could have prepared him for the reality of Tom.

Harry tightened his hands into fists, stomach churning with anger and distress, with longing and hurt.

Tom was sitting in front of the window, arms carefully tucked over his thighs. His hair was well kept even though he wore it longer than Harry remembered, his skin still as bloodless. He looked normal, the same way he had when Harry had last seen him, except—

Harry’s breath caught.

His eyes.

Those were different.

There was something to them now that Harry didn’t recognise, a glint mixed in with a familiar sliver of humour.

Harry swallowed, bracing himself for the task at hand. He wasn’t here for pleasantries, wasn’t here to catch up.

“Why did you do it?”

Tom’s expression didn’t change. If he was bothered by Harry’s lack of greeting, he didn’t show it.

“Why did you kill him?” Harry pressed, fingers beginning to shake and hating himself all the more for it when Tom’s gaze flickered to his hands and back to his face. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but Harry felt its weight like a layer of mesh.

“Is that really what you’ve come all this way to ask, Harry?”

Tom’s lips lifted into a smile as he asked, his eyes flashing with delight. Harry’s jaw clenched.

No.

“Yes.”

Tom tilted his head to one side, assessing, dark ringlets falling in his eyes in a way that they’d never had before as Tom appraised him. Harry’s skin began to crawl.

“Liar,” Tom purred, a hand coming up to press against the cage of glass separating them. “If you can’t be honest with yourself, at least be honest with me, for old time’s sake.”

Harry froze, throat catching when Tom slowly rose from his seat and pressed his other hand against the glass. He was no threat, no genuine danger, but Harry’s mind still shrieked with panic.

Leave. Leave. Leave. You have to leave.

It took every shred of strength Harry possessed to remain sitting.

“Do it.”

Tom’s eyes were smouldering, intent. There was no breath, no twitch that Tom didn’t catch. Harry knew it, could feel the inspection, the dissection, like a physical touch.

Tom had always been able to see right through him.

The circumstances might have changed, but that never would.

I can read you like an open book, a voice so much like Tom’s whispered in the back of Harry’s head.

Harry sucked a slow, steady breath to shake off his unease. He’d been dreading this from the moment he’d stepped on the plane, since he’d first set foot in the prison.

It was a question he’d planned to ask, but on his terms.

Tom had taken that luxury away from him.

“Coward.”

Harry was on his feet before he realised it, vision turning red with rage, stomach tightening with violence.

Coward.

His anger was like a scream, a fire devouring anyone and anything in its path. Harry couldn’t think past the flames, couldn’t breathe through the knots in his stomach demanding that Harry show Tom exactly how much of a coward he was.

Harry pressed so close to the window that his nose touched the glass, hands slapping hard against it.

“Why did he look like me?” Harry snarled, hands curling into fists to stop himself from punching the glass like he wanted to. He’d only hurt his hand if he did—this shit was bulletproof anyway.

Tom’s lips twisted, something feral flashing in his gaze. Malicious.

It was like a bucket of ice water had been tipped all over Harry’s head, like his rage had been sucked right out of him, leaving only horror behind.

“Because I wanted it to be you.”

Harry’s mouth opened, but no words would come. The words were like stones in his stomach, weighing him down, dragging him down to the bottom of the ocean. They were lost.

“Because I—“

“Shut up,” Harry said, refusing to listen any longer, to let Tom say anything else. Something was in his throat, like a lump, a stone. Harry couldn’t swallow past it, couldn’t breathe through the block.

I wanted it to be you.

I wanted it to be—

Harry left, unable to stomach the look in Tom’s eyes, the stupid fucking smile on his face.

He just needed to get away, to get out—

I wanted it to be you.

Harry didn’t make it far. He got as far as the car park before he was vomiting everything he’d had for lunch, tears and snot streaking down his face. It was difficult to breathe, to think about anything but those words.

Those fucking words.

I wanted it to be you.

Harry wish he’d never come.

#tomarry #harrymort #I did a thing #one word prompt #Anonymous

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meltangospelhour · 4 years ago

Text

Notes on Reverie & Discipline: Chapter 1

Format: 1st Person Narrative

Chapter Rating: R / +17 [Implied Sexual stuff/it's smut]

Summary: This story was written after and based upon the 2020 GOFest that's been collecting dust. It's a first person recollection of thoughts after certain events, as well as repressed feelings coming to the surface between three characters in particular.

Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Blanche

Comparing notes is how we’ve come to conclude our daily routine. It has been logical to do so; our research overlaps quite a bit. As you know, I oversee the handling of evolutionary components and deducting the requirements; Spark is an expert when it comes to breeding and handling Pokémon in their infancy; and Candela, in matters of improving overall stats of a Pokémon, which can involve a combination of stardust and candies.

To address it as Spark would: “Candy makes the candy.”

...Ahem.

So, because candies can trigger the evolutionary outcome of a Pokémon, it is inevitable and without question that I would be working alongside Candela quite often. It’s a fate inescapable. Even if we’ve discovered nothing new, she and I will come together out of a habit that’s formed over the course of these years. If one of us is too sick to appear in person, we’ll connect virtually. In all matters of candy, stardust, and now Rockets, there is always something to discuss.

Such evenings are somehow intense, yet still quiet. Cozy, if you will. The way my partner shifts from being so analytical in one moment, into a giggling fit the next, was a pattern that alarmed me in the beginning. Are you really a scientist, I’d wanted to ask countless times during our first sessions. Now, I’m happy to be a witness to the gamut of personalities that find themselves called into the field that are Pokémon studies.

Candela is far more crafty and even more calculative than I had come to imagine. If she loses, she still somehow wins. I have to work hard for my victories against her; she loses gracefully, but you will have most certainly earned that victory. Countless times, I have created elaborate defenses, counting on her weaknesses--proven and potential. And, repeatedly, I have seen her sidestep them before she’d even touch the surface of my hard work.

As if I were the purest ice, she sees right through me.

With her, there is no hesitation in matters of reading my face, my eyes, the way my fingers move, the pace of my breath, the tone of my voice, the quivering of my lips. Even down to the way I dress, she knows the language I speak past my mask, intentionally and not.

I could, at times, feel where those eyes went. It was distressing, yet oddly… alluring. That reaction has yet to change.

Within six months of observing me, she once asked of me: “You’re upset; aren’t you?”

“And why do you think this?” I sharply quipped.

“Your braid; it’s underhanded. When you’re in a better mood and have your hair braided, you’d usually opt for an overhand technique. Right?”

I found myself paralyzed; she was right. My Lapras had come down with Pokerus. While the virus itself is generally beneficial, it doesn’t make the course of the disease any easier to endure. Seeing someone you care about in pain and discomfort weighs heavily on the mind. As always, I kept my more guttural emotional responses suppressed. The issue of anyone knowing what my Lapras was going through wasn’t the problem; the issue was the potential of my raw emotions stifling my work.

I found myself angry; I had lost control. To opt for a euphemism so many are wont to make: she thawed past my glacial barrier. With this knowledge, would she take advantage of it?

She did, only…not in the way that I’d feared.

Candela stopped by to make sure my Lapras was comfortable, and told a story about how her Infernape, then a Monferno, came down with it. The Pokémon's massive head now resting in her lap, my research partner sang to it a lullaby that I’d never heard--Only to realize along the crescendo that it was Lugia’s Song in a different key. My Lapras, for the first time since falling ill, found enough will to make sound beyond agonized moaning and hummed along with her.

I looked on at the scene that churned impossible-to-pinpoint feelings from within: a woman who I’d feared, and, in a panic, further embraced water-types into my repertoire. Only to find that she seemed relieved I had done so while jovially complaining about needing a real challenge. Now doting upon the very Pokémon who could potentially, with its gains in its newfound recovery, could likely better withstand her team, if not devastate it, if I calculate my strategy accordingly.

It dawned upon me that she saw herself as a small part of something much bigger. If we were strong together, it was all that mattered to her.

She’d said to me some time ago, not the exact words, but akin to: Battles are frequent. They are won, they are lost. But war only has one victory, and that is the victory to focus upon.

That resonated true, especially now.

The feeling of partnership and friendship remained stable. However, something else within felt threatened.

...Something deeper that I’d repeatedly denied myself.

❄❄❄

I’ve worried. I’ve found myself knotting up within. I hadn’t fallen ill. I began to follow the pattern that was behind this sudden nuisance. One of the GO Rocket leaders we were up against is a person from Candela’s past. Someone close to her. A rival and a close friend. In a passing and annoyingly irrelevant thought, I immediately processed the possibility of them being doubles partners in that not-so-distant past.

I found myself thinking about it more, wishing to see the fight they’d engaged in in that field. I thought more about them than I did Cliff. I feel so terribly sorry for Cliff; Giovanni is unworthy of a man that loyal. But I found my thoughts wandering more often to a point that could be deemed unhealthy at worst, counterproductive at best.

The Salamence were the ones that drove my thoughts into this descent. Candela had one that she loved so dearly. That is not to say that she didn’t love her Pokémon equally, but her closeness and address of the dragon seemed so very unique in of itself. To compare, she addressed her Moltres with a certain deference, as we often did with our signature birds. To further illustrate the relationship, one could say that they were our patrons and we, their scions, in a sense. With the Salamence, however, there was a certain reminiscence and determination that I could never understand--

--Until I learned of Arlo’s possession of a Salamence. Though, his was tainted--as far as I was aware. Likewise, this could all be fallacious; I could be bringing up Sierra and Candela’s Houndooms, mine and Sierra’s Lapras, or Spark and Cliff’s Tyranitars. These coincidences potentially had just as little-to-no grounds for concern.

...Right? Of course. Of course, I’m right.

The Salamence themselves shouldn’t be a detail worth my mulling over; however, it drove my curiosity as to who filled the ranks of Arlo’s non-tainted team that Candela had, from what Willow said (who recounted what Candela told him) requested to battle. For old friends who dedicated themselves to the world of Pokémon battles to have matching Pokémon, or Pokémon who were romantically involved, it was often seen as what one might call a ‘cute’ gesture.

A cute gesture between old friends…

...Old friends who could be considered to be of ‘marrying age,’ no less…

To share a pair of dragons was no small matter in certain cultures. After all, Arlo is presumably Kantonian, or perhaps Johtonian; Candela is--

If the dragons are or were mates, then, possibly--?

(I still do not know Candela’s exact age. Her appearance is considerably younger than Spark’s, despite her being the eldest. I attribute this to a number of factors alongside her own healthy habits. One of my admins even teased that Valor’s old guards biologically engineered their higher ranks to fit a certain ideal, to which I immediately dismissed, but considered the potential sciences for my own personal application in terms of enhancing my own mental aptitude permanently.)

In addition, I suppose Spark being very open to discussing Sierra, but Candela’s withholding of Arlo, fuels my ruminations. Spark and Sierra have shared no past, but the level of transparency he was willing to offer is to be appreciated.

“...Has she mentioned him to you?” I asked Spark while watching Elekid and my Metagross play together.

“Nope.” He was careless and quick to reply. I wish he’d not assume before speaking.

“...You’re aware of whom I’m asking about?”

“Yeah,” Spark laughed. “Candela and Arlo. It’s all over your face.”

He wasn’t being careless, and I was wrong about him.

Sporting the audacity to gesture around the proximity of my own face with his finger just to drive his point home, I felt anger well inside of me. And yet, I wasn’t sure who or what I was angry towards. I quickly deducted that I was mad at the situation itself; that I had let my feelings over the situation shatter my façade. He didn’t need to ask “who” due to the fact I had, apparently, exposed my emotions out in the open more than I’d anticipated.

“I suppose that Professor Willow is the only one that Candela had spoken with in-depth about him. Are you not curious?” I asked Spark.

“Of course I’m curious!” he said as Elekid went flying. Nonchalant, Spark raised his hand to catch the flying ball of flailing and laughing energy. He was many things, but the manner that his ‘mother Beartic’ side often activated, as effortlessly as taking a breath, never ceased to impress me.

“You know what, though? When Candy’s ready to speak, she’ll speak! ‘Sides, it’s not like she’s got anything we can actually use! I mean, what’s she going to say? Dude likes boxers over briefs? What are we gonna do with that? Mail him thongs?”

I was fortunate that my anger had found focus. Spark was right; it was pointless. The thirst for my knowledge was driven by my own selfish desires, nor was it hampering Candela’s performance. If anything, it was a fuel.

And yet, my desires persisted. And grew.

...How would she know what sort of undergarments he preferred? Why would you even use such a crass example, Spark? They were only close friends. Nothing more.

I have had days where I absolutely abhorred Arlo. I’ve yet to speak with him; and yet, the reports from trainers and the fact he’d hurt Candela was beyond enough.

I had nights where I reveled in our time -- OUR time -- comparing notes with one another. That time Arlo could have shared with Candela, had he behaved and not fled like a spoiled coward, now belonged to me. Her closeness as she leaned over to see my work along the scattered papers and array of holo-screens...

...The firm, caring squeeze of her hand upon my shoulder;

...The warmth voluminous breasts brushing against my back when she leaned in for a closer look;

...The tenderness and melody of her voice uttering my name, telling me how proud she was to be my partner.

...The scent she wore that often compelled me to lick my own lips.

...I’ve experienced guilt for this indulging. We are working. I always kept still and drank in those moments. I dismissed the apologies from her when she soon realized how close she leaned over me as I worked in my seat and at my desk. For the record, I do not like it when anyone invades my space uninvited. I’d not prefer it.

But this? This was acceptable.

Desirable.

I always kept my voice to a whisper when I forgave her, and kept my face close to hers. At first, it was never planned; a pleasant accident. But, after conducting enough research regarding such gestures, I found that it was a way to sate this growing need for her I had within. To quell the steam without crossing the professional line, so to speak.

I began to realize that part of myself had lost control for her. Close to my proximity, I could feel her warmth, combined with that warm, sweet, spicy perfume that most certainly had traces of Salazzle pheromones imbued within. Alone and in the darkness of night, I then found myself yielding to the temptation of vivid fantasies and succumbing to the will of my own wandering hands.

I felt safe to do so.

Then, from within a dream, something clicked.

Awakened by epiphanies is the norm for my course of sleep. I keep a notebook upon my nightstand for such moments. However, this was the first time I felt too horrified to write. I didn’t want the degradation of my thoughts towards carnal desires to be committed to any tangible memory.

Still; it was a thought that felt as if I were gazing down a void that could envelope me at any time. I kept wanting to know just how close they had been.

Why are the notes on him so vague?

Why so much hatred just because of Candela?

Did she break your heart, losing a Pokémon battle?

Or stealing your potential title?

Am I missing something?

You seriously cannot justify abusing Pokémon because you lost against her!

You wanted the leadership position; didn’t you?

No, that’s too easy. That can’t be it.

Sometimes that’s all there is to it, Blanche.

Perhaps I’m committing the sin of over analyzing things. I still recall Cliff’s message, chiding me for ‘thinking too much.’

(While his observations are… sound, that did nothing to gain the upper hand against me in our previous battles.)

Perhaps these concerns I ruminate upon weren’t merely carnal desires. Perhaps they were more...

[He is sly and manipulative.]

That note. Who’s being manipulated? Why mention this useless detail in our dossier?

I can only compare him to anything but. I’ve met Rattata who were more sly than he.

Small. Loud. Does nothing but preach. Preoccupation with humiliation, and announces frequently for his desire to not be embarrassed. And yet, he seems so simultaneously proud and disgusted of Rocket. That isn’t very manip--

“Wait.”

My need to annotate took precedence over my stubbornness. This might be important. I took only a few notes; short ones for column [A]; extensive ones for column [C]. [C] would come to explain [A]. I will make [C] explain to me [A].

And yet, weeks later, we found ourselves standing beside one another. The subsiding heat from the summer sunset radiated upon us in the glow of victory as we watched the GO Rockets flee. With the aid of Victini’s blessing, we were able to overwhelm what could have become a potential disaster beyond words. One may call such a scene ‘romantic.’ Perhaps that would have been the moment where I should have confessed to her. Perhaps share a kiss? That’s how that sort of thing works; yes? Two warriors, victorious in their pursuits, succumbing to their long-repressed desires. In those stories Candela loved so much, it always seemed to play out that way.

Almost always. There was that one spy novel she complained for an entire week about.

Despite my successful duel with Cliff fresh upon my mind, I set aside enough space to recall what I’d observed of Candela and Arlo.

(Due to the sheer number of witnesses, Spark and Sierra’s battle was not worth recalling and was quite straightforward; to this day, and apparently to Sierra’s chagrin, people still speak of it extensively.)

I had witnessed the Valors; leader and traitor, from a distance; the unreadable faces; the wordless, pre-battle lingering. The reflection of the sunlight in Arlo’s spectacles from my position obfuscating the legibility of his emotions--while Candela, so expressive as can be with her enrapturing eyes, was no more different from when challenging one of our trainers. She radiated so much vivacity; and yet, she told me absolutely nothing.

...That was the point; wasn’t it?

My recollection was suddenly interrupted by that familiar voice so warm and bubbly: “I guess we won’t have any notes to compare tonight, huh?”

“...I suppose not,” I replied. Of course not; we were uncovering details at an amazing pace; my personal concerns aside.

Still, my chest began to ache, caused only by what I could only ascertain was due to tension. Candela; invite me to something after our dinner with the Professor. Ask me something, anything. A showcase battle? A doubles battle with Spark and the Professor? Chess? Would you… Care to spend the night? Anything? I couldn’t look at her. I looked at everything and everyone else around me but her. I knew that if I did, she’d call me a Piplup and ask what was wrong. Not that I minded, but I wasn’t ready to allow myself to react to that the way I desired to do so in public.

She said nothing.

Before I could take command of the situation and extend my own invitation, I finally directed my eyes where she was supposed to be.

She was already gone.

I last glimpsed her waving to Spark and Professor Willow before mounting her Rapidash and taking out beyond the valley’s treeline.

I took a step forward to call out to her, to simply give her the similar dismissal/greeting that I often did by announcing her name; but the echo of the sound of my heel clicking down on a flat rock seized me by surprise, thus disrupting my usual vocal range into a far more embarrassing octave.

It was the reverberation of both my voice and that step that suddenly alarmed me. Something about that echo, in my mind’s auditory hallucinations, made it feel as if I were speaking in a chamber.

No, a theatre.

What would have been something of a charm in a natural, open space--to hear one’s voice echoing in such a way--triggered a visualization of all the notes that I had taken, and what I had bore witness to today.

Something’s up. I was now beyond determined to find out just what it was.

Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

#pokemon go #fanfic #blanche #spark #candela #pokemon fanfiction #leader blanche #leader spark #leader candela #my writing #candela x blanche #candela x ???#leader arlo #ship fic #love triangle #smut

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fizzypunks · 5 years ago

Text

A Shirker’s Headfirst Slide Into Love and Other Feelings

fandom: naruto word count: 9k/complete rating: t summary: shikamaru is dumb when it comes to love, and neji is very perceptive.

AO3

note: unbetaed and an experiment in trying to write them together :) thank u for reading!

The sun setting behind them would normally be reason enough for them to set up camp, with traps and protection, and maybe a bedroll if they felt tired enough. It would have been normal procedure to wait the night out, take guard shifts, and rest as much as possible. That’s, at least, what Shikamaru knew he should have suggested, and he knows that it’s too late to go back on it now.

“Shikamaru, I know you want to get home,” Neji said, a long distance between the two as Neji was following up the tail end of their two-person mission. “But it’s not worth wasting the time we could be resting right now. We should set up for the night.”

Shikamaru kept his pace in the trees, a cautious speed that didn’t suggest danger, but might have implied some urgency. “It’s not about what I want, Neji, it’s about getting out of Mist lands.”

“We’ve been out for well over thirty minutes, Shikamaru.”

Shikamaru almost shook his head in defiance, quickly checking himself and remaining as collected as he wished he felt. He knew this information too, but he couldn’t stop. Not even to make an excuse that made sense.

“Shikamaru.”

Shikamaru was decidedly ignoring his companion, but even the act of avoidance and silence was enough to bring some pink to his ears.

He doesn’t know why he had to be paired up with the Hyuuga, and up until now he was certain he would be able to handle it. To deal.

Deal? Deal with what? Keep your head on mission.

To ignore Neji, and all the associated and ridiculous feelings that come with not ignoring him. The silence between them used to be easy -- maybe Neji used to be stuck up and very much the picture perfect image of a cold-hearted Hyuuga, but since the tides shifted and they’ve taken on Shinobi duties together, that impression of a distant and unbothered Neji faded into the past like leaves to the wind.

Maybe it’s harder to ignore him now. Maybe it’s been a horrifying process to realize how seamlessly he went from distant, methodical team-mate to the person who he looks forward to talking with, and spending silence in with, and playing shogi with, and so, so much more --

“Shikamaru!”

A hand came to tug on his shoulder, light and just to grab attention as they bounded across the tree tops.

Shikamaru blinked, eyes pulled to the present suddenly as Neji’s voice came in loud and strong and just beside him.

Shikamaru sighed, feet bracing for an immediate stop -- maybe it isn’t that hard to ignore him after all.

“What is wrong with you?” Neji said, voice raised, eyebrows furrowed and glaring. The look in his opal eyes was deep with frustration and patience as thin as cheese cloth.

“If you could give me reasons, I could agree with you -- but we need to rest, and I don’t know why you’re so focused on getting home when we’re almost two days away.”

The pinch in Neji’s voice was restraint, was formality, and Shikamaru immediately hated the feeling of formal and distant and felt even more like an asshole.

“Neji --”

“This isn’t something I want to argue, and I can’t believe that of all people, I’d have to argue it with you.”

The authority seeping into his voice, into the resolve of his flattening eyebrows, was also something Shikamaru couldn’t stand. The way the tone of his voice became a barricade, a means to an end that said we’re stopping, and that’s it.

Huh, so you don’t like it when it happens to you? Man, what an idiot you are.

“Neji --”

“We’re in a safe spot. I’m going to set up our perimeter, I’ll leave the bedrolls to you.”

Before he gets the chance to say anything half-assed or under-explained, Neji turned his back and launched himself to the canopy above.

The mission did take a toll, and the sigh Shikamaru let out felt like a mountain resting on his back, an endless ache that required rest.

Neji was above him, setting wires and incindiaries across the large, mossy branches. Shikamaru stretched his neck, sighed, and moved to the small clearing before he let himself stare.

The night fully settled over them like a cold blanket, restless with forest chatter and the faint stirrings of the nearby river. The large two roots they camped under were dry and a made for a good wall to keep their backs against. They even lucked out with how little bugs there seemed to be, but that’s what happens when autumn begins its descent into winter.

They were secured with a small concealed fire and one-more than necessary trap set in the surrounding leaf piles. The two of them were comfortable, hidden, sheltered from the winds, and in friendly territory -- the all but perfect shelter for a long rest.

Neji was sitting beside him to the left, three feet away on crossed legs, and the veins around his eyes were straining as he did another sweep of the surrounding woods.

Undeniably secure.

None of it could explain any of the unrest in Shikamaru’s stomach.

This is a fucking pain-- why bother?

Taking a bite of a slightly stale bun, his stomach turned in a restless, nervous churn.

He’d take combat and enemies over whatever this any day.

Shikamaru knew he had to own up to his own behavior at some point -- it was clear as day how he was acting, and he felt stupid to act so thoughtlessly. And for so long, too -- his attitude has been bent like this for weeks, and all his talks with himself did nothing to straighten out whatever the hell it was that made him compelled to do it in the first place.

He felt stupid when he averted his gaze when Neji brought something to his attention. And it was petulant with how his sentences fell short and cropped and irritated whenever they had to speak in moments that lasted longer than a few sentences, however rarely they did that these days-- Neji was the one who always seemed to speak first, and the one whose words it usually ended on, too.

It’s been too many weeks of this , as though Neji was a bother and in his way and he somehow needed to make that explicitly clear – that he had to make the Hyuuga as uncomfortable as he was. It was probably the dumbest, meanest, most logic-lacking thing he’s done-- he knows all too well, and he sighs.

Neji didn’t do anything to warrant such behavior, it was all personal in a way that Neji simply couldn’t have been aware of. It was all on Shikamaru, the haver of such feelings, not the object of those feelings for existing.

I’m an asshole. I need to apologize...

Neji hadn’t said a word since he last cleared their perimeter. His meal of fruits was already finished, and his flak jacket was still donned. Shikamaru spared another peek toward him, and realized that he was still using his Byakugan.

Shikamaru’s eyes snapped back to the area in front of him, back to scanning the white bread in his hands and the pathetically small bites that were too telling of his lost appetite. He softly squished it between his fingers, making it grow plump, before deciding that he wouldn’t be able to eat till his speaks.

“We’re clear,” Neji said at last, and Shikamaru could hear the ease return to his voice as his Byakugan finally gave way to a relaxed state. “I’ll check in again in an hour,”

“Sounds good…” And then a seconds pause before, “Thank you.”

The silence returned as soon as he broke it, and this time Shikamaru has to be the one to break it. It’s too dense, suddenly unfamiliar and distinctly wrong.

He set his bread to his right, and pulled his leg up to his chest. His flak jacket was at the end of his feet, laying across his bedroll haphazardly. Thinking twice on it, he used a foot to hook the arm hole and reeled it back in.

Fishing around in the inner pocket, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes. “I’m being a jackass.”

Neji hummed in response. It wasn’t a particularly cold tone he took, and that made the knots in Shikamaru’s stomach settle down.

A little bit, at least.

But still, Neji waited, still like a statue with all the patience in the world. Shikamaru couldn’t argue with it either when he had more to say and own up to.

Not everything, but…

“It’s been a tough… few weeks. I can’t say I’ve handled it well. I’ve been trying to handle it on my own, and I have been, but… that’s no reason to…. You know.”

It’s something, a good start -- but each word fell like lead weights into the air around them, losing pride for having to say them at all.

Neji sits still beside him, and Shikamaru lit his cigarette before continuing.

“I’m surprised you’re not… yelling at me not to smoke. Telling me it’s gross and unhealthy, or that it’s offending your Hyuuga sensibilities.”

Neji moved to cross his legs, but remained silent despite the good-natured jab. His chakra is subdued, calm and unreadable, and it’s like talking to a wall -- brick and mortar and Hyuuga strength of will.

“It’s good we stopped though… I’ve probably slept 5 hours in total this week, I definitely was pushing too far…”

Shikamaru took another drag of his cigarette and watched the fire consume the end of it, a small interrupting of the smoke stack as it came to fill his lungs, to settle his nerves for a split second before he had to release it back out into the cold air.

It didn’t really occur to Shikamaru how taken he was with Neji till this moment -- not just the nerves that came with realizing he’s been too cold to him and needs to apologize, but the way he felt like he was balanced on a knife’s edge in anticipation of hearing anything from him, be it small talk or admonishment.

God, can’t he just say something?

Shikamaru doesn’t want to look toward him, so he keeps his gaze toward the sky and the patches that peak through the clouds. The stars were brighter from the country side, but they were few and far between the heavy clouds and shedding tree branches.

“I don’t know how you Jonin do it, you know. Back to back missions, advanced training, missions to villages with pretentious, under qualified governors who think too highly of themselves… it’s worth it in the end but gods, look at the cost. I’m spent. Personally, I’m just mad I’m on my last two cigarettes.”

“You forgot something.”

Shikamaru’s ears started to burn, but he kept his tone. “Hmm? About what?”

Neji’s voice carried gently, neutral and hard to place in a way that gave away nothing. “About the missions, and what we have to deal with.”

Shikamaru chanced a cautious laugh, “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“You forgot the teammates that won't speak to you. I also consider that a pretty big… annoyance.”

Shikamaru held his breath around a lung full of smoke, a trail of heat starting to curve up his cheeks and sink into his stomach. It wasn’t the embarrassment, it was the shame of acting so profoundly idiotic that he could hear the disappointment behind Neji’s words.

It’s like going through that phase as a kid, when being mean was the way to say I like you , but running away was like the sign, the declaration, that might as well say I hate you and I do not think about you at all and I don’t want to get too close because what might happen?

As an adult, that’s pretty hard to admit to.

“I didn’t mean to,” Shikamaru started, keeping his voice low. He tucked his knees into the cradle of his arm, bracing against the cold.

“You mean to tell me it wasn’t intentional?”

“I…” How do you lie about irrational, readable, stupid actions? Shikamaru is good at explaining, at thinking on the spot and it’s as easy as breathing to strategize the next 200, 300, 400 moves ahead - but when there’s no way around speaking without revealing, and now is not the time to reveal...

Shikamaru’s cigarette was burning down, and it ashed on his knees before he could stop it. “It’s not about that… I’ve just been, I don’t know, stuck in my head, and I’ve not been easy to talk to in general. I’m sorry that I’ve been a dick to you, though. It’s not what I want, and like I said, I’ve been too stuck in my head to really notice.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shikamaru peeked at Neji when nothing more came from his apology. Neji was, like him, leaned against the bark of the giant root they sheltered beside. His head laid against the root, hair pulled out of the way and over his left shoulder to keep it from the toughness of their makeshift shelter and as far away from bugs as could be. His head tilted back to lay against it in as restful a position he could probably find while keeping awake.

He expected the Hyuuga to look watchful, yet he found that Neji’s eyes were closed in placid contemplation. They rested peacefully, without a furrow to be found on his soft features. The shadows cast from the nearly dead fire caught under his eyes, under his lips, the contours of his mouth coming alive with sharp full shapes taking form. The dull light illuminated in the most concealed way possible how his features were both sharp and distinctive, yet soft and touchable…

Shikamaru turned his eyes back to the fire, to the forest, knowing the train of thought he was on would derail too fast. They’d been sitting there long enough, and there was clearly no alternative on a mission other than to take the silences when they happened.

Why’d it have to be us? Naruto could have come on this mission… it could have been Ino…. Chouji…

A couple more minutes passed, and Shikamaru was growing used to the sound of crumbling firewood.

Finally, Neji said, “It’s okay.”

Shikamaru looked down, refusing to sigh in relief. “Thank you.”

“I still don’t quite understand.”

“What to you mean?”

“I still don’t understand why you’ve been making poor decisions. I’ve never seen that from you,” and his voice was way too stern, too intensely focused like the end of a needle. “I wouldn’t be thinking about this as much if it weren’t for you pushing on too far, lying about knowing we’re in the wrong territory, and ignoring procedure. That I don’t understand.”

Shikamaru opened his mouth, but Neji continued without more than a second’s pause. “And then when I hear that you were asking to be reassigned on this mission, that also doesn’t leave me feeling very convinced.”

Shikamaru fell silent, lips suddenly sealed together. The fire his eyes were so intently trained on was still too bright for his liking, and if they were to disappear all together, he might thank the universe for the small mercy of shadows.

“So before I feel… hurt, I think I’ll ask you first. Why?”

“Neji…”

Wow, you really set yourself up for failure, didn’t you?

“I was going to ask you when we got to Konoha, but since we’re already here.”

Shikamaru’s limbs turned stiff, his jaw taut with resistance -- but it was starting to leak from him, all that resistance and fighting and stupidity that he dug his feet into. He hoped that it would go away, that if time and distance gave him the opportunity, he’d find himself sorely mistaken and that all the little things he ignored about the way the other made his heart ache were like passing moments to be left behind.

They weren’t, and he hurt Neji in the process of uselessly trying to disprove himself.

“I’m… damn it, yeah, fine,” Shikamaru started, letting the irritation in his voice leech out a bit. He reached for the pack of cigarettes beside him and took another fine stick to his lips. “You deserve an explanation, I know I’ve made this mission more difficult than it needs to be.”

Are you really going to do this? Even if he takes it well, Hyuuga’s have clan politics. Rules. Punishments.

Fuck it . “I… was trying to get a new partner for this mission.”

“I assumed, Shikamaru.”

“It wasn’t anything against you , it…”

“But it was personal, right?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, I needed some distance…”

“Why didn’t you ask?”

Shikamaru stopped -- fingers cradling a lit cigarette, lips parted, and he felt like an idiot for probably the hundredth time that hour.

“I would have given it to you.”

“I’m... would you believe me that it didn’t occur to me till just now?”

“Something heavy must be on your mind,” Neji laughed, and it was like music and all Shikamaru wanted was to hear it again and again.

“You could say that, and I should have asked instead. I just needed space, but it wasn’t personal --”

“Do you think you can lie and I wouldn’t notice?”

“Okay, okay, fine -- it was personal, but it wasn’t personal. It’s not from a place of hate and it’s not that I want to do it, I just had to do it, and I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

“What’s so urgently on your mind, then?”

“Neji…”

“I can only assume it has to do with me.”

“It’s because I’m stupid… look, it’s not you, it’s everything else. I’m just being my normal, lazy self and what’s coming down the pike for me has me on edge… Asuma, family politics, Naruto running off every chance he gets and I’m left here wondering if he’ll return this time. Other things that I need to think through carefully...”

The silence between them grew, like the gaping chasms between continents; fast and swift and ringing like a strike to the ear. It’s not unusual, it’s not something’s Shikamaru isn’t used to -- but before, it used to feel like peace, instead of a prolonged heartbeat.

Neji shuffled, rattling the contents within his leg strap as he uncrossed his legs. Shikamaru craned his head to look at him, to see if there was any anger or frustration in him or, gods forbid, he finally pushed him far enough that he was drifting.

Neji reached over, shuffling to bridge some space between them, and without a word took the cigarette from Shikamaru’s lips. He ashed it in the patches of dirt between them, but took gentle care not to crush it.

“It’s a bad habit,” he said, bringing his eyes to level with Shikamaru, leaning over the hand that supported him. He continued. “You win, Nara. I’ll give you some distance, and you’ll stop smoking a carton every two days.”

Shikamaru nodded, not finding it within himself to vocalize an answer, or deny the accusation of smoking so often.

Up close, the Jonin’s eyes glowed under the moon, and if he stayed staring like that any longer, Shikamaru knew he would have to do something . But instead, Neji didn’t say anything else, he just smiled and handed over the put-out cigarette. He returned to sitting, back up against their makeshift wall, and closed his eyes.

“Get some sleep, Nara. I’ll wake you in three hours.”

Shikamaru blinked, staring at Neji’s resting form, and decided quickly that maybe he should listen.

Their mission passed comfortably and quickly – it was weird, the way silences turned into even greater expanses, but it at least wasn’t awkward. Neji kept to himself, respecting the distance Shikamaru claimed to have needed.

No, it wasn’t a claim, he really did need the distance -- but even he saw the foolishness in thinking that that alone would be enough to curb the affection welling within him. No distance would be a cure for feelings, and the absence of his friend only seemed to prove to do the opposite.

Now the shadow-nin felt the distance and it was like a magnifying glass to the ways in which he would miss Neji: how each moment passed alone was somehow (and he had little idea when this started happening) less peaceful without Neji’s quiet, ever calm presence. And then Shogi, the way he missed being challenged, but also watching the concentration stir in the Hyuuga’s eyes as he looked for faults in Shikamaru’s strategy. He missed the random visits, the ones that didn’t even necessarily need shogi or drinking or a discussion of their shared shinobi duty.

But Shikamaru didn’t break, no matter the growing pang of regret for having created their divide -- he laid in bed and simply tried to find the best way to not experience whatever this was.

The window was open, and he laid atop the bedding with his hands behind his head. The breeze was cold, but not enough to bring Shikamaru from his endless train of thought, and the many detours it ended up on.

It wasn’t even about him . It was about Neji.

The goal is to return to normal.

To be able to look him in the eye, to be able to stop yearning --

Who said anything about yearning?

But then again, what else do you call it when your heart cannot stop beating to the thought of finally seeing him ?

What is it when you would defend someone to the death?

Once, Neji beat him at Shogi. And then they played a game of Go, and he beat him there too. It never happened again, but Shikamaru would never admit to, for the first time in his life, being too distracted.

It didn’t happen again. He didn’t let it.

Some days, Neji comes over just to... come over. There’s no preamble, no mission-related duty or off-the clock work, and most of the time, it was un-announced. Neji would appear at their front door, knocking for posterities sake, but he also appears at his window, or seeks him out in the many acres of Nara land. Shikamaru used to ask why, but the answer was always vague or some form of dodging, and it didn’t take long for Shikamaru to learn to stop asking.

“I was in the area.”

“If you didn’t want me over…”

“I’m hiding from Naruto, he has a bet with Kiba...”

Neji didn’t make it a secret that he preferred not to be at the estate, and Shikamaru didn’t blame him. Ever since the Chunin exam, Shikamaru grew more and more aware of the things that happen behind closed doors, and how it’s not always something that could be fixed.

Sometimes, fixing it just meant being away from it, or maybe just being with someone who you didn’t hate. And always, he chose to be here. Whether in silence, or in training, or over a game of shogi, but always -- usually -- here.

Shikamaru didn’t think about it too much.

Neji returned from practice with his team one hot summer day, and as a treat Gai had offered to buy them ramen. Ichiraku is easily the most popular spot to eat ramen in the day time, especially for Jonin with kids who didn’t exactly know how costly it is to feed a team of growing, exhausted teenagers.

Shikamaru was eating, alone, with a book on wild life resting to his left. Gai came in unceremoneously, followed by Lee, Tenten, and Neji in tote.

Shikamaru didn’t expect, when he turned around to offer a lazy greeting, for Neji to look…

Shikamaru’s eyes shifted downward and to the pavement fast .

Neji’s hair was braided, and expertly so. All of his long, coffee colored hair was gathered into one long, thick braid that draped over his left shoulder. His hair was so healthy, and so soft looking, Shikamaru couldn’t help but want to touch.

“Good afternoon, Shikamaru,” Neji said, a strong hint of annoyance trapped in his voice -- clearly, though, it was from the way Lee was wrapped around his shoulders that made him look like he wanted to drop dead.

“Shikamaru! Could you be so kind as to help settle a disagreement for us?”

Shikamaru glanced up, feeling the heat of a blush creep up his neck, and tried to avoid direct eye contact. “Ummm…. Sure, I guess.”

Why are you acting so weird? What the fuck?

Gai, after having ordered his fill, turned toward his group and beamed, the way he always did when he looked at the kids in his care. Shikamaru always thought that he looked like a loving mother hen, and couldn’t help but gaze at his chicks with the utmost affection. “Debate? What possible debate! It’s a look that will stun, turn heads, and absolutely --”

“Stop!” Neji said, a blush fiercely taking over his face as well. He looked off to the side, resigned to the brotherly arm Lee slung around him but, apparently, not to looking like he was comfortable with it. “Clearly, this was a mistake.”

“Neji! You can’t help that people will compliment you,” Tenten added, sitting beside Gai and smirking with mirth. She glowed with the energy of one who was getting exactly what she wanted, then some. “It’s a good look!”

“You also cannot deny that it was a positive action that greatly reduced your heat-exhaustion!” Lee added, raising a finger matter-of-factly. “I was worried the sun might have harmed you if you had not let me braid it, and now it has resulted in another great discovery: you should wear your hair braided more often!”

“I’m sorry, but what disagreement am I supposed to be weighing in on?” Shikamaru said, unsure if he really wanted to get involved. But since Neji looked just as, or maybe even more flushed, and quite preoccupied with avoiding attention, Shikamaru felt a little more at ease to look at the embarrassed Hyuuga. No one would blame him if for a glance.

He’s…

“You don’t need to weigh in on anything,” Neji said, peeling away from Lee and choosing to sit as far away from him as possible -- just to the right of Shikamaru.

“Oh, come on Neji! Partake in some of our joy! Allow yourself to bask in your youth and the perks it brings you!”

“Just because you braid my hair, you think we need to draw more attention?”

Gai, Lee, and Tenten all said, in seemingly premeditated unison, “Yes!”

Beside Neji, Tenten giggled, nudging him with her elbow before turning to lean on the counter. “Anyway, we all think he looks great with his hair like this, and he disagrees.”

Gai, sat beside her, nodded solemnly. “If only he could trust us!”

Lee, on the other side of Gai, simply nodded in agreement.

Shikamaru sighed -- this entire ordeal, the loudness, the grandeur, was so needless and dramatic that it might be seen as slapstick if an observer would waste their time viewing it.

However…

“What’s the point, though? Why do you care if he agrees?” Shikamaru said, avoiding looking outright. He settled on picking up his chopsticks and looking down the counter with a glance.

Lee laughed. “It is not about agreeing! He simply does not believe that it flatters him, and we insist it does! So, what do you think?”

Shikamaru could have said he disagreed. He could have had an easy out with a simple ‘no’. It could have all been ended if he, the newly decided decision maker, decided that it was not a good look.

Normally, Shikamaru would have done just that. Not a single part of him understands why he didn’t.

“Well… I guess, since I have to. Neji,” and he looked toward the Hyuuga, turning his stool in order to face the still-blushing ninja.

Neji stole a sidelong glance toward Shikamaru and didn’t know what to say, so Shikamaru said, “Face me so I can get a look.”

Like gritting teeth, without so much as a word, Neji turned to face him, in the most slow, resisting way possible. He looked off toward the street, idling his eyes in the distance shakily, and Shikamaru could see his levels of embarrassment climb by the second. His skin was too pale to mask frustrations, and as such, his normally dead-cold cheeks and nose were brushed with a dusting of pink.

“If you’re just here to mock me, just say yes,” Neji said, voice low and quiet -- only for Shikamaru’s ears. “This is stupid.”

Shikamaru smiled. “Hmm.”

His hair was nice. The person in front of him was also nice, and really any hair style would also be nice.

Nice . That’s what he looked like.

“Let up, Hyuuga, I’m not here to mock you. It’s up to you if you want your hair like this, but it doesn’t look half bad.”

Neji raised his eyes and made eye contact for the first time during this pointless ordeal, and reserved isn’t a word often used to describe him, yet it was the perfect one in that moment.

Shikamaru smiled. “Sorry, Hyuuga, but it works. Whether or not you keep it, that’s up to you.”

Despite his annoyance, Neji smiled.

Gai and Lee were by far the loudest supporters of Shikamaru’s decision, and once their ramen’s were delivered, they all settled down for a lunch shared in silence.

Sometimes, Neji makes no sense. Shikamaru knows him well, and yet, occasionally, he’ll make a request, or say something quiet and reflective, and Shikamaru never is able to predict what it will be, or when it will happen.

It’s on a hot summer night that Neji asks, “take me to your favorite spot.”

They’re sitting in the book of the archive room, overlooking historical accounts of the rise of the south Suna. He looks up and across the table to the Hyuuga, thouhgts suddenly diverted from his reading material. “Huh?”

Neji’s eyes were still gliding over the page of his book. “For sky gazing.”

“You want to look at the sky?”

With me?

Neji glanced up, then down to his turning page. “Yes. I’d like to meditate somewhere besides the estate.”

After their studies and research were done for the night, Shikamaru brought him to a field outside the Nara lands, and showed him the concave of the root of a large tree. The base of the tree was green grass, and the ground was curved as though it was only meant to be laid in.

Neji quickly looked over the little sitting spot before him, and before Shikamaru could say anything, he sat in the soft grass at the base. Shikamaru, as surprised as he was, sat beside him.

They gazed into the sky in quiet companionship, one in meditation and one with quickening heart.

He doesn’t say it out loud, because whining about important things isn’t Shikamaru’s speed, but he enjoys the nights with Neji more than he does those without him. He’d rather whine about things bothering him and the mundane details that become part of the daily routine of shinobi life, but never anything actually important.

That’s why, no matter what, he won’t say he misses a certain Hyuuga, and that the clouds don’t quite feel the same without him.

Hyuuga’s are like cats -- they’re temperamental, strike out with provocation, and they don’t easily open up.

Once they do, however, they’re impossible to shake. They’ll be there , and you’ll be hard pressed not to have them in your space, or attending events with you, or even spending evenings alone with nothing but a bottle of Sake.

Neji doesn’t hold his liquor well, and that’s why they were drinking at Shikamaru’s house, because if anything were to happen, no one would be the wiser, and the Hyuuga name wouldn’t come to be sullied.

Shikamaru went from trying to help Neji stand, to being pulled down to his level in an instant. And in just as quick a moment, he was asleep, shoulders cradled in the safe arms of Shikamaru, hair tangling and head leaning into the space Shikamaru’s neck provided.

Neji…

He thanked the gods that Neji was asleep, unable to hear the sound of his heart hammer in his ribs like a restless canary.

Shikamaru let him rest for a moment, feeling a little too proud that he’d be allowed to be this close, and this responsible, and this intimate...

Neji’s breath was soft, and gentle, and when Shikamaru moved to shift them so that he could also be sitting, he moaned softly.

Shikamaru swallowed, mind blanking at the sound.

God damn it...

Shikamaru ended up tucking him into a spare futon beside his own bed, and wrote off the giddiness and overwhelming heat to the sake.

Shikamaru hated avoiding Neji, but it was necessary... He needed his head cleared, he needed to have clarity and a sense of stability, and none of that could be accomplished if he could look up and lose his senses simply by just seeing him. He couldn’t be wasting his time or energy thinking and pondering and missing someone, especially if it was interfering with his shinobi duty.

Somehow, his memories and overthinking of the other were only amplified, like his absence made an echo chamber that he could do nothing but throw memories and voices and yearning thoughts into.

As it turned out, he was missing Neji twice as much.

Lonely was never a word Shikamaru used. It didn’t make sense, and he always had his friends, and if he didn’t have his friends, he had his teammates. And if he didn’t have them, then he he at least had himself.

Maybe it’s a smart tactic – it’s easier to be a shinobi if he has less to care about, and god knows the world is getting worse, that it’s a blessing not to have people to miss.

But he never thought how much loving something might make the world more worth fighting for – and yes he has his friends and family, but it seems to be so different than… whatever this is. Whatever this feeling was that broke the reality of what love means to him.

And then suddenly, he started to feel pretty fucking lonely.

( I love my family, I love my friends, I love my team mates.

But were I to be in love…

how do I do that?)

Shikamaru was starting to put it all together around two weeks later, after Neji had given him his privacy. The thing his distance was supposed to do definitely didn’t happen, and instead he discovered that his heart was not something he could outrun.

When Shikamaru came back from a solo mission after a week of desk duty, Neji was waiting for him, and it all clicked into place. The little doubt left in his mind disappeared, and he felt stupid for fighting it at all.

H uh, so that’s how it is, isn’t it?

There was a lot beneath the surface, and he simply refused to touch it -- skimming the surface and panicking against the current was as far as he got, and now, seeing a familiar silhouette…

It was like forgetting to test the waters and just diving . Ignoring the voice in his head that suggested a thousand what ifs , ignoring the uncertainty of never having being in love, and realizes that he has never been more wrong.

It’s been love , and it’s been for years , and Shikamaru pales at how fast it enters his mind.

Neji was waiting for him, in front of his home, balanced on a stool with his long legs careening off to the sides. He chose to be here .

He always does, you idiot. Always.

Neji was here. Not waiting at the mission desk, not at the gates, but here, at home, and waiting for him. With the sun beating down in a striking display of summer in the fading autumn, peaking at the highest point above them that left nothing to shadows. Neji was waiting under it’s crest, probably hot and uncomfortable, even if the autumn breeze carried through the trees.

Shikamaru might have been tired, but everything within him stood at full alert at the sight of Neji sitting at his front door.

He wasn’t wearing his jacket, and his hair was loose and falling beautifully over his shoulders… not tied, not perfectly, intentionally laid on his back, not braided, but allowed to drape and cascade. He had a black sweater on, layered with a visible white undershirt that peaked out from under.

Shikamaru paid a lot more attention to his appearance, and he can’t compare it to anything else he’s experienced – he’s never noticed clothing and appearance in a way that wasn’t practical, functional – and when he finally reached his door, he couldn’t help but sink into that pathetic realization of being in love, because Neji looks so beautiful.

He sunk, and every feeling and memory of something intimate and friendly filled his mind, like the waves an ocean seconds before it crashes down on the mainland. Neji looked up with him, and it’s the same eyes he’s been seeing for years -- the ones he’s shied away from, sought, yearned for all at once – the ones like a blinding, white hot star, with all the gravity in the world to pull him in and destroy him.

It clicked, the way a puzzle piece snaps into its final resting spot.

Neji smiled against the sun, squinting a bit in the golden highlight. “Welcome home.”

Maybe he’s always been a little love.

That, however, isn’t what he said, though gods knows he wanted to say it. “What are you doing? It’s too hot to wear a sweater.”

Neji’s polite, small smile spread and it was like sunshine --

Since when has he been so… stunning?

Looking up at him from the stool he rested on, Shikamaru’s scanning gaze noted the small, brown cotton bag that was at his feet. “It’s almost winter, Shikamaru. Just because the sun’s out, it doesn’t make it hot .”

“I guess. It’s still warm.”

“It was kind of you to make it back on time, for once. I would have been waiting here for a while.”

Shikamaru finally let himself smile, though it felt small and reserved. Yes, he needed a shower. There’s dirt embedded into his pants, and he got rained out two days ago without proper clothes to bring back. His hair was in knots and forced into a pony tail, and he was sure that he looked like exhausted shit -- yet he could have stayed here all day, if it meant talking to Neji.

Man, you’re fucked. Truly, completely, all encompasingly fucked.

“Why are you waiting for me?”

Neji stood, bringing them eye level and entirely too close, and Shikamaru felt dizzy from the prospect of close , and then other words that took shape like intimate and pretty and you’re so fucking beautiful and you’re doing nothing --

“I have food.”

Shikamaru’s cheeks reddened immediately.

“That is, if you don’t need any more distance.”

He felt like he was on fire. What an idiot I’ve been .

“I… of course I am. I’m sorry about --”

“Don’t worry. Just,” and his eyes dropped, then came up in a slow, surveying glance that left Shikamaru’s nerves on fire. “Just get comfortable, and I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Shikamaru didn’t argue, he just felt grateful that Neji didn’t press any further. Besides, he was hungry, and he should probably eat something before he passes out for however many hours, or days.

Neji picked up the bag at his feet and followed Shikamaru in.

Though he intended to be fast, the water soon ran cold and he realized that he was in the shower for over half an hour. Gods knows it was necessary, but he cringed at the idea of Neji waiting in the kitchen for him.

Shikamaru’s hair was wrung well, but it stayed wet for a number of hours. He would normally let it dry down and combed, but he pulled it up into a wet ponytail before making his way down stairs, absent-mindedly tossing on a light sweater and sweatpants.

The smell of simmering meats and spices was strong, and Neji turned his head slightly to greet Shikamaru as he rounded the corner.

The kitchen was, as to be expected, clean, with a variety of dishes and prepared vegetables laid out on the countertops. The Hyuuga wore his mom’s apron, a little red one with no special decorations other than old broth stains, hanging from his thin hips.

“Take a seat, I’m almost done... I had most of the prepped food ready before I got here.”

Everything about this… it was so bizarre. He didn’t know whether to smile and appreciate it, or caution asking if there was something wrong. Was someone dying, or were they entering a war, did the Hokage die?

Maybe he...

Neji squinted. “Nara, I swear… just sit down, don’t look so paranoid.”

Shikamaru shook his head, blinking away the sheer confusion and the way he liked seeing him in his home, making him lunch. “I’m… okay, yes, I will. ”

He moved to take a seat at the table, an awkwardness settling in as he realized that the guest in his home was preparing a meal for him . “I’m just a little puzzled, that’s all. Why the meal? Why all…” And he gestured around to the counter tops, all covered in little bowls of sauce and cut onions and a variety of different toppings for the rice and soup and meat.

“I know it’s not traditional and I don’t normally welcome you back from missions, but I thought maybe I should. I’m not always in Konoha when you return, so now’s a good time to start… since I can.”

“But… why?”

“You’re sounding like you don’t want me here,” he laughed. “It’s something I wanted and chose to do.”

“I just mean, there’s always a reason.”

“Then call it a gesture.”

Shikamaru sighed, and resigned to lounging in his seat as he watched Neji cook.

Since he was being honest, and finally resigned himself to the fact that his feelings were there for the long haul, he could admit that Neji was beautiful.

The entire village knew it, but at least now he could think it, and admit that he was thinking it. Neji, with his long hair, and his pride, and his ability to set off every single neuron in his brain with just a smile or act of intimacy, like cooking…

“You’re being particularly quiet today,” Neji offered, broad shoulders to Shikamaru. He was cutting up some sort of vegetable, and the little click of the blade against the wood board lightly punctuated his observation.

“Sorry, it was just a long mission,” Shikamaru said, eyes still on Neji, a tint of heat across his cheeks as he skimmed the surface of his strong shoulders. “I wouldn’t say the Suna is the most forgiving landscape I’ve been in.”

Neji hummed, still chopping. “Did you get hurt?”

“Nah, it was too clumsy an organization to deal any real damage. There were even hostages, and everyone came home pretty fast despite how many guards they had. Gaara was thankful his men didn’t have to go in, otherwise… well the hostages probably wouldn’t have made it out.”

“Hmm. It was more action than talking, I take it?”

“Yeah… we got briefed and that was it.”

“Easy.”

“Very. Just long.”

“Mm… Shikamaru?”

Chop, chop, chop - the sound of onions and -- r adish? daikon? -- becoming minced and soup ready.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you got more time to think. You know, what you needed time to think about last time we talked.”

Shikamaru looked away, taking to memorizing the cover of a book laid out on the dinner table. “Maybe.”

“And you’re talking to me again.”

“Yeah…”

“I guess, since you had time to think, and you’re talking to me again, then you don’t need any more distance?”

“Sure…”

“Care to tell me why, then?”

“I…”

Shikamaru was overcomplicating things, and he knew it. It’s pretty dumb, after all, to let a crush ruin everything.

It’s pretty dumb to feel dumb for saying it out loud.

“It’s so stupid,” Shikamaru started, glancing to the side. “I was taking my time, but I never know when the right time is.”

“Is it possible that, maybe,” and Neji turned around, smiling small and knowingly, cocking his head to the side. “You’re thinking too much?”

Shikamaru laughed, a deep sense of stupidity rising from his chest because no shit . “What can I say, it’s what I do.”

Neji rolled his eyes, toweling off his hands.

Their kitchen was small -- it was enough for a family, but with the two of them, it felt like it shrunk to half the size and the only thing that was in it was Neji, and Shikamaru with his stupid little brain and his stupid overreactions. Neji took the four or five steps necessary to stand in front of Shikamaru, and that’s all he did. Shikamaru wanted him to reach out, to hold his hand or tilt his head up by the chin with a delicate, powerful finger.

Instead, it was so much better.

Neji kept a foot between them, holding his towel idly in his two hands.“If you liked me so much, I could have been here making you food for years.”

Shikamaru knew it somewhere in his heart, but to hear it out loud felt like being flung from the top of a mountain. He swallowed, his blush returned in full force, and he couldn’t stand how he was so dense that he ignored how much Neji showed him he loved him. “I was…”

“You are a child.”

“Neji…”

“ We haven’t talked for a month, Nara.”

“I mean, I sort of panicked…”

“Sort of?” He he was tall and towering and his judgment came with no scolding, no hate, just a haughty sense of pride.

Shikamaru was as overwhelmed at the confrontation as he was relieved, balanced so delicately between the two that he couldn’t find it in himself to make up excuses. “Okay, fine , I panicked and tried to run away. I’m a shirker at heart, okay?”

“I’ve never seen you run away,” and his glee, his elation, was bordering on rude.

“Stop…”

Be glad he’s not upset...

“But in romance?”

“ Neji , I don’t need to hear it,” Shikamaru whined, surprising himself with the way his words took shape and sounded , so small and capable of being squashed . “I didn’t know what to do about it , and I thought maybe I was wrong, and when that wasn’t true, I felt like shit for --”

Neji smiled at the scene unfolding, and leaned in, hand gently bringing up Shikamaru’s chin to give him a small forehead kiss. “You’re so incredibly stupid.”

“You’re making me feel worse.”

“Consider it… the fee for not talking to me.”

Neji’s fingers still lingered under Shikamaru’s chin, and the smug look crossing his features showed how much he loved watching Shikamaru scramble for his bearings.

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, you can’t be a genius all the time.”

He presses a kiss to Shikamaru’s lips before returning to the task at hand when he sound of boiling water started to overtake the pot it was in. Shikamaru sat back, watched, and tried his best not to stare.

Neji sat across from Shikamaru, and between them was a hearty meal spread across several plates and bowls. He was looking down to his food, skewering a carrot from his bowl of soup. “Were you ever going to talk with me? Ask me? I didn’t take you for being shy…”

Shikamaru felt abundantly embarrassed no matter how much time had passed, and instead of focusing on all the ways he fucked up and made himself out to be an idiot, he just took another bite of rice and savory meat and tried not to look Neji in the eye. At least, that is, until the amusement wore off and he wasn’t smiling like he was about to laugh. “It wasn’t all me, you know… I mean, even when I was panicking and dealing with my own shit, I didn’t know what to do about… if your clan has any rules or guidelines for you. I didn’t know if you could… theoretically, ah…”

Neji spared him the explanation, knowing that diving into clan politics and unspoken rules wasn’t as easily breached as things like dinner and mission reports.

“It’s complicated, but the idea of it is that so long as I’m private, and keep my relationships private, then I have a sort of freedom for who I choose to be with. When it comes to commitments, there’s… stipulations, but it still doesn’t prevent me from choosing. If I fail in my duties to lady Hinata, then it’s another situation entirely… but that’s not a concern I have.”

“Oh. So, we can…try this?”

Neji raised an eyebrow, a small smirk following quickly. “We can try a lot of things.”

“Please, don’t… let me lick my wounds before you start in.”

Neji chuckled, skewering a strip of barbecue. “Fine, this time.”

Shikamaru sighed in relief, and felt a little better about himself. He didn’t recognize himself in his actions, so he didn’t want to question them now when he finally had what he wanted.

He looked up from his food, and found Neji just. Staring. His elbow was propped up on the wooden table and his cheek was tucked against his curled fingers so that he could continue to watch, observe, to see .

“You’re staring.”

Neji’s brow raised a bit. “You’re always staring, I think it’s my turn.”

Shikamaru straightened his posture, just the mere thought of being so intensely observed bringing a pool of heat to his stomach. “I’m not always…”

Neji uncurled one finger from his propped hand and tapped the side of his head, just beside his eyes, as his Byakugan flashed across like a comet in the sky. “Don’t you think I’d see?”

It makes sense. Shikamaru just grumbled and returned his eyes to his food, ceding defeat.

A couple of minutes passed, silence and eating and the clink of chopsticks or spoons against porcelain.

It was all so sudden – no sooner had Shikamaru made up his mind about his feelings did the object of his affections also made it clear that he had feelings as well.

He’s never been taught about this – he learned about chakra systems and how to strangle an assaulting ninja before he learned how to handle this.

Love. Companionship. Whatever.

“So you… you said years, right?”

Neji looked up, mouth full. He squinted, a look of confusion overshadowing his eyes that he couldn’t yet voice.

“You said you would have been making me food for years…”

Neji nodded, so matter of factly, swallowing a bite-full of food.

“So you… have had feelings, for years...”

Another nod.

“I don’t know how I could be so dense.”

Neji swallowed, bringing his hand up to his mouth before speaking. “You’ve always been dense.”

“I used to like to think I’m at least self aware! By gods, I tried to avoid you, and yet I’ve avoided this for years.”

“You don’t have to drag yourself over the coals on this, Shikamaru – we’re here now . That’s all that matters, not the hypothetical past, and not you coming to some sort of realization years ago. Just now.”

Shikamaru sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know, I know – I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

Neji’s responding smile was enough to settle the conversation. “I was okay how we were, and when I realized your feelings for me, I am now more than okay.”

“I’m sure this will hurt my pride, but how did you realize?”

Neji was taking another bite of pork, and he laughed before he could finish it. He swallowed and followed it with a drink of water. “You couldn’t look me in the eye for weeks, you stopped drinking with me, and you think you were somehow stealthy?”

Shikamaru prayed for the floor to swallow him up, to crack open just enough for him to plummet into darkness. “When you put it like that…”

“I never minded, and I would have waited forever.”

Shikamaru’s chest swelled with warmth, and this time he didn’t avoid Neji’s eyes once they met.

“I’ll never make you wait again.”

“I’ll be back later,” Neji said, now that their meal was done. Both he and Shikamaru already cleaned the kitchen, and stored the food that was left over in the fridge.

“You can stay, you know – no one’s gonna kick you out.”

They were outside, Shikamaru standing in the doorway and Neji facing him from the patio. Neji shook his head. “Unfortunately, I have to meet with the hokage for our weekly round table – but that’s okay, you’ve been gone too long, you should rest.”

Shikamaru rolled his eyes. “I get told I’m lazy all day long, and now I’m being told to rest. ”

Neji sighed, a full body sigh that made him visibly relax his shoulders. “You’re so much trouble, Nara.”

Then he took his hands and framed Shikamaru’s face. “Just get your lazy ass some sleep.”

Shikamaru let his feelings guide his body and gave in to that which he normally would have denied, and grabbed the hands still framing his face, light like a leaf to the ground. He nodded, not thrilled that he was leaving, but appreciating the small gesture all the same.

“Okay, fine, Hyuuga. Didn’t want you around anyway.”

Neji’s grin was tentative, testing, like he didn’t want to give away his amusement for sake of pride. Shikamaru grinned at the expected Hyuuga reaction, and he felt a little more of his footing flatten out beneath him, like they were starting to make sense.

“See ya later, Hyuuga,” and he pressed a small kiss to Neji’s lips, the type he knew he could give without sinking too deep into wanting more. He pulled away, separating them by a margin, and said, “Thanks for seeing through me.”

Neji’s lips peaked into a beautiful smile, painted deep shades of warmth and fondness. “Thanks for being see-through.”

Shikamaru ignored the perpetual heat in his cheeks, and as soon as Neji was gone, his return to his bed was swift and seamless.

#my fic #shikaneji #naruto fic #one off #shikamaru #neji #im not entirely thrilled #but im not unsatisfied either #thank u for reading :)#complete

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tumblingxelian · 4 years ago

Text

Beta Luz & Eda the Owl Lady

On her sixteenth Summer, Luz Noceda chases down a thieving owl to reclaim her sketchbook; only to find herself in a world of magic and witches, things she was meant to have outgrown at Reality Check Summer Camp. Now with Eda the Owl Lady and the King of Demons, she must face down Warden Wrath if she ever wants to go home. But... Does she want to?

Note: An AU where canon starts two years late and a very different Luz finds her way into the Boiling Isle.

Luz was struggling to find inspiration. Maybe it was because she was just sitting on the porch of her house trying to draw from memory. Maybe it was anticipation for the art retreat she was set to attend? Or maybe she just really hated summer. Her pen scraped along the page ruining the skyline and with a grunt of vexation she just lobbed the entire book across the lawn, pencil and all before letting her head drop between her raised knees, hair nearly touching the ground. 'I'm not feeling sick. I'm fine. This is just nerves,' she told herself without really believing it as she roughly pawed at the few droplets of sweat fermenting on her brow like they were boiling water on her skin. With a groan she flung herself back onto the deck, arms spread wide as she crossed her arms over her face to block out the sun, hoping the damn bus had air-conditioning! As her heart rate slowed, Luz stared up dully at her flack jacket covered arms and just... Sighed. She hadn't always been this way. She hadn't always been so tired. She hadn't always hated summer. But then Reality Check Summer Camp appeared in her life and everything had changed. 'I want it on the non existent record that I tried, that I really freaking tried,' she told herself. Remembering clearly the first month and how she'd worked hard to make friends with her fellow weirdoes, listened to the instructors even when what they said stung, her muscles began to strain from all the tasks and her head ached. She had tried damn hard to keep up a brave face for her mother, texting her every night with false enthusiasm, hoping if she pretended to be happy long enough it might take and she'd see what all the adults found in this stuff. It hadn't worked and by the second month she'd been run ragged enough that just sending emoji's proved taxing. She'd made no friendships that lasted, but nor had anyone else. Reality Check Summer Camp was for jostling people out of silly ideas like friendship and camaraderie in favor of blind obedience and nine to five work with no breaks, students that ratted on others got rewards and no one had much time or energy to talk and when they did it always risked becoming 'abnormal' and therefore punishable. By the third and final month she just stopped responding to her mothers texts all together, turning off her phone and and just... Not thinking. That was better than being sad or angry she'd found, no one got mad at her if she was just checked out and running on auto pilot until she finally went home. The last month and her first few weeks back passed in a blur. She vaguely recalled her mother kissing and hugging her, excitedly asking her about her time and if she'd broken her phone. Luz could recall vividly leaning into the older woman's shoulder, just whispering, "I'm tired," and then slinking her way up to her bedroom. Luz's face morphed into a scowl as her gut churned remembering how sick looking at her own things had made her, the camp had been very good at associative misery to "ween you off your unhealthy fixations" and just seeing her Azura stuff, her toys, her everything had nearly given an anxiety attack. Crawling into her bed she'd passed out with her face in the pillow and before the week was done shoved most everything in a closet. Besides that, she couldn't recall much. Luz knew her mother had tried to spend more time with her before she was sent back to school. Eating real food again had been a trip. At the camp those deemed girls no matter how they identifies were always made to do the cooking, while those deemed boys went to chop wood, but there'd been no real spices or flavor to anything, so unfamiliar was her own food she'd almost gotten sick from how unfamiliar it had become to her own body. She remembered her mother speaking Spanish to her more and more for a time, which had been one of the few welcome bits of enthusiasm Luz tried to match. The camp councilors had done a painfully poor job cloaking their disdain for any language other than English, it wasn't "normal" after all and needed to be 'corrected'. There'd been some drama about the uniform she thought too, her mother wondering if she wanted to keep it and Luz not having the energy to express that if she ever had to see another three quarter skirt again, let alone be force into one, she'd throw up on it then burn it. So she'd just stayed silent and thrown it away when her mother wasn't looking. Then she'd gone back to school, quieter and therefore deemed acceptable by the teachers. She didn't try to join any clubs, or make a real effort to speak with anyone, and nor did they with her. The clear cutting exception of course being, art. It had been an escape, somewhat. At camp they had been expected to focus on 'realism' which Luz later found out the camp counselors didn't even understand as an artistic term; but it had been deemed the only "proper" way for a creative to express themselves and Luz was a bit ahead of the other kids for once thanks to spending years doodling fanart. It hadn't made the teachers favor her like they did some of their favorites, but it meant she was deemed 'in the pack' and for once wasn't singled out. Art class had always been a relief at the camp. When she got home and found herself bored or anxious she'd started doodling, then sketching and it wasn't long before she'd locked into this little avenue of free expression that no one judged her for or shouted at her about that it began to devour her time and energy like all of her old... Everything had once done. She'd experimented with styles, with paint, digital and physical alike and while she'd only entered her first contest because her mother was starting to give her those worried "Maybe I should send her to a camp to fix her looks", or so Luz felt, she had ultimately won and been... Happy? Not jubilant or excited like she might have once been, but she'd been pleased and even a little proud; the tablet it had won her had been a loyal companion ever since. From there Luz had entered contests left and right, it had been an easy enough way to make her mother stop fretting and it let her tune out the world and dabble in the fantastical again, if only a little, even winning a finals spot in the Azura fanart compendium, a copy of the draft still in her sketchbook. Luz's eyes flew open and snagging her art kit and flinging it over her shoulder she threw herself to her feet. 'What was I thinking, the book will get stains if I leave it in the grass!' Her shows squeaked as she sped off the porch and the sight before her froze Luz solid. It was an owl, far too small and far too smooth, with big shining eyes and a monstrously oversized sack grasped in its little claws, and poking out the top was her art book. With a hoot, the little creature yanked the bag impossibly high and took off and instinct took over, Luz flinging herself after it, "Get back here you tiny trash thief!" They raced into the woods but Luz's long legs let her round on the bird quickly, grasping the tip of the sack in her fingers before the owl tugged it from her grasp by shooting high into he branches. "Don't think you can get away, I do leg day!" She snapped, vaulting upwards and grasping the largest branch and heaving herself up with a grunt. She hadn't climbed trees since she was a kid, but the skill hadn't quite left her yet as she leapt and clambered her way after the owls swirling path. Only for it to suddenly break off, shooting low for some tiny cabin below. "Tricky shit!" She shouted and leapt after it. She leapt after it after having climbed half way up a three story tall tree and with no safe landing in sight. A numb, dumb sort of look flashed across her features, the world growing quiet, as her mind quietly whispered, 'Oh I am all the way dead'. But the owl was in sight and so was the sack, just barely, instinct took over and her hand lashed out snagging the thick burlap and digging her nails into it. The owl let out a startled hoot, its flight sagging as its descent sped up, almost gliding straight down rather than in a gentle arch and Luz's shoes skidded on the dirt and grass. Loosing her grip she hit the ground rolling but didn't stop, anger flashing in her eyes as the owl spun in the air shooting into the shadowy house, its eyes nearly glowing. Snarling she slammed her palms into the dirt and tore off from the ground, kicking up dirt and grass she leapt over the threshold, "I've got you now!" Her voice was swallowed up by the cabin, a burst of light folding in on itself at her back, as Luz Noceda vanished from the human realm without even realizing it.

__________________________________________________________

Luz's feet slammed against the floor, she barely registered the flash behind her or the hanging oddities around her, battering anything and everything in her path aside to burst through a set of tent flaps she'd just seen the owl duck through. Tearing through the thick red fabric she shot passed a silver fox of a woman who had the owl perched on her finger, and slammed into a table she hadn't quite seen; only luck and a little practice let Luz slam her hand on the rocking table to send herself vaulting, or more like crashing across it to the shouts of the woman and hoots of the owl. Knocking items aside and skidding onto the dirt, Luz snatched up her sketch book from atop the slack sack, tongue sticking out as she raced backwards, shouting, "Mío otra vez idiota!" and taking off in the opposite direction, confident she could circle back around and make it home in short ord- "URK!" Luz choked as her shirt was yanked back, kicking wildly as she was hoisted into the air but no matter how she thrashed or struck she found nothing. Looking up all she could see was a golden glow emanating from her collar, stilling her heart. Luz's yes widened as she was levitated. Levitated!?!? Back across the street, eyes growing wide and her jaw practically unhinging at the menagerie of strange and vaguely horrifying creatures scattered around, Multi-faced pigs, and many eyes minotaur's rubbed shoulders with lizards folks and what looked like goblins!? With an unceremonious grunt she hit the ground, now facing the messed up stall and the scowling face of the lady and an all too smug looking owl on her shoulder. The woman's arms were folded and she held a long stick in her grasp, golden fang flashing she said, "Its not often there's someone bold or stupid enough to try and rob Eda the Owl Lady, you got moxxie kid, but that won't save you," she growled. "Que esta pasando!?" The lady arched a brow at her as Luz scrambled to her feet, "What the hells going on!?" The woman's brow arched harder somehow, showing off her sharp features, even as she began to snort and chuckle, "Really, trying the amnesia trick on me kid? Wasn't aware I had a fan club." Luz took a step back only for the woman's humor to fade as she firmly placed her staff tip on Luz's shoulder, "But that doesn't meant I'll let you off for trashing my stall and stealing my nice things." "Steal!? Your stupid owl robbed me!" She snapped, slapping the cover of her sketch book. The woman, Eda Luz remembered, slid her staff up from her shoulder and tapped her ear, eyes slowly shifting to the tiny owl on her shoulders that refused to meet her gaze, hooting gently, as she began to hum and nod in time with the creature. "I see what happened here," she hummed. "So can I go, ah!" With a tug of her staff she pulled Luz closer. Hands slapping onto the table to keep steady, Luz had a brief moment to take in the stall, it looked like a heap of trash, mismatched shoes, batteries and pins, tennis rackets hanging with toy swords. It was a mess, like a hoarders wet dream. "Hey I thought we established this was your owls fault," she said. "Be that as it may kid, you did still wreck my stall and if you don't want things claimed by the inter-universal right of grabbing it, you shouldn't throw it on the ground," the woman said. Offence pushed the looming existential crisis out of Luz's head as she slammed her hand on the table, "I should be able to put my things wherever I want!" Eda smirked, leaning forward -making Luz realize this woman was easily seven feet tall- and said, "And did it occur to you to ask for it back? No? Then I still have the moral high ground, which is weird for me lemme tell ya" "You have no such thing!" Luz argued, slapping the table and making its contents shake. "All right, all right, stop damaging the goods, I don't even want the stupid book," Luz's offended hiss fell on deaf ears as the woman continued. "Look you got your little book back but you still cost me, fortunately I have a task that a human like you would be perfect for." "A human..." luz's gaze flickered around to the other alien residents half watching the exchange, and her voice fell to a whisper, "You're not human?" Eda cackled, practically wiping a tear from her eyes, "Oh no, I'm not human," she said, the owl turning to wood on the tip of her staff as she screw it on and then leapt upon the table, fire works flashing to life at her back as she ripped off her bandanna to reveal pointed hears. "I am Eda the Owl Lady, the mightiest, fiercest and most wanted Witch on the Boiling Isle!" "You're busted is what you are!" A gruff voice cut in, making both snap their gazes to a stout figure, wearing a thick, dull grey uniform that looked slightly armored and a plague doctor mask. Luz's instincts instantly screamed 'cop' and she went for her phone only to yelp when the thugs massive gloved hand encircled her arm, "None of that, you're coming in too, for public disturbances!" "Qué carajo!" She snapped, kicking him in the jaw. He drew back his free hand, "You little worm!" Before his strike could a bolt of golden energy zapped him and the cop's grip slackened as he flipped backwards and slammed into the ground, stubby legs kicking wildly as the rest of him was stuck in the dirt. "Hahaha!" Luz cackled, rubbing her arm as she looked to Eda, "That was you?" She snorted, "Naturally, these goons can't touch me, now come on, before his friends get here and I have to make a mess." Luz's "Wait what?" was ignored as the woman pressed down on a key and twirled her staff, a golden circle flashing the stall, the tend, the everything was wrapped up in a neat little sack and she dragged Luz onto her staff. "Afraid of heights?" She asked. "Noooooooooo!" Her answer turning into a shriek as they blurred into the skies. Luz's tongue was somewhere in her stomach, her stomach felt squish against her rib cage and she had no idea where her lungs or heart were save maybe 'everywhere' all at once with everything meeting in the middle. That is what flying felt like, and as the shock wore off, her terrified nails digging into her palms grasp on the staff loosened and her view of the world expanded to reveal a vast island of giant bones, wild forests and buildings practically born of chaos she couldn't keep a grin from her face. "haa, haha! WOOOH!" She howled, wobbling and swaying on the staff and being snagged by the witch. before she fell. "First time I take it?" She asked with a smirk. "On a staff, in the air, with a witch? Yes, first time ever, you always travel like this?" "More or less, any witch worth their salt knows how to handled a staff and the skies," Eda said, leaving some part of Luz wondering why no one else seemed to be flying, but far more enraptured by the fact she was. A distorted, shrieking roar bellowed at their side and Luz's eyes widened, mind flashing back to years ago as the pigeon headed griffon barfed out a stream of spiders at something below before shooting off into the skies. "A griffon... They really do breath spiders?" She asked, a stilted blend of wonder and needing anger in her gut, because she'd been right dammit! "Yup all of your worlds myths come from a little of our world leaking into yours," Eda said lazily. "So there's more way's here than just that door... Thingy I came through?" She asked. "Well there used to be, but now though?" Eda shrugged, "Not many save maybe through a garbage slugs belly and that'd be pretty hit or miss. Wanting to run home already?" "The opposite," Luz murmured, shrieking in excited shock as Eda performed a loop before bringing them in for a gentle landing and sliding them both off the staff. "Welcome to my home, the Owl House," Eda said grandly, motioning to a quaint cottage like house with a side shed and a guard tower latched onto the back. "Its not very... Owly?" Luz said, tilting her head and frowning. "Just watch, hey Hooty come say hello!" Luz didn't even have time to blink before a too wide, too flat owl face with far too large and human like eyes was pressing its forehead to hers, feathers fluffing along a tube like body, cheerily hooting, "Hello friend!" "AAH!" Luz flung herself back, pushing and half crawling her way around the chattering creature. "You're like a furby made it with a tape worm in hell, what are you?" "Hooty silly!" The... thing answered guilessly. "Hooty here is my state of the art security system and part of what makes the Owl House what it is," Eda said, arms folded and an amused grin on her face, which turned to an indignant squawk as Hooty nuzzled her cheek, cheering, "Awe I love you too Eda!" "Aah, none of that!" She snapped, shoving the giggling creature off her as it began cheerfully singing and weaving around them. "Ugh, he'll be like this for awhile, come on kid," Eda waved her towards the house and Luz scarped after her, mildly horrified and utterly fascinated at the same time. Once inside, Luz found herself biting back some blend of awe and ingrained rejection of the messy, sprawling and chaotic mess of a house. Flashes of Reality Check's counselors chanting 'Neat & Tidy is the way' over and over again unless it was embedded into her skull struck as she looked at the discordant decorations of treasure chests, potion bottles, toys and a massive wanted poster framed and depicting Eda with a skull dog. With a click of her fingers Eda made the entire room light up, as cleaning items came to life and began to sweep, runs flared on the ceiling as candles blazed to life and a fire began to roar. "This is where I hide away from the pressures of modern life, and also the cops," she snorted, "also my exes, hah!" Luz nodded numbly, her tight chest and coiled gut relaxing for but a moment until a shrill, rough voice boomed, "Who dares disturb I. The King of demons!" "The king of what?" "Oh yeah, my room mate." Luz's gaze snapped to a shrinking shadow on the wall that gave way to reveal the little critter from the wanted poster, tawny dark fur, with a skull affixed to the top of the head like a helmet and shiny golden eyes... It was also the size of a puppy or a kitty, carrying a rubber duck and was wearing a towel. "Pequeño demonio," Luz choked back a scream of delight and amusement at the sight as the creature continued. "Haha, yes this one knows to fear me, as it should!... What is it Eda?" Clapping her on the shoulder and giving her a measuring look, Luz found herself briefly lost staring into Eda's face before bristling and shaking it off and saying, "I'm Luz, a human. Your friend robbed me." "Allegedly~" Eda sang. "And now she wants me for something I guess... Am I being kidnapped? Is this a sacrificial thing?" She asked. "Pfft," Eda blew a raspberry, "Only chumps need to make sacrifices and sap things for anything. No," she continued, striding to stand before her, "This is because I need you to reclaim something stolen from us." The critter gasped, hoping up and down excitedly, "My crown! My crown!!" "Wait why would you need me, you're like a major badass right?" Eda glanced over her shoulder at her own rear and Luz slapped her face, "Not what that means." The flicker of a chuckle in her words told Luz Eda knew damn well what she'd meant, before the which began to wave her arms, conjuring a circle of gold that morphed into look of a story book. 'I must have this magic!' A part of her screamed. "Normally I wouldn't need the help," She began, "But you see Kings Crown of Power was recently stolen by the Evil Warden Wrath and stored at the Conformatoriam, headquarters of the evil Warden Wrath. Without its power King is just... This." The tiny demon stamped his little paws and squealed, "one day I shall drink the fear of those who mocked my stature!" Eda snickered, but didn't press him, continuing, "The crown is being held behind a magical barrier, one that rejects all magic, meaning King and I can't get through but you, a boring magic-less human could!" "Gee, thanks, I feel so compelled to help, when can we start?" Luz intoned sarcastically. "That's the spirit!" Eda laughed. "I wasn't being serious, why should I help you!? Hell isn't restoring some demon king usually a bad idea?" Eda waved the bronze key with a golden eye around lazily, "Cos I'm your only way home, and besides," She scooped King up, "Can you really say no to this adorable face?" "Don't use my adorableness as a prop!" King howled, thrashing wildly until Eda half dropped, half tossed him and Luz caught him on instinct, the little critter crawling up her jacket and coiling around her neck like a cat to whisper, "I'll make you my chief champion if you help, no one would dare defy you!" Luz's gaze flicked back to Eda who was rolling her eyes with an indulgent sort of fondness that left Luz frowning warily. Folding her arms she said, "Kinda presuming a lot aren't you? I mean maybe I like it here? Or could sell you out? Consider that?" "Heh, you have some guts kids, and fair enough I don't know your life, so how about this for a deal?" she leaned forward, a singly, almost claw like digit raised, "One, count it one favor, any favor -Of comparable worth to this task- from Me!" "Just one?" She scoffed. "From Eda the Owl Lady," she proclaimed dramatically, "That is all you need and I have the wanted poster to prove it!" "That is a lot of numbers," Luz sighed, head lolling back she groaned, "Fine, let's get this over with." "Hooray!" King cheered into her ear as Eda strode by her and tugged on her jacket, "Let's get going then~" She sang _____________________________________________ The Conformatoriam was a miserable place, a looing tower of lifeless grey stone and shadowed walls, the kind of place Luz might draw if asked to create paint her visions of something as loathsome as medieval Europe. 'Which begs the question why I'm breaking in!?' She wanted to snap, King's tail brushing against her ear as the demon rode on her shoulder. The magical circle beneath her feet beginning to fade, Luz leapt forward, snagging the window and clumsily tugging herself inside. 'Well too late now I guess.' "OK my crown should be this way," Kind said, leaping from her shoulder and racing into the dimly lit hall. "Hey wait up, there could be guards," She hissed, ducking low and pursuing the demon. "Hey," a smoky voice intoned, causing Luz to shoot up, braced for a punch, as the lovely voice continued, "People don't usually check themselves into the Conformatoriam." Following the sultry voice, Luz's cheeks warmed at the sight of the purple dressed, near vampire like maiden with blue hair, "Well," she started, trying to think of a line, "I guess most people don't know you're here," she said with a wink. The Witches eyebrows shot up as she said, "So you break me out and I go out with you or something?" Luz waved her off, "Nah I'm not gross like that, I was just flirting." "Luz, come on, my crown," King whined, tugging on her pants. "Just a sec," she snapped, leaning forward, "So how'd you end up in here anyway? One too many bodies drained of blood in an alleyway?" "Nah no one cares about that," the girl answered, "I write fanfiction about food falling in love, see," she held up a book of a carrot and onion bathing together, "I like food I like love, just let me write about it!" ... Luz's brow knitted together, "You got arrested for... Writing stories about vegetables?" "Yeah,," she scoffed, "The guards throw anyone in who 'disturbs the peace' or whatever, like that guy," she said, pointing to a many eyes ogre looking creature. He plucked an eye from his head and ate it, making Luz's stomach shudder as a new one popped into place, "I like to eat my own eyes." "He got reported by his co-workers for it," the vampire said. Someone rattled on the bars, "We live in a triangular illusion! We are playthings for a higher being!!" It was a tine, round red headed... Thing... "That one's a conspiracy nut." King tugged again, "Come ooon." "Mierda,"she muttered, "And I thought Realty Check sucked, this is a whole new level of garbage." A loud, thudding set of foot falls struck her ears, and King hissed, "This is why we needed to move!" "Hide or the Warden will get you," The girl hissed, and Luz flung herself into the nearest cell and made herself as small as possible against the wall, King curling up in a corner. The door slammed open and a deep, smooth timber echoed, "What are you all prattling about?" Luz's heart chilled, she couldn't breath as her mind whirled. That was when the girl spoke, "Just saying how much you suck, Warden." A low rumbling growl echoed and grey tendrils shot out, lifting up the lever controlling the cell and wrapping the vampire up, dragging her away in a blur. Luz instinctively lurched after her but King's claws in her heels stilled her movement as the Warden muttered, "It seems you need to be reminded of how to respect authority figures.," Followed by the sound of a door slamming. Luz slid down the wall, hands over her mouth as she tried not to start howling curses or throw up. "Come on, we gotta move," King insisted. Shaking off the terror, Luz peeked her head out of the cell in time to see Eda drift in the window muttering, "Well the Wardens found a way to distract himself, come on." "No we can't leave her, she covered for me," Luz said, grabbing at Eda's shoulders. "Relax kid, she'll just be on the rack for awhile or something-" "You promised me a favor right? Well I know what I want." She tugged Eda close so they could be eye to eye, "I want you to turn this entire place into rubble." Eda's eyes widened and she pushed Luz away, "That's a big ask." "Are you or are you not the most powerful witch on the Isle?" Luz snapped. "I am," she growled, "But that isn't the problem here." "What is then?" She hissed. "Look, its... Urg, fine, I'll see what I can do, not like I care about this place anyway," She muttered, twirling a circle in the air with a finger and making the levers rise silently freeing the prisoners. Luz looked to the prisoners who remained still and stiff, "Why aren't you guys running?" The multi-eyed ogre sighed, "The Warden will just punish us if we try to escape." That despairing lack of hope was familiar and it pissed Luz off. "Well you heard-em kid, now let's get kings crown and I'll see about the rest of your request." Luz let Eda pull her away, scowling, "If you just give up nothing will change. Don't be cowards!" She snarled as the door slammed shut on them and she was alit with a strange green slow. "Here we are kid, hope you're grabbing hands are ready," Eda said. Luz turned and looked to the massive pillars of light and shadowed mass of treasures contained within, barely aware of King shocking himself on the barrier as she marched towards it and then ran, closing her eyes she leapt at the barrier and- 'I'm through?' She realized as a subtle tingle washed over her and faded just as quickly, leaving her to collapse into a pile of half ruined objects stacked in a mangled mass. Shaking her head, Luz looked for a crown and finally caught sight of it at the top of the heap, her frown turning toxic as she muttered, "Me estas jodiendo." _____________________________________________ "My crown! My crown!" Kind jumped and hopping eagerly as Luz tossed him the burger queen crown and marched up to Eda. "We risked our lives for a frigging toy?" She groused, barely registering King adding a stuffed rabbit to his army. Eda started to smirk, but it faded fast as she sighed, "Look at us Luz... King and I don't have much in this world, we only have each other. So if that crown is important to him, it is to me too." Luz's heart clenched at the strangely gentle tones and soft expression, a faint sense of longing quickly cast aside, "Look... That's... Look we had a deal, this place pisses me off so burn it down already and let's go." Eda's head lolled to the side, "You really feel for these weirdoes don't you?" Luz bristled, "Don't look at me like that!" Eda snorted, "Relax kid, King and I aren't exactly winning any conformity contests either, as to your favor though-" Luz's shriek of terror was choked as a glinting blade made of flesh ripped through Eda's neck and the woman's head flew into her arms. Luz raced back as Eda's body fell to the floor, clutching her head in her hands, eyes wide as the gargantuan figure of what could only be Warden Wrath loomed over her. "Eda! Estas viva!?" Eda's dulled facial expression morphed into pain as she grunted, "OW! I hate when that happens!" "The fuck!?" Eda looked at her and sighed, "Relax this just happens when you get older?" "This is normal here?" "I guess," Eda somehow shrugged with only her tone and facial expression. A low cough hit their ears and Luz turned Eda around so she could see Warden Wrath marching towards them, crushing King's crown in his hands. " Cabron" "Eda the Owl Lady, I knew if we stole your pets toy you'd have no choice but to wander into my lair, and now," he intoned granted. "I have you exactly where I want you." "What do you jerks even want with me, I never broke any of your stupid laws... In front of you." The gargantuan man knelt before them, "I want you," he fell on one knee, "To go out with me!" Flowers materializing in his hands and guards shouting their support. "You wha?" Eda said. The wardens voice grew oddly frantic, "You always manage to elude my traps, you were always the one who got away, I found that alluring," he purred. "Gross," she spat. "Shut your mouth!" His hand ripped to shreds, splitting into dozens of tentacles that coiled around her arms and chest, crushing down on her ribs as she was slammed into a wall with a shriek. Gagging and wiggling she spat, "It feels like children's spaghetti, its every bit as awful as I could have imagined." Warden Wrath snatched up Eda's head and he'd her aloft, "How about it, Eda? The feared Warden Wrath and the most powerful Witch on the Boiling Isle? We could be the ultimate power couple. No one could stand against us!" Eda gave him a look hat somehow conveyed total contempt with barely even a motioned of her lips before she began to smirk. "Pucker up sweetheart," Eda said, opening her mouth and swiftly tracing a circular in the air with her tongue alone that let loose a bolt of golden electricity into the Wardens face. Luz hit the floor, gasping for breath and on insistent she snatched up King and Eda, shoving the witches head into her fumbling bodies hands as Warden Wrath snarled, "IF you won't be mine then you will die!" "I got this kid, run along," Eda said, as her head snapped back into place. "Qué?" Before she could say more, Eda slapped her staff into her hands and said, "Fly brat!" Luz screamed as she was violently yanked out the window and into the air, as the sounds of fire and roaring filled the chamber behind her. "Hey, hey Owlbert right? Take me back!" The staffs eyes flashed gold as if questioning as she gave it a tug, "I'm not a coward, I'm not running away! I am not giving up again!" She dragged herself up onto the staff and stared into the owls eyes, "I am not leaving them." The Owl's eyes flashed and with a violent rush of air they were surging back down and into the prison cells. Even spiraling in the air, Luz could still see the guard working the cranks on the vampires stretching machine and with a shout slammed her boot right into his face and sending him crashing to the floor. Then she slammed into the wall, Owlbert's frame shielded by her own, "That was for chasing you wasn't it?" She grumbled, forcing herself up as the vampire asked, "You came back?" "yeah I'm back, and amazing, and also freeing you so, uh, hmm," Luz tugged at the bindings but they didn't budge and up above she heard the sounds of battle rumbling as guards raced to reinforce the Warden. Owlbert's eyes flashed and Luz gasped, "Right you can do magic!" She copied Eda's earlier motioned and within seconds Owlbert was flesh and feathers again, eyes flashing it landed on the torture rack and the locks unlatched. "Thank you!" The vampire cheered, dragging them both into a hug. "You're both gonna star in my next fic!" "Um, thank you?" She said, idly recalling making similar offers once upon a time, before blinking. "Wait we need to free the others and help Eda, and take down the Warden!" "Don't do things by half measures do you?" "No I do not." "Let's go!" Their path to the other prisoners was clear, but the rumbling of the Conformatoriam's walls was worrying. Bursting into the open cells, they found the other prisoners huddling together, new bruises on their frames, likely from the Warden or some guards. "Guys come on we're getting out of here!" The vampire said, though her fraying, nervous tone did not convey confidence. "The multi eyed ogre sighed, "You know he'll just catch and hurt us again though..." "I do not like the torment sessions," The little one mumbled. Luz looked to where the battle was taking place, guards were flying out the doorframe, and magic was flashing wildly. 'Can she hold out? Did I ask too much? Fuck it!' "Do you guys really wanna spend the rest of your lives like this? Locked in a cell, not even trying to get out? Or forced to live the way these monsters want you too?" "but-" "No! None of that! You give them even a little and they'll just take and take until your a bitter, empty husk. If you don't fight now, then you'll never be free!" The walls above exploded and Warden Wrath slammed into the floor, his eye-less mouth head on full display as he brushed ash from his singed clothes and chuckled, "The perfect shot." Luz's eyes widened as she saw fire blooming in his mouth as Eda was distracted by a horde of guards on her right. Snarling she charged, the world blurring as she closed the distance in a second and with a yowl leapt on the Warden's back, driving the pointed tip of Owlbert's staff into his shoulder and snaked an arm around his neck, dragging his head back. The Warden's back arched and he let loose a roar, fire bursting from his mouth and ripping through the ceiling, ripping through stone and turning what didn't shattered into molten slag. "you brat!" He roared, meaty hand snagging her arm, Luz's scream was silent as she was hurled into the floor and a violent crack filled her ears and pain her senses. Stamping down on her arm, the Warden heaved, "You've caused enough trouble, time for permanent disciplinary action." Rasping she spat at his feet, "Vete a la verga." "Kid!" Eda called. Then three voices boomed from behind the Warden, "Get him!" The prisoners slammed into his back, knocking him off balance . The little one practically bounced off the wall and cheered, "The world is a triangle!" and bounced off the Warden's side that final nudge sending him over the ledge and screaming to the bottom level. "We did it!" The ogre cheered. The vampire raced to her side and whispered, "Hey you OK? I can turn you if you're gonna die." If Luz weren't currently in blinding pain she might have found that prospect appealing, but Eda answered for her, "That won't be necessary, I'll fix her right up at my place." "You're OK?" Luz groaned. "I'm fine, one big flash and I took-em out, but the Warden will be a bit tougher" "EDA!" He howled from below. "Speak of the ex boyfriend and he will appear right?" King chuckled. "Not my boyfriend aaaand, still struggling to climb back up, hehe," Eda drew a circle in the air and blew the Warden a kiss through it, "Have fun with the parting gift Wrath!" With that she snatched up Owlbert and Luz found her world flashing gold as she, Eda, King and the prisoners were levitated out of the prison as a blast of blinding light filled the tower. Eda dropped the escapees off in an alleyway that was apparently her favorite and Luz got a gentle hug from each, which was weird but she was to sore and tired to say much, and a little too bi to properly respond when the vampire gave her a peck on the cheek before disappearing. After that, Eda bundled her up on Owlbert again, Luz leaning against her and propped up by King all the way back to the Owl House, where she was laid out on the lounge and once Eda has skulled some orange elixir, the witch got to work healing her. Soft, soothing lights filled the room as Luz's bruised back and broken hip were steadily healed making her sigh with relief. "You're good at this..." She said dreamily. Eda was quiet for a moment before chuckling, "Well live a life like mine and you pick things up." Some number of hours passed, and Luz soon found herself pulling her jacket back into place and patting herself over. "Everything look to be in the right place?" Eda asked casually, King hanging from her shoulder. "Si," she answered, lazily swinging her arms and flexing her fingers with a sigh, "Feels to be in the right place too." "Glad to hear it," Eda said, cracking her back "Well this was a day and a half, time to hit the hay, but not before this." She pulled the key from her hair and said, "Time for you to go home I guess." Didn't I use up my favor already?" Luz asked. Eda shrugged, "Well I didn't strictly destroy the place, and besides," She winked, "weirdoes and freaks gotta stick together I say." She made to press the button when Luz said, "wait!" Eda blinked in obvious confusion. Luz;s hand strayed t her art book which has miraculously survived the entire adventure with nary a bit of scuffing. She pulled it open to a familiar page, her Azura competition sketch and sucked in a breath. "You said us weirdoes and freaks have to stick together, well... I'd like that, here specifically... Look I wasn't doing anything important back home anyway just some art retreat to get out of the house. No one will miss me and I'd... I'd like to stay here and learn magic, no I will stay and I will learn magic," She said more firmly, fists clenching at her side. Eda's stare was slow and measuring, even as she said, "Humans can't use magic." "Maybe none have ever tried the right way?" Luz countered. King tugged on Eda's hair and whispered, "Let her stay she can get us snacks!" "I also know where you can get more crowns in the human realm," Luz said, sweetening the deal and making the little demon gasp for joy. Shrugging, Eda slipped the key back into her hair, "Well no reason we can't give it a go, but if you want to stay here I expect you to help out with my businesses to cover room, food and all that stuff. Deal?" She said, offering her hand. Luz took it and gave it a firm shake, "That's actually a better rental teal than a lot of people back home get." She pulled her hand away but felt Eda holding on. Then she looked down and screamed at the sight of Eda's hand and her just hand in her own, a bone jutting out of it. "Oops!" Eda cheerily cut in, snatching the hand from the air as Luz tossed it back at her, "That happens." Watching Eda screw the hand back on and giving her a wave, Luz couldn't stop the flash of amusement that bloomed on her face. For the first time, in a long time, maybe even ever... She felt at home. Notes: El mío otra vez idiota = Mine again dumbass! Que esta pasando = what's going on? Qué carajo = bullshit, rubbish, stupidity, bunk, idiocy Pequeño demonio = Tiny Demon Me estas jodiendo = You're screwing with me. Estas viva = Are you Alive? Cabron = insult Qué = What Vete a la verga = Fuck you Si = yes

#The Owl House #Fanfic #Oneshot #For Now #Luz Noceda #Beta Luz

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stalactites · 5 years ago

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Hey benny! I’m considering going to art school in the future but the idea of submitting a portfolio is kind of scaring me away.. any tips / insight to what it’s really like so I have a better idea of it? Thanks! (Also you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to obvs) :)

sure! first of all don't be scared about portfolios... i know that's easy for me to say since i'm already in art school but BRO if you could see what i submitted (and what some of my classmates submitted)....

if i can get into art school with my half assed depressed portfolio then so! can! you!

(also i go to a public art school and the acceptance rate isn't that low so my advice just won't be applicable to someone trying to get into like calarts)

really my main tip is just to chill out... chill out... you absolutely don't have to have three photorealistic portraits three landscapes three figure drawings three charcoaldjksdjsk like don't force yourself to fill out those quotas you see on every single portfolio advice blog

do diversify your porfolio though... don't have fifteen pieces that are the same subject/medium (it's good to show a range, or at least a willingness to experiment)

and if you're in ap art and you have to do that theme thing think about it!!! i didn't! i didn't really get what was going on because i had depression brain and when my cuckoo bananas art teacher was like "pick a theme" i was like "okay. caves" and didn't put any more thought into it... put thought into your theme

but yeah having a class where you just work on stuff that can go in your portfolio... that's valuable... i didn't appreciate it i just procrastinated and churned out weird cave drawings... still got a 4 though

which i guess goes back to my chill out point because if my cave drawings, where i literally just drew caves with no deeper meaning, can get me into art schools then anything can

if you can take an art class/figure drawing course outside of school like one at your community center or something that's a good way to beef up your portfolio

public schools with art programs are viable options!!! don't fall into the prestige trap! and just because you get into those Good Private Art Schools doesn't mean you Have to go there

ok and my personal experience in case that helps: junior and senior year i Did Not Care about literally Living so i didn't put that much time/effort into my portfolio and genuinely believed i wouldn't get into anywhere i applied. i think i applied to like six? schools, both private and public, and got into a majority of them (could not tell you the exact number or names because i wasn't as involved in the process as i should have been and can't remember lmao) but yeah... i guess have fun and make art you like and

OH if you can go to national portfolio day it can be really helpful

good luck!! i'm rooting for you!! please don't put an enormous amount of stress on yourself, it's unhealthy and not helpful in the long run. the tortured artist stereotype or the "working better under pressure" thing is damaging, especially if you're in the competitive art world so please! relax bby it's gonna be okay!!

#im so sorry for not having literally any good advice but... idk #i dont want you to be scared because you shouldnt be!!!!#i believe in you!!!!!!#long post #ruben.txt

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junqkook · 6 years ago

Text

— EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE; 3 (m.)

— notes; if you’ve read this before, you’ll notice that quite a few things have changed—i wasn’t happy with the original, as it felt rushed, so i rewrote some portions. this fic is not condoning abusive/unhealthy relationships in any way. please do not read if you are trigged by anything relating to stalkers/stalking.

pairing; jungkook/reader genre; stalker au, horror, thriller, angst words; 9,636 rating; mature

— synopsis; finding out who your stalker was did not keep you safe from him; in fact, it has dire consequences and you, as well as those around you, just might not make it out alive.

contents; obsessive, toxic, possessive, delusional behavior, graphic violence, gore, blood, non-con kissing, implication of stockholm syndrome.

— chapters; one. two. three.

With your heart pounding, you slipped out of the bed from beside Jungkook and quickly dressed yourself, the sound of the news reporter’s voice echoing in your head. Once you were dressed, you grabbed your phone and quietly made your way out of his bedroom, wandering down the hall.

What was going on? Why did Jungkook lie to you? That Taehyung he talked about had been in the hospital for weeks, according to the news report. So how the hell could Jungkook have been hanging out with him?

You swallowed past a lump in your throat and padded as silently as you could down the small hallway of his apartment. Your foot caught on something at the end of the hall and you slipped, just barely catching yourself on the door on your right. Looking down, you saw a slip of paper sticking out from under the doorframe. Gnawing on your lip, you glanced behind you toward Jungkook’s bedroom, heart pounding violently in your chest.

Bending down, you pulled at the edge of the paper to slip it the rest of the way out from under the door. You picked it up with shaking fingers, running over the glossy texture and realizing you were holding a printed photo. Your heartbeat quickened, hammering against your ribs painfully as your breath came faster and heavier. You turned the photo over in your shaky hands and your heart leapt into your throat, blocking your airway.

It was a photo of you.

You knew this photo—somehow, you could remember the day in the photo as clear as if it had happened yesterday. Your eyes were crinkled with your laugh, wind blowing your scarf around your neck comically. The jacket you had on was a gift from Hoseok, who had complained about your terrible fashion sense and given it to you on that same day. You had crumbs all over your mouth from the cookies the two of you had munched on as you came back from a long study session in the library.

You knew that photo.

And the day in question had happened before you’d even met Jungkook.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and your knees felt unstable. You heard a faint creak from the bedroom and your breath hitched painfully. Dropping the photograph, you hurried toward the kitchen, looking for your bag. You found it on the kitchen counter and grabbed it, making a beeline toward the front door and slipping your shoes on in a panic. You stood up straight and reached for the doorknob, your breathing heavy even to your own ears.

A hand grasped your shoulder tightly.

You screamed as you turned to face Jungkook, who looked alarmed and snatched his hand back from your body. Your chest was heaving, eyes wide as they trained on him.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook asked, lips twitching. “It’s the middle of the night, come back to bed.”

You should stay silent about what you found. You should make up an excuse about why you needed to leave. You should be as non confrontational as possible and get out.

His hand came out and he grabbed your arm gently, prompting you to come back toward the bedroom.

You yanked your arm away from him and nearly hit the wall with the force behind it. Jungkook looked back at you, shocked, hand empty.

“Why do you have a picture of me?” you asked quietly.

He chuckled anxiously, facing you completely. “What do you mean?”

“You have a picture of me—”

“Because I like taking pictures,” he cut you off, a strained smile on his face. “And I like you.”

You shook your head, inching back toward the door. “No, no—you have a picture of me from before we even met!”

His mouth shut and he stared at you silently, seemingly in a panic. “I can—I can explain that, ____, please—”

“No!” you shouted. “Have you been stalking me?”

“It’s not stalking!” he burst out, face turning red as his features twisted. “I love you and you love me, I just fell for you before you met me—”

“You’re sick,” you whispered. “You were the one that left me that picture and notes—” You cut yourself off with a sharp breath, eyes watering. “You sent me that finger! Was it Namjoon’s? Did you kill him?”

Jungkook’s gaze darkened and he took a step forward. You took one back. “He was bothering you,” he answered lowly.

“Oh God,” you mumbled. “I’m gonna be sick. I need to get out of here—”

You turned toward the door, but Jungkook grabbed you with both hands by your arms, shaking you in his grasp. “No! You can’t leave me!”

“Let go!”

“I won’t let you leave me,” Jungkook mumbled, almost to himself, pulling you into his chest and hugging you to him. “You’re mine, no one else can have you.”

“Let go!” you repeated, pushing against his chest. “You’re hurting me!”

Jungkook was muttering to himself, incoherent, as he pulled away from you. He kept a harsh grip on your shoulders so you couldn’t worm away. Your heart nearly stopped as you met his eyes, adrenaline starting to pound into every nerve of your body as you prepared to fight him off.

“You’ll come back to me,” he told you, letting you go. You stumbled backwards toward the door, your wide eyes trained on him as he watched you. “I know you will.”

Your hand found the doorknob and you yanked his apartment door open, rushing out without looking back at him. Your stomach churned and you were panting as you ran down the flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator, finding the door and hurrying outside. You breathed in gulps of the fresh air and kept running, too afraid that if you stopped or looked back, he’d be right behind you.

You only stopped when you were inside of your apartment complex, the door shut and locked as you took your phone out with trembling fingers and dialed the police.

The most the police could do was grant your request for a restraining order against Jungkook. The order didn’t ease your anxiety much at all, but it was better than nothing. When you’d wept to the officers that you found out who your stalker was and insisted he had killed Namjoon, they had gone to search his place. You’d called Hoseok, who rushed to meet you and stay with you at your place until you heard back from the officers. They’d told you that they found a room filled with pictures of you, dates, information—all of it strung up and taped to each wall, covering every inch of it.

But they couldn’t find any trace of Namjoon. Nothing linked him to Jungkook, so they couldn’t keep investigating. The only thing they could offer you was a restraining order and advice on avoiding him. One of the older male officers had scoffed at your panicked expression, suggesting you move if you really wanted to get away from him.

You sighed as you walked across campus, an eerie feeling always trailing behind you like a cloak since you’d found out the truth. What else were you supposed to do? You didn’t want to just sit at home, scared and alone; so you still attended classes as usual, the sudden disappearance of Jungkook raising the hairs at the nape of your neck. When you reached the door to your class, you triple-checked the time before walking in—you didn’t want to be that jerk that randomly opened the door while another class was in session.

You glanced up and met Jimin’s eyes—the both of you looked shocked as you processed who you’d seen and you rushed up toward his seat to slide in beside him. He looked queasy as you leant in toward him.

“Jimin!” you exclaimed, the rest of the class still buzzing as students were making their way in. “Where have you been?”

Jimin shot you a glare. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” he muttered, brushing his hair back from his face with a hand.

“What?” you asked, taken aback. “What do you mean? I’ve been wondering where you were forever!”

“Your crazy fucking boyfriend threatened me if I ever came near you again!” he hissed, lowering his head as he turned to face you completely. You held back a gasp at the sight of his eye, partially hidden by his hair, but still swollen and bruised.

“What happened?” you whispered, not wanting to speak any louder.

“He followed me when I went to my car,” Jimin grumbled. “Damn near fucking killed me and told me to stay away from you.” You felt sick, bile rising in your throat and your stomach churning. You frowned and bit at the inside of your cheek. Jimin studied your expression before continuing, his eyes darting down to your fidgeting fingers. “You really didn’t know?”

“No,” you returned. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Jimin sighed, leaning back in his chair and pulling his cap down to hide his face better. “____, I think you should be more careful about who you have around you then.” Without another word, he turned toward the front and opened his notebook as the professor began to lecture. You were left to stew on your own for the rest of the class, guilt nagging at your insides.

[to seokjinnie 11:57am] — i’m sorry

You chewed at the inside of your cheek, a headache already being brought on by the entire situation. You felt your phone vibrate and glanced at your professor to make sure he wasn’t able to see where you hid the phone under your desk.

[from seokjinnie 12:03pm] — for what? — you can’t make shift or smth?

[to seokjinnie 12:05pm] — no. for not believing u

[from seokjinnie 12:06pm] — oh

No other text came and you eventually slid your phone into your pocket, tapping your foot as you attempted to pay more attention to the lecture. It had been a few days since you’d found out the truth and you hadn’t seen or heard from Jungkook. Granted, you’d blocked his number right away so he couldn’t get in touch with you, but you were still unnerved by your surroundings, every small sound making your heart pound and your limbs shake.

When the professor finished his lecture, dismissing the class a few minutes early, Jimin packed up his stuff and quickly departed, ignoring your voice calling for him to wait. Your cheeks flushed as he ignored you, leaving as quickly as possible, and you sighed, shoving your stuff in your backpack and walking out of the class room as quickly as you could. You bumped shoulders with someone and sent their textbook flying out of their hands, prompting you to apologize immediately and bend down to grab their book.

It was reminiscent of the first time you’d met Jungkook, seeming to be an eternity ago.

You bit your lip and picked up her textbook, handing it over to her and apologizing again. She assured you it was fine and thanked you for giving her the book. As you passed it over, your eyes skimmed the title and you furrowed your brows; on these days, Jungkook had his psych class—but that wasn’t a psych textbook.

“Excuse me,” you stopped her, grabbing her arm gently before she could fully turn away from you and go inside the classroom.

She gave you an odd look, fixing her bag. “Yes?”

“Isn’t this a psychology class?” you asked, an ominous feeling twisting your insides as if rearranging them completely.

She shook her head, showing you the textbook in her hands again. “No, this is an economies class.”

You faintly nodded and thanked her, bowing slightly before taking your leave, your mind swimming. You walked out of the building as if you were in a trance, nothing processing except for the girl’s words. You could’ve sworn Jungkook had that class right after you, but it was his psychology class. Was he even taking that class?

The memory of that picture of you in the library popped up in your mind and you shut your eyes, trying to rid yourself of it. But the picture brought up a very chilling question as you walked, a flash of red in your peripheral as you made your way toward work.

Was Jungkook even a student at your university?

Everything had honestly passed in a blur the next few days, your assignments and exams looming over your head and forcing all of your worries and any thoughts that weren’t of passing, passing, you have to pass this class, right out of your mind so you could focus. Which found you sitting in the library studying for so long that you could barely even see the words on the pages anymore, let alone your own handwriting on your notes.

You’d asked the owners of the store if you could have the next two weeks off for exams and studying and they were more than happy to give it to you, wishing you luck. You stretched your arms over your head as you set your pen down, groaning loudly at the sound of the resounding crack in your lower back.

Glancing at the windows of the library, you saw the sun had already set. You checked your phone and realized the library would be closing soon, so you packed up all of your stuff and slung your backpack over your shoulder. Getting up from the table, you pushed the chair in and waved at the librarian you passed, who smiled and waved back while you made your way to the entrance and quickly left the almost-empty library. The night was cold and so dark you could barely see anything, thanking the street lights for illuminating your way home.

You hadn’t even been walking for longer than a few minutes, still technically on campus, when you felt a chill run down your spine. Your eyes widened and you licked your lips, the feeling of someone following you intensifying with each step you took. You shoved your hands into your hoodie pocket, gripping your phone with tight fingers.

You took a chance and glanced behind you quickly.

You caught a glimpse of someone ducking into the alleyway a few feet behind you and a scream bubbled up in your throat—you swallowed it down and immediately took off into a sprint, pulling your hands and phone out of your pocket as you ran for your life.

You could hear an extra pair of steps running after you and adrenaline pumped its way through your veins, your heart dancing a frenzied beat inside your chest while your blood rushed through your ears. Tears stung your eyes as you ran, your breaths heavy and shallow as the main road came into view, a car turning the corner toward you.

You waved your hands wildly in front of you as you jumped into the road, running toward the car’s headlights at full speed. “Hey!” you screamed, nearly sobbing with relief. “Help me! Please! Stop, please, help me!”

The car came to a screeching halt, barely missing you. Your hands came down on the hood, a sob wracking out of your throat as your knees wobbled. The driver’s side opened and you met Yoongi’s eyes, wide and dark as he took in the sight of you, panting and crying.

He called your name, shutting his car door as he came forward and put his hands on your shoulders. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.

Without answering, you fell into his arms with a soft cry, wrapping your arms around his torso and burying your face into his neck. After a few moments of his comforting embrace, you finally pulled back as the adrenaline wore off and you were left a trembling mess, Yoongi’s grip the only thing keeping you upright. You glanced back the way you had run from, not seeing anyone chasing after you anymore.

“Hey,” Yoongi started softly, leading you toward the passenger side of his car. “Get in, I’ll drive you home.” You nodded and opened the door, getting into his car and quickly shutting the door, the sound of the driver’s side door opening and closing as he got in as well relieving you. He locked the doors immediately and you breathed out shakily, fastening your seatbelt as he put the car into drive and started to drive down the road.

“So what happened?” he asked after a few minutes of silence, the only sound being your mumbled directions of where to turn since he’d only been to your place once. You bit down on your lip and swallowed nervously, glancing over at him as he slowly pulled up to your apartment complex. He stopped his car and put it in park, turning to face you while he waited for a response.

“I just—I think he was following me,” you mumbled. “I saw someone behind me and then I heard them running after I took off and I—” You cut yourself off and had to blink away the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes. Yoongi’s hand twitched toward yours but he seemed to change his mind and clenched it in his lap instead.

You found yourself wishing he hadn’t.

“I was scared,” you whispered brokenly, voice catching as a tear slipped down your cheek, the memory of the footsteps pounding against the cement of the sidewalk burning in your brain. “I was so scared,” you repeated.

Yoongi stayed silent, simply letting you cry the way you needed to, your body unable to hold everything together even for a second longer. When you were done, he turned the engine off and gestured with his hand toward your complex. “I’ll walk you in,” he told you.

You nodded your head and got out of the car after he did, the sound of the car locking echoing in your ears. You waited for him to walk over closer to you before making your way to the front door of the apartment building, sticking impossibly close to him. Knowing that someone else was with you calmed your panicked nerves, the thought of Jungkook lurking around your apartment waiting to ambush you scaring you more than you thought it would. You had a restraining order in place, but that wouldn’t really stop him from doing anything if he really wanted to.

The thought of him somehow breaking in, his knowledge of not only your schedule but your apartment, had you breaking into a cold sweat. Yoongi’s presence right behind you as you unlocked the door and stepped inside relaxed you considerably, but not enough for your paranoid mind to completely shove the thoughts of Jungkook out of your mind.

You whirled around to face Yoongi as the door slid shut behind him, his eyes widening at your abrupt action.

“Can you stay with me?” you mumbled, cheeks warm as you avoided his gaze.

He coughed awkwardly and shuffled his feet. You saw him shove his hands into his pockets and then he cleared his throat. You glanced back at his face.

“Sure,” he replied easily, seemingly unbothered. But you could tell that he was; his eyes were looking anywhere except your face, darting from side to side.

“Thank you,” you whispered, turning back to the stairs and leading him silently up to your apartment. The entire walk was tense and uncomfortable, though the thought of having someone with you so you wouldn’t be alone easing the tension in your limbs. Letting the two of you into the apartment was quick and quiet and you locked your front door immediately after, barely leaving it open a centimeter more than it would take for Yoongi to fit.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he offered, slipping his shoes off.

You nodded your head in response and took your own shoes off. “I’ll get you a pillow and blanket,” you told him, smiling gratefully and making your way to your bedroom to get the extra stuff for him. Once you returned, he was seated on the couch and scrolling through his phone. He saw you coming back and stood up, taking the folded blanket and pillow from you with a thankful smile.

The two of you murmured goodnights and then you went to your bedroom, only feeling a little guilty for locking the door.

You’d woken up before Yoongi, slipping out of your bedroom as quietly as you could and going about your normal morning routine while he slept. He’d woken up when you were in the midst of your shower, and had been sitting up on the couch on his phone when you came out dressed for your day and ready to go.

“Morning,” he grunted, stretching his arms over his head and sitting up straighter at the sight of you.

“Morning,” you returned happily. You paused for a second, gathering up the courage before being able to speak again. “Yoongi, I—I just wanted to thank you. You know. For staying with me when you didn’t have to.”

He waved you off. “It’s fine, ____. I don’t mind.”

You opened your mouth to continue but your doorbell cut you off. You furrowed your brows and craned your neck to look at the door—who the hell would be ringing your doorbell so early in the day? You smiled apologetically at Yoongi before getting up to go to the door.

You looked through the peephole first, not seeing anyone outside. Your brows furrowed together deeper, a frown twitching at your lips as you unlocked the door and looked out into the hall. There was no one.

But there was an envelope right outside of the door when you looked down.

Swallowing, you bent to pick it up. You opened it hesitantly, pulling out a sheet of paper with trembling fingers. Your breath hitched.

You need to remember that you’re mine. It won’t be pretty if I have to remind you.

You let the paper slip from your hands, rushing out into the hallway and looking left and right. You couldn’t catch a glimpse of anything or anyone out of the ordinary, blood rushing through your ears and muffling all the sound around you. Yoongi was calling your name when you finally zoned back into reality, his hand lightly grasping your arm.

You whipped around to face him and gave him a broken look. “He was here,” you said thickly, letting him tug you back into the apartment. “He was here,” you repeated to yourself, hugging yourself as Yoongi picked up the note laying on the ground before shutting your door and locking it.

“You need to call the police,” he told you gently. “Don’t you have a restraining order against him?” At your surprised look, he continued. “Hobi told me.”

You made an ‘ah’ sound in response to the information. Then you shook your head, running your hands through your hair nervously. “I can’t—the note doesn’t prove that it was Jungkook, so it would just provoke him into doing something, probably.” The two of you stood quietly and then you gave him an apologetic look. “Anyway, I have an exam today, so—”

He cut you off awkwardly. “Oh! Yeah, alright, I’ll—I’ll leave first, then. Good luck on your exam.” You thanked him and then he was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What the hell were you going to do?

Well, for now you were going to forget about Jungkook and his obsession with you and focus on your exam. You weren’t going to let your grades suffer just because of him. Making up your mind, you grabbed your school stuff and then made your way out of the apartment, triple checking that it was locked and secure before you made your way out of the complex and toward your university.

Your exam went as well as an exam could go—you knew some answers and had to guess on others. You finished a few minutes early and had turned it in to your professor before leaving, glad to be done with studying. You grabbed your phone and turned it back on, waiting for your messages to load. Surprisingly, you didn’t have that many texts, minus one weird one from Hoseok.

[from yoongi; 1:14pm] — you done with your exam? — have u talked to hobi today?

As you were walking, you started to type out a response to the boy who you'd opened up to just a little bit. You didn't completely have a choice about it, but you'd judged Yoongi poorly before and you now wished you hadn't been so cold to him before—he was kind.

[to yoongi; 1:56pm] — yeah i just finished — i have a text from him, why?

As you saw the three little dots pop up to indicate Yoongi was typing a response, you exited the thread and clicked onto Hoseok's instead. You furrowed your brow, something squirming inside of your belly as you read the texts, your heartbeat echoing in your ears.

[from hobi; 12:37pm] — i need u to help me w/ smth — can u come out by that store a few blocks from ur place? — it won't take long

Your phone vibrated with a new message from Yoongi but you ignored it, opting instead to type a response to Hoseok.

[to hobi; 1:58pm] — yeah sure what store

The response was instantaneous, coming before you could even exit the chat or lower your phone.

[from hobi; 1:58pm] — the cafe next to the pizza place — u know the one?

You pursed your lips and typed an affirmative. You told him you'd be there later since you had other things to do today. He tried to convince you otherwise but you shrugged it off, shoving your phone into your pocket and continuing on your way home.

While you were walking home, you felt an eerie calm drape over your body like a blanket—something was not right. But you didn't know what it was or why you felt that way, so your brain whispered that you were just being paranoid.

You remembered that picture Jungkook had had of you, the way he'd gripped you so tight he'd left bruises, the dark way his eyes had roamed your face as if to claim you as his through some primal instinct to warn off others, the way he'd admitted that he'd done something horrible to Namjoon for you—

You weren't being paranoid. You needed to be cautious.

Swallowing, you took a different turn from your usual one, planning to go in a wide circle radius to approach your apartment from the opposite direction. You didn't want to risk Jungkook coming after you despite the restraining order you had, since he clearly knew your usual route home and might attempt to ambush you. The thought of having not known his true nature until it was too late gave you goosebumps, your mouth drying.

You'd only been walking down the unfamiliar road for a few minutes when you passed a pizzeria that had you stopping in your tracks. You glanced back at it and swallowed nervously, the familiar name of it making you pause; that was the pizza place Hoseok had mentioned in his texts. You should be glad to see your best friend, but something just... rubbed you the wrong way about his messages and you didn't know if you should actually go.

Should you turn back? Should you speed walk past the alleys and cafe to get home faster and hope Hoseok didn't see you?

You decided to just break into a brisk walk, quickly moving your feet and shoving your hands in your pockets to dig for your keys. Your finger wrapped around the keychain and you started to pull it out of your pocket, letting out a shaky breath as you passed the cafe safely.

A hand grabbed you by your hair and yanked you backwards.

You screamed, hands coming up to your hair as you lost your balance from the force of the pull. Your back slammed into a firm chest and another hand came around you, pressing against your mouth and muffling the screams tearing their way out of your throat.

"You can't ignore me forever," Jungkook's voice sing-songed into your ear, a low and light chuckle following his words. Your heart was hammering so hard into your ribs that you were sure it would crack one of them in its frenzy while you grabbed at his hand with yours.

You opened your mouth a little wider and bit down on his ring finger as hard as you could, not letting go even as he cursed and tried to yank it away from your mouth. He pulled your head back by your hair and fire shot through your neck at the pain, your mouth instinctively letting go of his finger so you could focus on his grasp.

"Let go!" you screamed, thrashing in his hold as he swore and wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you pressed against him. "Let go of me!"

"Not a chance," he grunted, trying to control your erratic movements by your hair. You shifted your keys in your palm and then aimed it for his hand in your hair, feeling the pressure as it dug into his skin and he yelped, shooting away from you quickly. His grip had loosened enough for you to dart away from him, sprinting out of the dark alleyway he'd dragged you into and running as fast as you could down the street.

All the stores were closed and the sun was already setting.

You continued to scream as you ran, hearing his heavy footfalls right behind you and trying to zigzag out of his way so he couldn’t make a grab for you. You could see the main road, a few cars zipping past, right in front of you. If you could get there, if you could just make it to the main road, there would be a less likely chance that he’d be able to grab you without notice—

You just managed to run into the street, cars zipping past you and honking loudly. You were panting, whipping around to check behind you, catching a glimpse of a figure disappearing into the shadows of the buildings. Another honk brought your attention back to the cars, breaths heavy as you jogged to the other side of the road, hands shaking as you yanked out your phone to dial the police.

The detective assigned to your case patted your shoulder sympathetically, shaking her head. You sighed and drank some of the coffee at the shop nervously, gnawing at your lips.

“We’re doing everything we can,” she said, breaking the tense silence.

“Yeah, sure,” you responded numbly. “I know he has Hoseok. I know it; he’s the one that texted me from Hoseok’s number and he isn’t home!”

She ran her hands through her hair. “We’re looking through all the possible leads, but—he’s like a ghost. We haven’t been able to find a trace of him.” You dropped your forehead onto your arms and held back the frustrated tears that were starting to prick at your eyes. “Just... try to stay around people, okay?” she pressed. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

You didn’t reply, instead peeking up to see her pay for the meals and drinks before patting your back and taking her leave. You pushed your coffee away from you and pulled out your phone again, too afraid to text Hoseok’s number now that you knew Jungkook had it—and him.

The next few days passed in a complete blur, never once giving you an opportunity to see anyone. You had been bugging the detective for any news, but her replies were scarce and always said the same thing: they still hadn’t found Jungkook nor Hoseok. So, you did what any person in your position would do.

You went looking for him.

He wasn’t at his apartment, which you already knew but thought it wouldn’t hurt to check anyway. You knew it was stupid, but you realized you’d have to go near the place he had lured you to last time if you wanted any luck at finding your best friend. It was fairly deserted, all the stores closing once more and anyone on the streets already making their way home. You were nervous, shoulders hunching in on yourself as you surveyed your surroundings, eyes open for any sign of Jungkook.

Briefly, you thought you’d seen him across the street and your heart had stopped beating for a split second, but then you noticed the magenta colored bangs peeking out from under the cap and you let out a breath, continuing to walk down toward the residential area just up the street from all the stores and shops.

By the time you’d made it between the houses, far away from the main roads and confined to only the backroads and narrow streets between the small houses that were packed tightly together, your heart was pounding in your ears and you were whirling around to check behind you every few seconds.

You heard something scratch against the ground up ahead and you paused, straining your ears to listen harder. It was like a faint moaning sound, followed by groans and more scratching, like something dragging against the cement. You tiptoed forward, being as quiet as you could and taking solace in the shadows by the walls of the houses as you neared the source of the noises.

There was a body sitting against a wall, hunched forward and chest moving up and down rapidly. You squinted your eyes and took a few steps toward it, trying to catch a glimpse of what they were doing—

“Hoseok?” you asked breathlessly, immediately rushing toward the limp figure in the deserted street.

“____?” he murmured, barely able to open his eyes. Your hands were shaking as you rested your hands against his cheeks, pulling his head up to peer into his face. He grunted and you looked down between the two of you, noticing the wet dark stain in the abdomen of his shirt.

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked shakily, bringing a hand down and pressing it to his shirt. He whined in pain, throwing his head back against the brick. When you brought your hand back up, it was sticky with blood. You swallowed nervously, breath hitching as you felt bile rise up in your throat.

A hand fisted in the back of your shirt and yanked you up, your feet slipping from underneath you and you fell back hard, coming into contact with someone’s chest, arms wrapping around your body. Your hands came free of Hoseok, who attempted to make a grab for your legs weakly.

He made a muffled sound and you twisted in his grasp, screaming and thrashing, trying to claw at him so he’d let go of you.

“If you don’t stop moving, I’ll kill him!” Jungkook shouted, grabbing you by the hair and pulling you close to his body. You went silent and your blood chilled. He backed you into the alley again, the roads all deserted where you were with a very slim chance of someone walking past. He pressed into you and you felt the cold wall on your back as you tried to inch as far away from him as you could. “That’s much better,” he purred, bringing one hand up to cup your jaw. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”

“What did you do to Hoseok?” you asked thickly, tears starting to fall from your eyes and clog up your throat, barely able to maintain eye contact with him. He was wearing a black cap, strands of bright magenta hair slipping down to frame his face and your stomach churned, realizing he’d seen you earlier and you hadn’t recognized him with the new hair. You’d provided him the perfect opportunity to follow you into a secluded area, your guard down and leaving you vulnerable to him.

His face twisted with his anger, nose scrunching and mouth turned down into a frown. “Don’t talk about him,” he warned you, pushing up against you harder. “Don’t ever say another man’s name when you have me.” You didn’t respond, simply staring at him. “Am I making myself clear?” he pressed.

You jerked your head into a nod, breathing heavily. His features softened into a smile and he looked kinder, but his grip on you tightened to remind you that you’d been fooled by a pretty face and stupid infatuation.

“I missed you,” he murmured, nuzzling his face into your hair and sniffing loudly. You turned your head away from him. Undeterred, he simply followed your movements and brought your face back toward him with his hand on your jaw. “I know you missed me too, babe, even if you’re playing hard to get. I know he fed you lies about me.” His face contorted for a split second before relaxing again.

“What did you do to him?” you mumbled, voice breaking as you thought about your best friend, lying a few feet away and bleeding out from whatever wounds Jungkook had inflicted on him over the course of days. You should’ve known to be with him and check up on him. How could you have been so stupid?

Jungkook pressed a kiss into your cheek and nipped your jaw. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll live if he minds his own business and leaves us alone.” He brushed your hair back with his other hand and you immediately brought your hands up to shove him away from you. He didn’t budge, lowering the hand on your jaw to your throat and tightening just enough to make you uncomfortable. He tsked and leaned in even closer, until every word he spoke had his lips brushing gently against yours. “I know you want to be with me. You love me and I love you. We’re meant to be together.”

“He’s bleeding out, Jungkook,” you pleaded, voice cracking. “Please, please—don’t let him die, please.” His eyes were unblinking as he contemplated your request, but you realized that you knew his weakness just as he knew all of yours. “You’re—you’re right, we’re meant to be together,” you started, forcing a smile onto your face and hoping he’d believe you. “I want to go with you, I want to! But if he—” Your breath caught and you blinked quickly to dispel the tears forming in your eyes, willing your heart to calm down its frenzied beat. “If he dies,” you continued quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “The cops will never leave us alone.”

Jungkook hummed, bringing a hand up to brush your hair back again. “I suppose you’re right.” He glanced back at Hoseok and then quickly back to you, not leaving you any room to make a grab for the pipe you could see out of the corner of your eye just out of your reach.

When he moved forward and pressed his mouth against yours, you screwed your eyes shut and tried to move away, but the hand around your throat constricted your air and your mouth opened to fight for a breath. He immediately licked into your mouth as you struggled to breathe, pressing against you completely and bringing his other hand up to your hair and tugging on it harshly as he kissed you. You could feel his hand brush down to your cheek, his fingers wet and sticky—you knew that was Hoseok’s blood on his hands, but you couldn’t do anything to stop him. You needed him to believe this rouse if you were going to get yourself and your best friend out of this alive.

His hips slotted against yours and ground down once. You made a gurgled noise of protest and hoped he’d take it as a strangled moan, your eyes shutting tight enough to make dots dance across the back of your eyelids. He pulled back with a smack of his lips obscenely, eyes hooded and dark as he smiled at you gently. You bit back the bile rising in your esophagus at the sight, attempting to match his smile with your own.

He yanked your body toward his, away from the wall of the alley, and whirled you around so your back was against his chest. His arm moved across your chest to restrain your arms and his free hand came up to your face, palm clamping shut on your mouth and nose to restrict your air. Your eyes widened and your body thrashed in his hold, hands coming up to grab at his arms while you tried to kick at him from behind. You couldn’t breathe, having not sucked in enough air from the abrupt hold, and he pressed harder. Your body fell back against his chest, fingers digging into his arm to try to force him to let go.

“Shhh,” he cooed gently, his fingers digging into your cheeks as you started to lose consciousness, body going slack and eyes fluttering shut. “It’ll be fine, baby, you’ll be okay.”

The last thing you remember was his voice cooing sweet nothings into your ear and his mouth pressing kisses into your hair while his bloody hand was clamped against your mouth and nose.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the light, your head aching. You could hear someone murmuring and you tried to bring your hand up to your head but stopped when you felt something cold wrapped around your wrists. You forced your eyes open and blearily looked down to see chains wrapped around your wrists.

You shot up, hearing the squeaking of the small bed you were on, and you looked around to see where you were. The room was small, dark besides one lightbulb that dangled up above in the middle of the room, and it was cold. Really cold.

“You’re finally awake,” a soft voice said.

You whipped your head around to see who had spoken and saw another girl, about your age or maybe older, sitting in a similar position to you across the room.

“Who—?”

“I’m Jieun,” she said quickly. “I—Do you know why he took us?”

Your head was throbbing and you winced, slowly raising your heavy hand up to your head and blanching when it came back wet with something dark. “Did he fucking knock me into a wall or something?” you murmured.

She shrugged, grabbing your attention again. Her clothes were dirty, as was she, and her hair was tangled horribly. She looked awful. She wasn’t locked up the same way you were, but she was definitely way worse off than you; her body looked frail, like she wouldn’t be able to put up a fight.

“Wait, Jieun?” you asked slowly. “You’re—are you the girl that went missing months ago?”

She nodded her head, eyes wide. “You’ve been out for a few days. When Jungkook came with you, your head was bleeding already and he sort of tried to clean you up before he put you there.”

Your eyes widened as you remembered everything that happened before he had restricted your air. “I’m—oh my God, how are we going to get out of here?”

She sighed. “I’ve tried before. Before he brought you, he hadn’t been back in a long time.” As if to emphasize her point, her stomach growled and her cheeks flushed pink. “I don’t know how we’re—”

A door opened from the stairwell and your eyes were immediately drawn to it. You leaned over as much as you could in the bed, catching a faint glimpse of a wooden overhead door, like you were underground in some kind of cellar. You saw some grass from around the silhouette of his body before he shut the door again, making his way heavily down the steps.

You met Jungkook’s eyes and he took the cap off of his head, tossing it onto a table and bringing a chair over to your bed before he sat down, a wide smile on his face. “____!” he said cheerfully. “You’re up, I’m so glad!”

You didn’t respond, simply staring at him. You glanced down at your wrists before meeting his eyes again.

“I hope you understand, babe,” he started gently, resting one of his hands on yours. You hated that you wanted more of his touch, the skin of his hand warm against your freezing fingers. “I didn’t want to risk you trying to get out while I was gone.”

“Why—why did you leave?” you asked hesitantly, glancing at Jieun over his shoulder.

He shrugged and gestured to a backpack over to the table. “I was getting you some food for when you woke up. Sorry about that nasty bump on your head.” He furrowed his brows and brought a free hand up to ghost his fingers over your wound. You winced, flinching away from his touch. “You got knocked into the wall when I was trying to bring you here.” His gaze darkened for a split second. “All because of that liar.”

Your heart nearly stopped beating in your chest at the mention of your best friend. “How—how is he?” you whispered. At his suspicious look, you swallowed nervously and continued, attempting to distract him as you interlocked your fingers with his. “You know, since—since we wouldn’t want the police coming after you.”

He visibly relaxed, patting your hand and squeezing it before dislodging your hold, moving over to grab his backpack and bring it to your side. “No worries, I called the police as a concerned bystander,” he paused to chuckle before continuing, “and I heard on the news he’s been recovering just fine in the hospital.” He hummed. “Though, he’s currently unable to talk to police, according to the news.”

His razor sharp smile as he handed you the food he brought made your insides twist and you didn’t want to ask what that meant; the important thing was that Hoseok was recovering and safe.

After you’d finished your food, ignoring the crawling of your skin as Jungkook simply sat and watched you eat, you started to feel drowsy. Your eyelids felt heavy and your limbs were like lead when you tried to move them. You glanced over at Jungkook, body slumping back onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured from above you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. You heard the jingling of keys from somewhere, and you made a noncommittal sound in the back of your throat, eyes falling on the glint of the metal by his backpack. He smothered you in kisses, pressing his mouth to yours repeatedly like he couldn’t get enough, and you let him as you focused your energy on your one hand, reaching out and grabbing the keys before you lost complete motor function. You tossed them gently under the bed, flinching in your bed to make it squeak and cover the sound of the keys hitting the cement.

You tried to open your mouth, to say something, but you were powerless to move, trapped in your own body as Jungkook rearranged your arms under the blanket and tucked you in. Your eyes finally fell shut and you sunk into the mattress of the bed.

Jieun’s screaming woke you up, startling you from your drug-induced sleep. You threw the covers off as best as you could, wincing against the rub of the metal on your skin. When you were fully awake, blinking the sleep from your eyes, you could see Jungkook lifting her body from the rickety bed. She was thrashing as best she could, slamming her hands on his back as he easily threw her over his shoulder. You could tell she was malnourished from the second you’d laid eyes on her, her body frail from months of being cooped up and in chains, barely being fed as Jungkook must have gone days or weeks before returning to give her food and water.

“Jungkook, what—” you started, eyes wide as you watched him lug her over to the stairs.

He turned to face you, smile lighting up his features. “Oh, you’re awake! Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. I just need to take care of something first.”

Your blood was like ice, freezing you in your bed as you watched him carry her up the stairs and out of the cellar, shutting the wooden door behind him and disappearing, her screams echoing faintly until you could no longer hear them. Your heart lurched into your chest and then you moved, throwing yourself to the ground and wincing at the harsh landing onto the cement as you dug around under the bed for the keys you’d tossed under there.

This might be your only chance to escape.

Your fingers closed around cold metal and you yanked your arm out from under the bed, sobbing with relief as you shakily tried all of the keys against the lock in your chains until one of them finally clicked, opening the lock. You let the chains fall from your wrists, wincing as the air brushed against the burns from the restraints around your wrists.

You got to your feet, knees wobbling like jelly from not using them the past few days, and you swallowed nervously, glancing around for anything you could use as a weapon. You found a rusty pipe by the corner of Jieun’s bed and you wobbled over to it as fast as you could, picking it up and keeping it by your side as you made your way to the stairs, climbing them slowly until you reached the top. You pressed all of your weight into the the hatch, groaning at how heavy it was but unrelenting until it flipped open and you could get out. You crawled out, not bothering to shut it as you got to your feet and grabbed the pipe with both hands.

You were in the middle of the woods, not having a single clue where you should go from here. As you stood there for a few minutes, debating which direction to go in, you heard a piercing scream from your right and you rushed toward it, trying not to fall over and stay as quiet as you could.

You continued to follow the sounds, the screams turning into pleas and quiet sobs the closer you got; you knew you were headed toward Jungkook and Jieun, so you raised your pipe and tried to hide in the trees.

You glimpsed the boy’s back, Jieun’s body on the ground under him as he wrapped his hands around her throat and she tried to shove him off. You watched the sight for a split second, calculating your odds and realizing there was no way you’d get out of this alive if you tried to turn back—he’d outrun you quickly and you’d be defenseless against him if he was focusing all of his energy on you.

You came up behind him as slowly and quietly as you could, keeping you mouth shut so you weren’t breathing too heavily and he wouldn’t hear it, and then you raised the pipe over your head and inhaled deeply.

You swung it down toward his head, knocking the metal into the back of it and wincing at his grunt as he fell over. Jieun coughed, spluttering and sitting up as she glanced over at his limp body laying beside hers. She looked up at you, wide-eyed, and then you crouched down to take his pulse.

“He’s still alive,” you breathed, shutting your eyes in relief. You didn’t want to kill him—he should have to pay for what he did to you. “Does he have a phone?” you asked Jieun, who was still staring at you with wide eyes.

“You didn’t kill him?” she asked shakily, her body trembling.

You shook your head, keeping the pipe in your hand and checking his pockets for a phone. Your fingers wrapped around one and you smiled as you pulled it out, cursing when you saw it was locked. You thanked everything you could think of that he had an iPhone, which had the emergency calling option; when the finger-lock didn’t recognize your fingerprint and it opened the passcode option, you clicked “Emergency” and dialed the police, sobbing when the operator answered and telling them everything, where you were and who you were—and that Jieun, the girl that had disappeared from Daegu months ago, was with you.

You were going to be okay. You were going to be okay.

You let out a shaky breath and reached over to squeeze Jieun’s hand in yours, a few stray tears landing on the grass as you tried to keep yourself together. You lowered your head and rested your forehead against both of your hands as you let yourself cry.

Months had passed since then and you were finally on the road to recovery. They’d found Namjoon, healthy and fine except for the missing finger along with whatever psychological damage Jungkook had inflicted on him. You’d heard the detectives mention that his plan had been to kill Jieun and then keep you for a few months before the same fate would have eventually befallen you had you not escaped.

You shuddered at the thought.

“____!” Jieun called, poking your side. You startled and looked up at her, smiling softly and poking her back. “They’re coming to pick us up. You ready to go yet?”

“Yeah, I’m ready. Just watching some TV,” you mumbled, getting up and taking another look around the new apartment. The trauma had brought the two of you together, forming an unbreakable bond between you. After weeks and weeks of seemingly never ending therapy, you’d formed a friendship so tightly knitted together that you knew the two of you would never break away from each other. You’d decided to get an apartment together and live closer to Hoseok, who started to share an apartment with Yoongi.

The doorbell rang and the two of you flinched, paused, and then burst into giggles at your reactions. You were both still flighty and easily scared, but you were working to get through it together; you’d even developed a buddy rule so you were never alone. Most nights one of you snuck into the other’s room and bed, shaking and trembling from nightmares of his laugh, his eyes, his touches.

His touches haunted you the most.

Sometimes you could feel the ghost of a caress or a kiss on your skin, leaving you cold and shivering and wide awake in the middle of the night, too afraid to go back to sleep.

Jieun had watched the trial, needing to know what happened to him after being arrested. You weren’t strong enough to go, to face him again. Jieun was your rock in that sense—she needed you for your comforts, for her to lean on when the memories of her Taehyung were too much, and you needed her for her strength in moving past what had happened and keep you going. She’d told you that at the end of the very, very long trial, he’d been found guilty on all the charges against him and convicted; she only said he’d be away for a long time and you didn’t question it further, not wanting to know anything more about him.

“Come in!” she called, knowing Hoseok had brought his extra key with him. The door opened and the boys let themselves in, murmuring to themselves as you quickly slipped your shoes on.

“Ready?” Yoongi asked when you hurried over to the little hall by the door.

You bit your lip and nodded, ignoring the heat flushing through your chest at his small smile. You could hear Jieun snickering and you turned to send her a panicked glare—shut up, you mouthed.

Hoseok’s hand came to rest on your shoulder and he gestured for Jieun to hurry over as well. “Let’s go, let’s go, ladies! Joon’s waiting with Jinnie at the restaurant and want us to get there ASAP. We’re already late!”

“Sorry, sorry,” she murmured to him, hurrying over and grabbing her keys and phone.

“Joon’s there?” you pretended to whine, pouting at your friends. “He still won’t forgive me for not listening to him at the store!”

Yoongi chuckled and his hand brushed against your lower back softly before it was gone, hesitant to touch you. You didn’t blame him; if a touch was too sudden, you would be thrown into a train of memories that would lead you down a dark path that you didn’t want to revisit. “He’ll get over it. It’s because he cares about you that he’s pretending not to forgive you.”

“Yeah, babes,” Jieun cooed, knocking your hip with hers gently. “He cares about you!”

You rolled your eyes and shoved her softly, ignoring the chuckles from Hoseok and Yoongi. “Shut up, oh my God.” All of you left the apartment lightly, laughter and happiness following you all without a shadow lurking over your heads.

The door shut on the forgotten TV, the program interrupted by the breaking news reporter flickering onto the screen.

“Breaking news. The transport bus with convicted felons crashed on the side of the road, killing two of the officers on impact. All the convicts were found and retained, except for one. The public should take caution and call the emergency services immediately if he is spotted; he should be considered extremely dangerous. If you see him, do not approach him. Women should take considerable caution until this man is caught and brought back to the authorities. Thank you.”

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realityhelixcreates · 5 years ago

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Chapters: One-shot Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Avengers Movies Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Loki x Reader Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Thor, Additional Tags: Spans From Avengers-Post Endgame, Post Loki Series, Sadder Than My Usual, Not Quite What The Summary Might Seem To Promise, Kinda Angsty, Kinda Clinical In Tone? It’s Supposed To Feel More Hollow IDK Summary: You are a new worker at the Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. facility the day Loki shows up to steal the Tesseract. Like Agent Barton and Dr. Selvig, he decides to steal you too.

It had only been four days.

All the transfers, and patience, and working your way steadily up through the ranks of your peers. Finally making it to the proper clearance to do the one thing you had dreamed of doing, ever since you had learned of its existence: Working with the fabled Tesseract.

It hadn’t even been a week.

You’d been warned this could happen, of course. The free world had many enemies, and S.H.E.I.L.D. sometimes had to act as a barrier against them. But there were only supposed to be scientists here, and whatever Agent Barton was. Some kind of bodyguard? The place was hidden underground even! Who could get in here? Who could know it was here?

Four days of your dream career.

The alarms blared, but only shortly, before everything except emergency power went out, leaving you in a dark hallway, carrying the coffee you were going to offer everyone as the sounds of gunfire and shouting echoed all around you.

You flattened yourself against the wall, as even those sounds ceased, leaving you encased in darkness and eerie silence. You were no combatant, and you certainly had no weapons, only the hot coffee in your hands.

The sound of footsteps reached you, and quiet voices, only one of which you didn’t recognize. A soft glow came into view, and you squinted, just barely able to make out a handful of shadows in the darkness. The footsteps stopped abruptly.

“Sir?” Someone asked. That was Barton. That might be a good sign.

“Someone is there. I can see you.” This was a voice you had never heard before, but it set off alarm bells in your head, the way a tiger’s growl would. The glow intensified, revealing Agent Barton and Doctor Selvig, and also an oddly dressed man you had never seen before. He seemed unhealthy, maybe even injured, but he was carrying an unusual object; not quite a spear and not a club either, it was bladed and socketed with a glowing crystal of some kind. The blades were bloody.

“Oh, that’s _____.” Doctor Selvig said. “She transferred here a few days ago to begin working on energy fields.”

“She’s harmless.” Agent Barton tacked on quickly.

“Is everything all right?” You asked quietly. “I heard a lot of noise just now.”

“Yes.” The strange man said, after a moments hesitation. “But only if we all leave, now.”

“Sir?” Agent Barton asked.

“You work hard, don’t you?” The strange man asked you, stepping forward. “You are a person who gives much of herself?”

You felt like you should run, but Barton was right there. You shouldn’t really be in danger. You just nodded.

“Good. Because I have many needs.” He closed the distance between you and, before you could drop the tray of coffee you had been gripping so tightly and run, he jabbed the tip of the blade gently into your chest. You froze, all thoughts of running draining away-

-After all, why run away from your best friend in the whole world? The man you adored more than anything? He needed you. And you would fulfill those needs. Every single one.

*****

You began almost immediately, the very instant you all reached a safe place, away from the destruction in the desert. A small, cheap, roadside motel. It wasn’t really proper for accommodating a king, but he had welcomed it, for the time being.

You had filled the ice bucket and raided the vending machine for snacks. It would make a poor supper, but Loki had accepted it all with ferocious charm. He sent the other two out on their own specific orders, but you he kept close by. He needed things from you.

He allowed you to care for him freely, in whatever ways you deemed appropriate, so you gave him ice for his bruised eyes, used a cool, damp wash cloth to wipe the sweat from his face and soothe his burning skin. You were even blessed with permission to care for his hair, and massage his scalp.

Because he asked, you spoke to him about your work on energy fields, and how much you had hoped to study the Tesseract. Because he asked, you told him everything you could about yourself, your hobbies, your dreams for the future. Because he asked, you swore eternal fidelity to him. You would have no other king.

He kept you close whenever he visited the underground lab. S.H.I.E.L.D. had many enemies, and Loki didn't want you involved with any of them. He also didn't want to share. Just because you fed and pampered him, did not mean he allowed anyone else to take advantage of those services. You still expressed the occasional bit of curiosity about the Tesseract, but he usually just shushed you, in his firm way, and told you about the great things he would do for the world, once he was king.

Petty conflicts would be laid to rest, and resource hoarding would become a thing of the past. There would be no more scrambling for fortune or fame. Everyone would have an equal place under the king. Everyone would have a job, and their basic needs would be met. Everyone who could, would be trained in the defense of the planet, from any outside enemies.

He spoke also of worrying things; of shackles he needed to throw off, of his birthright, of the dangers of the universe that were closing in on your beautiful planet. Of contingency plans, and royal responsibilities.

You couldn't help but notice the underlying tone of loneliness in everything he spoke of. He never once mentioned family. Never named a friend. In everything, he was alone.

*****

You didn't speak any German, but that was alright. You wouldn't be here long. You had only one job to do here, and it didn't involve talking to anybody.

You lounged on a bench outside the museum the men had sneaked into. Some kind of soiree was going on inside, but not for much longer. When the doors burst open and people poured, screaming, into the streets, you leaped up and joined them, running all willy-nilly, crying out in faux terror. Loki's illusory doubles materialized all around, herding the people into a small area; only you knowing for sure that they weren't real. When his command to kneel rang out, you were the first to do so. The others followed your example, just like he had predicted they would, their confusion and fear convincing them to mirror what they saw as an outlet to safety.

It was only supposed to be a distraction, Loki had told you so. While Barton and the others escaped with the real prize, you would help Loki create a ruckus, a lure for the team of heroes Loki was so curious to test. It was just supposed to be a show of power, Loki standing tall over kneeling subjects, delivering a soothing speech...but then the old man had stood up. He spoke back defiantly and you wanted to shush him, but you could not risk your cover by speaking. Stomach churning, you watched Loki raise his scepter to the old man, fearing what was to come. Death was inevitable in any regime change, sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. You just had to remember that. Defiance couldn't be tolerated, not right now. There had to be ruthlessness now; Fairness would come later.

The blast never hit home, reflecting instead at the very last moment and striking Loki instead, bowling him over. You cried out in real fear this time, at the sight of your king thrown to the ground like that. But dutifully, you dashed away from the sudden battle, instead of towards him. You had been expressly forbidden from entering combat, instead, you escaped into the back streets and returned to the designated meeting place, to be extracted to the secondary meeting place.

Loki did not return.

This was, of course, part of the plan. He was exactly where he wanted to be now, up, up above the clouds, on one of the largest structures to ever fly. Everyone on it was at his mercy, and unfortunately, some of them would die in the mayhem he meant to unleash up there. Sacrifices had to be made. But after this, there would be peace, as Loki took over for the failed governments of the world and put an end to the pointless fighting and bottomless greed. Earth would become a respected galactic power. Just a few sacrifices to be made.

*****

You infiltrated the helicarrier with the rest of Loki's allies, dressed as a S.H.I.E.L.D. Operative and wearing a magical device that your king had left with Barton to give to you. It changed your appearance to that of a large, rather generic man who looked rough enough that others might give pause before tangling with. You could not wear your own face, having been labeled M.I.A., or possibly dead after the collapse of the Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. Facility. It was alright. You didn't have any family to worry over you.

Your orders were to make your way straight to the glassy cell your king was being held in, where he provided you the code to free him. Then he commanded you to hide behind the console.

“Thor will be coming, I know it.” He said. “Nothing must come between him and his new suite. It is my gift to him.”

You'd heard of Thor-who hadn't? No amount of cover-up had managed to keep his existence quiet. From what you had heard, there was no safe place if you were in his way. He'd go right through you without even pausing.

You huddled down behind the console with Loki, as the rapid thudding of heavy footsteps rushed towards you. The Thunder God burst into the room, shouting and rushing a false image of Loki, falling head first into his trap. So easy. Loki clearly knew the other god quite well.

The two of you left your hiding space, Loki gloating and toying with the other god while you watched the door. Thor railed at him, even managing to crack the glass.

Fearful that he would break free, you kept your gaze firmly on the door. Surely Loki could handle it.

You were so fixed on your task, that you didn't realize someone had come up behind you until he cracked you across the head, sending you into instant darkness.

******

You awoke in an outlying New York suburb, in the small home of an elderly couple your king had commanded to see to your health. Your head hurt, but he assured you that nothing had been broken. He assured you that the man who hurt you had been permanently dealt with. He assured you that revenge had been taken for your pain.

He seemed pleased. He'd dropped the Thunder God thousands of feet, torn the great helicarrier from the sky, unleashed a monster, wrought chaos! It didn't matter that Thor survived, that the helicarrier hadn't actually crashed, that the Hulk was no longer rampaging, or even that he had lost Agent Barton in the fray; the chaos remained. His plans were coming together, and he reveled in it.

When you were fully awake, and certain that you weren't injured, he allowed you to dote on him once more, sharing a small meal, sitting in his lap and massaging his scalp. He sighed, his eyes drooping closed from the pleasure of it.

He was so beautiful, so perfect, so radiant. You would happily do anything for him.

You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, ready to offer anything. He flinched away at the suddenness of it, but you followed the movement of his head, and within moments, he was holding you tightly, hungrily claiming you lips, your mouth, your tongue. It was all his, your everything, all his.

He lifted you effortlessly, laying your down on the bed you had just left, writhing against you while keeping claim of your mouth, and swallowing your happy whimpers until he just stopped. He drew back from your face, staring right into your eyes as you gazed up at him with adoration.

His expression changed then, as he looked down at you, and for just a few seconds he looked like a different person. Younger, more vulnerable than you had ever thought he could look. Sympathetic. Guilty.

“No.” He said finally. “I don't have to. They're coming together now, I don't have to do anything worse in order to galvanize them. This is a line I don't have to cross, a monster I don't have to become.”

He rose, retreating to the door, while you sat up in the bed.

“No, your Majesty?” you wondered.

He shook his head. “Not this day. Perhaps some other time, under better circumstances. Depending, of course, upon which of my plans bears fruit. But for now, you must stay here. Do not venture outside, not for anything but my express summons. The Jensens will take care of you until I return. Or until I don't, in which case, my orders will no longer matter.”

He left then, to make his grand takeover a reality.

Through the Jensen's radio you heard disturbing news. Holes opening in the sky, from whence poured unknown, alien beings and horrifying creations. Tremendous destruction and mayhem in the middle of the city. All defenses being easily overturned, and only a handful of people were able to hold them back at all. The Iron Man was doing what he could, the monstrous Hulk had been spotted again, only a year after the terror he rained down on Harlem, and the near legendary Captain America had somehow risen once more. Thor, God of Thunder, and a few, unknown others were all locked in battle, but the radio announcer could give few details beyond that.

And so, you stayed quietly where you were, awaiting your kings triumphant return.

It came upon you very suddenly, a breaking sensation. A cutting off, a departure, a sudden absence. Whatever it was that had cast its veil over your mind and steered your thoughts was gone, and you were alone inside your own head once again.

You hardly had time to realize what it meant, before the elderly Jensens, no longer coerced into helpfulness, ran you out of their home in fury over how they had been used.

You wandered the streets for hours after that, drawn to the city center, wraith-like in the emptiness of your thoughts, until the police picked you up. When they questioned you, you found yourself unable to lie, unable to argue, unable to do anything but obey. The things you said caused you to rapidly find yourself back in S.H.I.E.L.D custody, truthfully answering every question posed to you, faithfully following every order given to you.

It was quickly surmised that you had been altered by the influence of the scepter Loki had carried, the thing he used to control the minds of all he touched with it. That control had been broken when the Hulk had 'broken' him, so to speak, but it left its victims different than they had been. Dr. Selvig, for instance, had grown so hypersensitive, that he could no longer think hard with his clothes on, the texture of the cloth preventing him from concentrating.

As for you, you could no longer deny anyone anything. If you were ordered, or asked, or even suggested to, you automatically obeyed, to the letter. You could not say no, could not protest, could not voice displeasure. You couldn't even feel hesitant, you simply acted.

S.H.I.E.L.D kept you in yet another of their research facilities, testing and trying to find some way to return your independence, but as years passed with little success, you slipped further and further into the background. By the time the Calamity occurred, you had been shuttled away into the psyche ward, and left there, gently cared for, but no longer worth the effort to fix.

When everyone disappeared, you almost starved to death. You had long ago been told you couldn't leave by yourself.

Some surviving members of S.H.I.E.L.D finally came to the facility, in search of any living agents, and took you away with them, finding you harmless and obedient. Over the next five years, you did everything you were told, no matter how unsavory or uplifting. Time melded together, until you almost couldn't remember that you used to be a brilliant researcher, who worked on energy fields for the enrichment of all mankind. Until you almost couldn't remember that you'd used to be anything.

S.H.I.E.L.D still provided for you, since you hadn't actually quit, and the insurance plan was amazing, so you did have a place to live, and your basic needs met, though, because of your emptiness, you had little to no social life. Many people had difficulty understanding the depths of your delicate condition, and far too many of those who did took advantage of it.

The Return was a time of celebration, and of great confusion and upheaval. For you, it was a time of staying inside, and not talking to anyone until things got sorted out, and you could be guaranteed safety.

It was likely because of this that nobody noticed when he returned to you.

You still watched the news and used the internet, albeit with every adblocker available installed. You knew that the people of Asgard had relocated to Earth after the terrible loss of their homeland. You knew Thor was there, but you, like everyone else, thought that Loki had died.

But he was there in your apartment one day, looking older, softer, and incredibly penitent.

“Please don't be afraid.” He said. And so you weren't.

“Please tell me what happened.” He said. And so you did.

There were tears in his eyes by the end of it, his hands trembling with the strength of his regret. Since you were not afraid, he was able to approach and hold you tenderly.

“Let me make this up to you.” He pleaded, and you had no choice but to agree.

He took you away from your apartment-the first time in months that you had left-and he brought you to a young, red-haired woman.

“Is there anything you can do for her?” He asked, after explaining what the problem was. She seemed very put out with him, and he took her accented sarcasm with contrition, but she eventually agreed. Then she touched your head, and you went to sleep.

*****

You awoke after what felt like a decade of the most refreshing sleep you'd ever had, and feeling better than you had in years. The layer of molasses that had covered your thoughts for so long seemed to have thinned; you felt sharper than ever.

Loki was there, waiting eagerly.

“How do you feel?” He asked.

“So good.” You replied. “You bastard.”

He looked taken aback.

“Tell me what happened!” You demanded. “Tell me everything!”

You knew inside that you hadn't exactly been cured. If you were ordered, you would still obey. But you could think now. You could talk back, you could refuse requests that weren't orders. You could give orders of your own.

Loki was grinning wide. You still found him beautiful.

He told you everything; about escaping with the Tesseract, and traveling far and wide, only to return and find out that, somehow, he had never left. That, while he was off adventuring, learning, healing, there was another him, still here, who had lived entirely different experiences. That version of him had apparently been defined by loss and sacrifice, to the point where he had actually died.

This Loki wasn't without understanding of why his other self would take that direction in life. He felt terrible remorse for the things he had done, helpless to do anywhere near enough to make up for it.

“But I have thousands of years to fix what I've done. I can do so much more with my life than I can with my death. And as for that: May I help you? I want to make this up to you. I want to make the rest of your life comfortable. Idyllic, if I can. Would you want me to do that?”

You were actually able to think about it. To contemplate refusal. You could walk away, you could tell him to never visit you again. But he owed you. He owed all of mankind a debt, and helping you was a start for all the payback he owed. So you agreed.

And he began taking care of your needs.

*****

For someone with such a reputation for trickery and lies, Loki was as good as his word, and perhaps better. He gave you everything you requested, up to and including his affection. You knew it was fueled by his great remorse, but sometimes it felt like love. Neither of you believed yourselves to be fully capable of that emotion anymore, though he stayed with you most nights, and the friendly domesticity between you felt close enough.

You never asked for marriage, believing that it would prove ultimately false, but you lived as a couple, and allowed him to dote on you as he saw fit. That Loki had never been in a long-term relationship was clear, but he showed no frustration over the arrangement. Instead, he often thanked you for teaching him. He often expressed his fear that his efforts at reparations were not enough.

Dr. Selvig's research had been funded for years to come. Agent Barton's children would be going to college on Loki's donations. He put great effort into the continued rebuilding of downtown New York, volunteered information about advanced Asgardian technology, and the universe. He became, in general, the very image of the good king who went out among the people to commit charitable acts, but he still felt that it wasn't enough.

Even as you grew steadily older, and he saw more to your health and companionship needs, he never commented on the graying of your hair, never showed a drop of resentment. He remained gentle and steadfast until the night you had to leave.

Nestled in his arms, you knew he was watching you sleep, as he always did. You had been particularly foggy and calm today. You knew it was time.

You hadn't said anything to him about it, Loki, who looked at you with the same beautiful eyes you had seen every day since you were still young. He would have frantically done everything he could to prolong the inevitable, but you didn't want it. You had said goodnight, like you always had, let him tuck you gently into bed, and settle down beside you, just like every night. If it wasn't love, it was at least comfortable.

You gazed upon his lovely face once more, as he pressed a goodnight kiss to your forehead, and then let your eyes flutter closed for the very last time.

A short time later, you lifted yourself back out of the bed, light and airy, and for the first time in decades, completely free. Somehow, you managed to look back for just a moment before moving on entirely, to behold him tenderly embracing your empty body, begging forgiveness, and knowing, like you both had always known, that it would never be enough.

#loki x reader #loki (marvel)#thor (marvel)#wanda maximoff #marvel fanfiction

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chalabrun · 6 years ago

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to: all the high class ass, ch. 1

Word Count: 2,943 Pairing: Spideyvenom Rating: M Warnings: Sexual insinuations, references to addiction Summary: For one never truly forgets one's first true love.

( READ ON AO3 )

It kept him up at night, what Brock had said to him: as Anti-Venom, he somehow detected traces of Venom at a cellular level. Circulating his body, and he wondered what it could mean. Was that it? The source of his rage? What Venom himself had said, had shown him? A bicycle ride with hallucinogens. Memories that weren’t his own, of this Klyntar planet, them being Agents of the Cosmos—words that hadn’t meant anything to him at the time.

Peter Parker stared for what seemed to be the fifth consecutive minute of blankly contemplating the meandering cracks in his ceiling, seeing too closely, too detailed. Tracing the paths like rivers, irritation bubbling in his blood like simmering water.

Something was keeping him awake. Something nameless. Prickling in his blood with reminders, speaking so softly it were as though it was there, with him in that very moment. It was a human paranoia he felt when Peter shot up in bed, the outlines of the city spangled with light like stars bleeding through the translucent curtains that adorned his room’s sole, dusty window.

Blinking when he realized he’d been staring for too long, Peter shook his head. “C’mon, Petey, it’s too early for a trip to the funny farm,” he groused beneath his breath, huffing and swinging his legs off the bed. No use in dwelling on it.

In a matter of minutes, like readying himself for another day of prowling New York’s streets for the next big scoop, Peter quickly gave himself a needless shower and clad himself in his spider suit, feeling a sense of liberation as he vaulted through his window for what would be time better used patrolling the city streets.

Swinging from the shallow slope of light poles in their descent into downtown did the air rushing past his ears momentarily silence his thoughts, the acrobatic churning of his view grant a happily distracted sort of disorientation. This was freedom. This was Spider-Man watching over the city he loved, swelling with pride that he could come from such a place.

Even through all the turmoil and hardship, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

But, like an alarm clock jolting some young schoolboy from bed at 7 sharp, the shrill blast of police sirens racing through night streets dragged him from his reverie and made his pace like some running stride through the air. Suspended there, his body narrowly moved of its own accord, following the sound of a denizen’s panic. Though supervillains were as common as spiders anymore, part of him hoped this was just some run of the mill, classic jewelry store robbery. Something cliché and thoughtless.

Except, things never went according to what should’ve been, did they?

As the buildings grew into a forest of metal and towering glass, the lights from the racing squad cars reflected vivid and brilliantly and the sound played with echoes in its new glass box as Spider-Man took a momentary pause, tapping an ear piece lined within his cowl. Switching through stations, Peter was able to radio in which frequency those of the particular squadron were tuned into, assuring he’d found the right station before taking off in hot pursuit again. Again, his mind picked and chose where he needed to go, which streets and buildings were fastest to accelerate between and over, where the location was.

‘Venom’s current host, Mac Gargan, has been subdued with the symbiote no where to be found—‘

Spider-Man had to cling for purchase atop a gargoyle atop an old cathedral’s belfry when that particular line jumped at him like a drunk driver on a rampage, the breeze that had been chasing him howling coldly in his ears. Almost thematically did lightning and thunder rock the late spring air, sizzling the air in an aftermath of ozone.

“You’ve got to kidding me,” Peter remarked aloud, almost sounding dismayed were it not for an unbidden fury of excitement that broiled in his chest. Pounded there like a second heart, goading and guiding him like an addiction. No...that’s because this is your chance, Parker! Time to put that thing away once and for all!

In a blur of motion and time did Peter sail through the air, swinging and unleashing his Webs to catapult himself until coming to the site where Mac was being processed. Then, it dawned on him how the feat had been possible at all: enormous amplifiers the police spoke through that had been enough.

“Hey, Spider-Man, did you a real solid here!” Officer Jefferson Davis greeted rather cheerily once Peter landed, the man smiling through his mask.

“Nice going, officer, but if Jameson catches word I’ll never hear the end of it,” Peter quipped back in good humor, earning a rich laugh from Davis. “So, uh—any word of what happened to the symbiote? I was on my way to prom and it was supposed to be my date.” Nothing like a little humor more iconic than his Spidey Sense.

The man flashed a pearly grin. “You know, honestly, we’re not really sure. Everything happened real fast and, before you know it, all we have is a man naked as the day he was born out for the world to see. Not the best way to bring a man down, but I’ll take that over a backyard brawl any day.”

As the Davis droned on, something in Peter snapped. An imperative at the level of instinct, he felt as though something transfixed him to the very soul, cauterizing him with need. Shaped like greed, it was silky against his psyche. Brought claws to his skin and dragged them with such softness they might have been felt at all. Teased with serrated teeth that nibbled on his soul seductively. His mind felt warm and blank, but his body wanted to move. He felt corrupted. He felt richness and wretchedness at all once.

“Hey, real sorry, sir, but I gotta get going. Clock’s almost ready to strike midnight, you know how it is.”

“Alright, Spider-Man, you do what you have to. Drop by the precinct any time.”

He departed with a smile in his voice. “Sure thing, sir. I’ll bring a date, too.”

If there was one thing he could be grateful for, it was that at least the perpetually rumored alligators in the sewers weren’t real. Sidling along sides and avoiding rats, the slick of moss and dampness and whatever populated the sewers among the vermin. Speak of the devil, one gave an indignant squeak when he almost stepped on its tail.

“Hey, hey! Promise me you won’t tell Cinderella?” he called after the scurrying rat before the slow creep of dripping water dominated the silence, leaving Peter tortuously alone with his thoughts. His walk resumed, lacking the automatic stride that seemed so inherent from before.

So, the vigilante hadn’t imagined it.

Instead of packing it away, he brought it from the recesses of his mind. It felt like withdrawal. Except, this wasn’t withdrawal from a drug. It was so, so much more. And...it scared him. Few things really did anymore, what with how he’d almost been Spider-Man for almost fifteen consecutive years, but this did. Because this wasn’t an enemy he could see and fight and send off to the Raft or prison, or wherever the hell else they belonged.

It was part of him. And some desperate corner of him wanted it back.

“Really should’ve gotten some Stark Tech,” Peter muttered under his breath, letting the cloudy heat pressing at the crown of his skull guide him like a homing beacon, following it beguilingly. As if it made perfect sense, somehow. “Maybe a flamethrower, like Rambo. Say hello to my little friend!” Though humored, his voice and expression were still tense.

Tense, but why? This… It felt like he was coming home to something familiar. Something horrible for him. Something sublime.

Peter balked when he heard a keening screech echo shrilly, a pack of rats raising a cacophony of shrieks as they raced over his feet, some falling into the water but still escaping doggedly, dog-paddling until they were consumed by darkness. His heart hammered in his chest, not from fear, but an anticipation he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Picking his way through, Peter came to a nexus of pipes storied tall that saw thin waterfalls cascade into a shallow chasm below.

There, the eel-like enormity of Venom was suspended over a half dozen rats it was currently scooping on its tongue, holding no revulsion it should’ve when there was an audible crunch of bones before Venom swallowed them whole, panting hard and sniffing the area for more.

Like a statue did Peter stand, hand sweeping up to blindly remove his mask and pocket it, unaware as to what he was doing. Face statuesque and dispassionate, fierce with a hazy concentration, it were as though he were in a trance. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said abruptly, the symbiote wheeling around and tensing as though it’d been slapped. However, when it sniffed the air, nostrils flaring, what should’ve been the tensity between arch-enemies instead stopped with realization.

It could sense the need of its former host, an addict’s desperation. Something so unhealthy, but deliciously missed that even Venom trembled from how badly it was wanted.

First love.

Peter’s gaze shifted, glancing around. Who said that?

First love!

Gaze ranging back, Peter flinched when the symbiote was directly in front of his face, bipedal like a man. Muscled and fierce like Brock was piloting it again. A stray rat’s limb stuck from between its teeth before the tip of its prehensile tongue sucked it back in, Peter watching in horror as its smile spanned into a ghoulish grin, raspy, husky chuckling sounding in devilish amusement.

Why are you here, little spider? it teased on a silky, sensuous purr that coiled around the brunet and made him shiver.

Though Peter was taken aback at first, he set his jaw and hardened his resolve, planting his feet firmly. “To stop you,” he said automatically even as his brain prickled and crackled, the symbiote’s presence causing his very psyche to crane towards it yearningly. So much so it felt like his very breath was being vacuumed into it. It was hard to breathe even if he refused to show it.

“You can’t survive without a host,” was blurted out, Peter belatedly surprised when he heard himself say it, a slight flush climbing the nape of his neck. “You’re not a threat without one, Venom.”

Venom’s grin became open and wolfish. Could leave me to die, Venom replied, taking another step closer as Peter emulated it with one back, heel hitting a wall but refusing to let his eyes so much as drop. But you’re here. Why is that, little spider?

Peter took pause, knowing there was no point in trying to conceal what the other could likely sense, even if their minds weren’t linked. Whatever fear had burbled there subsided, dimmed into some uncanny level of calm even for him. Sure, he’d squared off with Venom innumerable times before, but that didn’t mean he was dumb enough to underestimate the symbiote even without Brock. It was a moment of clarity that rung like a bell throughout the confined space.

“I’m not the one who’s desperate here,” Peter stated, eyes of resolution practically burning into the symbiote’s. “I don’t need you.” Confidence bloomed with every word as he pushed Venom back by its chest, its cockiness faltering before taking a swan dive. His features were lined with severity and some jagged hope alike. “But, you? Brock’s trying to kill you, Flash became Anti-Venom, and Mac’s been arrested and there’s no easy way getting back to you. Price… Yeah, we know how that worked out. And me? Well—“

Didn’t have a problem with us until Richards said something, the symbiote said suddenly, Peter glaring at the serpentine head that manifested over his shoulder warily, its opalescent eyes gleaming as it studied him closely. You liked having us. There was no teasing in its tone. Only a hard truth.

He wanted to rebut, but that feeling returned forcefully. Perspiration beaded his brow and he felt uncomfortably hot, throat becoming parched and his palms became clammy. An indescribable urge came to clutch his chest when his heart throbbed, as if a shard of ice had been thrust into it. “Flash was right. You fed on my rage. That’s not like, that’s—“

Addiction. That what you meant to say, Spidey? Peter’s breath caught in his throat when Venom finally said what it was, said it as the only truth he could be. Every moment felt like his defenses were crumbling, that what Venom gave him would return and he’d be prone and useless to it.

He watched, dumbfounded, as Venom’s inky tendrils coiled his wrist and twined between his digits, too morbidly fascinated to withdraw when the symbiote’s breath misted over his gloved hand, mouth splitting open when a rush of adrenaline made him fear it would try and sever his fingers clean off. That wasn’t the case when its tongue coiled around his fore- and index fingers, panting softly as it began sucking on them lewdly.

Else, Peter was too shocked to think of any way else to describe it. A guilty and involuntary heat blossomed in his belly, only adding a strangeness and bewilderment to the symptoms of whatever else was afflicting him. “What—are you doing?” came his ragged but guiltily throaty protest, voice unable to lilt. Between the unpleasantness of what he was experiencing to the sting of heat Venom’s ministrations made him feel, it was enough to make the vigilante crumble with both immensely guilty desire and nausea.

Peter crumbled to catch himself on a genuflected knee, trembling with searing heat and sticky, sick perspiration. In that moment of weakness, Venom’s inky tendrils embraced him in a smooth, warm nexus of webbing, its head tucking against his pulse and huffing with strange contentment, having since released Peter’s fingers.

His breathing was still heavy and stertorous, willing himself to catch it again as he turned towards the head and rudimentary, serpentine body where the rest coiled him. Sweat since mottled his hair, gleaming on his face especially with the closure Venom now had on him. “I don’t get you. We’ve done nothing but hurt each other,” he said finally, gathering his legs beneath him so he could sit with a leg propped up, the other partly crossed. “It’s always back and forth. It’s always the same. Nothing’s changed.”

Don’t understand us. Hosts make us who we are. Became like that because of hosts. Flash warned you about infecting us with rage, remember?

Though he felt Venom nuzzle against his cheek, Peter’s lips pursed uncertainly. “Even if that is the case, you know it’s not just...gonna make the past go away, right? You still have to be accountable for your actions. Like when you took me out for nightly joyrides.” The brunet grimaced at the memory, even if he’d technically been unconscious at the time. He folded his arms, finally glancing at the symbiote.

Wanted to be a hero. Wanted to be like you. Everything we are is because of you, Spider-Man. Peter nodded obliquely. He’d fought with Venom enough times to know its abilities had been an emulation of his own, down to the ivory spider on its chest shaped like his own. Though, a cold shudder was felt. But, you abandoned us. Never been in so much pain before. Venom tucked against his neck again, shivering.

There was a pregnant pause. Something yet thawing its way to the dead and dry period before spring after a long, long winter.

He didn’t know if he should apologize yet. It nestled uncertainly on his tongue, but years of bitterness were yet hard to surmount. “You’re not giving me a choice. I’m not doing this because I want to,” he said as he regarded Venom with a significant look, “but because I have to. So someone worse won’t come along.” At least until he could figure out what could be done with the symbiote.

Gingerly did Peter rise to his feet, sighing relief when Venom’s tendrils retracted. Preparing for the worst part, instead of being collided into like a car crash, Venom appeared as a humanoid again and traced his jaw with a single digit, no conniving smile like before present. Peter’s hazel eyes widened in shock when muscular, onyx arms wound partially around his neck and arrested him to the nearest wall.

It was a kiss more intense than any he’d had before, it was like being shot-up with living heroin. The symptoms that had threatened to bring him to his knees before, that miserable medley, became the polar opposite when the soul-stealing kiss was initiated. Peter groaned low in his throat when Venom deepened it, that familiar sensation flooding his brain with ecstasy that melted coordination of his limbs and made him feel spiritually disconnected with his physical body. In his sockets were his pupils blown, heart thumping cacophonous in his ears. He was barely able to stand, barely able to think in the wellspring of rapture flooded every vein and cell in his body. That which had been incomplete was whole again.

When Peter’s eyes cracked open again, the world wobbled and swayed, hazy and warm. Smiling blissfully, with the gait of a stumbling colt did he vacantly careen over the ledge, falling but a few feet into the vat of storm-run water below.

Then, as the waves caressed him, everything went black.

#spideyvenom #spidervenom #peter parker #spiderman #venom #my writing

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fanguine · 7 years ago

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the reason i'm so invested in pointing out the unfairness in feminism is because every day i see more and more evidence that especially western cultures (coming with western feminism) are using men as scapegoats for anything.

if there's a report about a paedophile you'll instantly think of a gross old man molesting little children, but rarely does anyone pay attention to the cases of adult women raping and abusing boys, playing it off as that they should enjoy it/be happy they got laid instead of recognizing that it's still a paedophile who traumatized (probably repeatedly and many) by sexually abusing them.

when you hear about domestic violence, you’re most likely to think of a man beating his girlfriend, wife, or life partner. so: usually a man physically assaulting a woman. yet many people don’t know that more than 40% of domestic violence victims are men (and those are just the numbers that came forth with the abuse they experienced). not only that, but if they call the police, it’s as certain as death that they’re going to be arrested even though they’re not the perpetuator. recently, shelters for battered men are opening, after an insane amount of time of few to none existing. so what happens? women complain that since male shelters are opening, the money isn’t going to female shelters, of which there are plenty and receive quite a lot attention already. then claim that men could just seek shelter in women’s shelters, which is nearly impossible considering that most male domestic violence victims are going to get laughed at and brushed off, or sent away as they’re seen as a threat, rather than a victim in need of the support that women are granted.

“Maybe I am wrong about this, and maybe this is a super feminist men's shelter. I hope that I am. Even though all survivors of domestic violence deserve safe spaces to heal and services that will help them with whatever needs they have, in a reality where resources are scarce, we need to be careful with what we prioritize. It is also crucial that the gendered aspects of domestic violence are at the forefront so we can attack the toxic elements of masculinity at its roots as we work towards a world without interpersonal violence.”

this is the last paragraph of the link above. to sum it up: women are more important than men, they should be prioritized at all costs, they’re humans of higher value and men are not. instead of just sharing and trying to help everyone, we’re supposed to let male shelters run out of support so that they soon won’t exist anymore, and men are back to having absolutely no support, right? that’s a great priority there, really...

masculinity is also not toxic. it’s been made to be seen as toxic, but the only unhealthy thing i can see here is the extreme narcissism and self serving attitude that comes with femininity (for women, of course, because men who are feminine get called pussies anyway). besides, lesbian couples have the highest domestic abuse rates of all, yes, higher than heterosexual couples, whereas gay couples have the lowest rates, so i doubt that toxic masculinity is really that real. but i won’t be getting further into that.

now, back to the abuse.. we see it in media and in real life: when a woman defends herself from a man who is attacking her, she will be applauded even if she kills him (sometimes especially, but i understand that most people get that sense of “got what they deserved” when such a thing happens).

when a man acts in self defense, he’s called a monster. this is one of the more scary and, to me personally, stomach churning topics. not only does this render the victim helpless and unable to fight back at all, forcing them to bear the abuse. when they do fight back it’s usually because they’re pushed to their limits. just like women, right? except for a few little details, because the woman can accuse the man of having hit her first and the majority of people will believe her and condemn him. she could also call the police, hell, the victim could call the police, and it would be the victim that gets arrested.. not to mention that everyone knows the connotations of hitting girls. the man could get blackmailed, the woman could hurt herself and claim it was him who did it, alienate him from friends and family who want nothing more to do with him, etc etc... not to mention that this “men aren’t allowed to hit women” thing isn’t something that goes both ways. never have i ever heard someone say that women aren’t allowed to hit men, to hurl things at them, and ruin their self worth with verbal abuse.

you see this double standard often. it manifests in many shapes and forms. one of them is that when a man checks his partner’s phone, it’s a red flag (that it is, indeed), but when a woman does it, it’s okay because “she’s just making sure he’s not cheating!” not only am i a firm believer in that if you can’t trust someone, you shouldn’t be with them, but also that this is invasion of privacy regardless of who does it and what gender they are. it’s weird, it’s scary, and a bad sign generally if someone is obsessed with knowing anything and everything you do. it’s not okay for men, so it’s not okay for women either.

another thing would be sexualization and objectification. we’ve seen it everywhere: feminists fighting for women to be seen as more than just sex objects, as people of their own right. this sounds great, doesn’t it? i fully support it! what i don’t support however, is the sheer hypocrisy in it. for every article or story you find about how gross this objectification is, you’ll see one about men’s bulges, stars revealing the size of a man’s penis, and there’s various other examples like women grabbing men’s asses or crotches without a warning, demanding they take off their shirt/show their abs, and so on..

another sexist thing that many will not notice until they go through divorce is how the mother always gets favored when it comes to child custody, regardless of whether or not she is fit to raise a child (or more). around 82.2% of custodial parents are mothers, whereas only 17.8% are fathers. towards the middle/end of the documentary “the red pill” you can see more on this. though i recommend the movie as a whole, which is about a feminist getting involved with the men’s rights movement to find out what they are fighting for, first skeptical, but then realizing that it’s not just a bunch of fedorabros protesting for their right to make kitchen jokes - these are men, people, with legitimate issues that are being shut down entirely by a feminist movement that claims to fight for equality, but really only aims to empower women. in the end, she no longer considers herself a feminist (neither did i, after that movie), and i believe also joined the men’s right’s movement.

now there’s so much more than i have mentioned, this is just a scratch on the surface of a mountain of issues. i don’t believe in screaming the loudest in order to be the most right. but these are real issues men face, and it’s heartbreaking that they get ignored because “women need it more” or “women are more important” or even “men don’t deserve support”. i hope that someone listens.

#feminism #men's rights #men's issues #men are wonderful #it really says a lot that the popular suggestions to 'men are' were #'men are trash' and 'men are slaves'#so im going to add more #men are beautiful #men are important #men matter #men are human #men have feelings

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purrincess-chat · 8 years ago

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How to Catch a Ladybug

A new fic I’ve been working on!

FF | AO3

Pairing: Lilanette

Rating: G

Summary: After becoming akumatized on her first day at her school, Lila just wants to move on with her life when a sweet girl from her class steps up and befriends her. Lila appreciates the sentiment, that is, until she accidentally discovers that Marinette is Ladybug! Lila makes it her mission to steal her Miraculous as revenge for humiliating her, but that task proves harder than she thought.

Moving to Paris should have been a fresh start for Lila Rossi, operative term being should have. Granted, she had gotten a little carried away with her lies, but she hadn’t expected people to really believe most of the things she made up. Her life was painfully average, and in a new environment, the temptation to spice things up a little had gotten the better of her. It wasn’t her fault that everyone believed her, and it certainly didn’t excuse Ladybug’s ugly behavior. If it weren’t for her, she could have had that model boy eating out of the palm of her hand by now. Everyone was bound to know that she was a liar now; she wouldn’t have doubted it if Adrien had told everyone, but she supposed she couldn’t have kept those lies up forever so maybe facing everyone now was a good thing. Still, she felt a little nervous as she made her way up the steps into the school on her second day. Would everyone hate her? Suddenly she missed her friends back in Italy and wanted to go home, but she squared her shoulders and strutted through the front doors, bracing herself for whatever awaited her. Things were quiet much to her surprise, a few people greeted her, but she managed to make it to the locker room without incident. So far so good, but she knew the peace wouldn’t last. “Um, Lila…” She turned to see a girl with black pigtails standing timidly before her. Vaguely Lila remembered that she was in her class, and she felt her spine stiffen a little. “Hi,” Lila said, tilting her head to the side and observing her cautiously. “I haven’t gotten a chance to introduce myself to you yet. I’m Marinette; we’re in the same class,” She explained, holding out a hand which Lila hesitantly shook. “Nice to meet you,” She replied with a curt nod. “Are you settling in okay? Moving to a new school must be rough. I can show you around if you want,” Marinette offered with a polite smile. She seemed friendly enough, and Lila obviously hadn’t spoken to her yesterday which meant she probably didn’t know about all her lies. Maybe she could use her as a shield.

“Wow, thank you! That would be so helpful,” She gasped, shutting her locker and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “No problem.” She shook her head and led the way out of the locker room. “Um, this is the main courtyard. Lots of people gather here between classes to chat. Most people are super friendly though, so don’t be intimidated by their groups, and you can always come hang out with me and Alya, that’s my best friend. She runs the blog for the school.” “Yeahh, I think I met her yesterday,” Lila said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and shrinking guiltily. That video was the root of all of her problems. “Over there is Nino, Kim, and Max. They’re super friendly, I can introduce you if you want.” Marinette pointed to that kid with a red cap, a bigger buff kid, and a smaller dorky kid with glasses that Lila remembered speaking to briefly the day before. She hadn’t even gotten their names, and suddenly her stomach began to churn. Before she could respond, Marinette had already hailed them over, and Lila shrank back a little, hiding behind Marinette as they approached. “Hey, Mari, what’s up?” Nino grinned, fist bumping her in greeting. “Have you guys met Lila yet? I’m showing her around,” Marinette explained, stepping aside and pushing her forward. “Yo, Lila!” Nino gasped, extending his fist to her which she touched lightly with her own as she eyed him skeptically. “We saw what happened on the news yesterday. Totally a bummer way to start out your new life.” “What?” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You got akumatized. Man, it’s such a freaky experience.” Kim shuddered. “It’s happened to you before?” She asked, tilting her head to the side as she attempted to make sense of what was happening. “It’s happened to most of us, actually,” Max stated matter-of-factly. “Welcome to the club!” Nino slapped her back. “What did you in?” “Hey, Lila!” A much angrier voice called, and the group parted as that red-head with the blog, Alya she supposed, stormed up. Well, her acceptance was nice while it lasted. “That interview you did yesterday was totally fake! I saw Ladybug call you out on your lie yesterday.” “Whoa, Ladybug called you out?” Nino gasped, sounding somewhat impressed. “Yeah. What else did you lie about yesterday?” Alya growled, and all eyes flicked back to Lila who pursed her lips and glanced down at her feet. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and she desperately fished for a way to lessen the blow. “Basically everything,” She admitted, and Nino tapped his chin in thought. “So, you’ve never been in a movie?” He asked. “I was an extra in an Italian high school drama once,” She offered. “And you’ve never completed a triathlon?” Kim added. “Nope.” “So, it was all a lie?” Nino frowned, and she felt her pits begin to sweat. She shrugged her shoulders and put on a mischievous grin. “I may have embellished a little to have some fun on my first day in a new school. I mean, come on, who has such a fantastical life?” She kidded, and Nino smirked before throwing his head back with a laugh. “You had us all going!” He cackled. “You’re quite the prankster, I see, a girl after my own art. We should exchange tips later,” Kim punched her arm playfully. “Honestly, if I ever transferred schools, I’d see how much I could get away with too. You’re like a pro,” Nino said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Alya smacked her forehead and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Come on, Al. You were a newbie here not too long ago. Don’t blame Lila for being more fun than you,” Nino teased, and the girl glared up at him with a challenging smirk. “I wish you would have told me before I put it on my blog. Now I feel like an idiot!” She huffed, extending a hand to her. “I’ll be more wary of what you say in the future, just so you know.” “That’s fair,” Lila giggled, shaking her hand as the school bell rang. “Better get to class,” Marinette pointed out, and Nino steered her toward the stairs. “So, what’s the deal around here? There’s an evil butterfly man that turns people into villains?” Lila asked as they walked. “His name’s Hawkmoth. He uses people’s negative emotions to turn them into villains to try and get Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculouses. Most of us here have been akumatized, so don’t sweat it too hard,” Alya explained. “Yeah, we’re all pretty used to it, but Ladybug and Chat Noir always take care of it, so we don’t have to worry about a thing,” Nino added, waving it away. “I see.” Lila’s jaw clenched a little at the mention of that brat. “So, you’ve all been…akumatized or whatever too?” “Yeah, just about everyone in class has been,” Kim replied. “Except you, Marinette.” Alya glared suspiciously at her friend who laughed nervously. “Marinette has too much positive energy. She’s always helping other people when they get bummed out. I don’t think there’s a lot that gets her in a mood, except maybe Chloe,” Kim teased, nudging her with his elbow. “I always look on the bright side. Is that wrong?” She shot back. “Come to think of it, Adrien hasn’t been akumatized before either,” Max added, tapping his chin in thought, and Lila winced a little at the mention of his name. “Adrien’s just used to disappointment. Have you met his father?” Nino said pointedly, and Max and Kim conceded his point. “But other than that, everyone else in class has been akumatized, so you’re in good company,” Alya continued with a shrug. “Interesting.” Lila pursed her lips, spine stiffening a little when she laid eyes on Adrien in the front row. Nino fist bumped him as he slid into his seat and struck up a conversation. She averted her gaze and moved up to the top row where she sat next to a mop of the brightest red hair she’d ever seen on a person. She spent a good portion of the previous day pondering whether or not it was his natural hair color. She was still undecided. It seemed as if everything had worked out somehow. Marinette continued to show her around and introduce her to everyone, and people there were pretty friendly despite her actions the day before. No one gave her too much grief for lying, in fact many people bought that she was joking, a nice save on her part. She learned lots of stories from other people about their experiences being akumatized, and she was shocked by how casual everyone was about it. It formed a sort of kinship for a lot of people that made them more understanding of each other. She also learned that everyone, and she did mean everyone adored Paris’s superheroes. Each story was accompanied by some expression of gratitude or adoration for Ladybug and Chat Noir, and by the end of the day she was a little sick of listening to it, not that she told anyone. She had a feeling that admitting she harbored a grudge against the Bug might earn her a spot on everyone’s hit list, so she kept her mouth shut for once. By the end of the day, she felt a lot better about her new life because at least the people were nice even if they did have an unhealthy obsession with two kids in tight suits. She could already tell it was going to be one of the most annoying things about going to school there. Oh, how she wished she were a superhero for real, so she could kick that smug little beetle out of the limelight. Thinking about it only made her blood boil more, so she took a calming breath and shut her locker. “Hey, Alya and I are going to see a movie tomorrow, do you wanna come?” Marinette asked as she emptied her own locker. “That sounds fun. I’d love to,” She accepted with a smile. Marinette was so nice, and she knew just about everyone. Everywhere they went all day, someone said hello to her, and Lila could see how it would be hard to upset her. She was just a ball of sweetness, and Lila couldn’t help but like her. “Great, we usually meet at Alya’s then take the subway, but we can come-” A loud crash rattled the building, cutting Marinette short. “What was that?” Lila’s eyebrows furrowed worriedly, and she instinctively moved closer to Marinette. “Probably an akuma. You should find somewhere safe to hide,” Marinette said, slamming her locker shut and dashing to the door to the courtyard. “I’ll go scope things out.” “Wait! It could be dangerous,” Lila called, but she was already out the door. She followed after her, peaking out into the courtyard where students were running for the main entrance. Lila glanced around for Marinette, but she was nowhere in sight, so she ran for the stairs that led to the library. How did people here put up with this? Once safely inside, she leaned against the door with a huff until she heard a voice. Curious, she investigated the source by peaking around the bookshelf to find Marinette with her back turned to Lila. “Transform me!” She called, and in a flash of light, she changed right before Lila’s eyes. She felt her blood run cold, and before she could be spotted, she hid behind the front desk as Marinette raced back through the front door. Her heart pounded in her chest as the weight of realization settled in. Marinette was Ladybug?

#Lilanette #lila rossi #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculous ladybug #my writing #how to catch a ladybug

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everettv · 8 years ago

Text

The Cold of the Sea

Hetalia Rare Pair Week 2017 Day 3: AmeIta, Gold @hetaliaotpchallenges Alfred dashes to the front of his ship, smiling brightly. He leans over the edge of the boat and looks down into the ocean. “Wow! It’s so clear!” He says happily. Alfred stands up straighter and glances back at his older brother who scoffs at him. “If you’re going to be on a ship to America, a luxury ship at that, you need to control yourself.” Arthur scolds, sniffing softly at his little brother’s actions. “Honestly, when Mum and Dad bought this trip for us to visit them, I think they would have assumed that you’d act more like an adult.” Arthur starts for the inside again, the outside air being quite cold. Alfred sighs softly and looks out over the water. It was going to take several days for them to reach America at the rate they’re going, and though he quite enjoyed living there when he was younger, he isn’t really looking forward to being cooped up for that long. His eyes linger on the ocean, loving the way it looks, before he turns. He immediately crashes into someone else, sending them sprawling to the ground. Alfred gasps and helps him up. “I am so sorry!” He says, brushing the dirt off of the other person’s shirt. Feliciano giggles and grabs his hands. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. It was just as much my fault as it was yours.” Feliciano responds and let’s go, smiling brightly. His eyes glitter in amusement and Alfred finds himself staring at the golden colour. “Oh… Okay.” Alfred licks his lips and tears his gaze away. “Your accent is strange, where are you from? I was born in America and then taken to England when I was young. Now I’m headed back because my parents live there and wanted a visit.” He smiles softly. Feliciano nods as he listens. “I’m from Italy but was taken to England. I was adopted because my parents died and my grandfather didn’t have the means to take care of me.” Feliciano tilts his head a bit. “I’m going to America because I found out where my brother ended up. My parents paid for me to get a first class ticket, and I’m really excited. This is the prettiest ship I’ve ever been on!” He hums. Alfred nods. “Oh my parents paid for first class too. So I guess I’ll see you in the dinner room, right?” He asks gently. Feliciano nods excitedly then checks his pocket watch. He frowns slightly at it then shrugs. “I have to go. I will sit with you in dining, alright?” Feliciano gives another easy smile then goes to his room. He sits down in his room and starts to write another letter that he is to send as soon as he lands in New York. He smiles and tucks it into an envelope before laying back on his bed and closing his eyes. He’s heard about the many things offered by the staff that allowed them to have fun while they are on the ship, but he doesn’t want to do any of it. He’s scared of sailing and the ocean. Feliciano covers his face with his arm and sobs softly, wishing that he didn’t have to do any of this. He misses Lovino so much, though. Alfred smiles at Feliciano, running a hand through his hair. His unintentionally drags his eyes over the entirety of the Italian’s form before he disappears behind a corner. Alfred dashes inside to where his brother is reading, tossing himself into a chair beside Arthur. “You know what? I think that this ride might not actually be that horrible.” Arthur raises an eyebrow at the sudden change in attitude. “Oh yeah? And what changed, hm? It’s only been, what, half an hour?” He doesn’t listen to Alfred’s response, just checks his pocket watch. “Supper will be served in a couple hours. Keep yourself busy but remember to wash up and change into something nice by then.” And Alfred remembers to. He adjusts his tie nervously, heading into the dining room. He looks around, meeting the warm golden ones of his new found friend from across the room. The blond smiles brightly and dashes over to him, pulling him into a hard hug. Feliciano blushes and hugs him, smiling a bit. Feliciano lets go before anyone can noticed that it was too long. He follows Alfred over to where Arthur is sitting. “Artie! This is my new friend… Um…” Alfred looks at Feliciano, who laughs softly. “My name is Feliciano. You are… Arthur I’m guessing?” He holds his hand out and politely shakes the Brit’s hand before sitting beside him. “Don’t you just think that this ship is absolutely marvelous? Nothing wrong with travelling in style.” Feliciano hides his smile behind a hand, looking up when a waiter pours them all flutes of champagne. Feliciano delicately picks his up and takes a sip. Arthur is shocked for a moment before nodding. He shakes Feliciano’s hand and smiles in response. “Really now, Alfred, making friends without even asking for names. Especially from such a charming young man. I do agree, the ship is absolutely marvelous.” Arthur thanks the waiter and glances at the bubbling substance before returning his gaze to Feliciano. “Do forgive my brother. He was raised under different expectations than I was, and he is quite a bit… Er… Shall we say reckless?” He smiles. Feliciano giggles and turns his gaze to Alfred. “It’s okay. I find that I quite enjoy to live life more recklessly than most.” Feliciano responds, eyes glittering again. He just has to pretend to like being on the ship when he’s around other people, no matter how much his stomach is churning. Alfred frowns at Arthur then smiles brightly at Feliciano again. “Don’t worry, Arthur is just being a prick.” Alfred responds and smirks at his brother’s indignant huff. Arthur watches Feliciano and Alfred talking, watches the way their eyes sparkle as they bond and looks down at down at his dish. That night, before they retire, he grasps Feliciano’s arm. “You would do well not to fall in love with Alfred. I do not care, but there are others on this ship who would look down upon it. It’s unwise to show those affections in public.” Arthur says quietly. Feliciano pauses, pulling his arm out of Arthur’s grip with a nod. “Please heed my warning. I would hate for something to happen to Alfred because of this. After this journey, don’t speak to him again.” Feliciano watches Arthur go, eyes flat gold. “I hear you.” He whispers. “But isn’t that up to Alfred and I, not you?” He asks coldly. “Do the world a favour, let him make his own decisions if you want him to act like an adult.” He walks away and heads to his room. The next day, despite being angry at what Arthur said, he avoids Alfred like the plague. He knows Arthur is right, and he also doesn’t want to get hurt before he can reunite with his brother. Midway through the third day on the ship, he comes to realize that avoiding Alfred is a little harder than expected. Alfred looks down at him with fierce eyes. “Why have you been avoiding me? Did Arthur say something to you? Because it’s bullshit.” Alfred walks into Feliciano’s room. The Italian smiles in amusement and closes the door behind him, shaking his head a bit. “You’re supposed to be invited in, silly.” He teases and leans against his door. Alfred turns to him and pouts. “I was trying… I was trying to stay away from you before I developed unhealthy feelings. Too late…” He gives a sad smile. “Arthur warned me not to fall for you, but you were just so much fun to talk to and I did it anyway…” Feliciano blushes lightly and moves so Alfred could leave if he wants. Alfred pauses and stares at Feliciano. “You fell in love… In such a short amount of time?” Alfred asks. He blushes a bit. “Doesn’t that only happen in fairytales and shitty Shakespeare plays?” He runs a hand through his hair slowly and pulls Feliciano into a hug. “I don’t feel the same way, but I do have a crush on you.” He whispers, tilting Feliciano’s head up and kissing him lightly on the lips. Feliciano is stunned for a moment but kisses back, gently holding the front of his shirt. They lay in the bed together, Feliciano’s head resting on Alfred’s chest. He talks about nothing and everything all at once while Alfred listens. He runs his fingers through Feliciano’s hair and stares at the ceiling, a content smile on his lips. He never imagined that he would find someone like him, especially not on a ship. He’s shocked that Arthur saw before he did. Feliciano gets up at dinner time, sighing. “We musn’t do this again until tomorrow. Meet me after supper. That would be around ten pm.” Feliciano opens his watch and then smiles a bit, nodding. “So, we have to stay away from each other tomorrow. Especially around your brother.” Feliciano runs a hand through his hair and starts to clean himself up for dinner, adjusting his tie. He notices Alfred leave, and then goes up to the dining room. He makes a point of sitting nearby, but not close to Alfred. They can see each other from across the tables. Halfway through dinner, Feliciano notices Alfred making faces at him and has to stifle a giggle behind one of his hands. He shakes his head at Alfred, trying to get him to stop before he chokes on his dinner. Alfred doesn’t stop, so Feliciano retaliates by making faces in return, causing Alfred to actually choke on his dinner and Arthur to smack his back until he can breath again. Feliciano laughs loudly in response to that, drawing attention to himself. He waves away the eyes and finishes his food. That night, Feliciano is out on the freezing deck wrapped in a blanket and looking up at the stars. He looks back when someone opens a door nearby, sighing softly. “Hey, Alfie.” He murmurs, looking back up at the sky. “This isn’t fair.” He whispers. Alfred hugs him softly from behind and shakes his head, kissing his cheek. “It’s okay, Feli. We’ll get a small house wherever we decide to live and we’ll get a small house. We’ll live there together and no one will ever know.” Alfred whispers in his ear, an empty pipe dream. Feliciano nods along, like he understands the whole thing. They stand together like that, neither really knowing just how long, but giving in and returning to their rooms when their lips turn blue. Feliciano spends the next day sketching people and giving them away, a smile on his lips. He absolutely loves to draw. Arthur gets him to draw himself and Alfred, and Feliciano gladly does so. He hands over the sketch when he’s done with a brilliant smile. At lunch Feliciano does it again, this time only drawing Alfred. He wants to have something that he can remember Alfred by when they leave. He’s certain he will never see Alfred after their time on the ship together. After lunch Feliciano plays cards with a few strangers, smoking as he does so. He enjoys it quite a bit, though the cigarettes choked him a bit at first. He loses some of his money in the game but can’t bring himself to care very much. Feliciano finds himself on the desk watching the water again after he’s done, stomach churning at the rough waves. “How much longer?” He whispers to himself. Dinner is uneventful, in Feliciano’s opinion. He’s glad for the big events distracting everyone when Alfred slips into his room that night. Alfred smiles at Feliciano, locking the door and pulling him close, nuzzling into his hair. Feliciano relaxes against him, closing his eyes. This time, Alfred talks about nothing and everything at once. Feliciano is glad to hear all about Alfred. Panicked screams from outside the door causes Feliciano to burst into the hallway and head onto the deck to find out what’s happening. He turns to Alfred, who had followed him closely, and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. “The ship hit an iceberg. It’s sinking.” He whispers. Alfred holds Feliciano’s arms tightly and looks toward where they are loading the lifeboats up. “I’ll see if we can get on those. Wait here.” He whispers, heading over to the officer helping load it up. Alfred returns a few moments later. “They want women and children first, then we can get on.” He assures Feliciano. “They want us to put on our life jackets from our rooms and wait either in there or the lounge until some room opens up.” He smiles comfortingly. Feliciano nods and gets his jacket on. Both wait in Feliciano’s room. By the time the water reaches them, both realize there’s no hope left for them. Alfred presses his lips to Feliciano’s softly and strokes his hair. “This… This was fun, Feliciano. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see your brother again.” He whispers. Feliciano closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I knew it was too good to be true.” Feliciano responds softly. Alfred sighs and holds his hands tightly. “I think… That this is going to be horribly cold and painful.” Feliciano whispers, burying his face in Alfred’s chest. Alfred stands up, pulling Feliciano with him and out to the deck. The ship is on it’s end and sinking quickly. “Maybe… Maybe if we jump in the water… Maybe we’ll make it until they can rescue us.” He says. Feliciano finds himself listening. Alfred grips his hand tightly. “We’re going to sink with the ship. Be prepared. When we hit the water, it’s going to be cold.” He whispers. Feliciano nods. They sink in, and Feliciano feels his breath stop at the freezing sensation. Several minutes go with them grasping each other and shivering, bodies too cold. The only thing keeping either of them afloat being their life jackets. By the time help arrives, it much too late for either of them.

#hetaliaotpchallenges #rarepairweek2k17 #fanfic #long post #ameita #aph ameita #death tw

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