#I don’t like him either. but just his name invokes the wrath of my little johto-unovan grandma | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jungkxook · 4 years ago

Text

—backseat serenade. (m)

⟶ pairing: taehyung x reader

⟶ genre: punk!taehyung / band au / brother’s best friend au + smut

⟶ words: 10,790

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: falling in love and having weekly sex with kim taehyung is wrong for a number of reasons — and, no, that’s not including the whole other issue that he’s also your brother’s best friend

⟶ warnings: multiple sex scenes, slight exhibitionism if u look hard enough, wall sex, car sex, unprotected sex, all the sex (seriously), fingering, pussy slapping (also if u look hard enough), lots of teasing, doggy style, riding, creampie

⟶ disclaimer: this story is another repost of an old one (although it’s basically been entirely rewritten lol)!

⟶ this is part of the melodrama tour series!

“We have to hurry. I don’t have a lot of time.”

Taehyung says this with much difficulty, of course, especially when considering you’re currently pressed up against him, his fingers digging crescent-moons into your hips ━ but he knows you’re teasing him now.

You can’t help it, though; he just makes it so easy for you.

He can be so stubborn and impatient at times that poking fun at him brings you quite a bit of joy. Maybe not so much to him, as he often whines and complains that you like to torture him, but, really, how could you not? When you think about what he’s usually like in bed, away from prying eyes, it’s entirely different. So to see that dominance in him fade into nothing short of helpless is simply satisfying ━ even if you know you’ll pay for it at a later time. It doesn’t always happen either but when it does, you bask in it for as long as possible.

Which is why you seem to take the liberty of “torturing” him so sweetly now, just before the boys are about to play a gig at a bar late one night. Taehyung had found you the moment he and the boys had finished soundchecking for the evening, then had you pinned up against the brick wall of the dingy washroom, his hips digging harshly into yours, and his hand now gripping your thigh around his waist. It might have been you who instigated it, hooded eyes and fluttering lashes and shit-eating grins meeting him in secret from across the room as he stood on stage before you with his bass guitar in hand, but Taehyung was the one to put it into action just like he always does, pulling you in there even despite the fact that they were scheduled to play in twenty minutes.

But who could blame you? Taehyung is always so charming, and tonight he was looking extra irresistible. Maybe it was the silky blouse, the first few buttons left open so that the floral tattoo on his chest pokes through, leaving very little to the imagination, or maybe it was the way he had let his hair grow out a little longer than usual, soft dark curls pushed back by a single bandana.

“You’ll be late,” You warn him in between heated kisses as he pecks his way down to the underside of your jaw where he tongues a warm pattern there.

“Just a quickie,” Taehyung promises gruffly. His hips rut against yours again and you feel his straining erection against your inner thigh. Poor thing. “Been dying all day to feel you on my dick.”

You only hum in response, a small amused smirk plastered on your face. He’s sucking a hickey onto your neck when he speaks next.

“Had all these thoughts but I was all alone. It was terrible.”

“What kind of thoughts?” You pry, quirking a brow. Your fingers toy at the top of his belt buckle, pulling him towards you. “Let me guess. Were you thinking about what it feels like to have my mouth on you? All warm and wet.”

He doesn’t move a muscle when he feels your hand trail lower past his belt only to grab at his crotch through the rough material of his jeans. You press your palm against him and he hisses.

“Sucking you off nice and slow, just how you like it?” You probe, teeth tugging at his lower lip when he catches your mouth on his once more. Your voice is low and sultry and invokes something in him that has him tensing. “Or maybe the way it felt when you had me bent over your kitchen counter the other day. You know, you always make me feel so good, Tae━”

He growls against your mouth but the harsh sound dissolves into a strangled whine. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, love.”

“And I always love when you pull at my hair too━” But you continue on as if he hadn’t even spoken, the thrill of the moment coursing through your veins like crackling electricity. “And when you grip my thighs so tightly when your head’s between my legs━”

“Y/N,” he says your name in a strained warning, bordering on a desperate beg if you listen close enough. He gets distracted when you suck delicately on a spot on his jawline and has to take a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. “Please. I’ll do anything. Just let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours.”

“My mouth?” You ask, tantalizingly slowly. “Or me?”

“I’m a simple man, I just wanna cum,” he hums, earning a delighted snort from you. “I’ll take whatever you give me, Y/N, please.”

“Hmm…” You trail off. You press your palm a little harder against him, rubbing your hand across his length. “Think I want you inside me, Tae. Wanna be wrecked by you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Now, this seems to excite him to no end. He fumbles with his belt at once. A devious cackle meets his ears and he knows you’re purposely toying with him. The next few moments unfold in a blur as his eager hands join with your own nimble ones, having his belt undone in a matter of seconds and your skirt hitched up nearly to your waist. With one hand gripping his straining and leaking cock as he pulls himself free from his pants, the other hitches one of your thighs to his waist. He pushes into you at once, the familiar feeling of your wet walls coaxing him in further and further as he sinks against your chest entirely, a beautiful luscious moan falling from his lips and a hiss of glee from yours. And, then, all at once, it’s as if all the pressure that has been building up inside of him tumbles to the forefront to be released.

“Jesus, fuck,” he grunts. He buries his head against your chest, one hand feverishly grasping at your breasts from under your shirt, fortunate you chose to forgo a bra for the night.

“Ooh, Tae━” Your own arms wrap around his neck, holding him tightly to you, but you don’t think he’ll bother going very far when his own weight slumps against you entirely, pressing you against the wall roughly. And even though he’s quick to fuck himself into you, his hips hardly stray far from yours too, causing you to bob violently up and down the wall behind you, the rough brick structure scratching at your flesh paling in comparison to the cool metallic rings on his fingers holding you up and the burn between your legs as his cock stretches you open.

“Nice to know that’s all I am to you━” Your head falls back against the wall as he continues. “Something you can use to get off. Not that I mind.”

“Nah, that’s not all you are to me,” Taehyung sharply inhales, and then shudders. In the heat of the moment, you miss the sentiment in his voice. He lifts his head to yours finally, smothering your lips with his. “But your pretty little cunt sure is nice.”

A maniacal cackle bubbles at your throat as you nip at his lower lip. Before you can respond, outside the washroom Jimin’s voice can be heard calling out aimlessly for Taehyung as the boy most likely wanders by, oblivious to what’s unfolding only a few feet away from him. “Has anyone seen Tae? Taehyung! Get your ass back here or we’re gonna be late━”

Taehyung groans out of frustration and buries his face in the crook of your neck, grumbling angrily, “Fuckin’ hell.”

But despite the Jimin’s close proximity and despite Taehyung’s bitter resentment for it, his hips still continue to rut into yours. You do manage to pull apart from his mouth and giggle when he chases after your lips desperately. “Think that’s your cue, baby.”

“There’s no way you’d be that evil,” he protests like a whining child.

“But Jimin sounds pissed.”

Taehyung finds it hard to focus when your fingers tug at the collar of his shirt, absentmindedly (or so he thinks) running your hands under his shirt and over his chest. He cradles you close to him, following your every move. That, and the way your walls clench around him drives him wild. “Heaven forbid we let down Jimin.”

“Nnng━” You choke back a whimper. “He’ll be mad.”

“As if he wouldn’t already lose his shit if he found me here in such a compromising position with you being that you’re his sister.”

Compromising is certainly one word for it. So, maybe Taehyung had a point, but that never stopped him or you before. In fact, it only seemed to add to your lustful endeavours, as if you both enjoyed seeing how far you could push the boundaries before getting caught ━ or not.

It hadn’t always been like this. For a period of your life, you had somehow forced yourself to believe you had despised Taehyung as much as you claim, as much as you lie. You wondered just how Jimin could ever be friends with, or be as inseparable with, Taehyung as he was. Whereas Jimin is timid and shy, gentle and caring, like a soft breath of cool air on a hot summer’s day that sways the knee-high grass in meadows behind your house, Taehyung is energetic and effervescent, reckless and wild, akin to that of a sudden flash of lightning that breaks apart the calm sky, a clap of thunder that shakes even the very core of sleeping Gaia. Though, somehow, their two vastly different personalities come clashing together in a harmonious perfection and create something that is entirely too rambunctious for you to handle, even as a young child.

But now? Now you’re positive neither you nor Taehyung would stand a chance against Jimin’s wrath if he found out his best friend enjoyed weekly sex of all sorts with you, sometimes even when he’s asleep in the next room over in your shared apartment with him and Taehyung had somehow managed to sneak in during the night.

“You know he’s already suspicious,” You moan as his cock angles upward into you in such a way that makes your body tremble. You jut your hips forward, meeting his halfway. “Now━ Fuck, Tae━ you wanna… You wanna risk getting kicked from the band for not showing up to your set?”

“There’s still ten minutes,” he hisses hotly. “Ten minutes is more than enough time.”

“Then you’ll really be late.”

“It adds to the rockstar brand, doesn’t it?” he asks hastily. “Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking wet and you’re teasing me?”

He’s met with a roll of your eyes, and then a drunken snicker as you retort, “Maybe being fashionably late will be more acceptable when you’re a big celebrity.”

“Did you find him?” Another voice suddenly sounds from outside, this time resembling Hoseok’s. Taehyung wonders how they haven’t heard either of you yet, the lewd wet noises of his cock burrowing into your cunt seeming to grow louder each time. Surely, you would have been caught by now had it not been for the thudding bass of the music playing at the bar.

“No,” Jimin grumbles, closer this time.

A dangerously loud whimper tumbles from your lips and Taehyung hurries to clamp his hand over your mouth. You’re fortunate when he does, clinging to his hand as he pumps himself into you. At the very least, no matter how cocky Taehyung got with you or how many times he teased the thought of getting caught, he would never actually risk facing Jimin’s mighty wrath. Still, he finds a way to have fun with it.

“Uh oh.” Taehyung meets your darkened stare, lids heavy, as his other hand leaves your thigh to stick between your legs, fingers rubbing circles against your clit. You know he does it on purpose, judging by the broadening smirk on his face when the added stimulation makes your hips jerk instinctively beneath him. He’s surprised when you hardly let out a noise, safe for a sudden gasp for air. “Not even one tiny moan? Come on, baby.”

“Fuck it. Wherever he is, he better know we’re on in ten!” Jimin’s voice carries back to the two of you. Then, a little more faintly as he wanders off, you can hear him grumble, “I swear to God, this asshole━”

“Wait, wait━” You rasp suddenly, twisting and turning beneath Taehyung and the boy stops at once. You try not to let your heart swoon at the way his hands are all soft and gentle as they touch you now, sliding his palm off your mouth if only for it to fall to your hips where he rubs at comfortingly.

He tries to ignore the way his cock twitches, shoved so deep within your walls. “What’s wrong?”

You slither from his grasp, unraveling your leg from his waist and delicately pushing him away, trying not to focus on the way your pussy throbs at the sudden missing warmth of his length. Taehyung is suddenly even more concerned, the poor boy gawking at you helplessly, his swollen cock completely forgotten as he fixes himself back into his jeans, his attention solely focused on you and your wellbeing now.

“What happened? Did I hurt you━”

“No,” You promise. “No, I just━” You look sheepish, and he wonders why, up until he sees you fidgeting with your skirt in an attempt to fix it and the mischievous twinkle flashing in your eyes. “I just figured maybe we shouldn’t risk it tonight. I mean, you heard Jiminie.” You pat Taehyung’s chest once, smoothing out the material of his now crumpled shirt. “So, I’ll see you out there.”

Taehyung blinks once. “What the fuck.”

It doesn’t seem to hit him at first; not until he spots your wicked grin as you lean past him to look at your reflection in the mirror, fixing your clothes and hair. You wipe at a smudge of lipstick in the corner of your mouth, and Taehyung gaps.

“Y/N, what the fuck?” he whines. Needy and desperate hands try to grab at you on your way to the door, but he ultimately lets you weave your way out of his reach. “What are you, the antichrist? Don’t be such a tease. I’ve got a problem that you helped start. It’s only fair if you help finish it.”

Admittedly, it is cruel. He looks both shameless and shameful, an exasperated and flustered expression to match the helpless state he’s in. Shirt askew on his shoulders, hair a wild mess, and his painfully obvious boner struggling against his jeans. You almost feel bad, until you realize you shouldn’t be. Because this is all it’s ever been between the two of you ━ sex, and more sex, no feelings attached, but lately something seems off… Either way, Taehyung will get over it, and he’ll still come crawling back for more which is why you have no qualms when you leave. Just, maybe, not in the way you would like.

The last thing he sees of you before you flee the washroom for him to fend for himself is a seductive smirk and a wink being thrown over your shoulder as you remark innocently, prettily, “You have hands.”

And then you’re gone, leaving him alone in the dingy washroom. He doesn’t come out right away, though it leaves the restless boys that make his band awaiting him to speculate some more.

“He’s gonna totally screw us over if he doesn’t show up in the next two minutes,” Jimin is saying hotly to the boys behind the stage when you rejoin them. The bar is already filling up with partygoers but mostly fans of the band, eagerly anticipating the set.

“Relax, Jimin,” Namjoon says carelessly. “He’s probably getting blown in the washroom or something. Can’t rush a man through these things.”

Jimin rolls his eyes as the others snicker. When the others have distracted themselves by discussing other business, you approach your brother casually, saying as inconspicuous as possible yet reassuringly, “Everything will be fine. I’m sure he’ll be here any second.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he throws this all away for a girl,” Jimin shakes his head. “It’s a miracle he ━ or any of the guys, for that matter ━ hasn’t tried anything on you yet.”

You try to laugh, though the sound is more forced and strained than you would like. At least Jimin doesn’t seem to notice. “But he’s your friend. Don’t you trust him?”

“I do trust him,” Jimin replies. “He’s a good guy, he’s just too caught up in all this band life. We’ve both seen it with the guys, especially with Taehyung. They take advantage of this stuff in the early stages.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry,” You promise. “I’m not interested in your friends and never will be ━ especially not Taehyung.”

Fortunately, the dreaded conversation doesn’t last much longer. Taehyung does end up making it to his own set on time, and when he finds you out in the crowd, you’re smirking deviously up at him for a secret that never has to be told aloud to the world and certainly not to Jimin.

You don’t quite remember when you and Taehyung started hooking up behind your brother’s back or what exactly caused it.

If you think back long and hard enough, you’re positive it was the result of some sort of drunken one night stand that elapsed into sober days and conscious decision making, which then turned into weeks, then months, which leaves you to where you are now. Almost a year of sucking your brother’s best friend’s dick and you’ve somehow, miraculously, never been caught. But aside from occasionally sleeping with one another, there was nothing more to be exposed to Jimin in terms of romance. Because, as far as he was aware, you and Taehyung were still embroiled in your childhood rivalry with one another that was less violent now than when you were younger and more civil, aside from the offhanded jabs and retorts shot at one another. And, as far as Taehyung and you were aware, the charade and the hook-ups all resulted in a peculiar sort of friendship between the two of you that was certainly as far as either of you would take things. Supposedly.

But between sexual teasing and taunts, you sometimes wonder if the lines have begun to blur, and if you’ve gotten too comfortable with Taehyung asking to sleep in your bed. Which is why, maybe, you overcompensate by “torturing” him on the days that he really needs you, like the night before in the grimy washroom of the bar. He hadn’t joined the real world or the band until the very last second they were meant to go on stage, looking all the more discomposed and flushed in the face when he rushed out, though at least he had somehow managed to tame his raging boner.

Now you were certain the universe was toying with you, bittersweet payback coming to nip you in the ass.

You hadn’t been so bothered the night before, leaving with the boys when their set was done and returning to your home with Jimin, not a word being uttered between you and Taehyung, even up until the very next day where you find yourself now. Crammed in a local studio run by some friend Yoongi had known from college, you were quite used to watching the band brainstorm new lyrics and record songs in real time, all from the sofa shoved up against one wall of the small space. You had been there every step of the way ━ their first rehearsal as a formed band, the day they discovered the group’s name in almost a dreamlike epiphany, the release of their very first full-length album produced and recorded all by them and promoted all by them, their very first gig with a decent following and the jittery anxiety they had all been troubled by, and every gig following it in which their nerves subsided and their effervescent charm and credence began to finally show through. But they had never been as disconcerted as they had now ━ which, really, you don’t blame them.

“Bro, this is stressing me out.” This aggravated groan sounds from Jungkook, the band’s lead guitarist.

He’s currently splayed out on the ground of the sofa you’re seated on, head thrown back against the cushions. Every other boy in the studio bare a similar wearied look ━ even Jimin, as their usual spritely lead singer.

You suppose that’s just the inevitable stress bound to occur when a scout from the infamous Columbia Records had somehow found the band either in person at one of their gigs or online and taken an interest in them and were interested in signing them. After weeks of back and forth discussion, Jin had been fortunate enough to land a meeting with the label in New York City, looking promising enough to excite even the stoic Yoongi. And after a month of planning, their meeting was set to take place finally only a week from that day. The issue seemed to arise when the label claimed they wanted the band to bring a set of new songs to the table to discuss at the last possible moment, sending the boys into a chaotic frenzy as they had only just released their first album a few months back. You had come to help the boys, though they were lucky enough to have found a handful of pre-written songs from their repertoire that still, unfortunately, needed fine tuning, vocals, and melodies. After working meticulously all morning, they were only just now deciding to split for a much needed lunch break.

“Same here,” Jimin says glumly, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Can’t wait to get out of here. I feel like I’m going insane.”

As the boys begin to shift and move, Jin gets to his feet and clasps his hands onto Jimin’s shoulders, giving him a reassuring nudge. “Just think about it: international success and Grammys await.”

“If we don’t fall apart before then,” Namjoon stifles a yawn as he stretches out his arms. He tosses a glance at you and Taehyung. “You guys coming?”

“Yeah,” You say, though you hardly move from your seat. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute,” Taehyung nods. He’s sat across from you on the couch, journal propped on one knee as he scrawls away in it, a jarble of chord progressions and lyrics. “Just gonna finish cleaning up in here.”

It seems convincing enough to Namjoon and the rest of the boys, even Jimin who is already out the door, not in the least bit suspicious of you or Taehyung. Honestly, you’re sure not even Taehyung is suspicious of your unmoving presence beside him until the boys leave and suddenly the room falls silent.

“You’re stressed,” You point out in a gentle musing. Which is true. You don’t usually see Taehyung riddled with anxieties, typically keeping to himself and maintaining some sort of effortless and mysterious coolness around the others.

The boy quirks a brow as he lifts his gaze to look up at you, tossing the journal onto the ground. Whether or not he seems to catch the underlying suggestive and sultry tone in your voice, you’re not quite sure but could you really blame yourself? It was difficult having to watch Taehyung all morning in his element, gazing at him whenever he was in the recording booth, headphones dangling from his neck and bass guitar in his lap as his expert fingers thrummed away at the strings. He always looks most attractive to you when he’s so utterly consumed by his work and his art, whether it be on stage in front of hundreds of people or in a more intimate setting at recordings or practices.

“What happened to you not wanting to disappoint Jimin by getting caught or whatever it was?” he asks, waving his hand dismissively. “Staying back with me is definitely gonna catch his attention.”

“Maybe,” You shrug. You catch his hand as he brings it back down, raising it to your lips to kiss at the tips of his fingers slowly, one-by-one, never once breaking eye contact with him. “I was just thinking you could use some help. And an apology for yesterday.”

Despite the way Taehyung’s dark gaze scrutinizes you in a taunting manner, he still watches as you take his hand and place it between your thighs, over your core. At least today you chose to wear leggings, the smooth material allowing for very little obstacles standing in his way as you press his fingers against you. A wolfish smirk tugs at his lips. “You think your pussy’s gonna help me?”

“Yes, actually, I do,” You say, matter-of-fact. “And I don’t think it will; I know. If I remember correctly, you were begging to use me as a stress-reliever before your set yesterday.”

Taehyung clucks his tongue. “Sounds a lot to me like you just want my fingers in you. Not so nice now being the needy one, huh?”

“I want you to do a lot of things to me, Tae.”

“Careful, baby. You’re playing a dangerous game,” Taehyung says. Still, he entertains the idea. Pressing his thumb harder against you, he rubs leisurely at the sensitive part of your clit over your clothes and the sudden feeling makes you pur with glee. “Besides, why should I be so nice and help you after what you did to me?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re still on about that? You’re a grown man, you can pleasure yourself.”

“How mean.” He feigns a look of mock hurt. “It doesn’t feel as nice when it isn’t you.”

“Taehyung,” You scold his name in a warning, but it mostly comes out as a contented sigh. You know you’ve already won him over, though the impatient tug you give on his arm as you clutch at his wrist of the hand still between your legs is a wordless reminder. Your fingers flutter up to his face, pulling him down for a kiss which he gladly obliges to. “Think they’ll walk in?”

“Nah.” His voice is a throaty murmur. “We’ve got some time. The boys’ seem worried enough as is; think they’re already halfway to that pho place around the corner they wanted to try, and they’re probably not gonna wanna come back here for at least another hour. Plus, I think we’ve given the producers a raging headache with all our requests so they definitely won’t want to be back in here for a while.”

You snicker at the thought, humming into his mouth as you pull him down with you onto the sofa, bending your knee so as to let him slide into place between your legs more comfortably. He pulls his hand away from you only long enough to lick at his digits before slipping his hand past the waistband of your leggings this time. Nudging aside your underwear, he swipes his fingers at your clit, marveling at your stickiness.

Your breath hitches in your throat. “What do we say when they ask where we went?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grunts into your mouth. “Fuck, tell them we were busy fucking for all I care.”

You swat at his chest playfully but lose your spirit when he presses his thumb against your clit, causing your hips to rut forward in a silent plea. Taehyung’s right, you think. Your excuse for the boys can be worried about later. Now, Taehyung slides a finger into you, then another, stretching you open experimentally, causing you to croon.

Face warm and head spinning, a sudden thought pops into your head that seems much more intimate than his fingers in you. “So━” You bite your lip to stop a moan. The question that forms on your tongue is timid despite the lewd things that threaten to run through your mind at his every touch, “S-So, what happens when you’re a big and famous rockstar, touring the world now?”

“I’ll take you with me.” Taehyung tongues a pattern down to the underside of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. He curls his fingers upward, sinking further into you until he’s reached his knuckles, enjoying the way your hips twitch beneath him. “Fuck you in every city we go to, in every fancy, over-the-top hotel we stay in. New York, L.A., Paris, London, Rome…”

“Romantic,” You snort, although maybe it kind of is if you think about it long enough. He slides a third finger into you then, fucking his digits in and out of you at a gradual pace that has your core aching. You’re all warm and wet around him that it goes straight to his dick, the thought of him tearing you apart as he plunges his cock into you making him grow antsy. It does the same to you. “Nnngh, Taehyung━ We’ll see about that when you meet pretty girls thousands of miles away who can offer you so much more than me.”

“Hmm… Dunno about that,” he hums. “There’s only gonna be you.”

You wonder if he knows what he’s doing, the way his words make your heart stutter in your chest. But then you start to wonder why you’re even feeling such things for him. Pretty words promising you that you meant more to him than sex meant little to you in comparison when he never acted upon it ━ but could you blame him? Even you were apprehensive of ruining what you already had with him, his friendship with Jimin if you told him how you were feeling lately, and the integrity of the band.

Your legs tremble as your orgasm approaches. Taehyung busies himself by nipping and sucking at your neck and all you can do is puff and pant, the lewd wet noises of his fingers penetrating you filling your ears. “Taehyung━ God, I wanna feel your dick so badly.”

“Yeah?” he growls. “Gonna let me fuck you finally? You’re so wet right now, could slip right in. Fuck, look at what you do to yourself by being so mean to me.”

He twists his finger up into you in such a way that has you grinding against his knuckles. “Please, Tae━”

“Got you stretched so wide too,” Taehyung hums pensively. “Your pussy always takes me so well too, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm, Taehyung!”

“Look at you,” he hisses, quickening his pace. Your back arches until your chest is pressed flush against his, walls quivering around his fingers. You reach out desperately for his face, smoothing your lips over his but you fail to really make any sort of connection. Instead, your jaw unhinges in a breathless moan against his mouth as he rests his forehead against yours. “Wanna come around my fingers so badly, don’t you? So close too.”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m━” Your hands ball into fists around the collar of his shirt. Your eyes threaten to roll back as you get closer and closer, your aching pussy so close to feeling its much needed relief when━ “What the fuck, Taehyung?”

He pulls his hand from your core before you can cum, leaving you a sweating and panting mess. The sudden loss of contact leaves you dumbfounded, gawking at the boy who’s suddenly grinning in a similar ungodly manner to your selfish response to him the day before. Payback has never tasted so sweet before to him, and so bitter to you.

“You did that on purpose,” You whine, jutting your hips forward desperately to meet his hand again. Instead, he gives your leaking and sensitive pussy one slap, the pleasant jolt shooting up your spine making you moan. “You’re so mean. I thought you were over it.”

“Well, now I am.” He pulls his hand out from between your legs and licks at his fingers. “Have you had your fun?”

It takes you a moment to respond as you gather yourself. He finds your sulking a little hilarious, and maybe also feels a little bad. “For now.”

“That’s a good girl.” He leans down to kiss your mouth hungrily, enjoying when you suck eagerly at his lower lip. “Because I’ve had my fun.”

You open your mouth to say something more but are stopped shortly when, somewhere outside the recording room, you can hear the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching, followed by the sound of the doorknob turning and Jimin’s curious voice, “Tae?”

You and Taehyung have stumbled off of one another within seconds, listening to the way Taehyung curses under his breath as he flings himself off the couch and a few feet away as you sit upright on the sofa. You have to only pray and hope that you both don’t look too obvious, though you think it’s too late for that. Either way, you cross one thigh over the other, biting down harshly on your tongue as Jimin stumbles into the room. As his gaze sweeps fleetingly across the room, he hardly takes note of both you and Taehyung.

“There you two are,” he says. “Was wondering where you went off to. And━” His stare flutters over to Taehyung for a moment and you hold your breath, fearing he may know a little too much, when━ “There’s my wallet! I knew I forgot it here.”

He crosses the room swiftly and plucks his abandoned wallet from the desk, holding it up to show the two of you. You smile nervously and Taehyung takes it upon himself to answer, clearing his throat in the process. “We were just gonna catch up with you, actually. Y/N was just helping me finish up here.”

You’re fortunate that Jimin’s probable sudden panic of trying to find his wallet and the relief of realizing he hadn’t lost it to the ether is what distracts him. He seems hardly intrigued by your lack of presence or yours and Taehyung’s odd companionship without the other boys. Whatever the case, you both manage to make it out of the recording studio unscathed and Taehyung does a well enough job at deflecting from any further suspicions by talking as normally as he usually would with Jimin on your walk over to the restaurant the rest of the boys are at.

Well, as unscathed as you can be, the tragedy of your lost orgasm still haunting you even as you sit across from Taehyung at the table.

“Now you’ll really be late.”

You say this as a heedful warning, though you’re fortunate when you find that you’re both distracted this time.

You know you have Taehyung under your spell that morning when he catches you purposely wandering his apartment in nothing but a pair of your panties. It’s not as if it’s uncommon to see you naked in his kitchen, making breakfast. That morning, when you walk into the bedroom holding a cup of tea, Taehyung almost chokes at the sight of your bare chest. It’s early the day of the band’s flight to New York City for their meeting with Columbia Records, and though Taehyung has roughly an hour before he has to leave the apartment, you’re worried he might just miss the flight altogether when he pulls you onto his bed again after a night of fucking.

“Don’t care. Come here.” His large hands are on you in an instant, roaming your body as he kisses the underside of your jaw and pins you beneath him. You let him get carried away, let him leave a trail of sloppy kisses from your lips down to your collarbones and in between your breasts.

“What are you gonna tell the boys when they’re on a flight to New York and you’re still in your apartment?” You rasp, fingers threading in his hair.

“Was busy spending the last twenty-four hours making hot, passionate love to you.”

The wry grin on his face makes it come across as a joke and makes your heart skip a beat. Admittedly, that was partly the truth. He had invited you over the day before and you had spent the better part of it in his bed in every position imaginable. Have to make up for the three days we won’t see each other, he had said after your first round, head between your legs and mouth on your cunt.

You snicker now but the sound falls short when a moan replaces it. “Don’t think you can call it passionate love making when you gave up halfway and made me ride you like you always do.”

He gasps and bites down teasingly on your skin but not with enough pressure to hurt. “Was that a jab at my manhood?”

“Of course not.”

“Besides, I like it best when you’re in charge.”

You roll your eyes but pull him up to your face so that you can kiss him again. It’s an odd shift in atmosphere when you find him kissing you in a chaste manner, despite having marked you red all over and legs still shaking from how many times he’s made you come in the last twenty-four hours. But it wasn’t all sex for once. Falling asleep in his arms left you still dreaming even when you were long awake.

“Gonna miss you,” he whispers once he parts from you. He rubs soft circles against your hips, nuzzling his nose against your cheek.

“It’s only for three days,” You say.

“I know,” he sighs. “I just━ God, I’ve gotten so used to you being here. I’m just sick of sleeping alone all the time. Shit, I don’t think I’m making any sense anymore. All I know is you’re driving me crazy.”

“Taehyung…”

“Am I wrong to feel that way?” He lifts his head now to look at you, ardent sincerity glazing over his eyes as he gazes at you.

You’re too caught up in the moment, the lustful afterglow of sex and whatever else is starting to emerge however blurry it may be now, to not notice right away the sound of knocking on the front door. Instead, you reach out to push his hair out of his eyes. You think you know what he means; you just want to hear him say it aloud. Your question is a gentle probe. “What are you trying to say?”

“I━”

But Taehyung’s voice is cut short by the sound of Jin’s shouting from the front door. “Taehyung, you in here?”

Wide eyes meet with yours in the sudden alarming panic of Jin’s arrival. Taehyung grumbles mostly to himself, “God dammit, what’s he doing here?”

You can hear the band’s manager talking aloud, quite possibly to another one of the boys that he’s dragged with him, and you and Taehyung scramble to react. Taehyung only has enough time to clamber out of his bed and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants from the floor as you pull on one of his sweaters and grab the bedsheet to cling to your chest if only so it can hide the rest of your bare legs.

“Are you alive?” Jin’s asking, closer this time.

“We had to come check on you━” You don’t register the second voice until it’s too late.

Because there, standing at the threshold of Taehyung’s door to his room, is not just Jin but your brother. Jimin’s familiar pop of bright blue hair and nonchalant smile are much too hard to forget. But, upon stumbling across Taehyung’s room, they each come to a stuttering halt. It doesn’t take long for the realization to dawn on them ━ and how could they not piece together the puzzles painting such a painfully obvious picture? The dishevelled bed, the clothes that litter his floor, your clothes that litter his floor, Taehyung’s shirtless and sloppy attire, your own half-hearted attempt at dressing yourself and the marks that riddle your body that you were banking on fading completely by the time you were reunited with Jimin after their return from their meeting.

“Uh…” Taehyung trails off awkwardly. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Oh shit,” Jin curses under his breath. Despite having no idea whatsoever about you or Taehyung (though maybe having a better inkling than the rest of the boys), he turns hastily towards Jimin. “Maybe now’s not a good time.”

But Jimin hardly budges. Instead, he looks enlivened, jaw setting harshly in place as his brows furrow into a scowl. “Jin knows I have a spare key to your place after that one time you locked yourself out and he wanted to make sure we all met up before getting to the airport. You weren’t answering our calls, thought you were dead. Guess now I know it’s because you were too busy fucking my sister.”

“Jimin,” You hiss sharply.

Taehyung shakes his head wildly. “It’s not like that.”

“Really?” Jimin retorts. “‘Cause it sure seems like it is.”

Taehyung grimaces. “Okay, yes, but not in the way you think. It’s not some meaningless fuck. I care about her.”

But that only seems to be the wrong answer. Would there ever be a right one? Taming Jimin’s stubborn anger and protectiveness over you was hard enough on any other day. Now that he knows you’ve slept with Taehyung, Taehyung felt as if he were a lost cause.

“How long has this been happening?” Jimin asks, tight-lipped.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, neither can Taehyung, and that seems to be enough to answer his worries. Maybe if you had acted faster, said it was only a one night stand, he wouldn’t have been able to read your mind so easily. Yet your silence was enough to make you guilty.

“Shit,” Jimin runs a hand through his hair. When he speaks next, he’s looking only at you. “Do you love him?”

“I━” You open your mouth, as if to explain yourself. This time, the answer came much easier. You know what you want to say, but voicing the truth out loud in front of your brother and Taehyung, who might not feel the same way, makes you clamp your mouth shut. Whatever your answer anyway should be for Taehyung only. Instead, you frown up at your brother. “I don’t get why you’re so upset anyway. Who cares if we’re in love? Who cares what we are? It’s not like you can control me. I can make these sorts of decisions myself, Jimin. This is ridiculous.”

“No. I get that,” Jimin says firmly. “But you’re my sister, and your wellbeing comes first to me. So, Tae━” Now, your brother turns to look at Taehyung. You’ve never seen him so furious before, disappointed even, and certainly not when it comes to Taehyung. “If you care about her so much, when were you gonna let her know?”

This seems to catch your attention, sending a curious gaze between Jimin and Taehyung. “Let me know what?”

“That he’s been screwing some other chick he met at the bar a while ago,” Jimin says. “Walked in on them once by accident and, after the fact, he said some similar bullshit about how it wasn’t meaningless or whatever.”

You blink.

The blow to your chest, and subsequently your heart, makes you teeter on your frail legs. Because if what Jimin was saying was true, then were all the sweet sentiments Taehyung whispered to you even yours to begin with? Did he care about you as much as you cared about him? But, the worst part of it all, is how utterly foolish you feel. Because when Taehyung doesn’t immediately answer, your question about whether or not Jimin was telling the truth was confirmed; and you had let yourself almost willingly fall for Taehyung despite all the warning signs. Despite the fact that you had both initiated your relationship on the basis that nothing would ever blossom from it.

“Is that true?” You ask Taehyung.

The boy hesitates. He meets your stare solemnly, flinching when he notes just how hurt you seem. “Partly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You demand. But before he can respond, you scoff under your breath as you begin to gather your belongings. “Oh my god. I’m so stupid━”

Taehyung starts. “Wait, Y/N━”

“Just leave her alone━” Jimin interrupts.

“Hey. Hey!” Jin snaps abruptly, the firm tone in his voice catching the boys’ attention. “We gotta go. Now. Taehyung, get yourself decent; Jimin, in the living room. We leave for the airport in five minutes.”

You decide you no longer want to wait for an answer. Your own embarrassment is far too much to handle for the moment being, and you favour the idea of fleeing from Taehyung’s sorrowful gaze, Jimin’s heated one, and Jin’s scrutinizing scowl.

You’re long gone before Taehyung can even think to stop you.

The three days in which the boys find themselves in New York City for their meeting with Columbia Records is the longest three days of your life.

Taehyung never bothers to call or text you ━ and the looming swell of concern of awaiting to hear his voice or your brother’s or any answer of how the meeting has gone fades in comparison. Because every sweet nothing he ever said to you suddenly means nothing, and you don’t know where that leaves you.

Just when you think you can take the torture no longer, the band returns. Jimin comes bounding into your shared apartment the moment his flight lands and the taxi has brought him home, greeting you with the wonderful news that the band’s been signed, and a celebration is in store consisting of their closest friends and family members. While you initially bask in Jimin’s excitement, mirroring your own, it quickly fades as you fear you’ve lost Taehyung for good.

“You’ll come to the party, won’t you?” Jimin asks hopefully at some point. “The boys will want you there.”

You shift warily in your seat on the sofa across from your brother who stands in the midst of the room after having animatedly relaying the story of the past three days to you. You shrug now, and when Jimin shoots you a quizzical look, you decide to approach the topic cautiously, dancing over your words slowly. “I dunno, Jimin. If he’s gonna be there… I don’t know if I can face him right now.”

Jimin comes to an immediate halt. His face falls and he sinks onto the seat beside you. “Y/N… Look, I was wrong, and I’m sorry. While we were away, Taehyung and I talked and he’s gutted about what happened. But that’s all I can say. I think you should talk to each other. No, I want you to talk to each other. I know now that you’re meant for one another.”

“Are you only telling me this because you’re being your best friend’s wingman, or because you’re being my brother?” You ask, a weak lighthearted attempt at a joke.

“Both,” Jimin says warmly. “Because I care about you both, and I don’t want to have to live with the regret of being the reason two people perfect for each other aren’t together.”

And when your brother says it with such earnestness, you have no choice but to believe him.

So, despite feeling like a fool for potentially crossing paths with Taehyung again, you muster the nerve and motivation to go, and arrive at the party with Jimin later that night. The impromptu last minute party itself is held at Namjoon’s home, filled to the brim with mostly familiar faces and a few unrecognizable ones that must be acquaintances of the boys you’ve never met before. You make your rounds and congratulate the boys one-by-one, being enveloped into a tight hug with each one, safe for Taehyung whom you don’t see at first.

You’re fortunate when mutual friends of yours and Jimin’s arrive, spending the majority of the night with them as your brother wanders off to get wasted. At some point, as the night drawls on, you catch sight of Taehyung and the presence of him is enough to dampen your mood entirely. You decide you’re no longer in the mood for a party, and make haste for the door, stumbling out onto the lawn. You only make it so far, coming to stop at the foot of the curb to breathe in the cool night air around you, before you notice Taehyung hurrying out after you, calling your name.

Almost as soon as he’s able to catch his breath and you lock gazes with the boy, he asks aloud, “Where are you going?”

You hadn’t expected him to follow you, nor the terrible nearly tangible awkwardness that hangs heavy in the air. Still, the concern in his voice and the corners of his eyes softening at the sight of you makes you want nothing more than to forget all the heartache. “Home.”

“Let me drive you?” he asks delicately.

You hesitate before responding. You know the simple offer of a drive is more than that. It’s an invitation to talk to him, sort things out. And you, of course, can’t possibly deny him. As soon as you’ve followed him to his car and he starts driving, everything goes silent. It’s almost unbearable as you shift uncomfortably in your seat and gaze out the window, hoping the long car ride will pass by rather quickly. You thwart his attempts at starting any conversation by turning the radio up and letting the music ━ a mix from Taehyung’s phone filled with pop-punk and indie classics ━ fill the emptiness but it doesn’t work with distracting you. He takes a detour from the path to your apartment, driving instead to a nearby lookout point of a hiking trail, now abandoned and desolate this late at night.

It’s quiet even long after he shifts the car into park, leaving only the sound of the stereo to fill the void. Then, at long last━

“You didn’t call,” You say.

Taehyung swallows thickly. “I know.”

“That’s all I wanted. An explanation.”

“I know,” Taehyung shifts in his seat to look at you. “I’m sorry. I messed up.”

“I know I have no right to feel like you’re mine when the reason we started seeing each other was casual, but everything you’ve been saying to me lately━” You rasp, “that I’m the only one for you and that you were gonna miss me because you were tired of being alone ━ did all of it mean nothing?”

The boy’s stare hardens. “No. I was never lying when I was with you. Everything I said, I meant.”

“Then why didn’t you call?”

“Because I was scared I had lost you,” Taehyung grovels all at once, silencing you. “Because things were starting to finally change between us ━ where it wasn’t just sex all the fucking time, but something genuine ━ and I didn’t want to face the reality that it could all be gone, just like that.”

“Well, what did Jimin mean, about that other girl? Was he telling the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fuck her?”

“Yes.”

“And did you fuck her while you were still saying there was only me in your life and pretending you meant it?”

“I was never pretending,” Taehyung protests exasperatedly. “We had a fling, but that was months ago, when you and I first started whatever the hell this is. But Jimin was wrong. I never told him she was the one, or whatever. I said I didn’t want it to be meaningless anymore. That I want something more. I thought I had found it with that girl; but it was really with you.”

“Taehyung…” You whisper his name now, a delicate utterance.

“You can’t tell me I’m the only one feeling this way about us,” Taehyung beckons desperately. “I know you’ve been feeling it too.”

You purse your lips; then, you let out a small exhalation of air. “Tae… I think I’ve been in love with you ever since we were little kids.”

Now, Taehyung’s stare softens. He reaches out to grab at your face, gingerly pulling you into him, thumb caressing your cheek.

“I want you,” he promises. “God, I want you so bad. Do you really think I’d risk getting kicked from the band for anyone else but you? Or let anyone else tease me so bad but you?”

You can’t help but snicker. You shake your head at him as he pulls you into a kiss. He grins against your mouth and, this time when he kisses you, it’s hot and needy, a whole three day’s worth of pent up emotions and desires pouring into your every touch. Your hands fumble to undo your seatbelt and then you’re climbing over onto his lap and he’s welcoming you with open arms, the skirt of your dress hitching up higher on your thighs. Your knee, or maybe it was your foot or elbow, accidentally hits the horn of the steering wheel and startles the two of you, earning a squeak from you, before you both erupt into laughter. Taehyung reaches down to push the seat back a few inches to give you more space in the cramped driver’s seat and then he pauses to look up at you with mesmerized eyes. He kisses you again and again, as your hands come up to grasp at the sides of his neck.

“Had enough of the bullshit, have you?” he asks humorously. “Gonna take matters into your own hands?”

“I’m tired of all this teasing and chasing,” You pout. You’ve already begun grinding your hips against his, enjoying the way his face pinches in pure delight. He burrows his face into your chest, breasts soft against his head. A soft moan bubbles at your lips as you plant your own hands onto his chest. “I think so are you. We’ve both got a taste of it, haven’t we? We need to make up for lost time.”

“Fair enough,” he rasps. “What do you want from me, baby?”

“You, all of you,” You murmur. “Want your dick in me.”

“Gonna let me finish this time?” he tuts.

Your amused giggle meets his ears and he wonders how you can be both cute and sexy at the same time. “Mmm, I wanna be filled with your cum.”

“Oh, fuck,” Taehyung grunts. “Okay, okay. Here━”

Somehow, he’s able to gesture to the backseat and you and him clamber your way there until you’re finally both situated once more with you straddling his lap. There’s a mutual understanding that there’s no point, nor time, for foreplay but it’s not as if either of you mind. Taehyung’s surely had enough and so have you because while teasing him may be fun for a while, it certainly can feel like torture trying to stay away from him in the meantime. You help him fumble with the belt of his jeans so that he can unbuckle them and watch as he grasps at himself, pulling his cock free. Immediately, you’re lifting your hips to pull the skirt of your dress up higher and his hands help aid you clumsily, palms gliding up the smooth expanse of your thighs.

Then, fumbling to push you on your knees before him, with one hand on the small of your back, he pulls you towards him and gazes down between the two of you as he hooks a thumb over the material of your panties to push it to the side and teases the tip of himself over your slick folds. Your hands flail outward, palms pressing against the windowpane as he somehow situates himself behind you in the cramped space on his knees. He grunts from behind you at the feeling and then slowly and carefully guides you down onto him. It takes a moment to adjust but as you sink fully down until he’s balls deep, his cock coaxed easily by your leaking wetness, the both of you come to a halt, sputtering for air.

“Wait, wait,” he gasps. “Oh, fuck━ Stay put for a sec.”

“Why?” You ask, jutting your hips backwards teasingly. “Gonna cum already?”

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he mutters. He thrusts up into you without warning as payback, causing you to gasp out loud and flail forward. “No, you brat. I just want to enjoy it a little bit longer.”

He’s right. It does feel nice to finally feel some sort of friction after three days of nothing. To him, you just feel so nice and warm and snug and, to you, he fills you up so perfectly. So you stay put for a little bit, adjusting to the feeling as you kiss each other slow and steadily. His dick twitches inside you, warm and wet and so fucking hard. He’s just so big, your head is spinning. It’s almost as if you feel him in the pit of your stomach, legs trembling at the feeling. He yanks impatiently at the top of your dress, pulling it down so that the material pools at your waist now, reveling in the way your bare breasts spring free. At once, his hands are reaching around your front to palm at your breasts, grasping at your hips and navel.

“Wanna wreck you so bad,” Taehyung growls roughly against the shell of your ear as he presses his chest against your back. “Gonna fill you up so good, make your pussy all mine. How does that sound?”

“Want it so bad,” You whine, one arm hooking behind you so that your fingers can scratch at his hair. “F-fuck, Taehyung━”

When he tugs lightly at your hips, you take that as his gesture for you to move and start grinding your hips against his.

“Been waiting so long,” he hisses. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t know why you always gotta tease me.”

“Taehyung,” You choke out. “Oh, f-fuck━”

“That’s it, baby girl. Doing so well,” Taehyung grunts as your walls quiver around him. He starts grinding into you, rough snaps of his hips sending you jolting forward each time. “Gonna take my dick like a good girl?”

“Y-Yes━ God, want it so bad,” You cry out. “Give it to me harder, please, Taehyung━”

He gladly obliges, quickening his pace until he’s slamming his hips into yours in thrusts that tremble you to the core. Tears begin to prick at your eyes at the glorious sensation, your cunt throbbing with each thrust. You’re so wet, he almost slips from your walls each time he rolls his hips into yours.

“Fuck━ Want you to ride me,” he rasps at some point. “Show me how your pussy belongs to me. Can you do that for me?”

You nod blindly. You try not to whine at the sudden loss of contact when he pulls out of you, the tip of his cock glistening with both of your leaking cum mingling together, the sticky strands pulling apart midair as he fumbles. Soon, he has you straddling his lap, sinking onto his dick once more. You grip his shoulders this time, bouncing on him as he buries his face in your chest.

A sudden thought has him groaning aloud. “Your brother’s gonna fucking hate me.”

“I thought he said you talked things over,” You gasp. “That everything’s okay.”

“I don’t mean that,” Taehyung’s head rolls back, eyes squeezing shut. “He’s gonna murder me if he ever catches us like this.”

“Think he knows it happens by now,” You giggle. You moan when you drop your hips on him completely, swiveling around his dick.

“Still don’t think that means he wants to see us making love on the couch in your apartment. Not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you,” Taehyung points out. Then, adding hastily, “Fuck it. Can we not talk about your brother? It’s killing the mood.”

Another delightful chuckle bubbles from your lips though it’s quick to dissolve into a splintered cry as his dick angles upwards into you.

Your back arches until your chest is pressed against his. It’s almost embarrassing how fast the two of you become complete shambles, a sticky mess forming between your legs. It comes to that point where you don’t care about being careful and where you decide to adopt such a reckless pace, fucking yourself on him, your breasts bouncing wildly before him. Taehyung moans and eagerly latches his mouth on one of your breasts, sucking hard.

“Taehyung,” You whine. “I’m not gonna last.”

He hums against you, pulling you closer to his mouth and chest and wrapping you in his heat, as if to urge you on. Your mewls and whimpers ring in Taehyung’s ears as beautiful sounding as the music that plays in the background. You begin to give out, your tiredness mingling with the intensity of pleasure, and you collapse against Taehyung’s chest, huffing for air. He quickly replaces your efforts, grabbing your hips tightly and plummeting his upwards into yours so hard that you feel each thrust shake you to the core. You know you’ll have bruises in the morning but you don’t mind. You’re leaning entirely against Taehyung now, your arms wrapping around his neck, as cries of his name and choked whimpers continue to tear from your throat and mouth.

“F-Fuck!” You cry. “Taehyung, faster━ oh my god, please━”

Your pleas drown out when one long moan escapes you. You can feel the muscles in your core tighten and loosen in a constant battle that has your head swimming in a good way, your heart pounding in your chest. Taehyung grits his teeth, focusing on bringing you to your high, and, before you are able to even comprehend what’s happening, you’re toppling over the edge. You’re still on top of Taehyung, whimpering profusely and crying his name in a beautiful mantra as your high shakes you from head to toe.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” Taehyung hisses. “Cum for me. Cream all over my dick. You love it, don’t you? Love having me fill you up like this?”

“Yes, oh my god, Tae, yes━ faster, please━”

Taehyung obliges, sweat forming on his forehead. He feels you squeeze around him so tight that he fumbles for a second, sputtering for air. Then, he feels your cum pulsate out of you, leaking down his length. You’re instantly floating up high with the stars, relishing in your high and the way Taehyung rides it out as he also fights for his own sweet release. As your hips come to a stutter, he grips at your waist and pummels his dick up into your aching pussy.

His tongue continues to lav lazily at your jawline and, by the time he reaches his own high, you are beginning to cringe from the sensitivity. Yet, you hold on, pushing away the slight sting as you help coax him to his high, squeezing your muscles around him. He cums moments later, releasing into you warm and wet, crying your name.

“Fuck, Y/N━ Gonna fill you up, baby, just how you like it━”

He rams his hips up into yours for one final effort, shuddering in elation as his cock twitches every last drop of cum from it. Then, both breathless and panting, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, you slump against his chest, resting your forehead against his. The car instantly goes silent and the foreground music that was the radio comes to once more. You listen to the soft lyrics as the two of you bask in the afterglow of sex and he kisses you all over.

You don’t know how much time passes as the two of you lay there, his hands rubbing comforting circles on your hips as your own fingers trace the tattoos that ink his skin.

“You know━” Taehyung speaks up eventually, his voice a low mumble. “Gonna be extra hard not to be late getting to gigs now.”

“Uh oh.” You roll your eyes. “Think we’ve got all the time in the world now for sex, Tae.”

Taehyung grins. “I was thinking more about the fact that I’m not gonna want to get out of bed in the morning, whenever you fall asleep beside me.”

Your heart swells at his confession and you peck his cheek quickly before burying your face in the crook of his neck. It’s his own serenade of sorts, his small promise in the backseat of his car, that makes it all okay in the end.

“And,” Taehyung admits cheekily this time, “knowing we don’t have to keep us a secret anymore, even to ourselves━ I'm definitely not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you now.”

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 years ago

Text

Bob & B(l)ob| FNF x Reader

A/N: Just a thing I wanted to write bc I got Bob and Bob/Bosip brainrot on the mind :) Also I did my best to clarify which Bob is speaking/being described so apologies if it's still confusing for some.

Also, although Bob Takeover week is an alternate timeline I tried fitting this into the canon timeline where they battle BF after the whole takeover ordeal.

Summary: Reader is a good friend of Bob (Onslaught), Amor, Bob, and Bosip. They can travel between the real world and FNF universe. But after learning of the trouble the blob caused in the Takeover week of the VS Bob & Bosip mod, they enter the game once more to sort things out and clear up some misunderstandings.

......

"Oh give me a break.."

"What's wrong? Are Bob and Bosip okay?"

Amor stopped clicking around the laptop screen as he sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking to you. "I dunno, I can't find them anywhere in this mod. One moment Bob was rap-battling some blob character also called Bob. Then the next moment it crashes during the cutscene and they like..completely vanished. Bosip's not responding to any of my messages about the game, either."

When he mentioned the blob character, your eyes lit up. "Oh! I know that other Bob."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I met him in his original mod. He's broken the game before so...I suspect he's the reason those two are missing."

"...now I feel really bad for sticking them in this game without their knowledge. They thought they were going to Minecraft." He sweatdropped, nervously smiling as he booted up the game again. "Well if you can go in and see what's up, that'd be great. Sorry you gotta fix my mistake because...I honestly have no clue what happened to them."

"It's all good." You chuckled. "He can be unpredictable but I know him best. I'll get your boys back."

"Thanks, [y/n].

..........

Once you entered the game, it took you a while to find your blob-shaped friend in the park. You asked around with no apparent luck, and you began to worry that Bob somehow moved on from this mod.

It was unusual for Ron not to be here either, though you did see a red stain on the road-

"Yo."

You turned around upon hearing the voice and saw Bob in front of you, wearing a disguise of the missing Bob, complete with a blue wig that barely fit over his head. And instead of a blue B on his sweater, there was the word "gloopie".

As amused as you were upon seeing this, you just folded your arms over your chest, looking down at him with a frown. "Alright, fess up."

"Wut?"

"Don't play dumb. Where's the other Bob and Bosip? Amor's worried sick about what happened to them and I suspect you're involved."

He frowned back at you. "That cube-looking bitch beat me in a rap battle."

"And that's a reason to kidnap them both and pretend to be him?"

"....yes?"

"No." You sighed, before looking around. "Where's Ron, by the way?"

"Dead but "in a cool way"," he mocked the folderhead. "He got ran over. Man you should've seen his guts all over the road-"

"I'd rather not. Just...tell me where you took them or I'm getting Opheebop."

Your threat made Bob's eyes widen in horror. While he was scary on his own, nothing terrified him more than invoking the wrath of his girlfriend. So he finally gave in, his disguise dissolving into black goop that was reabsorbed into his body.

And he disgruntledly teleported you both into a dark building, which had a single dim lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. It took you a minute to adjust to the darkness, but eventually you heard muffled cries of confusion and panic nearby.

"Mmmh?!!!"

"Mmmhff!!!!"

Looking to the source, you were horrified to see Bob and Bosip were on the floor, their hands tied by rope with tape across their mouths. "What the--oh god hang on, guys." You ran over and knelt down to untie them, ripping the tape off as well.

And here you were, afraid that they've been killed. Amor definitely would've been upset if that were the case. There were a lot of dangers in the games they traveled in, and unfortunately nothing warned them of the blob's evil powers.

The moment you freed them, Bob saw the blob-Bob and screamed, clinging to you tightly. "K-Keep that thing away from me!!" He cried. "I don't know what it wants or why it kidnapped us but--!!"

"Bob..it's alright. We're safe now thanks to you." Bosip smiled at you, before looking back at the blob with discomfort. "But uh..do you know this guy by any chance? Seems it brought you here willingly."

"Oh he's a friend of mine from the mod Bob's Onslaught. His name is also..Bob and...uh--Bob? Bob, please calm down." You had a hard time explaining with the blue-haired male babbling nonsense in your ear. But you just sighed. "I'm really ashamed of you."

Suddenly he shut up and looked at you with teary eyes. "Wh-What?"

"No, no. I didn't mean you. I meant him." You pointed at the blob who was standing there awkwardly. "He's got a penchant for killing people who insult him or beat him in rap battles. He takes shit way too personally."

"No I don't."

"Ah, so he speaks." Bosip mused. "But in our defense, he challenged us first without knowing what we were capable of."

"Yeah!" Blue-haired Bob spoke up, still hugging you but with a less constricting grip now. "I take pride in my amazing vocals and I wasn't about to let some silly knockoff Dre-"

You immediately slapped a hand over his mouth to silence him, giving him a stern glare. "Don't ever call him that unless you want absolute death."

His eyes widened with fear, but he nodded in understanding and you removed your hand. Then he let go of you. "A-Alright. Thanks for saving us. Now can we go? This place gives me the creeps."

Nodding, you looked to the blob Bob. He sighed and willingly teleported everyone out of the building, putting you all back in the middle of the park.

In that same moment, Bosip's phone blew up with frantic texts from Amor, and he reassured his creator they were alright. Then he talked about how, according to those texts, they had to beat a guy named Boyfriend in a rap-battle to escape the game.

While Bob pondered over who would name their own kid "Boyfriend", you and the other Bob decided to take your leave, bidding farewell to the Geometry Dash duo.

"[Y/n]?"

"Yeah?"

"...you like that Bob more?"

You stopped in your tracks and looked down at him, shaking your head. "Nonsense. I've known you since forever. No other Bob in this universe will take your place as my best friend."

Even so, he was still pouting. "Seems you like hugging him more.."

"Oh..is that what this is all about? If you wanted a hug you could've just said so." Kneeling down, you hugged the blob and picked him up, grinning. "You know, your cosplay of him was neat. But...maybe try not to kidnap people you wanna cosplay next time, alright?"

"Fine." He grumbled, though he felt a little better knowing he was your favorite Bob.

Not that he'll ever admit it, but his jealousy was a major reason he decided to kidnap them in the first place.

#fnf x reader #friday night funkin x reader #fnf bob x reader #bob x reader #fnf bosip x reader #bosip x reader

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literaryavalanche · 4 years ago

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Up Coming Fic Preview - To Swallow the Sun (Mummy Au)

This story was originally going to be my contribution to the Tomarry Big Bang 2018 but I ended up falling out of the fandom before it could take place; I found about half of the first part finished on my old computer and have begun editing it to be able to post once I finish with Killing Instinct.

Excerpt from Chapter 3 - The Tomb of the Serpent King

“Don’t pyramids normally have four sides?” Harry asked. “Why does this one only have three?”

“Can’t say for sure. It may have had a purpose. It may have simply been an older design which was eventually changed.” Bill said as they reached the bottom of the ramp. Harry’s feet sank into the sand. He felt the heat bleed into his trainers. Three other men were standing between them and a dark opening in the pyramid’s face. They approached once they caught sight of them. “These are my colleagues: Rayner Galli, Windsor Reeves and Cade Blair.”

“This is the Parselmouth?” Rayner was nearly the size of Hagrid with copper colored hair. Looking Harry up and down, he whistled through his crooked teeth. “Bloody hell. When you said he looked like the mural we didn’t think you were serious Weasley. But if you put him in clothing from back then he’d look like he walked right off the wall.”

“You’re going to show it to them before you have him open the door?” Cade asked.

“Kind of hard not to.” Windsor pointed out. “It’s only etched into the wall in full color in the only hallway leading to the door.”

“If you expected me to pass up the opportunity to show Harry the story of Har-ri you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.” Bill turned his attention back to them and said “we’ve gone over all the passages we’ll be using with a fine toothed comb and all curses and booby traps left waiting for grave robbers to stumble on have been removed and disabled so there’s no reason to be worried about falling into one. Just be mindful of the amount of noise you’re making while we’re down there: even stone can get to be unstable after so much time has passed and we don’t want to cause a collapse.”

Lighting the tip of his wand, Bill ducked into the dark opening. Swallowing the sudden surge of nerves which threatened to overwhelm him, Harry drew his own wand and followed.

The passageway was claustrophobic and slanted, its ceiling marbled with a concerning mesh of cracks. The walls almost brushed his shoulders on either side, the pale light of his wand spreading across the images and hieroglyphs which had been etched into the stone ages before. Birds. People. Gods and monsters.

The shift of focus was sudden enough that Harry noticed it without it being pointed out: in the midst of the telling of whatever story the walls had been depicting up until then the images had been stripped and etched over with something else, the stone beneath the figures of a familiar Pharaoh and his raven consort still bore the scars of the wild chisel.

Reaching up to run careful fingers across the reliefs, Harry couldn’t help but think I don’t remember him being so triangular. A result of the medium being stone no doubt. The little wizard could clearly recall the smooth slopes of broad shoulders and the chorded muscle of strong arms; the squareness of his jaw and the cheekbones which could have cut glass.

“Uncanny, isn’t it?”

Harry jumped, blinking rapidly as he retracted his hand. “Yeah.” He said. “And his name, too; Har-ri sounds awfully similar to��” he trailed off, the contents of his conversations with Dumbledore and Draco running through his mind. The little raven shuddered. “Who was he?”

“The dearly beloved royal consort of a tyrant. A Pharaoh named Ta-hem. We’ve taken to calling him Tom: a bit less of a mouthful.” Bill said. “At first we were confused as to why the typical depictions of a Pharaoh’s journey to the afterlife would be interrupted to include this tale instead. Why it appeared as if it were a sudden revision, made just before this tomb was sealed off and left to the mercy of the desert. Then we translated the hieroglyphs and made sense of the depictions and realized it was the tale of the last years of both their lives. How much do you know about ancient Egyptian mythology?”

“Um…” Harry’s eyes panned over the engraved wall, taking in the images of courting and warfare and death. “They worshiped cats?”

Rayner snorted from the rear of the party. “Well informed, this one.”

Bill cracked a smile. “The Egyptians worshiped many animals in connection to their Gods. Cats were connected to Mafdet and Bastet and seen as the Guardians of their underworld, Duat.” He said. “The Pharaoh, at the time, was a despot who had made a deal with Apophis for immortality in exchange for the slaughter of his family and the souls of his ancestors. He’d stolen his throne from his father by violence at sixteen and ruled with an iron fist, holding Egypt in a reign of terror. But when he laid eyes on Har-ri, said to be so beautiful no mortal could bear to look upon him directly, he fell in love. Attending to him with a devotion termed ‘worshipful’ by his subjects, he could deny him nothing and Har-ri used his power over the Pharaoh to make life for his subjects easier.”

“For a decade the Kingdom flourished despite clashes with rival empires, until an assassination plot was hatched: aiming to shatter the Pharoah’s will to fight, they targetted Har-ri. But rather than break the man as his enemies had intended it drove the Pharaoh mad with rage, the last of his sanity snapping. He preserved his consort’s body in honey until Har-ri’s tomb was completed and brought the full wrath of his army upon the Kingdom responsible. Killing not just soldiers but civilians. Anyone who crossed his path. His own men. Using their blood to again invoke Apophis and make a second deal, this time for a ritual which would bring his consort back to life.”

“But Ta-hem’s own priests turned against him and interrupted the ritual, cutting out the Pharaoh’s tongue so he could not curse them and mummifying him alive. What was meant to be his tomb instead became his prison.”

“And you want to open it?” Ron demanded, wide eyed.

“Relax.” Cade drawled. “No matter how well versed in Dark Magic and Curses the Ancient Egyptians were, nothing can survive 36000 years locked in a box. Never mind having their organs removed on top of it. ‘Immortal’ or not.”

Eyeing the image of his Pharaoh’s imprisonment, Harry shuddered and looked away. “Where’s the door?”

Picking up on his tone Bill nodded and started moving down the hallway again. “Just down here.”

#Mummy Au #Tomarry #Upcoming fic

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the-darklings · 5 years ago

Text

—𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆;

—PART XIV. | WHAT IS AND WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 10.4k+

summary: A part of you has missed this quiet, this dark.

warnings: aside from pain? none.

notes: well this will either be the saddest or the happiest chapter of COA so far. Let's roll!

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 12 | 13 | . . | 15 |

“My mother who was a great lover of art always told me that life is like poetry. It rhymes.”

Inhale.

“I believe that everything eventually comes around full circle.”

Exhale.

The silver viper ring between your fingers rotates for the hundredth time.

For the first time in days your hands are not shaking.

A stillness has fallen over you; a hush that has wiped away all else. A part of you has missed this quiet, this dark. It has given you back a sense of ease. You can’t even feel the pain in your body anymore. There is just…nothing.

Crisp footsteps approach the spot where you are sitting and you don’t need to look up to know who it is.

Winston sits down beside you with deliberate slowness but there is a heaviness to it. Distantly, you wonder if anything like this has ever happened before. The man next to you is unmerciful in enforcing the rules in his hotel and city at large. Such a violation must be a first.

You sit in silence for several minutes, neither of you moving. Your elbows keep digging into your thighs but all you can focus on is the ring between your fingers. On the faint traces of blood still lingering beneath your nails and cracks of your skin.

The stillness between you is the loudest thing you have ever experienced. Matched in magnitude only by the initial few seconds following the gunshot—

“What happens now?”

Your question is so steady, so calm—it surprises you. You might as well be asking him about the weather.

The older man doesn’t answer right away even though you feel his attention turn to you.

“The High Table has been informed,” he tells you flatly, his hands clasped in front of him. “This will…echo.”

There’s just enough trepidation in the final word for you to know that a more accurate expression would be a “shitstorm”. You wait for something—anything—to hit you but nothing comes. Panic, fear, dread that have always followed any possibility of invoking the Table’s wrath is absent. Winston’s words barely register. Maybe you can go into hysterics later. Maybe not.

“Is there anything I can do—”

“You could come to Paris with me. You still owe me a trip, carissima.”

The ring in your hand rotates again.

Winston focuses on the movement but doesn’t comment. You’re not quite sure if he knows the significants of the ring in your hand, if he’s ever even guessed it. He has certainly seen it before. He knows you’ve had it for years.

The silence stretches for what seems like hours.

“Are you—”

“No.”

It’s an empty answer to an empty question. You’re very not alright right now.

Your fingers still, folding around the ring till the viper disappears, devoured by your hand. By the prison of darkness.

Your head finally turns to look at the older man and his expression draws tighter at whatever he finds on your face.

“Will you—”

“Yes,” he cuts you off before you can finish, nodding his head just once with a pointed stare. “Even if it wasn’t a part of my job—and it certainly is—yes, of course. You need not ask.”

It’s one of those few, serene moments where you feel immensely grateful for having him in your life. To a point you doubt there are any words that could aptly express it. Neither of you is prone to displays of sentimentality though so you choose to say nothing. Still, you think he can read it on your face. See it in the way you blink just a little too fast and swallow thickly with a grateful dip of your head.

Your fingers stiffen into a fist, and you feel the metal ridges of the ring cut into your flesh. It’s a dull, vague discomfort and you turn to stare at the too-clean floor for another beat before you rise smoothly, your joints clicking.

Nothing hurts and the fingers of your other hand flex. Experimental. Deliberate.

Your turn to go.

“Where are you going?”

You pause, but don’t look at him. “I have unfinished business.”

More hollow, calm words that drag from somewhere deep down. From the abyss.

But because Winston is Winston, he doesn’t drop it like most would. “I know what Johnathan did was—”

Inhaling sharply at that name, you begin walking away.

“V,” Winston calls out, and you hear him rise. “(Name).”

It halts your feet, that tone. The authority in it.

But you don’t stop because you fear Winston. You stop because you respect him enough to do so. Care for him enough to at least hear what he has to say if he’s so insistent on saying it.

“If you do this,” he begins, and there is such worn heaviness in his voice that it almost makes you falter. Almost. “You will regret it for the rest of your life.”

Don’t go down this path again.

He doesn’t have to add it verbally for you to hear the words in the space between you. Be it because he doesn’t want a bigger mess than this has already become or because he wants to shield Jo—

Or maybe he just cares about you in his own way.

He knows what revenge does to a person. He knows how slippery of a slope hate can be. He has seen what resentment has turned you into once.

That, you think coldly, was child’s play compared to now.

You look back at him over your shoulder. His face is still drawn, his eyes narrowed, but you know that if you choose this, he will not stand in your way.

A man who believes that everyone is a master of their own fate. That one has to learn how to live with the consequences of one’s actions.

You are the father I wish I had. You taught me well.

It’s what you want to say but don’t.

Instead, something far less kind leaves your mouth, “The only thing I regret right now is not letting him bleed out on that platform.”

With that, you turn to go, and he doesn’t try to stop you again.

Kimber Super Carry.

A custom semi-automatic model with a good sturdy handle and sleek edges, making aiming easy and reloading smooth due to lightweight casing. The seven-round magazine is the smallest capacity it’s manufactured to as far as you know but it’s undoubtedly a weapon crafted for death all the same.

A gun that was fired on Continental grounds.

A gun that—

Your feet halt in the debris of a dream.

John’s home is now rubble.

You haven’t seen it since the news about its destruction reached you and you drag your eyes over the ruined space. Once upon a time, you think it would have made you sad to see this. Now, you don’t feel much besides an inkling of satisfaction.

Consequences.

The echoes of them are everywhere you look as you move through the ash and the dirt. Your footsteps crunch underneath you, and the charred remains still stink of smoke even with the heavy deluge of rain falling down on it.

Your grip on the pistol doesn’t loosen as you step slowly through John’s home.

As if there’s anywhere else he would go to mourn, to wait for what he already knows he will not escape.

Like a ghost, you move across the graveyard of John’s dream. Your eyes linger on the half-burned photograph of him and Helen that still sits on the crumbling mantelpiece. Half of John’s face is burned away, leaving an echo of a smile and love and you stare at it for longer than intended, your jaw set.

You find him minutes later, sitting alone and hunched over on a blackened armchair.

He doesn’t move.

Even though you know he’s aware of your presence.

Rain trails down your face and you blink the tiny droplets out of your lashes as you step into the room unhurriedly.

The dog suddenly appears, dashing towards you from behind the seat and wags his tail happily at the sight of you. He nudges your hand with his nose and your fingers absentmindedly play with his ear, patting him a few times.

Your eyes don’t leave John’s prone figure once.

A dark spectre haunting the ruins of his own life.

Lips parted, he lifts his head towards you eventually, a thin bracelet tangled in between his bloodied fingers—the same hand you injured with your blade only hours ago. His face is bruised just like yours, and through the space between you, the roar of rain washes away the would-be silence.

He doesn’t say anything.

Your lips curve.

“No apology this time?”

John with his sorrowful, dark eyes who is always quick to plead for forgiveness. As if you have the power to absolve him of his many sins. You are not his absolution. He has shown that time and time again.

There is, perhaps, no one left on your side now.

John’s shoulders slant backwards with a deep breath, his voice a rasp, “Not when I did something I know there will be no forgiveness for.”

You stare at him.

He’s not wrong.

He doesn’t look at the gun but you’re both intimately aware of it. His hand had forged your own after all. Right now all you can think about is those long months of work you had to put in just to barely keep up with him—too slow, too erratic, too rigid. His grip on your wrist and the low, measured words of instruction, of guidance.

Viggo Tarasov never made you. He gave you the tool to make yourself.

John Wick never made you. He guided the creation with his careful, deadly hands and an unspoken promise that he will be by your side, always.

Santino D’Antonio never made you, either.

You did it all yourself.

“I spent the journey here thinking how I’m going to put a bullet in your head,” you inform him calmly, amiably. “How far we have come, Jardani.”

His sad, worn expression goes rigid at your gentle murmur of his real name. A name you have held sacred in your heart and hidden so meticulously underneath your tongue for years.

This is not anger, or rage, or hurt.

This is just…nothing. The final stage perhaps.

“He had me hunted,” John mutters in defeat, his voice thick with pain as he stares up at you. “I gave you time, (Name). What was I supposed to do?”

“Stop, Jardani,” you whisper sadly. “You could have stopped for me. Like he did.”

John’s expression creases and you watch as rain trickles down his nose and lips. His confusion is palpable. You take a single step towards him and the dog whines, sensing the shift in the air.

“I was taken after we split apart,” you reveal to him and make sure that every word sinks in, your words slow and deliberate. “That trouble you wanted to help me with initially, remember? The Black Dragon and the Lovers. You won’t know much about the latter because it was after you left. But you know how it goes. Bad blood from years ago come back to haunt me. I was taken but managed to break out with some help. I rushed to the gallery. I got there only minutes before you did. And then I asked him to stop. Call the contract off. Do you know what he said to me?” you wonder bitterly and don’t wait for his reply. “That he’ll do it. You were minutes away from freedom, Jardani, and now look at you.”

Doomed.

One way or another.

Now, there will be no ticket back. No peace.

You watch the realisation sink in. The quiet agony that follows right after.

“I—”

“I don’t care that you didn’t know,” you choke out, pained, watching the planes of his face crease at your wet words. “I just wanted you to listen. How much more? How much more can you take from me?”

You wait for his answer but this time he has nothing to say. Nothing, at least, that won’t be empty words designed to make you forgiving and docile.

“I walked through your home and figured it would be symbolic to finish it here,” you continue through the thundering of rain and the dog whines again, quieter this time. “But then I realised something. You want this. You want it to be by my hand. The moment you pulled that trigger you knew exactly what would follow. All that carnage. An attack on Continental grounds. A forfeited life debt that makes your life mine. You knew that I would never forgive you for almost taking the people I consider my family away.”

Drawing a breath, you lift the gun in your hand but don’t aim it at him. The gleaming, silver surface greets you and in it, you see a blurred reflection of your eyes. The shadow of emptiness there. The hollowed out person staring back at you reminds you of a girl from years ago.

“You did love me,” you go on after another moment, still staring at the gun. Your body is soaked from the rain by now but you ignore the heavy weight of your clothes clinging to your skin. “I think a part of you still does. But the sad truth is that you never loved me more than this. This dream of a normal life. You leaving was never about a choice between Helen and I. It was always a choice between being John or being Baba Yaga. You didn’t stop for me because you couldn’t. Because you don’t know how to stop. Not even for yourself. I bet you used to wake up every morning, look in the mirror, and feel just as empty as I do. Maybe you thought that by running from this life—from yourself—you could be happy. And I think you were for a while. But Tarasov was right to say that we’re cursed, the three of us. We don’t get happy endings.”

You lower the gun and take another few steps closer towards him, watching his expression as you feet creak on the damaged floor. He looks accepting of whatever you will say or do next.

“You said…almost.”

A brief, harsh smile contorts your face. “Yeah,” you acknowledge quietly, viciously, your grip on the gun creaking. “You failed. I made you fail. Santino lived. I don’t know…I don’t know for how long…or if he will ever—”

You can’t continue because it hurts too much.

Because you remember a haze of blood and Winston pulling you back. You sobbing that Santino is still warm, that he’s still breathing.

A bullet that had hit the side of his head, creating what had appeared like a river of gushing blood.

Missed shattering his skull by 2 millimetres. You saved him, (Name).

Winston’s hand on your shoulder, gripping, gripping, trying to tug you back and over the edge with his words.

“Critical care,” you spit out and press your lips together to stop yourself from cracking now. “They don’t—he might still not make it and even if he does…there is a high chance of permanent damage. It’s too early to say yet.”

John exhales, staring up at you in wonder. Maybe even relief. You don’t care enough to search deeper than that.

You simply don’t care. About any of this.

Taking another step towards him, you reach into your pocket, pulling out the ring that’s been with you for years. Your only reminder of him.

The man in question goes as still as death at the sight of it.

You can still remember his muted disappointment at the fact that you no longer wore it. He no doubt thought that you had gotten rid of it.

“I wonder what it says about me that I still have it,” you mutter with a bitter chuckle and droplets of rain cover the metal in moments. “I kept it with me for years. And when Santino asked me if the fact that I still have it means that I love you, I told him no. But that was a fucking lie. I convinced myself that I wanted to mend our relationship because of what happened to Marcus. So I would never have regrets but that was only half the truth. I just…missed you. A tiny part of me never stopped loving you. Despite everything,” you exhale weakly, pausing, and your expression hardens with your next words. “Until you pulled that trigger I would have still forgiven you. I still loved you. Even after all these years. Now…Now I don’t know what you are to me. Not anymore.”

John’s breathing has picked up, his chest moving up and down as he stares up at you. For once, his calm has fled and his dark eyes are desperate, wilder.

“(Name)—”

“You will never stop,” you state frankly, knowingly, your tone wooden. “You will destroy yourself, Jardani. This vengeance will consume you till the man Helen and I both loved is long gone. I don’t hate you. I pity you for that. I pity you.”

The ring in your hand stills. It hovers against your skin. This familiar warmth of metal you’ve clung to for years.

The rain falls harder, beating against your skin, a distant rumbling of thunder echoing in your bones.

The girl who had needed this blanket of safety and comfort is gone now.

You don’t need anchors to the past.

You just need Santino to live. You need Roberto to recover.

You just need yourself.

No one else.

Your hand tips to the side and gravity does the rest.

The ring sails through the rush of falling rain and drops at John’s feet and into the ruin surrounding you both soundlessly.

Like a stroke of the sharpest blade, it cleaves the past from the present.

“I will not kill you,” you tell him simply, but you’re not sure if John is listening. He’s staring at the ground, at the ring, and you can no longer see his face. “You will live and reap the consequences of your decisions. Maybe one day I can find a way to forgive you for this. I…I don’t know. But know that if you ever touch the people I love and care about again…” you give him a grim, empty smile. “You’re as good as dead to me.”

Silence.

You’re not quite sure how much time passes.

Eventually, the downpour eases up, a few minutes of tranquillity following that.

There’s a dull crack of someone stepping onto burned wood and your head slants to the side.

Charon stands still and silent in the ruined doorway of the living room. His face is solemn and like a messenger of death, he chills the space at least a few degrees.

Behind his glasses, his eyes glow with quiet, unspoken regret as he looks at John.

The High Table has been informed. This will…echo.

This, you know then, is about to go South in the worst way possible.

His stare is full of relief when it meets yours though, and you know that he was prepared to find a very different sight.

John dead. Or maybe you dead, or even both of you. Destroyed by the others’ hand.

Won’t that be ironic?

“Mr Wick,” Charon begins and John’s head rises slightly at the call, just barely. “You have been summoned, Sir.”

There is a breath of quiet and then Charon’s eyes transfer to you. Something about the look on his face makes you release a slow breath.

“As have you, Miss.”

The dog naps draped across you both, seemingly the only one enjoying the heavy hush hanging over the car.

John doesn’t speak. You don’t either.

Charon knows better than to even begin and untangle this mess of a situation. So he does what he’s always done, and that’s obey his orders without comment.

You stare out of the window, taking in the scenery of your city and wonder if you are still living in a world that has Santino in it. You have no way to contact anyone and his condition—

“You’re right,” John’s voice slices through your thoughts and you almost flinch, your fingers stilling against the dog’s ribs. “Everything you said back there. You were right. I love Helen but a part of me…a part of me never let you go either, (Name).”

You don’t reply.

He’s not expecting it either because he no doubt realises that his confession is ill-timed.

You imagine it’s less about forgiveness and more about…

You’re not sure what it’s about. Not anymore.

What’s done is done.

It will not change anything now.

Your fingers play with the chain around your neck as you continue staring out of the window.

The quiet stretches on and by the time the car crawls to a stop just outside of Bethesda Fountain, you know that Winston is waiting for you. The fountain is the man’s favourite spot at Central Park and both of you have taken walks here several times over the years. As have—

As have you and Santino.

Cockiness in his step and a sly smirk on his face.

You rip the door open, gasping for breath, and try to blink away the phantom of him beside you, offering the crook of his arm to you.

Walk with me, cara mia?

He’s not dead.

Yet, adds Kishi’s cold voice inside your head.

No, let him live. Let him live even if I—

“It has been a pleasure, Mr Wick,” Charon says politely, offering his hand to John as you round the car. The two men shake hands and you can see John’s hesitation, his attempt to read the situation. Charon stares at him for a beat before adding a quieter, “Goodbye.”

John’s head lowers in understanding and he moves in the direction Charon extends his arm towards, leaving you behind.

For a few moments, you stare at the man who has been a part of your life for years. Who has seen you at some of your best and worst.

“Miss Vipress.”

Charon’s voice sounds defeated, a touch sad, and behind his glasses, you see a glimmer of remorse.

“Take care of the old man for me, would you?” you request softly, taking a step closer when you notice John pause, realising you’re not following him. “The safe in my room. There are two letters inside. One for Winston and one for Santino—”

You work your jaw, trying to bite back your emotion and Charon’s neutral expression strains, too.

“The combination is 29091942.”

For the first time since you’ve met him all those years ago when you were nothing more than a young naive girl, lost and alone, you see Charon’s expression crack. Just slightly. Just enough.

He knows what those numbers mean.

Winston’s birthday.

“Would you—” your wet whisper breaks off and he nods his head promptly.

“Of course, Miss,” he tells you quietly and offers his hand to you, his eyes sad. “It has truly been an honour and a joy.”

You grasp it firmly, squeezing the gloved fingers before leaning forward and wrapping one arm around him too. Charon is rigid but doesn’t push you away.

“Thank you,” you breathe into his woollen coat, scratchy and comforting and him. He smells like the Continental. Like home and you soak in that scent one last time. “Take care of them for me. Please.”

“I will.”

You step back but he doesn’t let go of your hand, giving it another gentle squeeze before releasing your digits.

You both know this is goodbye.

There is no other reason as to why you would be summoned.

With one last look, you turn to go, straightening your spine into a rigid, unyielding line. Whatever it is, you will face it as always.

There she is, a sly voice hums in your ear. My sea on a stormy night, hm?

John is still waiting for you a respectful distance away, his eyes downcast, and you move past him without a word. The dog trails after you, his tail wagging and you hear John follow moments later.

Winston is waiting for you by the fountain, his head tilted towards the sky like his thoughts are miles away, and the muted glow of the setting sun paints him in a golden light.

You come to a stop before him as always and his eyes go to you first before John halts at your side, too.

Your stare is desperate, you know that, but something in your heart eases when Winston simply dips his head in a tiny nod of reassurance.

Still alive.

Oh, Santino.

You cling to that knowledge with every shred of your being.

The older man takes you and John in, all limbs attached, and his eyes flicker to you again. He doesn’t say anything but you can’t help but think that perhaps some minute part of him is proud. Maybe just a little bit. If you’re foolish enough to allow yourself such a pathetic thought.

“Johnathan. V.”

“Winston.”

John’s voice is weary, guarded. There is subtle tension coiling those limbs that tells you he’s expecting an open attack at any given moment. But if that were a case it would have happened by now. Something else is going on and Winston’s thoughtful hum as he stares at his old friend only confirms it.

“What am I looking at?” John asks eventually when Winston does nothing more than gaze at him blankly.

The older man bobs his leg up and down, still staring, but the look in those blue eyes is cutting. It surprises you a touch—the lack of pity you see there.

“Camorra has doubled Santino’s open contract. It’s gone international.”

14 million.

Your blood chills in your veins.

Gianna dead. Santino clinging onto threads of life.

It surprises you it’s not more. For Camorra, that kind of money is pocket change.

John exhales. “The High Table,” he assumes.

Winston hums again, nodding. He looks no less weary, then, and something tells you that the worst is yet to come.

“And the Continental?”

Your muscles lock. For one, sluggish second you see red. Almost go for him with your bare hands alone.

After what he did—

Winston’s head snaps up, and this time something old and merciless stares back at you both. “You shot a member of the High Table on company grounds, Jonathan,” he reminds him coldly, the corners of his mouth tilting downwards. “You leave me no choice but to declare you Excommunicado. The doors to any service or provider in connection with the Continental are now closed to you.”

No weapons. No medicine. No supplies.

Every helping hand cut off and your body effectively tossed to the very bowels of the pit that is the underground world ready to be devoured.

You’re not surprised that it takes John a few moments to digest something like that.

Your eyes lower and you smile.

A sad, accepting thing.

“I am so sorry,” Winston says with an exhale.

Your eyes lift and his stare is on you.

“Winston,” John growls under his breath. “She had nothing to do with this.”

The man before you blinks, sparing his old friend a brief look before he nods his head. “Oh, I am well aware of that. The High Table, however, does not see it that way.”

You look towards the lake, towards the sky, towards the trees.

“Santino lived because of (Name) interference,” John insists, his voice growing colder, harder. “She saved his life.”

Winston rises to his feet, his hands slipping into his pockets as he strolls closer. His steps are forceful though, and there is just a trace, a glint, of anger there as he stares at John flatly.

“Do you believe that I do not know that, Johnathan? The fact that Santino lives is the only reason why, unlike with you, there is no bounty on her head. Yet.”

“But—”

“There are no buts about this,” Winston cuts in, his calm words laced with ice. “The security footage from the museum was retrieved. Can you guess what it showed? V saving your life time and time again. The High Table believes that she should have shot you in the head the first chance she got and been done with it. Her inaction with Tarasov and subsequent saving of your life when you came after Santino—one of their own—has been deemed treasonous.”

John is quiet after that; a rolling, barely contained storm.

You’re still staring at the trees, silent.

In the far distance, kids screech happily as they chase pigeons.

You wonder if any of them belong to the Bowery King.

Winston steps closer and you meet his stare calmly, expectant. “I told you this would happen, my dear. I did warn you,” he remarks unhappily but his words lack accusation. They’re just…sad. “You can’t expect to walk this line between both sides forever and come away unscathed every time.”

Luck runs out. Consequences follow.

His words from your last summoning right after Tarasov’s death.

You should have known that it’s only a matter of time before they came back to haunt you.

“Keep him safe.”

It’s the only request you can think of.

The only one that matters right now.

Because the list of people that would rather see Santino D’Antonio dead is a long one.

Winston’s mouth thins into a hard line but he dips his head in agreement, his gaze solemn, and the relief that follows that is immense. He will keep his promise. Even if he doesn’t like the Italian. You would trust no one else with it.

“I’m sorry but both of your lives are now forfeited.”

There is regret there. Genuine and plain to hear and see.

The older man looks like he rather be doing anything but standing here with you and delivering this news.

“Then why are we not dead?” John wonders carefully, his words low.

Winston’s head tilts, almost insulted, and that ruthless man you have come to respect and rely on and even love over the years stares at John like he has said something incredibly funny.

“Because I deemed it not to be,” he replies bluntly, his head turning to nod at someone behind John.

You hear a faint command of “now” and every person in the Bethesda Fountain Square simply stops.

They turn to face you as one, and your eyes track over the crowd, taking in all the faces surrounding you.

Winston’s eyebrows arch, amused, and you think that on any other day you might have been both amazed and terrified by such a casual display of power. Of influence.

Winston is the beating iron heart of New York City.

He nods once, and every person in your line of sight turns around and walks away.

Dozens of people. Gone.

Just like that.

The older man pulls back his sleeve, checking his watch before calmly informing you, “You have one hour. Couldn’t delay it any longer.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out an all too familiar object and offers it to John. “You might need this. Down the road.”

A Marker.

Your jaw clenches subtly.

Another trap for someone.

Those wise blue eyes move towards you, and you force back a scornful smile. “Let me guess? Locked down?”

Winston sighs and slants his head in agreement. “Yes, any and all of your arsenal located at the Continental is hereby locked down and no longer accessible to you,” he informs you coolly. “They have forbidden anyone from so much as touching it. Everything is now under the Table’s jurisdiction.”

Your lips pull back but it’s not a smile. “Good luck to them,” you mutter tightly. “They will never get their hands on my work.”

You had made sure of it.

His lips twitch slightly, a gleam in his eyes. “But of course not,” he agrees easily, knowingly. “However, this was in my personal possession and as such I see no reason as to why the Table’s restriction rule should apply to it.”

A tiny box rests in his palm, even smaller than the Marker he offered John moments prior.

You know that dark gleaming surface well.

Your breath hitches, your wide-eyed stare flying up to his. “Is that…”

“Mhm.”

He offers it to you and you reach for it, having to draw a few deep breaths to keep your voice steady. “Thank you, Winston.”

A possible lifeline down the road. And a personal risk if anyone ever finds out he gave it to you.

His weathered, warm fingers linger against yours for a beat. “You know what you have to do,” he tells you pointedly, sternly.

You will always make the same mistakes. You will always lose.

Yes, you do know.

You’ve always known.

Fight, Winston’s expression tells you and you straighten, your fingers clenching around the tiny box. Make me proud.

I will.

His mouth twitches again.

“I do.”

Here at the most critical time in your life—and even with the lingering, awful dread churning in your gut about Santino—you feel calm.

You feel the calmest you’ve ever been.

Santino will live and I will succeed.

You repeat it in your head. Over and over. In the beat with your usual counting.

Those words will be forged into reality and you don’t care who you have to go through to make it happen.

The significance of your exchange with Winston might have escaped John, but that doesn’t stop his next, icy words. “Winston, tell them, tell them all,” he starts and for the first time since his house, your look towards him. It isn’t John speaking, not right now. “Whoever comes, whoever it is, we’ll kill them all.”

We.

Before you can interject, Winston speaks with a faint smile, his previous coldness easing a touch. “Of course you will.”

For several moments, you all stand unmoving but you know you can’t delay any longer.

“Johnathan.”

“Winston.”

The man glances at you, a furrow between his brows accenting the deep lines of his face. “It’s a goodbye, my dear.”

You don’t so much as blink. “For now,” you note coolly.

“Coffee and brandy are 7pm sharp every night,” he remarks casually, seemingly pleased at the steel in your voice, and his hands slip into his coat pockets. “I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

You read his words for what they are.

I’ll be waiting for you back home.

Nodding your head once, you turn to go. You don’t look back, either. It would hurt too much. There is always a chance—

No, no chances. Not this time.

With every step, you repeat your new mantra in your head. Form a new plan.

Continental first. Not for weapons. But because you need—

“(Name).”

“Make it quick, John.”

His fingers brush over your hand and you pull back, halting on top of the stairs. He stands a few steps below and dog joins you at the top.

“We should stick together,” he tells you urgently, his voice soft, cautious. “If there are people out there who are after you then they will use this opportunity.”

“Let them.”

Let Lucien come. He wanted you over the edge.

Right now, you feel ready to rip his spine out with your bare hands.

Lucien. The pale-haired monster who robbed you of the precious hours that could have averted this entire mess in the first place.

He might not have pulled the trigger but he took from you the only chance of fixing this peacefully.

His name has joined the list of those who will be dead soon enough.

He wanted a dance. You will give him a hurricane.

“In an hour we’ll be hunted by at least half of this city.”

Your eyes sweep over the park before they drag back to him and your brief smile is cold. “No, John,” you disagree mildly and watch him blink. “What will happen is that you will be hunted by 90% of them because they’re money hungry and 14 million is a pretty price to pay for someone’s head. People will come for me, too, but they will be so eager to get to you first that I will be long gone from this city by then. Buy me at least an hour, would you?”

You turn to go but he grips your wrist and you tense, rotating your body back in his direction.

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“(Name), please.”

Your eyes narrow and you tug your wrist back. “I don’t owe you anything, John. Good luck. And I mean that, but you’re on your own.”

It’s started raining again.

The harsh, cold liquid slides down your arms and clothes as you dash up the staircase of the Continental.

The doorman pauses when he sees you, inclining his head in polite greeting. You only spare him a brief smile before dashing inside. Ignoring the wet squelch of your shoes against the gleaming floor, you go straight for the elevator, not needing to look towards the reception to know that Charon is not back yet.

Your eyes track over the people in the lobby, watching for any threats. Even with 35min still on the clock, you’re not about to take chances.

Wiping the water from your face, your partially numb fingers press on the floor one level below the basement. The basement floor only Charon and Winston have access to. The vaults. But you know better than to tempt fate. You’re not here for your solutions or poison.

The door pings open and you pull the door to the side, pushing ahead as quickly as possible.

Continental’s medical floor is eerily still. Most visitors receive care in their own rooms. This floor is for emergencies only. For worst of the worst.

Hurrying along the hall, you stumble to stop at the sight of a lithe frame of a woman sitting alone on a bench ahead. Her tattooed fingers rest on her other heavily bandaged hand and you exhale slowly, approaching cautiously.

Ares looks up, her expression pinched. She doesn’t look surprised to see you.

The clinical, dim light makes her face look more gaunt and the usually fierce glow in her blue eyes is dimmed too.

She rises slowly and you can see the difficulty in the action.

Your paralyser, as always, has done its job well.

“Ares—”

It’s slow and clumsy and you see it coming but don’t try to dodge.

Her punch connects with your lower jaw and your head snaps to the side, the impact rattling your teeth.

You steady yourself with a wince, your fingers rising to nurse your tender skin and meet her raging eyes with a single, understanding nod.

“Yeah, I deserved that,” you mutter tiredly, wiping at your still damp skin. Your eyes lower for a second with a shaky swallow. “Can I see him?”

It’s a faint question, brimming with uncertainty.

For several minutes she only glowers at you, unmoving.

You’re about to plead with her that you have to see him but her hands lift before you can open your mouth again.

Alive. For now, she signs and her movements are more sluggish than usual. But no one is allowed to see him. Still in operation.

Swallowing, you glance towards the floor.

Few droplets of water have fallen to the floor from your dripping clothes.

“And the blood?”

They had enough.

The puncture wound in the crook of your arm twinges at those words.

An emergency transfusion had been a priority after the doctors just barely managed to stop the bleeding.

Noting the still furious twist of her features, you let your eyes flutter shut in defeat.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe quietly. “But what was I suppose to do?”

Ares doesn’t hesitate.

Shoot him in the face.

Your jaw clenches and you shake your head. “You know I couldn’t do that.”

And my friend and boss might die because you could not, is her angry reply and your throat closes up. I thought you cared about him more than that.

“I do care for him. I—” you shoot back immediately but your words twist around your tongue, halting you. “You have no idea just how much I care about him,” you add quietly, your voice thin, and something about the hard set of her features eases a smidge at that.

“I guess the punishment fits the crime,” you continue with a sardonic twist of your lips. Your eyes meet hers and the confusion you see on her face, in turn, confuses you. “I’m being made Excommunicado, Ares. I have 35 minutes before it goes live,” you explain slowly, your voice pinching with pain.

She blinks, her lips parting slightly.

The morose curve of your lips stretches. She knows full well what this means.

That’s why you move closer towards her even as your jaw still aches from her earlier punch. Reaching deep behind the layers of your clothing, you pull out an ordinary looking flip phone, holding it out to her.

“So please. I know you’re angry at me. I know, but—” you plead for her and tighten your grip on the burner phone. “I need to know. Whatever happens to him I—please, Ares. Please.”

After everything that’s just happened, she doesn’t have to do anything you’ve asked of her. She doesn’t owe you anything.

But her hand grasps yours, tightening her thin but worn fingers around your own. Your shoulders sag in relief as she pulls the phone from your hand and slips it into her pocket with a single, reluctant nod.

She still looks angry but—

“Thank you,” you whisper with a wobbly smile and focus on her bandaged hand. “Your hand?”

Roberto, you know, is recovering already.

She doesn’t get to answer though.

Because before she can do so, a door opens from behind you, and a group of purposeful footsteps approaches.

At least four pairs.

“Well, well, look who it is.”

Your expression slackens.

Ares doesn’t react fast enough.

Hector reacts just fast enough.

You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline or that humming dark or desperation or just anger and poor timing on his part, but you slam the man twice your size against the wall with a strength that causes a bang to rip through the empty hallway.

“Where were you?” you snarl, furious and low, your blade against the curve of his throat as you other tangles in his silky, dark suit. “Where the fuck were you?”

“Careful, sweetheart,” Hector warns softly, his mouth twitching into a sneer, but something glints in those icy eyes for a brief second. Surprise. “I’ll give you one free pass given the circumstances but there won’t be a second.”

Bodies surround you, but you ignore them, still glaring at the man before you.

“V, stop!”

“Oh, let her beat his ass, Julian,” another familiar voice drawls, unconcerned, his voice full of amusement. “I’ve been waiting for a rematch for years.”

A frustrated sigh. “Shut up, Step, you’re not helping.”

Another tall figure comes to a stop beside you—one that towers even over Hector but neither of you looks away from the other. “Let’s cool it, everyone,” that deep rumble of a voice tries to ease the tension. Dario. If Julian fails to mediate, then the burden falls onto him. Some things truly never change. “Come now, bella. Ease it up. V.”

You ignore Ares. You ignore the other members of the Four who are watching you and Hector with clear worry.

“Where were you?” you wonder with a quiet exhale, your fury palpable.

Hector scowls at you and leans into your blade. The metal kisses those mighty wings but there is no fear in his eyes and your expression warps with rage. “Did you hit your head?” he mocks, annoyed. His grip on your hands constricts, his rings scoring your skin. “I was covering your slow ass and taking on a small army so you could get to Santino quicker but oopsie, am I right?”

You drop your hands away from him with disgust, breathing heavily and Hector rolls his eyes, fixing the cuffs of his suit with a bored expression.

“You failed him,” you whisper, choked, your voice soft with vicious sort of accusation. “You failed Camorra.”

The lowest insult you can offer him. His loyalty to Camorra is absolute. He may not follow the individual but this harms the entire family.

It goes so quiet at your words that you could hear a pin drop. Even Step’s not so subtle snickering ceases. Like they can all appreciate that this situation may take a turn for worse very quickly.

The last time you two fought, there was blood spilt.

This time, you imagine it might come down to more than just blood.

Hector straightens, his sharp features stony. “I know.”

But it’s not enough.

And you can’t stop the avalanche now that it’s been unleashed.

“He needed you to be there for him and where were you?” you continue on, spitting out every word out like a curse, an anathema. “You should have been faster getting to the gallery. You should have been better.”

Hector peers at you, unblinking.

“Are we still talking about me?”

You leap at him but this time he’s ready for you and catches you in his grip, his back hitting the wall again, quieter this time.

Julian and Dario are there at once, their hands trying to drive you apart but a cool, calm command freezes you all.

“Enough.”

Charon.

Others look towards the man at the other end of the hallway but you and Hector are unmoving, still glaring at each other. You’re practically shaking with fury.

He’s right.

Your words were directed more at yourself than they were ever directed at him.

And yet.

“This doesn’t concern you, butler,” Hector calls out coolly, his quicksilver stare drilling into you and his grip on you doesn’t loosen. Smart man. “This is a Camorra matter.”

“Miss Vipress is not, however, Camorra.”

The unspoken Get your hands off her is clear to anyone with any semblance of common sense.

Hector relaxes against the wall, his head tilting as he waits.

“If you’re done with your hissy fit, sweetheart,” he speaks gruffly after another tense few seconds and clicks his tongue. “We need to talk. In private.”

All eyes are on you.

Hector only blinks, bored.

You release your grip abruptly, your fingers flexing, and Ares practically materialises by your side while Dario partially places himself between you and the Camorra Devil.

Your eyes slide towards Charon who stands with his hands clasped behind him. He’s still clad in his coat and scarf from earlier, indicating that he’s just returned. Winston is nowhere to be seen. You incline your head in a silent thanks and cut a brief look at the Camorra Elite.

All four are rigged out in their typical dark suits. The deep burgundy you have also seen them wear is for Camorra’s special occasions only. Like births, deaths and coronations.

You suddenly recall that Julian and Dario never wore the typical Camorra wine red on Gianna’s coronation and your curiosity peaks. Except, of course, you have no time for a catch up with them now. No matter how welcomed the distraction would be.

“Fine,” you mutter, your muscles still taut. “Hurry it up.”

Hector brushes past Dario and the Four part for him, following his lead effortlessly. They move like a well-oiled machine. Dario shares a brief look with Julian, and the shorter man looks like he’s forcing back a sigh, his dark moustache twitching.

Hector wrenches the first door in the hallway open, slanting his head in your direction impatiently.

Ares, Dario and Julian walk in first; all of them varying degrees of uneasy.

Step moves to follow, too, but Hector raises his hand, stopping him halfway.

“Not you.”

Step with his thin, wiry frame and pale face looks like a kid picking a fight with a bull. Even though he’s the youngest from the guard, that makes him no less dangerous. You can’t quite see his eyes behind those customary round sunglasses he usually wears everywhere but you can see the irritated strain on his face.

“You’re joking.”

His voice is low and stark with bitter disbelief but Hector doesn’t so much as twitch.

“No,” Hector deadpans without missing a beat. “Guard the hallway. We don’t need ears.”

For a second, those pale eyes jump over your shoulder where Charon no doubt lingers.

“Fine,” Step forces out, forcefully cheerful and his head tips in your direction, his grin bright. His tattoos stretch across his neck and he wiggles his fingers at you, his own Camorra rings gleaming in the artificial light. “Would thy fair lady like anything from the vending machine? My treat.”

Your eyes go to Hector for a second.

“Skittles.”

Step grins even wider, if possible. “Only if you let me eat the yellow ones.”

You almost smile, then. If all this wasn’t going on, if Santino wasn’t clinging to life and you weren’t about to become one of the most wanted individuals in the world, you might have.

“Sure,” you agree before adding a deliberate, “I reckon I owe you after the last time.”

Hector’s eyes narrow at that, becoming two slits, and Step’s strained grin transforms into something slyer, more biting.

He always enjoys having something over Hector’s head.

He pushes the glasses up his nose and gives you a staged nod. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and he gives Hector another stare before wandering off without a backwards glance.

The leader of the Elite’s gestures for you to get into the room and you push past him.

Julian is signing something to Ares when you enter, and Dario stands beside them, his hands burrowed deep into his suit pockets. His long hair is pulled back into a high bun as always and loose strands brush against his beard when he turns towards you.

Beneath their pitch-black jackets, you can just make out the gleam of their weapons.

They’re armed to the teeth.

Good.

The other two turn to you when you enter the room and you try for a smile, no matter how forced.

“It’s good to see you both,” you tell them and mean it and both men smile, too. Your attention swings back to Hector, however, just as the Devil closes the door behind him, sealing you all inside. “But whatever it is that you want from me make it quick.”

A subtle threat.

The man doesn’t outwardly react, simply lifting his arm.

“Catch.”

Your hand snaps out, your actions instinct alone, and grab the tiny object that sails through the air towards you.

It’s small and cool to the touch.

Your fingers loosen from a fist, blinking in confusion and something in your gut hardens at the realisation of what exactly you’re looking at.

“They—” your voice cracks and you pause, forcing calm back into your demeanour as you turn your attention to Hector who only stares at you emotionless. “They will not follow me. I’m an outsider. Half of them don’t even like me.”

The ring of Camorra sits in your outstretched palm.

The ring only the Head of Camorra is permitted to wear.

Or, in this case, the Acting Boss appointed prior.

Your stomach churns.

You have seen this ring on Giovanni’s hand many times. The golden metal that gleams like new even though you know it’s been in the D’Antonio family for generations. The blood-red ruby the size of your thumb nail glimmers in the light and you stare at it in disbelief. You can’t even begin to imagine this ring’s worth.

“You’re right,” Hector retorts blankly, unfeeling, and crosses his arms over his chest. A ripple of his muscles teases the deadly strength there. In dimmer light, his pale eyes seem to almost glow with wry mirth as he addresses you. “Frankly, they rather shoot you dead than follow you. But there are still those who value what that ring represents. That believe the order and the command that comes with it. Those who answer to that ring will obey. Princeling at least had enough foresight to prepare for the worst case scenario. Little Saint has made you his heir, sweetheart. And until he either dies or revokes the title himself, it’s binding.”

Binding because it came from Hector himself and no one would ever question his loyalty or integrity towards Camorra.

Santino has outmanoeuvred everyone by giving away his symbol of power. The very ring he’s been desperate to wear since he was a little boy.

A safety net in case he dies.

The realisation makes your heart hurt.

The families of Camorra will not obey you because, to them, you are nothing. You have not been sworn in, do not answer to their laws and their authority. But they cannot harm you either. And anyone who does, Camorra or not, risk invoking the wrath of the entire family if they do.

But above all that—

Those who answer to that ring will obey.

Your head turns towards the other two Elites’ and Ares. They’re already looking at you and not one of them looks surprised by this turn of events. Either they already knew beforehand or know Santino well enough to not put a gamble like that past him.

Almost in sync, the three of them bow their heads.

A show of respect. An unspoken promise that what you command, they will do.

A shuddering breath rushes out of your lungs that has nothing to do with your damp hair or clothes.

Clenching your jaw, your eyes drag towards Hector who hasn’t moved from his spot by the door.

He doesn’t budge, his arms still crossed over his chest, stretching the seams of his suit.

The Devil of Camorra does not bow his head to you.

He bows to no one.

The only man he’s ever respected enough for such a gesture is rotting six feet under the dirt and his ring is now in your hands. You don’t think there will ever be another individual alive that Hector will ever respect enough to bow his head to them. Oh, if only Giovanni had known years ago that one day you will be bestowed the most valuable heirloom in his family’s possession.

You imagine he would have killed you on the spot.

He laughed, and he said, ‘He is more like me than I realised. He would let this whole world burn to ash, as long as she’s the one standing beside him in the flames.’

Gianna’s words echo at the back of your mind, and a part of you wonders if perhaps Giovanni always did know. If perhaps he always suspected that due to whatever circumstances you might reach this moment in time one day.

You think about your brief conversation on that snowy balcony at Prague and know that you’re right.

“Stay here,” you tell the trio on the other side of the room. Your words sound far away, distant, but strong too. Focused. “No one who isn’t us or the doctor comes near him, understood?”

Your stare drifts to the far off wall in a daze, and you know that somewhere in this building, Santino is out there fighting.

As will you.

Nodding your head at them, you turn to go.

Hector’s arms loosen across his chest and he steps after you when you move in the direction of the door.

You halt at once, your head snapping to face him.

“What are you doing?”

A slow, lazy roll of his eyes as he fishes for a cigarette.

“Coming with you. Were you not listening? I go where that ring goes,” he informs you dully, and lights a cigarette with expert ease. He takes a deep drag, savouring it, and frowns at you, the deep curve of his eyebrows pinching together. “Drop the fucking scowl, sweetheart. I know you think that just because you’re in New York and your connections here run deep, you’re untouchable or some shit but you’re wrong.”

Smoke rolls from between his lips as he talks and your scowl only deepens. In return, he looks amused at best. “In twenty minutes half the scum of this city will come for you just to prove a point,” he reminds you, tapping the glass of his expensive watch, and the bird tattoo on the back of his hand flutters like your slipping time. “Don’t let your over-inflated sense of self-importance cloud your common sense.”

Your turn towards him fully, your chin tilting.

“You will stay here,” you tell him calmly, ignoring the way his eyes narrow and every strong muscle in his body quivers as if in anticipation. “And you will guard him with your life.”

You think you hear Julian curse under this breath. Dario takes a step towards you both.

“Are you ordering me?”

A dark, silky snarl of a question.

Your expression is as rigid as your body. Your fingers around the Camorra ring tighten. “I’m asking you. And I only do that once out of respect.”

A glint of something in his eyes that’s gone too quickly for you to examine.

He retreats and it feels like missing disaster by a breath.

The cigarette returns to his mouth and he grins around it. It’s a callous, mocking thing.

“Fine. Enjoy being hunted, sweetheart.”

You stare at him for a beat, too aware of your time constraint.

Camorra ring rolls in your damp palm again. Grasping it, you drag the heavy metal onto the middle finger of your left hand. Your fist clenches, the skin under your knuckles straining. The ring glimmers in the light, filling your veins with…purpose.

I will see you again, Santino.

Inclining your head in an equally disdainful manner, you only offer the man before you an aloof, “Blood for blood.”

Camorra’s words.

D’Antonio family words.

This time Hector’s version of a smile reveals teeth, almost pleased.

“Blood for blood.”

Streets blur around you.

Stumbling through the rain and the puddles drowning the New York streets, you count every breath you take, focusing on both not exerting too much energy but also your surroundings.

Everyone is an enemy.

In 7 minutes that will become a painful reality.

No one has tried anything yet. But you have seen and felt far too many eyes on you already. Many are no doubt weighing the risks. There is no reward for killing you, and most know the danger that shadows your every step.

You don’t need to touch them to kill them.

Ducking into a narrow alleyway, you slam your body weight against the sturdy metal door. Your fists follow, slamming against the door over and over again.

“Doc! Let me in! It’s me!” you shout over the pour of rain and slam your fist against the metal a few more times. “Doc!”

The door swings open suddenly and you brace yourself against the door frame.

Doc’s frantic stare meets yours and all he forces out is a shaky, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Bowing your head in respect, you push past him. “Yeah, I know,” you mutter under your breath, working on steadying your breathing. “I just need a few things. I still have time so—”

Your words die on your tongue and you halt, your eyes narrowing.

John sits on the patient chair, his white shirt undone and a lamp shining over his bloodied shoulder.

Fresh blood.

He grips a gun in his hand but doesn’t raise it in your direction.

You hate the fact that he looks relieved—happy, even—to see you.

Blinking, you swipe your forearm over your face and move towards the shelves. Doc rushes back towards John and you glance at the clock on the wall.

4 minutes.

“What happened?” you question coldly and start opening different drawers and pulling ingredients apart.

“Ernest.”

“Funny guy but always lacked common sense,” you drone without looking at him and rip another drawer open, rummaging through the content inside. “Did you know that he tried to ask me out on a date once?”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

3 minutes.

Grabbing a familiar-looking vial, you give it a shake, lifting it to the light before you unscrew the top and drown the liquid inside.

The taste is bitter and numbs your tongue a little. You allow your face to scrunch up in disgust and shake your head harshly.

“I’m going to pay you back, Doc,” you wheeze, continuing your frantic search.

The older man huffs and you hear the fatigue there. “Just try and not make a mess.”

A few beats of quiet follow aside from your hurried rooting around Doc’s supply closet.

“Where is it, Doc?”

“Indonesian Green Erla—”

“I’ve found the plant,” you cut him off, glancing at the clock on the wall again. “Where is it?”

2 minutes.

Doc works with nimble, experienced fingers but he’s meticulous and his focus remains on John’s wound. The man in question looks bewildered by your exchange but doesn’t interject.

“Doc—”

“You gave it to me because you told me that you were afraid of what it can do—”

“Where is it?”

You have never dared to take that tone with him. Because you like him and respect him too much. But your frayed temper strains and the coldness in your voice stills both Doc and John.

“Doc, I need it.”

The clock keeps ticking.

Your head snaps towards the wall for the hundredth time.

1 minute.

“Floorboards. Under the table by the wall.”

You rush towards it, pushing the table aside roughly, and ignore the clatter of glass as vials and medical supplies fall.

Slipping free a blade, you wedge it between floorboards, trying to rip it open.

John is urging the Doc to hurry but you focus only on your task.

“Five.”

John counts and your breathing kicks up a notch.

The wood creaks, finally coming loose and you rip it away, dropping it unceremoniously beside you.

“Four.”

You pull different boxes and packages apart. You know what you’re looking for.

“Three.”

Your eyes snag onto a tiny box and you grab it. It’s a twin—the same dark, smooth material that fits into your palm—to another tiny box already sitting in your pocket courtesy of Winston.

“Two.”

Your two deadliest creations. One created out of hate and malice and another out of hope for a better future.

One finished. One incomplete.

“One.”

Your gaze snaps to John’s just as the clock above head strikes 6pm.

Time’s up.

. . .

an: And so everyones’ favourite Italian lives. For now. :) also the man really said “fuck tradition, I do what I want” and we love to see it!!!

Fun fact, I was planning to do Chicago (finally) right after C13 but since Chicago will be a 2 parter, I imagined that waiting for six weeks to know if Santino lives might not have been that much fun for you lot lol.

Also a few people really worried about Team John after C13 and were like “Team J is ded” and actually as you can see from the events of this chapter the exact opposite is true. Now, you may be reading this and be like “how is this positive for them?” but this had to happen. V needed to realise that she still clung to John and loved him but it wasn’t the right kind of love. A love for a man gone, a spectre, a dream. Her dropping the ring represents her letting go of the past and starting completely fresh. Their mend after Marcus was just a prelude oppose to actual break. This is the break. All these years, V has blamed herself for John leaving by assuming that she wasn’t good enough or that John loved Helen more. Neither is true. The choice was always between who John was and who he wanted to be. He loved both V and Helen the same and it really could have gone either way. Now, at this juncture, they can start again on the same page. Now, this is not to say he’s magically forgiven for all the shit he did. He isn’t. A lot still hinges on Santino and how he will get on in the upcoming chapters. But a lot of you were like “um kat wtf?” and I hope this chapter proves that I do things for a reason and that this build up has been coming for a while now.

There’s been a lot of things set up that are yet to be revealed.

As always, all my love to all of you for your support and encouraging comments <33 and love for my dumb OCs, too! Love you guys and hope you’re all staying safe!

#john wick #john wick x reader #santino d'antonio #santino d'antonio x reader #john wick imagine #john wick fic #john wick fanfic #riccardo scamarcio #keanu reeves #fanfic #fic: children of ares

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crusherthedoctor · 5 years ago

Text

Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite? - Part 14: SCOURGE

............

......Huh?

Oh, hello there! My name's Lutrudis, pleased to meet you. Judging from that look of surprise on your face however, it's evident that you weren't looking for ME per say... What's that? You want to know what this is? Right, of course, my apologies.

Well, this is a mini-series belonging to... ahem, my creator, in which he goes into slightly more detail about his thoughts on the villains in Sonic's history, and why he thinks they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). Usually he gives his stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves in the game(s) they featured in. He also stresses that these are just his own personal thoughts, and that whether you agree or disagree, you're free to share your own thoughts and opinions.

Unfortunately, as you may have gathered, it seems he's a bit occupied for today, and is thus unable to do a review... is what I WOULD be saying if he didn't let me cover for him! That's right boys and girls, I'll be filling in for him today, by doing a little review of my own! Please forgive me if I prattle on for extended periods, but I sincerely hope my efforts in assessing the Wrong'un of the Week are of the utmost quality. Truth be told, it's kind of nerve-wracking, but I'm happy to give it my all for you guys. ❤️

So then, let's carry on with the show, shall we? Welcome to a new edition of Sweet or... Sour. Welcome to Sweet or Sour. Yes indeed, heh heh... (Is the creator's language normally this gratuitous? I hope Cream hasn't seen his posts...)

Anyhow, for today's review... well, this is quite interesting. Normally the creator prefers to keep his reviews focused on game-centric villains, but I guess he made an exception with this one. Today, we'll be directing our attention to a notorious copycat of our blue hero in the Archie continuity, and legendary connoisseur of 70's fashion: Scourge the Hedgehog.

The Gist: Once upon a time, in the land of comics, there was a world known by all as Mobius. But there was also a parallel dimension called Anti-Mobius, or as it would later become known as, Moebius... one E makes all the difference, apparently. Anyway, in this dimension, everyone and everything that existed in Mobius had an identical equivalent in Anti-Mobius, but things operated a bit differently, in the sense that they were largely the opposite of what we were familiar with.

Putting aside the rather disturbing implication that this world might not have had any real will or independence if it existed purely to do the opposite of what Mobius did, this meant that it had a Sonic the Hedgehog of its very own, as well as a father to that Sonic. Sadly though, this Sonic's father was not that kind to him. In fact, he was said to be a rather poor excuse for a father, as evidenced by how he didn't give his son enough attention, and... oh, that's it.

How awful.

I'd say his choice of attire is the real crime presented here.

Anti-Mobius in its original form experienced a period of Great Peace, but alas, it was not to last. It soon became a shadow of its former glory, which seemed prophetic in hindsight, as it was by this time that this world's Sonic the Hedgehog - Evil Sonic - murdered his own father in cold blood, and then threw his world's incarnation of King Maximilian Acorn into the Zone of Silence. He quickly became a dictator to the people of Anti-Mobius, with his only immediate opposition coming in the form of the kindhearted counterpart to Dr. Ivo Robotnik... or should that be Dr. Julian Robotnik, in this continuity...? Hmm, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore...

Naturally, the laws of the universe saw fit to correct this wrong. Just as water is wet, and fire is hot, Sonic gives evildoers a right kicking. And lo and behold, our magnificent hero did eventually meet his evil duplicate. The two were evenly matched in speed, but the good-natured Sonic triumphed regardless, possibly because he had more wittiness on his person.

Pictured: Quality banter.

Evil Sonic later brought along the rest of his gang to aid him, who predictably mirrored Sonic's own band of Freedom Fighters. They were just as much of a match for our heroes, which is a polite way of saying they weren't. You really shouldn't expect anything exquisite when they looked like this.

Maybe you should call your group something else then...

These parlor games went on for a while, with the status quo never truly changing. But then, after one final showdown with Sonic, the evil Robotnik of Mobius kicked the bucket, which among other things, inspired ANOTHER Robotnik to fill the void. This Robo-Robotnik took Evil Sonic along with him to commit many acts of dastardly intent, an act of generosity that proved to be tragically undermined by Evil Sonic getting caught and trapped by different people time and time again, to the point where even his old gang had long replaced him with a new leader. He did go on to escape the grasp of one Zonic the Zone Cop... only to later get arrested again by the same guy. So far, so adorably incompetent, right?

Still, he did bust out once more, and he proceeded to turn the overall universe into a glorified soap drama by pulling the moves on numerous ladies in Mobius, which in true Evil Sonic style, achieved precisely nothing of merit. Even after he briefly teamed up with Rouge the Bat, his luck persisted in not manifesting. But things were about to get even worse... for us. On a meta level, if you know what I mean.

After one final botched attempt at pointless thievery, with the Master Emerald being the prime target in this particular case, Evil Sonic's attempt to gain himself a super form was halted midway with great force by none other than Locke, the notorious father and attempted microwave murderer of Knuckles the Echidna. Rather than kill him however, all this did was change his fur to green, and leave him with some hardcore scars.

He promptly renamed himself Scourge. Because he's a real SCOURGE to good ideas, har har.

New kid in town, do not steal.

With his first act of villainy as a new man tattering to pieces due to foolishly invoking the wrath of Shadow the Hedgehog, he soon crossed paths with Dr. Finitevus, an albino echidna who otherwise looked exactly like Knuckles (good heavens, how many of these can one muster?), and spent some time on his side by aiding a new gang of lovely gentlemen called the Destructix. Together, these functioning psychopaths committed more mindless evil.

He also managed to swoon over Fiona Fox to his side, a miraculous modicum of success considering you need some sort of charm to be able to do that, of which Scourge has shown nil. I'm hardly an expert on dishing out romantic advice, but I'm willing to bet there's plenty of superior fish in the sea, Fiona...

How about “Oh my god, did I seriously die to THESE losers?”

Eventually, Scourge and Fiona broke away from Finitevus' allegiance after the deadly and boring Enerjak was unleashed on Mobius. He returned to Anti-Mobius, and it turned out that any repairs made since the last time he was king didn't amount to anything substantial, because he went and conquered the entire land all over again. Rechristening his old gang as the Suppression Squad, he continued Being Evil™ some more, until the aforementioned Suppression Squad betrayed him for constantly being abhorrent to them, which led to him being stuck with Rosy the Rascal for a while, yet another shameful derivative of a close friend.

In his last days, at long last, he finally achieved a super form with the power of an Anarchy Beryl... only to get soundly thrashed once again, get thrown in prison, and then just when it seemed he'd be back in business, he got wiped out by the Genesis Wave. Tch, Mondays, am I right?

As you can tell from my words alone, let alone in an extremely abridged format, he did a fair amount over the years... and yet at the same time, when you really think about it, he ultimately did so very little.

Oh, and there was also a Metal Scourge at one point. I'm aware that the man who made him has never been all there in the head, but I still find myself questioning why he saw fit to go through with this nonsense.

I shouldn't need to say this, but that's a disgrace to the hostile Eggman robot that I know and detest.

The Design: Well, he started off as a Sonic, so it's to be expected that he'd look exactly like the lovable goof. Since this was ~Evil~ Sonic though, he was determined to remind us at all times that Grease was in fact the word.

~You're the one I don't want, you're not the one for, no-ho-ho, honey~

Then he turned green, and... yeah, he turned green. All I can say, really.

Please excuse me, I'm utterly beside myself with amazement.

It doesn't quite strike the imaginative chords, needless to say. And neither does his super state, which... I'm sorry, it's not normally my cup of tea to chide others for their appearance, but just look at this tripe for a moment.

No, I don't think I will.

When you combine his already ridiculous self with black eyes and a tiara... what exactly is the intent here? Am I supposed to be intimidated by this display?

Keep this between us if you can, but personally, I'm more intimidated by staircases than I am by this fiend.

The Personality: You would think that since a Sonic is a Sonic, Scourge would share a lot of his personality with our Sonic. And that is true... in the most superficial sense possible.

Sure, he's jovial, cocky, and prone to moments of overconfidence, which is enough to sound very familiar to us on paper. Beyond that however, that's all they really have in common beside their appearance. In every other category, you could argue that Scourge is the exact opposite of Sonic.

For instance, whereas Sonic is supremely loyal to his friends (trust me, I’m grateful to know!), Scourge treats his gang like fetid garbage, and that's when he's not outright abandoning them, neglecting them, and putting them in danger. Likewise, whereas Sonic is a blue bundle of bravery no matter the odds, Scourge is a poor little chicken when the going gets tough, despite all his ramblings about being Sonic's full potential.

This means that for all the acclaim he receives as Sonic's evil doppelganger... he shares very few similarities with who he's replicating. He's barely any different from all the other ruffians that Sonic faces, so what point is there to him being a Sonic at all? If he had a different name and design entirely, what would honestly be lost in translation?

But then, maybe he would just become Mephiles the Dark instead.

Or Mimic the Octopus instead.

Or Eggman Nega instead.

Or Ken Penders instead.

Or... sheesh, they all kind of blend together after a while, don’t they?

The Execution: If my general tone has thus far not been enough of an obvious indication, I do not rank Scourge with any particular favouritism when it comes to Sonic's rogue gallery.

Mind you, ANYONE who threatens our world and tries to kill my friends is nothing but rancid at their core, and as long as they remain unrepentant, I would never support any of them. Asking me which dangerous maniac is “the best” is like asking me which sewage stinks the least, after all. But even I can understand that there's a right way to do bad, and a wrong way to do bad. Scourge, Evil Sonic, whatever you wish to call him, falls squarely into the latter category.

How I'd love to shove an arrow up His Majesty's rear end.

First of all, his motivations were poorly structured, and that's putting it tactfully. Most of the time, we're led to assume that he does evil for no other reason than because it's evil, so we're already not looking at masterpiece material. But as it turns out, as I mentioned way earlier on, he grew resentful of his father for not giving him as much attention as he felt he deserved.

So when he killed his dear old dad, and went on to do everything else to bitterly stick it to his dad's memory, we're supposed to... sympathise...? Understand his point of view, perhaps...?

Well, I dare say I'll be sticking my nose up to THAT presumption, because there is no pathos to be had here. None at all. It's just a selfish brat becoming a violent and murderous selfish brat, and nothing more. By doing everything for evil's sake, intertwined with this sorry excuse of a tragic backstory, it's as if he's trying to have the best of both villainous worlds, without understanding what makes either of them work.

Secondly, for what little success that Scourge actually had to his name, few of them were by his own hand so to speak. As much as it pains me to give Dr. Eggman even a veneer of kudos, it does require mentioning that for all of the doctor's contemptible attributes, he truly is single-handedly responsible for a great majority of his own... achievements, if you wish to call them such. By contrast, this stinker rarely worked for his moments, instead often relying solely on others to get anything done efficiently, whether it be Fiona, Finitevus, his gangs, or the Anarchy Beryl. Without them, Scourge was always nothing.

Thirdly, as mentioned, he failed to fulfill even the basic concept of what Sonic would be like if he became evil, since he has virtually nothing in common with the hero he's trying so desperately to present himself as the corrupted counterpart to. While I'd obviously prefer not to entertain the mere notion of an evil Sonic anyways, since I know deep in my heart that he would never go down that path, I know him well enough to reasonably assume that even if he did lose his way, he would still be recognisable in some capacity, since there are countless aspects to his personality that remain so... inherent to how his mind operates.

I guess what I'm saying is that if an evil Sonic came to be, he would exist as a darker mirror of how Sonic actually is, and not... something that is not at all like Sonic beyond the physical.

What's the matter? Not used to a horse seeing you for what you really are?

Finally, remember when I said he was considerably more cowardly than Sonic? I wasn't simply referring to life or death battles and similar heat of the moment situations. Even when the scenario is of lower intensity, when the odds are completely in his favor at that, Scourge proves himself to be what Sonic isn't. Remember when he broke into the house of Sonic's father, with the intent to intimidate and kill said father... only to be scolded into submission by him? We're expected to believe this guy is a big baddie who ranks high in threat level, yet getting a telling off is sufficient enough to shoo him away?

If only Eggman was this easy to deal with...

Now granted, it's to my understanding that all of Scourge's failings are occasionally explained as him being a parody character. But, and correct me if I'm wrong here... aren't parodies supposed to be, you know, parodic, even if done subtly? As opposed to being played completely straight with no trace of irony, which is exactly how Scourge was portrayed throughout the entire duration of the comic's run, with no exceptions whatsoever?

Despite how often the comic insisted otherwise, and despite how often he received it, Scourge was not a villain who warranted importance. He was not a master planner, or a legendary conquerer, or a malevolent force of nature. He was bottom of the barrel, a wannabe at best, who thought he was made for bigger stripes, but remained little more than a walking pile of fresh manure, with nothing to show for it till the very end. His credibility was often alluded to, and handed to him, but never in any stretch was it properly earned. A punk who occasionally got lucky is hardly worth the rank of arch-fiend, in my humble opinion. He was a disgrace who simply had the luxury of wearing Sonic's skin to mask his shortcomings, and I can’t say I’m crestfallen to see him go.

And quite frankly, anyone who impersonates Sonic in the first place reeks to high heaven anyway. To think this trash heap thought he could ever compare in the slightest to my darling... Oh goodness, did I say that out loud?

Lutrudis Gives Scourge a: Thumbs Down!

#Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite?#Opinion #Sonic the Hedgehog #Lutrudis Hadeer #Scourge the Hedgehog #Archie Sonic

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inviouswriting · 4 years ago

Text

Cruore

It literally means “flowing blood”

Half original. Half going on the recent story I wrote.

Mentioned characters -

Meeps/Fae - @meepsthemiqo

Shuri - @maiden-born-in-snow

Yume @earthlystar

Some warnings in here for touching on Kivera’s descent in Hell.

Kivera is use to the smell of blood, the world she is from is full of it. The underworld, the realm of the dead. Her world she has known after her death from the hands of Bathory. She knows the realm inside and out, from the deepest pits in Tartarus and Hell itself. To the highest peak in Purgatory where she watches those who come before her. Seeking passage to Paradise.

Her punishment as much as bestowment. Punishment for her sin, bestowment for her servitude. She is under Thanatos and Hades. She does their work without question, and never asks the Fates of their reasons.

Kivera is capable of seeing the world up to the earliest of her memories she remembers. In other times she has witnessed how civilization takes hold and grows over periods. Other worlds, she sees how far behind, or how they destroy themselves.

The smell she is use to is that of flowing blood. She is use to it so much it doesn’t phase her like her fledgling days. So Kivera stands over a sight she is accustomed to people pleading her for a difference. To be let into Paradise, on behalf of some good merit they did.

“You have not learned yet, and I cannot let you through.” Her voice echoed in the hall, softer as she addressed the face before her, another of many. One she’ll forget after a few days. She sees so many. Her mind constantly drifting back to her interactions in The Source.

She had let a few dozen through, and encountered only a few people who need to humble their hearts more. Still full of resentment.

“Why do you get to play as judgement here?” The words echo in her mind.

“That is just the way things are.. I just do.” She says automatically. Practiced words, ones she has said countless times. The faces change, her words remain the same as she gives these people their tasks and trials to complete. Till she grows tired of doing this, letting the realm do their part.

She retreats to her personal space, and replays the events that she had done. Her own hands burn from when she used her hell flames on Ardbert. She still feels their heat. She had marked three people to keep an eye on. Cid, G’raha, and Ardbert. She had tied their lives into her own spirit. She had to do something to keep them from meddling.

Kivera recalls her encounter with Cid. He was busy with something he had worked on, barely even noticed her slipping in through a mirror. Before he had known, he felt something graze through his back and touch his very soul before searing heat engulfed him internally. When he had turned around, he was met with the blunt end of a scythe raising him up and pinning him to the wall nearby.

“You’re Shuri and Estinien’s lover?”

“That saves me time. I know you, and have watched you for a while now.” Kivera’s eyes were a bright green behind her mask, and he sees black surrounding them. He felt his limbs as if they were freezing in place.

“What is this about? Surely you are not?”

“Just be quiet and listen to me. You of all people should heed me. You are very much alive, and I am very much capable of ending that now. Right here. So I have a warning for you.”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?”

“No you do not. Either you heed it or you rather not know what will happen. You have stepped into a world and realm you have no business in. One that WILL kill you. If you have any sort of devotion to your beloved, Yume. You will stay out of the time temporals. I let the events of The First slide, because I was meant to stay out. But I won’t have you setting foot where you shouldn’t now. Be with your lover.” Cid feels his arms returned to normal but his legs felt heavy as stone.

“I can’t just abandoned my work.” He tries to bargain with her.

“I never said you didn’t have to stop. Just not mess with time. It does not lead to anything good.” She warns him. Her voice softer than he remembered, but in the empty room it was haunting as she is the border between two realms. He notes how with ease she lifts him, not even shaking in her hold bearing his weight at the end of her scythe.

“I’ll try not to.” He is met with a glare behind the mask, irises flashing orange in her annoyance. He feels his body returned to normal in the way he doesn’t feel his body stone and the blood rushing back through him. Kivera turns and tosses him with her scythe across the room.

Kivera wanders to the door to the workshop and exits it, scaring Wedge with the sudden slam of the door. She stalks out and goes to stand in the center of Revenant’s Toll, she still had one more person to see within this place..

Kivera’s memories of what happened after replay, she had only intended to scare the miqo.

“Maledetto! Ardbert! Why did you have to....“ She throws a fireball across the floor letting it race and fizzle out before it reaches her scrolls. She had lingered in a mirror when she spied on the meeting at Rising Stones. She saw the way her loved ones defended her name. How Shuri didn’t reveal everything about her, Divinity had to disclose, she doesn’t blame her for talking about her so much. Explaining her reason and resolve.

She sees how haunted G’raha Tia looks at how the Scions seem to just accept it, not wanting to make a further mess by targeting her as an enemy. They are wise in that choice. They know her power already with Amaurot. How she can raze a world, how she can destroy something without a thought. They see keeping her on their side more vital than a dispute.

Kivera felt guilty for how she treated G’raha, but she did not feel sorry for the way she went about her methods. He had to know the gravity of his meddling. That the lives he altered permanently, they have to deal with the repercussions. Meeps and Fae both have to come to terms with their feelings. How to raise a child without their parent they had spent.

“A parent is a god in the eyes of a child.” Her voice comes out in a whisper, she would never have that opportunity. Her life had been snuffed out decades ago. She regrets attacking Ardbert, he had just gained her trust. Then shattered it with careless words.

Antares’ orb reflects her eyes in a deep blue at that feeling. She cared, she knows their interaction is unavoidable. She feels the familiar pricks in her mind from Divinity searching for her. She quickly shuts her out, unable to really show the Libra spirit the sorrow she feels.

Ardbert used it as a means to provoke her, and she let loose on him. To draw her attention off G’raha, and onto him full force. It worked, she had attacked him in pain, they had exchanged blows to the point she had invoked Pluto into her own body. A deity of destruction. If Divinity hadn’t intervened. She is certain Ardbert might not be around due to the magnitude of what she was about to unleash on him.

Kivera feels another prick into her link, and sighs as she curls into one of the beds she keeps to lounge on.

“Te amo.. You and Shuri.” She gives Divinity what she seeks. Her response to ensure she would come back to them.

Her mind drifts to the time she spent in Hell. Wandering as a broken soul, stumbling blinded, and torn apart almost from the many who saw a pristine being and set about ruining her in every which way. She feels the hands still when they gouged skin or her eyes.

She resigns her thoughts to another thing, she needed to see Chiron. He helped her through the days following Damien’s death, then after when the conditions of his revival were placed on her. When she was asked when she would return. She answered after she visits the Sagittarius spirit. She needed tempering in her abilities, how to redirect her anger, her alignment had shifted in that fight to a little more chaotic than her neutral state.

She’d have to summon G’raha when she returned. Any explanation she should give him, is best from herself. She didn’t need her loved ones apologizing on her behalf for losing herself.

Kivera ruffles the hair of Silvara, the sphinx raises her head to eye her.

“Tell me of a riddle.” Kivera asks her, and Silvara thinks about it.

“You are planning to see him?” A nod and she stretches herself across the reaper’s body.

“No.” Kivera snaps her attention to her.

“Why?” She was being denied entry.

“You know what must be done. A riddle nor Chiron will give you more answer than what you already know.” Silvara feels Kivera stir underneath her, and only presses down, grateful for her lion like body having some weight to pin the angel down.

“And what is that answer?!” She is met with a smirk.

“That would give away the answer.” Kivera tries to slip out from her grasp. Silvara keeps her there. Not inclined to move off and lets her frustrated curses be sound in her ears.

“Maledetto!!!!!”

“Silenzio!” Silvara chirps back taunting her. Kivera blinks, and resigns herself.

She did know what needed to be done.

Apologies to those involved. She had let her own wrath speak for her.

“Forgiveness right?” She says quietly.

“Bingo. Head scratches.” Silvara demands. Kivera sighs and gives the sphinx pets on her head. She won’t be allowed up unless she does.

“Don’t eat my books again in my absence.” Kivera reminds her.

“They were ones that you wouldn’t miss!”

“Silvara! Don’t eat my books! Eat Chirons! He has more than me.” Silvara gets off of her finally, and lets the reaper up.

“You’re going back right?” Silvara takes over Kivera’s spot.

“I need to. I did some things I shouldn’t have, and there is a few who miss me already.”

“Divinity always did worry when you up and leave. Even in Paradise.”

“I have a role to do, and I must see it through.” Kivera starts towards a mirror, to head back to the world she ran away from in pain.

“Don’t burn people too much again.”

“Aww... that is my specialty.” Kivera sees the grin on the sphinx, then promptly curls her wings around herself.

Kivera enters through her mirror, she had some atonements to make.

~~~~~

Translation note -

“Damn you!”

“Silence.”

#Kivera Siverstein #some original characters in here #meepsthemiqo #shuri fontaye #G'raha Tia #ardbert #ff14 ardbert #polyship mentioned #ffxiv cid #Cid Garlond #earthlystar #silvara is my sphinx she eats books #divinity libra

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tarotdeckshuffle · 5 years ago

Text

Half Astral Series: Ravus

This piece reads a bit funny, as it was originally meant to be a bullet format, but naturally lent itself to more of a paragraph format. Don’t worry, though. It’s still a short and easy read.

If you like what you read, please consider supporting me on Patreon or buying me a Ko-fi!

Taglist: @idiotflowerex, @laststory1013, @sayaoqueen, @jophinabean, @mysme-already

Ravus

The summer had been sweltering, so the prince had the idea to show you the royal family’s seaside manor. He liked to refer to the manner as a “cabin” with a wry smile on his face.

Even Ravus hadn’t been to the manner in years, so both of you were struck when you finally arrived. Sure, it wasn’t the size of Fenestala Manor, but it certainly was a giant house! There had to be at least ten bedrooms to it!

The spiraling white building looked like it hugged the ocean side cliffs. Many rooms and windows looked directly out over the water without any shore below them.

You spent the weekend lounging on the private beach and exploring the manor with your love. The sea offered you a welcome reprieve from the heat inland while the seclusion gave you and Ravus time to take your love slowly.

Your time in the manner was slowing winding down. Tonight, you and your love watched the sunset from the balcony, simply wrapped in each other’s arms.

But the white clouds highlighting the sky suddenly turned gray as a volatile storm formed overhead.

Ravus pulled you close as thunder clapped and the clouds rolled in faster than time could move. Your defender tried to usher you inside, unsure of what was going on, but you didn’t move.

“I guess today is as good a day as any…” you muttered as a frustrated look overtook your face.

His face screwed into confusion. Ravus wanted to ask what you meant, but was rudely interrupted as a great wave crashed against the cliffs hard enough to shake the manor.

The sea started to swirl, changing colors from turquoise to an angry gray.

“On second thought, let’s go inside…” You said, taking Ravus’s hand as you began to lead him into the safety of the manor. You decided you were already done with her power display and didn’t have to deal with this.

“DON’T WALK AWAY FROM ME, CHILD!” A voice from the depths of the ocean boomed around you, shaking every fiber of the world.

Fear marred Ravus features while contempt painted yours, you both spun around to see Leviathan rise from the sea.

Overtaken by the scene of the god of the sea making her entrance, it took a moment for what she had said to register with Ravus.

“Child?” His voice sounded akin to a whisper over the crashing seas.

You opened your mouth to respond to him, but were interrupted by her.

“DON’T INTERFERE, MORTAL!” Your mother boomed.

She was not a being with much patience. What she wanted, she got. And she was here to hound you.

She continued without even a breath. “You should be honing your skills, preparing for battle. Instead, you are bedding an insignificant beast!”

It seemed that Leviathan knew distress of some sort was on the horizon and, as per usual, was determined to drag you into it.

Of course this crotchety fish wasn’t your birth mother, she was just your blood mother.

Over 800 years ago, she was still worshiped, and she liked it. She even had a favorite priestess. From what she had told you, you were the child of this priestess.

From there, your life was a heartbreaking mystery: you were never given a straight answer whether the priestess gave you to Leviathan willingly or if you were swept out to sea after some disaster. All that was clear is that Leviathan took rare pity on you and made you her own.

Since then, she had drug you into every matter she had a desire to be in. From the Astral War to bickering between countries where she was interested. You had learned to fight in the heat of battle and learned of your powers by always surviving them.

It had only been 200 years since you had left her clutches and vowed never to go back.

Every comment you wanted to throw at this god, every word you hoped would burn her in some way, swirled within your mind. But they were not what pulled you from your memories.

“Excuse me?”

It was your love next to you, having taken offense and not willing to back down, he continued.

“Shouldn’t you be off somewhere, making over the welp prince or something?”

You stared in amazement at him, realizing your jaw had gone slack. Had he recovered from the revelation of your parentage that fast? Was he truly facing down a god?

“You have no place anywhere near my child, much less me!” Leviathan boomed back, clearly not one to be spoken back to.

“I think that claim can be proven false by a mere observation…” Yes...Ravus was arguing with a god. Somehow, the situation wasn’t fully surprising.

“I think that can easily be rectified…”

Leviathan’s voice wore the sneer her face couldn’t as she coiled her body in preparation to lash out at Ravus.

“WAIT!”

It was your turn to intervene. You stepped out from behind Ravus, ready to face every drop the seas could throw at you.

“Whatever your reason is for being here it involves me and only me, leave him out of this…”

“It did deal solely with you, but I will not be spoken to in such a way by a mortal…” Your mother was still prepared to lash out and Ravus appeared ready to face her.

“I don’t care who speaks to you in what way, mother! If you should seek retribution against every slight said against you, you will drain the seas and the last of my patience!” It felt odd to speak to Leviathan in such a way, but Ravus’s outburst had bolstered your confidence.

You felt him breath behind you.

“And don’t you start again, either!” You muttered through gritted teeth.

Calmed, at least for the moment, Leviathan stood before you in silence.

“Mother, I care not why you are here. I only care that you leave. There is no plan you could concoct that I wish to willingly take part in. I have my own plans, duties, and...desires.”

Your voice bellowed over the gray waters, crashing against the god with the weight of fabricated betrayal.

“CHILD! YOU SHOULD DARE?! I am the reason you live! I am the reason you walk the lands of treacherous men! I am the reason you can throw yourself into such frivolous tidings as you have! To have everything I will ever help you do reduced to “plans”!”

Each word dripped with venom as the god that raised you turned into the wrath that could kill you. You prepared yourself. Somehow, you always knew this day would come: The day when a minor slight against her would invoke Leviathan’s wrath, even against you.

You had seen it done countless times against countries that towered over the land, against men who thought themselves too powerful to fall to any death, and beings too kind to have meant any harm.

But here you were.

As you prepared for the worst, you felt a warm weight on your shoulder: It was Ravus. And for that single moment, you realized who you were.

You were a being bound to the land, not just the sea.

“Your hatred of man does not entitle you to control my life! I am half of you, but half of me is from this world! Your hatred will never change that!” you bellowed. You took a deep breath of the salty air, before releasing your next words.

These words came softer, things that would float out to Leviathan on the tides of the cold water below.

“Disown me, take my powers, you may even take my life. But you shall never again be able to take my will. You have no control over me, Leviathan.”

That was the first time you had called her by her name.

And it sent ripples over her heart.

“So be it.”

Her words were icy as they stabbed at your heart.

With a great crash she dove back into the sea and her dark home, and the storm clouds receded. You knew that would be the last time you ever saw her.

The silence that filled her departure felt empty and left you floating in your own thoughts. But two warm hands on your waist pulled you back to reality.

Without a word, Ravus gently spun you around and wrapped you tightly in a warm embrace. You felt safe against his chest as you filled your senses with everything that was comforting:

His breathing,

His heartbeat,

His smell,

The way his hands felt running through your hair,

The feeling of his coat under your fingers,

And the way he made it feel like nothing in the world mattered for a moment.

Eventually, you were ready to face him. You pulled just far enough away to look up at him.

To see the gentle, sweet smile on his lips and the love in his eyes as he looked down at you.

All you could think to say was something quite obvious:

“I guess I should have told you sooner…”

He brought one hand up to cup your cheek.

“Perhaps. But that is of little concern now. My more immediate concern is for you.”

You smiled and leaned into him.

“I will not try to fool you and say that I am alright.”

“Few who face a god are…”

You had to smile at the obvious truth to his statement.

“But I will be. After all, I’ve had quite a bit of time to prepare for this.”

Ravus removed his hand from your cheek so as to take your hand and lead you inside.

“Good. Then it would seem that you have quite a few stories to tell me, as well.”

You smiled because you knew he was trying to care for you in any way that he could.

“I do...but I have a few things that I could show you that may be more...interesting.”

He raised a single eyebrow at your suggestion.

“Even better.”

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #ravus #ravus x reader #ravus nox fleuret #leviathan #half astral series #final fantasy #final fantasy 15

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universal-kitty · 5 years ago

Text

.: Drama Involving AJ :.

Stylized ‘til I die, I guess. Anyways.

This is talking about phasefuck/huckerbee/teafrogs/whatever their URL is this week. AJ/Lee. The compilation of what’s happened involving them.

So... Starting at the beginning.

D was the reason I got into Borderlands. I watched her play TFTBL and gush about Rhys and get more involved and understand the ship she had! Also got my first crush on Zer0, but... Y’know.

So I did some art, started plotting ideas for who’d eventually be Gremlin- aka Rena Marlow, my SI for BLands- and that led...to us meeting AJ. They wanted me or D to join their server. D preferred because of her self-ship with Rhys, but I could join, too. D was nervous about new, strange people and I wanted to learn more about Borderlands and try new things, so... I hopped in, D stayed behind.

The time with them was pretty fun! Ended up making some friends, plotted fun ideas for AJ’s idea of the time, Borderlands Infinite. A continuation of Tales as AJ saw it. The server was made PRIMARILY for this endeavor and everyone in it was allowed an OC or self-insert to be paired with whoever they wanted to be with....long as they were open, that is. AJ had HJack, and everyone else... Well, most of the spares had been paired off by the time I joined.

Rhys was potentially still open, cause someone AJ had previously been talking with...either wasn’t responding, or had dropped out entirely. I forget by this point. Zer0 wasn’t an option and I didn’t know much of the others, so.... I accepted Gremlin to be paired with Rhys.

Thus the origins of my verse with Rhys. (As well as the OT3 with him and Vaughn... They started here.)

Tension was pretty high in the group and- though I didn’t acknowledge it at the time- it was primarily from AJ. Nobody else could like Handsome Jack “too much”... You could be playful about him, a little joke-flirty...but if you were suspected to like HJack, then you were “stealing” him from them. Because of this- while the group was friendly enough- it was hard to get into the “share faves” vibe that a lot of us seemed to have; gushing about a character that wasn’t your own just......felt weird.

Not sure if anyone else noticed, but that was my experience.

Anyways, I helped AJ with their story a lot due to being online a ton, with no work to do. We talked on the daily about what Rena could do, what Helios was like, how the story would go... The long-term slowburn we were putting Rena and Rhys through. I praised their art and ideas, they cheered for Rena/Rhys. It was pretty mutually supportive....

...Until AJ kicked fits. I was always online, so what about everyone else?? When I wasn’t online- sometimes if I was- I’d get put on a pedestal for helping out while others said nothing. (Essentially saying something like “Aki helps out all the time, but nobody else does” or, the popular one, “maybe I should just delete this since nobody cares.” I don’t have screenshots of this for reasons that’ll be explained in a moment.)

We typically talked them out of these, but eventually... It did happen. AJ messaged me that the old group had been deleted and there was now a new group of only the ACTIVE people. This left me and a few others, thought some other people would eventually cycle in. (One of which still being someone I look up to even today!! Even if we don’t talk much, lol.)

I got more creative freedom during this time, since other people “lost out” in their spots and... Somehow, this led to me taking on Nisha, too. I paired her with my OCs, Pyrotech and Meowzer. (Ex-Creepypasta OCs revamped for BLands. Is this my origins for my Nisha ship? Kinda!!!)

But by this point... I had grown to *really* like HJack. I’d made a slip before (more on that later), but learned his character very well and even played him for roleplays AJ and I were doing. AJ played themself and Rhys; I controlled Jack and Rena. All that research led to feelings....and ones I knew AJ wouldn’t approve of. So I did two things, right off the bat: kept my head down and immediately worked on justifying why I liked him. See, it’s because...it’s not the “canon” Handsome Jack!! The one I ship with has golden clasps! So they’re not the same!! And uhhhh....more bad things happened to him? He dresses more lavishly...?

I kept trying to come up with ways AJ might approve of my AU Jack without invoking their wrath. Not that...it would end up doing much, in the long run.

I invited one of my friends to join during this. One who also liked HJack...and proved my worries right. (Checked my Discord; I still have some of the messages!!! Whoop, here we go...)

Don’t have screencaps of the drama that proceeded to unfold- especially due to AJ blocking me on Discord and so losing all of our conversation- but.... That’s just how THAT is, I guess.

They did get super cold after and I had to explain things to my friend, while also assuring AJ that I would handle things and it’d be alright. It was an uncomfortable hiccup, but one that went by easily enough...

Though as I said, it was a significant event to show me how careful I needed to be when it came to HJack and AJ.

Also during this time... Another friend I’ll just refer to as P. We’d also been roleplaying in this time and having a blast. Absolute joy and- we don’t talk much anymore- but I do still consider them a dear friend. I played as CEO Rhys for them and they were Handsome Jack for me; we played our characters (my SI, their OC) and just... Had so much fun with it all.

So then... Amidst all the fun, it eventually happened.

What I described in this callout post.

AJ and I...we ended up dating at some point. I thought they were cool, we got along well, talked a LOT and all this... So I didn’t see a problem with it. Why not? I’ll get to have an awesome artist S/O with their cool ship and all their ideas... We’re gonna be unstoppable!

...But I also had abandonment issues. Too many times did I pour my all into someone, only to be left empty. I’ve always been the most supportive person in a room, trying to uplift EVERYONE to feel good! Cause yeah, everyone deserves that! AJ knew this. We’d talked about our issues and vented.....

And they still did that. They left my server as I slept. Blocked me on Discord, though I didn’t notice it at first.

...It was the one day I checked Tumblr first. They left their blog for a new one. Okay!! I’ll follow them on there, then! I did, and checked Discord. That was in the vent channel, and this was sent to me by a mutual friend.

So that’s how I woke up that day. Suddenly alone and single. And very, very depressed. I would end up posting these as my friends had to help me down:

“ ……now I wish I would’ve gotten lost after all or kept sleeping ….nothing is work being awake right now”

“ I just don’t want to exist I hate myself all over again I can’t get past that”

“ AJ just…..dropped me. Just like that. I didn’t know and tried to follow her new blog….. Either they just soft-blocked me or outright blocked me

“I feel so fuckin’ horrible”

At the time, I was horribly depressed due to outside causes. I was suicidal at the time and getting into some light, risky behavior in hopes it could be a factor in the end of my life. (I would walk around at night, hoping that the growing heat would either cause heat exhaustion or someone would attack me. Abduct me. Whatever meant that I would be gone and in pain.)

I later learned that this is actually learned behavior; my dad would react in extremist ways to things (something broke? “I want to kill myself.”) and so I probably learned it from him. This has actually made managing my suicidal thoughts easier, but at the time, I did not know this and put me more at risk.

Though this then kept continuing.... Because of course these things do.

It starts all over with me trying to move on. Someone was advertising their self-ship server, I wanted to try again and make friends... So I gave it a shot and joined!

....AJ was in there.

I quickly left as soon as I had entered, telling the owner I couldn’t stay due to troubles with someone else in there. They were understanding and, thankfully, that was that.

...But it STILL wasn’t. These are older messages, so I can’t get them together as much as I’d like to (in one screenshot, is what I’m saying) so I’ll also quote these, but if anyone needs screenshot proof, I can get that on request.

Anyways, our mutual friend (I’ll nickname her MF for “mutual friend” lol) later piped up with this:

05/19/2018 “So, aj invited me to a group chat and I'm a pushover who hasn't been able to cut them off yet so I said yes and boi I'm big uncomfortable now Like I thought I could maybe juggle being friends with both aj and Rachel even after what aj did but I was wrong.

“But idk what do now. I don't know what to say to them because I don't want to just drop them without saying anything. No doubt that'll get them talking about me behind my back”

.:.

“I might try that. I might mute the server so that I don't have to deal with that because i can't stay in it but I don't want to start shit by leaving I mean they are acting like Rachel is in the wrong”

.:.

“That they "stole their f/o" and that they are going to take the dragon idea that Rachel had for blands and "make it better" out of spite And I'm not happy”

.:.

“Well I just typed up a long message and while I'm glad I'll finally cut out a toxic person I'm also super nervous

“I sent it and left the server

“Wow okay all I got was a "Bye then" I sent a long ass message. Explaining my side and why. Hoping they'd understand and they just said bye then??????”

As you can see.... Everyone who’d been in that server (me, P, and MF) were on-edge about the “talking behind our back” issue that MF confirmed above. I figured it would happen, but it did...and that was a league all it’s own. (Especially when the callout post went around, and it got confirmed AGAIN that slander in my name was still going around.)

But one more thing happened that triggered this onslaught... Remember my RP w/ P? Well, this happened.... [TW for daddy kink mention? Calling themself Daddy?? That thing.]

Link to Ask.

Was never reblogged. Sent to me by a friend. To my knowledge, nobody spread this around AT ALL. But this was brought up in the same vent/time period as the above conversation.....

MF: Aj said that Rachel stole hj from them.

Me: Me, apparently. It's somewhere between that post and the ask (I think?) P sent me..... Which I loved and was hella surprised over, but. Oh boy.

Fren (aka owner of Karma): My god wtf can she like calm tf down

MF: They actually were mad that people were reblogging a post of yours, probably the kitten thing, that was about hj because it's "gross"

Fren: geeze Aj grow up

Me: ??????? Nobody reblogged it, tho

MF: Hmmmmm they vagued about someone shipping with him, someone they had blocked, that liked the daddy kink and stuff

I mean. I get it’s a gross thing for people, but.... HJack has also called himself “daddy/papa” on more than one occasion. It’s up for debate if he does it because he is Literal Dad or because he’s that nasty, but... Considering everything else he does, the latter seems the most obvious. That’s just how he is.

Anyways. The point being that we had each other mutually blocked by this point. I had people either block me, soft-block me, OR just outright unfollow + soft-block me because they were more trusting of AJ than of me. So to hear that they somehow knew P was sending me that ask...... Either someone TOLD them or they were stalking my blog to see what I was doing while they were gone.

Either way, not great. (What was pretty funny is I later made a joke about “stealing the rights to Handsome Jack from 2k so nobody else can do anything with him” and that “I’m a wanted man”... That’s nice.)

And so... We get to more recently.

Last I personally heard, I had to do some personal checking that led up to this... Saw leeships in self insert tag. New self-ship blog, so I blocked, as well as checking their blocked main to make sure everything lined up....and was greeted with this.

They’ve since changed their URL- again- but the fact they’re STILL being petty towards D is just....something else.

Speaking of, I’m not actually...sure where that started. There was a whole conversation we had over how AJ treated D out of sight of others (they talked over IMs, I guess because we were budding friends at the time, and what else do I do but hype up all my friends?) There was a lot of attention-seeking behavior from AJ (showing their art and then getting mad when D or Fren tried to compliment them for “lying” about the compliment...?), but far as I knew/remember, there wasn’t any bigger issue.

...After we broke up, however, an issue began as D and I became better friends. Friends stick with friends, D knew AJ, so when the blocking-bug was going around, D blocked them, too.

Which eventually snowballed into the bullshit you can still see today. With AJ trying to claim that D is the one dealing out harassment when- at worst- maybe D did talk too much and AJ didn’t deal with it in a healthy way. (Because that is an issue I’ve heard of; except AJ freaked out over it, instead of talking it out like a healthy adult and figuring out how they could balance out the conversation. Seriously. I’ve had this talk with D. We don’t dominate our conversations at all; nobody over the other. If there ever was a problem, then literally just saying “Hey, I don’t feel heard/listened to when I talk about my ship” was all AJ ever needed to say, but....... Y’KNOW.)

I’m not D, so I can’t say the full scenario of that, but this is the best way I can show there was a middle ground AJ could’ve used to work things out, but they didn’t.

Oh, and just so I’m not saying things if you haven’t already seen this... Here’s a screenshot someone (for privacy’s sake) got of AJ trying to pin the blame on D for being the “real harasser” in their BYF:

We all just wanted to get over this. However, D and I especially don’t want to get involved with or be AROUND AJ/Lee in any way. So we keep an eye on what they do so we can feel safe. We DON’T want to forgive AJ/Lee (for obvious reasons), so we keep blocking their accounts and/or make sure they’re still on our blocklist.

I know I’ve resorted to putting their URLs on BLACKLIST to make sure I don’t see them at ALL because of how much stress they put me under just seeing them around.

What the hell do THEY have to be stressed about? Dealing with people they hurt for BEING hurt and not wanting them around us anymore?? Fuck....

.:.

Anyways. I guess that about concludes all I wanted to write about. Friendly reminder that their old callout post is here and while I doubt a new one will crop up any time soon (as I sure don’t want to write one that’ll get around, after the last time I had a friend try to help me do a callout post on someone like this), you can at least look up that one more time after reading this.

So...... That’s the end. Thanks for reading this and I’m sorry if anything was upsetting.

...If you want, you can come to the ask box and ask for a gif of your F/O? Or a cute puppy or kitten? Maybe I can find some nice fanart for you as comfort...? IDK, options.

#Aki speaks #It's the Discourse

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severusdefender · 5 years ago

Text

Back on my '2 Gryffs & a Slyth Walk Into a Traincar AU' Bullshit again (lol)

So like, I just figured that the mystery of Lily’s Empty Grave could be an interesting adventure that might drag former AU friends Remus and Severus back together before realizing that Lily is alive again.

Remus happens to be eking out a temporary living in or nearby Godric’s Hollow, where Lily was buried next to James (which Remus was left wondering if she had iced him [Remus] out in the end too bc he was left way outta the loop, those Daily Prophet rumors be strong despite being total lies). And I already HC that Severus visits the grave periodically to not only mourn but hate himself, expert multitasker that he is.

But Severus visits the grave again, not at his usual time, because he got a mysterious package (idk, like a box of Lily’s things? Addressed to “Severus Snape or Remus Lupin, in the Event of my Untimely Demise” which was never sent until Something got involved) handdelivered by a strangely normal man (Lily’s FaeDad) before he just… Fooshes away quietly like Batman, unnerving Severus.

And then they both run into each other, and there’s no buffer here, just… Raw, old hurts and bad blood and what could’ve (spoiler: will be, but not yet) been. It’s barely civil, and shows signs of devolving into a loud fight (because Severus would still token fight back at least, but not like he hates Remus or anything), but the first time they’ve spoken in a long time for them. But then something’s amiss, the mud that had barely filled in the over the broken bits of the coffin gets stepped on, and the ground just collapses.

Can’t really decide who falling into the grave would be better, Remus or Severus. If Remus falls in, Severus is Still Concerned for his (former) friend, like he’s afraid that the man’s broken an ankle or leg and post-1stWar!Severus out of his scripted comfort zone is always good. But if it’s Severus who falls in, and Remus has a moment where he’s immediately concerned for the former friend, before catching himself as he’s pulling Severus outta the grave. And Severus notices it spark and immediately ebb away and it’s extremely bittersweet on both sides because these morons are affection-starved af, but both pretend that the other didn’t see anything regardless of who falls in. Thoughts?

Then they realize that the Grave is Empty, and that the enchantments on the coffin have been destroyed (& Lily’s wand is missing, another detail Sev later brings up). And suddenly it’s just this mystery that the both of them have to solve together, who stole their friend’s body and for what (probably dark) purpose?

Shipping Ahead: Watch as Remus and Severus, old former friends who ended badly, get prickly with one another, but are forced to work together because they can’t/don’t trust the Wizarding authorities or public with this at all. And then the Mutual P I N I N G starts on top of their complicated baggage and raw hurt and everything just hurts so GOOD.

X'3

All the while, a distressed and confused FaeLily is wandering the English countryside & towns like a strange, magical hobo with amnesia, leaving small ripples of chaos in her wake, trying to figure out wtf is going on, how to get a grip on her magical superpowers and helping literally every distressed child she sees like some wrathful Fairy Godmother ripped from Grimm’s Fairy Tales, because Fae and Fae logic. Maybe some accidental curse-breaking and sorta Eldritch horror-type adventures, but generally let’s explore some of the magic that’s in the Muggle World because I think the Wizard-centric Ideology is dumb and needs to go lol.

Maybe like, her FaeDad acts like a… Detached trickster mentor figure? He’s pretty hands-off for the most part, and doesn’t intervene unless dragged in or invoked directly (which FaeLily doesn’t remember rn, both while “Dead” and Alive both times). But his motives are pretty ambiguous and he isn’t a fuzzy figure either, but resurrected Lily is still an interesting investment, so he’s… Watching his kid (despite being an adult, he’s a Fae, she’s YOUNG in comparison) find her feet without his help, while occasionally trying to herd her toward where Harry would be.

(Or maybe uses her like a strategic catspaw to deal with some of his local enemies/nuisances in the Fae/Magical realm without her knowing? Some sort of longgame probably in the works.)

But consider, in this way, Lily’s learning to be “Fae,” while wandering on her own, having occasional nightmares of her former life and some of the inbetween time wherever tf she spent “being Dead.” Her logic and actions are driven by survival and impulse, along with her need to find out what happened to her and who even IS her? She drifts away from human societal norms and moral-paradigms, making her own decisions and observations of this strange and unfamiliar world around her.

Maybe toss in some international evil wizards too, like, okay so Voldemort’s Civil War that he started might have started to build at least a little traction outside the UK? Not a lot, mind you, but perhaps some like former Grindelwalder-esque peeps who went to ground, because racist rich people tend to flock together? And Voldemort would’ve probably been seen as a good bludgeon that some arrogant douche probably thought they could easily remove when he was done sacking the country, or a weapon-ally-of-convenience to point at their enemies in the name of their cause.

Separately, FaeLily and the Snupin Detectives clash with these wizards, who are doing a Plot, which I haven’t quite sussed out what exactly, but it’s probably bad for everybody in the future, though. Thoughts?

Anyways, back to detectives Remus & Severus! But for a while, just keep barely missing her once they finally get on the trail. In the meantime, OH HOW THEY PINE! THE BAGGAGE! THE DRAMA! THE S U F F E R I N G~! The moments of accidental fluff and bittersweet remembrance of good times, both Remus’ & Sev’s self-hatred, their regrets, the misunderstandings, the old chemistry sparking to life again, THE GUILT over accidental fluffy moments. And alllllll that Mutual Self-Denial. Delicious.

Severus is still concerned over his friend’s apparent dedication to not bothering his still-alive and (possibly? Sev doesn’t know really) not-shitty father, Lyall Lupin, that Remus would rather suffer and be in danger and a possible danger to others in a roulette of circumstance instead. Remus is trying to keep himself from trying to unravel whatever tf is going on with Severus, because he’s like, not entirely sure of Sev’s loyalties, or that Severus flipped because Dumbledore didn’t tell Remus shit for some reason (security?) and Severus isn’t expositing for shit. Just give me these two broken-hearted and damaged morons trying so hard to pretend they don’t care and fail, but deny it up and down until FaeLily decides that she ships it and decides to intervene later.

Then suddenly their dealing with more bad magic-users and strange occurrences, all the while on the trail of… Something (FaeLily). But the tension is growing between them, and they’re still not communicating very well either (also poverty, because poverty sucks, also I’m really down for the HC that Severus owes Lucius money for a loan he took for his Mastery from TAB). Then Remus & Sev finally stumble into some misadventure, expecting to find a thief or another wizard criminal or Plot involving their friend’s corpse for a ritual of some kind or worse.

But then they come face to face with FaeLily, who doesn’t know who the fuck-diddley they are, alive. What a twist~

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆

That’s very interesting esp with the inclusion of Lily’s Fae father. I think Severus should fall in just for the horror of thinking he was lying on his dead best friend’s body but there’s nothing. Maybe the plot could have something to do with wizards trying to steal Fae magic to subjugate the world

#severus snape #pro snape #lily evans #remus lupin #headcanons #fanfic #submission #snupin #long post

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catgluue · 5 years ago

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The Price of Life: Chapter 2

Happy Royai week eve, everyone! I have an early offering because when I was trying to write my actual Royai Week Fic I just kept coming back to this one. HUGE thanks to @an-unexpected-trollogy for looking it over for me!

Read on A03

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It was late spring, but Central was beginning to get to be the kind of pervasive sticky-hot that Jean usually associated with late summer. The days were long but the nights were balmy. Rebecca had taken the first train out of Central to go visit family in the west (an escapade he'd narrowly avoided but only because he genuinely had a lot of work to get through) and that left him alone for the weekend. He'd thought about trying to get the guys together and hit the town like they hadn't done in -geez, way too long- but it had been a long week, there was a great Farmer's Market down K street, and the town could wait.

He was standing in one of the stalls debating the virtues of peaches over nectarines and trying to remember if Becca liked either when he turned to see a familiar head of blonde hair poring over the apricots.

"Hawkeye?" he said, and she turned, grinning when she saw who it was.

"I didn't know you liked the Farmer's Market," she said, sidling over, apricots forgotten."I'm here almost every week." She looked like it too; dressed in a casual long skirt and button up shirt, she had brought her own canvas bags, two of which were already full of produce.

"Friday's usually date night, but Rebecca's out of town," he explained. "Where's Mae?"

"The General's being kind enough to watch her for me," she said casually, picking up a peach, turning it over, and putting it back down. Havoc was sure it was a terrible hardship for him too, spending an evening goofing around with Mae and the elderly Hayate. By the sound of it though, this was a regular part of their weekly routine.

"What are your plans for the rest of the evening?" he asked impulsively, as they walked down the street. The sun was still out but starting to sink deeply towards the horizon, and lights were already going on at the stalls. Somewhere there were street musicians, filling the air with a kind of light, joyous music. She shrugged, rolling down the sleeves of her shirt as she walked.

"Nothing in particular, I've got a few more hours before I'll be expected home."

"Well then madam," he said with the flourish of a hat he didn't actually have, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to grab dinner with your humble subordinate?"

"That's bold of you, asking your fiance's best friend on a date," she said it almost like a challenge, mouth barely quirking upward. He grinned: he knew her well enough by now to know that Hawkeye's faint mouth tic was another man's full blown chuckle.

"Well I'm a bold guy," he replied, offering her his arm.

They walked around for a while, chatting, until they found themselves staring at the pub the all used to frequent, back when they frequented pubs. Hawkeye nudged Jean's shoulder with hers and gave him a grin when he looked over at her.

"For old times sake," she said when he raised his eyebrows.

"Well okay." Who was he to argue with a mom taking a well earned night off? They entered the pub shoulder to shoulder and the bartender took a second glance before calling out:

"I'll be damned – Jean Havoc!"

Havoc felt himself blush and ducked his head a little as he approached the bar. It had been too long since he and the guys had come here after work. Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but long compared to the four-times-a-week habit he and Breda used to have. Now he'd been saving for a wedding and couldn't afford that kind of regular expenditure. But the wedding was paid for and also it was Hawkeye, so he knew he was in for a fairly tame evening.

"Felix, how's it going," he replied. Riza surprised him for the second time – well third if you counted her appearance in the farmer's market – by sliding onto a barstool and ordering for them both. As with most administrative work in her life, she got it exactly right and Jean found a beer sitting in front of him in short order, while she had gotten herself a whiskey. He wondered sardonically who she'd picked that up from.

"Funny, I remember you being a red wine kind of gal," he told her. She shrugged.

"Tastes change. Are you getting nervous about the wedding?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject. "It's what, six weeks away now?"

"Five weeks tomorrow," he barked automatically. He wouldn't know off the top of his head normally but Becca had a giant countdown poster she'd made taped up in their living room and he had been left with strict instructions to cross off the days accordingly in her absence. Riza let out a low whistle and he noticed her glass was somehow empty already. "And uh, a little nervous, mostly because it's a lot of people." she nodded.

"Rebecca has a big family. I met them once – all of them, I mean. She brought me home for the winter solstice my last year in the academy, before I left for Ishval." Her gaze grew distant, but only for a moment before she locked eyes with Felix and he nodded and poured her another. "They're all like Rebecca; loud and friendly. You'll like them."

"I don't know if it's me liking them that matters," he muttered. There was a leaflet on the bar advertising that they did a meat pie special on Fridays, a fact he wasted no time making known to Riza. Their orders placed, they sat in a friendly silence for a time. It was early and the bar was just beginning to fill with the contented buzzing of patrons, the setting sun casting long shadows throughout the room. They'd had a lot of good nights in this bar, he recalled: Fuery's 21st birthday, a post Promised Day celebration that had almost landed Breda in the hospital, a nondescript night years past where he had been so sure the Colonel and Lieutenant would leave together but then at the last minute she had called Rebecca.

"Do you think you'll ever get married?" he asked her, as he finished off his second beer. He would never normally have asked otherwise, he told himself. Particularly since he thought he knew the answer already. She froze for a moment before shaking it off.

"I don't think so," was all she said, staring at the bottom of her glass.

"Well you never know," he said, immediately feeling terrible for asking the question in the first place. "Maybe someday-"

"No," she said flatly, gesturing to Felix, who immediately bustled over. "I don't think so."

It was after her self made curfew when Havoc found himself knocking on the Captain's door, a giggling Hawkeye next to him still looking in her purse for her keys. The door opened almost at once and Jean found himself staring at a bleary-eyed General Mustang, who had most likely been dozing on the couch if the amount of blankets and books were anything to go by.

"I – what happened?" he asked as Riza brushed by him, dropping her purse on the couch and kicking her shoes off as she made her way down the hall. He turned to watch her, eyes narrowed.

"If she wakes Mae up I swear-"

"We ran into each other in town and had dinner," Havoc admitted, shrugging. "And ah, a few drinks. More than a few for some of us. She drinks whiskey now, apparently."

"Yeah," Roy said tiredly, not bothering to make it sound like he didn't know that already. "I guess I'd better go too then."

"Uh, you should probably continue your babysitting duties," Havoc recommended, noting that Riza had emerged in a pair of pajamas and taken up residence on the couch, pulling one of the books off the coffee table and turning pages aimlessly. "I think she could use a cup of tea and maybe some aspirin. And maybe a bedtime story" Roy turned around and Jean caught the barest hint of a fond smile before the General huffed and rolled his eyes.

"She was supposed to be back by ten. I'm a very busy man."

"That's the brakes," Havoc replied, showing Hawkeye's bags of vegetables into Roy's arms before slipping away. Something oddly like guilt gnawed at him, seeing the way Mustang tenderly regarded his Captain. Riza Hawkeye would get married in an instant, he knew, if only it weren't completely illegal.

-x-

"I'm just saying, if you don't have a bachelor party I'm going to be forced to bring the strippers to the wedding, and I don't think Bex would like that," Breda was saying reasonably as they walked back to the office after their lunch break.

"Uncle Havoc, Uncle Breda!"

Jean reflexively bent down to seize the kid running at him as fast as her legs could carry her, and picked her up to swing her around. Mae laughed, clinging to his jacket as he settled her on his hip.

"Hey kiddo!" he said. "Are you here to help us work?"

"Yes," she retorted, as he passed her off to Breda. "Sir said I can be a Major."

A few different names had been tried out for Roy while Mae was still learning to talk. Mr. Mustang had been a possibility, and was Riza's preference, but Roy balked at that. Kain, sweet summer child he was, had suggested that they all be called Uncle but Breda, after a sidelong glance at Havoc, suggested that was ignoring Mustang's leadership role in their squad. Hawkeye's second choice was 'General', which was what they all decided sounded appropriate. Mae was nothing if not an observant child, however and picked the name she heard him called the most.

"A Major, huh?" Breda replied, looking back at the General, who quickly turned back to his paperwork. "That means technically you outrank me and your Uncle Havoc."

"Well she couldn't say Lieutenant, what was I supposed to do?" Mustang asked with a shrug.

"Lu-tent," Mae supplied helpfully. Havoc noted Mustang seemed to be wearing a piece of paper with a clumsily drawn heart pinned to the front of his uniform. The General had outed himself as a canny game-player on The Promised Day, but it was a well-known secret that he was a complete pushover for a certain Hawkeye. No one dared speak about his relationship to the other one, of course, for fear of invoking the wrath of Havoc, Breda, or Rebecca. She could be truly terrifying at times, Havoc thought fondly.

"Where's Hawkeye?" Havoc wanted to know. The Captain sometimes brought Mae up to the office from the military daycare during their lunch hour, but never longer than that. Mustang made it clear he didn't mind, but Riza said none of the other officers got to spend time with their children at work, so she wouldn't either.

"Taking a long lunch; she had an errand to run. I'm under strict orders to take Mae back to the daycare when our lunch hour is over." Jean checked his watch as Fuery walked in and was treated to the same running tackle as the other men.

"Ow, hey, when did you get so big?"

"And our lunch hour today ends at..." Breda began, checking his watch for show.

"The Captain should be back around one-thirty so probably twenty-five after," Mustang admitted. "But without my adjutant here I need someone to watch my back, don't I?" This was aimed at Mae, who giggled and wandered back over to the big desk, where Roy had placed a stack of books on a chair so she could reach.

They all settled in and got back to their work; even Mae busily colored while chatting to the General and occasionally reminding him to do his work. For all that she still looked startlingly, damningly like her father's side of the family, she very much took after Riza in terms of temperament. She was a child of course, and not a battle-hardened soldier, but she was more reserved than any of Havoc's nieces or nephews, and occasionally reports from the child care workers would complain of her being slightly bossy towards the other children.

The door flew open with a bang and Havoc looked up to see one of the last people he had ever expected to walk through the doors of Mustang's office.

"Hey Bastard Mustang, bet you didn't think I'd be gracing the halls of East City anytime soon," crowed Edward Elric: taller, older, but with no more tact than he'd possessed at sixteen. Jean did the math quickly and figured that Ed couldn't be much older that twenty-five, if at all. Edward scanned the office before realizing that the person at Mustang's side wasn't who he was expecting. "Hey when did you replace the Lieutenant?" he asked, walking to the front of the room and eyeing Mae curiously. Mustang shrugged casually but Havoc could see the tension in his jaw.

"Well you know, things have quieted down, so I thought I'd downgrade my security detail. She lets me pay her in crayons and the Captain preferred actual money. It was an easy decision."

"Yeah I'm sure," Ed replied, kneeling so he was on Mae's level, and Havoc remembered suddenly that Ed was a married man with three kids of his own. "Hi kiddo, what's your name?"

"Mae Hawkeye," she said quietly, and Ed glanced sharply up at the General, before looking back at the little girl.

"That's a pretty name. My name's Edward Elric. Do you know how to give a high-five, Mae?" She did, as it happened, and with a nod from Roy demonstrated her budding hand-eye coordination.

"EDWARD ELRIC!" The door burst open once more and what seemed like a horde of blondes entered the room. It took only a moment to recognize Winry Rockbell – Winry Elric, Havoc corrected himself. He hadn't actually seen her since the wedding. And he definitely hadn't seen the two hellions who took it among themselves to immediately lay waste to the office. He could guess at who they were from the letters he'd gotten over the years – the older one was Sam, and Trisha was a little younger than Mae. The baby in Winry's arms had to be Nina.

"Miss Rockbell, it's good to see-" Fuery began and found himself holding the baby in short order as Winry approached her husband, who seemed to be trying to hide behind Mae to Roy's obvious disdain.

"You know our rules," Winry chided tiredly, walking up to the desk. "If one of us is going to run ahead we have to take at least one child with us." Havoc started suddenly: there was a small tug at his sleeve and he looked down to find Trish handing him his own pen.

"Uh, thanks-" another tug and he was being slowly pulled over to the bookshelf.

"I'm sorry, you're right, I don't know what I was thinking-"

"I bet I do; let's see," Winry put her hands on her hips. "Bastard Mustang has no idea I'm even in town, I'd better get up there and surprise him before word travels that I'm back at headquarters!" It was a good impression Jean had to admit.

"I'm sorry, but who's the one who ran off and left me at the train station the second we stopped in Rush Valley?" Ed retorted.

"Well I don't know what you're talking about..." she trailed off, blue eyes meeting wide amber ones as she spotted the little girl staring up at her in wonder. She inhaled sharply and Havoc had a feeling in the pit of his stomach like the moment before something fragile falls and shatters. "General Mustang, is this-"

"Hawkeye's daughter, Mae" Ed cut in quickly, something unspoken passing between him and his wife and Winry pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment, before giving Mae a bright, if a touch watery, smile.

"Hello Mae, I'm Winry! These are Trish, and Nina and Sam... um, somewhere. Sam?"

"Here," came a voice from under Havoc's vacated desk.

"Clearly I've missed something," came a dry voice from the doorway. Riza was back, surveying the room. Spotting Sam under the desk she bent slightly and gave him a smile. "Hi Sam, do you remember me?"

"No," came the sullen voice again.

"Cute kid," Riza deadpanned at Ed, who shrugged. She deftly plucked Nina from Fuery's arms – for all that he was great with Mae he seemed relieved by this – and walked over to the big desk to give Winry a quick squeeze and direct a bemused glance at Mustang.

"Clearly not my fault," he said, and as usual Havoc felt like he'd missed about 80% of the conversation. Which, as usual, he probably had.

"Clearly," she replied, handing him baby Nina, who accepted her with the practiced ease of someone who had held babies too many times to count. "I'll trade you," she added, scooping Mae off the stack of books and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Mom I'm busy," she complained. The Captain remained unmoved.

"I don't know," the General said. "I think I'm getting the better deal here, this one's fresher. Sorry Mae."

"Hey," the small voice protested.

"Come on, you'll get to see everyone later, okay?" Riza told her daughter firmly, heading towards the door. Mae only squirmed for a moment before accepting her fate and they could all hear a faint 'byeeee sirrrrrr!' echoing in the hall. They all ignored Mustang blinking very hard at the baby he held. Breda produced a candy from somewhere and went to work fishing Sam out from under the desk, and Winry went to make introductions.

With Riza and Mae gone, and the others preoccupied with Winry and the kids, Ed sauntered over to the General, who was still seated in his chair, bouncing the baby on his knee fondly.

"When did you get so good with kids?" Ed asked quietly. Mustang looked up in surprise, and handed the baby back somewhat reluctantly.

"They get big too fast," he said. "But you know that, huh Fullmetal?"

"That's what Winry always says, and then next thing I know we have another mouth to feed," Ed told him, leaning against the desk. "You seem really fond of Mae. Ever thought about having one of your own?" the General's shoulders went rigid under his uniform coat.

"Maybe someday," he said flippantly.

"Cut the shit, Mustang," Ed said, tone suddenly hard, barely loud enough for Havoc to hear from where he stood by the bookshelf with Trish, who was "reading" to him and Fuery from one of the books. "How do you think she's gonna feel about you when all this comes out?"

"I don't know what you're talking-"

"I said cut the shit, okay, that kid looks exactly like you."

"Look Fullmetal, you don't know what the hell you're talking about," Roy's furious whisper was so unexpected Havoc had to fight not to look over at them. "This isn't easy but it's better for her than having two ex-military parents whose careers and lives were ruined by a fraternization scandal. I know what you're thinking and I'm nothing like Hohenheim. I'm there for her." Havoc chanced a look and saw Ed's shoulders visibly relax.

"I know – I mean, I'm sorry. You clearly are. You were there for Al and me too, of course you'd be there for … for Hawkeye's kid." Mustang shuffled some papers around.

"I've been working with my adjutant for a long time," he said. "It's only natural I would help her out."

"Do you get to spend a lot of time with Mae?" Ed asked quietly, and Havoc had to strain to hear the soft reply.

"Not enough."

-x-

The bachelor party ended up not being so much a party as a standard Friday night. Well, a standard Friday night that they would have had several years ago, plus Fullmetal was there. Havoc was amused to see that Ed turned up his nose when Roy asked if he wanted a scotch, and opted for a beer like the other men.

It was nearing midnight when a peal of laughter made Jean look towards the door, to see a familiar head of bushy brown hair entering the bar. It was Rebecca, followed closely by Riza. Judging from their flushed faces and relaxed expressions, they'd been out for drinks and had decided to crash his bachelor party.

"There they are!" Rebecca crowed, and danced over to twine her arms around Havoc's neck.

"And that's my cue to go," Ed told the room at large, draining his glass and catching the bartender's attention. "It's getting late and Winry's expecting me. Hey, thanks, you can put those on his tab," this was directed at the bartender, with a jerk of his thumb towards Mustang to indicate whose tab he meant exactly.

"Hey wait a minute, I'm not-"

"Thanks again Colonel, see ya," and with that he was gone, Riza sliding in to take his seat between Roy and Breda.

"That's General to y- ah he's gone."

"I'm pretty sure the point of a Bachelor party is to celebrate, um, being apart?" Jean said to Rebecca, who was currently playing with his hair. Her own hair was wind-tousled and her cheeks were flushed prettily and he decided that time apart wasn't actually worth observing, anyway.

"Well after the last round of shots she decided that she missed you and the party was over," Riza said with a shrug, and Havoc noticed that the scotch that had been sitting in front of the General was now in Riza's hand. She at first glance seemed to be holding it together better than Rebecca but her eyes were a little too bright and her shoulder a little too close to Mustang's. He didn't seem to mind, actually pretending to stretch and setting his arm along the backs of both of their chairs. Havoc looked around the bar quickly but didn't see anyone but civilians. Most military preferred a slightly nicer bar that was closer to work. He caught Breda's eye and gave a small nod towards their superior officers. They weren't on Hawkeye and Mustang levels of nonverbal communication but they had the basics down. Breda raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his beer.

"Who's watching Mae, Riza?" Breda wanted to know, regarding the Captain and Brigadier General curiously.

"She's with Gracia," Riza said, taking another sip of scotch, before sitting up straight and deliberately setting the glass down as though she'd just remembered something. "Hayate is too, actually, since she hates going anywhere without him. So I guess I'm on my own tonight," she said, and Havoc made a mental note that Hawkeye was not, under any circumstances, ever allowed to drink while on an undercover mission. She got sloppy. Mustang seemed to be having a hard time catching on which made Jean more than a little annoyed– years of stealing Havoc's girlfriends and now he can't be bothered to pay attention-

"You'd better have one of us walk you home then," Havoc said casually.

"Guys, I think the Captain is way more able to take care of herself than any of us," Fuery said, rightly. Jean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. So now he had two clueless coworkers and one who was worse at acting than her four-year-old daughter.

"Safety in numbers," he intoned. "And Becca's sure not walking her home."

"My butt is a deadly weapon," Rebecca muttered into his shoulder, seemingly half-asleep despite the noise of the bar. Also an excellent point, he had to admit.

"Well I suppose," Roy began, "as her superior officer I can make sure the Captain gets home safe." Fucking finally, Havoc thought to himself.

"That seems unnecessary, sir, but if you insist," Riza told him, however her eyes were saying something else entirely. Havoc looked away, thinking that maybe that was a conversation he didn't actually want to be a part of.

"I'll go pay my tab then," he said as Riza gave a huge, fake yawn. Within minutes they were strolling out of the bar, Mustang's hand at the small of Hawkeye's back. Purely for balance, Havoc thought snidely. Breda took a large swig of his beer.

"Why did we facilitate that?" he asked, as Fuery stared out the door after them.

"Because we're optimists?" Jean replied, finishing his own drink.

"Philanthropists," Breda corrected him. "Trying to keep a little girl from growing up in a broken home." There was a sudden gasp from Fuery.

"They're together together, aren't they?"

It wasn't really his fault he couldn't hold his liquor but this still earned him groans from the other three. A beat, and then:

"I mean, of course not," Rebecca said, half-muffled by Jean's shirt, which felt distinctly warm, like she'd been talking directly into the fabric.

"Strictly professional," Breda agreed.

"Eh I don't know," Havoc said, looking out the open door where he could faintly see the two still walking down the street, now unmistakably hand in hand. "I think those two crazy kids will work it out someday."

"You're drunk," Rebecca slurred, tugging at his sleeve. "Come on, let's go home and I'll let you make me some toast."

-x-

As it happened, married life was so similar to unmarried life it was virtually impossible to tell the difference. It was nearing 11pm on a Tuesday and Jean's blushing bride was yawning widely next to him, hair akimbo and face shiny with something she kept in a small glass pot by the bathroom sink that was, in his opinion, exorbitantly expensive when one considered the amount that was actually in the container. The only real difference, he mused, was that the expensive face cream was now half his.

"Stop that," she instructed, and yawned again.

"What?' he asked, blinking. He just realized he'd been completely ignoring the book in front of him.

"Staring at me, it's creepy. I know I'm radiant but seriously, I can get you a picture so you stop bugging me while I'm trying to read."

"But the picture would lack your natural charm," he said, grinning, setting the open book down on his lap. They were propped up side by side in bed, him with a fairly dry history book he was trying to get through just to say he had, and her with a trashy periodical she was genuinely enjoying.

"True," she agreed.

"And a picture wouldn't smell as nice," he said, leaning in to plant a kiss on her jaw, careful to avoid the parts of her face coated in the excretions of some-bug-or-other, he tried not to think too much about it.

"Also very true," she purred, setting her magazine down on her lap and turning her face towards his. He brushed his lips lightly against hers, shifting to turn his body inwards, one hand running through her hair. God he loved her hair. Once a year she threatened to cut it all off because it was so unmanageable but that was precisely what he loved about it. He ducked his head to trail kisses along her shoulder as she tossed the magazine aside.

The doorbell rang.

"Is there even the smallest chance that's not incredibly important?" He asked, mouth still pressed to her skin. She sighed and it was a moment before she replied, sounding as though it was taking great force of will to get the words out.

"No, there isn't," she muttered, irritated. "Tell you what, if it's my best friend, I owe you a favor and if it's yours, you owe me one." And with that she slid out of bed, heading for the door, leaving Havoc dazed and blinking.

"Wait, who's my best friend?" he asked as she headed out of the room. In response she turned and cocked an eyebrow before turning back around and marching towards the door. He guessed she had a point; you didn't make a guy your best man for no reason. But if it was Roy at the door, he swore to himself, he'd make sure he paid for it in paperwork.

He meandered out to the front room after his wife, tugging on a t-shirt, to find the answer to their bet sitting in her arms. Mae was dressed for bed, in a bright purple onesie, a stuffed bear in her arms. She was also yawning and from the looks of it had been plucked out of her crib.

"I'm so sorry to do this," Riza was saying. She was in uniform, and Jean wondered for a moment why he hadn't gotten a call if they were on a case. But she was on a case; he wasn't. He'd actually been loaned out, in a sense, to a general currently without a sharpshooter, and while he was still technically under Mustang's command, he wasn't in the office this week. "Fuery just got the intel; it's probably going to be an all-night stakeout I'm afraid. If I'm not done in the morning you can drop her off at the military childcare; they have both your names." Becca's arms were full of toddler so Havoc relieved Riza of the massive duffel bag.

"Anytime," Becca said, stroking Mae's small black pigtails. "We love our niece don't we?"

"Yeah of course," Jean replied.

"Thank you so much, I'll call in the morning if I can," and like that she was gone, racing off into the night towards her parked car which, Havoc noted, didn't appear to be empty. He set the bag down and looked at his wife, who yawned hugely, seeming entirely unbothered.

"Well I'm going to bed, wake me if you set something on fire. Or don't, whatever."

"Wait, aren't you going to help-"

"Nu-uh, I'm calling in my favor early. Sweet dreams." She headed down the hall and he realized she was serious.

"What do you mean favor, it was your best friend! You lost!" His indignant squawking was causing Mae to wake up further, and he swayed slightly in place as a countermeasure.

"Nope," Rebecca said triumphantly, pointing at Mae, who was now gazing wide-eyed between the two of them. "It was yours." And with that she vanished, leaving Havoc holding the little girl, who was already squirming to get down. He adjusted his grip so he was holding her under one arm and she giggled.

"Uncle Havoc!"

"Guess it's just you and me, kid. Now, what story do you want to hear before bed?"

"The stabbing lady," she replied instantly, naming a very watered-down version of the time Havoc had been paralyzed by a homunculus in the Fifth Laboratory. Ironic because he had faced death again when Riza caught wind he'd told that story to her toddler. In his defense it had been very late and they were out of children's books.

"The stabbing lady it is."

#Royai #Roy Mustang #riza hawkeye #Jean Havoc #kidfic #Fullmetal Alchemist #FMAB

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kurojiri · 6 years ago

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I know the sound of your heart

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Harry Potter/ Draco Malfoy Summary: Between the orders he had received, and the ones directly from his heart it had drastically made it harder to stay optimistic. CLASS/CATEGORY| Potions (Angst) Prompt: Rolled 1 - Prompt A Harry and Draco think they know each other. One day, they’re tasked with bringing each other down. Choose either: 1) undercover Aurors -OR- 2) war spies -OR- 3) cell mates - Minimum: 300 words - Maximum: 1301 words. Must have at least one Harry and one Draco POV section. A/N: @gameofdrarry Word Count: 1,077 Or read on ao3

Sixth year was predictably, going splendid.

Each day Harry woke up early (because who needed sleep when all he could dream was that night when he lost his godfather), ate what he could (since it was not appropriate for The Chosen One to starve himself) and to try in completing some of his homework without tipping off anyone how stressed he felt. It had been a long summer. Packed in with a longer break since he had any contact with Malfoy that used to involve snogging. He wanted to stop feeling so glum, so useless, and full of too many expectations that the whole wizarding world placed onto him. It didn’t help that besides playing the savior, The Order had become lenient in giving him a mission, technically a small one, but still potentially important if he played it right. Being the Gryffindor that he was, he took it.

September had barely started with the cold weather and quizzes that their professors were itching to squeeze into their classes. Harry’s own timetable wouldn’t have been that hard if he liked all his classes, but he did complain on the account that potions was still slotted because he said that he wanted to be an Auror after Hogwarts. The only refuge he received was that he had not been completely alone when it came to heartbreak. Hermione’s own luck sucked too, yet, when he had told her about Malfoy, she had been wary and sympathetic about his feelings. He liked the git, but as their history went, it had been too unstable for anything to remotely come into fruition in a healthy dose.

It went in hand that Draco Malfoy would never leave his mother’s side. (And Harry understood, because he had known that he himself would protect everyone he loved. The Weasleys, Hermione, Ron, Remus, and, Sirius—he just wanted to help, to survive the war.)

He knew that Malfoy didn’t want anything to do with him. He should have respected his wishes. However, the thing about being a Potter was that he couldn’t let Malfoy go. Not from his thoughts, his dreams and heart.

He wanted to build a bridge back, to construct something that could mend their mistakes from before. Harry’s own selfish desires could backfire on him if Malfoy found out what The Order wanted from them, he knew; but that had been what made him Harry Potter. He took the risks nobody wanted to make. Carved out his grave where he stood when he slipped the cloak to track down Malfoy. It hadn’t been that hard to find him during Prefect duties late at night. It had been effortless to slip into old habits when he called out his name, to reveal his body and have a half-frozen Malfoy in front of him. Practically gapping. In seconds, he enveloped Malfoy inside the cloak for both privacy and desperation to maintain his attention.

They didn’t kiss, even if he missed it, Harry just felt too self-conscious of being so close to the boy he was in love with. The same one that The Order wanted Harry to get cozy again in order to find any leaks of information from the other side. The levels of drama and angst that could loop around his shoulders was astonishing, heavy too when all thoughts centered to pleading if Draco changed his mind and join his side. They could talk it out (because he badly wanted an excuse to have Malfoy in his life again), to make a plan that would ensure Malfoy’s mother safety now that his dad was out of the picture momentarily, he just needed to say the right words. To have the courage to stitch together his mission while still staying true to his heart.

“I know you’re up to something.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, his lips turned thin. Harry could see how much he wanted to deny the accusation as his body leaned away from Harry’s. (But they knew that he couldn’t. Not when it had been public knowledge about the downfall of the Malfoy name.)

“We both know that you want sanctuary for your mum. I can give it to you.” Malfoy’s scoff hadn’t hid how skeptical and a cynic he was to hearing that. “Malfoy—” He got cut off.

“Potter we both know that’s rubbish. If we’re going to be candid about this, I doubt you have that much influence in your little club against him to invoke a deal that would give my mother clemency.”

“Do you always have to be such a pessimistic git? Malfoy, I know a thing or two about families with a bad history. I know you weren’t exactly that close to your dad compared to your mum. I’m giving you a chance.” For your pardon, for us, he wanted to add.

Malfoy crossed his arms against his chest as a gust of chilly air blew through them. “Regardless of how distant I’ve been with my father, that doesn't equate that I would leave him behind to the Dark Lord’s wrath. Malfoys pride themselves of being loyal to family. As such, your band of fans and bodyguards wouldn’t let my family in without something equal to exchange.”

“Information.” Harry admitted. “They would want an insider to spy and give intel.”

But that would be too dangerous for any grown adult let alone someone who was still in Hogwarts. He couldn’t gamble Malfoy’s life like that. Not when he was losing too many people from all sides.

“Potter, just give it up. Leave me alone and keep your head down for all our sakes. What’s done is done.”

Harry stepped closer. “You can’t mean that. Malfoy, don’t walk away from this.” He grabbed one of Malfoy’s hands and placed it over his heart. “I know you want this.”

Malfoy’s hands were cold, shivering from contact. “No, you don't.”

He stuttered. Looked so ready to give up, empty. Harry leaned further and angled for his lips to touch Malfoys when he whispered to him. “Don’t lie to yourself. I want you too.”

“Don’t. Potter you don’t know what you’re starting.” Please almost escaped from his mouth.

He trembled when Harry kissed him.

“I have been told you have acquired Potter’s affections.” His robes slid over to his shoes. In close proximity his red eyes pierced straight to his heart. “Good. Use that to your advantage and your mother will stay in perfect health. Is that understood?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

#Drarryland #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #hogwarts sixth year #angst #emotional manipulation #emotional baggage #bittersweet ending #death threats #teen angst #fic: 1-5k #drarry #draco x harry #Iktsoyh: I know the sound of your heart

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starlightcurse-blog · 6 years ago

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So I finally got time to make this post I’ve been wanting to make for a long while. This is a complete list of spirits I am bonded with and work with on an almost daily basis. this is long so ill post it all below the cut, just to save room on the dash of people who might not want to read this.

I also want to start this off by saying I like to differentiate three types of spirits. Really, two but I’ll entertain three. the main two would be living spirits and dead spirits, and I’ll say the third category would be divine spirits but I consider divine spirits to also be living spirits. Now what does this mean? Well, what I consider dead spirits are spirits of the deceased, those who have passed on and are wandering the earth or ones that have moved on to the afterlife. What I consider living spirits would be divine entities like gods, angels, demons, things of that nature, and other living spirits would be faeries, mythical creatures, or just other creatures in the spirit or astral realm, that were not incarnated on this physical realm or just have never had a physical form.

Midnight: She is a Goddess of Spirits, she refers to herself as the ‘Queen of Spirits’. She is the first one of these that I meet and bonded with. She is highly intelligent, but somewhat impersonal. She is blunt, but she gives good advice. She also connects me to the spirit realm and helps act as my guide. When I can contact her, she gives me a vision of what she looks like. Tall, ghostly pale skin, black eyes, and then lots of gray. She speaks to me through visions.

Lunar: She is a goddess of light and shadow, sunlight and moonlight, the sun and the moon, basically that whole duality of light and dark in the literal sense. Her alignment is basically lawful neutral. She says she is associated with wolves, owls, lions, and eagles. She is actually very gentle and nice, and has a motherly vibe. When I get visions of her, I see blonde hair, a long white flowing dress, and colors of black white. She speaks to me through mental images, which I consider different from visions because a vision for me is like a gif, whereas Lunar flashes pictures and words in my mind. She helps me connect with other deities.

Bloodwyraine: This will be long and detail and dark because I know the most about her. She is probably the second one of these spirits I met and the rest I don’t remember the order. I think after her it was Lunar or Esmerlda, then Rion or Peaches. She also has a very tragic back story. She is an angel, and she used to be the Keeper of the Sands of Time, she was also associated with storms, knowledge, time, and magic. She was sent to Earth on a mission, met this human Zara, fell in love with her and they somehow conceived a little girl Sarah. When her brothers and sisters showed up to tell her it was time for her to come home, she declined and told them how she had a family to protect now. They understood and left, but shortly after she was demanded to return to Heaven and she declined again, this time she also invoked God’s wrath(She calls him simply Yahweh, and in a very dead tone..). She left her house one day to get herbs and when she came back her family was gone and there was a feather on her door step. She went to Heaven and demanded her family back, of course they asked her to stay in return ad she told them to basically fuck themselves. They killed her wife Zara, turned her daughter into marble and smashed her. This sent Bloodwyraine in a fit of rage and she doesn’t remember much. She remembered sitting in a forest back on Earth, and being covered in blood and having no halo. She used to look like the embodiment of purity, short white hair, 18 big and small soft white wings, five blue eyes, and that’s all of her form she could show me. When she left that forest that night, she had three silver eyes, three black wings, long black hair and nails, and her skin looked greyish. She says she mutilated herself because she couldn’t His brand. She changed her name to Rosemary and went into hiding, and wandered the Earth as a medicine woman that would go from village to village curing people using her knowledge of magic and herbs. She decided to stop hiding and now goes by her old name. We have a very strong bond, and arrangement, I give her energy when she needs any from me and she provides me with tips on magic. Despite all that has happened to her, and the fact that she wants nothing to do with Yahweh or his... “minions”, she’s very sweet and soft spoken. She stays with me because she sees something in me, I don’t know what that is though. She actually shared all this with me in one very vivid dream and when I woke up from it I saw her sitting on my bed, two wings out and one folded behind her she looked very sad and nodded and I started crying and we held each other all night. I believe my bond with her is so strong and vivid because she has spent so much time here on Earth. I don’t spend a lot of time with her in one go though because if gives me migraines. She also helps me keep myself balanced and cleansed.

Esmerlda(Not a typo, seriously. I thought she meant Esmerelda but nope.): This is one feisty girl. She is a princess of some sort, I don’t know her parentage, and she certainly doesn’t act like one, but she does claim to be a princess. She is kind of full of herself though lol. She’s very carefree and friendly. She claims that she could transform her tail into two legs, i think it was either through cutting open her tail or by eating the heart/lungs of sailors after luring them into the water. She liked to use her legs to climb onto ships with her “girlfriends”(I don’t know if this was a band of female friends or female lovers or both), and play pirate. She also claims she was the basis for Ariel because they both had red hair and blue/green tails but I don’t believe that for. a. second. Esme can just be.. a little cocky. But we love her here. She likes to sit here with me and gossip, she is a pretty physical spirit, in that she likes to come to me and sit with me whenever I’m doing something, this also makes her the easiest for me to contact since I don’t have to use my energy to channel or astral visit her. I do not know if she used to be alive or not so I don’t know how to classify her. She is also in a very cute relationship with another spirit, Tiana. She helps me out with elemental magic and identifying other spiritual creatures.

Peaches- I have mentioned this cool cat before. She is very secretive, and doesn’t actually speak. She communicates to me through visions and mental images. She used to appear to me in a very strange form that had a small head and arms/legs, but a large round body. She now appears to me in the form of a short, fast, black as night humanoid form. She has ears, eyes, and a face like a cat. She has whiskers, I think, and a nose like a cat, I think, and she has small sharp teeth. She also has features of gold on her, like tattoos, in her eyes, and such. She doesn’t really give me complete answers, and when I asked when/where she’s from she shows me flashes of a sunset or sunrise, a plain of dead grasses or wheat, and some old stone building city. I know she had a tribe of beings just like her. I can’t tell if she hails from England/Ireland/Scotland/Wales or maybe Northern Africa, specifically Egypt. I have a suspicion she is the goddess Bast in disguise, but I don’t push her on that because its not my business or she would be straight forward with me about it. She helps me out with element magic, and anything that relates to ancient times.

Rion- He is, for now, the only male spirit I know. He is the spiritual incarnation of a thunder storm, and looks like a tornado in humanoid form, if that makes sense. He told me that his mother was a tornado and his father was a hurricane. He talks very softly in my head, because his real voice is deafening thunder. I believe he has a little sister that is a lightning bolt. There isn’t much to tell about him, I mostly only see him when it storms or is just cloudy out. I suppose you could classify him as a slyph, or ventus, but I don’t really know. It’s weird. I met him when I was alone one day at my old job and a storm knocked the power out. He is very sweet, and he does help me influence the weather when he’s around. He also can sometimes stop the rain for me when i need to run outside for something. He does like to talk about nature spirits with me.

Tiana- She is a lovely young lady. She was born and grew up in somewhere near modern day Estonia, but then moved somewhere near present day Hungary or Austria. It’s hard to say, since she hails from the 15th-16th century. She was surprisingly educated, and when she was a servant girl for either a type of Duke or Viscount, she overheard the Master of the house talking about a problem he was dealing with she spoke up, and he when he realised she was intelligent he quickly made her a form of nobility, even though she was just a peasant girl. She doesn’t have the best memory now, but she believes he married her, and shortly after there was an accident with food or maybe she was wounded and died from infection. She’s very quiet and soft spoken, and she’s not angry or remorseful in terms of her death, she knows it was an accident, but she decided to roam the Earth to watch mankind evolve. She’s very nice and friendly. She doesn’t help me perform my magic but she does like to watch. She is so gay for Esme.

and last but not least, my mother. Well, not my actual mother but yeah.

Taliyana. She’s not helpful at all. But she takes care of me when I’m too tired to do things for myself. Mostly basic stuff, like showering, eating, driving home at night. She also takes care of me if I’m too stressed out or too emotionally drained. She lives within me, as in she has permission to just control my body at her will. She mostly just sleeps all day. She is a dragon, specifically a type of Wyrm. She has black iridescent scales, with purple skin and emerald eyes. She has two arms, legs, and wings but they’re very small and mostly just stay curled into her body so she can slither around like a snake. She also has highly venomous fangs, or so she claims. We communicate mostly through telepathy, or just in my mind really.

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punnet-of-muses-archived-blog · 7 years ago

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Lake Sides and Riveras

Thanks to the lovely @chioccetta for creating this AU and inspiring my first work of fanfiction for the Coco fandom!

Title: Lake Sides and Riveras (Alternatively; The five times she called him Rivera, and the one time she called him Héctor) Ships: Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera Warnings: Mildly graphic depiction of violence. Wordcount: 6,537

Set in Camp Halfblood, this is the story of a daughter of Athena, an unclaimed son, the five times she called him Rivera, and the one time she called him Héctor.

The first was, of course, when they first met. It was a Saturday, and a particularly hot one for May. The children of the Aphrodite cabin were, of course, strutting around in as little clothing as they could get away with, looking unfairly flawless in the sweltering heat. Even some of the other demigods had submitted to the climbing temperatures, either lazing around in shorts and bikinis – or simply just shorts for the boys – or flocking down to the cooling retreat of the lake.

Héctor Rivera was one of those down by the lake, though his friend had unwillingly dragged him – and, Héctor supposed, his mentor in the ways of Camp Halfblood – Ernesto de la Cruz. Ernesto had two summers on Héctor, despite not staying for the whole year round. That did not particularly matter to Héctor; it simply meant he had more time to himself and his music when Ernesto was not around. What did matter, though, was the way Ernesto so casually reacted to her arrival.

“Aye, amigo, look. We’ve got ourselves a new arrival.” Ernesto nudged Héctor as he climbed back onto the jetty, where Héctor was contently sitting with just his feet in the water. His attention followed Ernesto’s gaze towards the camp, from which approached a young girl. With her dark hair braided over her shoulder, and her sarong fluttering in the gentle, yet unbearably warm wind, she could have easily been mistaken for a daughter of Aphrodite. And, in all fairness, Héctor would have been quiet content with simply watching, had it not been for Ernesto’s brazen attitude pulling him to his feet and towards the girl.

“Has Aphrodite blessed us with another of her beautiful children?” Ernesto grinned crookedly, somehow carrying a certain attractive arrogance about himself as he approached the newcomer.

“Aphrodite? Please, anyone but those vain airheads.” The girl rolled her eyes, “If I’m a daughter of Aphrodite, then I’m sure you’re one of Ares’ arrogant sons.” Ouch. She did not even know Ernesto’s name, and yet she was already insulting him. That at least was apparent on the oldest boy’s face. Héctor was too terrified to speak, for fear of being insulted as well, but he knew he couldn’t just stand still and say nothing, especially not if that included staring like a love struck fool. Oh no…

“Well, aren’t you two going to introduce yourselves? Or do I have to start this as well?” The girl raised a sharp eyebrow, her arms folded over her chest and her weight on one leg as she sighed. A simple shake of her head was all she gave them, “Well, my name is Imelda Rivera, daughter of Athena, and yes, as you’ve already worked out, I am new here. Now, it’s your turn.”

“Oh, ah… Ernesto de la Cruz, son of the goddess Pheme.” The taller boy bowed and then stood tall again, flashing that grin of his as he slicked his wet hair back, all in one fluid and practiced movement. Héctor was still staring. Noticing this as he glanced at his friend, Ernesto rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, subtly nudging Héctor with his elbow.

“O-Oh!” The younger was knocked slightly off balance by the unexpected nudge. Whether the heat on his face was from the sun, or him blushing, it was difficult to tell. “Um-“ he cleared his throat, feeling his voice ready to crack. Damn puberty… “H-Héctor Rivera, uh… I haven’t yet been claimed…,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Looking at Imelda quickly became akin to staring into the sun.

Satisfied with her eventual answer, Imelda gave a short hum, “Well then, de la Cruz, Rivera, it was nice to get some sort of conversation out of you. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go and find Dionysus so that I may have a competent tour of the camp.” And with that, Imelda gave a sharp nod and walked off, leaving both boys in slack-jawed awe, staring at the daughter of Athena and then at each other.

Whether it was the heat, or the heart-stopping encounter with Imelda, Héctor decided that he needed to cool off before he passed out.

The second followed soon after. A week, to be precise. The air in the camp was still hot and humid, which seemed to have a strange effect on most of the boys. It made them all seemingly braver – or more reckless, depending on who you asked.

And that was how Héctor found himself at the edge of the lake, staring across a wooden bridge to a small island, on which was a collection of tall but climbable rocks, and a group of foolhardy boys leaping off them. And, of course, Ernesto was one of them. To the unknowing, Ernesto could very easily be one of the few Athena granted her courage to. But then again, courage was often a mistaken label given to the reckless.

“Vamos, amigo!” Ernesto called from the far side of the bridge; his hands were cupped either side of his smug grin. “The bridge is fine, what are you waiting for?”

Truth be told, the bridge did not look fine at all. There were already a few planks missing, and it was clear to see that parts of the foundations were rotting thanks to the lake water.

“Are you sure, Ernesto?” Héctor asked, pressing his foot against the first board of the bridge; it gave an unhealthy sounded creak.

“It supported all of us, didn’t it? It can take one more.” Ernesto shrugged Héctor’s concern off, something he did often. Sometimes, it worked to make Héctor feel more confident. This wasn’t one of those times. Despite that, Héctor still felt that pressure to be over on the small island with the other boys.

Sometimes, he wished he never listened to Ernesto.

“See? I told you it’s fine!” Ernesto boasted, arms folded confidently across his chest. The smugness that came with being proven right was radiating off the demigod, despite Héctor not even being halfway across the bridge. Héctor, however, was not feeling the same assurance of the bridge’s stability.

It was almost a karmic twist of fate that Héctor was proved right a step later. The unclaimed demigod barely had the time to get a word out to Ernesto when the first board snapped – or rather seemed to crumble – beneath his shoe. In an attempt to save himself, Héctor tried to dash forwards only for a second board to disintegrate beneath his foot, robbing him of the leverage he needed to make it across the bridge.

“Héctor!” A rare shout of concern came from the son of Pheme as Héctor’s face made a solid contact with one of the solid, dry planks before he slipping down into the water.

“…And another thing! Do you even realise what could be swimming in that lake? Sirens, hippocampi, hydra? Ridiculous, that any of you would even swim that far out into the lake, let alone jump off rocks into water- did you even check to see how deep it was?”

Héctor’s head was pounding, and whoever was ranting beside him was not helping in the slightest. His face felt damp, and there was an indescribable pain in his mouth, seeming to come from his upper jaw. What had happened? And why did he feel… cold?

“And you, Rivera!”

Well, that certainly got Héctor’s attention, despite only just coming to process the rather angry looking Imelda standing over him, sandal in hand, next to Ernesto, who held a mix of shame and fear on his face; a peculiar mix for the demigod, indeed.

“M-Me?” Héctor responded, blinking slowly as he pointed to himself.

“Yes, you! What in the name of Hades were you thinking? Are you really stupid enough to listen to this… this self-centred imbecile?!” Imelda pointed her sandal at Ernesto, who visibly flinched: he had already felt the wrath of la chancla.

Héctor was at a loss for words. Not only did Imelda have the guts to be insulting Ernesto in this manner again, but now he was in the firing line. Her radiance was quickly becoming a searing heat, blinding him.

“I-I thought it w-would be fine?” he attempted, his defence meek and pathetic.

“Aye aye aye!” Imelda dragged her hand across her face, “I swear, I would slap you if you weren’t already injured! If I catch you doing something stupid again just because he-“ Imelda jabbed an accusatory sandal in Ernesto’s direction, “egged you on to do it, I… I swear by Zeus you won’t want to know!”

And with that, the blazing sun stormed out of the hospital wing, putting her sandal back on as she walked. And once again, Héctor and Ernesto were left staring in her wake, at a loss for words. Héctor, curious as to what he had done, lifted his hand towards his face; from just feeling, he noticed his split lip and… a gap, where his front left incisor once was.

“Well, it’s official, amigo. She is far more terrifying than the Titans and Cerberus put together.” Ernesto spoke up after a minute, glancing over to Héctor as the younger sat up.

“Sí…” Héctor simply agreed. She was terrifying, but easily just as captivating.

The third was arguably his own fault.

Having been at the camp for about a month and a half, Imelda was now well versed in the boys’ ways, seeming to have a sixth sense as to when, where, and how they would next make a mistake or do something in invoke her wrath. And yet, not even Imelda could have seen this coming.

“You all know the rules. Two teams, hide your flags, first to get the opponent’s flag over the river border wins. No killing, no maiming, and please remember to keep an eye out for the monsters, won’t you?” A rather exasperated Dionysus – or rather, Mr. D. – addressed the campers assembled before him. The god gave a deep sigh before holding his arm out in front of him, “Athena, Hermes, and… Apollo, you’re Red Team. Everyone else is Blue. Off you go.” With that, Mr. D. shooed the campers off with his hand, letting them go off to hide their flags and prepare their strategies.

The split conveniently left Héctor, Ernesto, and Imelda all on the Red Team together. Whilst Imelda still intimidated Héctor, he was rather excited by the prospect that he was on the same team and thus would not be the target of her fury. Rumours were already circulating the camp, whispering that Imelda was more likely to be the daughter of the vengeful Nemesis rather than Athena, or even that she was the strange offspring of both goddesses. Of course, none of these rumours were true, what with Imelda having already been claimed by the goddess of war; Héctor could only dream of the day he would be claimed.

The game had been underway for an hour, with few sightings or even words of the Blue team coming near the Red flag that Héctor and Imelda now guarded. Ernesto had gone off with the lead group, being one of the older and stronger campers, and obviously the right choice for the smaller team that would storm the Blue camp and seize their victory. Héctor didn’t particularly mind being left in the back, but what he did mind was the intimidating aura radiating from Imelda. She looked focused, hawk eyes scanning her side of the clearing, whilst Héctor tried to look everywhere at once. In hindsight, perhaps it was a good idea that he was covering the whole area visually.

There was no way that Imelda could have seen it coming; whilst she looked far off to the right, the hellhound crept in from the left. The creature only partly resembled a dog, with patches of fur across its body, but a flat-faced head full of reptilian teeth that looked sharp enough to pierce flesh. The sight of it chilled Héctor right down to his core, but by then his body possessed by an unfamiliar sensation. Burning, almost…

“Imelda!” The boy warned, diving between the hellhound and the demigoddess, lifting his shield to block its incoming strike. Rather than being knocked off his feet, Héctor was blinded by a sudden burst of light that seemed to affect Imelda and the hellhound, which barrelled into the flag in a missed pounce. Incomprehensible shapes danced across Héctor’s vision, leaving him dazed at Imelda’s side, but that didn’t stop him from keeping vague tabs on where the hellhound was.

It wasn’t long before the hellhound was at it again, bombarding the children with claw swipes and leaping bites. It was a miracle that they were lasting even this long against the creature, but it was clear that luck was not to accompany them alone. Whilst Imelda had now drawn her sword, it was clear that she hadn’t fully recovered from being blinded. Which, considering the hellhound’s stalking course towards her, was a serious problem.

Héctor once again interrupted the creature in its attack on the girl, although this time there was no flash of light to help. Charging straight into Héctor, the hellhound sent the boy crashing to the ground a fair few feet away from Imelda, though there was no time for him to throw his shield up; short talons tore through Héctor’s shirt and chest, dragging a cry of pain from the boy as he managed to push his hands beneath the hound’s jaw, keeping its bite at bay. The more Héctor struggled, the more bits of flesh the claws sank into, and the harder it became to keep himself from being bitten.

That was until the hellhound let out a sharp yelp of pain, turning to growl at the arrow now embedded in the back of its hindquarters. That would have been the cue that Héctor needed to strike, if Imelda’s sword hadn’t sliced a clean arc through the air, ignoring the fact that the hellhound’s neck was directly in its path.

The now decapitated head barely missed hitting Héctor as the beast crumpled, soon being thrown off to the side by a familiar face with an easily recognisable jaw line.

“Héctor, what happened?” Ernesto asked, slinging a longbow over his shoulder as he dropped to one knee to lift Héctor to his feet, Imelda taking his other arm.

“Idiot, you saw what happened.” Imelda scolded him, “A hellhound appeared and attacked us, that’s what happened. Come on, we need to get him back to the camp quickly.”

“The flag…” Héctor protested as he was practically carried between the two, though he didn’t have the strength nor the energy to defend the flag.

“It’s fine, amigo. We got the Blue flag, I was just coming back to tell you both.” Ernesto replied, once again pushing Héctor’s worries off to the side as the trio made a beeline for the hospital wing.

“You really are an idiot, you know that, Rivera?” Imelda shook her head as she wrapped the last part of the bandage around Héctor’s forearm. Her touch was surprisingly gentle despite her disapproving attitude, and even felt a little warm through the bandages.

“Sí.” Héctor replied, a slight laugh rising in his chest, “I still saved your life though.” He added, smiling warmly.

“But look at you! You’re covered in bandages and you could’ve easily ended up as hellhound dinner.” She scolded him, tying the final knot on his wrist. Despite that, Héctor’s smile remained; perhaps it was just the after effects as the adrenaline wore off. Realistically, things could’ve gone much worse, so Héctor was lucky to be walking away with a couple of patches and some bandaging around his arm and chest. If the hellhound had scratched any deeper, he surely would’ve been a goner.

“I know, but I’m here, aren’t I? It’s fine, Imelda. But, thank you for worrying so much.” Héctor opened his eyes, his smile softening as he looked across at Imelda. This time, Héctor was glad that she had faded somewhat from a blazing midday sun, to a gentle, glowing sunset.

“It’s not like de la Cruz is going to worry this much about you, so somebody has to. Just... don’t do something so reckless next time, you understand?”

“Sí.”

The fourth and fifth followed close behind each other, both happening on the same day; one in the morning, under the speckled shade of the trees, and one under the cover of darkness, a clandestine escape down to the lakeside.

As was tradition in the last week of summer, a talent show was being hosted, with a variety of campers signing up to show off their talents, whether they be things they had taught themselves, or the innate gifts from their parents. Héctor, however, was playing his usual part; handing out flyers. With no idea of his innate gifts, nor the confidence – both in himself, and in his stage presence - needed to perform, he had never signed up for the show, instead staying behind the scenes. In reality, it was people like him that really made performers famous; after all, how could one’s popularity grow if nobody was aware of their existence?

Héctor had all but finished his task, with just one flyer left to hand out. He knew exactly who it was going to, but that didn’t stop his guts from twisting at the thought of it. He was quickly getting lost in his own head, holding the flyer tight with both hands only to lose sight of his surroundings, particularly her.

Imelda appeared before Héctor as if she had simply teleported, stopping Héctor in his tracks. Sitting beneath a large oak tree, in the gap between two protruding roots, Imelda twirled her bangs around her finger as she read, only stopping to turn the page and continue reading. The midmorning sun had been broken up by the thick foliage overhead, but there were still enough patches of radiance to highlight Imelda’s own, whether it added a golden glow to her warm skin, or accentuated the many shades of brown twisting through her braid.

Whatever it was, Héctor couldn’t breathe.

“What do you want, Rivera?”

Imelda’s passive tone forced air back into Héctor’s lungs, which took a moment to remember how to function before he spoke.

“Uh, I-I came to give you this. It’s the last one, and I thought that you ought to have it, what with you being uh, kinda new and all.” He replied, stepping hesitantly towards the girl. Getting closer to the tree felt as if he was crossing a border into her personal territory, her private bubble of solitude.

“What is it?” Imelda asked, reaching out to take the flyer. Reading its content with practically a glance, Imelda laughed, “As if there’s anybody talented here. And no, Apollo’s children don’t count; they practically have the cheat’s way out.”

“Ernesto’s going to be playing his guitar and singing. He’s very good, and he’s not related to Apollo. At least come and see him, please?” Héctor asked, a pleading look on his face. He didn’t want Imelda to be left out, especially not when the show was like a little party every year.

The daughter of Athena considered the flyer for a moment longer before giving in, “Alright, I’ll come and watch de la Cruz perform. I’ll be the judge of whether he’s good or not. Now, off you go.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand, the motion matching the flutters of Héctor’s heart. Héctor simply nodded.

“Uh, I guess I’ll see you later then?” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“We’ll see.” The corner of Imelda’s lips curled up in a smile as she glanced up at Héctor through her eyelashes, returning her attention to her book.

It wasn’t until later that evening, after the sun had set, did Héctor see Imelda again. Part of him knew that he shouldn’t be out so late, that one of the camp counsellors would see him, but he had to find Imelda. It was a matter of urgency, or at least it was in Héctor’s eyes.

The unclaimed son just managed to catch Imelda before she could retreat into the Athena cabin for the night, running up the steps to grab her hand, “Imelda!”

“What? What do you want now? It’s almost curfew.” The brunette pointed out, glancing from Héctor’s face down to their hands and back up again. She didn’t look overly impressed, but then again, when did she?

“I need to show you something. I promise it won’t take long, and we’ll be back before curfew.” Héctor replied, trying not to think of how soft and warm Imelda’s hands were.

“What could you possibly want to show me this late at night?” Imelda asked, her expression beginning to turn disapproving. “Ugh, it’s not some idiotic stunt that de la Cruz has put you up to, is it?”

“No, no, Ernesto fell asleep hours ago.” Héctor reassured her, “It’s something better. Come on, or we might miss it and miss curfew!”

Well, when it was put that way, and with a smile as charming and excited as that…

“Alright, lets make it quick.” Imelda agreed, following Héctor back down the steps as she let go of his hand. Not that it felt awkward to keep holding on, but it would be easier for them to both move if they weren’t holding each other.

Héctor couldn’t help but beam as he took off, making sure Imelda was close behind him as they weaved through the trees, avoiding the possibility to be spotted on their way down to the lakeside. At this time of night, any little waves that usually danced across the surface of the water had stilled, leaving an almost mirror-like surface on which the full moon left its dazzling reflection. The sight was enough to make even Imelda stop and smile in awe.

“Dios mío, it’s beautiful.” Imelda said softly as she stared out at the lake, appreciating the gentle ripples through the moon’s reflection. Or, at least, until Héctor gave a soft laugh beside her.

“That’s not what I wanted to show you. That is.” Héctor set his hand on Imelda’s shoulder, drawing her attention down his arm to where he was pointing.

Appearing to glide across the surface of the water was a singular swan. Larger than average, it’s feathers glowed in the moonlight, giving it an almost ghostly appearance. Imelda gave a soft gasp as she watched the elegant bird pass through the moon’s light, which only enhanced its glow.

“Incredible...” she breathed, taking a step closer to the lake’s edge. Héctor stayed close to her, worried in case she got too close and fell.

“Yeah, it is.” He smiled, his expression soft and perhaps, one could even go as far to say, smitten. Indeed, the poor boy was practically head over heels for the daughter of Athena, loving everything about her: the warm browns of her hair that carried the faintest highlights in the sun; the way her eyes always carried a knowing look when she was talking, or a shimmer of curiosity in moments like this; it seemed mad to say, but Héctor had fallen for her fiesty attitude as well. He had to stop himself from letting out an audible, dreamy sigh as Imelda began to twirl her bangs around her finger, one of her many little tics that Héctor just couldn’t seem to get enough of.

“Thank you for showing me this, Rivera.” Imelda smiled as she turned back to face him; it was all Héctor could do to quickly wipe the dreamy look from his face and try to keep the blush away.

“O-Oh, y-you’re very welcome, Imelda. I-I saw it on my way back to the cabin and it really caught my eye and I thought that you would really appreciate seeing it so I came to get you right away.” He rambled in a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Imelda lifted her hand to her mouth as she giggled, shaking her head at Héctor’s admittedly adorable ways.

“Come on, we need to head back before curfew. I’m not getting in trouble and saying it was because I was looking at a swan.” Imelda smiled as she began walking, only pausing to plant a soft kiss on Héctor’s cheek as she passed him.

Oh. Héctor was frozen, quickly losing the ability to move or even breathe as he gained a deep red colour across his face, right up to the tips of his ears. All he could do was stare at Imelda as she walked away, his hand coming up to shyly touch the place he was kissed. Imelda Rivera, one of the most beautiful and stunning girls at the camp with a temper to rival Hades himself, had just kissed him.

Héctor giggled. The sound was akin to the typical schoolgirl talking about her crush and getting all flustered whenever he came near. Imelda kissed him! He couldn’t help himself, really.

“Rivera, come on! What are you waiting for?” Imelda called back at him, waving her arm in a gesture that invited Héctor to follow her.

“N-Nothing! Coming!” Héctor called back, glancing back at the swan before he ran to catch up with Imelda. He couldn’t wait to tell Ernesto what had happened.

The last night of summer was already here, and Héctor was rather sad to see it come round so quickly. Whilst it meant that his best friend would be leaving again to return home until the start of Summer next year, it signalled the start of the talent show when he would get to see Ernesto perform. He already knew the son of Pheme would be amazing; he always was. It made Héctor jealous how readily Ernesto could strike up a song and have the phenominal ability to capture an audience’s interest in seconds. Héctor desperately wished that he had the confidence to get up on stage and do something like that. But here he was, stuck backstage providing support and reassurance to those confident enough to perform.

However, Héctor was struggling to do that tonight. His mind was preoccupied, his eyes glancing round the curtains to scan the crowd. He wondered if Imelda was sitting out there, if she was enjoying herself. He hoped she was. The kiss from the previous night was still at the forefront of his memory, a range of alternate scenarios looping around in his head. And then, Héctor spotted her.

Taking a seat in the front row, Imelda crossed her ankles and tucked her legs benath her chair, smoothing out her skirt before resting her hands in lap. Everything about her was graceful, from the way she sat to the way her loose hair tumbled over her shoulder where her braid would normally sit. Seeing Imelda with her hair down for once made Héctor’s heart flutter, and a blissful sigh escaped his lips. In his daydreaming state, he almost missed Ernesto speaking to him.

“Aye, amigo!” Ernesto rolled his eyes as he tapped Héctor’s shoulder, snatching the unclaimed’s attention back to reality, “I’m going on to play now, get your head out of dreamland and wish me luck.”

“O-Oh, sorry, Ernesto. Good luck!” Héctor beamed, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so. It was unlike him to zone out this badly, but ever since the kiss, he hadn’t been able to focus properly. Ernesto simply sighed and patted Héctor on the shoulder, giving him a slight smile to tell him it was alright before he took to the stage with his guitar. Héctor rubbed his face with both hands before pushing them through his hair. He didn’t really know why he had to wish Ernesto luck, he was the son of Pheme, the goddess of fame. He didn’t need luck to be a famous musician, all he needed was his mother’s favour.

And, of course, Ernesto’s performance had the crowd wrapped around his little finger within the first few chords. It always did, and Héctor was no exception to this rule. Usually. Tonight though, as he stood in the wings out of sight from the crowd, his attention was on Imelda, and Ernesto’s music simply provided a backdrop for his daydreaming. Whilst there was a slight smile on Imelda’s face – perhaps out of curteous appreciation – something told Héctor that she wasn’t thinking about Ernesto’s music either. That thought was confirmed when Imelda looked directly past Ernesto and straight at Héctor, her widening smile making Héctor’s guts twist and his breath catch. She was just too much...

And then, it was over. Ernesto had finished singing and was taking a bow, soaking up the attention and glory of the crowd’s applause. This was truly what Ernesto lived for, this true source of energy. A grin as bright as the sun was plastered across his face, his arms open wide as he took dramatic sweeping bows, even as he made his way off the stage to where Héctor was waiting.

“That was really good, Ernesto.” Héctor smiled at his friend, who laughed softly and pushed the guitar into Héctor’s arms.

“Now it’s your turn, amigo.” Ernesto grinned, the expression turning from pride to a touch of slyness.

Héctor stared at Ernesto, wide-eyed in shock, “Wh-What? B-But I’m not on the list, I’m not performing.” He pointed out, blinking up at Ernesto before looking down at the guitar.

“Of course you are. You have to.” Ernesto insisted, putting his hands on Héctor’s shoulders to turn him in the direction of the crowd, “Look, amigo. She’s there, waiting. I know you like her, so you have to impress her. You have to sing, you have to play, you have to perform!”

Whilst Héctor agreed with Ernesto’s words, there was no way that he could go out there and do all of that! Yes, he could sing, and he could play, but he most definitely could not perform. “But Ernesto-“

“Now, go! Seize your moment!” Ernesto grinned as he pushed Héctor out onto the stage hard enough to make him stumble in surprise.

Héctor managed to catch himself in the middle of the stage, the guitar clutched tightly to his chest. He didn’t have to look up to know that everybody was staring at him. All of those eyes... and hers. Héctor couldn’t breathe. It was a miracle that he even managed to stand up straight against the crushing weight of the whispers.

Who was this guy?

Was he meant to be here?

Why isn’t he performing?

What an idiot...

The boy’s hands shook around the guitar as his stare turned towards the crowd. He couldn’t breathe, he was going to die, how could Ernesto cope with all of this pressure? The whispers were louder now, more questions rising, now interjected with hisses from Ernesto.

“What are you doing? Sing, Héctor, sing!”

He couldn’t do this. Especially not as his eyes were drawn to a specific pair in the crowd. No, no, why did he have to look at her? Why, of all people, did he have to look straight at Imelda? Why...

Imelda’s expression seemed to soften into one of sympathy and concern as she watched Héctor, frozen on the stage. Her hand came up from her lap to rest over her heart, trying to soothe the aching within. And then, he was gone.

Héctor had sucked in a deep, sudden breath before bolting off the stage with a loud clatter of wood as the guitar was dropped just behind the curtain. If Imelda wasn’t mistaken, there had been the sound of a short cry beneath the loud bang. Damn that de la Cruz bastard... Imelda couldn’t help but growl as she heard laughing from various bits of the crowd, her rage driving her to stand up and head behind the stage before following the path that Héctor would’ve taken.

It didn’t take the daughter of Athena long to figure out where the boy had run off to. For her, it was easy to trace the most logical path and, once in earshot, follow the sounds of crying. Sometimes, Imelda loved the intelligence and logical thinking that she inherited from her mother. Other times, when it inhibited her emotional thoughts, not so much.

Sitting at the end of the jetty, curled into a fragile and defenceless ball, sobbed Héctor. It was... difficult for Imelda to see Héctor like this, especially since she had grown so used to – and fond of – his bright, easygoing personality. Quietly, as if approaching a timid or injured animal, Imelda walked onto the jetty, holding the guitar close to her. She was partly glad that Héctor noticed her before she had to announce herself.

“I-Imelda?” Héctor sniffled, rubbing at his bloodshot and teary eyes as he avoided her gaze, “A-Are you... are you hear to laugh at me too?” he asked dejectedly. As if he wasn’t humiliated enough...

“What? No, of course not. I came to see if you were alright, actually.” Imelda frowned, sitting down beside Héctor, “Are you? Alright, that is.” Stupid question.

And yet, Héctor nodded, “Yeah... I-I’ll be fine.” He mumbled, hugging his knees closer to his chest as he rested his chin on his forearms.

“You can talk to me, y’know. I won’t judge you. I thought you would know that by now?” Imelda raised a slight eyebrow, though she didn’t make anything of it. “I know that wasn’t you choosing to go on stage. I... I brought you the guitar – I don’t know if it’s yours, or if it’s de la Cruz’s. I doubt he would want this back after I slapped him, though...”

“Y-You slapped Ernesto?” Héctor sniffed in surprise, looking up to Imelda; nobody had ever stood up to Ernesto before.

“Of course I slapped him. He pushed you on stage against your will, you think I would let that go?” Imelda exclaimed, though her voice remained relatively quiet. “I... I was wondering something though.”

Héctor’s gut twisted nervously; here it comes... Even if he didn’t know what it was, he was still anxious about the question. “What is it?”

“I… I was wondering if you would play for me, Héctor?”

The way his name rolled off her tongue almost pulled a gasp from between his lips. Héctor thought it impossible to adore and admire somebody as much as he did with Imelda, yet here he was, reaching all new heights of infatuation. The way she said it, so soft and tentatively, lifted Héctor’s heart out of the pit of his stomach and back into its rightful place in his chest. Could he even bring himself to play for her though? In his mind, playing to the girl who had stolen his heart was just as daunting as the entire camp. And yet…

“You… You don’t have to, if you don’t feel comfortable.” Imelda added on after a moment, her eyes glancing down to the guitar in her lap. “I understand not everybody can be as confident as de la Cruz.”

“W-Well, he is the son of the goddess of fame.” Héctor pointed out, a slight smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I suppose it runs in his blood.”

“As does a lot of other things, but that doesn’t mean he’s the son of that.” Imelda smiled, the gesture only growing Héctor’s own smile. The unclaimed bit his lip as he took a deep breath in before letting it out slowly, his hands moving independently to take the guitar from Imelda’s lap and settle it in his own. Questions and doubts began to race around his mind as he tried to think of what he could play, the ideas mixing with criticisms. Héctor closed his eyes, his right hand hovering over the strings of the guitar before clenching into a fist as he took a slow, deep breath in, holding it for a second before he let it out, his fingers moving almost automatically. After a moment of playing the opening chords, Héctor began to sing.

“In Napoli, where love is king,

When a boy meets a girl,

Here’s what they say.”

“When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie-“

Héctor was cut off by a sound beside him, blinking in surprise to find that it was a soft snort of laughter from Imelda, “What? Those are the words!” Héctor laughed softly, a wide smile across his face as he looked across at Imelda, who held her hand over her mouth.

“I’m sorry, Héctor. Please, continue.” She smiled, clearing her throat as she regained her composure, looking at Héctor to encourage him to continue. Héctor smiled before picking up the chords again.

“When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie-“

Another soft laugh from Imelda, who tried her best to keep a straight face despite the rather silly words.

“That’s amore.

When the world seems to shine, like you’ve had too much wine,

That’s amore.

Bells will ring, ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling,

And you’ll say “Vita bella~”

Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay,

Like a gay tarantella.”

“When the stars make you drool just like a pasta fazool,

That’s amore.

When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet,

You’re in love.

When you walk in a dream but you know you’re not dreaming, signora,

Scuzza me, but back in old Napoli,

That’s amore~”

With a last little strum of the guitar’s strings, Héctor finished, his gaze moving out towards the lake, only to turn towards Imelda at the wrong – or in some opinions, right – time. Whilst her intentions had been innocent, and her aim for a freckle on Héctor’s cheekbone, the shy turn of his head threw everything off. It was just the corner of his lips, but even that sparked a hot flush of colour to spread across both of their faces. The two stared at each other in shock before Héctor’s nerves took over; a soft, apprehensive laugh escaped Héctor’s lips, more following after Imelda started to giggle as well. After that, very little stopped them as they burst into giddy laughs, blushing and grinning at each other.

“I’m gonna miss this.” Héctor sighed after a moment of laughing between them. A touch of sadness settled on his features as he stared out at the lake, watching a pair of swans courting in the moonlight. “I’m gonna miss you. And Ernesto.”

“Don’t be sad, Héctor. We’ll both miss you too, even if de la Cruz is a self-centred idiot at times.” Imelda rolled her eyes before shuffling closer to Héctor, pressing up against his side, “I promise I’ll write to you, send you gifts when I can. And like that, it’ll be May before you know it, and we’ll be back.” The daughter of Athena smiled softly, glancing at Héctor as he looked up at her.

“Gracias, Imelda.” The boy smiled. Another summer had passed without him being claimed by his godly parent, but it hadn’t been a total waste. As he smiled, and began to strum softly on his guitar again, his thoughts turned to the year ahead, already counting down the days until Imelda and Ernesto would return.

#alannah writes #coco #pixar coco #hector rivera #imelda rivera #ernesto de la cruz #imector #percy jackson au #pjo au

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