#almost guarantee i spelled her name wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fandom-junk-drawer · 2 years ago

Text

The Witcher Headcanon - Sounds

Just some Jaskier whump disguised as a Headcanon. Probably going to do a bonus scene for this

Jaskier isn't too fond of healers. He's that type of person who will try to wait it out to see if the problem resolves itself. The last thing he wants to do is go to a Healer and be poked and proded. They always make you drink some weird sh*t that tastes like...sh*t.

And half the time they aren't even sure if it is going to cure you! H*ll, some of them are more likely to kill you than the disease you are suffering from! He trusts the stuff Yennefer and Geralt brew for him more than the what a Healer makes. At least he knows that if the stuff they give him poisons him, it's because it was supposed to!

Magical remedies are guaranteed to fix you, but who has the money for them??

When his ears start bothering him, he just puts it down to the cold he picked up and hopes it gets better on its own.

Jaskier doesn't want Geralt to lose any potential jobs on his account, so he says nothing when his ears start to ache, everything sounds muffled, and his head starts to ache.

Geralt lets him be stubborn, but draws the line at the stumbling, dizzy spells, and the fever. They are within sight of the town, but Geralt makes camp anyway.

He crouches right in front of Jaskier and signs to him.

(Tell me what's wrong. And don't lie to me.)

(Just an ear ache. It should clear up in a few days.)

(Let me see.)

Geratl gently feels under Jaskier's jaw and around his ears. His touch is light, but the Bard still winces. Geralt can see the inflamation in his jaw, at his ear, can feel the heat coming off the swollen area. Can feel the swollen lymph nodes.

Geralt makes him some tea, does what he can to make him more comfortable. Jaskier doesn't seem any better in the morning, or even the following day. He was nauseated and refused to eat, and he seemed out of sorts.

Jaskier whimpered intermittently, holding his ears as the aching and pressure slowly got worse. Geralt is talking to him, but he can't hear sh*t now. And his ears hurt so bad. He doesn't even want to swallow.

Geralt knows it's not a simple ear ache. He can smell the infection. Jaskier is hot to the touch, and he keeps holding his head. They aren't too far from town, but he doesn't want to make Jaskier walk, and riding would be even more painful, and dangerous with his balance as bad as it is.

The Witcher gets his attention and tells him that he is going to go get the Healer. Jaskier lifts his head with a wince, eyes full of anxiety and confusion, and grabs Geralt's sleeve, making an unhappy noise.

The pain makes it hard for his hands to form the shapes, but Geralt manages to make out the clumsy signs. He notices that he's not even using full sentences.

(Want Yen)

(You know she's in Aretuza)

(Please? Yen)

(I can bring the Healer faster.)

(Yen)

(Don't be stubborn! We're just outside of town.)

(Hurts! Yen!)

Geralt sighs and nods, giving in. (I'll see if they have someone who can contact her.) He rode as fast as Roach could carry him into town and started looking for a Mage, or even a druid. He wasn't going to be picky. A flash of black and gold caught his eye, and he turned... Oh, thank f**k!

Jaskier was curled up where Geralt had left him, hands holding his ears, whimpering and rocking. He looks up when he feels a hand on his shoulder and almost cries with relief. Geralt had brought Yen!

Jaskier whimpers when he sees her, and swallows a few times. He tries to say her name, then vomits, narrowly missing her.

Yennefer pulls him into her arms, kisses his cheek, runs her fingers through his hair. She feels his forehead, feels around his jaw and his ears, being as gentle as she can.

Geralt fills Yennefer in on what had happened over the past few days while she fusses over Jaskier.

She holds him, feeling him tremble from the pain. She's seen ear infections before, but not one deep in the ear like this one, and not with these symptoms. She focuses her magic and suddenly curses. The infection is spreading to his brain.

Jaskier's head spins and he clutches at the front of Geralt's shirt when the Witcher scoops him up and walks through the portral Yennefer opens for them.

They step out into the courtyard and Jaskier hears a loud clap of thunder, and feels a sudden, sharp stabbing pain in both ears. Geralt almost drops him when he screams and spasms in his arms, hands clamping over his ears. The Witcher almost gags as the fetid stench of the blood and pus running from between Jaskier's fingers hits his nose.

F**k! Both his eardrums just ruptured!

Geralt manages not to throw up all over his Bard as Yennefer quickly leads him inside and to her bedroom.

Jaskier had gotten oddly quiet, making only the occassional whimper as they got him out of his doublet and shirt. He sat, staring listlessly, and occassionally leaning to one side or the other as the room spun, while Geralt cleaned the blood and pus from his hands and from where it had run down the sides of his jaws and dripped down his neck.

He couldn't even bring himself to swallow and just sat there drooling while Yennefer panicked. He could tell she was panicking because Geralt was practically hiding in the furthest corner of the room, trying to stay the h*ll out of her way. Yen put her hands on his head, and he fell asleep, or passed out. He couldn't tell which.

He awoke some indeterminate time later. Gods, it hurt!

He must have made some kind of noise because he felt the vibration of the sound, but he couldn't hear it. At all...

Oh f**k. F**K! He couldn't hear! He couldn't f***ing hear!

Yennefer was suddenly beside him, Geralt appearing seconds later. Jaskier was trying to sit up and wobbling a little as he tried to keep his balance.

Yennefer ran a soothing hand through his hair and pressed him back into the mattress.

She had turned and was having some kind of argument or discussion with Geralt. Jaskier dragged himself upright, and managed to stay sitting up.

Yennefer turned back to him when he whimpered and made one gesture, then a second one, and kept making the second one over and over. She looked at Geralt, confused and worried

What is he...?

He said your name, and he's repeating 'hurts' over and over.

Yennefer looked anxiously at Jaskier and held her arms out to him. He collapsed into them, leaning his head on her shoulder. She started tenderly stroking the spot on his jaw below his ear.

He felt better, knowing Yen was here. She would know what to do. She could fix it.

Geralt signed to Jaskier (Your eardrums ruptured from the infection. That's why you can't hear. She says your hearing should come back on its own once your eardrums heal.)

Jaskier looked at Yennefer and said "Are you sure it's going to come back? I can't hear at all..". At least, that's what he tried to say. His mouth didn't want to cooperate and what came out was little more than gibberish. It clearly upset Yen.

(The infection in your ears spread to your brain. Yen was able to stop it and clear it out...but looks like it affected your speech. We won't know how badly until the swelling goes away and your eardrums heal.)

Jaskier looked horrified

(Yen says we won't know how much of the problem is from the swelling in your ears, and how much is from the swelling in your brain.)

Jaskier looked up at Yennefer, his eyes full of fear. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and kissed his cheek. She said something to him.

(She says not to worry. We're going to take care of you. She says she'll make sure of it. You're going to be fine.)

Geralt paused for a second before continuing ( She's convinced you had a stroke from the way you were slumped over. I tried to tell her it's because of the ear infection, but she won't listen.)

Even hurting and ill, Jaskier's first instinct was to make sure his friends were not in distress. He starts moving his hands and Yennefer's expression goes from concern to confusion.

He says he didn't have a 'stroke' ...(don't be crude, you know what she meant)...His head (stop that! She's not going to think that's funny!) and his ears hurt, and he keeps getting dizzy. He says it feels like...(I am NOT translating that! No. You can just go ahead and pout!) It hurts pretty badly.

(F**k you, Geralt, that was a perfectly apt description!)

(Watch your language!)

(Sod off! It's not like she can hear me. She doesn't know Handspeak-!)

(Jaskier-!)

(She doesn't know what I'm saying!)

(Jaskier, calm down-!)

(I can't hear, Geralt! I can't speak! ! How am I supposed to play my lute? Sing? What am I going to do now? What am I going to do? )

Geralt winced awkwardly, as Jaskier's eyes filled with tears, his attempt at hiding behind humor falling apart. And now Yennefer was yelling at Geralt.

What did you say to him, Geralt?!

What do you mean 'nothing'? Look at the poor thing! *wipes tears off Jaskier's cheeks*

Geralt risks his life by interrupting the witch in the middle of her hen-pecking. "He was trying to make jokes, but he's scared. He's a Bard, Yen. If he can't hear or speak..."

Yennefer paused, deflating a little, as she thought of the implications. Here now, my Bardling, it's okay.

Jaskier looked up at her, gripping her sleeve when he heard her voice in his head. I can't hear, Yen! And Geralt says I can't talk right! And it hurts!

I know, my little Nightingale, I'm going to fix it. I'll have to do it slowly, though. Ears and brains are delicate things. For now, I can start with this...

Yennefer pressed her lips to Jaskier's forehead, and the pain in his ears dwindled away.

And in the mean time, while I work on the rest, you can teach me Handspeak.

Jaskier nodded and let Yennefer tuck him back into bed and wipe away the fluid that had started draining from his ears. He was tired now, the lingering fever sapping his strength.

He wanted to sleep, but first... He tugged at her sleeve.

Yennefer looked down at him, and he held up a hand, making a sign and holding it.

Is that the first one you want me to learn?

Yes.

Yennefer carefully copied it, and rolled her eyes with a fond laugh when he told her what it meant.

You cheeky little flirt! she thought to him as he grinned at her.

Geralt 'hm'ed, half annoyed, half amused when he saw it, and signed as he spoke (You little sh*t! How come she got an 'I love you' for her first sign, and all I got was a 'f**k off'?)

(Because you were an ar*ehole and told me to shut up! Be grateful you didn't get 'motherf***er' , like Lambert did! )

(That was a good one! And the best part is that he still doesn't know what it means!)

Yennefer laughed. "Oh you're going to have to tell me that story!"

It took about two months, but Yennefer was able to competely heal Jaskier's eardrums. The speech problem took a little longer, but she eventually cured that as well.

And maybe she had used a little bit of extra magic to make his hearing just a little bit sharper. Not that she said a word about it but maybe she made his hearing just a little more sensitive, a little more tuned to music.

He'd certainly never sang sweeter, and his lute had never sounded better.

145 notes · View notes

queen-of-deans-booty · 2 years ago

Text

Blood Brother: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

"I'm coming with," you say after Benny tells you what exactly is going on.

"I don't think that's wise," Benny says before Dean can say something. "I can hear both heartbeats pretty clearly. The other vampires will hear them from a mile away."

"I can fix that." Your hands glow with blue magic, and you place them both on your growing belly, letting your skin absorb the magic. "Can you hear them now?" Benny listens for a few seconds before shaking his head. "Good. I've cloaked the sound. These vampires won't hear them, and we'll be in the clear. You'll need a witch on your team. I have a feeling."

"Alright then. Let's go. Boat's waiting."

"Boat?"

"Yeah we're going to an island."

Benny takes you and Dean down to the docks where a small sailboat is waiting. You get onto the boat with Dean's help, and the two men take the rope off before jumping inside.

"Well, it's good to know you two are still dumb as ever."

"Yeah, well, some things never change. Now, why are you getting into machete fights with your own kind?"

"Quentin, the one I came for? We were in the same nest. I'm hunting the vampire who turned me, my maker."

"Well, now, don't get me wrong. I'm down with hunting, but, uh... why?"

"To kill him before he kills me... again." You groan and lean back, putting one hand on your stomach. This is the part in your pregnancy where you're uncomfortable with everything. "Are you sure you should be hunting?"

"I'll be fine, Benny."

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

You must have read his thoughts. This has been a pain in your ass ever since you discovered it. You can hear people's thoughts all the time, but you've ignored almost all of them. Sometimes it's hard to distinguish who is actually speaking and who is thinking.

"Oh yeah, she can read minds now. I thought you knew that."

"Not really."

"I appreciate your concern, Benny, I really do. I fought plenty of angels and demons with a baby in my womb, and I fought Leviathans with the same baby on my hip. I can fight a few vampires easily."

"I trust her to take a step back if she knows she'll end up doing more damage than good," Dean backs you up. "I think it's batshit crazy, but I trust her."

"And that's why he married me." That's not the reason why he married you, but you're just going with the flow with the witty banter. "So, tell us about Quinten."

"Quentin and I go way back. He's one of the old man's favorites, next to me, it turns out. Check this out."

Benny takes out a notebook from his bag and hands it over to Dean. This is everything he has on Quinten and his maker, Sorento. Dean takes the notebook and flips through the pages, stopping on one of importance.

"Listen to this. 'Age of Aquarius II, 0800', and then there's some other numbers all crossed out. Some other weird names here, too: the Big Mermaid and Solitaire. They're all crossed out, except this one: the Lucky Myra."

"Yachts. Names of yachts: Lucky Myra and Age of Aquarius II." Benny takes back the notebook and shows Dean another one. "Look at this one: Sea You Later, spelled S-E-A. I mean, come on."

"Are those launch times?" you wonder. "Destinations?"

"Mm-hmm. Except none of them ever get there. The Lucky Myra left yesterday afternoon. I guarantee you it's already been hit."

"What do you mean, hit?"

"Boarded, burned, and buried at sea. That's how my nest fed... How we always fed. We kept a tight little fleet, maybe a half-dozen boats. Nothing ostentatious, just pleasure craft. I must have circled the Americas ten times during my tour. A few of us would act as stringers and patrol the harbors, looking for the right-size target--fat, rich yachts going to far-off ports. We'd take down the boat's name and destination, radio it to the crew in the water, and then we just let the ocean swallow up all our sins."

"Vampire pirates? That's what you guys are? Vampirates," Dean grins at the name he came up with.

"You know, of all the years we ran together, I can't believe nobody ever thought of that," Benny chuckles.

"So, your maker is set up to feed around here, right? What are we looking for?" you ask.

"Well, he likes to live in style. He usually rents legitimately. Always remote and always coastal. That's why we're going to an island."

"Tell me something. If you were your maker's favorite, why did he kill you?" Dean wonders.

"When you get turned, it's like you're reborn into a vampire nest. Your maker means everything to you. I mean, you really start believing he's God. Now, if your maker happens to believe the same thing, well, it means trouble."

"Yeah, I can imagine that."

"Our father was a jealous God. He kept the family together but kept us apart from the rest of the world, always at sea. I always did what was best for the nest... till I met her. Andrea. Andrea Kormos. Beautiful. I mean, words don't even cut it, you know?"

"Yeah, I do know," Dean smiles and looks at you.

You blush and mouth the words "I love you" to him, and he grabs your hand in response.

"She was sailing a forty-two-foot sloop to the Canary Islands. Now, I should have called her boat's destination into my crew, but instead, I joined her on it."

"Seriously? Was Fabio on the cover of that paperback?" Dean laughs.

"My life changed when she entered it, Dean. Everything I had been or done up to that point seemed to vanish into what we had become together. I mean... We found it, man. Eventually, we settled in Louisiana. Then one night, we were coming home, and the old man was just there. Quentin, Sorento, and my oldest nestmates. It was only that night I understood what a crime it was to him by me leaving him. They pinned me down, and they beheaded me. The last thing I saw was the old man tearing out Andrea's throat."

"I'm so sorry. Benny," you sigh and touch his arm in comfort

"Docks are up ahead. Should be able to find a dinghy to use," Benny says, snapping out of his emotional trance.

The boat pulls up next to a dock, and Dean uses the rope to tie it to the wooden post so the boat doesn't go anywhere. You were the first one on the boat and the last one off. You take Dean's hand and use him as support to get off. The island is big, so the house must be in the middle of the island. There are trees everywhere, providing the perfect shelter.

"We're close," Benny says quietly. Dean and Benny take out their machetes from their bags, but you have your magic to use in place of it. "It's weird being back in the world. Isn't it?"

"Sure as hell is," Dean agrees and tosses the bags onto the ground.

"I mean, what do you do with it all? All the... everything? Hell, I don't even know if this world is real, if I'm real."

You reach out and touch Benny's cheek with your hand, letting his skin absorb your magic.

"I'm real, Benny. My babies are real. You helped protect them. All of this is real and so are you. You're going to get through this."

"I sure hope I do."

You use your magic to break the locks of the house, heading inside quietly. You don't know how many vampires are here or where they are. You pass by an old-looking piano called a harpsichord, but you don't pay any attention to it. However, as soon as Benny sees it, his blood boils.

"The old man's harpsichord."

Benny runs off in another direction, shocking you both.

"Benny!" Dean whispers. You're about to go after him, but Dean pulls you back into his side. "You're not leaving my side, not with a bunch of vampires around."

"Okay," you whisper back.

"We go together."

You two follow in Benny's footsteps, and you spot him in the main room looking at someone on the stairs. You peek over the side of the wall to see a beautiful woman walk down the steps.

"Benny?" she gasps.

"Andrea."

Turns out Sorento found more use of her as a vampire than dead. A man walks up behind Benny, another appears around the corner opposite of where you and Dean are, and a third comes down the stairs behind Andrea. The man behind Benny knocks him to the ground, and you grab Dean's hand to stop yourself from going over to help Benny.

"Idiot," Dean scoffs under his breath.

Benny is handcuffed to a chair, and Sorento leans over him from behind.

"You're gonna make me do this all over again, aren't you?" he smirks.

"Hello, Sorento. He turned you," he says to Andrea who nods.

"We need to go," you whisper to Dean who agrees.

You two stay out of sight from the vampires to a safe part of the house. Sorento doesn't know that Benny brought it back up, and you'd rather keep it that way. Dean's phone rings, showing that Sam is calling. You can't answer it knowing Sam is going to be pissed and speak loudly. He denies the call immediately.

"If we are going to kill Sorento, we need to get rid of his goons. We need to reduce the amount of vampires here," you whisper.

With careful footsteps, you walk down a hallway. A shadow appears on the wall signaling that someone is coming your way. You and Dean duck into a nearby room and wait for the vampire to pass by, only opening the door when it's safe to do so.

"We could really use his help, Dean," you whisper. "I'm calling him."

You take out your phone and dial Sam's number, and he answers it before the first ring could finish.

"Hey, Sam," you whisper.

You and Dean leave the room, heading in the direction the vampire came from.

"Why are you whispering?"

"It's kind of hard to explain right now, but Dean and I are sort of in the middle of cleaning out a vampire's nest, and it's sort of gone a little sideways on us."

"What?!" you take the phone away from your ear and press it to your chest. Sam screamed so loudly that Dean heard him. "Are you an idiot, Y/N? You know better than to go into a vamp nest alone. Even if it's with Dean."

"We're not alone, fuck," you whisper and put the phone back to your ear. "We're not alone. We have back up. It's a guy who's been tracking the nest a while."

"What guy? Garth?"

"No, you don't know him. He's a friend."

"A friend? Y/N, you don't have any--all your friends are dead."

"That's not what I called to talk about!" you hiss. You pull the phone away from your ear and text something to Sam while he talks as if you're listening to him. Once you finish texting him your location, you place the phone to your ear again. "Oh, my fucking god, stop talking. I just texted you where we are."

"Yeah, I got it. I'm on my way. Listen, if you handle it, great. I'll buy your friend the first round. But, Y/N, listen to me."

You end up in some kind of indoor garden with Dean, and there is a vampire headed your way. He must have heard Sam scream into your ear. Without thinking, you place the phone on a pillar before leaving with Dean. Sam is talking as if you're listening to him, but right now, he's bait. You hide with Dean and see the vampire head over to the phone, inspecting it as if he's never seen one before.

You stay where you are, and Dean takes his machete and slices the vampire's head clean off. You come out of hiding and join Dean's side, only to realize that your phone is destroyed since the vampire's body fell on it.

"That's messed up," you sigh and turn around, only to lock eyes with another vampire. "Shit. We've been made."

Since one knows you're here, they all do. All but Sorento and Andrea who are still dealing with Benny. One by one, vampires come from all over to attack, but you're prepared. You use your magic to impale them so you can slice their heads off with your magic. You have your eyes on one end of the hallway while Dean has his eyes on the other end.

Multitude of vampires come from either way, and you and Dean fight to kill every last one of them. Dean uses his machete and you use your magic in the shape of a spear. Soon, the floor is covered with rotting headless bodies.

"I think we did good," you pant.

Wanna get tagged? Add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why! Follow my library blog @queenofdeansbooty-writes where I reblog all my stories, so you can follow that if you can’t be tagged!

@essie1876 @redsalv20 @superrandomnatural @scarletmeii @babypink224221 @gaveherhearttotheliontattoo @akshi8278 @a--1--1--3 @miraclesoflove @earthtokace @teamfreewillsstuff @fandom-princess-forevermore @kiwihoee @jennazeise @phantomalchemist @posiemax @tricksterdean @countrygal17a @whit85-blog @sammypotato67 @knowledgefulbutterfly @fandomoverdose666 @sharp-cheekbones-locked @itsjensenanddean @brokenheartscrybrokentears @mysteryartisticwriter @foxyjwls007 @deans-baby-momma @fanfictionjunkie1112 @wonderful-writer @lizette500-blog @tatted-trina6 @stixnstripesworld @supernatural3002 @lyarr24 @thoughts-and-funnies @hc-geralt-23 @lowlyapprentice @deandreamernp @siospins2 @candy-coated-misery0731 @carryonwaywardgirl @sleepilysworld

20 notes · View notes

pyroclastic727 · 4 years ago

Text

Owl House said fuck capitalism

So this episode was interesting. Lilith pretty much killed her sister. Why the fuck would she do that?

Even more interesting: why is Belos like that? How did Hooty put his head through one of those guards? Who the fuck is the Titan, and why does everyone like him? And how are these all tied together?

This episode was a metaphor for capitalism

...and another delicious step towards radicalizing the youth into dismantling this fucked-up neo-feudal system.

We’ll start with Belos.

Emperor Belos is a weird name, don’t you think? We all thought it was spelled “Bellows,” but it wasn’t. In fact, it’s five letters, starts with Be, ends with os, and describes a megalomaniac emperor that restricts people’s freedom in order to accumulate wealth for himself.

Sound familiar?

Emperor Bezos Belos created capitalism. He saw the beauty of magic and decided to make himself the most powerful.

Belos created a system that destroys the masses and boosts his power.

I’m dipping into fan theory a little, because the fan theory fits. We know that people get branded with coven magic that makes it so they can only specialize in one area. We know that Belos is the most powerful witch in the Boiling Isles. We know that the excess magic, magic created by restrictions, has to go somewhere.

It’s the same system that many viewers see all the time. A job takes up all your day and tires you for the night, so you can only do one skill for the rest of your life. Jeff Bezos is the most powerful man in the United States. Excess money, money taken by restrictions, has to go somewhere.

The magic goes to Belos, like how the money goes to Bezos. Belos created capitalism, and he won it.

The guards aren’t real.

Look, we’ve never seen their faces. They’re all the same. Why would you work so hard to get to the top, just to become a nameless, faceless killing machine?

Oh, also Hooty stuck his face through one. There is nothing under the armor.

Why? Well, it’s the same reason you see all those celebrities going around flaunting their wealth and bragging about how hard they worked. Like all those songs about how they grind every day and work harder than everyone else while you’re out clubbing, and that makes them dope. And then you take a closer look at them and see that they had a small loan of a million dollars fueling them, or an entire talent agency behind them, or their dad was a famous country star in the 80′s.

They’re fake. They’re hollow. They’re a ploy created by the capitalist emperor to try to delude you into working harder.

Let me put this into perspective. I guarantee that every single one of you has heard stuff like this: “Hard work makes you successful.” “I put in the work, and that’s why I’m successful.” “If you work hard enough, then you can be as successful as Mark Zuckerberg.”

And unless you’re a robot or really lucky, I’m sure all of you have failed at this. Maybe they told you that hard work would make you good at math, so you spent 22 hours a week working on calculus, only to pass it by 3 percentage points and have it destroy your perfect 4.0 GPA. Maybe they told you that if you talked to people enough, then you would make friends, so you spent a lot of time talking to people, only to end up lonely and friendless. Maybe they told you that if you did well in school, you would get a good job, so you spent all your time working hard to be a good student, and then ended up in a soulless, dead-end job.

The guards are there to delude you. Look, who really gains from you being productive? The answer is the ruling class, the CEOs, the government, the bourgeoisie. It has always been that. All you get from working is a paycheck that lets you survive. They get a paycheck that lets them get rich. Just like Belos gets the magic and productivity of the specialized coven witches.

The guards are there to trick you. The truth is that nobody can join the Emperor’s Coven. It’s just there to make you think that hard work will make you successful. Then you spend your entire life working hard, trying to prove to the person in charge that you’re worthwhile. You give your whole life to the Coven, and they give you nothing.

Magic is supposed to be something you pursue for fun. Being skilled at things, being good at something beautiful...that’s supposed to be something you do because you want to. But they took that and made it into a source of productivity. It doesn’t matter if you make good content. All people fucking care about is if you upload the day of premiere, if you make a lot of content quickly, if you maintain a million different conversations with strangers who expect you to be the most interesting person in the room. They don’t care how it hurts you. They don’t care how you crack from the stress. How you cry when you think no one can see you, and then you check your phone and someone can see you, someone did see you, and you have to put on your face and be the charming, magnetic person they want you to be. (oh by the way that’s why I wasn’t online much last week)

And it ruins it. Suddenly you can’t watch The Owl House without being stressed. You can’t make any content. You can’t make spells as powerfully as you want to. Your passion is replaced by perfectionism and insecurity, a voice telling you to keep being the best at what you do, or else they’ll forget you and let you die.

There’s also the Titan.

So nobody has mentioned him before, because in addition to the Boiling Isles being a hellscape full of witchcraft and queerness, it’s also full of atheists.

But suddenly we have people saying all this shit about him? Shit like, he gave witches the gift of magic, and then they learned to use it in a civilized manner, since being uncivilized was disrespectful?

I mean, first off, that’s fucking wrong. The island gives people magic. The island, which just so happened to be shaped like a titan-sized human. But the island/titan gives everyone all types of magic. Hell, even Luz gets to use magic, and she’s human.

It sounds really fucking familiar. (tw for discussion of homophobia and colonialism and misogyny). It sounds like when the news is on and they show some Tr*mp supporter talking about how fetuses have more rights than people and it is their holy duty to take away a woman’s control over her body and force her through unbearable pain and into an 18-year commitment she didn’t want to make. It sounds like all the times people tried to say homosexuality should be illegal, citing a single line in a book written two thousand years ago and heavily edited by a European king. It sounds like all the times people said God wanted them to conquer, to own the entire earth, to force the other races into pain to support them.

This is that bullshit thing people do where they commit awful sins and justify it by citing the will of God.

Or, it’s the Coven using religion as an excuse for evil.

Look, the Emperor’s Coven is clearly colonizer-coded. Saying that people’s original form of magic was wild (and showing a picture with the same joyous, rowdy energy of an 18th or 19th -century Black or indigenous party), and that it was God’s will for them to be “civilized?” Sounds like that thing that powerful white people did where they went and murdered people and forced them into their twisted capitalist system. God, gold, and glory, is what they said, because history books just love to omit the gore.

Lilith is passing the abuse cycle along.

You know, like a good little colonizer. God I fucking hate her. She’s a MILF, in the sense that she’s a Mother I’d Like to Fling off a cliff.

Ah, enough screaming about how much I want to drown Lilith in a tub of Hooty’s mucus. Let’s go into why I want to do that, and how she took the evils of capitalism and just...adopted those.

So, Lilith is sick and twisted for what she did to her sister. But, uhh, that’s the point. You see, there are so many other people out there like Lilith who would do the exact same thing, if given the chance. These are the people who do mean things when the teacher isn’t looking, and then act nice and try to frame you. These are the people who will hate you if you’re better than them. These are people who would do anything to bring you down, if you dare outperform them.

It’s greed, my friends. The mental illness that capitalism blesses us all with.

Lilith herself said it: she dedicated her entire life to the Coven. What she wanted was to be the best. And she almost was...except for her own sister. Someone who lived with her, annoyed her at home, bested her at school. Someone she could never beat, no matter how hard she worked. And her sister was younger than her, too! How insulting was that? Lilith wanted to be the best, and someone in her exact situation did better than her.

Lilith was insecure. And it consumed her.

But why? Why does insecurity consume her? I mean, no one can be motivated by insecurity forever. Well, not unless someone conditions it into you.

The lovely thing about the capitalist system is the morals it teaches you. Things like: “You’re only useful if you’re the best.” “Being school smart makes you smart, while being social smart or sports smart or creative smart or fandom smart is worthless.” “Your worth can be quantified by numbers and is based off arbitrary measures like your income or your grades.” Things that can and will drive us crazy if we let ourselves believe them.

And it did drive Lilith crazy. She got so twisted by a society that said being good at magic is her only worth. Look, Lilith used to be good at things, probably. She was good at sports. At times, she slips up and does an okay job of being Eda’s sister. She has a powerful presence when she’s in a room. And she’s wicked good at manipulating people.

But that didn’t matter. Lilith bought into the lies. She let herself believe that magical skill was the only way to measure her worth. And since she needed to be the best, she hurt Eda for it.

The beautiful thing is, Eda didn’t buy that. "It’s my power, kid. And before you showed up, I spent my whole life wasting it.” Is what Eda said, as she used up the last of her power, the last of her life, to save Luz. In her final moments, she proved that she’s not like them. She’s stronger than them.

None of this matters. Not magical prowess. Not the hierarchy. Not the promise of joining the Coven and having more power than anyone else.

The only thing that matters to Eda is her family. Her real family. Her Luz, King, and Hooty. And by extension, Willow, Gus, and Amity. Those are Eda’s real reason for fighting, for dying: to protect them. Look, there’s no way she would’ve come out of that fight alive. She has a family, and her love for them is stronger than greed or jealousy or capitalism.

Lilith never understood that. She thought the water of the womb was thicker than the blood of the covenant. Or, that the water of the womb and the blood of the covenant are stronger than the bonds of found family. She thought it didn’t matter if Eda loved, her, only if the Emperor loved her. Fucking bitch.

And now, a little something to worry about, before we go. Amity Blight. The girl who wanted to join the Emperor’s Coven more than anything, who dedicated her whole life to doing well in school, to being the best, to being perfect.

And then she met Luz. She fell for Luz. Now she’s in a tricky place, where habit and conditioning want her to join the Emperor’s Coven, but her heart wants her to do the impossible and destroy capitalism.

She wasn’t in this episode. Funny that being injured and unable to work ended up saving her from watching her future mother-in-law die. So she bought some time.

But Luz’s true mom is dead. This is the second mom she has lost, and she’s only fourteen. As powerful as King and Hooty are, Luz needs Amity. Luz needs Amity to support her and help her get back her mom.

So Amity has to make a choice. Fear and insecurity, or love and a high chance of death?

She’ll probably choose death. Because that’s the message that this family-friendly show is giving us kids. Fuck capitalism. All you need in life is to do what makes you happy and be with the ones you love.

3K notes · View notes

celeste-clearwater-06 · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! I was wondering if you could please write something about how the Fellowship (+ Thorin?) Would help a s/o who's Disabled and Chronically ill. Like she has a lot of symptoms like chronic pain, chronic fatigue, difficulty sleeping, difficulty breathing at times, difficulty walking at times, higher sensitivity to the cold, difficulty talking at times, and anxiety, depression and executive dysfunction?

I've been really struggling with my chronic illnesses lately, namely my Autism, Anxiety, Sleep Apnea, a really bad Overbite, Raynaud's Syndrome, Asthma, etc, so I'd really appreciate an Imagine like this. I have a really weird disorder where one of my legs is longer than the other, and it's been causing me a lot of pain and difficulty walking lately, and people have been bullying me for it a lot too, so I could really use a Comfort Imagine right now. Thanks so much hun!!

It's no problem! I'm glad I can provide some comfort!! For each character, I'll use a specific struggling area, to make it a bit easier!! I hope I got these accurate enough, and of there are any mistakes, feel free to point them out!! You are strong, beautiful and so, so amazing!! Keep being you!! ❤❤

Help (The Fellowship// Thorin x Fem!Reader)

Aragorn (Autism)

Aragorn has known you for a long time, so helping with your autism is not new for him

He's particularly experienced in reading your emotions and meeting your needs, whether it's helping you out of stressful situations or calming you down, he's there 🥺

If there are large and boisterous gatherings in Rivendell, its almost guaranteed that you can become over-stimulated quickly, and Aragorn immediately senses this (spidey senses õoõ)

He's fast to find your hand and give it a gentle squeeze of reassurance

If that doesn't seem to help, he'll instantly stop what he's doing and take you out of the room

If you're someone who prefers lots of space and little physical contact, he is 100% respectful of this and asks if you'll let him touch or hug you (very much gentleman 😌)

If ever you're confronted by someone of importance, Aragorn is right by your side to ease some of the tension

Sometimes there are things you find difficult to say or get out of your system

The king seems to know exactly what it is and will help you out by saying it or asking you simple questions that you can easily answer

And he always reminds you, no matter WHAT

YOU ARE NOT STUPID 😤😡

You may struggle with some parts of your life, but every day, he's constantly telling you that you're very intelligent and kind

His patience is unending and he'll never let you think down on yourself

Overall, Aragorn is always someone and reminding you that it's all going to be okay ❤❤

Legolas (Anxiety)

Most nights, Legolas keeps watch (since elves don't require much sleep) and notices that you jolt awake out of the random

Now, most of the Fellowship notices that you're usually awake and ready to go before anyone else

But Legolas is really the one to address you first

You were a bit nervous to explain, since you didn't want to worry him or the great of the fellowship, amount the other disadvantages you have

He gently encouraged you, and finally, you explained to him your sleep apnea

Yeah, he was very concerned

I mean, his blue eyes widened with terror when you told him that you could basically die in your sleep if you weren't attentive enough 🙃

Legolas, from now on, sleeps directly next to you, or keeps extra careful watch over you at night

Because he could NEVER see his precious mortal friend become injured... Or worse 🥺🥺❤

The other members had noticed a change in his behaviors towards you as well...

Gimli teased him whenever he caught Legolas giving you some extra lembas bread or offered to carry you 👉👈

You really tried to assure Legolas that it wasn't a big deal when you were awake, since you're aware of your breathing situation

But still 😤

Legolas will always bring you comfort and take great care of you, and that will NEVER CHANGE

Because he loves you very much ❤🦋

Frodo (Anxiety)

Frodo is familiar with the feeling of great anxiety, seeing he had a stress-free life while living in the Shire and suddenly was forced to carry a piece of jewelry all the way to giant ass volcano

It's easy for you two to comfort each other and seek refuge in thoughts and feelings ❤

He's not super comfortable with the thought of you having a panic attack though...

Only because he's never had one

It starts to give him a panic attack whenever you have one around him the first time 😳-

Any time you begin to breathe heavy or hyperventilate, halfling boy is hot at your heels, rubbing your back and reminding you to breathe gently

(So many hugs, if you're up for it)

After you calm down, he's constantly checking on you, asking if you need anything etc.

Really, he just wants to know if he can help 🥺

And even with the weight and stress of carrying the ring, Frodo manages to cheer you up somehow

Samwise (Asthma)

Sam has never had to deal with asthma once in his life

He's very nervous when the subject is brought, afraid it might trigger something inside of you 🥺👉👈

But you just chuckle, assure him that it's alright, and you have ways of keeping it under control

And now, he wants to know everything about it, just to have the awareness in case something happens

Sam just wants to protect you forever, and this was a great way for him to start

He constantly reminds Aragorn that you'll need breathing breaks and will convince Gandalf to let you ride on his horse

He'll scold Pip and Merry if they are trying to drag you around and be silly, because as he says

"You'll rouse him/her/them up! We can't have Y/N gettin injured!" 🤨😠

Sam is MOM

As always, he's very kind and always makes sure your needs are met ❤🥺

Pippin and Merry (Raynaud's Syndrome)

Very confused halfings 🤔

Also extremely concerned!

You were eating one of the lesser pleasurable nights

It was cold and rainy, and a fire couldn't be started, not to mention the quiet arguments of Aragorn and Gandalf in the nearby woods

And Pip's eyes widened when he saw the tips of your petite fingers begin to pale upon hearing Aragorn mention Orcs

"What's wrong with your hands?!" He squeaked, pointing towards your now white-colored fingertips

You hadn't even noticed, nor felt, considering they were numb anyways

Merry looked over his cousin's shoulder and his eyes also widened, not with fright, but wonder

They were both fascinated with your condition, convinced that you were casting some spell Gandalf showed you

Although you reassured them it was just an extremely frustrating inconvenience that you had, among other things

So from then on, the disastrobus duo did their best to keep you out of the cold (and stressful situations!!)

As a distraction, the pair will tell you great stories of the shire, doing little dances and skits that always cheer you up 🥴

Sometimes, they can be a little rambunctious though...

Merry will pick up on this fact quickly, and nudge Pippin to get him to calm down

Even though it may not feel the best

They find your syndrome absolutely fascinating!! 🤔🤔

All in all, these two are always up for keeping your beautiful smile on your face and your spirits high!! ❤🌺

Boromir (Depression)

Throughout the journey, Boromir has always found an easy way to make you smile

After all, he himself has a fascinating way of brightening anyone's spirits

Yours included ❤

Boromir may not have great stories from The Shire, like Pip and Merry, but he sure has a lot of positive things to say

He'll often suggest sparring with the two troublemaking halflings, just so you can see him goof up and get knocked over 🥺

If the nights become cold and weary, he'll give you a warm hug or a nudge on the shoulder

And a few words of helpful encouragement along the lines of;

"Don't fret Y/N. You have more strength than you'll ever know."

"Let our spirits never dampen! We've come this far!" 😊

He's also an incredible listener

Boromir wants to hear what you have to say if you ever need to rant or get something off of your chest

And don't think for a second that he would ever judge you 😤

Son of Gondor sees past all of your insecurities and knows you for your beautiful, amazing self ❤❤

Gimli (Walking disadvantages)

As you travel across great plains and mountains, your limp doesn't go unnoticed by Gimli

It may take him a while to open up about it, since he's afraid he might offend you in some way

And once he asks you, you inform him that it's a difficulty that unfortunately cannot be changed any time soon

And where you come from, lots of people tease and bully you about it

He did NOT handle it well 😳

"wHAT BLUBBERING DULL-MINDED PIGNUTS-" 🤬

Although this Dwarf is short and a bit slow at times

He's fascinatingly strong 😳

And so, he makes it his duty to be your designated carrier 🥺

At first, your a tad skeptical...

I mean, he's only around 4 feet tall...

BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HIM THROW THAT HUGE AX AROUND?!

Gimli will happily carry you great distances when you need a break, and even longer

(Sometimes it's just to show off around the others-)

"Gimli, are you sure you don't want a break?"

"Aye lass! The strength of Dwarves is unending!" 😌

*struggling to breathe*

11/10, fantastic dwarf, will never let you down!!

Thorin (Executive Dysfunction)

Another Dwarf??

Absolutely

Thorin himself has trouble keeping composure with his time management (and sense of direction 🙄)

This means that he'll have an undying amount of patience for you and you only

There's just something about you that he fond of, and it fills in that little sassy, brooding place in his heart

Can also relate to you whenever you grow frustrated at the setback of your journey or lack of sleep

Is 100% willing to help you find your lost belongings (and once again, ONLY YOU)

Thorin will literally make the whole traveling party stop so that you can put something in your bag and make sure that you put it somewhere you'll remember

Always happy to give you extra gentle reminders of keeping your pack closed

The company is utterly SHOCKED with how he treats you

I mean, this man has always been extremely stubborn and hard headed

But when you show up, it's another person he can easily relate and share frustrations with

Also a master at organization?!? 🤔

The one thing he could do successfully was organizing the damn journey and traveling company, so ofc he's gonna be good at that 😂

Yeah, Thorin definitely has a soft spot for you

King under the mountain will never run out of patience and kindness for you 😌💙

Sorry these took so long!! I hope you like them!! ❤❤

380 notes · View notes

somewhatgreatexpectations · 4 years ago

Text

Unforgettable (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello, everyone!

Songs used: "Unforgettable" By Nat King Cole (1952)

Summary: Wanda is forced to delve into her past as you deal with some unexpected obstacles trying to get back to her.

“I know, she does look shocked to meet the real us, doesn’t she?” Agnes- Agatha said to her rabbit with a laugh. Wanda couldn’t help but feel frustration creep under her skin at the air of indifference Agatha was speaking in. It was clear she couldn’t trust a word that came out of the other woman’s mouth, so she decided to take matters in her own. She would just look into the other woman’s mind to get answers. The perks of having powers.

Except… Nothing.

Rather than being able to see into the other woman’s mind she was met with a wall. Even in the early stages of having her powers this had never happened and Wanda couldn’t help but feel unnerved. “Oh, that’s adorable.” Agatha laughed. “My thoughts are not available to you, toots. They never were. So, don’t wear yourself out. It’s a waste of time. We have much more… pressing matters to tend to.”

Wanda clenched her jaw, refusing to play into the game Agatha clearly wanted her to play. “Where are my children?” Her blood boiled when Agatha mockingly repeated her question back to her.

Again, Agatha laughed. “Do you have an accent or not, sweetheart? Make up your mind.”

“Where are they?” Wanda repeated, flexing her hands to manipulate her powers only to be met with the same resistance from before. Her blood ran cold. This had never happened.

A chilling smile crossed Agatha’s features. “Aww. Sweetheart. Don’t you know? Your magic is useless here. Much like yourself.” Before Wanda could even consider reacting Agatha flicked her wrist and Wanda felt her arms get pinned tightly behind her back along with her legs as she flew forward. The invisible vice like grip tightening as Agatha flexed her fingers. Wanda groaned in discomfort.

Agatha began speaking again but Wanda could barely process the words as she panted in pain. “Basic protection spells. Honestly, how dim are you?” Wanda finally allowed herself to look around the room, taking in the strange markings that littered the wall. “These are runes, Wanda. In a given space, only the witch that cast the runes can use her magic. Do you know anything?”

“Who are you?” Wanda demanded.

“Who are you?” Agatha countered. “I was so patient. Playing along with your twisted little fantasy. Waiting for you to reveal yourself.” She smirked. “I will admit, sending fake Anna and fake Pietro seemed to push your buttons. I thought Amelia- sorry, Ellie, would have sent you over the edge but you didn’t seem to care if your wife mingled with someone else. Just like I’m sure she’s doing now.”

Wanda’s jaw clenched tightly as she pulled at the invisible restraints. “Leave Y/n out of this.”

It was clear Agatha was amused by Wanda's anger. “Oh, sweetheart. How could I do that when she’s the easiest way to get to you? And Amelia was more than willing to be an active participant in all of this to get Y/n back.”

In response Wanda leveled Agatha with a hard stare, not giving her the satisfaction. “The silent treatment? Oh, well. Guess I’ll have to talk to myself.” Agatha mockingly pouted. “When I sensed such powerful spells cast all at once… I knew I had to see it for myself. Mind control is a classic… But having thousands of people under your thumb, each with their own complex stories? That’s something special, baby.”

“I spent years practicing to be able to create one believable illusion, but you, Wanda… Westview under your spell? Every little detail is in place. You’re even running illusions all the way at the edge of town! Magic on autopilot.” Agatha pushed a hand through her hair, her eyes deranged. “What’s your secret? I need you to tell me how you did this.”

Wanda’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t do anything. I’m not-” Before she could finish, Agatha flicked her hand and Wanda was sent crashing into the walls on either side of her. Grunts of pain falling from her lips before Agatha stopped her directly in front of herself once again.

“I tried to be gentle, I did. To wake you up from this stupid little fantasy you have but it’s clear you’d rather fall apart than face your issues, little witch. You left me no choice.” Agatha stepped closer to Wanda. “What was it you said to your fake brother? You felt empty. Like you were drowning. Endless nothingness… Let’s start there.”

Wanda wordlessly watched the woman pluck a hair from her hair and chant words she didn’t understand under her breath. The strand glowing purple as it floated over to the door.

“It’s been fun playing pretend, Wanda… But now it’s time to look at the real thing.” Agatha whispered menacingly. “Let’s go.”

Agatha waved her hand and Wanda went crashing to the floor. “No.” She gritted out, her eyes locked on Agatha, refusing to look at the familiar door. She knew what would await behind that door.

“Did you forget that I have your children lock in this basement? It wasn’t a request.”

Before Wanda could respond she could hear the voices of Billy and Charlie call out to her behind the door and she knew she had no other choice but to enter.

______________

As you were flying lower to the ground your eyes caught the sigh of someone waving their arms noticeably. You needed to get to Wanda though. You needed to see her. To tell her you were sorry. That you were there for her… That you loved her.

Begrudgingly you flew down, you would just check if this person was okay before getting to Wanda.

When your feet touched ground, you were practically knocked over by Ellie leaping into your arms. “Y/n! You have to help me!” She cried desperately, tears streaming rapidly down her cheeks.

The sight overwhelmed you as you tried to maintain your composure. “Ellie, what’s wrong?” You asked cautiously, placing your hands on her shoulders to hold her back.

“My names not Ellie. It’s me, Y/n. Amelia.” She grabbed your hands and tugged you forward slightly. “Wanda is trying to keep us apart.”

You stumbled back with her words, not expecting it. “No. I don’t know who you are, but I know Wanda. I know I love her and that I’ve always loved her. I’ve seen it in my mind.”

Almost immediately the tears stopped in their tracks. Ellie- Amelia stared you down. The sight sent a chill down your spine as your fingers began tingling with energy. “Oh, Y/n, sweetheart. That’s just not true.” You noticed she began playing with a small device in her hands. “Maybe you just need a little… encouragement.”

Your fingers sparked with nervous energy, as a pit began forming in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Before she could reply, Anna and Pietro strolled up. “There’s something about music that messes with her head.” Anna said flippantly, as she picked at her nails. “Try that.”

Pietro smirked. “If that doesn’t work I can help you out with that little device you have there, hot stuff.” He added with a wink to Amelia.

Amelia tilted her head thoughtfully. “That won’t be necessary. Agatha taught me a little trick.”

With a small wave of her hand, a purple fog drifted from her fingers and disappeared into your mind.

“Hello, beautiful.” You looked up from your place on the floor of the training room, smiling slightly when you saw it was Amelia.

“Hi, doll.” You replied back, the term of endearment tasting bitter on your tongue. It felt out of place. You tried to ignore it. This was your girlfriend now after all.“Here to get schooled in some hand-to-hand combat?”

A laugh fell from her lips. “Oh, please. I could take you any day, Y/ln.”

You smirked up at her. “That’s cute that you think that. My mentor is Steve Rogers. I trained with Natasha Romanoff almost daily. Captain America and Black Widow. My skill levels are unmatched.” You said easily as you brushed imaginary dirt off your shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah. We get it. You were an Avenger. Blah, blah, blah. That’s really not as impressive as you th-” Amelia squealed slightly as you swept her legs out from under her, pining her almost immediately.

With a grin, you looked down at her. “You were saying?”

You noticed the way her gaze fell to your lips and you couldn’t help but smirk again. Before you could do anything, she flipped you over, pining your hands above your head. “I was saying, I would’ve thought Black Widow taught you better than that.”

Her grip on your wrists loosened slightly as you tugged her down. Your lips meeting in a kiss.

Blinking rapidly, you shook away the fog in your mind as you refocused on the world around you. “Do you see now?” Amelia called out to you. “It wasn’t Wanda. It was me you were with.”

All the pieces of memories you had seen the last few days flashed in your mind. The love you had for Wanda flashed in your mind. There would never be anyone else. “No, Amelia. I’m sorry, but it’s her-”

“-it’s always been her. I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything sooner, but I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have.” You winced at the tears that seemed to be forming in Amelia’s eyes. “I can’t love you when I have no room in my heart for someone else. Even if Wanda and I can’t be together. Even if I can’t forgive her.”

Your eyes widened at the memory that it seemed you were able to recall on your own. “I told you I was in love with Wanda. Why are you doing this?”

Amelia gritted her teeth. “Because Wanda didn’t deserve you, Y/n. I did. When Agatha approached me and told me this was a guaranteed way to win you back I knew I had to do it.”

You shook your head. “I'm never going to love you back, Amelia. I need to get to Wanda.”

“Ralph, now.” Amelia told Pietro, tossing him the small device. He caught it and sped over to you.

You felt the small prick against the back of your neck and then everything went dark.

__________________

The trauma of having to relieve losing her parents and experiencing the effects of the mind stone again weighed heavily on her. The pain was all fresh and Wanda wasn't sure she could take anymore.

Then she saw the familiar sight of elevator doors.

For a moment Wanda was sure her legs would give out underneath her. She knew that behind this door was peace. The peace she wanted her mind to remain in forever that didn't exist anymore.

The simplicity that was behind that door didn't exist anymore but it was something she longed to see.

Agatha made a quiet noise of surprise as Wanda moved forward on her own, rather than reluctantly as she had before.

The doors slid open as Wanda felt the cool breeze blow through her hair. The imagine of her younger self sat looking out at the city before her. “So, where are we now?”

“The roof of the Avengers compound.” Wanda said quietly. “It’s where Y/n and I fell in love. No matter how hard I tried to shut her out, she never gave up. Pietro was dead, and I was in a new country. I had never felt so alone… She saved me from drowning.”

Wanda’s heart thudded painfully in her chest she saw the younger version of herself open her mouth to speak. She knew what was coming next. “Y/n.”

You stepped in between Agatha and Wanda a small smile on your face as the younger version of herself never looked away from you.

Wanda’s breath hitched because looking back at it now, it was clear she had always been in love with you.

“Um, hi.” You began, bashfully rubbing the back of your neck. “I wanted fresh air and it’s such a nice day out and it looked like you could use company. I mean, not that you have to have company if you don't want it. I can go if you want or I can just sit here with you and-”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh slightly as she interrupted you. “Y/n. You’re rambling.”

Your cheeks flushed, and the current Wanda couldn’t help but smile adoringly at the sight. Of how oblivious you both were. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The young version of herself never let her eyes leave yours. A stark contrast from the girl who couldn’t even look at you for more than a minute when you first met. “You don’t?”

The redness on your cheeks darkened. “Well…” You winced. “I guess I did since I knew you’d probably be here and I just-”

“I like being around you.” Wanda whispered at the same time you said the words.

“Even if we don’t talk most of the time.” You finished shyly.

Her eyes shone slightly under the fading light. “What are your intentions now?”

You shifted slightly from foot to foot. “I think my intentions would be whatever you prefer.”

Wordlessly she pat the space next to her. You smiled as you took a seat next to her, looking out over the skyline, your shoulders brushing. “Wanda, I…” She tilted her head to look at you. “I don’t want to pretend I know exactly what you’re going through because we all fight battles that no one knows about… But if you ever need to talk or just have someone around I’m here for you. If that would give you even just a little comfort.”

Wanda’s eyes flashed with controlled annoyance. “What makes you think that talking about it would give me comfort?” You stayed quiet. “Or sitting here with you?”

Wanda flinched at the tone her past self used and watched the way you began spinning the rings on your fingers anxiously. You were nervous, she could see that now.

She wanted to yell at herself for all the time she spent pushing you away when she should have been pulling you closer.

“I just thought that-”

“The only thing that would bring me comfort is seeing him again.” Wanda cut you off sharply, her eyes shining with unshed tears and her voice thick with emotion.

Wanda could see the understanding in your eyes. You knew exactly what she was going through, and she had no idea at the time.

You nodded faintly, shifting your gaze back to the skyline. “Sorry.” You said quietly. You pulled out your phone to play music, the default to being around Wanda. A silent support.

“Never before has someone been more… Unforgettable. In every way, and forever more that’s how you’ll stay.”

The music made tears well up in Wanda’s eyes because this was the first song you had played that she had allowed herself to actually listen to. The silent messages you were sending her. The walls you were breaking without even realizing it.

“I’m sorry.” She eventually mumbled.

You turned to face her, your brows furrowed in concern. “Don’t be. It’s fine, Wanda.”

A pained smile spread across her lips. “It’s just… I’m so tired.” She inhaled sharply and the glistening in her eyes became more apparent. “It’s like this wave washing over me, again and again. It knocks me down and when I try to stand up, it just comes for me again. And I… It’s just gonna drown me.”

The defeat in her voice made your heart clench as you fought the urge to hold her, to take her hand. “It may feel like it’s all sorrow right now, but there’s more.” You said quietly. Wanda’s stared back at you with curiosity. “The pain you’re in is a telltale sign of the love you gave. Of the unwavering strength of your love… because what is grief is not love persevering?” For a moment you just stared at one another.

The abrupt sound of a loud ad startled you both as you jumped. A laugh fell from your lips because of the terrible timing. “I really should start paying for ad free. Sorry.” You smiled at her nervously.

The surprise on your face was obvious when she smiled back at you. “No, it was funny.” She replied with a chuckle.

You made a face. “It is kind of funny that an Avenger can’t afford ad free music, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.” Wanda hummed, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

The sound of her laughter faded as you both stared at one another, the intensity of emotions left unspoken making the air heavy with tension. Eventually you both turned your gaze back to the skyline, your shoulders still brushing.

A single tear fell down Wanda’s cheeks as she stepped further onto the roof, the image of you both faded away as she looked around.

“So, to recap… Parents dead, brother dead, Y/n pretty much dead.” Wanda’s face crumpled in pain as the tears fell down her cheeks more steadily. Agatha continued on. “What happened when she wasn’t there to be your life raft anymore, Wanda?”

Wanda roughly wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“You’re right there! Tell me how you did it.” Wanda’s chest heaved with the weight of the emotions. “They tried to take Y/n, but you weren’t going to let that happen.”

Wanda’s eyes widened slightly as she thought back to the moment. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.” She repeated as she marched through the familiar door.

Anxiously she watched herself find your empty room, she watched the panic in her every move, she watched Hayward talk about you like you were nothing.

Her heart broke all over again as she watched herself hover over your practically lifeless body.

“I can’t feel you.” She whispered brokenly, the pain in her chest overcoming her. The sensation composing her entire being as everything within her collapsed. She was alone, and she knew she wouldn’t recover.

Her eyes glowed red as she waved a hand, all of the doctors in the room turning away from your body on her command. Hayward turning away as well before he could even react.

Carefully she made her way over to you and took you in her arms, her hands glowing as she carried you away through a back entrance where no one would see her leave.

Cautiously, she placed you in the passenger seat of her car and began driving. Her heart thudding heavily with each passing moment that you didn't wake up. The only thing that brought her a small semblance of comfort was the sight of your chest still weakly rising and falling with each breath.

After an hour or so of driving she pulled into an empty driveway. “This- this was supposed to be a surprise… I bought it when we were in Scotland... For when I was finally able to propose. For when we were finally able to start our lives together. Our happy ending.”

Tears began falling rapidly down her cheeks. “We were supposed to be a happy ending.” She whispered brokenly. “I just want you to be able to see it b-before you go. You deserve more than to have your last moments in that room.” Her words were shaky as if it took all she had to even get them out. Because it did.

Wanda made her way out of the car and carefully carried you out to the middle of the empty lot. “I love you, Y/n. So much.” She whispered, noticing the way your breath was becoming weaker and weaker by the minute. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Slowly she sunk to the ground, still holding you in her arms. The pain in her chest growing unbearable. She couldn’t breathe. All she felt was pain. Broken sobs fell from her lips as she watched the color steadily fade from your face. The steady thrum of your heart rate against her fingertips fading away.

With a scream of agony red burst from her chest and you began floating in the air, gently wrapped in the red. Quickly the energy expanded and expanded. The house appearing from nothing as your feet slowly touched the floor. The hospital gown that you were in moments before gone and replaced with an old-fashioned dress. Your eyes were still closed as the red energy continued to stream out of Wanda.

When the red faded away, Wanda was left breathless by the sight. All she could see was you. Her eyes watered when she met your eyes again. The eyes she had spent weeks begging to see open again.

You, standing before her with the same smile you wore the first time that you met. Your eyes looking at her with all the love you had before it all went wrong. That was all she ever wanted.

Tentatively she stepped forward, as if one wrong move would make you disappear. The outfit she was wearing transforming into an old fashioned dress as well.

The smile she gave you was loving as her eyes shone with feelings she hadn’t been able to feel in weeks. Happiness. “Wanda. Darling. I’ve missed you.” You said sincerely. “Should we stay in tonight?”

You turned on the radio before meeting her in front of the couch.

“That’s why, darling, it’s incredible that someone so unforgettable thinks that I am unforgettable too.”

As the music washed over you both, you took a seat on the couch wrapping an arm around Wanda, pulling her closer as her hand lifted to glide over your cheek. Her fingertips brushing along your jaw lovingly until they landed on the back of your neck and pulled you closer. Your lips met in a sweet kiss and Wanda happily gave herself over to the moment. To you.

Wanda watched the moment with an aching heart as the scene before her faded away. Suddenly she heard the sound of clapping in the distance. She cautiously made her way forward, squinting against the bright overhead lights.

“Bravo.” Agatha called sarcastically before snapping her fingers and disappearing into a haze of purple smoke.

Before Wanda could react, she heard the desperate cries of her children. “Mom! Mom! Help us!”

“Please! Please, help us!” Continued as she ran to the door and into the bright daylight.

Panic coursed through her veins as she ran down the street frantically trying to find the twins. Her chest tightening as her breathing became almost impossible.

A moment later she came to a stop before Agatha. The sight making her stomach turn. Agatha held the twins hostage as the purple force wrapped around their necks, preventing them from escaping. “I know what you are.” Agatha called out, but all Wanda could focus on was the pain her children were in.

Her hands began to glow as she made a weak attempt to reassure them. “It’s okay, babies. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“You have no idea how dangerous you are. You’re supposed to be a myth. A being capable of spontaneous creation and here you are… Using it to make breakfast for dinner!” Agatha’s lips curled in disgust.

The glow in Wanda’s hands intensified. “Let go of my children!”

“Oh yes, your children. And Y/n. And this whole little life you’ve made… This is Chaos Magic, Wanda… And that makes you... the Scarlet Witch.”

And we have concluded with part 8! One final part after this!

If you would like to actually read what happens in SWORD with Hayward its in part 13 of "Love Goes" which I will tag here. And a nice conversation that they had about feeling like drowning is in part 1 of "Love Goes" which I will tag here.

Ironically, I wrote that scene about drowning before episode 8 of Wandavision came out so it kind of messed with the flashback scene when I was writing it.

Anyway, that's all. As always, I hope you all enjoyed! Thoughts and comments always welcome! :)

Taglist:

@theofficialzivadavid // @tquick99 // @marrymemcgrath // @afuckingshituniverse // @pxterstrk // @aimezvousbrahms // @ensorcellme // @sapphicshots // @daisybri7

#wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x y/n #wandavision

273 notes · View notes

homoose · 4 years ago

Text

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part VII (x reader)

Summary: Reader tries to make things right, with a little push from her mama.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: none

a/n: I know, I know— please just let our babies be happy ♥️ and so it was. Also, big ups to my tumblr gf @idmakeitbehave for being my beta the past two chapters.

Series Masterlist

———

One week.

That’s how long it had been since their argument. Spencer had driven back to his apartment in silence, absolutely stunned by the way things had blown up.

They’d gotten back from the case in Utah on the fifth of January, and he’d driven straight to Y/N’s, ready to give her a belated New Year’s kiss. Immediately upon entering her apartment, he knew something was wrong. Her hug was stiff, her kiss brief, her eye contact minimal. He’d spent the night, but they barely touched, and she left early for work without waking him. He’d let himself out and texted her later in the day to invite her over for dinner.

Dinner hadn’t been any less awkward, and when he felt awkward, he knew it was bad. He finally couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he’d called it out. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn’t expected that. Y/N never spoke to him with any malice at all, even when he was actually doing something that irritated her. She was the queen of healthy communication. So for her to speak to him like that meant that the underlying issue was much, much worse than he’d originally thought.

He’d gone over their conversations a thousand times, looking desperately for the moment that it went wrong. After some deep consideration, he was certain that something had happened on New Year’s Eve. He just wasn’t sure what. Y/N was insistent that she wasn’t bothered by the declined call, but he still wished he could go back in time and answer it. He was pretty sure the seeds of their argument had sprouted in that moment, regardless of what she said.

Spencer knew she was a creature of habit, and that sometimes she needed space to process and experience her emotions. And if he was being honest, he needed some space after the argument, too. But usually she would have at least texted him by now.

He sighed and set down his newspaper, realizing he’d read the same page four times and hadn’t retained any of it. It was Friday, and he knew she was working. But still his fingers itched to dial her number. He picked up the phone, pressing a key to light up the screen yet again.

No new messages.

He dropped the phone back to the table with a little more force than was necessary. He decided he’d give her the rest of the weekend. If he didn’t hear from her by Sunday, he’d have to do something.

…

Y/N dropped her bag on the floor inside the door and turned to lock the deadbolt. She had managed to sneak out of the building without being stopped by Anita, and she thanked the universe for small miracles.

She didn’t want to have to explain herself. She didn’t want anyone to know what an absolute troll she’d been. Considering that Sam and Spencer had practically become attached at the hip since they’d started hanging out more, Anita was bound to ask about him.

She showered and ordered Thai food, snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie with Roald. She settled on Dumplin’— a favorite for the body positivity, the southern drawls, and the Dolly Parton drag.

And then she came to the argument outside of Harpy’s and lost what little emotional stability she had left.

“Never took you for the type that cares much what people think.”

“I can’t, Bo. And that might make me a coward, but—”

“It does. Willowdean Dixon, I think you’re beautiful. To hell with anyone who’s ever made you feel less than that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Roald meowed in distress. She choked out a sob and stroked over his ears, closing her eyes in defeat. “I really fucked this up, huh?”

It had only been one week, but it felt like years since Spencer walked out of her apartment. She’d stayed in bed for the entire weekend, crying on and off. She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Owen had knocked over the first domino, but she’d done nothing to stop the rest from falling.

Spencer had done everything right. He’d done everything she asked, and she’d thrown it all back in his face. He had made the comparison to Mitchell Park, and he was absolutely right. She’d done the exact same thing, only she had almost a year’s worth of ammunition, and she cut a hell of a lot deeper.

Roald nuzzled against her, but she nudged him away— she didn’t even deserve the comfort. Instead, she fumbled in the couch cushions for her phone, swiping open the screen and tapping her favorites list, thumb hovering over Spencer’s name. Then she tapped on the name right above it and blew out a breath.

The line connected and rang three times before she picked up. “Hey, sugar! Your ears must be ringin’, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about callin’ you.”

“Hey, mama,” Y/N breathed.

Her mother’s tone changed from chipper to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She leaned forward to the coffee table to grab Spencer’s scarf— somehow left behind in her apartment— rubbing it between her fingers. “I— I really messed up.”

“Oh, Lord. You need bail money?”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed wetly. “Oh my god , mama. No, I don’t need bail money.”

“Well, if you made bail it can’t be that bad,” Rose insisted.

“I didn’t— I’m not in jail, for Christ’s sake.” Y/N ran a hand over her face. “I messed things up with Spencer.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Rose responded matter of factly. “What happened?”

“We were fighting, and I said some really, really awful things,” Y/N admitted, tears spilling over her lash line.

Rose scoffed. “Honey, I say awful things to your father all the time, and we’ve been married almost 40 years.”

Y/N heaved a long sigh. “Not like this, mama.”

Her mother hummed in consideration. “Well, what were y’all fightin’ about?”

“It’s complicated,” Y/N hedged, toying with the fringe of the scarf.

Rose clicked her tongue. “Do ya want my help or not?”

Y/N dropped her head back against the couch. “I ran into Owen on New Year’s Eve—”

“Well, I hope you told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Rose practically growled.

Y/N closed her eyes as the tears tracked hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t. I— I let him get under my skin, and then I didn’t want to tell Spencer about it because it’s embarrassing, but he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it.” She had to pause and suck in a hiccuping breath, releasing it on a sob. “So I yelled at him and said all kinds of terrible things, and then he left, and now I think maybe we broke up, and I’ve literally never been so sad in my whole life.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then she heard Rose sniffling. “Really shoulda had your brothers knock the mess out of that son of bitch when we had the chance. He's been gone five years, and he’s still hurtin’ you every chance he gets.”

Y/N swiped uselessly at the tear tracks on her cheeks, sniffling pathetically. “And now I hurt the person who’s spent the last year singlehandedly undoing all of his awful handiwork.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rose cooed. Y/N could hear the creak of the floorboards as her mother walked through her childhood home. “You said he knew somethin’ was wrong, right? I can almost guarantee that he’s still just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. I know he’s supposed to be a genius, but he’s still a man. And men are dumb, sugar. You gotta spell it out for ‘em. Have you talked to him since?”

“No.” Fresh tears spilled over Y/N’s lashes as the thoughts that had kept her from calling him spilled out of her mouth. “What if it was too far? What if I ruined everything? What if he never wants to speak to me again?”

Ross heaved out a long breath. “That’s a lot of what ifs, Y/N.”

“What if I’m right?” she whispered.

“And what if you’re not?” Rose countered. “That boy loves you. Anyone could see that, clear as day. He’d do just about anything for you.” Rose paused, and Y/N heard the springs of the bed squeak as she sat. “But you gotta let him, sweetheart. Right now you’re takin’ away his chance to do that. You’re makin’ the decision for him.”

Y/N listened as her mother’s advice crackled over the line, and for the first time in a week, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

“If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, you need to let him tell you that. Don’t settle for a what if. Find out for sure, or you're gonna spend the rest of your life worryin’ and wonderin’, sugar.”

…

That evening found Spencer in his usual spot on the couch, reclined against the arm with a book in hand. He’d promised himself he’d give Y/N the weekend to herself— that he’d let her come to him. That didn’t stop him from checking his phone obsessively; it never buzzed with any new calls or messages, but he still looked every seven minutes.

The sound of the buzzer jolted his body to attention. He checked his watch and drew his brows together before closing his book and scrambling to cross to the intercom, a tiny seed of hope beginning to germinate. He pressed the button to talk, calling, “Yes?” into the speaker box and then listening for the response.

“Hi.”

Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the crackle of the speaker. He buzzed her in without hesitation, crossing to the door and opening it immediately. She made her way slowly up the stairs, turning at the top of the landing and pausing.

His heart broke at the sight of her. She looked utterly exhausted, dressed in black sweatpants and a soft purple sweater, a black puffer jacket over top. She was holding his scarf, wringing it in between her hands. Her eyes were ringed red, and the bags under them were worse than his.

He watched as she crossed the landing, coming to stand quietly in front of him. He’d known something was wrong, but the way she looked now made him wonder just how long she’d been battling whatever private demons she wouldn’t let him in on.

“I, um.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she’d been crying from the thickness of her voice. “I have a lot to say— again. But since I was such an asshole, I wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you need to say first.”

He’d imagined this conversation countless times over the last week, and never once had he thought it would start like this. “Um. Well. You— you really hurt me.”

She could barely look at him. “I know.”

He swallowed. “Please don’t do that again.”

She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t ever again.”

Spencer tucked his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants. “I know I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m a pretty good profiler. And I can tell when something’s wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just asking you to tell me when I do something that makes you upset.”

“You— you didn’t do anything wrong. I—” He watched her squeeze her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m just— I’m sorry for so many things. For lying about being fine, for being up on my high horse about communicating and then not actually doing it, for being an absolute bitch.”

He wanted to argue— she wasn’t a bitch— but he could tell she was far from done.

“I— I thought therapy was supposed to teach me how to talk about things, but this still feels… impossible to say out loud,” she admitted, fingers fumbling with the fabric of the scarf. “It’s embarrassing and ridiculous. But I— I have deep-seated insecurities. That I’m not really that smart or interesting or particularly special.”

He thought back to that night in Mitchell Park and felt the guilt all over again. He’d practically said those exact words to her— it was no wonder she was feeling this way.

“And every person that I’ve ever been with has— really reinforced those ideas, so for a long time they were just… a set part of my self-image,” she explained, dragging a hand over her messy hair. “I thought— I thought that I was over it, but I— I don’t know. Maybe you never really are.”

His brain sorted through every moment of their year together, pinging off the countless examples of her self-doubt and insecurity. She was easily the most wonderful person he knew, but he could clearly see the cracks in the facade if he looked close enough. How had he missed it for so long?

“And then I met you, and you…” Y/N let out a wry laugh. “You’re easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met, but you made me feel like… I don’t know, like I’m interesting, too. Like I’m worthy of being with you, like I’m— like I’m good enough.”

He felt his heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards— good enough?

“But I can’t— I still have a hard time believing it sometimes. And I— I’ve been letting myself keep you at arms length. Letting you see parts of me, but… never giving you everything,” she admitted.

He watched her struggle to get the words out, her voice thick with the act of holding back sobs. He hadn’t realized she was carrying all of this. She was so good at supporting him and loving him through all of his trauma and issues, he hadn’t stopped to consider just how much she needed him, too.

She continued, “It’s why I took so long to say I love you… why I couldn’t talk to you last week. Because I just—” She shrugged as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I’m really nothing special. That you’re getting bored, or there’s someone who’s a better fit for you, or one million other things. That I’m needy, and annoying, and too much work.”

A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, and he felt his own eyes filling. She never failed to put a stop to his own insecurities— reminding him that she liked his rambling, that he wasn’t irritating, that he was just the right amount. In his eyes, she was perfect. He would have never guessed she felt this way about herself.

She continued, “That’s what happened before, and none of those guys were even half as wonderful as you are.” She swiped a hand haphazardly over her cheeks, looking at him sheepishly. “And then I was hurtful and awful, and I realized that I was just creating a self fulfilling prophecy and I don’t— I don’t want to do that.”

Her hand shook a little as she brought it back down to twist in his scarf. “Because it’s never— I’ve never felt like this. I've never been this happy with anyone else, and I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give you up. Even if sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice cracked on a stifled cry, and his chest physically ached. “And if you never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I’ll leave you alone, but I— I’m just so sorry. And I love you so much, and I’m trying so hard to be better.” She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out on an exhausted sigh. “And that’s, um— that’s it. If you want me to go, I—”

“I don’t want you to go,” he interrupted.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Spencer stepped forward and reached for her. “Of course not. C’mere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was tumbling into his arms with a choked off sob. He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, walking her to the couch and sitting them both down. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear into thin air.

“Y/N, I’m right here,” he assured her. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you n-need space, I understand,” she sobbed.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need space. I think a week was long enough, don’t you?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She pulled back out of the hug, head down. “But I really hurt you.”

He held her hand. “Yeah. And I really hurt you, too.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not how this works. I don’t get to hurt you just because you hurt me.”

“I know that.” He almost laughed at how indignant she sounded. “I’m not saying that we should hurt each other. I’m saying that sometimes it happens. And when it does, we apologize, and we forgive, and we move forward. And it’s okay if you need space. But I don’t.”

“What if you change your mind?” she whispered.

“Then I promise I’ll tell you.” Spencer tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll tell you what I need, as long as you tell me, too. We’ve gotta use all those communication skills we learn in therapy.”

Y/N nodded, and he pulled her into another hug. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “If I hadn’t heard from you by Sunday, I was planning to bother you until you talked to me.”

He could feel the beginning of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth where it was pressed to his shoulder. “You never bother me,” she mumbled. She held him for a moment longer and then released him from the hug and sat back, fidgeting with her hands and letting out a breath.

“Sometimes I need to be told that my worst fears about myself aren’t true,” she admitted. “I know that’s so annoying, but—”

“It’s not annoying,” he interrupted, putting an immediate stop to that line of thought. “Telling you how amazing you are isn’t the chore that you think it is. I’m sorry that anyone ever convinced you that it was.”

He covered her hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs softly along her skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dealing with all of this by herself. He hated that she’d ever felt anything less than adored. More than anything, he hated that he hadn’t been able to help her through it. And he wanted to make sure that he never made that mistake again.

“A wise man told me once... that love is helping someone navigate their storms,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. She looked at him then, and he continued, “You’ve been my lighthouse for a long time, Y/N. And I— I’m trying desperately to be yours… But you have to let me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she nodded. He let out a long breath and pulled her hands into his lap. “I understand that sometimes you need space, and that’s fine. I’m happy to give you whatever you need.”

He shook his head. “Just— please don’t try to weather the storm by yourself. You can’t do it all alone; no one can.” He smiled ruefully. “I can tell you from experience that’s pretty much a guaranteed way to capsize your boat.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he felt a tear slip over his lash line. “I’ll help you repair your boat, or build a new one, or you can just float on mine for a while. It’s not perfect but it’s pretty sturdy, I think.”

She brought her fingers up to brush at his damp cheeks, and he met her eyes. “What I’m not going to do is let you float out on the ocean by yourself. I love you too much.”

She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling a little and just watching him— almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. She brought her hand back to his and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his skin. “I love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He gave her a small smile and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Want some tea?”

She was frowning when he pulled back, her brows drawn together. “I need to tell you about Owen.”

The conversation he’d had with Anita was suddenly on replay in Spencer’s head.

… a real piece of shit… telling her lies about herself… isolating her… destroying her from the inside out...

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head. “Talking about him takes away his power. I have to stop letting him have so much sway over my emotions.” She looked at him then. “I do things I regret and hurt people I love.”

He brought their joined hands up his lips. “Well, I’m here either way. And I’m still going to make you some tea.”

He stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her into the kitchen and refusing to let go of her hand. He filled the kettle and turned it on, found a bag of her favorite tea and ripped it open with his teeth. He dropped the bag into her favorite mug, and then made a mug up for himself.

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you’d let go,” she said, the hint of a smile in her voice.

“Mhm,” he agreed, but he made no move to release her hand. In fact, once he’d fumbled a spoonful of honey into each of the cups, he dropped the spoon into her mug and turned to pull her into another hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and closed his eyes as she brought her arms around his waist. “I missed you,” he whispered.

She squeezed him tight. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt her breathe him in. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and then settled his chin again. “Apology accepted, in case it wasn’t clear.”

They stood like that until the kettle began to whistle, and then Spencer kept her tucked underneath his arm as he turned to shut it off and pour the water into the mugs. They each grabbed a mug, making their way back to the couch and setting them on the coffee table to steep. Spencer kept their fingers intertwined and stayed quiet, letting her set the pace of the conversation.

Y/N took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I, um— I had my first boyfriend in high-school: Cal Cunningham. He was older and cooler, and so I felt— I don’t know… special when he picked me.” She rolled her eyes. “In reality, he was rude, and arrogant, and kind of a misogynist. We didn’t date for very long, but it kind of… set me up on this path of dating guys who weren’t very nice.”

Spencer ran his thumb soothingly along hers, waiting for her to continue. “When I started college, I dated this guy Adam for a few months. He was nice enough but really self-centered and a little immature. When we broke up I just wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“I was single for two years after that, just kind of… finding myself and whatever.” Her eyes tracked the path his thumb traced along her skin. “So when I started dating Owen at the end of junior year, it felt like my first real relationship. Like— we were both adults, and he dressed up for our dates, and he paid for things and bought me flowers and fit all the cliches.”

“And it was great at first,” she admitted. “We had a lot of the same friends, so we’d been hanging out for a while before we got together. He was a perfect gentleman— and smart, accomplished, and ambitious. I fell fast, and I fell hard, and we were sort of— it feels so stupid to say this, but it felt like we were an it couple.”

“A few of us made plans to move to DC after graduation— my friend Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Sam and Anita,” she explained. “And Owen and I, obviously. We moved in together in an apartment downtown. And that’s when everything changed.”

She drew her brows together. “It was little things at first. Like he’d jokingly call me stupid for forgetting something, or he’d complain about one of my friends being annoying. But it snowballed pretty quickly. He’d tell me I was stupid, and he wasn’t joking. All of my friends irritated him to the point where we couldn’t hang out anymore— even our former mutual friends. He thought that teaching kindergarten was a mindless, pointless job.”

Spencer tried to keep his heart rate steady, his facial expressions neutral, but his blood pressure was on the rise. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, least of all Y/N.

She continued, “We spent the holidays at my parents’ the second year we were dating, and he spent the entire car ride home explaining, in detail, how ridiculous and low-class he thought everything was.”

She shook her head and rubbed her free hand over her face. “I know it’s insane that I stayed with him for five years, but I— he did a really good job of convincing me that I was... that I was nothing. That he was doing me a favor by loving me. That he could have anyone, but he chose me. No one else was going to, so I should be grateful.”

He balled his free hand into a fist to avoid squeezing her to death. When Anita had said Owen was a piece of shit… he hadn’t realized just how deeply she meant it.

She picked at the fabric of her sweatpants, staring intently at the tiny pills. “When someone says all of that to you on a daily basis, and you’re not hearing otherwise from anyone else— because no one knew what was going on— when someone tells you you’re nothing… you start to believe it.”

Spencer relaxed his fist to bring his fingers up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a voiceless assurance that she was, in fact, everything. He felt her relax under the warm pressure of his lips, and he hoped that was enough for now.

He sat back to let her continue. “We were together for five years, and we only broke up because he cheated on me. It was a long term affair; they were sleeping together for almost a year before I found out. And… a lot of people knew. Almost all of his friends knew. But I didn’t. I was still being this ridiculous, desperate little Suzy Homemaker trying to make him happy, even though he was still treating me like shit.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “When I found out, I wasn’t even hurt. I was… embarrassed, I guess. But I was so relieved. I was so fucking relieved that I had a way out.”

He watched as her shoulders settled, almost like an actual weight had been lifted off of them. “I got a therapist and dropped all of the friends that were still hanging around with him. I moved to a new neighborhood, started hanging out with Anita and Sam, and just— started fresh. And I was doing really well. I’ve had my moments of insecurity here and there, but for the most part, I’ve been able to recognize the moments when I’m falling back into old thought patterns.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were so soft and lovely that his heart ached. “You’re a big reason for that. You’re so open with how you feel about me, and… it makes things a lot easier.” She dropped her gaze with a sigh. “But I— he was at the party on New Year's. And I didn’t know he was going to be there until I was already there , and then it felt stupid to leave. I thought I could handle it—”

“And then I didn’t answer your call.”

“No, no .” She shook her head and reached her free hand out to grasp his arm. “That’s— Spencer, none of this is your fault.” She furrowed her brow, and the crease between them was practically an abyss. “He sort of— cornered me on the patio. I hadn’t seen him in like, four years? And he was complimenting me, and asking about you, and then he tried to— well, he did kiss me actually. I shoved him off, and he didn’t like that, and he did his whole Owen thing. Told me that he’d cheated because I was uninteresting and worthless. That eventually you’d get bored of me, too. Just, um— generally awful shit.”

She took a deep breath, and the rest steamrolled off her tongue and over his heart. “And then he just— left . And he’d absolutely demolished my self-image in less than ten minutes, and I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and then you didn’t answer, but I was kind of glad you didn’t because I didn’t actually want to talk about it. And I thought I could just move on, but then I was being weird, and you knew something was wrong. And I just wanted to pretend like it never happened, but then you kept pressing me on it, and I just— I didn’t want to have to explain it all to you because I was afraid that— that maybe he was right.”

Y/N dissolved back into the couch, an unwelcome indication of the emotional exhaustion that came with reliving trauma. Spencer moved closer and mirrored the position of her body against the cushions, bringing his face close enough to bump their noses together. They breathed the same air for one noiseless minute before she finally met his eyes.

“I need you to understand that not one single thing he said to you— on New Year’s or ever— was right, in either sense of the word. None of it was factual, and none of it was acceptable.”

She gave him a weary nod, and he continued, “You are the single best person that I know. You’re kind, brilliant, and driven. You’re interesting, and wonderful, and lovely. You’re my absolute favorite person on the planet, and I will never get bored of you.”

He let his eyes trace over all the angles and curves of her face, and then raised his eyebrows. “He’s lucky that I respect you enough not to go over your head, because what I’d like to do is run a full background check and find any and every possible transgression that could be legally investigated and then use that information to ruin his life.” He tilted his head in thought. “That or— get really jacked and then beat the shit out of him.”

“God, please don’t. As much as I’d love to watch that unfold,” she cupped his face in her hand, “you’re better than that. And he’s not worth either of our energies… I already wasted enough time dwelling on it and hurt you in the process.” She dropped her hand back to her lap with a sigh. “I spent so much time in that relationship that my brain didn’t know what to do with this good, healthy one.”

He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tight and then pressing a kiss to the back of each. He wouldn’t commit assault, since she’d asked him not to. But he wasn’t going to let Owen taint any part of his life with her.

“I’m so sorry that someone you loved made you think it was hard to love you. Because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed his lips together and mused, “But I think maybe love has a learning curve. Especially when you’re used to being hurt. You have to unlearn all the bullshit. People will have you thinking that you have to water yourself down, or change who you are, or make yourself more palatable. I thought that, too.”

He brushed her hair back away from her face and waited for her to meet his eyes. “And then I met you. And you love all of it— all of me. All the rambling, all the quirks, and— even the dark parts, too.”

She sniffled a little, but really smiled for the first time that night. “What’s not to love about you?”

He smiled back. “I’m not sure if you realize that I fully reciprocate that feeling. What’s not to love about you? I have a hard time thinking of even one thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore.”

“Even when I act like a horrid bitch?” she mumbled, only half joking.

He leaned his head against the couch cushion. “A year ago, you stood on my doorstep and gave me forgiveness— after I’d been a complete asshole to you... I told you then that I wanted to learn how to love with you. I still do. In all the wonderful, and the weird, and the terrible. Even when we get it wrong.”

He shrugged, and then ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else I’d rather get it wrong with. Because when we get it right… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to magic.”

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she brought both hands up to his face, holding him with an adoration that made his own eyes burn. “You can believe that you love me the most,” she whispered, “but just know that you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward to close the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her lips with a reverence that felt technicolor and devout and more magical than any trick he’d ever mastered.

“Agree to disagree.”

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01 @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @saspencereid @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween @spenxerslut @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @enbyfaerie @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid @elldell1204 @babyhoneystvles @lost-in-the-stars03 @reiding-recs @minervaonmars @radtwinkie @crimeshowtrash @dayho3

Permanent (sfw) tags: @mrs-dr-reid @eevee0722 @goldentournesol @froggybagels

Series tags: @uhuhuh @itsametaphorbriansblog @magenta145 @annesauriol @watermelonfanfic-recs @ampal98 @mggsprettygirl @ceeellewrites @thatsmyfavoritewhiteboy @misshale21 @ilzieah @gublersbooblers @outcrbxrafe @andromedasstarship @reidspurplescarfs @hanniebee33 @nazdaniels @irisisonline @nazifa94 @laurnrnlds @outer-spacious @stupidcrazylittlething @princesssmooshie @luvspence @maddievevo @slaytherinthoughts

Broken tags: @archer561 (check visibility settings!)

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #homoose writes #lhalc

293 notes · View notes

goji-pilled · 3 years ago

Text

Okay @princekirijo you want an essay? Well here it is now, or as I like to call it Felix's "Asumari is great and this fandom has no fucking taste" rambling and infodump. Congrats fellas, thanks to Prince you ALL get an asumari essay. But before that I'll try to give you a rundown of Mari and Asuka.

(I'm also so sorry for putting this long ass post on everyone's dashboard)

(Spoiler warning for Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time!!)

Alright on one hand we have Mari Illustrious Makinami. Her whole deal? She's a walking ray of sunshine, literally lol. Unlike any other character in the Evangelion franchise she doesn't suffer from her trauma, she's quite literally the only healthy and functioning human being, she's just slightly leaning towards "batshit crazy" with the stunts she pulls 🤷‍♂️. Other than that she just loves living, she loves being with people, she keeps moving forward, stays positive and decides to live life to it's fullest even after she experiences loss and multiple apocalyptic events (Second Impact, Third Impact, etc.) and she really just embodies the joy of living. That's all there is to her, or at least all we know.

On the other hand, we have Asuka Langley Shikinami who is... well it's hard to explain what she is to be honest. She's part-German and part-Japanese and part of a line of clones specifically made with the purpose to pilot an Evangelion and later on be used as a sacrifice to trigger another Impact (ITS COMPLICATED I KNOW-) Asuka is, unlike Mari, very much suffering from her trauma. She doesn't have her parents and has a very deep seated belief that she's completely alone, which she says doesn't matter as long as she can pilot the Eva. She also very much wants to fight and kill angels all by herself, and it's seriously messing with her when she can't achieve that.

Now we get to the more interesting parts (hopefully this so far wasn't too confusing, then again it's Eva and even I can't fully wrap my head around it all LMAO)

In the second Rebuild movie (Evangelion 2.0 You can (not) advance) we get introduced to both of them, Mari's introduction scene (in the original English dub) has her pilot an Eva and singing about how she'll take the world on by herself, while in the third movie's (Evangelion 3.0 You can (not) redo) opening scene she's piloting the Eva again but this time it's together with Asuka (in her own Unit 02 though) and during that Mari sings about how wonderful it is not to be alone. It's nothing big yet, but it's a really cute detail me thinks,,, you know what else I love about them? They bicker and they banter and it's genuinely so fun to listen to shskdhsuwj

(For a quick catch up: During the end of 2.0 Shinji (the protagonist) triggers another apocalyptic event, the Near Third Impact, and was only stopped due to Kaworu (the guy in my pfp) stepping in. Also between 1.0/2.0 and 3.0/3.0+1.0 are about 14 years (without Shinji bc he's like comatose) where A LOT happens AND we learn in 3.0 that Eva pilots don't age physically bc of "The curse of the Eva"... honestly Eva is wild lmao)

Okay okay I'll get back to it!

So one thing that happens is that Asuka during 2.0 develops a crush on Shinji (girl why-), unfortunately things take a turn for the worse. Asuka had volunteered to be the testpilot for a new Eva (Unit 03), she seemed happy at the time and it was a really sweet build up with the "I can smile, I didn't know I could still do that."-line. And then? Then it turns out the Ninth Angel had infected Unit 03 (Angels are basically the Kaijus they fight using Evas btw). The thing goes on a loose and Shinji is forced to fight it (With Asuka inside mind you), he refuses and his father uses an autopilot to destroy Unit 03. And boy did it destroy the angel, well it and it crushed Asuka between its jaws (you can actually hear her scream btw haha pain :)).

Asuka survived though, but the whole incident cost her her humanity and she ended up becoming an angel herself/she took the place of the Ninth. But despite that, there's one person who keeps believing in Asuka's humanity, who fiercely believes Asuka is still a human and tells her as much.

Yep, that one person is Mari and she keeps holding onto that belief until the very end when Asuka uses her last resort, which is using the power of an angel (Doing so was a guaranteed death sentence btw). Mari's own words (in the German dub) were, "Princess, you're giving up being human…" AND IT MAKES ME SO EMO GOD FUCK

While I'm at it, Mari and Asuka are a fucking killer combo as a team. They rely on each other for support in combat, listen to the other's orders and advice. Especially in Asuka's case it's kind of a big deal that she so openly relies and counts on Mari's support. Like these two trust each other with their damn lifes!!! Holy shit!!

Guess what though, they also have nicknames for eachother. Mari always calls Asuka "Princess" or "(Your) Highness" while Asuka calles Mari "Four-eyes" / "Four-eyed chrony (idk how you spell that tbh RIP" Even better though, in the German dub Asuka calls Mari "Brillerella" as in a combination of "Brille" (German for glasses) and "Cinderella",,,,Cinderella and her Prince,,,Brillerella and her Princess,,, man, that was a gay fucking move of the translation team. Spoiler: I owe them my life.

Funfact: There's exactly two times throughout the Rebuild movies where Mari uses Asuka's actual name. These two times being when she watches Asuka "die" and be used as a sacrifice for Gendo's selfish plan and when later on she begs Shinji, "So please the Princess… Asuka needs your help!" And the best part? That wasn't even the first time she did that. The mentioned line came from 3.0+1.0, but she did that too in 3.0 with the, "At least save the Princess!" line (although her tone was much more...pissed, like she was really angry lol)

Remember the crush Asuka had on Shinji? Well due to the Unit 03 incident a whole lot of other shit got mixed into that and her feelings for him in general became really bitter (understandably so). Now Mari being who she is sometimes teases Asuka about said old crush but she really does want Asuka to get closure and sort that mess out.

As an example for the teasing, in 3.0 there's a scene that goes like this (please imagine Mari with a literal :3 face while saying that):

"Unit! Are you back in the game?"

"I'm on it, your Highness. But first things first, how was our little puppy (Shinji)? Did he sit like a good little boy?"

"He's exactly the same! Same stupid face talking mayhem!"

"That goofy face of his, that's what you wanted to see? Riiiiight?"

"Shut up! I went there to bat him one!... And I feel better!"

There's also a very short bonus manga that was released in Japan for Thrice Upon a Time's release that has Mari trying to convince Asuka to come with her on the mission to get Shinji, given everything that follows, it's just another thing to prove my point. And the final bit relating to that is this:

"Feeling better now?"

"Yeah, I do feel better."

That's the exchange Asuka and Mari have after they talked to Shinji, it's nothing special but I think it's really sweet and this time Asuka actually sounded like she was feeling better instead of when she was screaming after she nearly broke pretty thick glass with her fist (If she had hit someone with that much force she definitely would've broken something omggg #violentimpulsesgang)

To get back on track though: I already mentioned it but during the second half of 3.0+1.0 Asuka "dies" (and honestly that entire scene is worth its own in-depth post because its just one huge parallel to The End of Evangelion), the point is: You can tell that the loss of Asuka honestly hits Mari hard. Not only because of how Mari screams Asuka's name but also because of her expressions. They're pained, like really fucking pained and Mari even apologizes to her that she has to fall back due to the fact that she's injured AND because eveything is going wrong.

After the events of Evangelion 3.0 these two got seperated from eachother, Mari was with WILLE (the organization both of them are with) and on board of Wunder (the ship WILLE basically operates from) while Asuka was in a Village full of (Near) Third Impact Survivors. When they do meet again it went like this:

Asuka, barely back, comes to the door and calls, "I'm back." And within seconds of Asuka stepping into their room after the door opens Mari already runs towards her, arms wide open and she says, "Welcome back, your Highness! Good job. I missed you so much!" And she says that while she literally nuzzles into Asuka,,,like,,,what the fuck gay people real!!!

Best part? Asuka clearly has enough strength to push Mari completely away if she were uncomfortable, but she doesn't. Asuka merely wanted enough space to look at the room (because Mari managed to horde even more books lol) and play her game. During their entire renunion Mari keeps hugging her, and part of me thinks that perhaps deep down Asuka actually enjoys the feeling of physical affection.

Before we get to the last point though, let me say that Asuka and Mari have scenes in 3.0+1.0 that parallel Shinji and Kaworu's from 3.0. (Fyi Kaworu loves Shinji (yeah, like that, and 3.0 was basically them being gay as fuck for an hour) so like...do I even need to explain?

And then of course there's also this, the "Take care of yourself, Princess…" line. That is the last time Mari talks to Asuka and as much as that line alone already is so much, it's Mari's expression in particular that kills me. Because this? This soft, almost bittersweet expression she has, as she basically says goodbye? Because she knows Asuka will finally be happy and safe? It just makes me feel so much actually. Man.

In the end it's a fact that Mari loved Asuka, wether that is interpreted as platonic or romantic by someone is up to them. But it is a fact that Asuka was loved enough that someone wanted to hug her, was happy to see her, to praise her, was hurt by her loss, wanted her to be safe, that someone told her "Take care of yourself…" Asuka was really and honestly so loved that someone would tell her, "I missed you."

But Asuka? Asuka was too hurt, too wrapped up in her own head to actually see how loved she was by Mari (and other people) that she genuinely believed she's completely alone and always will be alone.

It makes the "Take care of yourself" line hit even harder to me, because it's not only Mari's goodbye, but it's a goodbye during the one time Asuka allowed herself to be vulnerable and admit what she really wanted.

And honestly? All of this? Its makes me feel so many things and I just love them so much man.

#the felix talk #IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG #HDMSGDMDGSJSGEH #3.0+1.0 spoilers

40 notes · View notes

golden-buddle · 2 years ago

Text

The Wizard in training winced as he shooed the goat into place. He hated it, but when one summoned beings from other planes- well, you have to have sacrifices. And a goat was the best one he got.

He swallowed as he slowly lit each and every candle. Everything was in place, the rune covered golden horn was attached, the back of the sacrifice was adorned with runes, and he had the controller rune in hand. All he had to do now was summon it. The Chaos Demon the Archmage needed.

..Well, not exactly needed. The Archmage just wanted a show of power before they accepted any more students. And if he, Alder Heldar, First of his Name, managed to bring a trapped Chaos Demon? His seat next to the Archmage was guaranteed.

So with a slow breath, he started the spell.

His magick slowly coursed through his arms, then his hands, and finally into the summoning circle. With a sharp swallow, he closed his eyes and prayed. He prayed to Amaunater, in hopes the lawful deity would keep the summoning circle stable. He prayed to Asmodeus, in hopes that the deity would allow one of his devils to accept. He even prayed to Beshaba that nothing would go wrong-

And right as he whispered her name, he felt the air in front of him crack. Biting back a wince, he kept his eyes shut. He could feel the Chaos devil’s true form eye him up- but he kept calm. All he did was swallow and force more magick into the spell.

Time went by slow. Oh so slow, but eventually, the feeling of eyes on him stopped, and the slight resistance to his magick fade. And the moment it started to fade, he pushed-

There was a panicked bleat from the goat, before a loud, almost fake and toony puff could be heard.

Keeping his form relaxed, Alder slowly opened his eyes.

In the center of his summoning circle was a short, bipedal goat. He looked absolutely strange to the wizard’s eyes. Weird pie cut eyes, no arms and no neck, and yet a head and hands floated where they should be.

Alder couldn’t help but smile. It worked. It worked! In front of him was a bound Chaos Devil!

Letting the excitement show, he looked down at the controller rune in his hands- and froze.

The rune wasn’t lit. It wasn’t powered. It wasn’t connected.

Slowly, and filled with growing fear, the wizard in training looked back over at the goat.

The goat was poking at his golden horn with one hand, and poking at the circle that kept him bound with the other.

“Ya know,” the goat started with a tinny voice. “I don’t think anyone ever summoned one of us with a living sacrifice!”

Alder ignored the goat’s words, his eyes locked on the golden horn, or rather, the spot on the golden horn that was supposed to be etched with the Listen To Controller rune. It was empty. Blank.

Everything else was there, the Steal rune, the bind to offering rune, even the resist chaos rune was in place.

But not the LTC rune. He forgot to etch the most important rune-

“Ah! Here we go!” The goat suddenly bleated, and with a shove of his hand, the summoning circle fizzled out. With a happy grin, the Chaos Demon bounced out of the circle.

Oh no. Oh gods-

Alder barely kept himself from hyperventilating as he watched the goat literally hop around the circle.

“A new form, breathin’ too! The runes are a little wonky, but they’re still there! And they work! Not many summoners would put a Stealin’ rune, but man! I’m excited! I’m seein’ all sorts of things I could nab!” The goat chirped as he zipped over to a shelf and picked up a bottle.

“I mean, all of my siblin’s are always talkin’ about this plane of existence! And I even get to one up them by bein’ able to breath! Ooh! Do ya think I could even bleed? Oh! Oh! Maybe even die!” With Eyes filled with eagerness, the goat spun around to stare at Alder.

With another zip, the goat ran over and aggressively shook Alder’s hand. “Thanks so much for summonin’ me! Oh I can do and see so much here-! The air’s absolutely filled with magick-!”

Alder vibrated in place, the aggressive hand shaking causing him to bounce up and down. The force of the shaking caused the rune in his hand to loosen, and with a startling crack, it hit the stone floor under them.

The goat didn’t even wait a minute, dropping Alder’s hand to grab the failed rune. “Oooh! What’s this!”

It took a moment to shake off the shaking, a moment too long, as Alder saw the goat’s eyes narrow.

“Heeey.. This is a Controller rune! Did ya try to bind me to ya or somethin’?!” With a small scowl, the chaos demon started to over dramatically look over his body.

“There’s the offerin’ rune, and it’s connected with a linkin’ rune. That means-“ he paused briefly to pull his own horn off- “Here’s the linkin’ rune, bindin’ rune, the no removal rune, I should put this back on, even the stealin’ rune- but..” Seemingly oblivious to Alder’s shock, he popped his horn back on.

“Ya forgot the LTC rune!” With a wide smirk he peered up at the wizard. “Ooh! Yer a special kind of idiot, arentcha?”

Alder gaped, his mouth opening and closing.

“Come on, buddy! Yer gonna catch a fly!” Somehow teleporting up to his side, the chaos demon closed Alder’s mouth.

The wizard in training sputtered as the goat teleported back. “W-Wait you have the-the no chaos rune-!”

The chaos goat immediately chuckled. “Nu-uh! I gotta Resist Chaos! Ya didn’t trap all of my shenanigans! Only trapped ‘em when the plot demands it!”

“Pl-plot-?”

“Pah! Don’t worry about it kid!” The goat shook his head, tapping his hooves against the floor.

“…Mmm… Ya did try to trap me, so I guess I should be goin’. I don’t really wanna be trapped under an idiots thumb.”

Trapped- At the word, Alder’s brain seemed to reboot. “W-Wait-! You can’t leave- you’re a gift to the Archmage-!”

The goat scoffed, “An Archmage? Bah! I don’ wanna work under a stuffy ol’ man! Thanks for the offering though-!” And with that, he lifted his leg up into an over exaggerated running pose.

“It was nice to meet ya! But I got an entire world to see!” And with that, and a puff of a goat shaped gust, the goat vanished from infront of Alder.

The wizard in training stood there for a moment. Then two. Then three-

Before slumping forward.

“…Gods, the Archmage is going to kill me..”

#My Writing #Zero #DND character #Long Post #no beta we write like mne

3 notes · View notes

thestraggletag · 3 years ago

Text

Roll for Initiative, a Rumbelle D&D Fic

Summary: Tales of the Enchanted Forest was the hottest online D&D game, in part for its charismatic players, in part for the twisted turns of the DM's mind and in part because of the outrageous chemistry between its greatest OTP, the party's beautiful bard and the Dark One, an anti-hero side-character who is there to provide information and uncomfortable levels of UST. Mr Gold thinks it's a harmless flirtation that could never become anything else, just like his silly little crush on the town librarian, Belle French.

He's wrong.

Rating: Explicit.

Author’s Note: Surprise, @argoslight, it is I, your Gifter! Sorry to make you wait till near the end but I just had way more banter to write in me than I thought. I hope you enjoy your gift. I’m so sorry to not be able to add more D&D elements but since I don’t play I don’t have a lot of idea of what could be done. Also I apologise for any mistakes! And thanks so much to @little-inkstone for her help and D&D knowledge.

The castle was quiet when she entered, her steps echoing against the stone. It was gloomy inside, curtains obscured and decor sparse and sombre, the castle living up to its name. But there were flowers on the table, moon lilies, her favourite flower. They bloomed only in the Eastern Mountains past the Old Wall, but she had long since suspected he grew some on one of his enchanted hothouses, with the excuse of using them for potions.

“Where’s the rest of your pretty little troop of do-gooders, dearie?”

The voice came out of nowhere, echoing around the empty halls of the castle. Thankfully she did not need directions, knowing exactly when to turn and where to go. Soon she found herself in a vast room, with a table on the centre and curios filled with oddities and the like. Some others were displayed on pedestals, including a rather fearsome sword and a nasty-looking crown made of thorns. None of the artefacts were what she sought, but she was not there to bargain for an item, but rather for information.

“Off on their own quests, taking care of other things that need doing.”

The voice tsked, seeming not to approve.

“They let you enter the lair of the beast alone? Some heroes.”

The woman lowered the hood of her cloak and walked towards the unlit chimney. Immediately a fire blazed to life, as if the castle itself was trying to cater to her comfort. The fire provided much-needed light as well, revealing the profile of a man in the shadows. Or something that looked like a man, at least, if not for the reflective scales that covered his body and its strange eyes: gold irises around catlike pupils.

“I asked to come alone. I felt like we could talk more openly this way.”

She removed her cloak, ostensibly to drape it across a chair near the fire and let it dry. The creature, however, seemed to read more into the gesture, tsking again.

“You come here all alone, a pretty little lamb, and take off the only real bit of protection you have. Reckless, dearie, most reckless.”

The creature stood up, walking slowly towards the light, revealing more of its form as it approached her. Leather pants and a long, reptilian-looking vest and coat. It wasn’t particularly tall but power emanated from it in suffocating waves. She closed her eyes, finding his cloying presence strangely comforting. Then again, she had always been odd.

“Once again your pitiful little party of friends needs my help. How they weigh you down, Beauty.”

He stepped fully into the light then, revealing a being more creature than man, the reptilian skin and claws as off-putting as his unnatural eyes. She should’ve taken a step back, should’ve gone for her blade or the dagger tucked into her left boot, but she didn’t. As much as she knew she shouldn't, she felt at ease in his presence. Well, perhaps not quite. She certainly felt a strange sort of anxiousness in his presence, a fluttery sort of feeling that she attributed to being particularly attuned to his magic. None of the other members of her party felt that way. If anything, he repulsed them, which wasn’t something she could understand. To her he was… magnetic.

“Are you in the mood for dealing or not? I can trade for information.”

He snorted.

“With what? Your little band of misfits is dirt poor. That idiotic paladin of yours ruined your last mission. You really should think about ditching the man. All brawn, no brains. At least your rogue is a smart woman.”

His gaze left her briefly, running down the length of her clothing: sturdy black boots, a nicely-cut dress that stopped around the knees and a sturdy belt with a few pockets for her spells. But the clothing, as well-made as it was, was dated, old. Looked worn and was signed and stained in places, and it left a lot of her frail human skin exposed. She had not been able to afford an upgrade in a while, preferring to spend her coin in what could benefit the group.

His moue of distaste disappeared once his eyes fell on her cloak. Well, his cloak, since he had been the one to make it. It was a lovely thing in varied shades of green, shot through with golden thread, his trademark. She had bought it off him a long time ago, a simple thing to keep her warm during cold nights and dry when it rained. Miraculously, though, it also did not sustain damage, looking exactly the same as when she had first put it on.

“I’m glad at least my protection is serving you well.”

He ran a claw along the seams of the cloak, making it glitter, like to like, magic calling for its own. He looked smug, as if pleased she was wearing something he had made.

“It does more than we bargained for. I’ve been blasted with magic strong enough to burn through most fabric but it has not even frayed. How strange of you, Rumplestiltskin, to lose out on a deal.”

He shivered when she said his name, walking behind her to the safety of the shadow she cast next to the fire.

“Can’t help it if my magic is just that powerful, my dear. I’m glad you are a happy customer. Always thought that cloak was a nice bit of magic. Can’t fault you for always wearing it.”

She felt him close in on her from behind, to the point that it almost felt like they were touching.

“It smells like you. That’s why I wear it all the time.”

The noise he made behind her was inhuman, a cross between a whimper and a growl. His claws scrapped against the back of her dress, the feeling muted by her stays, but she could feel his breath against the back of her neck and that alone was-

“Hey, this is a decent stream! Keep it PG for the kids, you weirdos.”

“Damn it, Grumpy, I wanted to see how long it would take them to snap out of it!”

“Sorry, Snow, but I ate a big dinner and I aim to keep it down.”

The messages in the chatroom wheezed by, mostly disgruntled complaints about their OTP never catching a break. The other participants in the stream were mostly silent, their mics muted likely to hide the amused snickers. There was no video feed on any of the members of the party, all of them represented instead by artwork to preserve their anonymity. Once upon a time that had been a fanciful choice, and perhaps a way to stay safe when interacting with strangers on the internet. Now it was mostly to keep their private lives from being overtaken by the popularity of their stream. “Tales of the Enchanted Forest” was shaping up to be one of the hottest D&D online streaming shows, already on its third campaign and counting.

“Beauty is just trying to get us some answers, Grumpy. We can’t just go stumbling about hoping to run into some fairy wand by chance.”

“Oh, it’s that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Enough! Can we get back to the campaign already? It took me weeks to plan and it kinda hinges a bit on the Dark One helping, which needs to happen today.”

“Fine by me, dearie, if the dwarf can curtail his temper.”

The party was composed of five characters, a paladin, a cleric, a bard, a rogue and a thief, which along with the Dungeon Master made up the regular cast of every weekly stream. But given the popularity of the show, and the amount of time they had been playing, they had managed to amass a good amount of side-characters, guests invited every now and then to help the campaign move along and keep the interest of the audience. And by far the most popular of those guests was the Dark One, a wizard of unknown lineage and tremendous power that served both as an antagonist and a pseudo-ally depending on the situation.

His presence was likely the reason why the livestream’s numbers looked so robust. He had amassed quite a fanbase, due in part to the commitment the player put on the character (the voice-acting was above and beyond what anyone could’ve expected from an amateur performer, and the backstory was quite complex, revealed in bits and pieces fans had meticulously assembled together) and in part to the chemistry he had managed to develop with the group’s bard, a half-human named Beauty.

“Okay, let’s all go back to what we were doing.” The DM’s voice was authoritative, though also more than a bit pissed off. “Okay, Beauty, you were about to try and cajole the Dark One to sell you the information you needed in return for a vial of water from Lake Nostos. Though the water is valuable, it’s not guaranteed to be enough to tempt the wizard. You have to roll at least a 13 in persuasion to make the trade. Roll when you’re ready.”

...

Rumford Gold stretched within the confines of the small backroom of his shop, where he had his computer stuff set up. Initially he’d bought the computer to better conduct his online business. His laptop at home wasn’t cutting it and it was better to photograph the antiques, update the website and handle the deliveries from his place of business. He had bought a good camera, some light fixtures and, on a whim, a microphone, for instances where he might need to virtually communicate with clients. It was something that was happening more and more, especially because a lot of his clientele was European. The internet had truly turned his antiquing- more of a hobby than a profession originally- into a profitable business.

He had gotten into watching D&D while waiting late at night for a client to become available in Austria. He had played as a lad, one of the few happy moments he could remember from his childhood in Glasgow, but had given it up once he had met Milah. And after they were over he had been too involved in making something of himself to remember past childhood enjoyments. But apparently D&D had evolved with the times and he had gotten into the habit of searching for and watching online D&D campaigns in his spare time. From that to actually being a side-character in one of them took almost no time. It was frightfully easy to go back to that frame of mind of playing make-believe, only now he had a distaste for the clean-cut heroic types and more of an affinity for the morally-grey, shady characters.

So he had auditioned for the role of evil-wizard when there had been an opening for a side-character in his favourite D&D stream, The Enchanted Forest. And though the DM had written what he considered to be a very flat, uninteresting character, he had been able to give it his own spin. He knew the DM hated him for it, hated when he deviated from what was expected of him, but people loved him. It was half the fun, pissing the DM off.

The other half, he had to admit, was Beauty. The one with the brains in the group, clearly, a half-human, half-fairy bard with an uncanny ability to think ahead, and arm herself with knowledge. Most of the other members of her party were more apt to try and decapitate something than negotiate with it, or even befriend it. Beauty prided herself on more of a gentle approach, which sometimes got her treated as the “fragile” one. He thought it just made her all the more interesting.

Their flirting had just kinda happened. He was half into it before he realised it had begun at all and by the time he had grown conscious- and self-conscious- of it fans were lapping it up and loving it. Even the DM, as loath as he was to admit it, found the banter engaging, even as if stole the spotlight from his story and where he wanted it to go. So every now and then he got invited into a stream, sometimes to interact with the whole party and sometimes, like the session he had just finished, to speak only to Beauty. And what was supposed to be a brief conversation before the party moved to greener pastures became a whole session, with the chatroom full of engagement and the view count off the charts.

But the DM had had a short tolerance span tonight, and had nipped things in the bud much sooner than usual. He felt… unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. Itchy, almost, in a way. So he was more than happy when he received an email from Beauty, who seemed to share his dislike of how the session had played out. They had started doing that more often, sharing emails after a session, even when he did not participate in it. It was harmless, he thought. Just an innocent online flirtation that could never realistically turn into anything. Not that his more in-person romantic overtures could ever pan out. He was in his third year of being completely smitten by the local town librarian, and in his second year of being able to put two words together in front of her without the help from Scotch, something he was perhaps a bit too proud of. And though he had decided very early on that the whole thing was utterly hopeless he had not been able to steer his thoughts or affections away. Realistically he was perhaps more in love with the idea of Belle French than the reality itself, given how little he had personally interacted with the woman. But he knew just enough to fill in the blanks and create a beautiful picture of how he imagined her to be: bookish- an easy assumption given how many times he had caught her in public places absorbed in a book-, kind, generous and delightfully able to hold a grudge and enact revenge when the time came. A bit reckless, and sometimes quick to form opinions, but also quick to revise them. A tactile person, with a great sense of fashion and a carelessness about what was expected of her.

He saw her in his head as clear as day, but little of that image was based on any personal knowledge of her. So, perhaps, he had found in Beauty a fictional substitute, someone he could talk to, and flirt with, without consequences, adopting the persona of someone more confident, more at ease with that sort of thing. The Dark One was comfortable in his skin in a way that he could only pretend to be sometimes. All the money and power he had accumulated over the years had helped him evolve from the spineless, cowardly lad he had once been, but when it came to certain situations, especially those that necessitated a level of vulnerability, he was still hopeless.

Perhaps, he wondered, it was better to think about his online liaison with Beauty as the real thing. They wrote to each other often, in and out of character, and over the course of their correspondence he had confided in her more than he had in any other person alive. Small things at first, every day peeves and details. Nothing that could identify them, certainly, but surprisingly intimate nevertheless. And over time it had grown to stuttering confessions and barings of the soul on both sides. She had told him of her teenage years in a mental asylum, the product of an overwrought widowed father trying to do right by his grieving daughter. He had had a few choice words to say about that, uncharitable thoughts about her father prompting his own willing sharing of the sad story of his childhood, neglectful father and all. It had felt nice, to confide in someone, someone he trusted.

He glanced at her email, where she lamented how their scene had not been as long or as satisfying as she had wanted, and saw she was proposing to meet later in a private stream to finish it the way they had both wanted. She had proposed something similar once or twice before and he had politely declined but now he wondered why not take her up on her offer. What was stopping him? His imaginary idea of Belle French, who in reality had never given him more than a polite smile in passing? Too young, too good, too beautiful to ever see him as anything other than an old cripple? Whatever he had built with Beauty felt infinitely more real, and attainable. A relationship without ever meeting in person seemed ideal in many aspects and, perhaps, if and when it came to meeting in the real world, his physical shortcomings would not be relevant, nor would it his rather uncharitable reputation.

He sent her a quick reply to arrange a meeting, feeling like a bit of roleplaying was, in the end, quite harmless. And if it were to lead to something a bit more meaningful, well, perhaps it was about time.

…

“Water from Lake Nostos. A key ingredient in most powerful potions and even some spells. I’m sure it could prove useful to you.”

The bard showed him the glowing crystal vial hanging from a long chain around her neck, with the glowing milky-white water from the cursed lake in it. He made a move to get closer to inspect it but the woman took a step back, tucking the vial back inside her bodice. The wizard’s eyes lingered there, hiz gaze growing intense. The bard felt her skin flush in response, something that felt a bit like fear but wasn’t running down her spine.

“And I’m sure a new wardrobe could prove useful to you, dearie. You’re practically wearing rags.” Rumplestiltskin made a show of running his eyes up and down her form with just enough disgust in his face to make it seem as if he was only noticing the rather sad state of her dress.

“It’s my best gown, I’d thank you not to insult it.”

He made a moue of disapproval, shaking his head for good measure.

“You’re far from your days as a princess. I hope seeing the world is worth putting up with your band of idiots that waste most of the gold they earn with your wit in pointless goose chases that you know will lead nowhere.”

Beauty didn’t respond. There was nothing she could say to contradict what he thought of her party, none of which was charitable to say the least. And she also knew that he was aware that all of it was worth the freedom she had won when she had left her life in her father’s castle behind. She did miss one or two things, perhaps. Her mother’s vast library being one and, perhaps, some of the fashions. Not so much the silhouettes- she had never liked how the sea of petticoats she was always forced to wear restricted her movement- but the fabrics and colours, certainly. And the shoes.

“I’m here to make a deal, Dark One. Are you doing business today or not?”

Lesser creatures would’ve rather bitten off their tongues that throw cheek at the Dark One, but Beauty did not even bat an eye, lips curling in a defiant little smile that had the wizard smirking, something like admiration blooming in his chest. It’s what he loved most about his little bard, her spine of steel. And perhaps her blue eyes, but that was neither here nor there.

“I don’t do business with raggedy urchins, dearie. If you want to sit down and negotiate you’ll need a bath.” He made a face, as if he could smell her across the room. “And a change of dress, while I put your current outfit to wash… Or set it on fire, I haven’t decided yet.”

She could tell that he was pulling his punches, that he was playing at being repulsed by her state of dress and hygiene just bad enough that she would see he did not really mean it, not in any real way. She would’ve been able to tell either way, but it was nice that he thought it important to spare her feelings. And she couldn’t deny that a bath sounded heavenly after so many weeks on the road, sleeping out in the open and washing in freezing-cold creeks whenever possible.

“Well, if you insist…”

He took her to a well-lit and spacious bathing chamber, with the biggest copper tub she had ever seen, already filled with warm, soapy water that smelled of vanilla. She wasted no time after the door closed behind him, stripping quickly, careless of her worn and mended garments, and slipping into the tub. It was heaven on her tired muscles, and her dirty skin, and though she would’ve stayed there for hours she knew that every minute spent bathing was a minute less with the Dark One. Their time was limited. If she didn’t return to camp in the morning her party would venture into the castle, likely thinking the most dreadful scenarios. She could picture Charming attempting to kick the front gate open and getting hurt for his troubles. She could not let them worry for her, or risk the rapport she had developed with the Dark One by coming in unannounced.

She got out of the tub with only a bit of reluctance and found a towel that she was convinced was enchanted to dry her faster than possible. She found clothing laid out in the adjoining dressing room, the undergarments soft and made of pale cream fabric and the dress of a lovely velvety, forest-green fabric, with a belt embroidered in small pearls that matched the detail about the neckline. She put it on gladly, twisting every which way to lace it up at her back. Living a less princessy life had made her acquire a number of small skills, including the ability to dress up mostly by herself even in gowns that did not lace up at the front, like most of her travelling clothes.

She did not spot her mauve travelling dress or her boots, but she was sure that Rumplestiltskin had whisked them away and would subtly mend them with magic, though she was sure he would deny it if she were to point it out. The green dress was accompanied by matching slippers, butter-soft and silent as they touched the stone floor. She made sure to dry her hair out, noticing how it shone red-gold in the flattering light of the candles, and took her time brushing it and styling it out of her face, so it fell flatteringly down her back. Her neck and most of her upper torso was bare but for the chain keeping the vial of water tucked safely against her breasts, the wide neckline of the dress dipping low enough to leave her collarbones bare, but she didn’t mind it. She was inside the Dark Castle, with the Dark One. She was safe there. On the road she always had to think about not attracting unwanted male attention. Here she rather felt like the opposite.

It was a silly infatuation, and many would argue any interest or desire on her part was due to the wizard’s power, which some would say was an aphrodisiac potent enough to make some look past the Dark One’s rather unfortunate exterior. No one would ever believe her if she confessed she rather… liked his appearance. The green-gold skin, the wild hair, the talons, but also the exquisitely-tailored pants and vests, the frothy cravats, the slim coats. A beast and a gentleman. A rather enticing combination, she had found.

She went downstairs into the trophy room once more, where two massive chairs were pulled up next to the roaring fireplace, the main source of light. The Dark One was sitting in one of them, a snifter gingerly held by a clawed hand, containing some sort of brown-gold liquid. He glanced at her the moment she entered the room, unwilling or unable to hide his appreciation for what he saw. He had removed his coat, leaving only his high-collared vest and one of his open shirts to cover his upper body, no forty cravat in sight. He seemed less guarded, more adventurous than he usually was when it came to matters of intimacy.

“You clean up well, dearie. Wish I could say the same for your dress. A wash will only do so much for it, but I refrained from throwing it into the fireplace. You’re welcome.”

“Good, as it’s not your property to destroy.” Beauty sat down, with a poise that betrayed her royal upbringing, and primly crossed her legs at the ankles. “So, Dark One, are you prepared to deal with me now?”

She had dealt with him dozens of times before, she had no idea why it all sounded so much like innuendo now. She couldn’t say she minded it.

“Of course, my dear. I’ve had time to think about our deal whilst you were splashing about in the tub.” His sing-songy voice broke, getting suddenly deeper for a second or two, as if he was struggling to retain his composure. “The vial is certainly a good start, but perhaps not quite enough. Now, I’m prepared to be generous given our long and fruitful history of dealmaking together, but I must also keep up certain appearances. So I thought I would also demand… an evening of your time.”

He tried to make it sound sinister, but she was past getting scared of him. At least in the traditional way. She raised an eyebrow, adopting a rather coquettish expression.

“And what would an evening of my time entail exactly?”

“Oh, well, you know. Companionship, perhaps a game of chess, some good wine, conversation and the like.”

She made a show of thinking it over before offering her hand, which he shook without delay.

“It’s a deal.”

Several hours later she had won two games of chess, one game of checkers, and was sipping from her third coupe of sparkling wine as she listened intently to a story about a deal the Dark One had once made with a king from a distant land. He was a gifted storyteller, engaging and funny, knowing exactly when to pause or gesticulate to keep the flow of the story just right. The king in his tale was rather unfortunate, in the sense that his hubris and arrogance had led him to make a deal with the Dark One that he did not understand. Most of Rumplestiltskin’s deals seemed to be like that, Beauty thought. And when he came to collect people dared be indignant that he demanded what they promised in the first place.

“The king was furious. Never let go of the grudge. Hired several assassins to try and kill me. A waste of gold, of course.”

He let out a trilling laugh, which soon proved to be contagious. Somehow, over time, it felt like their chairs had moved closer, because if she stretched out a hand she could easily touch him. Odd.

“Serves him right, for making such an open-ended deal. What a rookie mistake.”

She didn’t recall removing her slippers but she must have, because her feet were enjoying being pressed against the soft cushion of the chair. He made a gesture for her to lean close, which was a bit of a balancing feat, but she managed. Her heart skipped a bit when he leaned close too, almost pressing his mouth against her ear.

“You have no room to talk, sweet. You struck a very vague deal yourself, committing to an evening of conversation, chess ‘and the like’. That little turn of phrase is an invitation to all manner of sins, even the darkest and most decadent of debaucheries.”

He hissed the last part, making her shiver. Not content with letting him have the upper hand she turned her head so their lips were inches apart.

“That’s what I was hoping for.”

She could tell she had shocked him into inaction. Cocky Dark One, always in control of the conversation, always one step ahead of everyone else. It was nice to see him floundering, to catch him unprepared. Finally he gulped and put a little distance between them.

“Aren’t you the bravest little poppet.”

“My mother always said ‘Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.’ I’m a firm believer of the principle.”

Slowly, almost painfully so, both his hands clutched at the armrests of her chair, effectively pinning her to it. She knew she was supposed to be scared but she felt nothing but excitement, a buzzing just beneath the skin that made her strangely needy for something. Touch, perhaps, or more. The feeling was so overwhelming she did not realise at first that the laces of her dress were coming undone, as if invisible hands were painstakingly pulling them loose. She tried to make eye contact, but he ducked his head, pressing his face against the base of her neck, where it met her shoulder. She sighed, noticing how gentle he was, his touch feather-light, and discovering that she would not mind a rougher treatment. He was restraining himself, she realised, trying to be a gentleman. Sweet, but not what she wanted from him at that moment. Feeling bold Beauty carded a hand through his hair, pressing his face more firmly against her skin.

“Please, Rumple.”

Those two words seemed to have a magic of their own, producing a sudden and radical change in him. He moved too fast for her to see, wrapping her up in his arms and depositing her on the long dining table on the other side of the room. She did not know whether he used magic or simply moved inhumanly fast, but either possibility excited her, reminded her of the power of the creature looming over her, claws tugging at the unlaced bodice of her dress, dragging the velvet down to expose her undergarments. She was wearing the underbust corset he had provided over the snowy linen shift he had also left for her, so it was easy for him to simply tug the shift down a bit to expose her breasts. He leaned forward, nuzzling the space between her breasts, making a sort of satisfied purring noise as he sniffed up her clavicles and down her throat. Then, once he was happy with the level of squirming she was doing, he finally gave her what she wanted, closing his mouth, with all of its sharp teeth, around one of her rosy nipples. It was a strange feeling at first, more unfamiliar than pleasant, but when he began to suck it changed completely, little shocks of pleasure running from her nipple to between her legs. It was amazing, more than she had ever achieved with her own hands whenever she could get some privacy at night, and the feeling doubled when he grasped her untouched breast, his long claws estimulating the other nipple.

She sunk both her hands in his hair, fisting it in an effort to keep herself from squirming too much, feeling both aroused and impatient. She kept waiting for him to tire of her chest and move further down but when he was finally done sucking her nipples his head moved north, his lips blinding searching for hers till they were kissing. It wasn’t anything like any kiss she had experienced before, not even the unpleasant smack her former fiance had forced on her. Though it was just as forceful there was a wild quality to it, one she had never associated with the affectionate gesture. It was heavenly, the release of passion, far from cooling her down, setting her on fire, stoking her need for him till it felt like she would explode if he didn’t give her relief.

He must have sensed it, her desperation calling to him like a siren song, because at some point he let go of her mouth to travel south, past her aching chest, and velvet-covered belly to where the skirts of her long gown kept her modestly covered. He wasted no time dragging the heavy fabric up, letting it pool around her hips along with the white linen of her shift. She did not have any other undergarments, having not been provided with any, so she was completely exposed to his gaze, from her milky things to her round hips. She squirmed, trying to picture what he must be looking at, the trim thatch of chestnut curls at the apex of her legs, obscenely drenched by this point and making a poor show of trying to hide the pink, glistening flesh beneath.

“What a lovely cunt you have.” His voice was dark, guttural, a monster trying to speak like a man. It thrilled her. “Let me drink from it, precious.”

He didn’t wait for her reply, choosing instead to simply bury his head against her flesh, his tongue rough and wide as it lapped at her field parting them to seek out the bundle of nerves that was throwing for attention. She arched her back, feeling like it was only her firm grip on her thigh and hip what kept her anchored to the table. She fell into a rhythm of sorts, her body seeking out something she could not find but his mouth striving to compensate, to give her what she needed. It was heavenly and seemed to last an eternity, the sensations building up till everything but them faded away, all sensations muted. She felt him move to, thrusting his hips against the edge of the table, making it rattle in a way that spoke of his sheer brute force. It was heady to have someone like Rumplestiltskin, who had always strived to don the mask of a gentleman around her, be so unhinged, so animalistic. More than anything it was that complete loss of control what drove her over the edge. She cried out, feeling her inner muscles coil and her senses spiral out of control, her orgasm leaving her dizzy. It seemed to last forever and not nearly long enough. She laid there for a while after the feeling passed, feeling satisfied and wanting at the same time. A few seconds later he also keened, slumping against her still-parted legs, his hair tickling the soft skin of her inner thighs.

They lay that way for what seemed like ages, while they scrambled to try and collect themselves. The afterglow did not feel awkward or uncomfortable, and it loosened up her tongue enough to venture out that she had hoped for an even more intimate act, a joining that was even deeper than what they had done.

“A deal for such a prize would have to involve all my deepest secrets, my most valuable truths.” He paused, pressing his forehead against the silky inside of her thigh, like a penitent would. “One day, perhaps.”

...

“Do you want to meet? I think it’s time.”

The orgasm had mellowed him out, otherwise he was sure he would’ve at least panicked a little bit. But in the afterglow of what they had just shared, albeit virtually, a meeting did not seem like such a bad idea. In hushed voices they arranged the time and place, tomorrow at a café and bistro in Boston. Nice and public, for both their safety. They knew both lived near Boston, so it seemed natural to pick the city. The drive wasn’t too bad, and he hoped it wasn’t a great inconvenience to her either.

Reluctantly they said their goodbyes, both trying to prolong the moment a bit more till they were both close to nodding off. With a final, reluctant goodbye they both disconnected, leaving Gold to clean himself up and make his way home. With his rumpled suit, disheveled hair and five o��clock shadow it must have looked like the walk of shame. It certainly didn’t feel that way.

...

He woke up in a happy mood, perhaps the best in a long time. Far from feeling stupid or embarrassed about his little bit of roleplaying-turned-porn-session he felt smug, empowered by the notion that he had made a smart, desirable woman come with only his voice and imagination. He felt like he was on the brink of something, as if an exciting possibility was opening up for him.

He went about his day with a bit of a spring in his step, though most citizens of Storybrooke would be pressed to notice. It was only when he saw the book on gardening he was due to return to the library that afternoon- his two Moth orchids had developed small water-soaked spots on the leaves and he had wanted to consult some verified sources instead of relying exclusively on Google search results- that his mood dampened somewhat. As nice as last night had been- bloody fantastic rather- it did make him sad, somewhat, to give up his crush on Belle French. However unattainable it was still nice to have it, that bit of feeling that did not need to be reciprocated to be real. It had been nice to feel something for someone for a change, to look forward to each smile and each small conversation. But it wouldn’t be right, and what he had now was more valuable in any case. Perhaps, with time, he would grow out of his infatuation with the librarian and they could be friends. That would be rather lovely.

He crossed the street towards the library around three o’clock, wanting to beat the rush caused by children being let off school, a busy time for one of the only kid-friendly places in Storybrooke. There were some patrons about, and the afternoon light made the library look truly beautiful. Miss French truly worked miracles with her limited budget.

He found her easily, shelving a few books in the poetry section, and tried not to preen when she smiled widely at him.

“Mr Gold, hi! Always a pleasure. Here to return a book?”

The librarian was always sunny and welcoming, but she looked even happier that day, an excited sort of energy practically rolling off of her in waves. Thank goodness he had decided to give up on his silly little crush, otherwise he might have buckled under the power of her brightness.

“Yes. And you look particularly happy today, Miss French, if I might say so.”

The librarian smiled even more, if possible, and leaned close, as if to tell him a secret.

“I have a date tonight.”

It hurt, the slightest bit, the shock making him take a step back, but less than it would have yesterday. And perhaps, he reasoned, this would be good. This would put them both in the path of becoming friends, allowing him to leave his crush behind much faster. He forced himself to enquire politely after the lucky man, listening as she talked about someone she had been flirting with for a long time now, and it seemed like the relationship was finally ready for the next step.

“I’m really happy. And very nervous. It feels like such a risk, after all this time building something that could easily fizzle out with a first date. But I’ve always believed in doing the brave thing, and bravery will follow. It’s what my mother always said.”

She had turned back to shelve a book as she finished the last sentence, so thankfully she did not see his jaw drop and his eyes widen, his surprise so visible no one could’ve missed it. His heart lurched in his chest, sheer and sudden panic making it difficult to breathe. Fuck. Fuck. It wasn’t possible. Belle was Beauty. Belle was Beauty. He tried to contradict the notion in his head but he had known Beauty’s British accent was passable but fake, and it made sense for him not to have identified her voice when she usually spoke with her natural Australian drawl, something he associated so closely with her. Everything else he had ever found out about Beauty, in and out of the D&D setting, coincided with what he knew, or thought he knew, about the librarian, one of the reasons why he had developed a crush on her in the first place.

The initial shock was followed by a spike of elation and then a sinking feeling of dread. He needed to cancel. She would be disappointed, but more disappointed if he didn’t and she realised her crush was a man a good deal older than her that was known for being the town monster. It would be awkward and she would not be able to escape him after it, both doomed to meet each other often, given the small size of the town. He could not put her through that.

He stopped himself then, noticing the familiar dark turn of his thoughts, dipped in so much self-loathing it was almost stifling. And he wondered if he really was thinking about Belle or about himself. Being a coward, taking the easy way out. He thought about how he had woken up, the world full of promise and the future bright with the possibility of something great on the horizon. And how he had felt brave last night, to leap into something that had been so worth it. Perhaps it was time to be brave more often. Do something, however small. Put the ball in her court, somehow.

“I wish you the best of luck, then. Perhaps some other time, if you’re not too busy, you could pop into my shop. I have a few antique books I feel you would appreciate.”

It was a nice recovery, and he was happy to see her smile, apparently welcoming the proposition. Everyone knew Mr Gold’s shop was only to be entered when making deals. He didn’t really allow idle perusal of his stock and no one had the money or interest to buy his antiques. His business was conducted mostly with people from major cities on the East Coast.

“Wow, an open invitation to traipse into Mr Gold’s shop, that’s not something one sees everyday. What do you want in return? I hear only deals can grant you access to the shop.”

She made sure to make it clear she was joking, something he appreciated. Feeling emboldened by her kind gesture he adopted a slightly higher pitch and replied:

“Oh, nothing much. Companionship, perhaps a game of chess, some good wine, conversation and the like.”

Being close enough he got to see as it dawned on her, as her brain quickly processed what he had said and where she had heard it before. And he knew, knew because of the way she looked at him, as if she did not recognise him, as if he was a brand new person to her, that she understood the implication, what he had meant to tell her without actually telling her.

“Hope to see you soon, then. Good luck with the date.”

He turned around before he could second-guess himself, feeling terrified by what he had exposed but satisfied at the same time. This way it was Belle’s choice to show up. For all she knew he had no idea that she was Beauty. She could make up an excuse and simply not meet her, and their worlds would never merge. If she did not want to pursue anything between them all she had to do is cancel the date, or not show up. He would respect her decision and never push for anything, or acknowledge their online relationship in the real world.

He sent her an email just as he was about to get into his car, letting her know that he understood that this meeting was a bit of a risk and he would understand if she backed out at the last minute. There were other things he could do in Boston, and he was not adverse to having dinner by himself. And they could still be friends, no matter what she decided. He was halfway to Boston when he heard his cell phone ping, letting him know he had a new email. As he expected, it was from Beauty:

“I’m on my way. Can’t wait to meet you! See you soon.”

He smiled.

#argoslight #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Roll for Initiative #Thestraggletag fanfiction #Rumbelle Gift Swap

41 notes · View notes

matthewtkachuk · 4 years ago

Text

speak now - rafe cameron

it’s the day of your wedding and, even though it’s been two years, you can’t stop thinking about the one who got away. little do you know he’s also consumed with thoughts of you and he’s not ready to give up just yet

warnings: angst with a happy ending

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 2.9k

a/n: this is the fic i wrote for pen on imessage, everyone say thank you to @girlsru1eboysdroo1 for the fact that this isn’t totally depressing!! i emphasized her favorite lines just for fun, i always wanted to write a fic with this trope so here it is, enjoy!!

You had loved Rafe Cameron your whole life, and truth be told you probably always would. But, he wasn’t yours to want anymore and you weren’t his. In fact, you were silently freaking out in a small room of a church, thinking about the one who got away as your fiancé stood at the end of the aisle.

It wasn’t fair to Chris. Chris, who was so sweet, so kind. Who supported you through thick and thin. Who uprooted his whole life to follow you to the grad school of your dreams. Who held you and loved you and treated you right. Chris, who would probably do anything for you if you only asked.

That was the thing though, with Rafe you never had to ask. He had known you better than you had known yourself, could predict when you needed him and what exactly you needed. He could feel the shift in your energy after a bad day at school or work, and was always ready to cheer you up, whether it was shitty fast food and shittier reality television or his sometimes gentle touch.

Rafe had known you and loved you, all the parts of you. Not just the good that Chris so often praised you over, your kind heart and selfless attitude. But also, the parts of you that you felt you had to hide, your petty jealousy, your quick temper. He loved not only your beautiful parts, but every scar and every flaw too.

But Rafe had let you down, too. His own temper and irrationality got him into trouble on more than one occasion, and all you had wanted was for him to let go of old hurts. You understood his insecurity stemmed from years of never being good enough for his father, Ward Cameron was a son of a bitch who had ruined the self-esteem of the boy you loved. Ultimately it was a combination of both that spelled the end of your relationship. A screaming match where he had projected his own inner turmoil onto you, certain that you could never truly love someone like him. He had said things he couldn’t take back, and you had packed your bags that night, never to step foot in his apartment again.

So here you were, two years later, about to marry another man. You looked at yourself in the mirror, saw the fresh tears pooling, threatening to spill and ruin your expensive makeup. If anyone were to see you, they would probably assume they were happy tears, brought on by the overwhelming joy of linking yourself to Chris forever. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Your tears stemmed from the knowledge that going through with this truly meant the end of a future with Rafe. It was stupid, Rafe hadn’t contacted you in the years since your break up, and the only information you received on his wellbeing you got through his sister Sarah who you still thought of as a friend. Rafe didn’t know that you kept tabs on him, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Sarah told him about you, too. You briefly wondered what it would have felt like to receive the news of your engagement, if he ever saw the invitation hung on Sarah’s fridge. If he was sad, or jealous, or if he even cared.

For a moment, you thought about running, pulling a runaway bride, but Chris didn’t deserve that. His only flaw was that he wasn’t Rafe Cameron, and it wasn’t fair to resent him for that fact. Besides, your mother would throw a fit. She had been mad enough when you had arrived home, 21 and single and in need of a place to stay as you got back on your feet. You were pretty sure she might actually disown you if you left another ‘eligible bachelor’, especially this close to commitment. You would likely never hear the end of how you had ruined a perfectly good (and extravagantly expensive) wedding. Not only that, there was no guarantee the next guy you found would hold a candle to Rafe, and you were certain by his two year long radio silence, that Rafe was over you. So, you got up, smoothed down the crinkle in your off-white wedding dress, dabbed at your eyes with a tissue and grabbed your bouquet, resigned to going through with the wedding.

The truth is, when Rafe walked into Sarah’s apartment to pick her up for a lunch with Ward and Rose, she all but threw herself at Rafe to prevent him from seeing the invitation on the fridge. Her plan had been to meet him in the car, but Rafe had walked right in using his key. Suspicious of his little sister’s actions, he gently moved her aside and entered the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He paused, hand hovering near the water dispenser on the fridge as his eyes landed on the photo of you and Chris with “save the date” written in bold block letters. In his shock, the glass slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor. The sound shook him from his thoughts, and he grimaced at the broken pieces of glass that lay at his feet alongside his shattered heart. He looked at Sarah with a look of pure devastation as she offered him a soft smile and quickly swept up the glass. Unfortunately, the pieces of his heart couldn’t be cleaned up so easily. “I’m sorry,” she had offered quietly and all he could do was shrug and say, “me too.”

The green eyed monster of jealousy lingered on his shoulder in the weeks that follow, causing him to lash out more and more. His coworkers avoided him, his friends wanted nothing to do with him, and the only people who he could stand to be around were his little sisters of all people. Despite Sarah keeping your engagement a secret, she had tried to save him from heartbreak, but it was always going to hurt no matter when or where he found out. Since finding out, thoughts of you consumed him, they always had. He had given you the space you had so desperately asked for that night you left, always thinking that you would come back to him, that the two of you would work it out and move on together. He never stopped thinking about you and wondering where you were and what you were doing. He’d heard you’d gone through a few relationships, and he wouldn’t lie about the way his heart would leap a little every time your relationships failed.

Now, it was serious. You’d found someone you’d deemed worthy enough to spend your life with. Rafe always thought that person was him, but he didn’t blame you for not thinking that, too. He had his issues, he was quick to anger, projected his insecurities on others, he’d struggled with addiction and alcoholism although he’d been clean for almost three years at the point. Rafe couldn’t help but admit he was jealous. Jealous of the nights he didn’t get to spend with you, jealous of the love you were giving some other guy that you had once reserved for him, jealous of the life you were going to spend with someone else. Above all else, he was jealous that you were happy without him. He thought you hung the moon, and he was once happy to live among the stars. He would still rearrange the entire night sky for you, but now you saw stars in another’s eyes.

As your wedding date approached, he only felt worse. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have been the one in the wedding invite picture, to have his name written in an elegant script alongside yours on a piece of thick cardstock paper inviting your family and friends to celebrate your love. The daydream overtook his brain. Thoughts of wedding cake tastings and searching for a venue and fighting over seating charts invaded his every waking hour. And at night, he dreamt of being the one at the end of the aisle as you slowly walked towards him, a vision in white with your hair framing your face like the prettiest painting he had ever seen. Saw you approach him, place your hand in his and vow to be his forever. Felt your lips on his as you kissed for the first time as man and wife, dipping you unexpectedly and feeling your delicate fingertips wrap around his lapels to keep you steady. Dreamt of the first dance, twirling you around in his arms, and speeches and kissing every time cutlery tapped a wine glass. Dreamt of a hotel suite with rose petals on the floor, of slowly unzipping your dress and kissing every inch revealed, of a lacy white lingerie set and making love to you as your husband for the first time. But every morning he awoke in a too-large and too-empty king size bed with nothing but the faint memory of a dream.

On the morning of your wedding he awoke from such a dream, and realized he was going to wake up like that every morning for the rest of his life - sad, alone and wanting you. It was then he understood that he had to do something, had to tell you how he felt. He knew it was selfish and impetuous and rash, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try. He couldn’t let you marry some hedge fund manager from Raleigh who dressed like a douche in your engagement photo shoot. And so Rafe pulled himself out of his depression and his silk sheets, dressing himself in a suit and tie to hopefully blend in the back church pew. He didn’t tell Sarah, didn’t tell anyone about his plans lest they convince him not to try.

“Bride,” he told the usher when asked who’s side he was with, before slipping into the last pew on the left. His eyes glanced around the church and he shook his head, even the venue was wrong. You had always told Rafe that you wanted to be married on the beach, barefoot in the sand of the OBX, a soft breeze against your skin. He would always tease you about the breeze, lying in bed together with your hands intertwined dreaming about the future. But, in your dreams, you had always giggled, you could control the weather and you wanted a slight breeze like a scene from a movie. He pulled at his tie a little, the atmosphere stuffy and stifling, and he thought that, if you would have him, he would give you your dream beach wedding, even if he had to buy a large fan to give you your slight breeze.

You stood at the back of the church, nervously picking at the bouquet in your hands as your bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Your arms were shaking with anxiety, but to the casual outside observer you likely seemed to be jittery with excitement. “You ready, sweetheart?” your father asked, offering you his bent elbow. Swallowing hard, you placed your hand in the crook of his arm and entered the chapel. Chris stood at the end of the aisle, a vision in a dark grey tux with a light pink tie to match the color of your bridesmaids’ dresses. You felt tears prick at your eyes as you felt nothing for the man standing there waiting for you. His eyes filled with matching tears and you felt nothing. Scanning the pews for reassurance from your family and friends, you spotted him. There, in the back pew on the left side, your side, sat Rafe Cameron.

You froze, eyes wide as you laid eyes on Rafe Cameron for the first time since you walked out of his apartment two years ago. Of course, you had unhealthily stalked his social media for months after the break up, and every now and then when you felt like torturing yourself, but this was the first time you saw him in person, close enough to run to, close enough to touch. Tearing your eyes from his, you scanned the church again, gulping as you met the furious stare of your mother in the first row, cringing at the almost devastated look on Chris’s face. Lastly, you looked up at your father who gave you a knowing stare, before inclining his head slightly at you. It was that small confirmation that sold it for you. You handed the bouquet to your father, quietly said, “I’m sorry,” before you turned and ran out of the church.

It was difficult to run in your expensive red bottom shoes, but you made an admirable effort for the first few feet before stopping long enough to slip them off. You held both shoes by the heel in one hand, the other hand grasping the bottom of your dress to keep it from dragging on the ground slowing you down. There’s a small park across the street from the church, and it’s here that you realize you’re being followed. Your chest restricts as you recognize the voice calling your name doesn’t belong to your mother or Chris or your bridesmaids. Stopping and turning around, you spot Rafe hot on your heels. You can’t do anything but stand there and stare at him as comes to a stop in front of you, slightly out of breath despite his trim figure. You take him in, eyes roaming every inch of his tall frame. You’re a little dizzy, unsure if it’s the rush of your fight or flight instinct, or the rush you’ve always felt in Rafe’s presence.

“I’m sorry,” is the first phrase that leave his lips and you look at him in confusion. He loves the way your nose scrunches up, and the little crinkle that appears between your eyebrows, has dreamed of seeing it again.

“For what?” you asked, unsure of what he was apologizing for. You weren’t upset that you’d ran off, you knew that you didn’t really want to marry Chris, that you had only said yes because of the pressure from your mom and the knowledge that Rafe hadn’t spoken to you in two years.

“Everything,” he admits, flexing his hands nervously. “God, y/n, I fucked up so bad.” Your eyes are staring at his fidgeting hands, and in a split second you’ve dropped your shoes onto the grass and grasped his hands in yours, linking your fingers.

He looks between your now linked hands and your face, and you take the opportunity to take a step closer to him. “I’m sorry too,” you speak softly, “I shouldn’t have ran like that. I should have stayed, and I should have fought for you.”

“You’re not-“ he swallows, “you’re not mad I ruined your wedding?” Despite your hands in his, despite the look in your eye as you stare up at him, despite the fact that you haven’t run from him, he has to ask. Has to make sure that you’re still as in love with him as he is you. That you’ve spent the past two years thinking about where you both went wrong and how you could fix it. That you had thought and dreamt of this moment, where you were close enough to press your lips together.

“I think we both know that wasn’t my wedding, not really. Wrong color scheme, wrong venue...” you pause thoughtfully, squeezing his hands as a smile makes its way onto your face. He catches on quickly, his lips upturning with a small smirk as he finishes your thought, “Wrong groom?”

You giggle, dropping his hands in favour of gripping his face with your palms, smiling widely up at him. There’s something about the intimacy of the moment, of feeling his skin beneath your fingertips, that has you emotional. Rafe feels it too, staring into your eyes, in full disbelief that this is how today has gone. He had hoped, of course. He wouldn’t have shown up at the church if he thought there was no chance of stopping your wedding. But to have you here... Your thumb strokes his cheek as his eyes fill with tears. “Yeah, baby, wrong groom.”

At your confirmation, he ducks his head down and presses his lips to yours. Your hands slide from his cheeks to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other wrapping around the back of your neck holding you in place as the kiss deepens. You have to pull back to breathe, but he doesn’t let you go far, holding you in place as you rest your foreheads together.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers against your lips and you grin before pecking his lips once. “I’m still in love with you, too,” you whisper back. Suddenly, you’re kissing again, two years of absence melting away with each brush of your lips.

You pull away for a second time, smiling as his lips attempt to chase yours. “We’re going to have to work at this you know, our issues didn’t just go away,” you tell him seriously.

He nods, grabbing one of your hands to kiss the inside of your palm, “I know baby, but I’m ready to work on it, on us, this time.”

You grin widely at him once more, before grabbing your shoes and linking your hands together, “then let’s get me out of this stupid dress.”

everything taglist: @velyssaraptor @danicarosaline @copper-boom @x-lulu @prejudic3 @rekrappeter @downbytheouterbanks @ilovejjmaybank @bricksatanakinswindow @jellyfishbeansontoast @sunwardsss @rudyypankow @im-a-stranger-thing @alexa-playafricabytoto @maybankfullkook @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @sortagaysortahigh @socialwriter @bluesiderudy @anxietyandtacos @diverrdown @stargazingstarkey

#anyway #i'm getting soft in my old age #rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #diverdcwn writes

442 notes · View notes

leviiattacks · 4 years ago

Text

Two Faced | Chapter Seven

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it’s all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared, for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au ??? (at this point idek) angst, fluff, slice of life etc ?? word count :: 2.6k author note :: ofc the reader would still be considered to be a duchess which is why it’s duchess!reader but i guess there’s just more themes of war and titans etc than i expected. so i guess it’s also cadet!reader ?? i promise i have a plan OK! T___T. anyways i hope that’s alright and not very confusing the original premise very much still stands!! :D also i promise levi gets better maybe soon who knows... → click here for the next part !

It's understandable why she's noticeably alarmed by the shift in behaviour, the concept of Levi showing any inclination towards caring about you is foreign to the both of you.

"The Duke has also been asking me and Mikasa the most peculiar questions too."

You blink. "What sorts of questions?"

"Ones concerning your past" She begins and your curiosity piques. "Asked if you ever mentioned anything about your old life. Basic information, I don't understand why he would ask now."

"He asked about me?" You question incredulously. This is surreal.

Bobbing her head up and down you stare closely at her trying to figure out if she's serious and she passes your test with flying colours.

You don't know if you should be nervous or afraid, perhaps he shifted back to his loving self for a while? Thousands of explanations surge past you but you can't pinpoint what exactly could have caused him to ask such questions. As far as you know, he's never been interested in you unless a transaction has been involved. That's all it's been since he snapped out of the spell. A purely transactional relationship.

Sasha places a firm hand on your shoulder "Talk to him, figure out what's going on." Her suggestion makes you shudder, frankly you're fearful around him after the events of yesterday night.

Whatever sick and twisted mind game he's playing at you won't let yourself become prisoner to it.

"No," You shake your head simply. "This is another one of his stealthy tactics, I won't give into it out of desperation."

"All the more reason to question where his morals lay." Sasha is persistent. The anxiety is burning itself into your body and it's tough to disregard its presence.

If there's one thing you have learnt in your lifetime it's to put trust in as little people as possible. You have your confidants and are dedicated to keeping your friendships with them. Sasha and Mikasa are loyal at heart and their steadfast nature is incomparable. But, they are anomalies. As much as you would like to admit that there are many diamonds similar to those two you can't.

It's rare to find reliable individuals in this harsh reality full of wealth, jealousy and power hungry survival. Levi, is a man you refuse to put even an ounce of trust into.

Putting any faith in him is hazardous. His unflappable demeanour, self-control, the knack he has for long-winded and gradual manipulation. Distant, bitter and calculating. You think he wouldn't care less if you were to drop dead this instant. In reality you aren't a human being to him, simply a problem out of the very many he already has. So why the sudden interest? Why? What is it he's after this time?

You've signed your life away to this empire under the ruse of becoming an informant. You're risking your life for him. What more does he want to coax out of you?

Those are the thoughts that scuttle past you as you pace in one of the very many hallways within the estate. Your initial destination had been his office but you retreat. For now you choose to withdraw from a battle of words. You aren't prepared.

But life has a way of never letting you pick when you encounter him.

The sound of footsteps behind you is a blunt indicator he's near but you let your naivety pray it's simply a maid. "Cadet." And there he is. Snarling behind your ear, breath blazing.

Cadet?

He must be able to tell you don't recognise the name which rolls off his tongue, especially when the two of you aren't in a professional setting, its placement is odd.

"What? Do you think you're worthy of a better term?" He's taunting you, disgusted that you're dense enough to think you're deserving of any other title.

Arms clasped behind his back he takes a long stride forward, you take a step back in response, he steps forward again and you move in the opposite direction again.

"I'm not used to it that's all. I know I am no Duchess."

His raspy voice creeps into your ear "Get used to it. You are my subordinate, don't assume this is a level playing field."

"Do you hop into all of your cadet's beds very often Sir?"

The question comes out of nowhere and as soon as the words have left your lips you slap your palms over your mouth taken aback just by how easy it is for the impulsive side of your brain to defy him.

"Really?" He asks darkly, and when you narrow your eyes in bewilderment, he coughs, clearing his throat to begin again. "Are you willing to bring this up right now?"

He's as close as ever now, if he moves an inch closer his nose will brush against yours, it suddenly feels difficult to breathe but you swallow the struggle away still unsure if you can force yourself to reply to his question. Is there a right or wrong answer?

For once, you choose to be selfish and put your interests before anyone else's even if that means risking your safety in the process. You just want to understand for once how his brain works.

Balling your fists into two you manage to squeak out what you've been holding back "Do you pry into the personal life of each and every one of your cadets or does that special rule only seem to apply to me?"

"Do you give all of your cadets random days off?"

"Do you-"

He grabs the back of your ponytail with his gloved hands, his skin isn't directly touching yours but the firm grip he has on you doesn't stop your cheeks from flooding with warmth. Fumbling around you're about to scream when he pulls at your hair again jestingly, his other arm moves to securely hold you keeping you stuck in the position you're in.

"Levi." You squirm around awkwardly trying to escape his grasp but he doesn't find this at all amusing.

"Captain." His firm correction catches you off guard.

"Sorry. Captain." Your throat is dry as you croak out the short reply.

Straightening your back you try to shake off the hold he has on your hair but he only tugs your head backwards warning you. Your bare neck is exposed and his eyes slip to your half done buttons. Rolling his eyes he knows if it were any other male member of the corps even the oh so respectable and mature Erwin Smith who caught you like this they would fantasize about how you look underneath that flimsy button up. It's now slipping down one of your shoulders.

Moving the arm that has been holding you down he jerks the fabric back up your shoulder.

"I was under that spell of yours. You're naive to think there's any other reason." He returns venomously, his voice is dripping in poison determined to exterminate any of the attitude you've shown him in the past two minutes.

"Why all the questions about my personal life? I was informed you interrogated a few of my friends."

He tugs at your hair again, you tilt backwards. "What do you hope to get out of this? Find out I have some sort of secret feelings for you?"

In the blink of an eye your bubble has been burst, deep down you did hope that was what this was about. It's not that you would like for him to love you, you wouldn't mind it but, if he loves you your safety is guaranteed that's all that matters. That's what you tell yourself. You don't miss the old him no you don't.

The colour drains from your face when you hear what he has to say afterwards.

"Adorable." His tone is spiked in mockery. "How fond you are of me, but I have no interest in the likes of you."

Heart leaping to your throat the simmering rejection settles.

"And. If you must know, you were given a day off today because Hange insisted every cadet have a day of rest before we all relocate to the training facility's dorms." You curse yourself, the transfer had slipped your mind completely.

"Got it? Fucking prissy princess." The expletive makes you wince.

Then he's silent, it's deafening and bizarrely you find his silence all the more daunting and menacing than when he speaks.

Wrestling yourself out of the grasp he has on your hair is your next move but he loosens his grip without being told to.

Levi allows for you to retreat with no further arguments.

And just like that the rare day off goes past as quick as it happens.

You learn that ignoring Levi is your best bet at living a peaceful life within the walls of this Kingdom. Follow the orders he gives you and you almost always guarantee your own safety. Living. Even if it isn't a happy life you are aware there will be some pleasant moments. Living to experience those moments is the only motivation you have.

Erwin has said you would benefit from working with the rest of the cadets more often. It stops them from questioning why you receive personal training - after all they are unaware of the deal stricken up between you and Levi, it's understandable for the influx of questions.

You don't mind, after all training with Mikasa by your side for most of your days sounds more appealing in the long term. It usually gets lonely and tedious being alone. The prospect of being around the other cadets appeals to you too. You haven't actually had the opportunity to speak to very many of them and a few new members have apparently joined the ranks as of today.

Curiosity is kicking in, everyone is mumbling about the new cadets joining the squadron. You count as one of the new additions you suppose, there's no other explanation for why everyone whispers and murmurs as you stroll into the crowded training area with Mikasa by your side.

"Isn't she the one who banged her head?" muffled chuckles are heard but you pay no mind to the expected response, they'll soon be done talking about you when the next person in line embarrasses them self in your place. Levi's sharp tongue has conditioned you to pay no mind to the commentary of the other cadets. Nobody seems to be able to humiliate you in his fashion.

Mikasa doesn't take the same approach as you when greeted by the unwelcoming whispers, instead she whips her head in the direction of the insults, it looks as if she's thinking about careening one of her steel blades at the group just to instill some respect into them but the simple jerk of her body facing them is enough to make them rotate away in panic and curve the topic of discussion elsewhere.

She mutters something unclear under her breath, you would ask her to repeat her sentence but you're sure all she's done is call the boys infantile and stupid for the way they conduct themselves.

Everyone is introducing themselves and you familiarize yourself with some faces. Krista, the human embodiment of a dainty flower, she's as sweet as honey, A brunette ruffles her hair, she seems close to Krista, she doesn't even bother to introduce herself until she tells her too. Ymir, is her name.

Next you acquaint yourself with Connie, he's friendly and more than happy to converse with you, a breathe of fresh air from the cramped nature of the gossiping group from before.

Everything is going smoothly but then you feel a shoulder slink over your arm, it's not Mikasa it doesn't feel like her.

"You know Jean?" Connie is obviously very surprised.

That's when your eyes bulge out of your sockets in complete and utter shock at the slim chances of this possibility ever occurring, of all the people in all of the places, you just so happen to encounter Jean Kirstein again. He's a wildcard that's for sure.

It doesn't even cross your mind to think he could easily rat you out and ask why a noble woman such as yourself is here of all places. In fact, that concern is at the back of your mind far from your attention. You simply smile, happy to see a familiar face. You barely know him personally but from your last encounter you've been able to discern that he's welcoming and sociable.

He's incredibly friendly patting your head and completely bombarding you with questions "I would have never expected someone like you to show up." If it were anyone else you would have taken it as an insult but he's genuinely curious what brings you here, that much is obvious by his tone.

"Likewise Kirstein, I suppose we live in a small world."

You purposefully choose to not reveal much, you don't know who you can and can't trust.

He seems to catch on because he doesn't follow up on his inquiry. Instead he and Connie ask what part of Paradis you're from, what your parents do, all sorts. You're so engrossed in making up a somewhat believable story you don't even realize Kirstein's arm is still slung over your shoulder.

It's only until Hange yells "ATTENTION!" at the front of the training grounds do your notice the close proximity between you and your fellow cadet.

Slowly edging away from him you're swiftly able to detach yourself with no disturbances.

Hange is introducing themself, hands flailing in all directions and eyes wide describing how their additional role is investigating titans, they say if you're lucky enough maybe one day you'll be able to help with one of their secretive experiments. A towering blonde brute nearby whispers that Hange is eccentric and odd, a few others say it's surprising they're a superior.

Sensibly, you bury the frustration you feel down your throat, but God would you love if those childish fools kept their false opinions to themselves.

Erwin and Levi exchange looks probably deciding who speaks afterwards, it seem begrudgingly Levi agrees to take the stand.

The training ground abruptly falls silent.

Levi taking a step forward surveys the area and not once does he bother looking at you.

"Rules." His voice rumbles. "Which you all must follow." His gaze unusually centers in on Jean, you bear witness to how his form begins to tremble. Just one look from the Captain and he's about to dissolve.

The majority of his rules are basic and can easily be predicted, "You are expected to help with the cleaning. If your personal hygiene is that of a pig you may as well walk yourself out of the door now." His silver eyes are stabbing into the front row, most likely because Eren is there. He's apparently missed cleaning duty for two weeks now, it's miraculous how he's escaped unscathed.

After Levi is done wordlessly threatening Eren he rubs his hands together expectantly. Lips quirking up into one of his sharp cut-throat smiles he stares right at Jean. After a moment of silence he speaks with clarity. "No dating between cadets is permitted. No fucking either, sorry to disappoint Kirstein."

Metallic eyes are piercing into his wobbly form again and all of the cadets burst into a rupture of giggles. You too are about to join them. Truthfully, it is laughable that his notorious womanizing reputation is known even to the Captains.

But before you're able to laugh your breathe falters, you can practically feel jagged daggers twisting and digging into you. Quickly before he swiftly looks away you’re able to note Levi's eyes deliberately flick up in your direction, gaze boring into you, it burns.

You feel guilty but don’t know what it is you’ve done to produce such a hostile response.

Nevertheless, you can feel his scrutiny impale you.

#levi ackerman #levi #aot #snk #attack on titan levi #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #aot headcanons #duke levi #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi smut #levi angst #levi fluff #levi fanfiction #leviiattacks

82 notes · View notes

sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 4 years ago

Text

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 2

Thomas X Reader

4584

Summary: Reunions aren’t easy with dead people. Old feelings begin to stir in the privacy of The Garrison Pub but it’s hard to rebuild what time broke.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

Thomas groaned to himself. He’d been nursing a headache for the past three days since he’d asked Grace out to dance. He was pretty sure it was stress related, and the fact that he was witnessing Arthur get up in arms again only solidified the notion.

He was going on about retaliating against the police and being tired of all the harassment. Normally Thomas would agree, but something about this copper set him on edge and quite frankly this needed to be dealt with carefully. As he was leaning forward to voice his opinions, a loud banging startled the entirety of the Shlebys onto their feet.

“What in the blood blazes is that?” Arthur growled, his hand resting on a small pistol.

Danny’s muffled shouts filtered through the door, “Thomas she’s real this time! Get out here and see for yourself. She’s not a ghost.”

Aunt Pol’s eyes narrowed, “Isn’t that?”

Thomas waved her question aside , “I’ll handle this. John, brass knuckles on.”

A small flurry of activity happened over his shoulder as Thomas reached for the doorknob. Not much got Danny this worked up these days and even his affinity for chaos couldn’t handle everything Danny threw at him.

He swung the door open just as Danny’s hand was coming down to deliver another thunderous knock. It paused in the air mere inches from Thomas’ nose.

“Alright, what is it this time Danny.” Thomas’ voice was a bit gruffer than normal. While he hardly slept, it only seemed to be getting worse lately. Which probably also contributed to his throbbing headache. However even Thomas couldn’t deny that relief flooded him once he saw Danny’s ear splitting grin.

Danny practically shouted, “She’s back Thomas. Y/N was never dead, I...I found her on the street.”

Thomas felt his face fall, “Danny…”

That when he saw it. A mop of curls swiveling back and forth as the girl tucked under Danny’s arm tried to absorb her surroundings. Bullocks!

“Danny put her down for God’s sake.” Thomas reached out, prying the girl From Danny’s grip. “I’m so sorry miss. He was in the war, and he’s having a rough time of it.”

He had said the words a hundred times and a small part of him suspected he would say them a thousand more before his day came. But the thought went silent, along with a dozen others, as the girl righted herself and shoved her mass of curls out of her face. There before him stared back the wide eyes that haunted his dreams.

Thomas, no matter what happens, I want you to live. To go home to your Aunt Pol you’re always talking about. And raise those horses you love so much.

Only if you marry me.

“I… I know Thomas I was there.”

He barely heard the words. The whole world seemed to expand infinitely and then collapse all at once. Question after question assaulted him in a vain attempt to make some sense out of the impossibility before him.

Y/N was there, alive. She stood before him, not drained of color like it was in his dreams, with cheeks wind burned [is that what it’s called?] bright red. Small hands clutched an uncased violin. Eyes that sparkled even in the dimmest of light, searching for something in him he wasn’t sure he’d be able to give.

Thomas reached out, his fingertips barely brushing Y/N’s cheek. He didn’t know what he expected, but she didn’t pull away. When he came in contact with warm skin something inside him shattered. His world began to tilt and a small voice in the back of his head warned him he might faint. But he was Thomas Shelby, and Shelbys didn’t faint.

It wasn’t until Danny spoke that he realized he was shaking, “She’s real right? I...I didn’t grab some random girl off the street did I?”

“No, Danny.” Thomas’ voice was barely a whisper. “I see her too.”

A hand on his shoulder managed to drag Thomas back to earth, even if just a little.

Aunt Pol stood beside him, her eyes picking apart an untold story even as she spoke, “Thomas, I think you owe us an introduction to your friend here.”

Y/N glanced between the two. She had heard stories of Aunt Pol several times throughout her deployment and knew two things for certain. Aunt Pol respected a strong personality with conviction. However, there would be no disrespect shown towards her or her family and quite frankly Y/N had no idea what counted as disrespect here.

So she simply saluted, “Corporal Y/L/N. Reporting for duty.”

Aunt Pol raised her eyebrow, “You? A Corporal?”

“She served in the same company with Danny, Freddie, and I.” The words didn’t sound like they belonged to himself but Thomas didn’t see anyone else speak.

“How on earth did you convince anyone to let you join?” Aunt Pol stood a little straighter.

Y/N chuckled, “Oh, I absolutely fucked the physician.”

Arthur barking laughter suddenly filled the room, “Well I’ll be damned. Most people didn’t want to be there. I sure as hell know I didn’t. Why would you go and sneak in like that?”

“Well, we’ve all got idiot brothers to look after, so there’s that.” Y/N shrugged. Danny snickered over he should as Arthur’s face fell. Aunt Pol on the other hand was smiling.

Thomas glanced around, the situation having gotten quite out of control at this point, “Alright, either you two get in here or we need to go out there and quite frankly I’d rather have this conversation in here.”

Over the next several minutes Y/N told her story, or at least an abridged version of it. Of how she joined. Her job amongst Thomas’ company and her subsequent court martial when she was shot.

“And how is it you stand before us now instead of rotting away in some prison?” Aunt Pol had taken over the conversation. Or more accurately, interrogation.

Thomas was silently grateful that he wasn’t in charge for once. He was too shell-shocked to gather a single coherent thought let alone a line of questions that actually meant anything. Though there were those questions Aunt Pol didn’t ask. The more personal ones that burned his tongue even as he held it. But he would have for this what he forced himself to have in all things, patients.

“It was the price for my silence. It’s hard to convince the public they should support a war that irrevocably changes their lives on a good day. But how are you going to convince them you’re routing out German spies when they can’t even spot a woman right under their nose? It’d be a blow to their reputation they couldn’t afford to take.”

Aunt Pol’s eyes suddenly narrowed as she finally asked a question that had been eating at Thomas’ soul this whole time, “And you didn’t send a correspondence of any kind to inform your company that you were alive?”

Y/N looked down, “I sent several. Though after I didn’t hear back from anyone I suspected they weren’t getting through. I had to wait until everyone was out of an army camp at the very least, which meant the war had to end. And finding everyone afterwards? I’ve been traveling for almost a year now, and Danny is the first person I’ve bumped into.”

Thomas couldn’t look at her. All he could focus on were the grains on wood on the table. A part of him couldn’t quite wrap his head around that this was real.

A knock on the door suddenly broke the spell of hushed voices. Everyone glanced around before Danny reached behind him and cracked open the door. Grace stood there, two bottles on a tray full of glasses.

“H..Hello, I figured everyone could use some refreshments?”

Thomas’ eyes locked with hers. Something in his expression made Grace’s fragile smile fall. She knew something was wrong, but she had no idea just how sideways things had gone.

〜

Later that night, the Shelby family left the Garrison Pub, their new guest wrestling her luggage from Danny’s grasp.

Thomas glanced at Y/N. He’d barely said a word to her. He didn’t know what to say. But her easy smiles that she cast towards himself and Danny lifted a weight in his heart.

Finally he asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

She spun around, “Oh, well. I’ve got a job in a couple days at this fancy place. I was probably gonna go swindle a dress out of some high society idiot.”

A deep rumbling laughter escaped Thomas, “Grab a fancy cigar for me?”

“Always.” She waved as she disappeared into the night.

After she was gone Thomas glanced towards Aunt Pol, “So, what do you think?”

“I like her.”

〜

Later that night Grace slunk down the streets. She wore one of her better outfits but she still felt underdressed compared to the other patrons. This opera house meetup was Inspector Cambell’s idea. Grace wasn’t much of a fan. It was too open and while Thomas wasn’t inherently wealthy they didn’t know enough about him to guarantee he wouldn’t be here.

She let the concierge lead her to the booth. The whole conversation passed in a blur of nerves and paranoia.

Grace was so stressed had almost forgotten the entire reason she’d agreed to this, “I almost forgot. A new face has made an appearance. Danny Owen burst through the door carrying her under his arm and interrupted a family meeting. They were in there for a couple hours talking. I’m not sure what her name is but I’ll get that to you as soon as I can. Here's a sketch”

As she handed Inspector Campbell the small note the hairs stood up on the back of Grace’s neck as she spoke. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing around searching for a Peaky Blinder amongst the crowd. She didn’t see anyone. But that didn’t mean no one saw her.

Y/N leaned forward, her brow furrowed. Wasn’t that the barmaid from Thomas’s bar? And who was she talking to?

“Is everything ok?” the young man beside Y/N asked. His hand slid to her lower back, his fingertips brushing over the line her underwear created under the cloth.

Instead of slapping him Y/N flashed him her most charming smile, “It's nothing. You might want to keep your hands to yourself. The anticipation is part of the experience.”

He flashed her a wicked smile. Y/N silently debated on whether or not she should take all his money or simply steal his clothes while he was tied to a pole.

Y/N strolled home in the darkness of night. For such an industrious city, Birmingham was proving to be quite peaceful in the early hours of the morning. Nothing dared break the spell that had blanketed the region some time after midnight. Only the stars and mist were witness to her every step.

She silently congratulated herself on her new dress even as Y/N pulled her threadbare shawl closer around herself. She was in desperate need of several pieces of clothing. And housing. And food. As if on cue her stomach growled loud enough to nearly echo down the nearby alleyway.

Y/N glared down in the general direction, "Hush you."

Her words meant nothing in the face of hunger. It only gained power after she acknowledged its existence gnawing at her insistently. When Aunt Pol had been asking her questions earlier she'd answered them easily but they definitely danced around one of the most important ones. How long had she been in town?

The all too real answer was not long enough. Not long enough to find a job nor a place to stay. Currently her small pack of things were stashed in a hidey hole she'd carved out for herself the first night. Now all she had to do was make it all the way down there without ruining her dress.

Easy right?

She picked her way back carefully through the muddy streets. The air itself became cooler as she approached the river. The Cut, Thomas had called it back in the trenches. As the squat building that housed the Garrison Pub came into view she gave a soft sigh of relief.

While it was inconvenient to make it all the way back here from across town, she'd chosen to leave her stuff here because she was fairly certain she'd get it back even if it was stolen. Thomas just had that kind of way with people.

Unbidden, Y/N's mind slowly wandered back to their reunion this morning. She didn't know what she'd expected but that wasn't exactly it. She scowled at her own girlish inclinations.

She "died" in a man's arms and expected him to be completely fine with her showing up out of this air? Y/N's heart began to ache as she recalled the look Thomas had given her when he finally realized who it was. The pain that had etched itself deep into his features. The quiet resignation that came after dealing with heavy burdens day after day. Had her death done that to him? Or the war?

Again she kicked herself, the hubris she'd gained in the last three years sometimes even astounded her. Bending down to uncover her few possessions from behind a small mound of bricks.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her.

"Out a bit late, aren't you?"

She yelped, spinning around to confront her attacker. The light cast a shadow over the slim figure of a man, the only illumination coming from his lit cigarette. Despite the years she could still recognize that silhouette anywhere.

"Thomas? What the hell are you doing up this time of night? Scaring the shit out of me no less?" She huffed indignantly.

He stepped forward in the pale moonlight raising an eyebrow as he closed the distance between them. His eyes lingered on her, moving up and down slowly.

While Y/N didn't like the scrutiny, she knew he needed this so she waited. After a few moments he held out his hand.

"Come on Y/L/N. You haven't eaten all day and Harry usually leaves a little something in the back for us. Just in case."

Y/N smiled, "Been following me Shelby?"

He nodded unashamed as he gripped her luggage, "Saw that pretty boy you snagged. Good mark. Good dress."

Y/N prayed to whatever god still existed that he couldn't see her cheeks flush. She took a deep breath to steady her voice, "Think I can catch a few more in it?"

Thomas chuckled as he unlocked the Garrison Pub, "Aunt Pol always assumed that it was the war that honed my conman skills. Should I tell her it was you instead?"

"Only if it gets me on her good side. Though I don't think that I've done anything that's so bad." Y/N let out a sigh of relief as they entered the shelter of the pub.

Her nose and cheeks had long ago turned numb in the chill of the night. Her shawl barely held enough body heat to keep her from shivering but stepping inside was like returning to a warm bed with a sleepy lover. A welcome distraction from the future.

Thomas continued, “Not so bad? You convinced a whole regiment that if they drank vinegar with their food it would turn them blond.”

Y/N leaned against the wall, “Commander Hopper said he needed to get rid of it.”

Thomas turned towards her with the smallest smile on his face. Something about him had changed between this afternoon and now. His posture was less rigid, his features less guarded. Then the light hit his eyes. His pupils were blown out so far there was almost no color left between them and the bloodshot whites of his eyes.

“You smuggled in a whole crate of wine, right under Hopper’s nose.”

Y/N stiffened as he approached, “It was Christmas.”

“You stole the Acquisition Officer’s boots, wore them around yourself until he replaced Jerimiah’s.”

“Now, he was just being a prick.” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper as Thomas stopped barely an inch away.

His eyes were glazed over as they wandered over her features. Over and over they passed across the same area, an addled mind trying to remember every significant detail. The spell only came undone when he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers.

When he spoke again his voice was gravely, “If I kiss you will you taste like blood and dirt?”

“Thomas?”

“If I open my eyes again will your face be burned by the funeral pyre?” his voice cracked as he shuddered.

His hands were on either side of Y/N’s head, trapping her against his body. The heat that passed between them almost seemed to burn compared to the early autumn air outside. His body was a wall against hers, a bit softer than she remembered but that was probably due to the fact that he wasn’t being malnourished anymore.

Y/N knew she shouldn’t move right now. That she should let him overcome this on his own. It didn’t stop her from reaching up, letting her arms circle around him. “Thomas, it’s me. I’m here.”

His eyes slowly opened, traveling up her face, his jaw set in determination. Thomas shifted his weight, detaching one hand from the wall to cradle the back of her neck. Y/N froze at the gentle touch. Her skin was still cold beneath his fingers. His hot breath mingled with hers as the whole world came down to a single point.

“Say my name.”

“Wha… Tommy?"

His lips brushed against hers. So gentle it was as if Eurus himself had come down for a taste. Y/N gasped softly as she leaned just ever so slightly closer. That was all the hinting Thomas needed, his lips were suddenly crushed against hers. His hand tilting her head up just enough so he could taste her. His tongue brushed against her lips, asking for entry. Y/N answered by pressing her body against his, parting her lips.

Seconds later Thomas had her lifted into the air, his hands digging into her thighs as he pinned her against the wall. While he held her aloft, he wasn’t the one in control of the kiss. At some point Y/N returned the kiss. It was something wild born out of the fear and pain that had built up over the years.

It was a kiss that rent open the walls they’d built around themselves letting the shattered pieces of their souls lie bare for each other to see. It was need. It was desperation. It was a blossoming love stomped out by the heel of war.

After a long moment Y/N pulled away, gasping softly as he pressed his head into the curve of her shoulder. They stood there in the barest of light, catching their breath. Letting what had just happened sink in.

It was Thomas who broke the silence, “I...I guess you are real. FUCK.”

Fuck indeed.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut fighting back the tears. The want for Thomas was still there demanding attention. Close proximity made it all the harder to stop. However, a familiar taste lingered on her lips now. Opium. She could not in good conscience keep on going.

She almost didn’t recognize her own voice as she spoke, “Thomas, can you put me down please?” She hated herself for sounding weak, but the day had been a long one and quite frankly she wasn’t sure how much more she could give it.

He nodded, setting her down gently and taking a step back. Allowing her the space she needed to collect her thoughts. Y/N pressed her lips together in an attempt to figure out what to say, but caught herself wincing. Somewhere in their heated exchange they’d become bruised and sensitive. Thomas instinctively reached out to brush his thumb across her lower lip. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time. “I..I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath before yanking back his hand like it was on fire, “I’m so sorry.” He spun on his heel suddenly stalking toward the bar, “I promised you food.”

“That’s really not-”

“If you tell me not to again I’ll just have to go buy you enough groceries for a whole month. Now go sit down; I’ll have it out in a moment.” He disappeared into a back room Y/N hadn’t noticed earlier.

Y/N didn’t trust herself to stand especially after all the physical activity for the day. She stretched slightly, testing out her muscles while keeping most of her weight against the wall. After a distinct lack of pain, she stood and slowly made her way to a nearby table. After sitting down she arranged herself in the way she knew created the least amount of stress on her limbs. She’d be damned if she kissed Thomas and collapsed on him in the same five minutes.

A soft hum wafted towards her accompanied by the smell of food heating in an oven. The tune was one she recognized from her time in the trenches. It was one she’d made up for her company to bolster their spirits on a particularly gruesome day. She was surprised that Thomas still sang it at all.

A few minutes later Thomas returned with a bowl of soup and a fresh chunk of bread. Y/N could practically feel her jaw drop.

She grasped the hot bowl that was thrusted at her hoping to warm her hands, “What the hell is all this?”

Thomas shrugged sitting opposite of her, “I can’t feed my friends?”

“Fresh loaves of bread that feel like they came out of the oven five minutes ago? You know how much I love bread; this isn’t just feeding your friends. It’s handing me tasty gold.”

A chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest. “It’s a secret from my mum’s side of the family. Besides Aunt Pol would have a fit if I handed you anything less.”

Y/N was about to dig in when she registered the fact that there was only one bowl. “Aren’t you having any?”

He shook his head. “I ate. Plus your stomach has been growling non stop since I brought that in here. I’m starting to get concerned that you haven’t eaten in days.”

Rather than confirm his suspicions Y/N shrugged and dug in. Though she still split the bread in half and handed it to him.

He gave her a reluctant smile and ate with her, occasionally dipping the bread in the soup.

When Y/N was done eating Thomas whisked away her bowl before she could even think to stand and take care of it herself. Upon returning he found her grabbing her luggage.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Y/N shrugged, “Dunno, but this is a pub not a hotel. I can’t stay here”

“Don’t you have a place to stay?”

Y/N paused. She didn’t know the area well enough to make something up so she just opted for the truth, “I haven’t been in town long enough to find anything. I had enough time to get my first job set up but Danny dragged me away from getting enough money for a hotel tonight.”

Thomas’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have money for a place yet.”

Y/N shook her head despite the fact that it wasn’t a question.

“Well I’m not letting you go out there in the cold if that’s what you’re thinking.” He crossed the space between them in a fraction of a second, pilfering Y/N luggage directly from her grasp.

Y/N lunged for her case, “Hey! What exactly do you plan on doing then? Taking me back to your room? Because I can tell you right now that’s not a good idea.”

He hefted the case into the air with little effort. “You’ll be staying here. There’s rooms upstairs.”

“I won’t be some charity case, Thomas Shelby.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Y/F/N.” He walked back towards the door he’d disappeared in earlier, but instead of going in he began jogging up a flight of stairs.

Y/N stared after him in mild horror. She really didn’t think she could handle stairs tonight, but what choice did she have? If she didn’t follow him he’d be back wondering what on earth was keeping her so long. So she walked over to the stairs, her back stiff but not protesting. She thanked the gods for small miracles and began to climb.

After a minute or two she crested the last flight, letting out a slow breath to ease the tension that had gathered along her spine on the way up. Thomas was down a skinny hallway fumbling with a set of keys.

He spoke at the door refusing to look at her more than he had to, “This whole floor is typically meant for employees, but Harry’s got a family and Grace has her own place. So you’ll more often than not have the whole floor to yourself. I do sleep here sometimes, but that’s few and far between.”

Y/N thought back to earlier that night, “Does Grace live with her parents?”

Thomas shrugged, not really paying attention, “I don’t think she has parents anymore.”

Y/N slowly closed the distance between them, Thomas’s antics becoming down right jittery as she got closer. Finally the door opened.

Inside was a small room with a full bed taking up most of the space. There were no blankets or sheets to be seen but the layer of dust on everything signaled that no one had lived here in a long while. Two small doors were the only things that interrupted the dull wooden walls.

“It’s perfect.” Y/N grinned.

He looked at her like she was crazy but instead of answering he set her luggage beside the bed along with her violin. He disappeared as she wandered in. The air was musty and everything needed cleaning but it was more than she’d hoped for when she had gotten onto the train headed for Birmingham.

Thomas reappeared a couple minutes later and threw a pillow and sheets onto the bed. With a flourish he wrapped the duvet around Y/N’s shoulders, getting a startled yell in return. He smiled fondly as she struggled with the mass of cloth, his features returning to normal as she emerged.

“This is all too much, Thomas. I..How much is the rent?”

He answered.

Her cheeks flushed, “That’s way too low, even for living on this side of town.”

Thomas shrugged, “I expect you to play on Saturdays. Grace requested we allow singing and I think using your violin to draw in the customers will more than make up for the discount.”

Y/N raised her eyebrow, “You didn’t allow singing? In a pub?”

He shrugged before handing her the key and turning to leave. He was almost to the top of the stairs when he stopped.

“Again, I’m sorry about tonight.”

Y/N barely heard him and honestly she wasn’t sure she was supposed to. She didn’t reply and instead went about making her new bed.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #shelbys at somme #adventuresintooblivion #tommy

91 notes · View notes