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jamiemackenziefraser · 4 years ago

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All That Was Fair

Chapter 28: The Precipice

Summary: The bliss of blind optimism begins to dissipate

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Jamie awoke the next morning to find Claire curled up against his back, one of her legs thrown over his and her arm draped across his chest. A content smile sleepily formed on his face as he came to the realization that he was the little spoon. As much as he didn’t want to disturb her— and he very much enjoyed this cuddling position and would have to keep it in mind for later— he thought she needed a little extra care this morning.

Turning over with the utmost delicacy, Jamie tried to keep her limbs in position over him while he shifted to face her. Once he was face to face with his faerie, he could watch her expression as she slept.

“Mo calman geal,” he breathed in barely a whisper. My white dove.

She was so beautiful lying beside him, the early morning sunlight illuminating her alabaster skin. Her lashes were dark against her cheeks, and the curls of her hair twined around her face with abandon. He wanted to wake up every morning to the sight of his love like this.

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips gently in the spot between her brows that was smooth with sleep. Moving along, he hovered his lips over her cheek before pressing the barest hint of a kiss along the cheekbone.

She awoke slowly as he kissed her other cheek, murmuring something unintelligible and squeezing her eyes shut tighter against wakefulness.

“Good morning, mo chridhe,” he whispered as he ended his exploration of her face with a quick peck on the lips.

“Jamie?” she dazedly murmured.

Her arms came up to wrap around his shoulders as her eyes fluttered open.

“Hi, a leannan,” he said warmly.

She pulled him closer and then rolled them slightly so Jamie was lying back and she could rest her head on his shoulder.

“How are ye feelin’ this mornin’?” he asked.

“Tired,” she replied, her voice hushed.

“Tired? Ye’ve only just woken up. Could ye no’ sleep last night?”

“I did. I’m just… tired,” she responded. The fatigue was apparent. She seemed muted somehow, speaking as though her head was underwater.

This sent Jamie’s heart beating faster, and he lifted up his head so he could look down at her, studying every inch he could see. But to his knowledge, nothing seemed wrong with her physically, other than the fact that the sweet calm of sleep was dissipating, leaving her with a pallor and listlessness that made Jamie’s stomach knot.

“And ye dinna ken why? Maybe ye’re sick?” he asked anxiously, “maybe ye’ve caught something?”

He repositioned them, shifting so that Claire moved back to the pillow and he could brace up on his elbow above her. He placed a hand on her forehead, his thumb brushing over her brow, but found it cool. “Can ye tell?”

Jamie held his breath, daring to hope that maybe she could simply heal herself as she’d healed him. Could faeries even do that?

Shaking her head against his head, she seemed sad. “I can’t tell,” she answered softly, but couldn’t provide any more explanation, “I can’t feel anything.”

“Maybe ye should go back to sleep, a leannan?” Jamie suggested, his anxiety mounting. He brought his hand up to brush his fingers down the side of her face.

She gave another shake of the head, interrupting his motions. “I don’t want to. Can I just sit with you for a while?”

His heart broke a little at her tentative question.

“Of course ye can, my sweet one,” his voice caught a little on the endearment, “but why dinna ye jes’ stay in bed while I feed Adso and myself? I have time, I’ll be back before ye know it.”

“I want to stay with you,” she insisted, the clinginess obvious in her voice. But instead of its usual feisty quality— the way she adhered to him with passion, as if every touch lit the fire inside of her— she seemed limp. As if the most she could do to keep herself by his side was ask.

Jamie’s brow furrowed. He was really starting to get concerned about her. Studying her pale face, he traced a fingertip across her cheekbone.

“We’ll stay then, a leannan,” he opted not to bring up his worries any further. Not when she was like this.

Despite the words that had just left his lips, there was a lump in his throat and a tugging on his mind that he couldn’t ignore. They could only stay for so long… Jamie was supposed to go into work. To leave Claire by herself. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was only 6 am, and he let out a sigh. There was still plenty of time to take care of her before he had to leave.

For the umpteenth time, he wished he could simply up and quit his job. Everything in his life paled in comparison to the consumingness of her. But he knew that this trouble would pass soon enough, and it wouldn’t be right to abandon his passion and livelihood simply because he wanted to spend every waking second with his lass.

Claire was staring at him, her head tilted against the pillow as she watched this struggle play out on his face. There seemed a moment where her features darkened and her eyes fell.

“I forgot about work,” she murmured, having correctly intuited exactly what was going on in his brain. Disappointment cast a veil over her normally open face.

“I have time, a leannan. I always have time for you.”

Jamie started to reach out, meaning to bring her into his arms again, but she shook her head.

“Go on. You need food, and time to get dressed. Let’s go,” she said.

Whether she was fighting it or not, Jamie would slow down. He shifted himself closer to her on the bed, cupping her face with one hand and sliding his other over her hip. He caressed up and down in long strokes, intentionally slow.

“Ye’re the only thing on my mind right now, mo Sorcha.

The look on her face made his stomach twist. Her eyes were downcast, not meeting his, and there was tension in the muscles of her cheeks, as if she was trying to hold a mask in place. She was quiet, and the only reply to his words was a shaky exhale.

Jamie drew up so he hovered over her. Tilting her face up, he brought his lips to ghost a kiss over those beautiful pink lips.

Even that didn’t seem to break the somber mood that trapped his love. Jamie felt excessively guilty as he stayed rooted in that position, staring into her eyes and cradling her face with both hands. He wished he could tell her he would take off again, that they could take a sick day together, and that he could hold her until she felt normal again, but he couldn’t say any of those things.

“It’s okay, Jamie,” Claire murmured, turning those fatigued eyes on him full force, “let’s go downstairs.”

While Jamie made breakfast, Claire wandered over to the kitchen table. He glanced over every few seconds to check on her, but she was so quiet. His concern amped up several notches when he looked over at one point to find she had laid her head in her arms where they rested on the table. Her eyes were closed and her breathing slow.

Something was definitely wrong.

Jamie turned off the stove and abandoned his parritch. He walked over to her and gently ran his hand over the back of her head, trying to shove down the worry that nearly made his hand tremble.

Her response was to simply turn her head a bit on her arms, indicating she felt him, but she didn’t say a word.

“Sassenach—” he started to say, but she lifted her head.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“I dinna want to leave ye.”

She did raise her head then, turning big honey eyes up toward him. Her lips caught the heel of his hand in a kiss before she spoke.

“You have to go, Jamie. It’ll be good. I’ll go back to sleep, and I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself when you get home.”

Jamie felt like a toddler about to have a tantrum. He was tired of this conflict every damn day! He hated going into work and leaving her here, but he hated leaving his company when he knew very well they needed him. He felt like he was being torn in different directions and that one day he would simply snap.

Taking a deep breath, he shoved down that line of thinking. It wouldn’t do Claire any good to have him strung out over work. While she was sick, he would simply have to keep it together and make one decision at a time. And today, whether he liked it or not, the decision was clear.

“Okay, Sassenach. But that doesna mean that I willna give ye my full attention now while I’m here.”

She smiled a little at this, lifting her head enough to fix him with that whisky gaze. “Does that mean you’ll have your breakfast on the couch?”

Jamie rolled his eyes but felt his muscles ease at the relief of seeing that glimpse of her usual self.

Recently, she’d begun to rebel against the kitchen table. The kitchen chairs were no good— she would complain. No good for snuggling, she meant. Even when she scooted hers as close as possible to Jamie’s, that was apparently not close enough for her. She’d begun a campaign against the table then, trying to get him to sit on the couch for meals where she could burrow into his side. Finding her incredibly distracting and a bit disconcerting to have a faerie trying to apparently jump into his skin while he attempted to have a meal, Jamie had stood firm on his policy. Meals were taken at the table.

Only now, seeing that tiny spark in her eyes at mention of breakfast on the couch, Jamie never stood a chance.

“You win, a leannan. Jes’ this once, I’ll have my parritch wi’ ye in the living room. Come on, then, lass.”

And so he found himself on the couch, bowl held out in front of him and Claire glued to his side. It didn’t take long for her head to meet his shoulder and her hands to wrap around his bicep in a sort of half-hug.

His heart skipped a few beats as she clung to him.

“Yer hands are cold, a leannan,” he noticed.

She murmured an uncertain hmmm? but didn’t say anything more. Jamie decided to drop it. Clearly she was under the weather, no denying it, but he hoped that an actual day of rest would do her well. He simply swallowed down his parritch and tried not to think too much about what he couldn’t control. Claire was silent nearly the whole time, just breathing deeply against his side.

When it came time for him to run out the door, he was ready to cry and stamp his feet at the unfairness of adult life. He tugged his bag over his shoulder with more force than necessary, and had to resist tearing it off again as he returned to Claire where she lay on the couch.

“If I have a second free I’ll run back to check on ye, alright, mo ghraidh?” he said after getting her tucked underneath a warmth blanket, an edge of urgency on his voice. The blanket was a poor substitute for his body, but he didn’t want to leave her with nothing. At least he could wrap his tartan around her, imagining his protection enveloped her.

“Don’t worry, Jamie. I’ll see you when you get home,” Claire said, already settling down on the throw pillow with her eyes falling closed.

It eased him considerably to see her already burrowing in for a nap, and he muttered a quick prayer over her in Gaelic before giving her one last kiss to the forehead.

“I love you more than anythin’, mo chridhe. Be well,” he said in farewell.

“I love you,” she echoed, her voice already laced with the slur of sleep.

***

Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser was no babysitter.

Sure, he’d spent nearly all his free time with Ellen’s bairns, but that was different. He was a hard man, used to solitude, and he most certainly did not take care of people.

Only when Jamie Fraser had called him from work, his voice dripping with anxious concern, pleading with him to go check in on his lass to see if she was alright, Murtagh had somehow lost his mind and relented. Maybe it was something about Jamie’s story— how Claire was feelin’ ill but he’d forgotten to leave a cellphone with her so she could call if she needed something— or maybe it was just the obvious worry in his godson’s voice, but something had made Murtagh give in. He hated letting down the lad more than anything, so he had decided that he could manage a little look-in that was most certainly not anything more than that.

A short time later, he found himself unlocking Jamie’s house with his spare key and yelling a greeting as he stepped inside.

“Claire? Lass? Jamie asked me tae check in on ye. Are ye alright?” he called.

But he heard no answer. Figuring she was upstairs in the bedroom having a nap, Murtagh made his way upstairs, only to find all the rooms empty.

“Lass?” he called again, “are ye here?”

He worried for a minute that she’d left, made a run for it while Jamie was at work so she could avoid saying goodbye, but then he remembered the way the lass had looked at Jamie, spoke about him, and he knew in his wame that there was no way the lass had up and left.

He checked the basement before making another round through the house, only to find no trace of the wee lassie.

There was one last place to look, even though only someone out of their damn mind would go outside on a dreich day such as this one.

He slid open the back door reluctantly, squinting out into the back garden. His eyes swept lazily across it, not expecting to find anything, but then his gaze landed on the shape of a figure laying on the ground in front of the wee patch of dirt that was a sorry excuse for a garden.

Adrenaline flooded Murtagh’s veins, and he ran outside, cursing under his breath.

By the time he got to her, dropping to his knees beside her, she was struggling to sit up, pushing up on her hands and shaking her head, looking disoriented.

“Have ye lost yer mind, lass?” Murtagh burst out, reaching to help her sit up.

She didn’t answer, just pressed her dirty hands against her face and swayed slightly.

Taking in the sight of her, Murtagh realized Jamie had been right to call him. The lass certainly was ill. Her face was pale and drawn, and she looked damn near ready to keel over again. Her hand shook where it was lifted to her face, and she was blinking hard.

“Come on, now,” Murtagh said, much more gently this time.

She still didn’t say anything, but she didn’t protest either when he took her arms and laid it across his shoulders so he could lift her to her feet with a quiet “up ye get.”

Her breath hitched the moment they were upright, and she sagged heavily against him, barely supporting her own weight. Like a sack of grain against him, the puir lass couldn’t even manage to hold on.

“Ye’re alright,” Murtagh found himself saying to her as she struggled to stay upright, “let’s get ye inside.”

Slowly, they made their way inside, Murtagh taking the majority of her weight and offering encouragements he didn’t know he had in him. She didn’t say a word, white lips pressed tightly together as her feet dragged.

Once they had finally made it inside, Murtagh deposited her on the couch before grabbing a blanket and tucking it around her.

“There ye go, that’ll be more comfortable than the dirt outside, I’d expect,” Murtagh said.

By this time, he was used to the lass not saying a word. He thought maybe she was one who simply shut down when she wasn’t feeling well. Besides, she seemed like she was barely conscious, let alone coherent enough to have a conversation. So he was surprised when she murmured out a weak, “thank you.”

“Ye’re welcome, lass,” Murtagh said, trying to sound gruff and uncaring, but the words came out gentle as her tone struck some chord inside him, “get some sleep now. Ye’ll feel better wi’ some rest.”

He must have been losing his edge if one sick lassie could turn him into a mother hen.

“Jamie?” she asked, her voice muffled by the blanket which she was pulling up toward her face.

“He’ll be back when ye wake,” Murtagh promised.

She closed her eyes then, seeming content with that answer, and Murtagh left her to head into the kitchen where he could call Jamie privately.

The poor lad was rocked by his report, sounding over the phone like someone had punched him in the stomach, and he’d promised to be home right away. He must have broken every traffic law because it took him only 20 minutes to get home from the city.

Jamie burst in through the front door, disheveled and wild with worry, and Murtagh found himself rushing over and shushing him so he didn’t wake the lass where she slept on the couch.

His godson had quieted immediately, and before Murtagh could give him the story, Jamie was pushing past him into the living room.

Murtagh watched as the lad caught sight of Claire, his eyes filling with soft worry. His entire demeanor changed from wired to gentle as Jamie knelt down beside the couch, brushing curls away from the lass’ forehead so he could press a kiss there.

Her eyes fluttered open at the touch. It seemed to take her a second to orient herself, but the second she realized who was with her, her whole face melted.

“Jamie,” she breathed out.

“I’m here now, mo ghraidh, dinna fash,” he said, more gentle than Murtagh had ever seen him, “go back to sleep. I’m here.”

“Will you stay with me?” she asked.

Murtagh felt like he was intruding on a private moment, but he couldn't seem to look away as Jamie pressed another kiss to her brow. “In jes’ a minute, lass. Hold on, jes’ a moment.” He kissed her again, as if he couldn’t bear the words coming from his mouth. “I promise I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, barely moving her head, and then closed her eyes again. Looking like the weight of the world was on his back, Jamie stood and turned toward Murtagh, gesturing toward the kitchen with a tilt of his head.

“So you found her in the garden?” Jamie asked once they were both seated at the table.

“Aye. She looked like she’d collapsed out there. Something’s wrong wi’ the lass, Jamie.”

Jamie looked sad, his blue eyes— so like Ellen’s— were unfocused. His mind was clearly in the living room. Shaking his head, he admitted, “I ken. I’m scared for her.”

“Take her to a doctor, lad,” Murtagh told him, “she needs help.”

For some reason, this seemed to pain Jamie all the more. He looked down, fiddling with his fingers. Something was going on in that brain of his, but Murtagh had no idea what it was.

“Dinna fash, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Murtagh told him, “take some more time off, see her well, and call me if ye need anythin.”

“Thanks, Murtagh,” Jamie said, nodding as if to convince himself of the validity of Murtagh’s assurances.

“Dinna think on it,” he dismissed, “Now, go back tae yer lass.”

***

When Jamie closed the door behind Murtagh, he had to take a second to lean his back against it, pushing all the air from his lungs in a long breath. He felt like his head was whirling, his body thrumming as he came down from the adrenaline. The drive home had been a mad dash, and Jamie didn’t even remember half of it. Now, the quiet stillness of the house seemed stifling.

He wouldn’t think about Claire’s suffering. He wouldn’t think about her laying outside the garden all by herself.. He wouldn’t think about her perfect skin marred by dirt as she tried and failed to push herself up… he wouldn’t—

The punishing flood of mental pictures burned in his brain and twisted his stomach in guilty turmoil.

He was a fool. He was a damned fool for leaving her. He’d known she wasn’t well this morning, and he’d known she was far too stubborn to take care of herself and simply sleep, but he’d left her anyway.

As he returned to Claire’s side to find her fast asleep, he was torn between cursing her for her foolishness in going outside and cursing himself for deciding to leave her.

“I’m here, mo nighean donn,” he whispered to her as he pressed a long kiss to her temple, lips lingering as if his touch could erase the mistakes of the day.

Part of him wished that she was awake, if only to comfort him that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. But she was finally resting, and if his kiss didn’t wake her, he wouldn’t disrupt her sleep.

Deciding she would be better off in bed, Jamie slid his hands underneath her and gathered her in. He carried her upstairs, taking careful steps with his most precious cargo before settling her again in bed. She barely stirred— hardly reacted at all to the change in location. Her eyes remained shut and her face still.

“Rest now, mo ghraidh,” Jamie murmured over her.

He allowed himself one caress over her brow and one kiss to the top of her curls. And then he left her to her sleep.

The second he sat down at the desk in his study, he felt himself deflate like a balloon. He buried his face in his hands and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

The only sound filling the room was the clock ticking on the wall.

***

#i shall be hiding somewhere in the bushes if anyone needs me #all that was fair #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #update #fae claire

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apiratewhopines · 3 years ago

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Thanks again to @teamhook for the artwork and being the muse for this one! You wanted a movie fic and I did my best 🙂

Midnight

Chapter 7 — The Slipper

Summary: In which our heroine resets the clock

Chapter 7 on AO3 (That’s all folks!!)

“You’ll never know

How many dreams I dreamed about you”

-It’s Been a Long, Long Time, Bing Crosby

It was receiving the invitation to Arthur and Guinevere’s second wedding that did it. Emma’s fairy godfather stayed in touch after their weekend in the country, offering investment advice for her windfall and acting for all the world like her adopted brother. She knew he felt guilty for finding his happy ending at her expense. Despite her reassurances she messed up her chances hours before he came on the scene, maybe months if she were really honest.

Three months ago, she left the estate a little more scarred, a little less hopeful, and much more wealthy. She paid back the money stolen from Granny but couldn’t bring herself to buy a place in the city like she originally planned. Instead, she took the remainder and invested it per Arthur’s overbearing instruction. She doubled it in a week and tripled that figure by the end of the month.

She still wasn’t satisfied, though. Dreams of a certain blue-eyed man haunted her, his last words whispering through her mind like a mantra and a curse. So she found Neal’s trail again and spent the next couple of weeks looking for him in the shadows and muck. She found him mooching off his mother of all people.

All the hate, anger, and embarrassment she buried deeply at the end of their relationship dissipated the moment she saw him. Why had she given him so much real estate in her mind, allowed the ghost of him to rob her of her sanity and potential happiness?

It was with satisfaction at a job well done rather than his impeding downfall that she turned him over to the local authorities and headed back to the east coast.

By the time she arrived, she was richer and even more lonely.

She was listless and finding no reason to stay, Emma accepted Arthur’s latest proposition that she needed to see the world. Using his numerous estates as a guide, she flitted across the globe, experiencing all the world had to offer and looking. Always looking.

It took her longer than it should have to realize she wouldn’t find what she was missing in the new people she met or the natural wonders she explored. The whole time her mind and soul were calling out for a more familiar setting and a dearer face.

Lancelot was right. She was running scared, and the only thing it was going to get her was absolutely nothing.

The handsome, almost homewrecker had not attempted to reach out since their quiet conversation on the beach, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know what he was up to. After calling it quits, he realized the US hadn’t been the best place for him. He returned with great fanfare to France, where he took on the daily running of the family business. He was said to have the Midas touch, working with the locals to improve the processes and products they offered. His vineyard was becoming the trendiest tourist destination in the country.

Not even a month after his departure, the press reported on the fairytale romance of the champagne millionaire and his widowed neighbor, Belle French. The pair’s engagement announcement ran in every major newspaper in the world.

It was quick work, even for Lancelot du Lac. She couldn’t begrudge him, though. He was never truly a bad man, just a regular one who made bad decisions. She could certainly relate.

Cutting her trip short, she returned to the city where it all started, to a tiny loft apartment she rented on a month-by-month basis above Granny’s diner. There didn’t seem to be much point in seeing the world when the only world she was interested in was centered about four hours away.

The news of Killian was more challenging to come by than the other people involved in her charade, but that only made it more precious. A charity fundraiser here, a life saved there, the ever-present and never changing picture on the hospital website she checked so often it was now saved as her homepage. She thought glimpses and scraps were all she was entitled to at first. However, the longer she tried to resist his pull, the more she started to think maybe she did deserve a chance.

Maybe she wasn’t too late.

Staring at the thick cream-colored invitation with scrolling words waxing romance, dates, and times, she came to a decision and packed her bags.

—

It wasn’t hard to find the exact location of their meeting. It was burned into Emma’s memory. Their initial encounter cemented as one of those moments that seem routine when they happen but take root in your fate and grow, threading through every aspect of your life until all traces of happiness are tied to one serendipitous second in time.

After departing from Arthur’s estate in a chauffeured car all those months ago, she had returned to this spot and found her Bug right where she left it. Someone, probably the Prince Charming she was determined to break, had filled the tank with gas. So, she bid adieu to Arthur’s employee and drove off into the sunset all alone. Like she did everything.

Nothing had changed about the place in the intervening months. It was thirty minutes to midnight. The dark sky was clear, stars twinkling from space and the moon a tiny thumbnail above the evergreens. She would wait all night if she had to, but sooner or later, she would catch her quarry.

Emma Swan always got her man.

Unfortunately, she didn’t always get him on her first try. She waited for a couple hours the first night, but no black BMW could be seen cresting the hill. Admitting defeat, she went back to her hotel and vowed to try again.

She knew she could have sprung an unannounced visit on him at his job. After all, it wasn’t difficult to pick out his dark sedan in the parking lot when she cruised by the hospital several times a day. Nor would it have been difficult to track down his address and ambush him one evening when he returned home. The idea had a lot of appeal since his place lived in a variety of fantasies involving oversized shirts and pancakes.

Deep down, she knew after she had robbed him of his choice so many times in their brief acquaintance, it would be wrong to show up and act like nothing happened. She needed to allow him to invite her back in or send her away.

God, she hoped he invited her in.

It took three nights, but eventually, she saw headlights. Smoothing down the hem of her black tank top over her skinny jeans, she took a cleansing breath and stepped out into the middle of the road.

She had no doubt it was him, the cautious pace slicing through the night at exactly the same time as before. She could even tell the precise moment he spotted her in the bright lights of his high beams, the luxury car swerving slightly into the other lane. It was less than a minute later he rolled to a stop about ten feet away.

Then, nothing. The silence of a door not opening was deafening.

Maybe this was her answer.

She wished she could see past the glare and through the windshield. Look into his eyes at least once more and tell him everything she figured out over the past couple of months. The same things he had tried to say to her before he left.

Finally, a lifetime later, she heard the door open. She felt every footfall in the far reaches of her heart, each measured step in time with the rapid beating in her chest. She was lightheaded with longing, her eyes frantically trying to adjust between light and dark and make out Killian’s beloved form in the nighttime.

“Fancy meeting you here, Captain.”

There was another long pause and then he stepped into the narrow, car-sized area of light. He was even more handsome than she remembered. The static, professionally staged photo on the website never did him justice in the first place. “Emma, when did you get back?”

She heard the question for what it really was, ‘Emma, why are you here?’

Smiling past her nerves, she took a step closer. He looked like the proverbial deer in the highlights, like any sudden movement would cause him to turn tail and run. She did this to him. It was her fault her cocky Prince Charming looked spooked. “A couple of days ago. I need a ride to Misthaven. I’m late for an appointment.”

“An appointment? It’s almost midnight. I’m getting the strangest sense of deja vu.”

“You see, there’s a man. He’s actually the best thing that ever happened to me. But I felt like I didn’t deserve him, like I didn’t deserve anyone, really, so I ran. Several times. And even though I pushed him away and ruined everything, I need to let him know that he was never nothing. His feelings were never nothing. As a matter of fact, he’s come to mean everything to me, and I wanted to tell him I was sorry it took me so long to say it.”

Taking a step forward, he stood nearly toe to toe with her. His hair was sticking out at odd angles, his face twisted in thought, hands hanging in fists at his side. “Is that so?”

Reaching out, she placed her hands on his shoulders and she looked up into his eyes, whispering, “I’ve loved you since you let me have all the bites with whipped cream. I was just too scared to admit it.”

She waited when all she wanted to do was pull him closer and bury her face in his neck, inhale his intoxicating scent again and taste his skin. She had said what she needed to say, but it didn’t give her the right to waltz back into his life if that wasn’t what he wanted. “Killian, I—“

Her words were cut off by his abrupt kiss. He grabbed her like he was drowning and she was the only thing that could save him. His chest heaving and lips brutal in their quest. He hitched her up slightly, settling her against the hood of his car. He half leaned over her as he continued to explore every neglected inch of her mouth, every lonely corner of her soul. When he finally broke off his passionate embrace, his breathing was ragged and his voice harsh with emotion. “I have big plans for you and whipped cream, love.”

Laughter filled the inches between them, his forehead resting against hers. Peppering his face with soft kisses, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, she teased, “Prove it.”

—

The trail of clothes leading to the bedroom remained untouched for days. They survived the early days of their relationship on pancakes, whipped cream, and borrowed shirts.

Over the years, people asked her when she knew Killian Jones was the one. Her answer was always the same.

At the stroke of midnight.

Every night for the rest of their lives.

Note:

Midnight — Info about the movie

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @motherkatereloyshipper @klynn-stormz

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heresathreebee · 4 years ago

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Bloody Mess

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

AN: ok 1st of all this got Nasty and also I wanted to try a different format

Warning(s): +17 | Hemophilia, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), mentions of abuse, dead body (he deserved it), little rough, sub!Ralph Lamont, cum eating, hair pulling. Masterlist

Alright so I was dragging my feet to watch the episode of Blue Bloods with Alex Brightman in it and I'm glad I did because I got some cool ideas. I don't watch cop centric shows anymore but I thought Ralph would be a cool Italian mob type: turns out he's some dickhead twitch gamer who murdered a girl for stupid reasons I can't remember.

So fuck cannon, he's a 90's mobman now.

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**

Imagine Ralph Lamont is a one man clean up crew. He's the go-to guy for any jobs gone wrong, gone messy. Body needs disappearing without a trace? Ralphie's your guy.

Kinda like The Wolf from Pulp Fiction (Tarentino, 1994)

Hydrochloric acid, latex, bleach, bone saw: all he needs is a few hours and it's like there was never a brutal murder here. (Sometimes this is accomplished with a distraction, a staged robbery or shoot out a few counties over if there were too many witnesses)

So Mr. Clean I mean Mr. Lamont gets a job at your home.

It's a cute little 3rd floor apartment with a Mr. and Mrs. Andersen living in it.

Mr. Andersen is– pardon, was– a bookkeeper for Dr. Coolidge (friend of Ralphie's; they both like sterile environments), so it's a favor. Dr. Coolidge mentioned over the phone he expected something "like this" to happen sooner or later. He asked Ralphie to be delicate with you– the late Mrs. Andersen.

You buzz him in without a word.

He finds you leaning against the kitchen island, putting out the cherry of your cigarette. You put it out right on Mr. Andersen's ugly yellow tie (or he thinks it used to be yellow)

It's a fucking blood bath in here. Mr. Andersen was a bleeder. Red splashes and streaks cover the counters, the toaster, the oven door, the fridge. There are bloody footprints on the floor and an honest-to-go pool of it dripping off the counter right next to Andersen's final resting place. You left the steak knife in his throat and he must have sat down in that island chair never to get back up again. His eyes are listless and grey.

Ralphie walks around you, careful to keep you in his peripheral just in case you weren't done "expressing yourself." The linen of your frock is stained, your feet are bare, and your eye is black and swollen. Some of your bruises are old.

In his sweep, he finds three bloodied knives in the sink: a bread knife, a fillet knife, and a cleaver.

"Mrs. Andersen," he says as he turns back to you, "if you wouldn't mind moving to the bedroom for me? You've made quite a mess and I'd hate for you to have to see anymore violence."

"You gonna fight him for my honor? He's already dead."

Ralphie chuckles. "No ma'am. I'm gonna cut him up into pieces so the gallons of acid I brought with me dissolve his corpse efficiently. I'll need to borrow your bathtub for that, and you don't want to try getting cleaned up after the fact. It's no good for the skin."

He's circled around the white marble kitchen island to stand before you. He's calm. The smile on his face is easy and it soothes you. You drop your eyes and catch an unexpected sight.

"Are you…" you wipe at your mouth a accidentally leave a crusted red streak. "Do you get off on this?"

Mr. Lamont shifts his stance; no doubt you've seen the light tent in his pants. "What can I say except I admire your handiwork, Mrs. Andersen. I imagine you may have wanted him to die slowly and painfully. Was it all that you hoped for?"

You turn sheepish (incredible, really, surrounded by such admirable evidence of your own rage) and nod. "It was…"

"Glad to hear," he says softly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind..."

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder but you step away from the island and change his distant, guiding gesture into an intimate embrace. He looks at you in surprise when he feels you wrap your hands around his back beneath his blazer.

"I seem to suffer a similar affliction," you tell him and press yourself into his erection. "You wouldn't mind giving a girl a hand, would you?"

Well it certainly wasn't part of the job, but he was eager to please.

“As you like it,” he whispered, pulling you into a soft kiss.

Your blood sings in your veins. You’ve just killed your no good louse of a husband and now you’ve got your tongue down a stranger’s throat. And a handsome one too, so polite (you were still wary of him but if Dr. Coolidge sent him perhaps he couldn’t be all bad)

You tug at his tie as if it would make him any closer to being inside of you. The smell of copper is a never ending assault on your senses, but you also smell wood smoke beneath it on his collar.

Mr. Lamont’s cheeky hands find your hips and a second later he’s helping you sit up on the kitchen counter. You can see your husband from the corner of your eye, his mouth hanging open in eternal anguish. It just serves to intensify your lust for life.

You give Mr. Lamont's belt a meaningful tug and slip back down to the floor to turn around

You mean to ask him to help you with your zipper, but instead you feel his lips at your neck just before his hand grips the back of your head and pushes you down, face first into the counter inches away from the pool of blood.

Your hand slides through the sticky essence and you feel Lamont draw your skirts up and your underthings down.

You gasp with a shriek as you feel something hot slide up your slit and over your other hole. Did he just lick you???

The living man growls in what sounds like pleasure, pulling at his sleek tie just enough to loosen the constriction at his throat and then he’s shucking his pants down.

You’re not sure if you want him to work you up slowly or take what he wants but you hold your breath and let him lead. You’re far from disappointed when he massages the meat of your rear and leans over your back.

“You can still change your mind, doll,” he whispers, “not too late to go shower and forget today.”

You consider it but you don’t want to forget. You want the feeling of Georgie’s life slipping through your fingers to soothe you to sleep every night. You want to carry the pleasure of giving your former husband a reason for his rampant jealous streak and know that for once there was nothing he could do about it. You want this living man to make this strange and terrifying day to end in bliss and solidify everything like lightning striking sand.

You lift your head and run your dripping red hand through his pristine locks. He locks eyes with you and a shiver runs through him as a droplet lands on his nose. “I don’t want to stop, Mr. Lamont. Now be a good guest and fuck me.”

“Call me Ralphie please,” he breathes, and he’s all too happy to comply. You feel his cock slip between your folds and as he enters you as he promised, you lick your lips and taste cherry and rust.

“Ralphie… Ralphie…” He loves the sound of his name on your lips, the squishing sound of your lovely womanhood taking everything he gives it. He puts a single hand on your hip leans back to take it all in: the bloody kitchen, the stiff, the lecherous moans, the sweat making his shirt stick to his back, the misleading cleanliness of the back of your dress…

Mr. Lamont runs his hand through the slime in his hair but that blood is already drying. He splashes it into the pool next to you and leaves a bloody print on your back, holding you down to the counter by your shoulder and driving his hips into you harder.

He can hear you’re close by the crescendo of your voice. He’s close too, and ever the gentleman, he slips out of you and flips you onto your back, pulling up a dainty leg in your daze so he can re enter your heat like he belonged there. He’s resumed fucking you in mere seconds and he likes this position because now he can see your eyes roll back into your head.

“Where do you want it,” he grunts out. He’s trying not to come but he doesn’t have the willpower to slow down. He needs your answer, and fast...

For a moment your eyes go hard. Mr. Lamont gulps and worries for a second you’re going to pull the steak knife out of your husband’s throat to slit his, but instead you take a hold of his hair and pull his head back into an awkward but commanding angle.

He feels your breath ghost over his neck. “My house, my rules. Make me see stars and I’ll tell you when to stop.”

You sink your teeth into his neck and reach down to circle your pearl. Mr. Lamont does as he’s told, hissing and grunting but he holds off his release to give you exactly what you want.

He has to stop thrusting when you start those delicious rhythmic tremors. He has to hold you up as you throw your head back and lose your balance, dependent on him to keep you upright. He takes over rubbing your pearl with a similar pressure as the one he watched you give yourself, and eased you back down from heaven into the bloody abyss on earth.

For a second Ralph fears you’ve got too much control. What will he do if you tell him not to come at all? He’ll do as you command, of course, but how cruel were you going to treat him now that you’ve gotten what you wanted? He’s seen your handiwork all around, remember that.

But your eyes turn soft and he’s worried you’re about to cry, that is until he watches you slip down to your bruised knees and ease your dress down your shoulders. Now you look positively debauched, breast bared and eyes turned up with a pleading look.

“Finish on me, Ralphie.” You bit your lip and hope to god he’s still listening. “Right over my heart.”

Ralph Lamont has never whimpered before. He’s doing it right now. How the fuck did he end up like this?

He strokes his cooling cock, taking everything in from his position above you and feeling his drumming heartbeat in the throbbing of his member. The only word going through his head is yes

Ralphie gives one of you tits a squeeze, then gets an idea

It's a little awkward trying to get you to understand, but you catch on and there's this eager glow in your eyes

You help him slot his cock between your breasts and continue to jerk him off, using your hands as necessary to assist

He's not far now seeing you-- feeling you like that

Ralphie comes with a groan, a white rope painting your chin and splattering cockeyed down over your neck and onto the tops of your breasts. He has to catch himself on the counter as the next rope dribbles lower, half slipping into your cleavage and the rest staining the neckline of your ruined dress. His hips jerk once, twice. You let him slip from your embrace and twist your hand over the head just to milk whatever he has left into your mouth, and then he collapses into a heap beside you.

You let him catch his breath for a minute, then grasp his jaw and turn his head towards you. You’re looking down your nose at him again and his vulnerable eyes beg for more.

“Now look what you’ve done,” you gesture to the milky essence covering your skin in mock annoyance. “Clean it up like a good boy.”

Eyes half lidded, Ralphie leans towards you in a trance, tongue swiping over every pearlescent trail and stray droplet until you’re ‘clean’ again

Completely spent, the man rests his head against your shoulder. Your hands come up to cradle him, stroking his matted hair as if you've not a care in the world

When he's ready he helps you stand up and straightens his clothes

Instead of helping you back into yours he strips you of them

"These will have to be burned, I'm afraid," he tells you. "Go on now, take a nice long bath and I'll call Kevin to see if he can take you somewhere for the night

You have to clear the tub and run it again to get truly clean. All of that grime builds up thick on your skin while you were having your acts of catharsis.

You slip into a satin frock in your favorite color and let Kevin whisk you away to a movie for the night

As you fix your earring in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of Ralph Lamont on your balcony. He waves down at you leaning against the ledge and unbothered by the state of his clothes. From this far down, it doesn't look like blood

But you know better, don't you?

@hoodoo12 @escape-your-grape

#Ralph Lamont x reader #Alex Brightman #three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒#smut #tw blood #black reader insert

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16woodsequ · 4 years ago

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Can you tell us headcannons/scenes from fic ideas you have had but have gave up on?

I do have a few ideas for fics that I either thought about writing but changed my mind, or have, but didn’t ever really plan on writing. This is mostly because the ideas are very angsty and while I like thinking about them, I think they might be super depressing to write.

Hallucinations

One idea I like playing around with is the idea that Steve started to hallucinate Bucky after he came out of the ice. I probably won’t write this fic, because I am not sure if visual hallucinations commonly work by having just one person following someone around and talking to them. I don’t know enough about having hallucinations to feel comfortable using it as a means of telling a story.

But anyway, if you remember my rant about the cabin SHIELD sends Steve to, I imagine that he started hallucinating Bucky either during or after that. Of course, he wouldn’t tell anyone about it because he would be worried about getting labelled as crazy and sent back to somewhere like the cabin or worse.

I think the hallucination of Bucky would be a personification of Steve’s own thoughts and feelings, so at times Bucky would be comforting and friendly. But other times he could be cruel and blame Steve for letting him die (because Steve blames himself,) or point out all his flaws.

Since I headcanon that Steve knows about the bugs in his apartment, he wouldn’t be able to risk talking to Bucky except when alone outside, or in the bathroom. (Which Bucky would take full advantage off.)

I don’t think he would hallucinate Bucky constantly, but Bucky would show up regularly. I think the first time Bucky showed up, Steve was doing something like cooking, and he hears Bucky’s voice saying ‘I’d like some of that’, and he responds without thinking—before his whole body freezes and he realises what has just happened.

Steve knows that hallucinations are not normal, and that he isn’t okay. But he doesn’t want to tell anyone, and part of him guiltily doesn’t want the hallucinations to stop (something that Bucky calls him out on sometimes, because again, he is basically Steve’s own thoughts, which would be hard to deal with sometimes.)

Bucky doesn’t show up while Steve is on missions, which is important because otherwise Steve would definitely be a liability. Also, it is important, because eventually Steve is going to be fighting the Winter Soldier, and the mask is going to come off, and Steve is going to get a shock of a lifetime.

I imagine that after Hill brings Steve and the others to see Fury, Steve locks himself in the bathroom for a while and rants with hallucination-Bucky, trying to figure out if what he saw was actually real. Since Steve has been hallucinating Bucky for a while, he isn’t sure if he can trust his senses. But he argues that he has never seen Bucky during a fight like that, and why would he hallucinate Bucky’s face on someone like that? He has always seen Bucky as his 40s-self, so why would he see someone with long hair and a metal arm?

(Bucky argues that Steve hasn’t eaten or slept properly for several days, and could just be crazier than usual, and if he is wrong, he could be putting everyone in danger. And, isn’t the fact that he is busy talking to himself in the bathroom alone, a sign that he isn’t really stable? The man didn’t even know who Bucky was, how can Steve claim that he is Bucky?)

In the end, Steve decides that he can’t risk not believing that the Winter Soldier is Bucky, and he decides to treat him like it is Bucky, until he is proven otherwise.

I’m not sure if the hallucinations would stop after Steve finds Bucky, and Steve may or may not finally tell Sam about his hallucinations while they are searching for Bucky.

Some more angsty stories I probably won’t write have to do with self-harm and suicidal tendencies/attempts by Steve, so I’ll put that under the cut line.

Suicidal tendencies

I do have a general headcanon that Steve was suicidal back in the 30s-40s. I imagine it was soon after his Ma died. Steve would have grown up being told he was a burden from one source or another, and he probably felt guilty that he wasn’t able to get his mother more care during her illness.

I can see him getting very depressed and listless after her death, especially if he is in-between jobs, and can’t seem to get another one. I headcanon he lived with Bucky, and Bucky would be working to try to pay the rent, and Steve would start to think it would just be better if he weren’t there taken up money and resources.

I think it would take some time before Steve actually decides that he should kill himself, but the idea would slowly grow more and more intrusive. Eventually he would convince himself that everybody would be better off if he were dead. (Especially since, with his illnesses, he has probably been told he is going to die young anyways. Might as well get is over with.)

For this, I headcanon that he planned to jump off the Brooklyn bridge. I’ve looked at pictures, and heard stories, so I think it is possible for him to do that. On the day that he planned it, he waited for Bucky to go to work, and then he put away all his things in the apartment, and wrote a note for Bucky to leave on the table. In the note, he mentions where his body will probably be found.

He goes out, and first stops by Mrs. Barnes to say goodbye to her (although she doesn’t know that.) It starts raining as he begins walking down to the Brooklyn bridge. I don’t know how far it would be from where he lived, but he wouldn’t really be concerned about the distance.

Meanwhile, Bucky happens to come home early. At first he is confused by Steve not being home, but then he sees the note on the table, and reads it with growing horror. Since Steve mentioned where he was going, Bucky dashes out of the house, hoping against hope that he isn’t too late.

It is pouring rain by now, and there is almost nobody on the bridge because of the weather. Steve is right by the railing when Bucky gets there, and he’s kind of out of it since he isn’t in a good place right now. Bucky ends up tackling him and Steve is shocked to see him.

Bucky is, of course, terrified and angry, and he yells at Steve because he is so scared. Steve just breaks down and they eventually make it home. I don’t think suicide was really talked about a lot back then, so neither of them would really know what to do, and it would probably sit between them like an elephant in the room for a while.

Eventually the tension would snap and Steve would probably yell about why he is better off dead, and Bucky would yell back how wrong he is about that. I can imagine Steve saying something like “You know I’ll be dead by thirty anyways. You know what the doctor says.”

And then Bucky grabs his shoulders desperately and just goes. “No! No. They keep sayin’ that, and you always prove them wrong. Who cares what they say? You gotta prove ‘em wrong. You’re going to live till your one hundred, ya hear? Promise me.”

And then Steve would stare wide-eyed at him, and stutter out a promise.

Steve wouldn’t try to kill himself again in the 40s, but that promise would become important after he wakes up from the ice.

When Steve wakes up in the ice, I imagine his depression hit even worse, and it was even harder for him to resist his intrusive, suicidal thoughts. And, when he wakes up from the ice, he is technically 94 years old. So he resigns himself to leaving six more years. He decides he can live six more years before he kills himself. He doesn’t know if he ages anyways, and the thought of living like this forever is horrifying, but he can do six years. He can keep his promise to Bucky and last six more years.

Of course, intrusive thoughts are very hard to resist, so I imagine Steve got close to making another attempt in the two years after he woke up, but he was either interrupted or managed to talk himself down.

And then, eventually he finds Bucky again, and that focus helps push away the thoughts for the time being.

I always imagine though, that while in Wakanda, Bucky remembers Steve trying to kill himself when they were younger, and he confronts Steve about it. That is when they are finally able to have an open conversation about what Steve felt, and what Bucky felt, and where each of them are mentally now.

Self-harm

This was a fic that I actually planned to write. I have a WIP that was going to introduce this eventually.

The idea was that after Steve woke up from the ice, he slowly began to self-harm to deal with all his anxious, repressed emotions. It would start out small—digging his nails into his fists, and arms to try to focus/calm down etc—before eventually it would evolve to cutting.

Steve is very careful to hide it, and his super healing helps. I headcanoned that he used a pocketknife that Bucky gave him during the war (one of the only things of his that he has, besides his compass). He always keeps it on him, and he develops a sort of anxious tick were he unconsciously brushes his hand over his pocket when he is feeling stressed, just to reassure himself that the knife is there if he needs it.

He knows that self-harm isn’t healthy, but he avoids thinking about it. He justifies the fact that he heals quickly, and doesn’t scar. It hardly matters, right?

I usually headcanon that Sam finds out about the self-harm while they are tracking down Bucky. Once Sam finds out, Steve does try to work on quitting, but it is a two steps forward, one step back process for him. He starts carrying around elastic bands in his gear belt so that he can use those when he has an urge.

Usually I don’t have any of the other Avengers find out—although Steve might tell Bucky once they get to Wakanda. Once Infinity War came out, I headcanoned that Steve really wanted to keep from self-harming after Sam and Bucky died, because he knew they would want him to, so he asked Natasha to hang onto his knife for him. She didn’t know why he asked that, but she could tell it was important.

When I first thought about writing this story, it appealed to me because I wanted to write a self-harm story that should the slow progression Steve’s self-harm took.

The main reason I don’t think I will write this story anymore is because it will probably be depressing for a long time. In order to do the slow-burn right, we’d have to follow Steve’s headspace for a while, so it would be a long time before he got any help. I still like this idea, but I probably won’t write it.

I hope you enjoyed those fic ideas! Hopefully it wasn’t too depressing. If you want to chat with me more about this ideas, feel free!

Headcanon masterpost

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hoodoo12 · 3 years ago

Text

The Ties That Bind (And How to Follow Them) 22/28

@turtlepated @mel-time @werwulfy @bunnys-beetlejuice-blog @infptarius @strange-n-unbluusual @sweetcat-666 @go-whovian-universe @monsterlovinghours @rainingpaint @fireflower1015 @heresathreebee @genderless-cryptid

SFW. A reminder of infidelity, feeling worthless, getting home.

Pate let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. In what felt a great deal like a stay of execution, Rigel made no mention of their bargain or the fact that she had yet to fulfill her end of it. She managed a half smile at him, taking in for perhaps the first time the disheveled state of him. Like herself and Beetlejuice his entire frame was dusted over with pulverized brick and mortar, his hair no longer smoothly slicked back along his skull, and much more prominent was the sort of shrunken-ness of him, as though with the demise of Dziban he had lost some stature himself.

Her eyes met his, holding his gaze as she realized it was sympathy she was feeling. This endeavor had cost him, and he could have simply abandoned her at any interval if he so chose. Yet he hadn’t, sticking with her through the whole ordeal of losing Beetlejuice, finding him, riddling out the mystery of her dreams and helping her learn to use the power inside her and then going up against the red-haired woman and her crazy cult and the alien behemoth they had tried to summon.

She owed him a great deal.

“Are you up for a trip through the ether? You took a pretty heavy hit yourself,” she asked.

⁂

The softening expression on her face made an odd feeling rush through him. Rigel realized she felt sorry for him. He didn’t want that! He didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want her sympathy. He was a demon and damn good at his job. He was no pathetic, desperate loser who craved attention and validation, like someone he could name. For Pate to look at him with pained tenderness was like a blade in his chest. He was no second class citizen, but her choice of supporting Beetlejuice certainly drove home exactly what she thought of him.

In a dismissive gesture, he pushed the hair that had dared to fall out of place back.

“I can make it back fine,” he replied, with a sharpness that surprised him, even. “My dear brother is the one who looks as though he’ll lose his way, just like he did when all this started.”

Although so weary even lifting his head felt like a chore, Beetlejuice looked up at Rigel when Pate’s hand tightened on him with words his younger brother spit at her. Rigel had pulled himself up to his full height, a classic move, and had attempted to dust himself off at least a little, once more showing him up and exuding superiority. Something else haunted his eyes as he focused on Pate, however, and in his numbed state he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. “He’s right,” Beetlejuice agreed dismally.

⁂

Pate inwardly flinched at Rigel’s response, noting the minor bite to his words and guessing that he didn’t care to be reminded that he was looking somewhat worse for wear. He still didn’t seem able to keep from digging at his older brother, but Pate was too busy thinking to respond to it. Beetlejuice’s listless agreement with his brother’s assessment was proof enough that he really was too exhausted and hurt to manage the trip, and she wasn’t about to leave him behind.

Turning in place at Beetlejuice’s side, Pate scanned the foot of the hill for she didn’t know what. But the cultists must have arrived in something, so perhaps there were abandoned vehicles somewhere. She did her best to avoid thinking about why the vehicles were now abandoned (because the former owners were now dead or sucked into another plane of existence or buried in the rubble of the standpipe), looking instead for a glint of light off a windshield.

“Maybe we can...er… borrow a car from one of those loons,” she told the brothers. “I’m gonna check the other side of the hill and see if I see one.” She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a quick, what she hoped was a reassuring kiss to Beetlejuice’s cheek before releasing his arm and setting off at a quick pace.

⁂

Every blink took too long to open his eyes again, and his entire body was one undulating ache. Beetlejuice wanted to ask Pate to stay with him--no, what he really wanted was to lie down on the ground--but he was struggling to stay conscious and was dizzy now too. He was startled when Pate kissed him, but his reaction time was too slow to do anything but twist his face a little. When he opened his bleary eyes again, she was gone. Effectively out of sight, since he didn’t dare try and turn and see where she’d gone.

Rigel looked down his nose at him. Whatever. It wasn’t like that was anything new. His proper, dashing brother, apple of their mother’s eye, ego-centric narcissist with a superiority complex; sheer contrast to the sibling that was ratty, loud, inappropriate, stupid, and too willing to hang out with breathers just for the opportunity to have warmth pressed against him. The comparisons had been etched into the interior of his skull by their mother’s shrill voice.

Shaking his head to loosen some of the old hurts made it difficult to keep any thoughts straight. Beetlejuice hugged himself as if keeping his insides in, even though nothing he suffered had been deep enough to literally spill his guts. Oh, that was a good one. He had to remember that for Halloween, and the trick or treaters Pate said came to the door, he’d really get them good-- --something nudged him and he managed to crack open his eyes again. Rigel was standing closer, and using a once-polished shoe to kick his foot.

“You should return to the Netherworld,” his younger brother announced. “Fuck off,” Beetlejuice replied. He thought. His brother’s nose wrinkled, but that didn’t mean he’d actually said anything out loud. “I’ll assist Pate getting back to her home. Driving hours after this evening’s . . . activities isn’t the best option for her. She’ll be exhausted and a quick nip through the ether won’t tax me--”

“So you can spend more time trying to get your filthy hands on her?! Fuck you!” he spat, and this time he was sure it was vocal because Rigel sneered, showing his upper teeth. He managed a wheezy chuckle. “Like that’s gonna intimidate me, asshole. I just looked right up my Father’s squirming rectum.” Rigel’s jaw tightened enough that even in his dizzy, almost unconscious state Beetlejuice saw it.

“My filthy hands? Nothing's filthier than you, Lawrence. Don't think that your little filthy tryst to get your dick sucked while you were here went unnoticed," he hissed sharply, before struggling to collect himself. He pushed his hair back again. "I am merely trying to offer you a selfless alternative to making a breather you proclaim to care about do something foolish and potentially dangerous."

As benevolent as they were meant to be, each word out of his mouth sounded as though they were being forced through a sieve.

“I’m not leaving Pate again,” Beetlejuice snapped back. Right then his balance decided to take a break and he swayed to stay upright, undermining any resolve he tried to convey. Rigel sighed and began to ignore him, looking past him to wherever Pate had wandered off to.

It occurred to his dull brain that he had no energy to stop either of them from doing anything. He’d failed to protect Pate when she showed up. He was in no state to stop Rigel from spiriting Pate away if that’s what his dearly beloved brother decided to do. He was useless and weak as a kitten. The two of them could leave him here and he’d have to crawl his way back, and now he didn’t even have a full shadow mass to help him do that! Beetlejuice dropped his chin to his chest and focused on remaining on his feet until his lover--his former lover? Why would she want to stay with him, when she saw what his lineage was and what was shacking up with her, when she realized how stupid and fragile he was--returned.

⁂

Pate padded to a halt on the far side of the hill, scanning the trees on either side of the road. There had been no sign so far of any cars or any cultists, and she wondered with a sinking feeling if maybe they had parked at the top of the hill around the tower; which was now underground in a mass of rubble.

After a few moments of searching her eyes lit on a bright glint of sunlight striking glass and soon she picked out the shape of a four door SUV.

“Guess when you’re in a cult that’s trying to end the world, you don’t have to worry about gas mileage,” she reasoned with a grim chuckle to herself. Still, she didn’t know for sure that there were none of the crazy monster worshippers around, so she proceeded with caution. Meeting no one, Pate made her way to the driver side door, finding it unlocked and seating herself behind the wheel. Luckily for her, whoever had formerly owned the vehicle had left the keys in the drink holder on the center console. She inserted the key, cranked the ignition, and pulled out onto the road, driving back around where the standpipe had been to where she had left the pair of demon brothers.

Pate rolled down the passenger window as she braked beside them.

“Hop in, guys,” she said. “Lets go home.”

⁂

His--now ex?--lover showed up out of nowhere, it seemed. That was just him not being fully aware of his environment at the moment, however, because the vehicle that pulled up didn’t startled Rigel like it did him. Pate’s invitation, easily offered and inclusive to both of them, made Beej swallow because that was better than sobbing out loud. His brother made it to the SUV first, while he limped along after. He’d have preferred the front seat, that’s where he always sat when Pate drove, but his brother made it there first and the lump in his throat was too large to shout, “Shotgun!” around it. Pate would have sided with him if Rigel tried to insist on sitting up front after he’d called it, he was sure. That was the rule. But he didn’t have the strength to make a claim on the seat, so he dragged himself onto the bench seat in the back. Laying down didn’t hurt less, it just made the body parts that hadn’t been throbbing flare in pain. Still, it was probably best that he was horizontal rather than vertical. Beetlejuice did manage to take one last look out the back window at the demolished tower. A shape, or maybe two, flitted through the scraggly trees. Might be Sasquatch, he thought muzzily to himself, before he dropped his head to the seat and tried to ignore the rolling in his stomach as Pate drove them bumpily away from the place.

⁂

His elder brother laid out in the backseat of a stolen car, obviously trying not to moan or give any indication he was in pain grated on Rigel’s nerves. Not that he cared if Lawrence was in agony, but each muffled gasp made Pate purse her lips and glance worriedly into the rearview mirror. Once or twice she even shifted so she could reach a hand back between the seats to touch Beetlejuice, as if to comfort him, but whatever she did the second time, whatever body part she happened to squeeze or pat made him actually cry out. She jerked her hand away and wiped her eyes with her forearm to get rid of tears, Rigel saw. The next time Lawrence groaned as the tires bumped over the uneven road Rigel caught her arm before she threaded it through the seats again. “Concentrate on driving,” he said quietly. His tone wasn’t out of consideration for his brother; mostly, he preferred to speak to her ears alone. “The sooner we’re home, the better.” The look she shot him was unreadable. Had she registered his slip of the word “we”? That was neither here nor there. Rigel kept hold of Pate’s arm, allowing his fingers to delicately rub on the underside of her wrist. It was the spot his sigil had been branded onto her, and the spot he’d kissed. He wondered if any of that was on her mind. He’d been hollowed, losing Dziban. A binding was never recommended, yet he’d done it anyway. Now he suffered for it. The emptiness ached. It’d lessen, given time, he imagined. Or if something else filled the space it had left . . . Rigel made no secret of staring at Pate as she navigated to the main highway and continued driving. He had helped her. He’d done as she’d asked, done what she begged him to do. He hurt too, and all her attention was split between the road and his idiotic sibling. Pate at least owed him some concern, damn it! It just wasn’t fair! He could hear his mother and everyone else cackling, reminding him gleefully that nothing was fair, but understanding that didn’t take away the extra sting of knowing he was nothing but a means to an end for the woman in the seat beside him. Still, Rigel didn’t stop caressing her wrist, and even allowed his fingers to lightly lace between hers while she was distracted. It made the hollow space inside feel a little less.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Ties That Bind

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jayeray-hq · 4 years ago

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The Great Christmas Bake-Off

This is my SFW secret Santa fic for @rice-hime! You have no idea how excited I was to see that you were who I got for the SFW secret Santa, Rice! You were one of my very first requests, and I love all your writing! I know you’ve been having a bit of a tough time lately, so I hope this makes you smile!

Want more Osamu? Check out my Character Masterlist!

Thanks to the amazing @deathcab4daddy for beta-reading for me! Love you Tay! 😊💖 Timeskip/Manga Spoilers! 8.6K words

Warnings: Brief mentions of depression but drowned in Fluff

You stared out the window quietly watching the snow fall, nursing a cup of your favorite hot beverage in your hands. It was Christmas Eve day, and for the first time since you’d started dating your boyfriend, you were home alone. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Osamu was supposed to be on his way back from a business meeting in Tokyo yesterday, but inclement weather meant he hadn’t been able to travel home safely.

When you’d taken his call earlier that morning he’d told you trains were delayed, and there was no word on whether or not they’d be up and running again any time soon. It didn’t help that it had yet to stop snowing. Your poor boyfriend had sounded extremely frustrated and put out with everything when you’d talked, and you’d done your best to assure him that everything would be fine. You’d told him that you’d wait for him, and that you much preferred he get home safe rather than rush and potentially get hurt because of the weather.

You had also made sure to tell him you didn’t blame him for not being able to make it home, that you wouldn’t be angry even if he couldn’t get home until after Christmas. It wasn’t like he could control the weather after all, and the meeting in Tokyo had been incredibly important so it wouldn’t have been possible to cancel or delay it. After all it had been about finally getting approval to open up a branch of Onigiri Miya in Tokyo, expanding his business out of the Hyogo prefecture for the first time.

Both of you had been excited at the possibility of expanding his dream restaurant, and you firmly believed that the chance had been worth potentially missing a single Christmas with him. However, despite your beliefs it didn’t stop you from missing him, from wishing rather desperately that he was there with you and not trapped in Tokyo.

It was probably a bit strange, but you thought it might actually be harder to not have him today than it would be to not have him on Christmas. The two of you had created your own tradition for Christmas Eve, one that you couldn’t imagine doing without him.

It had all started back during the first year the two of you had started dating. Osamu had claimed to have the recipe for the best sugar cookies ever. You’d decided to challenge him, not really understanding just how obsessed your new boyfriend was with eating, and creating the perfect foods.

He’d brought his recipe, one he’d spent several years perfecting, and you’d brought one you found on the internet. The two of you had made both recipes together in the kitchen on Christmas Eve Day, the one day the two of you could find that neither of you had previous obligations for.

Originally, you’d planned to make the cookies separately, each of you making your own, on your own time, but Osamu had insisted on doing the activity together. He’d convinced you that everything had to be done with the same quality of ingredients, the same oven, and in the same space in order for things to be equal. You’d conceded, figuring your new boyfriend was even more of a food nut than you’d initially assumed and finding it rather cute. It wouldn’t be until several years down the line that he’d admitted he’d only insisted so he could spend more time with you.

After the cookies were baked, you then frosted and decorated them with the exact same frosting and tried both for comparison. In the end, you’d been forced to concede that his were much better than the ones from the recipe you’d found, but had sworn you’d find something better by the next year. Thus, your little tradition had been born.

This year you had all the ingredients, bought well beforehand, all the equipment, and your own beautiful kitchen that you shared with your boyfriend. The recipe you’d picked out even had thousands of five-star reviews. The problem, of course, was that you didn’t have your boyfriend. Technically speaking, you could probably do it yourself. You’d made his version of the cookies with him enough times now you could do it in your sleep, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Thus, you’d decided to wait until he came home. Was it a little disappointing not to be able to do it on the day you’d planned? Yes of course, but it couldn’t be helped. However, you’d rather do it on a different day than do it without your boyfriend. It was just one more thing that had gone wrong this year, which hadn’t been all that great considering everything that had happened.

It was honestly wearing, and the blow of not having him there felt far heavier than it would under normal circumstances. Usually you’d be able to shrug it off with a smile and go about your day, but with everything else it felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. You’d done your best to put on a cheerful, optimistic façade during your phone call with your boyfriend, not wanting to stress him out more than he already was.

However, after that call you’d spent a good majority of your morning feeling out of sorts, listless, and unmotivated to do much of anything but watch the snow fall and hope it would let up soon. You wanted your boyfriend home, not just because you wanted to make cookies with him, but because Osamu gave the best hugs, and there was nothing you wanted more than to be wrapped up in his arms for a while.

The sound of several loud knocks at the door startled you out of trying to quietly calculate how long it might take the snow to stop and when your boyfriend might be home. You hadn’t been expecting any guests today, but the sound of a scraping key in the lock let you know exactly who was at the door before it opened. After all, there was only one person who would knock like he was trying to break the door down and who you’d given a key, even if it had been a rather reluctant concession on your boyfriend’s part.

“Well, ain’t this cheery,” a voice that was both exactly what you wanted to hear, and absolutely not at the same time, announced as your boyfriend’s twin brother breezed into the door. You shivered slightly at the cold wind he let in with his arrival, and turned to watch in bemusement as he stomped off the snow from his boots and began stripping off his outer layers, clearly making himself at home.

“Atsumu,” you greeted, a little puzzled at the blond twin’s sudden unannounced arrival at your home, “What are you doing here? You know Samu is still in Tokyo, right?”

“Is that really the way ya should be greetin’ yer future brother-in-law?” he asked teasingly, a wide grin on his face, “And o’ course I knew! Who do ya think was the first person that scrubby brother of mine called after he got off the phone with ya?”

“Your mother probably,” you countered wryly, “Considering she was probably worried about him, and both of you are too afraid of her to not check in when she wants you to.”

“Okay, so the second person,” Atsumu conceded without argument, making you smirk slightly. It always amused you that the twins were absolutely petrified of getting on their mother’s bad side. The Miya matriarch was a sweet, kindly woman, who absolutely doted on you, but according to the twins she was actually a dragon in disguise and downright terrifying in the same way Kita Shinsuke apparently was. You’d personally never witnessed this so-called terrifying side, but you had bowed to the twins’ experience.

“So what, ‘Samu asked you to check on me?” you asked with a frown. You’d been fairly certain you’d managed to conceal your feelings from your boyfriend, but maybe you hadn’t done as good a job as you’d thought you had.

“Actually, he sent me here ta be yer assistant fer the day,” Atsumu told you with a slight pout on his face, “Somethin’ about subbin’ in fer him and makin’ cookies.”

“You realize you can’t actually sub out for one another in real life, right?” you asked him with a sigh. You were torn between annoyance that your boyfriend would think it was alright to substitute his twin in his place for your tradition, and touched that he wanted you to still be able to do it despite the fact that he wasn’t there.

“Hey! I will have ya know that yer getting’ the superior twin fer the day!” Atsumu protested giving you a cocky smirk, “I even agreed ta put myself at yer disposal and everythin’!”

“What did he bribe you with?” you asked skeptically, well aware the twins, despite being fond of each other deep down, never actually did anything for one another without at least some token bribery.

“I can’t just come ta bake cookies with my brother’s lovely girlfriend outta the goodness of my heart?” Atsumu demanded, clearly affronted. You raised an eyebrow at him, and waited arms folded across your chest.

“Okay so maybe there was a promise of some of those famous sugar cookies fer myself,” he conceded, with a huff.

“Thought so,” you acknowledged with a triumphant smile, ignoring his indignant grumbles about Osamu dating a woman as scary as Kita and their mother.

“Does that mean ya aren’t gonna make cookies with me?” Atsumu whined unhappily, “After I came all this way in the snow and everythin’ just ta help ya out?”

“You literally live a block and a half away,” you protested with a laugh.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a cold, wet, and miserable block an a half,” he informed you with a pout, “C’mon please? I never get any cookies from the two of ya, ‘Samu always hogs em all!”

You briefly considered saying no, wanting to uphold the sanctity of tradition. You’d meant what you’d said before, you couldn’t just replace one twin with the other. You loved Atsumu, but he wasn’t your boyfriend, more like a bratty little brother, ironic considering he was technically the older twin. However, even just his presence had been a fantastic distraction from how miserable you’d been before. Besides, Atsumu could be a lot of fun in his own way, and you could always make cookies with Osamu later.

“Fine,” you conceded with a huff, “Let’s make cookies then.”

“Alright!” He cheered his entire face lighting up with a boyish grin, the same grin your boyfriend wore whenever he got to cook something new. It was simultaneously comforting and a bit of a punch to the gut, though you chose to push aside the negative feeling and focus on the positive for now. Even if your boyfriend wasn’t here you still had a friend with you, one who was surprisingly sweet when he wanted to be, and you were grateful for it.

Baking with Atsumu turned out to be absolutely nothing like baking with Osamu. With your boyfriend, the two of you had it down to an art, working with and around one another easily. You trusted one another in the kitchen and were very used to one another’s presence and it showed. Atsumu on the other hand, was a bit of a disaster.

For all that the man was absolutely graceful on the volleyball court, it turned out he was a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. He did admittedly know what he was doing, he just wasn’t as careful as he should be. It meant eggshells accidentally got in the batter and had to be fished out, baking soda and baking powder got confused, the vanilla got knocked over, and flour exploded everywhere when he turned on the mixer, covering the two of you and leaving white residue everywhere.

It took twice as long as it usually did because you spent over half your time babysitting Atsumu to ensure he didn’t screw anything up too badly. By the end of it all you, Atsumu and the kitchen were a mess, but you were smiling. The presence of your boyfriend’s twin having cheered you immensely, mostly because despite how cool they tried to act, both Miya twins were idiots, lovable idiots, but idiots nonetheless.

You were so caught up in Atsumu’s antics that you didn’t notice you’d been joined by someone new, not until an extremely annoyed voice piped up, “Oy, ya scrub! What the hell did ya do ta my kitchen and my girl huh?”

You whirled around surprised to see your boyfriend standing in the entryway, flecks of snow still clinging to his hair and eyelashes as he glared at his twin. Your heart jumped in your chest, a mixture of disbelief and joy swirling inside of you at the sight of him, home where he should be when you’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to make it at all.

“Ya told me to distract her so I distracted her,” Atsumu protested, “And yer the scrubby one ya scrub! I ain’t the one who got stuck in Tokyo after all!”

“’Samu!” you practically barreled into your boyfriend, throwing yourself at him without even bothering to take off your dirty apron. Not that he seemed to mind at all, catching you up in his arms and cradling you to his chest without complaint, nuzzling his face into your hair.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of your head, both of you ignoring the gagging sounds Atsumu was making in the background.

“What are you doing here?” you asked a bit tearfully, “I thought you weren’t going to make it home?”

“And miss Christmas with you, sweets? Not a chance,” he assured you, pulling back a bit so he could cradle your face in one of his large hands, swiping his thumb affectionately along your cheekbone.

“But I thought the trains weren’t running?” you pointed out anxiously.

“They’re not. I rented a car and drove,” he admitted with a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t admitted to making a six-hour drive in terrible conditions.

“’Samu that’s dangerous,” you protested. Your eyes automatically roving over him to assure yourself he was there and in one piece, as your hands clutched at him a reminder that he was solid, warm, and present, “I could’ve waited for you. I would’ve waited for you.”

“I was real careful sweetheart,” he assured you earnestly, “Drove slow and everythin’ plus the highways weren’t so bad, promise. I just really wanted ta be home with ya fer Christmas, and I didn’t want ya to be frettin’ bout me, which is why I sent ‘Tsumu over to distract ya.”

“Well, he did that at least,” you acknowledged with a huff, casting a glance at Atsumu who looked immeasurably pleased with himself.

“And made a right mess of the kitchen while he was at it,” Osamu noted with clear disapproval on his face, as he gazed around the disaster zone.

“Hey, I’ll have ya know we’re equally responsible fer the mess,” Atsumu informed him promptly shifting some of the blame your way, completely unashamed at the blatant lie, “Yer girl helped me out too.”

The completely unimpressed look your boyfriend leveled at him let you know just how much he believed his brother. Which was, of course, not a bit. Osamu knew you were fairly tidy when the two of you worked together, so he knew who was at fault for the mess. Still, you were grateful that Atsumu had come over at all. It was sweet of him in his own way, so you decided you wouldn’t let him take the fall on his own, not this time anyway.

“Don’t worry ‘Samu, Atsumu and I will clean it up,” you assured him, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Your boyfriend let out a long-suffering sigh in response, giving you a look that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. However, he must’ve been feeling pretty indulgent because he went along with it anyway, “Alright sweetheart, let me just put my things away and I’ll help the two of ya clean up.”

“You don’t have to,” you insisted, reluctantly releasing him so he could move away, “Atsumu and I can handle it.”

“Yeah ‘Samu, we don’t need ya,” Atsumu taunted, slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling a face at his twin, “So buzz off, or I won’t share any of my cookies with ya!”

“Pretty sure it’s my kitchen and my ingredients ya used to make those cookies,” Osamu pointed out, leveling a glare at his brother, clear annoyance written all over his face.

“And I think I’m the one who made them, bought the ingredients, and it’s my kitchen too, which I believe makes them my cookies,” you informed the twins before they could really start squabbling, “And I won’t be sharing with either of you if you don’t behave. ‘Samu go put your things away and get settled in, and Atsumu we have a kitchen to clean.”

The twins exchanged glances over your head, one of those looks that spoke volumes and sometimes made you wonder if they could read one another’s minds. However, in the end they conceded, Osamu ambling down the hall with his bags and Atsumu joining you to clean up the mess in the kitchen, though not before Osamu pressed an affectionate kiss to your cheek.

Between the two of you it didn’t take too long to clean the kitchen up, and get everything looking pristine. It did slow down a bit when Osamu returned from your bedroom and began ‘supervising’ meaning heckling his brother and generally being a pain as he insisted things weren’t clean enough.

By the time you finished, all the cookies were out of the oven and completely cooled, which meant it was time for frosting. Luckily this time things went much faster as Atsumu was firmly pushed out of the kitchen by Osamu, who insisted it was only right he take over since it was his tradition with you. Atsumu whined, but had eventually been appeased by you agreeing to let him lick the spoon.

You laid out several bowls and split up your icing, quickly deciding to do red, yellow, green, and white for your colors to make it nice and simple. Or at least it should’ve been nice and easy, if not for Atsumu’s commentary.

“Is that supposed to be red?” Atsumu asked, casually licking frosting off as he watched his brother add food coloring to the frosting, “Cuz I’m tellin’ ya it definitely looks pink from where I’m standin’.”

A quick glance over your boyfriend’s shoulder proved that it was a little on the pink side, but getting a true red with frosting was extremely difficult without adding enough food coloring to stain your mouth. Though the comments didn’t stop there either.

“Is that really a Christmas green? I’m thinkin’ it looks kinda pastel, don’tcha think ‘Samu?” he pressed eyeing the other bowl, “I hope ya don’t think I’m gonna be decoratin’ my cookies with such a weak lookin’ color.”

“Who says yer getting’ to decorate any cookies at all, huh?” Osamu demanded flatly.

“I did, cuz I helped make ‘em,” Atsumu informed him bluntly, “And I’m gonna do a much better job than you could even dream of.”

“Oh, ya think so do ya?” Osamu asked, his eye twitching slightly in clear annoyance.

“I know so,” Atsumu informed him smugly.

“Then how about a bet?” your boyfriend proposed, with a challenging stare at his brother, “Whoever decorates the best cookie wins.”

“What do I get when I win?” Atsumu demanded, as you watched them go back and forth feeling a bit like a spectator at a tennis match.

“The cookies o’ course,” Osamu proposed evenly, staring his brother down.

“No way! I was supposed to get ‘em anyway fer comin’ over here to help out, and I ain’t wagerin’ ‘em fer nothin’ in return,” Atsumu protested, vehemently.

“Fine, the cookies an I’ll make ya bento fer a week,” Osamu countered, “But in return when I win, I get the cookies an’ you have ta deal with Ritsu Baa-chan at the annual holiday party.”

You snorted at that, trying hard not to laugh at Atsumu’s terrified expression. Ritsu Baa-chan was their grandmother’s sister, their great aunt. She was honestly a rather sweet elderly woman, but she was also a bit blind and couldn’t tell the twins apart despite having different hair colors. She also liked to pinch cheeks a lot, and tended to go on long tangents about her youth.

“That’s unless yer chicken?” your boyfriend taunted, well aware his brother would fall for it.

“Fine, yer on, but she ain’t allowed to judge,” he compromised, the sudden finger in your face making you flinch in surprise. Honestly, you’d thought the twins had forgotten you were there for a moment, so the unexpected acknowledgment was a bit baffling.

“Don’t point at her. It’s rude,” ‘Samu scolded, smacking Atsumu’s hand with the back of the frosting covered spoon he’d been using to mix, making the blond yelp in surprise and indignation, “And who’s gonna judge if not her eh? Don’t tell me yer tryin’ to say somethin’s wrong with my girlfriend.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with her!” Atsumu conceded immediately, shooting you an apologetic look. For all the twins argued, he’d always been extremely courteous to you outside a bit of teasing, so you weren’t at all hurt, “But she still can’t judge, she’ll just pick ya and won’t give me a fair chance cuz yer her boyfriend!”

“So, who’s gonna judge then?” your boyfriend asked skeptically, “Everyone we know likes me better.”

“That ain’t true!” Atsumu pouted at him, as he absently licked the frosting off the back of his hand, earning a disgusted look from his twin, “Everyone knows I’m the superior twin!”

You watched them squabble for a minute as you considered their little conundrum. Osamu had told you back in high school he’d been known as the ‘nice twin’ of the two of them. It was actually a little hilarious to you, as the longer you’d spent around your boyfriend, getting to know both him and Atsumu by extension, the more you realized he wasn’t actually nicer. He just hid it better.

According to Aran, your one trustworthy source on what the twins had been like in high school, things had gotten better as the twins matured, Atsumu becoming a little less uptight, and Osamu a little more open. When you’d met Osamu in college and then Atsumu shortly after, you wouldn’t have pegged either of them as nice or better necessarily, until you’d gotten to know them. Osamu was simply a bit more laidback than his twin, sarcastic, and witty. He was a bit more conscious of the people around him, and their opinions. He was also quieter and less prone to emotional outbursts. It made him come off a bit more thoughtful and mature, though he definitely still had his moments. He was meticulous and incredibly sweet when he wanted to be.

Atsumu on the other hand, was a ball of energy- impulsive but fun. If he loved something he loved it wholeheartedly, and if he hated something he hated it just as ardently. He definitely came off as less mature, and a bit more naïve in some ways as well, which was why you’d never been able to see him as anything more than a good friend or younger brother figure despite being head over heels for his twin.

You wouldn’t call the two of them opposites per se, but you would say to those who knew them knew that the twins were very different. It meant that despite them sharing a lot of the same friends, most of those friends had a ‘favorite’ of the twins, one whose company they preferred even if they liked both of them. It made having someone neutral to be the judge of the outcome of the little bets they liked to make with each other a bit of an interesting conundrum.

The only two friends you could think of off the top of your head who both twins would agree on as neutral were Aran and Kita. However, you weren’t about to let the twins pester their friends on Christmas Eve. Luckily, there was one person who was guaranteed neutral that not even the twins would argue against, and who wouldn’t mind having you call, would in fact probably enjoy it a lot.

“Why don’t we ask your mom to judge then?” you cut in, breaking off their little tiff, “We should call her tonight anyway, to wish her happy holidays. You let her know you got home safely didn’t you ‘Samu?”

“Course I did,” your boyfriend agreed looking a bit horrified that you’d think he wouldn’t, “I ain’t a scrub like ‘Tsumu.”

“A guy forgets to text one time,” Atsumu whined, looking more than a bit traumatized at the mere mention of the wrath he’d apparently brought down on his head for forgetting.

“Then we’ll have her judge,” you told them, ending the argument you knew could last hours if you didn’t intervene, “It will be nice to talk to her later anyway.”

The twins exchanged another of their speaking looks, but in the end agreed to do things your way. In order to be fair, you split up the cookies and frosting as evenly as you could between the three of you, and set to work.

Honestly, you probably should’ve known it would be a disaster. The twins had always been competitive, and liked to do anything they could to win, which apparently meant sabotage. It had started off innocently enough, and you were fairly sure it was an accident. Atsumu’s elbow had knocked into an open bottle of red sugar sprinkles and tipped the whole thing on to one of Osamu’s cookies.

Your boyfriend had been outraged of course, and immediately tried to retaliate by smearing red frosting on to Atsumu’s green Christmas tree. It had only escalated from there, as sprinkles and frosting flew, Osamu’s usual concern for his kitchen flying out the window in the face of competition with his brother.

Luckily, you’d had the foresight to put yourself outside the disaster zone, well aware there was nothing that brought out immaturity from your boyfriend quite like Atsumu. Therefore, instead of stressing, you got to watch, thoroughly entertained from the side lines. Taking a leaf from Suna’s book, you recording some of it on your phone, fully prepared to share it later.

You couldn’t help the quiet giggles that escaped your lips as you watched their antics, giggles that devolved into side splitting laughter as Osamu, fed up with having sprinkles flicked at him by Atsumu, dipped his hand into the frosting and smeared it all over his brother’s face.

Both twins froze at the sound, your boyfriend giving you a soft fond look, the kind he reserved just for you. He quickly abandoned his cookies to come over to where you were sitting so he could wrap his arms around you.

“Samu you’re getting frosting all over me,” you protested with a laugh even as you hugged him in return, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

“Ya know ya love it, sweetheart,” Osamu teased affectionately, “Besides weren’t ya the one who got flour all over me earlier?”

You hummed in agreement, sighing contentedly in his arms. You probably could’ve stayed there for a good while longer, except you were interrupted by a very pointed throat clearing.

“I’m still here ya know,” Atsumu pointed out clearly disgruntled, “Can’t ya save yer gross coupley stuff until I don’t have to watch?”

“Yer just jealous,” Osamu brushed him off, squeezing you affectionately and shooting his brother a look over your head, “Ya don’t have to watch ya know. Yer free to leave at any time.”

“An’ leave ya alone to sabotage my cookies?” the blond demanded self-righteously, “What do ya think I’m an idiot or somethin’?”

The look your boyfriend gave his brother for that question was really all the answer that was needed. You coughed, pressing your face into his neck to stifle your giggles at the extremely indignant look on Atsumu’s face.

“I ain’t gonna sabotage yer cookies, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu informed his brother, resting his cheek on top of your head, “I don’t think they could get any uglier if I tried.”

“An whose fault is that!” Atsumu protested, as easily riled as usual, “Besides it ain’t like yers are any better!”

It was true both of their cookies were complete and utter disasters, a smear of frosting all blended together into an ugly brownish color with only hints of the previous green and red. Mounds of sprinkles were smeared in and thrown everywhere in a mish mash of colored sugar some on the cookies but a lot on the floor. They honestly barely looked edible, even though you were sure the taste was probably fine. They were, truthfully, some of the ugliest cookies you’d ever seen in your life.

“Still better than yers,” Osamu countered stubbornly, “I’m still gonna win.”

“Like hell ya are, mine are clearly superior!” Atsumu retorted.

“We’ll leave that up to Miya-san to decide,” you cut in before they could really start bickering again, “In the meantime, why don’t we all get cleaned up.”

You glanced pointedly at Atsumu’s face, still covered in flecks of frosting despite his attempts to wipe it clean, along with the globs on his shirt, and at Osamu’s hair, which was shedding sprinkles everywhere.

Atsumu grimaced down at this shirt, pouting at the frosting that covered it, and promptly reached for the hem, clearly ready to strip it right off. He didn’t get very far, as Osamu promptly released you to smack at his twins hands.

“The hell! Don’t just start strippin’ ya scrub!” your boyfriend protested.

“Why not?” Atsumu protested genuinely baffled, “It ain’t like ya’ve never seen it before ‘Samu, we shared a room fer years.”

“Do ya always just casually take yer shirt off in front of girls without warnin’?” Osamu asked aggrieved, “No wonder ya can’t get a girlfriend!”

“Oy! I’ll have ya know the ladies love when I take my shirt off,” Atsumu informed him snottily.

“Well my lady doesn’t,” Osamu informed him, gesturing to where you were sitting, watching the whole thing play out.

“Why would she mind?” Atsumu pointed out snottily, “If she’s seen ya naked, she’s basically seen me too.”

“Eww no,” you interjected, unable to resist, your face scrunching up in disgust, even as your boyfriend smacked his brother over the back of the head.

“What do ya mean eww no?” Atsumu demanded clutching at his head and turning slightly watery eyes on you, glaring in offense, “We’re twins! We look the exact same!”

“’Samu is sexy,” you explained with a shrug, unable to resist teasing him a little, “You’re just… you.”

Atsumu squawked in indignation, clearly very offended, though your boyfriend just looked amused, winking at you from behind his brother’s back and adding, “That’s right, so keep yer damn shirt on ‘Tsumu, no one wants to see it.”

“But it’s got brown gunk all over it,” he whined gesturing at the rather unfortunately colored frosting smeared down his front from where he’d wiped his face clean with it, “It looks like someone wiped their ass with it!”

You choked at the realization that he was unfortunately correct, nearly falling off your chair as you were overtaken by laughter again. Really, the twins could start their own comedy show, you had the feeling they’d make a killing. It was no wonder Suna had managed to collect so much blackmail on them over the years, the two of them really made it too easy.

“So, go home and change then stupid,” Osamu informed his brother flatly, though you could tell from the way his lips twitched that he also found it terribly amusing.

“No way!” Atsumu griped, “If ya don’t want me shirtless in front of yer girlfriend then just let borrow a shirt ya jerk!”

“Go get yer own,” your boyfriend countered, completely unimpressed, “No way in hell am I lendin’ ya one of mine again. I’ll never get it back.”

“Yer so cruel ‘Samu, and here everyone still thinks yer the nice twin,” Atsumu informed his brother snottily, “Tryin’ to send me out into a storm like that!”

Surprised you glanced at the window only to find Atsumu was right, the weather had gone from bad to worse. Enormous flakes of snow falling from the sky, coming down so hard you could barely see the blurred outline of the home across the street from yours. It looked like a genuine blizzard out there. It looked absolutely nasty, and even though he did live fairly close by you were hesitant to send Atsumu out in it.

You glanced at your boyfriend, and he clearly saw the concern on your face because he heaved a sigh and nodded in acknowledgment.

“Fine ‘Tsumu, but yer changin’ in the bathroom so ya don’t make a mess in our room, and ya ain’t leavin’ in it. Rinse yer shirt while yer in there and toss it in the wash,” Osamu ordered as he grabbed hold of his brother hauling him away down the hall, completely ignoring Atsumu’s protests at being manhandled.

You smiled after them for a moment, amused. You knew without a doubt, no matter how much he griped about it, that Osamu would never have sent Atsumu home when the weather was like this. Which meant you should probably resign yourself to having a guest for the night. Not that you minded all that much.

You’d known from the beginning that while they were separate people, the Miya twins came as a set. If you were going to be dating Osamu, Atsumu was going to be part of your life, that was a simple, inarguable fact. You were just glad you got along well with him, even if having the two of them together did end with your kitchen a complete and utter disaster area for the second time that day.

Huffing a sigh, you finished up the last of your own cookies that you’d carefully kept out of the line of fire, covered them and hid them in one of the cupboards. You were well aware if you didn’t they were bound to get snitched by one of the twins. With your cookies safe, you surveyed the mess that was the kitchen and grabbed a cloth intent on getting things cleaned back up again while you had the chance.

Your work was interrupted by the feel of strong arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you upright and back into a solid chest. You immediately relaxed into the embrace tilting your head back against your boyfriend’s shoulder so you could see him.

“Hi there,” you greeted affectionately, tossing the rag you’d been using to wipe things down on to the counter in favor of wrapping your arms over his, savoring the feeling of being held.

“Hey sweetness,” he returned, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, “I missed ya.”

“I missed you too,” you admitted quietly, “I’m so glad you made it home, even if you really should’ve stayed where it was safe.”

“Like I’d let somethin’ as stupid as a snowstorm keep me away from my girl on Christmas Eve,” Osamu scoffed, “This is our day. I wasn’t gonna miss it fer anythin’ sweetheart.”

You hummed in response, feeling immeasurably comforted by the feel of him wrapped around you, the loneliness and depression chased away completely by the afternoon’s laughter and the warm presence of your boyfriend.

“How’d the meeting go?” you asked quietly as he rocked the two of you back and forth, the motion familiar and soothing. You’d learned early on he was completely unable to stay still for any length of time unless he was sleeping, a trait he shared with his twin.

“It was good. The investors are all in, looks like we’re gonna get our new shop in Tokyo after all,” he told you, clear pride in his voice.

“Our shop huh?” you asked teasingly, more than a bit touched that he said it so easily. Onigiri Miya was his dream after all, and the fact that he shared it so openly with you meant the world.

“O’course sweetheart,” he told you, “I…!”

Unfortunately, whatever he might’ve wanted to say after that was interrupted by the untimely arrival of his brother, who reappeared, dressed in a clean shirt, all traces of frosting removed from his person.

“Oy! This place is still a disaster! I thought ya said ya were goin’ ta help her clean, ‘Samu?” he demanded, turning judging eyes on the kitchen.

You sighed, partly annoyed and partly amused at the sheer audacity of the blond twin, as Osamu reluctantly untangled himself from you. The glare he sent his twin would’ve had lesser men cringing away, but Atsumu was unfortunately rather immune by this point.

“Ya have no sense of timing at all do ya, ya scrub?” Osamu asked him rhetorically, heaving a put-upon sigh before smacking his brother over the back of the head in punishment and shoving a cloth in his hands, ordering to, “Help clean too, ya ungrateful jerk! Since half this mess is yers anyways.”

Luckily, though they squabbled through the whole thing, they did manage to get things cleaned up, just in time for dinner. The snow was still coming down hard, so you quickly invited Atsumu to stay, though Osamu ordered him to stay out of the kitchen. He went, though you quickly sent Osamu after him, insisting that he’d had a long day of travel and didn’t need to cook tonight as you’d fully planned to cook for the two of you.

Osamu gave you a soft look for that, one that got him thoroughly teased by Atsumu for being a sap. Your boyfriend pressed a quick, chaste kiss to your lips before joining his brother to stream the latest Black Jackals game on the tv, clearly fully intending to heckle his brother over any mistakes he made while you put together something for all three of you to eat.

Dinner was lively and enjoyable as Osamu told the two of you more about the meeting in Tokyo. Apparently, the area they were looking to open the next restaurant was in a prime location, and construction would start after the new year once the property lease was signed. If things went well it would be open before summer, which was incredibly exciting.

In turn, Atsumu shared some of what he’d been up to with the Jackals. He had a lot of funny stories to tell about the players you’d met briefly and heard lots of stories about from their high school days. His stories about Hinata Shouyou, Sakusa Kiyoomi, and Bokuto Koutarou in particular were always amusing, mostly because they were always teasing him in some way, never allowing him to get his way completely.

The twins also asked you some about what you’d been up to, and you shared the things that you knew they’d find interesting, little anecdotes about your day, or small stories you knew would make them laugh. It was honestly heartwarming how both of them worked to include you in their dynamic, trying to ensure you never felt excluded, and you understood how very much it meant that they tried so hard for you.

After dinner the three of you gathered together at the twins insistence to video call their mother. The kindly woman answered on the third ring, and immediately leveled a suspicious look at the twins.

“What did the two of ya do now?” she asked clearly resigned to whatever antics the twins had gotten up to this point. You giggled, unable to help yourself at the identical expressions of offense on their faces.

“Oh, hello darling!” their mother greeted you warmly, “How are ya doin’? Are these two rascals causin’ trouble fer ya?”

“Hello Miya-san,” you returned just as warm, to the woman who’d gladly welcomed you into their family with open arms, nudging your face into the frame so you could see her better, “It’s good to see you!”

“You too dear, and I told ya, no need for Miya-san, call me kaa-san okay? Yer my future daughter-in-law after all!” she told you jovially, making you flush slightly, pleased and a little flustered, glancing hesitantly at your boyfriend out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t look at all bothered by the insinuation, simply watching you with a fond look in his eyes.

“Kaa-san then,” you agreed a little shyly, earning a beaming smile in return.

“What can I do fer ya tonight darlin’?” she asked, both of you ignoring the way Atsumu was grumbling to his brother about how unfair it was that their mother loved you more than she loved them.

“The twins are having a bit of a contest and we were hoping you’d be a neutral judge,” you told her with an amused grin.

“Really?” she asked partly amused, partly resigned, “Again? Ya would’ve thought at their age they’d stop doin’ silly things like this, but I shoulda known. I really probably shoulda stopped ‘em the very first time they brought me the prettiest rocks they could find and asked which I liked better when they were toddlers. It was too cute at the time though, and I didn’t have the heart ta tell em to knock it off.”

“That is cute,” you told her with a helpless little grin, giving your boyfriend, who was pointedly not looking at you, a fond look trying not to giggle at the slight pink tinge on his cheeks. He at least was doing better than Atsumu who was fire engine red and sputtering indignantly.

“So, what did they do this time?” she prompted, looking all too amused at having managed to embarrass them both, the vicious twinkle in her eyes reminding you yet again where the two of them had gotten their mischievous side from.

“Decorated Christmas cookies,” you told her wryly amused, “I’ve been volunteered to show them to you, so you don’t know whose is whose.”

The two of you exchanged eye rolls at that, both completely done with how seriously the twins took their ridiculous contests. It was a little hilarious honestly while also being simultaneously endearing and annoying.

“Let’s see it then,” she agreed, heaving a put-upon sigh.

You did as asked, holding up the plate with the two cookies. The twins had each chosen the one they thought came out best from their lot, though that wasn’t saying much considering they all looked rather terrible. The look on her face let you know that their mother shared your thoughts on this as she deadpanned at the cookies, which were a complete and utter mess.

“Is yer kitchen still intact?” she asked, her spot-on guess startling you into laughter as the twins both gave indignant shouts, Osamu insisting he would never destroy his own kitchen, and Atsumu indignant at being accused of destroying kitchens in general.

“It was a bit of a mess for a while, but they cleaned it up for me,” you answered easily, completely ignoring the pout sent your way from Atsumu and the betrayal on the face of your boyfriend for outing them to their mom.

“Well there’s that at least,” she conceded with a put-upon sigh, “Did ya save any of the cookies fer yerself darlin’.”

You grinned at her and stood, retrieving your own nicely decorated cookies from where you’d hid them earlier to show them off to her, “I did kaa-san, these ones are for me, and for the holiday party in a couple days.”

“Yer such a good girl,” she praised with a proud smile, “It’s no wonder yer my favorite child.”

“Oy!” both twins protested, clearly indignant, though Osamu looked torn between indignation and pride. Still she completely ignored them with the ease of long practice.

“I think it’s obvious who the winner is dears, hers are much better than either of yers,” their mother proclaimed, her word clearly final, making the twins sulk.

“How did ya know somethin’ went wrong with ours anyway?” Atsumu whined, taking his own cookie from the plate and shoving it into his mouth rather mutinously.

“I’m well aware neither of ya have much in the way of artistic skills,” their mother informed him with a put-upon sigh, “But that was bad even for the two of ya. Besides I’m yer kaa-san, it’s my job ta’ know.”

You giggled at that, well aware that it was the truth. Osamu could make a very pretty plate of food when he wanted to, but only when he was copying someone else. He didn’t seem to have a single original bone in his body when it came to design or aesthetics even if some of the recipes he came up with were absolutely inspired. Atsumu also could pull off beautiful movements, and plays in volleyball that were enough to impress the most seasoned of professionals. However, you’d seen him attempt to color before and the man could barely keep within the lines. There was no doubt the twins were talented, but artistic they were most certainly not.

With the cookie judgment out of the way, the rest of the conversation was nice and casual. The family was actually due to meet up in a few days, and you were looking forward to it. The Miyas had treated you like family from the very first time Osamu had brought you home, welcoming you with open arms, and you never failed to feel included and loved when they had their gatherings.

It didn’t hurt that your boyfriend never failed to keep an arm around you the entire time. The affectionate gesture garnered only approval from his relatives, even as it reassured you of his presence at your side.

By the time you’d finished up your conversation with the twins’ mother it was fairly late, and just as you’d expected the snow was still coming down rather heavily. Atsumu had made one, incredibly half-hearted attempt to leave, and Osamu one even less fervent attempt to push him out the door. Attempts that your fervent insistence he stay in the guest room, one that was basically his anyway, easily overrode.

The three of you chatted for a while longer, but eventually the long day caught up with your boyfriend. Atsumu teased him a bit about going to bed early like an old man, but considering he was yawning just as badly at that point, he didn’t really have a leg to stand on. You’d ushered both of them off to bed, following Osamu into your shared bedroom. The two of you had your night time routine down pat by now, easily working around one another to get ready for bed.

You’d just settled down on the side you’d claimed for yourself when you were gently tugged forward, your boyfriend pulling you into his arms. You went without a fuss, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar comforting scent.

“Thanks for today,” you told him, lifting your face so you could look him in the eye. You were more than a bit sleepy after all the activity from the day, but you really wanted to tell him this before you let yourself fall asleep, “For sending Atsumu to cheer me up, for distracting me and making me smile.”

You were well aware that both twins had played up their antics a bit for you today. Yes, they bickered, but it had been a bit over the top even for them. It was only as you’d been talking to their mother that you realized how well they’d distracted you from the glum mood you’d been in, not just earlier that day but for a while now as things had begun to weigh on you. You’d thought you’d hidden it well, but apparently your boyfriend knew you too well for that and had gone out of his way to help cheer you up, even dragging his brother into it.

“I’m the one who should be thankin’ you,” he pointed out gently brushing his fingers over your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, “Fer puttin’ up with his whiney ass, especially since he destroyed our kitchen twice.”

There was a tenderness in his face and voice that belayed his words as he casually brushed off your thanks, one that let you know he knew just how much it had meant to you, and that he was just pleased it had worked. He’d always said he didn’t need thanks for being there for you, for cheering you up when you were down, or holding you when you needed it, and it seemed he was determined to stand by those words.

“He was sweet,” you protested a bit on his behalf, accepting the gentle redirection with grace and giggling a bit at the skeptical look he gave you for that assertion, “Besides it was partly your fault the kitchen got destroyed a second time.”

“Keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna start ta think ya prefer him over me,” he grumbled at you a slight pout on his lips, one that you were quick to press a smacking kiss to, your over dramatics making him smile.

“You know you’re my favorite Miya twin, ‘Samu,” you told him earnestly, gently brushing his dark hair back from his forehead and meeting his eyes, hoping he could see the honesty in your own, “Always and forever.”

“If ya say it like that sweetheart, then I guess I’ve got no choice but ta believe ya,” he told you, a faint smile tugging his lips upwards, the soft look he reserved just for you on his face, “Cause always and fer ever is just exactly what I’m after with ya.”

“Good,” you told him, nuzzling your nose against his, and smiling into the soft kiss he pressed to your willing mouth, “that’s all I want, for this Christmas and for every Christmas to come.”

“Ya’ve got me sweetheart,” he assured you, his voice warm and filled with promise.

“I love you, ‘Samu,” you murmured to him tiredly, unable to help the yawn that took you over. You were utterly exhausted.

“I love ya too sweetness,” he affirmed fervently, gently tucking you into his chest and settling the two of you comfortably into the bed, “sleep well.”

You hummed in agreement, unaware that as you fell asleep his eyes were locked on the bedside table, quietly contemplating the future and the small precious box he’d hidden in there earlier, where it would be safe from your prying eyes. He’d thought he’d had the perfect moment earlier when you’d asked why he’d called the new Tokyo branch ‘ours’ instead of his, but then ‘Tsumu had interrupted.

That was alright though. He had time. Time to figure out just what he wanted to say, and time to ensure you really truly understood how much you meant to him. You’d said always and forever, and he intended to hold up his end of the bargain, for this Christmas and every Christmas to come.

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x you #osamu #osamu fluff #miya osamu fluff #haikyuu!!#osamu x reader #osamu x you #osamu x y/n #haikyū!!#haikyu fluff #JayeRayWrites

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totopopopo · 5 years ago

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I’m feelin

✨depressed✨

#why? lets see.#my pet died yesterday #my little cousin is in a mental institution halfway across america and shes really sick and she is doing really really really poorly #AND im on a vacation w extended fam and she’s not here too for the first time in 18 goddamn years and it was always our family vacation and #i was one of a pair of people and she was my other half but this year i’m alone #what else hm #my best college friend is taking this semester off bc of some p shite bullying shit goin on and then she’s transfering schools. so #the one person who made me happiest in college and made me love being alive last year is now. no longer going to be there #what else #still struggling from events that happened over a year ago. still dealing with the fallout from that. still massively fucked up by that!#and the other person involved is doin much worse than i am and i’m worried about him and dunno the next #time ill even talk to him or see him but he’s doin real bad and i cant help but feel guilty and also i miss him and i love him and it HURTS #to know that he’s suffering #and then theres the fact that i’m on this family trip thing and i cant stand some of my family esp one uncle and he makes me so uncomfortanl #uncomfortable and unhappy and im nervous about everything around him #and then there’s the fact that my job ended and now i feel listless and miserable without my students and its hard to function without them #and then there’s the pre existing anxiety disorder that i own that is being exacerbated by all of the above !!! not to mention my worry that #the prozac is causing potential ADD symptoms to get a fuckshit ton worse and more extreme #and the fact that college starts in 2 weeks and all things considered i dunno if im #memtally equipped for the semster lol #but anyways #one step at a time #there i’ve layed out all the thinfs bothering me in one post because its helpful for me to be able to set it down somewhere so its not #just all swirling around my head #time to go to bed now. i miss my hedgehog :(#u know what is the only thing that makes my dumb goblin brain happy ? good omens. and mythological/religious lit or analysis or art.#those r the override switch for my sadbrain so if u wanna make me feel temorarily better blease talk to me abt those things #theyre good fuckin coping mechanisms lol #anyways #personal rant /

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keisurin · 4 years ago

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station 16 ; kuroo tetsurou

masterlist

29 // 30 // 31

“you have now reached station 16,” the automated message ringed into your ears. you and kuroo decided to meet up there since it was the location you both linked at and the agency wasn’t too far from there. being at that station made you realised you haven’t been in miyagi for quite awhile. “it’s been almost a week, i should go home tonight or get a hotel,” you planned to yourself since komori and his family had plans and you did’t feel like staying at their house while they weren’t there.

“lost in your thoughts?” kuroo ruffled your hair. “hey! don’t mess with my hair.” kuroo giggled when you started to brush your hair out properly using your phone screen as a mirror. “don’t worry, you look good,” he spoke making you stop alomg with the fact he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear giving you goosebumps. “lets go.”

taking one train to get to your destination, with a bit of walking you reached the agency. standing infront of the door you blew into your hands for some warmth.

“nervous?” kuroo asked. “like hell i am.”

the silence you created while your eye’s were plastered into kuroo’s made him feel the cold you did. “you got this y/n,” kuroo said as he stuck out his fist for a fist bump. your eyes examined his fist then the ground. you chuckled softly thinking about how friendly his gestures had been to you. so friendly like nothing happened yesterday.

the i love you. maybe kuroo forgot about it, it’s not like he gave time for that type of stuff but it had been stuck in your head. it didn’t bother you, you just wanted to know in which way. which type of i love you was it? a friendly one where someone would end up saying yea i love you but as a friend or was it the romantic type of way? one which would end up with a relationship— why were you even thinking about this? the answer doesn’t matter. you snapped out of you thoughts knowing that being here could potentially end up with you having a successful career, you should have to worry about what you he intended or didn’t.

“it’s you and me?” you smiled and fist bumped kuroo making him smile.

“it’s you and me.”

you walked in the agency having to go through some official personnel. the entrance smelled like really good paper, there was muffled talking and some camera’s clicking sounds. felt like home to you or at least a heaven.

“this is ms.kane’s room, she’s free to meet up with you now,” one of the workers guided you two and left with a smile and a bow.

wanting this nervousness to go away you straight away entered. “goodmorning ms.kane, it’s an honour to be here,” you knew how confident you can be. this is any other meet up you’ve have with your friends. it’s okay.

“goodmorning l/n,” you noticed the shocked look she had on her face. you were afraid you looked bad or something. you took a glance at kuroo but he gave you the signal to walk in. “i see you’ve brought in kuroo aswell but y/n i didn’t think you’d look so young,” you laughed at the comment. she was so sweet, you didn’t see how this could go bad.

it seemed to be a casual job interview, “when did you start?” “why do you do photography.” all simple answer questions. you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for photography. you don’t know what you’d be doing without photography, life would probably just be extremely boring without it. you three we’re having a grandtime, she asked if kuroo would like to model for them to which he said a simple maybe. at this point he was kinda just sitting there like he was you manager or better yet, your bodyguard.

but suddenly, kane’s voice got deeper, “y/n, we really love your work here in kaneko and we’d be super lucky to have you here.” but. you knew something was coming. “but one of your potential models doesn’t seem comfortable with it.” you snickered to yourself. who else could it have been than kosuke nao? “we are willing to give you a chance although if you can’t cooperate then- okay that’s crazy,” kuroo stepped in. “you’re telling y/n to cooperate or else what? she’ll get fired? im sorry for my bad manners but it’s not y/n’s fault if anything happens. she is nothing but mature. i don’t know who this model is you’re taking about but i have a pretty good idea on who it is. you tell them that hey should be able to cooperate cause y/n knows what is right to do.”

there was silence filling the room, you saw the way kuroo’s eyebrows furrowed angrily. “i understand. i’m sorry,the model kosuke is just a very trusted model here at kaneko- ah so it was kosuke,” kuroo once again cut in. “did he do something to you?” kane was clearly curious.“constant backlash on y/n since last year, the cause of y/n’s fall down, spread of rumours, took y/n’s photos and said he took him by himself. he’s not my most favourite person i’ve met this year,” you couldn’t help but hold in your smile. he sounded like such a badass, a badass that was saving you? heaven.

“i had no idea, im so sorry this happened to you y/n and i’m sorry for assuming way too quickly though i will have to speak to kosuke first.” you nodded and took a glance at kuroo who was staring at you. “thank you,” you mouthed to him. “well this interview was fun,” kane awkwardly laughed. “y/n you are such a strong person, thank you for coming here today and speaking on this situation. thank you aswell kuroo. for the mean time i still have to discuss this so please be patient and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” the professional talk made you cringe yet you liked the reassurance that you still had a chance.

after a few more words, you and kuroo were dismissed but before you two were about to leave, kane called you two, “by the way, i would like to know, are you two dating?” you choked on your saliva. “i- um no?” you quickly respoded to which kane laughed and smiled. “i see, well see you soon l/n.” swiftly bowing and leaving you and kuroo looked at each other once again.

it seemed to be a thing that would happened every hour with you two. that quiet yet comfortable few seconds of just looking into each others eyes. but this time it was different. you jumped in for a hug. the height difference made you tip toe a bit. “this is probably going to be my 420th thank you to you,” you softly chuckled. “that number, really?” “shh don’t talk about it.”

you both parted from the hug, “uh i’ll walk you back to komori’s place?” he asked. “oh no it’s okay i have to like transport my bags from sakusa’s place then find a hotel cause i was supposed to go back to miyagi today but then the interview came and i’m kinda tired so i don’t have the energy, and now komori isn’t even home so i don’t really wanna stay there like it’s a lounge area.” “sakusa allowed you to keep your bags at his place? impressive.” “right?” you giggled and started to walk to the exit and hummed trying to plan what do to. “you want to stay at my place?” that offer made you jump. “damn kuroo, get my number first, be a gentleman!” you joked. “sleep on the streets tonight.” “why sleep on the streets when i can sleep on your cold floor!” “because you belong to the streets.” you had the pikachu shocked face activated an kuroo had his hyena laugh on. “let’s go collect your bags,” kuroo ruffled your hair like he did earlier.

haa. you were falling for him.

taglist status: closed

taglist - @roseonfireinwinter @chaelysian @june-phantom @starry-sunrise @montys-chaos @dae-kirei @mx-minxx @cece-lives-here @dekumiya @chokemelevi @animewithmemes @anhphunnnn @firebonbon @vanilla-beanzz @princessmidas @shslmel @nekomateammanager @deimmortales99 @peteunderoos @airheadpillar @princeabomination @yafriendlyfangirl @krxstynnn @mxshimoo @nekomateammanager @listless-motion @heyheysey @ntngann @hadeswh0re @doublekrecs @boosyboo9206 @prcttylittlcthing @rachelexe @simpletype @hallothankmas @euphorihan @kisskenma @bellesowl @just-snog-already @kageyamasgirl @shigarakiskitten @elianetsantana @makemealive @saturnfarie @fckkei @amberisnotcrazy @iloveyouasmuchaspoohloveshoney @sbaepsae @mint-mai @winunk

#station 16!#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo smau #kuroo #kuroo x y/n #haikyuu smau #hq smau #kuroo x reader

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ephemeral-sorrow · 4 years ago

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cyphers inside of me(series: Jennifer(1))

Dedicated to Duskwood and all people who love this incredible game and support it, creating their own unique and breath-taking content, which results in Duskwood fandom being the greatest one I`ve ever been in.

Please leave feedback if you like! ლ(╹◡╹ლ)

Summary: Penetrated by these pensive, dreary eyes, she found it impossible to look away, as well as shake off a growing feeling of distress inside her chest.

Warning: angst, tension

“Sweetie, why aren`t you playing with anyone?”

Jennifer`s lips curled up into a fond smile, yet her gaze held a rather apologetic and compassionate expression. Her kind voice, latched with tenderness, didn`t make a girl sitting on the bed respond or even stir. Snow-white sheets emphasized her tiny repressed form, while she remained tight-lipped, absentmindedly scratching the floor with her shoe.

The sight was something Jennifer already had gotten used to. As an upcoming kindergartener, she was required to pass the 4-month practice course in the orphanage on the outskirts of Duskwood, where she recently has moved to in order to begin a new life in a small, cozy city. At first, settling down wasn`t easy due to the lack of knowledge about it but soon her carefree and friendly temper allowed Jennifer quickly find acquaintances and take a liking to the locals.

Her job didn`t leave her listless as well. She really loved kids and that`s why she most likely was so deeply invested in it, giving her fullest. She couldn`t help that her heart bloomed with care every time she tended to a child or made it laugh so airily despite the terrible truth it was facing. Jennifer found it fascinating - the adults could never be like that even for a fleeting moment, burdened with materialistic problems, while all it took to make a child happy was to show a few colourful pencils and play hide-and-seek or tell a fairy-tale. Some would think that this kind of work was miserable and low-paid but once again, these were just gloomy lectures of other adult people who only cherished money instead.

That`s why Jennifer felt truly concerned when she couldn`t find appropriate approach to certain children, especially orphans. Usually she succeeded in conquering their trust and favour with various methods, whether it was an interesting hobby or a way to let them feel loose, but now the young woman was facing a serious challenge. It`s been a month but this particular girl never seemed to allow Jennifer into her private cirle, always keeping to herself and flat-out refusing any forms of affection. She wondered why.

Maybe she did something to upset her? Incorrect choice of words? Perhaps the little girl didn`t like her new babysitter in the first place?

Jennifer squatted before her, searching for her eyes.

“You look bored. Do you want to have some excitement? I`ll show you a magic trick”, she smiled some more, trying to catch her attention.

No response.

But this time the girl shuddered a bit because some of her peers ran down the corridor with loud screams, earning an earful from the old grouchy cleaner. The frantic sounds of feet subsided, as they made for the common playing room, leaving only a screeching bucket and displeased murmurs behind. Jennifer chuckled and then turned to the girl again.

“Okay”, Jennifer`s smile didn`t cease to be warm and patient. “tell me your name at least. We`ve never really introduced to each other. I am Jennifer but you can call me Jen. My hobby is crafting accessories”.

And at that exact moment she looked up an wordlessly stared at her.

Jennifer felt a lump form in her throat, overehelmed by sudden emotions.

It was as if they looked at each other for the first time, revealing a tangled secret, for a brief second discovering innermost feelings, well-hidden undereneath the dark surface of the bottomless lake, full of cold quiet waters. This girl was odd. Jennifer surely has never experienced such confusion before - yes, with lightning speed she concluded that in fact she wasn't an ordinary kid; intelligent, albeit pensive eyes, faintly glimpsing with subdued pain, reminded of a puppy, abandoned in the middle of street. The girl's face was so sad, as if she understood way to much to enjoy childish thinking. She was desperately searching for the slightest change in Jennifer's expression, trying to detect lies or malicious intentions.

When she failed, she looked away, shyly clutching the ends of her shirt.

It felt disheartening. Jennifer got up with a little sigh.

"My name is MC. I like riddles".

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #jennifer x reader #mc #angst #jennifer

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dottiechan · 4 years ago

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Tempest (Pt. 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 2177

Warnings: mentions of death, smoking

Summary: Ava’s handler has information that will turn her lengthy mission upside down - along with her heart.

Lady Ashbury’s parlour, London, 1898

“You’re ridiculously torpid this afternoon, Ava.”

The hostess’ words ring clear in her ear and she almost flinches - not like the others can hear them. Nate has taken it upon himself to entertain Lady Ashbury’s guests when Ava turned even more sullen and laconic than she usually would in a setting such as this. Afternoon tea wasn’t exactly her scene after all. Nor was being parted from the private detective in such a hurried, unplanned manner as the invitation that simply could not be refused was thrust upon her this morning by a note from Lady Ashbury. Letters such as that hold no importance to her at all normally. She doesn’t socialise. She doesn’t attend parties, or put on a show for the sake of being thought of as ‘pleasant,’ whatever that is supposed to mean these days.

But it would have been impossible to ignore her handler’s request.

“You said it was urgent, Lady Ashbury.” Ava folds her arms almost petulantly as she gazes out the window, refusing to look at the older vampire clad in a divine tea gown of showy green silk and soft cotton frills.

“Had I known this lengthy assignment would make you so surly, I would have invited you to my gatherings more often.” The sentence passes from the socialite’s parted red lips, and the corners of her mouth twitch upward in a way Ava can’t help but feel secretly mocked. “Oh, don’t frown like that! Or else we will all die of your ennui. I have great news, great news indeed! But I see no reason why we shouldn’t have an equally pleasant afternoon to ourselves before we talk business.”

“Half of your guests are not even of the Agency,” murmurs Ava, her disapproving glance sweeping over the almost gaudily overdecorated room. Eventually, her eyes settle on Nate serving tea cakes to some of the ladies, all refined charm and long fingers and even longer smiles, and a pang of guilt runs through her when she realises that her old friend is actually enjoying himself, thriving and basking in the plenitude of attention he is showered with. She’s been so absorbed in her love for the detective that she nearly haven’t had enough time for him as of late.

“All previously settled engagements, of course. I’m sure you understand how rude it would have been of me to entreat them not to come,” Ashbury lies fluidly, yet her brown eyes glint with a mocking light that betrays her immediately and on purpose. She delights in the tensing of the muscles in Ava’s jaw.

“Of course.”

“Now don’t be so uncouth, or else I will be the talk of every party and club for the coming weeks about the questionable company I keep,” Catherine Ashbury shakes her head stubbornly, dark locks bouncing defiantly as she links their arms and tugs Ava away from the window. They walk down the long parlour slowly, close enough to the guests that they feel like they’re part of the occasion, and yet far away for their conversation to remain private.

“You’re already the talk of London, Lady Ashbury,” Ava retaliates, almost suavely wrapping her jest in a cloak of concern. “Thirty years you have been here, and thirty years you haven’t aged a day.”

“Some of us are just lucky in that regard, aren’t we?” the hostess grins at Ava. “Unlike these poor ladies here... Or even your private detective. They’re young now, but they’ll whither away soon like roses in the winter. Such a waste. Just like this whole operation has been, if you pardon my frankness. I understand her protection was part of the deal the Agency made with the Police Commissioner, but such a waste of resources this endeavour has been! Our top agents, wasted on the protection of one human. I’ve always appreciated your practical thinking, so I know you must feel the same way as I do. And to be stuck in it for two whole years...! Well, I’m sure you will be relieved to learn the rumours I’ve been hearing lately.”

Ava awakens from her listless silence when Catherine Ashbury ceases to prate about the question of mortality and baits her into enquiring more about the mysterious little sentence she dropped at the end of her speech. She schools her features into an emotionless mask even as her heart begins to fill with uncertainty and fear, painfully aware of Ashbury’s almost predatory gaze fixed on her at all times. “Do they have to do anything with our mission?”

“Would you be intrigued if I said yes?” Catherine asks, red lips curving into a satisfied smile when she notices her quickening pulse. “Alright then. Mind you, these are only rumours, and you didn’t hear them from me... But it is said that the Agency wants to form permanent working units - much like your partnership with Nathaniel, only in teams of four and with greater autonomy than what is usually granted to field agents. I hear the top squad has already been assembled - and utilised. Here, in London. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“What could possibly be their objective here?” Ava frowns as they walk slowly, Ashbury leading the way to the small balcony facing a lush park of green fenced in by equally posh buildings as the one they’re in right now. “I haven’t been alerted of any major supernatural activity here, save for the rouge dark elf, of course.”

“Ah, there you go, spoiling the surprise,” Catherine sighs, finally giving up her maddening secrecy as she takes a deep breath, the crisp air chilling her lungs in the most effervescent way. Or is it the anticipation radiating off of her agent in waves as great as ocean tides? It is an exhilarating game, reading others, playing with words and watching the body betray the mind as it answers all questions so truthfully. She is only the temporary handler of the two agents, and has been that for two years straight now, but a sudden recognition manifests in her heart - as difficult and disagreeable and perfectly unpleasant Ava can be sometimes (the very opposite of her companion) she will miss her. She thinks her a remarkable entity, a true novelty among the cheap copies upon copies of women who thoughtlessly sacrifice their truest parts on the altar of hypocrisy and vanity, until no vestige remains of their original self. To know Ava is to face a lot of uncomfortable but all the more truthful feelings - one can decide to despise Ava for it, but the wise learn to look within.

Though Lady Ashbury may not look it, she is old. Older than Ava, and certainly older than youthful, handsome Nathaniel. And she feels old too, the debauchery of her long centuries and the dishonest little games that made up her life ageing her soul prematurely. But when Ava speaks...! When Ava speaks, her throat becomes the well, and her words truth, and she shames mankind in the most delicious way. Like that splendid painting by Jean-Léon Gérôme, La Vérité sortant du puits armée de son martinet pour châtier l’humanité. Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind. A painting she wishes she could procure for herself.

And Ava. A woman Catherine wishes she met when she was still herself.

But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The demise of the rogue dark elf is only part of the rumours circulating in the Agency about Ava’s involvement during her latest assignment. Or about Ava herself, and her career, for that matter.

“Speak plainly, Catherine,” Ava almost pleads, her diplomatic facade slipping up to reveal a shade of fear in the green of her eyes. Ashbury wishes nothing but to descend upon Ava’s connection to the private detective like a vulture until she realises the rumours have more truth to them than even those who maliciously spread it could imagine. She hasn’t a shred of doubt about Du Mortain’s feelings for the human woman now, her initial doubt obliterated by every sign in Ava’s body language as they stand so close to each other on the small balcony overlooking the beautiful Cornwall Gardens. Ava is a clever woman, capable on jobs, willing to take on risks no one else would dare. And more importantly, she is aware of her strengths too - and thus her self-aware nature marks her as superior to all the other humble little agents. She must know what Catherine is about to tell her - with the task forces forming, and the first such group striking in a place none other than London, she must know that it is only a matter of time before the rogue is dealt with. Before she’d be given an assignment and a position befitting someone of her talents.

And here she stands, this brilliant woman in all her glory, terrified of a promotion that would have put a smile on her stern face two years ago.

“As I said, you didn’t hear this from me,” Lady Ashbury resigns, a little sullen at being robbed of her smug pleasure all of a sudden. “But I know for a fact that your current assignment is drawing to a swift conclusion as we speak. And rumour has it, you are destined for greater things once it is over.”

“Greater things,” Ava echoes, her whole being feeling hollow. Around the detective, she forgot about the world, to be honest. And it seems like she is about to pay the price for her two years of blissful ignorance. She always knew the mission would end, and yet in a strange way she didn’t really believe it. It’s like how people know they are mortal, and yet feel so much entitlement to life that when death comes for them, they have the audacity to appear shocked.

Ava has no illusions. This is a goodbye, not an opportunity. Nate may think that bringing in the private detective is a reasonable step, but Ava will do everything in her power to prevent her from learning who she is, what they are, what the last two years have been about. They were never right for each other. She was never right. And if she leaves now, maybe she can draw that conclusion too.

“My dear, everything you’ve done up to this point is in the past now. And it is best to leave a dead thing in the ground.” Catherine’s plummy honeyed words have an admonitory yet sad edge to them. It is a warning about the detective, and what clinging to her could mean to her career, with an undertone of genuine empathy uncharacteristic to Lady Ashbury. She inspects the woman to her right, a dark speck against the grey sky, and feels honest to god sympathy - and emotion she hasn’t felt in decades. Maybe it is good she will no longer be her handler, Ashbury thinks as she lights a cigarette. She felt too many real things ever since Ava came into her perfectly splendid and dull life, tearing apart the walls of hedonism and debauchery she’s built around herself. But that is a goodbye that can wait.

“Congratulations, Commanding Agent Du Mortain.”

Catherine watches Ava from the balcony still as she purposefully cuts across the Cornwall Gardens, stomping the prized lawn of the old Mr Thomas Broadwood Junior in the process as that sweet Nathaniel treads on her heels ever so loyally. They must be headed for Cromwell Road which will no doubt have available hansoms for them to hail. Not that they need them, but if they are going to Whitechapel, which she is certain of, they need to travel the old fashioned way for appearance’s sake.

The tea gown is too flimsy for her to stay outside for much longer, so she heads inside, cheer and conversation and the wonderfully lukewarm sensation that only pointless small talk can elicit wrapping her in a blanket of comfort instantly. And Lady Ashbury is finally home.

On the other side of London, a woman is losing the only home she’s ever had in centuries. How many lives can she save if she goes along with the Agency’s plans for her? Surely the detective isn’t worth all that. (She is. Her rationale may deny it, but she knows she is worth all that and more to her. And she ignores it anyway.)

Ava will go on loving her in every following decade, in every language she knows, with every breath she takes. She marries duty, and allows death to make a martyr of her lover left behind. Turn her into her very own memento mori.

And in the end, the agent isn’t completely mistaken - something will indeed claim the private detective’s very soul. But it will not be as serene as eternal sleep, as Ava keeps believing. No, it is not death that claims the detective after all.

Even though sometimes even she wishes it were that simple. That peaceful. That freeing.

But there is no rest for the wicked.

#dottiechan writes #ava du mortain x detective #a du mortain x detective #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc detective #ava du mortain #a du mortain #I finally finished reading Dracula by Bram Stoker and the same day I was like #y'know what I'll finish this chapter as well #also in case you're wondering #yes #Lady Ashbury is a vampire #and I blatantly stole her last name from Vampyr

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lady-grace-pens · 3 years ago

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Wip Excerpt: HTKAG

In light of this wip hitting another 10k word goal recently (currently sitting pretty at a whopping 120k/150k 😅), another excerpt is due! This babe I wrote today, buut I actually loved it so much I knew I had to share it with y'all right away. That all being said, let's stop wasting time and get straight into it!

Our scene begins with Allister entering a restaurant to have dinner with Mikko, Fingal, and Perci, but Perci is late.

—

Upon telling the hostess Fingal’s name, she leads me away to the right half of the room. Off in a booth stowed away in the corner sit Mikko and Fingal jabbering away mid-conversation. Once they notice me, they stop and smile.

“Hey! There’s the man of the hour,” Mikko exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

“Not late, am I?” I grin, taking a seat beside him.

“Nope. Right on time to get some drinks,” Mikko starts smouldering at our hostess.

“With what money?” Fingal retorts with a glare.

Mikko blinks, struggling to come up with a defense. It seems he mustn't have anticipated Fingal to interrupt his attempt at flirting…

“Wha - With our money, of course,” he laughs, trying his best to make a smooth recovery.

“Aye. Which is why we’re not using my money to buy alcohol while a minor is here.”

Mikko doesn’t reply. Then again I suppose he doesn't need to, his confusion is written all over his face.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about Perci. He’ll be here any minute.”

“Oh! Fuck, that’s right. Him. Well obviously he won’t be getting any. And come on! You know how fast I can down a beer Fin! It’ll just be a few. Just a few rounds! Don’t be an ass.”

“Watch yourself Mikko, it's not polite to use such language in the presence of a lady.” I chime in, giving the hostess a polite smile.

“Oh I’ll show you what’s not polite-” Mikko says before slapping my head.

I try to hit him back, but he catches my hand before I can. Before we know it, we’re caught in a ridiculous slapping fight, both laughing our asses off.

“Not in a restaurant, not in a restaurant!” I speak through gasps, trying to end things.

Mikko obliges, tossing his hands back in his lap.

“A waiter will be right with you,” the hostess makes a case to look at each one of us except for Mikko before finishing her sentence, “... gentleman.”

Much to my surprise, Mikko doesn’t seem to be affected by that backhanded insult. Instead he kicks his knees up against the table and rests his head back, totally listless.

“Mikko, I would’ve thought you’d be more offended by that.”

“Huh? Why would I be offended at something when it’s true?”

“I’ll say. You and Al couldn’t be any more opposite. If there’s anything larger than the truth, the fact that you’re not a gentleman is way beyond it.”

“Exactly. And Mikko, you are aware of the fact that she was just a hostess, right? It isn’t even her job to serve us drinks.”

“I... “ Mikko laughs before leaning over the table again. “Listen. You two just don’t get it, do you? No. You don’t. Allow me to be the one who graces your palettes here, eh? Let me tell you what I’m gonna do. Okay? I’m gonna give you a tip. A piece of advice that will change your lives forever. All for free! You don’t even have to pay me. All you gotta do is listen. Got it? You both ready?”

Fingal and I share a look. I can tell we’re thinking along a similar vein of confused intrigue. We should most likely stop Mikko here, as whatever will come out his mouth won’t be anything good. However, we’re both too stunned to stop him, so…

Mikko beckons us to lean closer to him. Fin and I oblige. We’re almost touching heads when at last our dear mentor speaks once again, in a hushed voice. “It’s not about what you say. It’s about how you say it.”

…

There are no words. For about a minute straight Fingal and I are just staring at each other wearing the same expression that exudes two questions. ‘What the fuck? You’ve heard that too, haven’t you?’

Soon after that’s established and our shock subsides, we burst back to life. Fingal starts us off with, “Dammit Mikko. What the fuck? Where did you learn that? Who taught you that?”

“Some guys from the bar! Why, what’s wrong with it?”

“Which guys from the bar?”

“I don’t see how it-”

“Mikko. Which guys from the bar taught you this?” Fingal insists, a flash of anger showing in his eyes.

Mikko seems to notice this, and complies straight away. “Leo, John, Peter and Paul!”

Fingal buries his head in his hands. This sparks my curiosity. I haven’t heard these names before, but Fin clearly has.

“I can’t say I’m familiar with them, who might they be?”

“Bar friends-” Mikko starts, only for Fingal to finish for him.

“Jokesters. Jerks. Cheapskates always looking for a laugh. Assholes. Can’t wait to give them a piece of my mind.”

Mikko shrinks away from Fin. His head is turned away from me, but I don’t need to see it in order to know how stunned he is. It’s expressed flawlessly through the abnormal quietness of his voice. “Fin? What’s up, why’d you-”

“Because those dicks have been filling your head with shit like this every damn time I turned my back, Mikko! Dammit, this - this is why you always get rejected! Universe, I just wish you would’ve checked with me first about things like this. Not some strangers you barely even know, yet idolize them anyway.

You wanna know how you get a girl Mikko? Huh? You be nice. You be nice to them, you talk with them, and you listen. Compliments and flirting, all that helps, of course, but not forever! And you sure as hell can’t build a relationship strictly off of it. Okay? Standards and expectations vary from girl to girl, but with each and every single one there are a few things that you just have to do. Be nice, have respect, help them just for the sake of helping them! Don’t expect anything in return. Overall just - just be a decent fucking human being. That is how you get a girl.”

Mikko sits there, staring at his brother. I can’t help but do the same. In every respect, Fingal is right. Of course he is. It’s just… rare that we see him so worked up. I can hardly believe my eyes. I can hardly believe my ears, I… I can’t imagine how Mikko must be feeling.

Oh so gradually his head sinks down into his lap. He slumps over, and I swear I can see fractions of tears reflect the golden light radiating above us.

“Can’t believe I’m actually telling you this when you’re eighteen. Fucking eighteen,” Fingal scoffs, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be. I’m not mad at you. This is my own fault, I blame myself.”

“Aw, come on man! That’s even worse,” pouts Mikko.

Fingal then turns to me with an abruptness that makes me jump. “Al, what’s up? You’ve been quiet for a while. You can back me up on this, can’t you?”

“I…” I force a chuckle to try and lighten the air some. “I don’t think that I’m currently in a position to give advice like this, to be honest with you.”

Fingal leans his elbows on the table, holding his head with one hand. “Why? Something happen with Maddie?”

“Oh, did it ever,” I shake my head.

—

Aand that's all you guys get for spoiler reasons! Lmao

(also because that's all I've written today but shhhh don't tell anyone)

Buut yeah. Legit I swear I didn't mean to go so hard on feminist Fingal 😂 I mean don't get me wrong here, he's absolutely right and I'm keeping it in. But still, the words just kept on coming and coming and we ended up with this

y'know

yeah

writing is super fun sometimes

Plus tbh, writing the part where Mikko is stroking his ego and whispers his ‘top secret trick to get women’, I was literally laughing out loud 😂 like he's just so wrong, and I love how horribly Mikko fails in life. It's just super funny to me, I enjoy it a lot.

Fingal, however, clearly does not enjoy it, lmao. Legit I had no clue he could be so protective until today! Especially over Mikko. I mean I always knew their dynamics, but today… it really hit home for me.

Go back and look at the line of dialogue Fingal says right after Mikko apologizes (a rare occurrence, actually).

It’s just one little piece of dialogue, barely a few sentences! Yet I feel like it hits you. You know? It reveals so much about his and Mikko’s vibes, their situation. A pair of brothers poor and orphaned by their birth parents and raised by their grandmother, who is only growing older and weaker each year. Fingal, the eldest, having to take responsibility often. He feels pressured to raise his little bro, and feels like he's failed when Mikko turns out to be the way he is. Ya know? It's just one little thing of dialogue but I feel like it makes you feel the pressure Fin has to bear in a situation like theirs. Even if it’s only for a moment.

And Mikko! While he does incite a lot of the comic relief in HTKAG, I wouldn’t call him a strict comic relief character because that's never what I had in mind while writing him. He and Fin actually play a vital role in the plot of the story! Much more than what I can currently reveal to y'all.

Buut anyways, I'll stop rambling now. I really hope you guys enjoyed this little excerpt just as much as I adored writing it :)

—

taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed!): @vampire-with-a-pen @writingonesdreams @justyouraveragewriter @kazenokaori @dahladahlabills

#creative writing #writing #my writing #my wip #my writing wip #wip #wip excerpt #writblr #writeblr #writers of tumblr #writeblr community #writing excerpt #writing community #wip: htkag

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ovrblot · 4 years ago

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@uniquemagics : “I’m sorry,” Neige is murmuring, even as tears drip down their cheeks; it’s a compulsion, even though they don’t think Lian would be angry enough to need one. They hate being seen like this, not even half of the sunny, happy character they’re supposed to be and so often are. But Lian found him, hidden away outside campus, crying ugly tears and looking and feeling so small. They feel like such a child, and manage a shaky smile for Lian's benefit. “You d - don’t need to worry about me.”

it pulls at the heart — strings ——— to see anyone crying ( in general ) but maybe especially neige, who is typically so bright and sunny and joyous that it’s almost as if they swallowed a beam of PURE SUNLIGHT. there is a moment of utter stillness as lian processes the sight that he had stumbled upon / markedly strange for him, given his tendency to be constantly in motion.

but, if seeing neige cry pulls at the heart — strings, then hearing him apologize feels like a stab to the heart ( deeper and deeper and deeper, blood pouring blood seeping blood puddling until, perhaps, he may choke in it : his own / his b ——— ) that may well cause him to keel over. there’s something familiar about this : but in reverse. lian almost wants to cry, himself, but instead he closes the distance between them and folds ever gracefully to his knees. perfect posture. perfect form. perfect.

perfect?

❝ no, don’t.... ❞ he feels awkward in spite of the fact that they KNOW that they portray utter grace and serenity in his actions. yet, he feels like an intruder, for all that he has approached and for all that he feels the compulsion to COMFORT and had, in the end, given into that compulsion before really thinking about it. he’s seen something that he wasn’t supposed to see ( again, are you lucky or unlucky, lian? ) but what else is he supposed to do? simply walk away? leave neige to weep, looking so small and diminished and sad?

❝ don’t apologize, ❞ lian wants to reach for him but isn’t sure if that’s allowed, exactly, so instead he starts to go through his things : his sister had always lectured them about keeping necessities on hand, and she had embroidered this silk square all for him. he considered it a lucky charm, and hoped that it could pass some warmth to neige, in return. his hand extends slowly, still feeling half—hesitant but BARRELING AHEAD all the same ( he’s good at that, after all, perhaps one of the few things he is good at ) as he wipes the soft fabric against neige’s face. ❝ my sister always used to say that tears are like coughs : they can’t be well concealed, demand to be acknowledged, and you will feel better when it passes. ❞

he wants to say that neige is terribly handsome even when crying but : that seems inappropriate. instead he laughs fleetingly, wiping the other side of neige’s face with the silk cloth, ❝ of course, she said that to me when i was sick and she was sick of my attempts to cover up my illness to the point where i was frustrated enough to cry. it was more of a lecture than anything, but...” he shrugs, feeling silly and listless for saying all of this. hypocritical, too ——— they, too, despise being caught in the act of crying and try again and again to brush it off. yat—sun let it go occasionally, but.

❝ well, i won’t lecture you, unless you tell me not to worry about you again, ❞ he takes neige’s wrist in his ( WITHOUT THINKING, again, good job, genius ), touch light and gentle as he turns neige’s palm up and presses the soft silk into their hand. palm to palm. lian was going to die of embarrassment later when he would remember this. ❝ and really... you don’t have to smile for me now. i would like to see you smile truly, later, but you don’t have to prove anything to me. ❞

you don’t have to prove anything to me ever, rests at the tip of his tongue, but. perhaps another time. ❝ ——— but i can also go, if you’d prefer. i just wanted to give you a good luck charm, if you’ll accept it, ❞ he squeezes neige’s hand, before letting go.

#uniquemagics #uniquemagics : neige.#i have made a small handful of discoveries writing this

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thereddeadredeemed · 4 years ago

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An Ironwood meta that just randomly popped into my head.

So I’ve been skimming over a lot of the observations on RWBY from @bionic-jedi and aside from the glurge of absolutely adorable Nuts ‘n Dolts stuff (Which I appreciate, I ship it now), the part that really got my attention was all the shit going down around Ironwood. I don’t watch the show anymore, not that I hated it or anything I just sorta lost interest in the show itself, decided it ultimately wasn’t really for me and mainly just enjoy it through fanart and shipping now, but from what I gathered from bionic-jedi’s Let’s Watch Ironwood sounds absolutely fascinating in all the ways that I don’t think was intentional by the CRWBY but is still pretty awesome that it’s there.

Forgive me if I get the details wrong since I haven’t kept up with the show and all my info is coming second hand from @bionic-jedi, but from I could gather Ironwood comes across as a man who:

- Is an experienced veteran fighter who individually is very badass with a proven tactical record on the battlefield

- Has the natural charisma to instill genuine loyalty and belief in his cause into his subordinates (To paraphrase Mass Effect 3 for a bit, you can pay a man to fight, you can pay him to charge up a hill, but no amount of money in the world will ever convince a man to believe in you), and does possess a genuine care for the troops under his command

- Will nonetheless still engage in abusive behavior if a subordinate is not performing in a way he believes is proper for their duty (Yeah I would consider forcibly hacking a sapient being to count as that)

- Carries around a very cool badass revolver as a signature weapon

- While brilliant tactically, possess horrible long term strategic assessment skills that if allowed to be acted upon could have/did end in disaster

You know what that sounds like? Ironwood is almost a perfect RWBY equivalent for George R. Patton (with maybe a bit of Bernard Montgomery thrown in).

Like, I think that the CRWBY may have accidentally written a scenario that asks “What if Patton was the Supreme Commander of the Western Front instead of Eisenhower?” And the results are an absolute clusterfuck unfolding in real time, but I feel I gotta clarify this.

Patton is one of America’s most celebrated and respected generals, and for good reason. Dude was a badass with a keen sense of armor tactics and mobile warfare that proved repeatedly that he could beat the Germans at their own game. His personal bravery could also never be called into question, having proven his mettle in direct combat during both the Hunt for Pancho Villa and WW1, as well as putting his own life in danger being very close to the front lines numerous times during WW2, one time even riding a tank into a German-occupied village to inspire his men. He also did genuinely care for the lives of his men, only ever seen openly weeping when mourning for the lives of his fallen soldiers, treating his wounded troops with the highest respect, and properly giving praise when they did a good job.

For all of Ironwood’s faults, his own mettle is certainly not into question given he suffered such grievous injuries that half his body is now cybernetics, and the man for sure knows how to fight and fight well, so that’s one similarity with Patton. He has also inspired real loyalty in Winter and the Ace Operatives, and in turn he does seem to actually care for them, and he had no real reason to give Yang a new prosthetic arm (and rather quickly fast tracking her an incredibly advanced one at that), so he’s not completely heartless or devoid of empathy.

However, Patton was a man focused on the tactical short term in lieu of long term strategic planning, and possessed with some horrendous character flaws that bit him in the ass on several occasions. One of them being the, even by the standards of the 40′s, deplorable manner in which he treated soldiers wracked with what we in the modern day would diagnose as PTSD. The man flat out did not believe PTSD was a real thing, thinking of it as cowardice and...you know what? I’m just gonna let the Wikipedia quotes say it all, I bolded some choice quotes for convenience:

Private Charles H. Kuhl, of L Company, U.S. 26th Infantry Regiment, reported to an aid station of C Company, 1st Medical Battalion, on 2 August 1943. Kuhl, who had been in the U.S. Army for eight months, had been attached to the 1st Infantry Division since 2 June 1943. He was diagnosed with "exhaustion," a diagnosis he had been given three times since the start of the campaign. From the aid station, he was evacuated to a medical company and given sodium amytal. Notes in his medical chart indicated "psychoneurosis anxiety state, moderately severe (soldier has been twice before in hospital within ten days. He can't take it at the front, evidently. He is repeatedly returned.)" Kuhl was transferred from the aid station to the 15th Evacuation Hospital near Nicosia for further evaluation.

Patton arrived at the hospital the same day, accompanied by a number of medical officers, as part of his tour of the U.S. II Corps troops. He spoke to some patients in the hospital, commending the physically wounded. He then approached Kuhl, who did not appear to be physically injured. Kuhl was sitting slouched on a stool midway through a tent ward filled with injured soldiers. When Patton asked Kuhl where he was hurt, Kuhl reportedly shrugged and replied that he was "nervous" rather than wounded, adding, "I guess I can't take it." Patton "immediately flared up,” slapped Kuhl across the chin with his gloves, then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the tent entrance. He shoved him out of the tent with a kick to his backside. Yelling "Don't admit this son of a bitch," Patton demanded that Kuhl be sent back to the front, adding, "You hear me, you gutless bastard? You're going back to the front."

Corpsmen picked up Kuhl and brought him to a ward tent, where it was discovered he had a temperature of 102.2 °F (39.0 °C); and was later diagnosed with malarial parasites. Speaking later of the incident, Kuhl noted "at the time it happened, [Patton] was pretty well worn out ... I think he was suffering a little battle fatigue himself." Kuhl wrote to his parents about the incident, but asked them to "just forget about it." That night, Patton recorded the incident in his diary: "[I met] the only errant coward I have ever seen in this Army. Companies should deal with such men, and if they shirk their duty, they should be tried for cowardice and shot."

Private Paul G. Bennett, 21, of C Battery, U.S. 17th Field Artillery Regiment, was a four-year veteran of the U.S. Army, and had served in the division since March 1943. Records show he had no medical history until 6 August 1943, when a friend was wounded in combat. According to a report, he "could not sleep and was nervous." Bennett was brought to the 93rd Evacuation Hospital. In addition to having a fever, he exhibited symptoms of dehydration, including fatigue, confusion, and listlessness. His request to return to his unit was turned down by medical officers. A medical officer describing Bennett's condition

And yet another incident like this:

The shells going over him bothered him. The next day he was worried about his buddy and became more nervous. He was sent down to the rear echelon by a battery aid man and there the medical aid man gave him some tranquilizers that made him sleep, but still he was nervous and disturbed. On the next day the medical officer ordered him to be evacuated, although the boy begged not to be evacuated because he did not want to leave his unit.

On 10 August, Patton entered the receiving tent of the hospital, speaking to the injured there. Patton approached Bennett, who was huddled and shivering, and asked what the trouble was. "It's my nerves," Bennett responded. "I can't stand the shelling anymore." Patton reportedly became enraged at him, slapping him across the face. He began yelling: "Your nerves, hell, you are just a goddamned coward. Shut up that goddamned crying. I won't have these brave men who have been shot at seeing this yellow bastard sitting here crying." Patton then reportedly slapped Bennett again, knocking his helmet liner off, and ordered the receiving officer, Major Charles B. Etter, not to admit him. Patton then threatened Bennett, "You're going back to the front lines and you may get shot and killed, but you're going to fight. If you don't, I'll stand you up against a wall and have a firing squad kill you on purpose. In fact, I ought to shoot you myself, you goddamned whimpering coward." Upon saying this, Patton pulled out his pistol threateningly, prompting the hospital's commander, Colonel Donald E. Currier, to physically separate the two. Patton left the tent, yelling to medical officers to send Bennett back to the front lines.

As he toured the remainder of the hospital, Patton continued discussing Bennett's condition with Currier. Patton stated, "I can't help it, it makes my blood boil to think of a yellow bastard being babied," and "I won't have those cowardly bastards hanging around our hospitals. We'll probably have to shoot them some time anyway, or we'll raise a breed of morons."

There were serious cries for Patton to get sacked after theses incidents, his reputation and job only saved because Eisenhower knew his tactical command abilities were simply too valuable to give up and so was only temporarily relieved of duty instead. Point I’m trying to make here is that while Patton could definitely hold sympathy and understanding for his men, it was contingent on them acting in a way he believed was properly honoring their duty. If they erred from his ideals of a how a proper soldier behaved, he could lapse into some seriously abusive behavior disturbingly quickly.

I can’t be the only one that sees some parallels between this and Ironwood hacking Penny am I? A man who cares for his troops but as soon as Penny acted in a way he deemed to be out of line, immediately sought to violate her autonomy and rights as a sapient being to force her back into line and back into his ideals of how a proper soldier should behave. Perhaps he wasn’t as violently physically aggressive about it as Patton, but arguably what Ironwood did was ethically much worse than slapping the shit out of and threatening people.

Patton also wasn’t the type to worry about the long term consequences of his actions. Before he died in a car accident shortly after WW2 he was unceremoniously sacked from his job after making one too many aggressive comments towards the Soviet Union, potentially nudging towards a potential Operation Unthinkable, and carelessly allowing former Nazis back into political power. Both of these were unthinkably horrible for obvious reasons.

There is one key difference between Patton and Ironwood however. Eisenhower was keenly aware of Patton’s potential shortcomings and he was kept on a leash and out of the highest levers of power, thus preventing him from ever being in a position where his worst traits would allow him to truly fuck up. Ironwood however I feel got Peter Principle’d hardcore and was promoted way above his level of competence (Always a risk for men who gain a reputation as “fightin’ generals”, see: John Bell Hood), where his positive qualities of personal physical bravery, combat skill and tactical leadership is wasted and his worst qualities of hyper-focus on short sighted tactical victories over long term strategic goals, paranoia and distrust leading to an excessive need for control, and moral cowardice are allowed to flourish.

And we see the consequences of it. He may have started with solid pragmatic ideas, but his insanely one-track minded obsession with short term strategic goals like making sure he has control over the Winter Maiden is costing him big long term strategically by burning bridges with potentially valuable allies and isolating himself and his command. Valuable time and resources that could have been spent coordinating forces against Salem wasted on various shenanigans involving Penny, RWBY and JN_R. Especially devastating given that Atlas is the only industrialized military power worth a damn in this world and isn’t reliant on mostly independent and unorganized Hunters and Huntresses (individually skilled but too few in number and takes far too long to train each one to reliably stop a Grimm invasion), and he’s just wasting the resources of the world power best able to hold the line against the Grimm.

Next part is a bit of a non-sequitur and really long so I put it in between the dotted lines if y’all ain’t interested and want to skip on over to the relevant Ironwood parts.

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Getting a feel for the strategic situation in Atlas, I get a strong sense that what Atlas needs more than anything else right now is a Dwight D. Eisenhower. Eisenhower the the exact man needed to lead the Western allies, and I can’t see anyone else doing as realistically as good a job as he did, this is a hill I’ll die on. It wouldn’t look like it at first, the man had never once commanded a unit in battle (a fact that made many of his “actually seen combat” rivals bitter), and his softer, more easy going disposition would seem at odds with the alpha-male take charge image cultivated by men like Patton and Montgomery that would be stereotypically expected of a general, much less a Supreme Commander.

However, that calm exterior hid a man with a sharp eye on the necessary strategic goals needed for victory, expert resource and personnel management skills, the humility to listen to his subordinates and admit his own mistakes, and most importantly, both the smooth negotiating skills and the iron will necessary to deal with larger than life figures.

The western allies were made up of many different nations and factions and filled to the brim with what I would call (to put it lightly) strong personalities. This was an organization that involved:

- Franklin D. Roosevelt

- Winston Churchill

- Charles De Gaulle

- Bernard Montgomery

- The aforementioned Patton

- Occasional dealings with Stalin even

All of them larger than life personalities, all of them strong willed and possessed of their own ideas of how to win the war as well as their own political/personal motives, and all of them vying for dominance in the strategic decision making of the Western Allies. It was like herding a clowder of cats, but all the cats had frggin tanks and bombs. Eisenhower actually managed to cut through the bullshit and resist all the arm twisting and actually got all the different countries, armies and leaders together to act upon a united plan. He did this while still being able to control his subordinates worst impulses and (mostly) was able to resist the shitty plans put up and embrace the good ones (for the most part, Montgomery did manage to convince him to approve of Operation Market Garden, and it was the last major German victory of the war mostly due to Monty’s mishandling). Tactical battle ability was largely irrelevant for Eisenhower’s role, and his ability to see the big picture clearly and being able to maneuver through the internal politics meant everything to his success as a Supreme Commander.

If Eisenhower or an Eisenhower-esque figure was in charge of Atlas during this latest season, you’d probably get a drastically different turn of events. An Eisenhower would not be so quick to drastic action as Ironwood was. An Eisenhower would probably sit down with their subordinates, hear out all their arguments for why or why shouldn’t a specific action be taken, then calmly consider their actions. An Eisenhower would probably then say “Working with an enemy agent to hack into the Winter Maiden is a dumb idea” and proceed to create plans on how to coordinate all available forces in Remnant to best fend off Salem.

Atlas as a whole doesn’t really strike me as the type of organization that would raise an Eisenhower though. Militaries are always offshoots of the cultures that create them, and I don’t believe it to be a coincidence that a Supreme Commander like Eisenhower would be American. The country was literally founded on democratic ideals and it was enshrined very early into its history that the military would always be subordinate to the civilian government. This precedent makes it necessary that anyone that rises high enough in the military must be able to respect a strong civilian presence and be able to work with both internal and external politics. Any general that rises high enough must be half-general half-politician by necessity (there’s a reason why former military often do have successful political careers after retiring from service, including the aforementioned Eisenhower who eventually became the 34th President of the United States).

Atlas just doesn’t strike me as having that same sort of cultural framework. If anything the Atlas military strikes me as having a cultural framework closer to WW2 Germany where tactical efficiency and high tech weaponry/tools is prized above all else, often at the cost of long term strategic goal setting. Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan never set realistic goals for themselves and predictably got steamrolled eventually. Occasionally you’ll get an online thread asking “What if Germany/Japan had smart top leadership during WW2?” But that’s a trick question. A WW2 Germany/Japan with sensible leadership...just isn’t WW2 Germany/Japan at all, it was intrinsic to the identity and character of those nations in that time period. Similarly, I just don’t see an Atlas military that sees a potential Eisenhower in their ranks and thinks to promote them to High Command as opposed to just shuffling them off as an aide to some random officer and never consider them for higher promotion. An organization that prizes short term tactical victory over long term strategic goals just isn’t the type of organization to do that.

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Thing is though, I think just from what I gathered, Ironwood just shot up to be my favorite RWBY character because of how frigging fascinatingly horrible he is. He’s not an entirely awful person (at least not at first), but his own paranoia and fear combined with his habit of confusing short term tactical advantage with long term strategic goals leads him down the path of utterly despicable actions while convincing himself that it’s all for the greater good. All while being an idiot and wasting the legitimate game-changer resources of having an actual army when everyone else is still dicking around with hunters and huntresses as their only defense.

Smart money is he’s gonna die, it seems to be where he’s heading. If CRWBY’s writing staff has some serious cajones however, it’d be really cool if they pulled a Catra on him and see how low they can make him sink before making him hit rock bottom, realize his mistakes and force him to work hard for a redemption arc. I dunno, maybe I’m giving him too much slack but I actually do feel for him a little bit. The dude was clearly an alright guy that had the world fall down on him and just wasn’t suited for the massive responsibility that circumstances forced on his shoulders. He’s still a soldier that genuinely wants to protect Atlas, he’s just too short sighted to see how his actions just aren’t what Atlas is gonna need in the long term. Maybe a harsh talking to by Glinda would do him some good (I still ship IronWitch don’t @ me). I dunno, I just think that a redemption arc would be a lot harder to write than just killing him off, and thus would be that much more satisfying to see it pulled off right like what Noelle Stevenson did with Catra’s character in She-Ra.

#RWBY #bionic-jedi #ironwood #rwby meta #long post #george r. patton #dwight d. eisenhower

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