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darsynia · 1 year ago

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Present Imperfect | Ch 5. Day Three - Mourning

TONY STARK MASTERLIST | STORY MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: After losing Pepper to Extremis, Tony decides to get the shrapnel (and thus his arc reactor) removed– but he wakes up as President of the United States.

Tony’s heart surgery is the last thing he remembers, a worst-case amnesia scenario that leaves the country with a leader who doesn’t remember the last year of office, the election, or his marriage to the First Lady, Natasha Romanoff Stark. Length/Warnings: 3,534 words // none

Tags: @sobeautifullyobsessed @chickensarentcheap @karimac

Excerpt: “If this keeps up it’s going to remind me of our honeymoon,” he jokes, turning his head to look at her right as he turns the lamp on. Natasha’s hair is a riot of messy red curls, and it’s the most natural thing in the whole world to reach up with his other hand and bury his fingers in them at the nape of her neck as he steals a kiss for the camera.

There’s something heady about the cling of her lips to his, like maybe she did drug him, but not with an identifiable substance. Instead, she’s rewired his brain to recognize the little noise at the back of her throat when he angles his head and presses closer. She’s rearranged his molecules to find the scent of her hair intoxicating. Somehow Natasha’s converting his exhaustion to lust-- and it’s that thought which finally gets through to his sleep-fuzzed thought centers.

You kissed her for show, Tony. She’s kissing you back for show. Don’t lose your head.

Day Three - Mourning

Tony is insufferable when the two of them emerge from the bedroom. He rationalizes the smug, self-satisfied behavior as something the ‘real,’ unsuspecting Tony Stark would engage in anyway. Anything that makes these fuckers’ lives miserable while he and Natasha set them up for their big fall is worth doing, in his book.

That gives him an idea, as he eats lunch at the sturdy-ass desk and reads about the fake victims of the fake terrorist attack that’s supposedly happening.

“Hey, Cora!” he hollers, instead of using the phone. The resulting silence doesn’t feel empty as much as resentful. Finally, the door swings open.

“Yes, sir?”

If she’d wired her jaw shut, her expression wouldn’t have been more stiff and forbidding.

“Two things. One, I’d like to speak with one of my doctors about this memory thing, see if there’s some way to jog it so I can get access to at least the Presidential years. Two, along that vein-- have I written a book?”

Cora blinks at him like an android assassin faced with unexpected parameters. “No book that I know of, sir, but I’ll look into contacting your physician. I’m not certain the Secret Service can safely set up a secure phone line; the best we can manage is encrypted email.”

Tony nods, unsurprised. Cora turns to leave, and he catches her with her hand on the doorknob. “Can you have a staffer get back to me with some of the articles written during the campaign, the first 100 days, that sort of thing? Thanks.”

His dismissive tone doesn’t allow her to prevaricate before she leaves. The whole conversation is utter bullshit, just like everything else. The President of the United States is traditionally treated at Bethesda Naval Hospital, a place that definitely has access to secure phone lines. Not to mention, if the packet of overdue condolences were really true, there’d be news footage of the events, articles written, demands for accountability.

How has HYDRA been able to stay hidden so long if they’re this sloppy? They have to be expecting him to become unhinged and try to escape. Even with sub-par agents working the fake President detail, that’s the only way any of this makes sense.

Tony leans back in his chair and frowns, looking around the room with new eyes. He should have come to this conclusion sooner, but he’d been lulled by the excitement of a mystery, something to figure out, something to solve. The months since losing Pepper had been so achingly lonely, partly from missing her, partly because he’d felt so guilty to have failed her that he’d pulled away from everyone else.

He’d gone to some dark places, tearing apart one of his labs to make space for what he’d called a Grendel Cluster, a souped-up version of a Beowulf Cluster. It was the fun way to get enough computational power (with JARVIS’s help, of course, though his AI had asked whether that made Tony Beowulf, or Grendel’s Mother) needed to project holograms to simulate the entire confrontation with Killian. It was important to know without a shadow of a doubt whether he’d missed something.

He’d drawn no concrete conclusions, but he had spent hours watching Pepper die over and over, in the process.

Tony looks down at the open folder, his eye catching on the address of one of the fake people who ‘died’ in the Capitol attack. Virginia. Seeing her name doesn’t hurt as badly it would have just weeks ago.

“I need to know you’ll let yourself be happy again.”

Natasha’s face flickers in his mind for a few seconds, and Tony clears his throat. He’s thinking of her because she’s the first friend he’s been in contact with for months. She’s on his mind because of what they’d just done, which had of course just been in the service of the greater cause, finding HYDRA’s weakness and taking it down.

He latches onto that last thought with the desperation of a man drowning in the deep end of sudden possibilities. Her plan is solid, but so is his: he’s going to flood these jerks with documentation requests, hundreds of them. They’re bound to make mistakes, and that gives Natasha plausible deniability. Tony has no doubt that her life is in danger, should they know exactly how far the Black Widow has woven her web around HYDRA’s plans. Inevitably, they’re going to realize Tony’s onto them, and he doesn’t want them to assume it was Nat who gave away their game.

He’ll be damned if another beautiful woman dies because of him.

By the post-dinner meeting, Tony has asked for a massive amount of documentation, including curated clips of news footage from multiple countries to gauge how they’re reacting to the crisis, and a group call with the mayors of the top twenty cities in advance of the attacks spreading to other locations. He’d pointed out how strange it was that he has yet to see a report from both the Intelligence Committees in the House and Senate, or a threat assessment from the CIA, Homeland Security, and the FBI.

Then, to really twist the knife they’re aiming at his back, he demands to speak to the Vice President, because seriously, who is his VP? He’s still holding the ‘amnesia’ trump card in his back pocket. Basically, his philosophy isn’t that he’s trapped in this nonsense with them, they’re trapped with him.

Predictably, the VP thing gets the most resistance, probably because they haven’t picked one.

“Sir,” that Darby guy says, “Having the two of you in the same location is an unacceptable risk.”

“See this? I’ve been studying it all day. I know more about the names of the people who died than how they died, who could have prevented their deaths, how to prevent more deaths in the future, and how the global community is dealing with our utter weakness!” Tony throws the folder down the center of the long table, and the various fake files slide out, cinematically. “Everything that’s happened is an unacceptable risk, but I’m going on little to no data, here! The only conclusion to draw is that I’m being isolated because of my medical condition, and my VP is being groomed to step in. Does anyone want to challenge that conclusion? Hmm?” He spins in place, arms out, struggling to keep the derision from showing on his face.

The whole room is silent.

Amateurs.

“You know what you need? I mean, besides a backbone,” Tony sniffs, changing tacks. He’s all derision, now. “You need a healthy sense of fear. No television sets showing the news, no phones ringing, no fax machines churning out scary headlines, what! Is it the Stark Administration or has there been a coup?” He leans forward and rests his weight on his fists, looking each person at the table in the eyes. “If you were sitting in your homes hearing about this, wouldn’t you be fired up? Wouldn’t you expect the staff of your elected president to fight back?”

The dismay on everyone’s faces is palpable. Tony pushes back up off the table with a sound of disgust.

“Either you’re with me or you’re part of the scheme. Get me the things I’ve asked for by breakfast tomorrow or find another job.”

With that, he stalks out the door, startling the ‘Secret Service detail’ that lurks on their phones outside each room he inhabits. It’s another confirmation of how absurd this all is, but he can’t risk blowing up at them. He may have spent a generous percentage of the past months working out for the endorphins, but these guys are beefcake goons straight out of central casting.

Once at the Fauxval ante-room, Tony stalks through, saying, “Clear my schedule for the rest of the night. Next person who comes into my office better be my wife or someone with any of the reports I’ve asked for! Enough of this amateur bullshit.”

He only has fifteen minutes before the condolence calls anyway, and Cora is nowhere to be seen. Tony looks at the folder, looks at the door, and then looks at the desk. Natasha had told him she’d hidden his watch prototype in a false bottom of one of the drawers, and it feels like he’s going to need it sooner rather than later.

Fuck it.

Muttering that everything needs a reset, even his desk, Tony starts removing the contents of each drawer. The plan is to shuffle things around just enough to make retrieving that watch a two, maybe three step, swift process.

Everything he’s removing is the kind of filler crap you’d expect to see on a comedy skit, but one of them is a pocketknife whose edge lets Tony find the break in the bottom of the false drawer and lift just enough to see the compartment. To cover what he’s been doing for those assigned to watch the video feed, he scrapes the knife edge along the back of the drawer and pulls the tool out, looking at it with distaste.

“Thought sure Clinton kept pot back there,” he muses aloud, tossing the ‘useless’ knife into the ‘put back’ pile. A check of his watch tells him that something’s up; he’s just strolled two blocks past Condolence Call Avenue, and no one’s bothered to say anything.

As that thought crosses his mind, though, there’s a brief, heavy knock at the door, and it springs open to admit Secretary Alexander Pierce. He’s wearing a surgical mask slung under his chin, and there are sweat droplets around his hairline.

“Tony! I was wrapping up a security meeting at Searchlight when I heard you were having a tough time, wanted to see if I could help,” he says jovially, striding over with his right hand outstretched to shake. “Before you ask, they brought me up to speed on the memory thing.”

Two things occur to him at that moment.

One: Alexander Pierce is meant to be his Vice President. Two: Pierce is HYDRA.

Tony stands slowly and accepts the shake, noting the crushing warning in the strength the other man exerts on Tony’s hand. “Starting to think they’re poised to put you in charge, with the limited data I’ve got access to,” he says.

“Ahh, the Joint Chiefs and Congress are working hard, I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” Pierce gestures goodnaturedly for Tony to sit back down. “The big bill on Separation of Powers at the end of the last guy’s term really fucked with war powers, but that’s what you get when the President tries to jump into a foreign conflict without listening to anybody else’s opinion on it.”

Tony keeps his expression neutral, but inwardly, he’s swearing a blue streak. Pierce is good at this. He’s just put a kibosh on Tony’s whole plan by making up something that ‘legally prevents’ the HYDRA team from having to construct false evidence.

“Nothing an executive order can’t fix, right?” he says, leaning back in his chair. The move was supposed to project confidence, relaxation, but Tony worries it just looks like he wants to put more distance between them.

“Truth is, Tony, we’re past op-eds and news footage, here. We need to get moving on defense, while the rest of the leadership focuses on offense.”

“You’re all starting to sound like a broken record.” If Tony can avoid punching this guy in the face, they might get some incriminating stuff for Fury.

“Well, when there’s only one song worth singing, that’ll happen.” Pierce lets out a weary-sounding sigh. “We’ve clashed about this before. I might even be willing to admit that it was too soon, back then-- it’s not like those weapons would have done much against the Chitauri.”

Tony doesn’t doubt that HYDRA’s lifted the Tessaract weaponry out of the SHIELD database, ready and willing to adapt it to the gem in the scepter. “You want me to okay something worse, and authorize its use on our own citizens!”

“Our own citizens are already dying!” Pierce rockets out of his seat, moving to pace in the middle of the room, rubbing at his temple in distress. “My daughter could have been one of them, and you know it!”

It’s too late to suppress his instinctive look of confusion, but Tony’s figured it out (with a sinking feeling he’s not going to shake any time soon) by the time Pierce clarifies.

“Cora Pierce. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful her position has kept her mostly out of this, but it could have easily gone the other way. All of these people, they’ve got parents, husbands, wives, children. We owe it to them not to expand the victim list.”

“She’s very good at her job,” Tony says, looking up from the folder of fake victims just in time to catch a hint of suspicion in his fake VP’s expression. “Okay, say I listen to you, aren’t there procedures, especially after the Separation of Powers thing you mentioned?” he asks. “You’re all acting like I have the right to just tell you where it is, and that’s it. If that were really true, you, Darby, half the others out there, you’d be hassling Nick Fury about it, not me.”

Pierce stops behind the chair he’d been sitting on, leaning thoughtfully on it, nodding, and Tony presses his advantage.

“The only thing worse than an amnesiac President lying about a serious medical condition is one that just got impeached, Alex. You want the scepter, you’re going to need to show me what we’re going to do with it, or show me a legal pathway to telling you where it is that doesn’t get my political future strung up by its fingernails.”

“Fair enough,” Pierce says, turning his charm back on with a bright smile. “As always, pleasure doing business with you.” He stretches out a hand to shake again, and Tony smiles back.

“My wife has plans for these fingers, so I’ll forego another shake, if it’s all the same to you.”

Pierce’s grin widens. “You’re a lucky man. Tell her I send my regards?” With his golden hair and penchant for treachery, Pierce makes a perfect Lannister.

“Will do,” Tony says, standing. He watches the statesman exit the room, feeling certain his next stop will be the room Natasha’s so anxious to get a recording device into.

Can they afford to wait until tomorrow?

He isn’t given much time to ponder the question, because one of the secretaries from the ante-room comes in to set up for the condolence calls. Tony had been planning to half-ass them and blame his medical condition, but instead, he asks her to send someone with a strong coffee to fortify him for what’s to come. It seems clear that things are escalating, and he can’t imagine HYDRA has any bigger guns to bring in to persuade him than the former Secretary of Defense.

Halfway through the calls, Tony understands that this is retaliation, escalation. Knowing that the people on the other line-- querulous elderly ‘parents,’ indignant, world-weary adult ‘children,’ heartbroken ‘spouses,’ even one elementary-aged child who answered the phone asking ‘Is my daddy ever coming back?’ --are acting, that their concerns aren’t real… it doesn’t help. Tony’s emotionally wrung out by the time he’s done, and he opens the door to the ante-room to find it empty except for the ever-present ‘Secret Service’ agents.

“Mechanic’s moving,” they say to their nonexistent microphones, but he doesn’t wait for them. Tony runs, uncaring whether this confirms for his captors that they’ve won, they’ve gotten to him. He runs because it’s one of the last acts of rebellion he has, because he didn’t have the guts to do what he wanted to do on those phone calls: call their bluff. “Yes, your daddy isn’t coming home. He’s dead.”

Even knowing it’s not real, he couldn’t do it.

Some superhero he is.

Tony walks into the fake Presidential suite, shuts the door, and falls face first on the bed. It’s all he can do not to flip off the camera he knows is watching.

He wakes up to the feeling of someone tugging his (unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped?!) pants off in the dark.

“And here I thought I usually woke up before the best parts of dreams,” he says aloud.

Natasha immediately stops what she’s doing, and he has to roll over onto his back with his pants down around his ankles. That’s when he notices that his arms are bare. Before starting on his pants, Nat apparently got his suit jacket, tie, and long-sleeved button down dress shirt off. Without waking him up.

“Did you drug me? Maybe I did wake up before the good part,” he says incredulously, kicking off the pants and reaching for the bedside lamp. That involves swinging his legs out over the side of the bed and sitting up, and right as his fingertips touch the switch, Natasha presses up against his back and whispers in his ear.

“Pierce authorized the installation of a microphone and two more cameras to cover the rest of the bed.”

“If this keeps up it’s going to remind me of our honeymoon,” he jokes, turning his head to look at her right as he turns the lamp on. Natasha’s hair is a riot of messy red curls, and it’s the most natural thing in the whole world to reach up with his other hand and bury his fingers in them at the nape of her neck as he steals a kiss for the camera.

You kissed her for show, Tony. She’s kissing you back for show. Don’t lose your head.

He pulls back and opens his eyes, catching the moment where disappointment crosses her face and her eyes flutter open, revealing those gorgeous green eyes of hers.

“How are you even real?” Tony whispers, without thinking.

Inexplicably, his words seem to crush her; her brows furrow and cheeks flush before her professionalism takes over, and the walls come crashing down in the form of a blank expression.

“Shut up, Tony,” she whispers, quiet enough for that to be only for him, before she scrambles off of the bed to angrily rummage through her drawers. Tony knows he shouldn’t watch but he’s so confused he needs to, needs to understand what just happened. She pulls on a pair of black sweatpants and stomps off into the bathroom with another black thing for mere seconds before emerging with a shapeless black top on. Their eyes meet as she pulls back the blankets, and Nat snaps a “Go to sleep!” at him, ruthlessly pulling back her curls into a ponytail.

“Was it something I said?” he can’t help asking.

Natasha doesn’t answer until she’s walked around the bed to turn off his lamp without asking. “No.”

He’s wearing boxers and an undershirt, but Tony gets in bed and turns on his side (facing away from her, because message received), mind racing.

After many minutes of self-examination, the best he can do is the thought that she was setting up a fake argument to bolster the idea of make-up sex in the office they need to steal the bug from.

Tony’s almost asleep when another option occurs: she’d thought he wanted to kiss her, wanted to compliment her, and her fury was related to the idea that he’d been faking for the cameras. She’d been disappointed.

He allows himself a few seconds to re-imagine the kiss and compliment from that angle, to inhabit that forbidden space, just to see what it feels like. He can almost smell her hair, can feel the press of her lips against his, can see pleasure cross her face when he draws back and looks at her like she’s so beautiful.

Oh, he thinks. Then, oh no.

Tony can’t lay still in the aftermath. His mind is racing, a yin/yang of positive and negative reactions. The only thing that takes him out of it is remembering all of the really important things that Alexander Pierce has access to. He runs the cold water for a long time, soaks a washcloth in it and scrubs his face until his cheeks hurt.

Get it together, Tony. Your life’s at stake. HER life’s at stake. Stop acting like a fucking playboy idiot.

It works, but when Tony makes his way back to bed with the tiny flashlight whose battery is so close to dying it hardly makes any light anymore, he sees that Natasha’s rolled over while he was gone.

Her right arm is outstretched, fingers tucked under the edge of his pillow like she’d felt the bed to see if he was still there and fallen asleep waiting for him to come back.

To be continued...

#tony stark x natasha romanoff #ironwidow #tony stark fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff x tony stark #black widow x iron man #iron man x black widow #romance #fake relationship #friends to lovers #pining #amnesia #forced proximity

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kingdom-hearts-redux · 2 years ago

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It’s her! The girl! A (very poorly edited because I lack artistic abilities at the moment) bunny girl! Allow me to tell you about the girl!

~ Kairi ~

Is the Princess of Heart. As such, she was set to begin training at a certain age, but an unexpected tragedy struck her home and she was forced to flee with her best friend Shion under Aqua’s care. She never sees any of her family again but has made/found her own where she ended up on Destiny Islands and wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Knows that Sora has issues with letting himself be taken care of, and has taken small steps in trying to help Sora with it, like asking him about his day, offering to help out with any of his chores, and being kind, gentle and supportive to him when he needed it.

Is happiest when her friends and loved ones are happy too, and works very hard to make sure they are.

Kairi enjoys doing traditionally feminine things (cooking, cleaning, etc.) but is still a strong character. She likes making her friends healthy snacks, living in a clean space, and takes pride in her appearance. However, as time passes she becomes more concerned with it to try and appeal to whatever way she ‘looks best’ to others (specifically Sora and later Shion).

Is very sweet and mild-mannered towards others but books exactly no sass from anybody and is very witty, able to give back what she’s given and is more stubborn than she looks.

Can be surprisingly secretive but doesn’t like lying if she can help it. Wants to make sure that she doesn’t say more than she should and is never really sure when a secret is harmless or not and takes secrets very seriously. Often worries if this facet makes her untrustworthy.

Can be a bit of a troublemaker at times, more as she gets older, and relishes in a bit of harmless mischief.

Likes baking, cooking, cleaning, and is generally a very energetic and capable person.

Is highly dedicated to her goals. Once she decides something, nothing can deter her from it.

Very smart and observant. She and Shion tie for the highest grades in school, and the four of them often have ‘study nights’ (sleepovers) to help each other out with whatever areas they were lacking in- even Riku appreciated the help (but more on this later).

Has a strong sense of right and wrong and tries her best to be the best ‘her’ she can be to make Aqua proud (spoiler: she already is) and so she can help her friends stay on the right path.

Loves flowers and enjoys learning what each one means. Sora taught her how to make flower crowns.

Is very selfless and kind and becomes easily attached to smaller, more vulnerable things than herself because she’s also very empathetic.

Was faking her amnesia because she thought doing so would protect Sora and Riku from the shadows of her past if they ever came back to bite her (which happened anyway oops). The less anybody knew, the better. Part of her also thought of it as keeping her tragic past away from her happy new present.

Is usually more rational than emotional, and can work under pressure.

Very charming; quickly became the most highly-thought-of girl in town since her arrival.

Became friends with Shion while still at her old home in her early childhood. Shion was an orphan girl who she’d see on occasion wandering around town and one day actually snuck out from the castle to play with her. They became very close and Kairi fought tooth and nail to still be able to hang out once it got out that she was being sneaky without supervision and ultimately got her wish.

Loves Shion with all her heart and shared a paopu fruit with her at Shion’s suggestion shortly after hearing the local legend about it so they would always be friends and always be together.

Wakes up early on purpose. On a similar note, she can’t sleep without a night-light and is afraid of the dark and might also occasionally be visited by her sleep paralysis demon. Poor girl. She also has trouble sleeping if someone she trusts isn’t nearby, so Shion and her bunk in the same room on Destiny Islands.

Pink is her favorite color, but yellow and lavender are her second (and third) favorites. Her favorite ways of wearing them are usually ribbons or flowers.

Semi-frequently suffers from nightmares that she wakes from that give her an unshakable feeling of guilt and loneliness even though she knows she has friends who love her. On that note, she also has self-esteem issues, often thinking that she’s not going to be good enough but tries hard to get stronger.

Is really into witchcraft, legends, myths and fairy-tales as well as natural history and believes wholeheartedly in destiny.

Believes wishes can hold real power (and she’s not entirely wrong).

Has a tendency to be very hard on herself since she was the Princess of Heart who didn’t know how to use the Keyblade properly- especially when it mattered- even though she was like 5 years old at the time. Has a love/hate relationship with the Keyblade.

Sees Aqua as a mother figure.

Animal: Bun (specifically a Satin Rabbit)

#text post #Kairi #Kingdom Hearts Redux #my UA #she has a tail too I just forgot to add it and it's very late #and I'm not sure I'd be able to do it justice

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unfoundhoney · 4 years ago

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a sister’s sacrifice ; part three ↠

↠ platonic!c!sleepy bois inc x fem!reader , platonic!c!tubbo x fem!reader ; angst just angst

↠ masterlist

↠ part one ; part two ; part three ;

↠ @leafyturtle @basheverythingyesterday @terribletoothbat @bestioe @junoblad3 @machiebach @ok-honey

when considering the deaths of the people on the dream smp server, yours is the hardest

schlatt was detested by all when he’d died

few people still truly cared for wilbur when he met his end; the man he once was was long gone by then

but you

you never changed

you were a constant for so many & immovably kind to the rest

selfless, giving, caring

even when you just wanted an escape, you came to the aid of your brothers

you gave the ultimate sacrifice & paid the price

everyone mourns you

when the battle is won & dream locked away indefinitely

once everyone has come down from the high of freeing themselves from dream’s reign, the server goes into a state of grieving

there’s no denying your death

they all saw the message in chat

you’re dead

those that were close to you took it hard

niki was narrowly stopped from burning down the bakery you encouraged her to open and helped build

eret put her emotions into work on a memorial in their museum for you

even under the egg’s control, bad & ant put the eggpire aside for you

of course, those who took it the hardest is your family

when ghostbur learns of your death, he’s distraught

he doesn’t quite know how to handle the information

he protects your home & only allows people to enter when he supervises them

tommy took a while to move past his anger & deal with the fact that you’re gone

tubbo ran off to start snowchester

he chose to distract himself rather than truly process his emotions, even if you’d always done your best to break that habit of his

now that you’re not around, who’s to stop him from letting himself be numb to it all?

techno is another one of your family members who chose to barely acknowledge your passing

he became somehow more monotonous & emotionless

and phil

...

there’s no word for a parent who loses a child

wilbur was gone & of course it messed phil up to be the one to take will’s last life but by that point his son was gone

but you

you’d always been such a genuinely good person

phil did so little for you as a father

he was so absent

he never apologized to you for that

he never told you how much he loves & appreciates you & everything you’ve done to keep their family together when he couldn’t be bothered

it’s a few hours after he received the news from ranboo that all the guilt for everything he had ever put you through hit him

he broke down in his kitchen while trying to distract himself by organizing his cupboards

but all he could think about was you

you & your never ending kindness & compassion

he was never a father to you

yet you never hated him

why couldn’t you have hated him?

it would hurt less to lose you if you hated him; it’s what he deserves

he’s unworthy of your love

but he can only dwell so long on you

you are given a proper funeral

you’re buried by the seashore, somewhere between l’manberg and tommy’s abandoned vacation homes in an open field

the sever members plant so many flowers, your gravesite becomes a flower field

but soon, life goes on

it will only hurt for longer to draw out the mourning period

it would do no good for anyone

besides, you wouldn’t want the server to be sad for your sake

techno supposes it’s for the best that you died

he does his best to move on, filling his days with resource gathering and upgrading his tools, weapons, and armor while trying to think through his emotions logically

as much as he liked you

as much as everyone liked you, you were too good

you were the best of them

fate is not kind to heroes

“hello!”

technoblade is not an easy man to sneak up on, let alone scare

the greeting itself isn’t want startles him

it’s turning toward the voice to lock eyes with you

you who is dead

techno is not proud of the sound he made when he saw you but you of all people wouldn’t make fun of him for it

he just stares at you, slowly realizing what’s happened

you look desaturated, the color drained from your clothes

your skin is grey & almost translucent

you’re a ghost

“y/n.”

“hello! who are you?”

techno tells no on one of your ghost form

he even keeps the rest of the server a secret from you

he leads you to your old home & leaves you there w/ ghostbur

he hopes your and ghostbur’s combined amnesia will keep you out of harm’s way i.e. the rest of the server

he visits you occasionally but mostly leaves you be

you live happily with ghostbur for a while

he is very glad to have you back

his memory is nearly as bad as yours, so the story of the server & what happened to you when you were alive is only given to you in bits & pieces that are near impossible to fit together

it was only a matter of time before someone came to visit your house

“...y/n?”

it’s tubbo who finds you first

or he finds your ghost

(tubbo) y/n! oh my god! you’re a ghost! you’ve come back!

(you) hello! *whispers* ghostbur, who is this?

(ghostbur, whispering obviously) that’s tubbo, one of your other brothers i’ve told you about

(you, whispering) oh, right

(tubbo) how long have you- oh, this is incredible! i have to tell tommy! he’s been so sad since you died; he’ll be so glad to see you!

tubbo messages tommy, who is skeptical but reluctantly comes to your house anyway

but there you are

your ghost anyway

which is good enough, honestly

(tommy) y/n!

you catch him in a hug easily, even if you’ve never met him before

(tommy) you’re alive!

(you) no i’m not. i’m a ghost!

techno happens to check in on you when tubbo & tommy are there

bad news for technoblade: you’d told them about techno leading you here

meaning: tommy knows techno hid you from him & everyone else

needless to say, he is not too happy about that

(tommy) you hid her! you kept her away from us!

(techno) tommy, you have to understand-

(tommy) i don’t have to understand shit! you hid her from us! you lied to us!

(techno) tommy-

(tommy) you kept her from everyone! you’re selfish and you’re a liar and you’re horrible and-

(techno) i did it to protect her! she’s been hurt enough protecting others; it’s our turn to protect her. the only way we can do that is by leaving her alone

(tommy) she’s my sister

(techno) your sister is dead, tommy. for once in her life, let her have peace

tommy gives up on techno & goes to you instead

(tommy) y/n! y/n, we can bring you back. we can revive you. well, dream can revive you but he’s in prison so he has to do what we say so we can bring you back. we can be a family again. don’t you want to come back?

(you) ...no

that

...

that isn’t what tommy was expecting

(tommy) what?

(you) if alive y/n comes back, i won’t exist anymore. and i’ve only just got here. i don’t want to go yet

(tommy) don’t you understand how much y/n means to me? y/n has to come back. she has to. she’s so important. not just to me but to, um... tubbo as well! right, tubbo? don’t you want y/n back?

tommy looks to tubbo for some backup but the shorter boy looks away

(tubbo) i think we need to let y/n go, tommy

the betrayal that fills tommy’s chest is soon gone as he locks eyes with techno

tommy knows techno is right

you’re too much of a good person

you’re too willing to sacrifice yourself for others

even as a ghost your kindness is blinding

this server will only drain you of everything you have yet again

he will drain you of everything you are

he’s just tried to convince you to cease to exist to bring back the former version of yourself

(you) i’m sorry. it’s just- i’ve heard there are these really pretty blue flowers in the swamp biome that i haven’t got to see yet-

(tommy) no. it’s fine. i’m sorry. i-... i should go.

tommy leaves your house & tubbo goes with him

even if tubbo caught on a bit sooner to techno’s reasoning, he’s still concerned at his friend’s sudden change in character

(tubbo) tommy... are you alright?

(tommy) ...i really want her back

(tubbo) i do, too. but she’s gone

(tommy) she doesn’t have to be

tubbo can’t argue with that

(tommy) but... maybe it’s for the best

(tubbo) really?

(tommy) yeah.

(tubbo) but just earlier you were telling me about your plan to get the revive book from dream

(tommy) techno’s right, tubbo. all everyone- myself included- has ever done to y/n is take. and she’s given everything

(tubbo) because she loved us

(tommy) as much as she loved us and as much as we loved her... the only thing we’ve ever brought her is pain. i think now... now is her time to rest.

(tubbo) ...that’s very pog champ of you, big man

tommy had planned to visit dream as many times as it took to get the revive book location off of him so he could revive you, but now he’s accepted that he needs to move on

he needs to move on from you & dream & everything dream has put him through

he decides to pay one last visit to dream, put him behind him, & never look back

he’s ready to start a new chapter in his life, one without dream

and the first one without you

but then he’s locked in the prison

two weeks pass

nearing three weeks & tommy still isn’t allowed out of dream’s cell

he’s irritated and annoyed and most of all he’s scared

but he can’t let dream know he’s still afraid of him, that’s why he pisses dream off enough to the point of being beat to death

tommy begs him to stop

but then he’s gone

everything is dark

black

empty

nothing

is this what death is?

conscious in absolute nothingness?

tommy’s feet feel the ground beneath him

his senses come back to him

it’s still dark but he feels as though he can see again

where is he?

heaven?

no, probably hell

or maybe neither?

both...?

what the hell happened?

the first thing to break the silence is the voice tommy has known since he was an infant

the voice of the person who raised him

the voice of the person who has always been there for him

the voice of the person who he has finally let go of

your voice

saying one simple word

“tommy?”

2K notes · View notes

aminiatureworld · 4 years ago

Text

Return to Me

Characters: Albedo, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,538

Warnings: Violence, Minor villain death

Premise: What is it like when the one you most adore becomes a stranger? And how’re you supposed to pick up the pieces?

In which the reader loses their memory.

Author’s Note: Just a note that this is not how actual amnesia works, and if you’re experiencing memory loss please contact your doctor.

That being said the amnesia is really good for angst and pining so how could I resist? It’s one of those guilty pleasure tropes I like to read and think of so I hope I did it justice.

Albedo

Albedo loved two things in this world, alchemy and you. They were what kept him centered, what kept him sharp and curious and full of life. So how could it be that one of those things should cause him such great unhappiness, and that said unhappiness should be the other’s suffering?

It had been a dangerous experiment, from the beginning Albedo was well aware of that. Testing whether or not elemental energy contained traces of elements via water could yield incredibly useful results about magic’s interaction with the ordinary world. But it could also backfire massively. Noxious gases, explosions, anything was possible.

But he’d thought he was prepared. After all you two had hiked all the way to the edges of Windrise specifically so no one would be around, and Albedo had even put up a barrier with the express intention of keeping anyone from getting hurt. It should’ve been fine, everything should’ve been fine, and yet when the Electro Slime condensate hit the water and the explosion knocked you both off your feet, slamming into the ground three meters from where you’d originated, he could only wonder how things had gone so wrong.

Picking himself up after a few agonizing seconds, every bone and muscle in his body stiff and aching from the sudden impact, Albedo crawled over to where you lay. To his horror you appeared to have hit a rock, and your head was bleeding slightly. Cupping your face in his hands the alchemist rasped out your name. The relief he felt when you opened your eyes was only momentary, replaced by shock and a sense of utter emptiness when you made out a groggy: “Who are you?”

Electro slime elements appear to contain no small amount of Chlorine, which, combined with only the hydrogen as a result of the electricity splitting the water molecules apart, caused an explosion. Although normally Albedo might’ve been thrilled by the discovery of an element only found mixed in the natural world, now he could only look upon that experiment with a raw sort of hatred that he hadn’t known he’d possessed. The ice around the alchemist’s heart had been burned away, and now all that remained was a burnt and shriveled up little thing, determined to make up for the lack of emotions by throwing its owner into the pits of despair.

Albedo spent all his time at first in the hospital and then in the apartment you two shared. You’d made an offhanded remark about how empty it looked, and Albedo had smiled awkwardly, not having the heart to tell you he could barely look at a piece of science equipment without a deep sense of loss. The doctors had said the effects should fade with time, but Albedo knew that there had been magic in the air, and a sick, twisted part of himself jeered that he was holding onto false hope.

It didn’t help that Albedo had been absolutely unprepared for the reality in which you couldn’t remember a thing about him, or your relationship. Never again would you rush up to him as you had before, excitement in your eyes and questions in your head. Memories of gathering crystal flies in the sunset and staying up all night, notes on old ruins swapped with sweet kisses and phrases that meant nothing at all, the beach where Albedo had sketched you for the first time and you had given him your first gift, all that was nothing to you, the stories of a stranger told by another.

“The first gift you gave me was a flower preserved in a solution of Cryo.” You said, words awkward and unsure in your mouth. Albedo knew that you weren’t really remembering it.

“That’s right,” he replied, voice light and calm, trying desperately to keep the despair from showing on his face. “It was a Cecilia. You said that it looked as if it was made of snow.”

“It sounds beautiful,” you replied, speaking more to yourself than to him, “I wish I could remember it.”

“You will someday, I’m sure of it.” He smiled, but the movement felt like too much effort to keep up and soon his face collapsed once more into an expression of melancholy. As if noticing this you smiled slightly in turn.

“Does it still exist?”

“Yes,” Albedo gazed out the window that faced you two. Beyond the buildings, only a few streets away lay his laboratory, locked away and gathering dust, “it does, but I cannot get it right now.”

“Oh,” you seemed at a loss for words, glancing down towards your hands, “that’s alright. I’d rather remember it on my own anyways.”

Albedo said nothing to this. Moving to place his hand on yours he paused. He was a stranger to you. This little act of comfort, all the little gestures he’d gotten so used to were now impossible. Dropping his hand to his side he moved to get you a glass of water, desperately trying to ignore the pain burning in his chest and in his heart.

_____

“Are these yours?”

Albedo placed the bag of groceries he’d just gotten on the floor. Moving over to where you were sitting, you were taking a break from adventuring until you remembered more, a decision made by the doctors for fear you’d forgotten how to control your vision. You had recently moved on from mostly sleeping to exploring your once familiar home, and now you sat curled on the couch; in your lap was a familiar book. Leaning over Albedo glanced at the page you were on.

“Yes, they’re mine. I like to sketch in my free time.”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, running your hand reverently over the slightly stained page, “I can see the different shades in the mountain, even if it’s only a pencil drawing.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Albedo smiled to himself, the memory of that day offering him some solace, “it was quite a difficult thing to draw.”

“It had an odd name.” You scrunched your nose slightly in concentration, an expression so cute Albedo could help but let out a huff of bittersweet laughter.

“Dragonspine. That’s the name of the mountain.” Turning to put the groceries away he paused when you spoke once more.

“No. That wasn’t it. It was something else. V-Vida something.” Albedo watched, incoherent thoughts and emotions clouding his mind as you retraced the circles you’d been making on the page beforehand. Suddenly your fingers stopped and you looked up. “Vindagnyr, yes that’s it! There’s a fortress up there, a, what did you tell me they were called, a domain. And that’s the name of it.” You closed your eyes once more. “Something happened there, something to do with you. I can’t remember it, if I was there or if you told me about it before, but something’s there. Something important.”

Albedo felt as if he must’ve been dreaming. The same sort of emptiness that had filled him at the beginning of this catastrophe was there, but this time there was something else, the bitter feeling of a hope that he couldn’t be sure of filling his lungs and his mouth. He turned back towards you, teetering forward as he tried to grasp the situation.

“Yes. That’s right. Vindagnyr. The name it had before it was essentially destroyed by Durin. I met the Traveler there, a week before I met you.” He sat down on the chair adjacent to where you were sitting, memories filling his mind. “It was also the first place we performed an experiment together.”

“I’d like to go there again then.” Your face was one of open triumph and excitement, and there was something in your eyes that Albedo thought he might never see again, a sort of recognition that he thought had been lost, “I know you haven’t been to your work once. I suppose it would make sense, considering what happened, but would you take me there?”

“Of course.” Albedo’s voice was sure and solid.

“Even though I might not remember more.”

“Even then.”

You reached your hand out to the alchemist, and after a second Albedo took it. He ran his thumb over the back of your hand slightly, and you made no move to withdraw, instead squeezing his palm slightly.

You had remembered something. It wasn’t everything of course, and there was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be heartbreak up ahead, wouldn’t be frustration and sorrow and moments when hope seemed very far away. But as long as moments like this existed, Albedo could hang on. The anger and despair that had burned inside him remained, but now something stronger resided there.

And that was hope.

Scaramouche

“Do you see them?” You whispered, raising your head slightly above the rock you were hiding under. Scowling Scaramouche made a cutting gesture with his hand.

“Yes I see them. And get back down!”

Although his tone of voice was harsher than usual you smiled a smile of understanding as you lowered yourself once more out of sight. Scarmouche took a deep breath in response, trying to control the coiling tension that sat in his stomach. Today’s mission was an unenviable one, made only worse by your presence, for Scaramouche knew these were no ordinary enemies, and though you could take care of yourself just fine there was a nagging in his head that refused to be silenced.

Your targets sat encamped up ahead, completely nondescript in appearance, although that was hardly surprising of deserters of the Fatui, especially ones of such high caliber as them.

Scaramouche’s expression twisted into a scowl of concentration once more as he thought about the moment when you two had received your orders to get rid of those who knew of the dealings of the army of the Tsaritsa, and who were certainly willing to dispose of said secrets for the right price. Although they were no doubt traitors of the worst sort and worth less than dirt, there was still something unpleasant about fighting people who had once been comrades. You’d mused it was because of the bonds of mutual struggle and culture, but Scaramouche suspected for himself it was more the annoyance of fighting people who were at least somewhat trained.

Scaramouche gave the signal and you crept once more out from behind your hiding spot. Manifesting your polearm Scaramouche could already see the well worn metal steaming. This battle was going to be bloody.

At first everything had gone well enough, being hidden on a ledge about the camp you’d managed to do a great deal of damage, made easier by their surprise and ill planned position. However things quickly began to turn sour. The ex-Fatui might not’ve had the equipment of their army days, but they retained the ruthlessness that had once made them so efficient and now made them so dangerous.

There was an odd smell running through the valley, the smell of electricity and something burning. Scaramouche stood in front of a man who had certainly once been a vanguard and a woman who appeared to have been a Cryo mage. Sweat coated their faces but Scarmouche felt cold with the thrill of battle. Electricity crackled to life in his hands and already bits of electricity were dancing on the charred and dinky armor of his enemies. What were they thinking sending a Harbinger against a pathetic group such as this? It was laughable, really.

“Such a pity that members of such an elite force are going to die like dogs.” He drawled. The woman in front of him gritted her teeth, summoning a trail of icicles which Scaramouche easily leapt over. “Is that truly your worth?” He laughed, before the calm that always came with killing washed over him. “Your best is hardly worth my worst.” Gathering electricity, Scaramouche prepared for the final, searing strike.

The man in front of him smiled a sickening sort of smile, the kind that one made only when they knew that it was the end, and then it all went wrong.

The sound of your voice was muffled by the energy approaching Scaramouche from behind, as the outline of a transparent sort of figure clipped his vision. Quickly whirling around Scaramouche was unprepared for the third ex-Fatui member, an agent who had apparently learned his skills well, bearing down on him. Raising his hands, the Harbinger was suddenly thrown aside by an unknown force. Fire made contact with lightning and the ground exploded.

Fighting to retain consciousness Scaramouche was aware of the sickly smell of burning flesh. Blinking away the confusion he glanced at the carnage around him. The agent lay haphazardly, face half obscured by a mass of flesh that must’ve once made him up but now seemed out of place. Behind him the other agents had hardly feared better, and the charred visage of mangled flesh replace what had once been arms, legs, necks. It was an unsettling view, and though Scaramouche couldn’t say it was the worst thing he’d ever seen it still left a vile taste in his mouth. How quickly a fragile little human could come undone, made into that which was unrecognizable.

Finally he fixed his gaze towards you, relieved to find that there was no apparent wounds, although that perspective shifted slightly when viewing your hands, which were covered with welts. Your fire must’ve mixed with his electricity, causing an overload of energy, and you two lying in the eye of the storm. Scaramouche looked at his own hands, and realized they were similarly reddened. Ignoring the pain he shook your shoulder. “Get up.” He let out when you finally opened your eyes.

However it was apparent very quickly that something was wrong. You eyes held no recognition in them, instead they seemed as blank and transparent as a mirror. Looking at him you furrowed your brow slightly.

“Where…” your gaze drifted towards the scraps of humanity around you and then there was nothing but screaming and a wetness on Scaramouche’s cheeks that felt suspiciously like tears.

“You need to get back to work.” Signora’s voice betrayed no sense of pity. Scaramouche was glad for it, he wouldn’t’ve been able to forgive her if there had been.

“I doubt those imbeciles need me for something as simple as the daily regime. If they do it’s their fault, not mine. I owe them nothing.”

“You owe them your work, it’s your duty as a Harbinger,” Signora’s eyes narrowed, “or have you forgotten that in your folly.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing!” Scaramouche snapped, eyes boring into those across from him. “I am well aware of what my obligations are and what they aren’t. As I said there is nothing of importance fir me right now, and I don’t wish to waste away my time with trivial matters.”

“What would our dear Tsarina think of such words,” Signora let out a dramatic sigh. Raising the glass she was drinking from to your lips she paused, “you best be careful. I cannot shelter you from your folly forever. Either you learn how to deal with this… unfortunate incident and your work, or I shall have that person thrown out into the snow.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Scaramouche’s tone was like acid and he felt for the moment as if letting go of himself wasn’t such a crime, for now there was no one to chastise him about it anymore.

“I’m warning you. Don’t forget what happens to those who cannot fulfill their duty to the Tsarina,” Signora paused, a cruel smile gracing her face, “or have you forgotten who caused this in the first place.”

It was all Scaramouche could do not to set the tent ablaze.

“Get. Out.” He commanded. Signora sighed, shaking her head and downing her drink in one go before walking out and leaving Scaramouche with the feeling of falling apart.

_______

“Do you sing?”

Scaramouche lifted his head at the sound of your voice, surprised by the question. You hadn’t said much since the aftermath of the incident, and Scaramouche hadn’t forced you to. After all it was one of the things he’d first appreciated in regards to you, you’d never forced him to talk when he didn’t want to. Now he felt the need to afford you the same courtesy, knowing that intelligence still lay behind those eyes even if recognition had disappeared. Now he put down the document he was reading, smiling wryly and shaking his head.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what you’re called isn’t it? Your name, one of your names. The… the Balladeer?” You said it as if it was a question, and perhaps it was. Scaramouche couldn’t think however, couldn’t think over the rushing in his ears.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t know. I just heard it. Or I remembered it. But that’s who you are, isn’t it?” You smiled, and for a moment Scaramouche could almost imagine life was as it was before. “Can you sing for me?”

“No.” This conversation had happened before.

“Fine,” you shook your head, “but one day I want you to sing for me, when I remember everything, then I want you to sing for me.”

“Fine.” Scaramouche managed to get out, afraid of the rising emotions he felt, afraid they might break through his voice.

“You’re missing work, aren’t you.” You continued on, gaze piercing through him. “I can tell, I can hear people whispering about it when I go out. I’m not supposed to be here, and you’re supposed to be working. If what you told me really is what happened, you should work.”

“Ridiculous,” Scaramouche scoffed, “I can manage my own affairs. Besides,” his voice grew softer, as if he didn’t want to reveal himself to you. You were too familiar, but still a stranger, and a part of him hid behind the walls he built up around everyone else, the walls only you could climb over. “Besides, who would look after you.”

“I can look after myself.” Your answer was as confident as it had always been. “I have to, since I trust what you’ve told me about myself, about this work, this world.”

“It was you not looking after yourself that lost you your memory!” He was shouting by now, he was shouting but he couldn’t stop because if he stopped shouting he’d be crying.

“Perhaps. But it’s not looking after me to end up like the people we fought. So go to your work. And maybe one day when you come back, I’ll remember.”

He couldn’t say no to you, eventually you won. It had been that way since the beginning, you tearing down his bluffing and his empty promises. Perhaps it was what he appreciated most about you.

Every moment Scaramouche was away from you felt like he was betraying a part of himself, a part he had hid for so long. But you were right, just like before, and just like before you’d won him over with your honesty, your refusal to back down, and your view of the Harbinger for what he truly was, someone who was deep down truly afraid. That part of you remained, somehow without memory and without certainty it remained.

And if that part of you remained, well maybe some day the rest would return.

Xiao

“Xiao look!” You let out a cry of delight as you threw yourself off the tall stone mountain, glider unfurling in a vibrant waves of color as you began circling in the air. Xiao scowled from the tree in which he was perched, unwilling to humor you in your folly.

“You’re going to be injured.” Although he hadn’t meant for you to hear that you still laughed at the comment, shaking your head as you once more carved shapes into the sky.

“It’s a lovely day for gliding! The air is so fresh and the breeze is just enough to keep you upright!”

“It’s too windy.” Xiao’s voice was flat. This was foolish, what you were doing was foolish. He could feel the currents, feel their laughter, their excitement. They were surely up to no good.

But you weren’t paying attention to that, instead you were gliding about as if you were born to fly. It was a beautiful sight, Xiao had to admit. The beauty of those immersed in what they loved. And what Xiao loved was you.

“Come on Xiao!” You called out. “Come fly with me!”

“No.”

“Oh c’mon, I know you can do it!” Screwing your face into a pout when the adeptus once more shook his head you shrugged. “Your loss.”

Xiao knew you were disappointed, but he couldn’t help it. It seemed somehow out of place for him to join you in whatever you were doing. Besides, he needed to keep track of the currents, just in case.

You dove down for a moment, and Xiao felt his stomach clench, knowing full well what you were doing, but unable to keep the worry out of his mind. And yet then you were flying up, up, up, up and though Xiao wanted to scold you, wanted to tell you to come down once more, he was rapt, in awe. You were too beautiful, and it stole his breath away.

A gust of wind came blowing through the stone monoliths and as your wings buckled and you plummeted towards the ground Xiao found that he was truly unable to breathe at all.

Perhaps it was a blessing that you were unconscious. Then you didn’t have to feel the way Xiao held onto your shoulders as if he’d never let you go, the way he gasped for the air he was supposed to be in charge of, the way his eyes were devoid of everything but fear. You hadn’t fallen so far, he told himself, you hadn’t fallen so far it was fatal. You were breathing, you were going to be fine. But he found himself unable to believe those words. If you had said them he would’ve, but there you were, a crumpled mess and he barely able to process the world around him.

Crashing onto the Inn balcony, not caring about the odd looks thrown his way, Xiao made his way upstairs. You were going to be fine. You were.

If only he could believe himself.

“They’re out of danger now.” Verr Goldet’s voice was calm, unnaturally so, and Xiao only softened a little at the knowledge, sure something had gone wrong. “But…” the innkeeper continued, confirming all of the fears Xiao had been secretly nursing.

“But.”

“But there seems to be a problem with their memory. They were very confused at first, unable to remember things such as Liyue, their duty as adventurer, this place, things like that. At first we thought it would clear, but now it seems that isn’t so. Their memory might be affected for quite a while.”

“I want to see them.” Xiao brushed past Goldet, determined to help you if this was to be your fate. But Goldet’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Xiao, they can’t remember you.”

At first there was the feeling of falling. And then, as Xiao vanished, there was nothing.

______

At first Xiao was determined to stay away completely. It hurt too much, hurt to think about what had happened. At first he’d managed to survive on anger, anger at the world, at you not listening to him, at himself for letting it happen. But quickly the anger faded and what replaced it was a loneliness so vast he couldn’t believe that he had managed to survive in such a way before he met you.

Still he didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see you as you were now, unaware of him and perhaps destined to remain so. How cruel fate was. It took everything he knew from him and just when he began to live again it took that to. It took away your memory, your livelihood, and for what? To punish him? It seemed unfair, so unfair.

So he’d stayed away, afraid that something would happened again to you if he were to show himself again. But the knowledge of such emotions as love is something that doesn’t fade, and Xiao found himself unable to continue on as before, finding the pain too great. He had to see you. At least to say goodbye, he had to see you. It would be unfair not to do so.

The moon was full, casting a silvery light on the landscape. Xiao drifted over towards the roof of the Inn, thankful that he was invisible, so as to not have to experience the moment your eyes reached him but you didn’t.

Your silhouette appeared quickly enough in the darkness. You seemed somewhat preoccupied, and yet there was a purpose to your step, made all the more evident by the Qingxin grasped firmly in your hand, a brethren of the other flowers which lay scattered on the railing.

“I know you’re there.” At first Xiao jumped, thinking perhaps you’d somehow managed to sense him. However he calmed down once you continued, it appeared you weren’t truly talking to him.

“I know you’re there. And I wish you’d come back,” You continued, gazing out on the landscape around you. “I don’t remember your name you see. They told me your name of course, but I wish they hadn’t, I wanted to remember it myself. It must be why you left, of course you didn’t want to see me like this. If what they said was true…” you shook your head, “I know it was true. I know that it had to have been true, that I cared for you, that you cared for me. I know because I miss you.” Xiao felt his heart pound in his chest, so loud he could barely hear you.

“I miss you so much. Isn’t that odd? I don’t know you anymore and yet I miss you. It’s as if something is missing. I mean, of course something is missing but it’s more than just the memories themselves. It’s the feeling. Like going outside without a coat on. I miss you, even if I can’t miss you because I can’t remember you I do, I miss you dearly.”

You paused, placing the flower on the railing next to the rest.

“I hope you see the flowers before they fade,” you called out softly to the dark, “and I hope one day I can look at you again. I remember you had such lovely eyes. I’d like to see them again to be sure.”

For a moment Xiao didn’t move, frozen by all he’d heard. But the minute you turned to leave he was already there, bound by the feelings he had for you, by the knowledge that continuing as he had been would kill him, would only hurt you.

“Do you remember me?” It was a silly question to ask, but he had nothing else to say. You turned towards him and smiled softly. It was true, your eyes didn’t recognize him. But there was something in your gaze nonetheless.

“Xiao.” You whispered, and the yaksha knew that he’d never be able to leave again.

#Don’t ask me why Albedo is mixing hydrogen with something that contains a halogen he and I are both just stupid like that #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #requested #albedo #scaramouche #xiao #albedo x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #scenarios #mine

677 notes · View notes

royal-ruin · 3 years ago

Text

avatar: the last airbender fic recs (part 1)

oh, there’s definitely going to be a part 2(edit: part 2 linked here). personal favorites are starred, by the way. everything is complete unless stated otherwise.

sokka / zuko (zukka) fic recs

*feels like we only go backwards by oldpotatoe (~134.5k as of now)

[Time passes oddly. Between one second and the next, Sokka has the Fire Lord pinned to the wall with his hands around the bastard’s throat. Golden eyes (one gold eye, his mind whispers) widen in shock.

“Sokka?” he chokes out. And then he smiles.

What the fuck?

“Sokka, I—”

Sokka slams his head against the wall, once, twice, and the smile wipes off his face. Good.

“What,” Sokka bites out, “have you done to my sister?”]

Or: An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage.

But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends.

Yeah, nah.

warning: incomplete fic (last updated 10/8/21). i actually just read this last night and it my my angsty heart so happy. like there’s so much angst and it’s all written so well. also, if you’re apprehensive because of the incomplete thing, i get it, i was too. but the last update doesn’t leave off at a cliffhanger and it can count as a hopeful ending.

Afternoon Tea by toribird (~47k)

Of all the places he could have walked into--of all the tea shops in Ba Sing Se--(of which there are many)--he had chosen the one that Prince-fucking-Zuko worked at.

Or: Early on during his time in Ba Sing Se, Sokka stops for a cup of tea. This small action changes everything.

that's murder, buddy by egeria (~23k)

Throughout the streets, on quiet nights, it was rumored the screams of those missing could be heard. Some say the sounds were coming from underground.

Where were the young girls? And what was happening to them? Was an evil spirit haunting Gaoling, or something more human? More sinister?

My name is Zuko, and you’re tuning into another episode of ‘That’s Murder, Buddy’.

Or: Sokka has no idea that his crush is the host of his favorite podcast. (But everyone else knows.)

the entire fic is just sokka being oblivious, romantically and logically (i don’t know how else to explain it). it’s a modern college au, but bending is still a thing.

and where you go, i will go too (yes, i am now a part of you) by AndyBoy (~4k)

[“I, uh…” Zuko shifted in his seat. “Well…” He gestured vaguely, hands following the movement of his wrists. “Yes,” he settled on finally, averting his eyes. “I’ve met my soulmate.”

“What?” Sokka leaned forward interestedly, ignoring the soft ache behind his ribcage. “Is it that goth chick? Mel?”

“Mai,” Zuko snapped. “And...no, it’s not her.”

“Then who?” Suki asked. “Do we know her?”

“Yes—No. It doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to tell us, Zuko—” Katara started.

“Good!” Zuko said, standing up. “Because I don’t want to!”]

Soulmate AU Where you see in grayscale until you hear your soulmate laugh for the first time. Sokka laughs a lot, loud, proud, and bright. Zuko...barely even smiles.

*How Zuko Kind of Maybe Starts Accidentally Dating the Water Tribe Peasant by All_About_That_Ace (~13k)

If Uncle hadn't insisted on making Zuko wait tables filled with giggling girls, this wouldn't have happened. If the damn Water Tribe peasant hadn't heard about the amazing new tea shop, this wouldn't have happened. If Zuko didn't come up with such terrible ideas while panicking, this wouldn't have happened. Though honestly, Zuko probably would've fucked up somehow anyway, so what was the point in griping?

*The Duke's a Hazard by naggeluide (~51k)

Everything changed when the feral child attacked. Sokka and Zuko are stuck co-parenting the Duke, and the last half of Book 3 suddenly becomes a lot more chaotic.

oh god. this fic is literally everything to me. it’s my comfort fic (and i don’t say that lightly) sokka and zuko become caretakers for stabby feral child!duke after zuko joins their group. it’s just so good, like i don’t even have words for it. it has like found family AND there’s a slow burn zukka romance. it’s hilarious too. so much crack and humor. there’s angst (of course there is, who would i be if there wasn’t) but there is so much tooth-rotting fluff too. i’ve read a few times, and i’m going to reread it again, because i can.

*I Wanna Be The Very Best by Haicrescendo (~3k) (series is ~64k)

[“Gym Leader Zuko?” He asks hopefully, and the grin the man sends him dashes his hopes into smoke.

“Afraid not,” the man says, “Zuko is my nephew and unfortunately, he’s not here right now.”

“Shit.” Sokka squirms a little. “Any idea when he may be back? I need his badge so I can—“ Go beat up Aang for being annoying and perfect at everything and making champion at thirteen goddamn years old while Sokka’s doing this whole thing late— “Better myself and reach true enlightenment. Uh. Sir.”

The man says nothing about Sokka’s age, just hmmms in consideration and rustles his bag.

“Call me Iroh,” the man says. “My nephew is like a spring wind, vivacious and—“

Flighty.]

Or, The Pokémon AU that nobody asked for.

this is part of an incomplete 12 part series called Carry On For You. i think it would be helpful if you had some kind of prior knowledge about pokemon, but it should be fine if you don’t.

*absence of heat, excess of destiny by theycallmesuperboy (~4k)

Sokka is born in the dead of winter with a red dragon curling down the left side of his back.

Zuko is born in the sweltering heat of summer with a sword down his spine.

He doesn’t want to talk about it when their gazes turn on him. They make assumptions— is it someone he left behind in the Fire Nation? He looks away when he agrees with them.

Toph brushes past him when they all part ways. She says, “I know you’re lying.”

boy problems by burnt_oranges (~22k)

[“I accidentally signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka,” Zuko says faintly. He sits up so fast he almost falls out of his chair. “I signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka, and he agreed."]

In which Zuko suffers in a variety of ways, including but not limited to: close and constant proximity to the object of his affections, assassination attempts, and irreparable injuries to his dignity.

#avatar: the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender fanfic #atla #sokka x zuko #zuko x sokka #zukka

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sup-hoes-its-me · 4 years ago

Text

Golden II (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: hello. This is the second part of the Kakashi amnesia fic. I was so conflicted on what to do in this one and admittedly, I am not satisfied with this. Not completely. I really struggle writing the second part of a trio, and it's evident here.

Part three is up!

Word count: 4200

_______

Kakashi struggled to maintain his normal persona after Y/N got into the incident. He just couldn’t shake off that desperate need to be around her. At this point, it was just instinctual to look for her in the crowds, and expect to see her waiting for him each time he got home from a mission. He missed her laugh and her smile, and the people in the village did not help.

His only solace was on missions where he could forget about it all. It was an impossible struggle, especially when everyone and their mother was consoling him every time he stepped outside to do literally anything. He didn’t want people in his business, especially something so sensitive.

The mornings were now cold and depressing. Each time he rolled over in an attempt to throw his arm around his girlfriend, he was only met with the hollow space where she used to be. He would bury his face in his pillows and shut his eyes, just trying to drown out her voice from his mind. But her scent still lingered on his linens and buried deep into the pillows.

He imagined her groggy eyes opening just a peek to see if he was awake before her, and he usually was. She would smile and scoot close to his body, curling up and hugging him around the waist, her head resting against his chest. He missed wrapping her up in a cuddly hug, peppering the top of her head with kisses.

He missed going to get breakfast with her, and her ranting to him about this new novel the store had in shipment, comparing the plot to that of other books she had read and gushing over the character development or the vocabulary or a plot twist she'd never seen. She was always such a nerd, it was adorable.

And he missed meeting up with her each night as she closed the store, her hugging him so tight he could feel her heart beating against his. She'd attack his face with kisses and giggles, pulling down his mask in between the bookshelves where no one could see and gracing his lips with a kiss, or a dozen, depending on the day.

He just missed her. But he knew it was for the best-not knowing her anymore, not getting attached all over again, or letting her get close to him again. He thought of her amnesia as a fresh start, a way to break up with her without crushing her emotionally. She would never know what she was missing.

He would be the only one suffering, and that was better to him than the other way around.

For Kakashi, it was always hard to imagine he would get to a place in life where he felt comfortable enough with someone to maintain such a relationship. He didn’t think he would grow to have these moments with someone he loved. He worked through so many walls he had built up over the years, fought against all his paranoia and superstitions, and for what? To feel his heart break?

He felt betrayed, by whom, he had no idea. He just felt like the stars had aligned perfectly in favor of screwing him over the moment he was comfortable, the moment someone was able to squeeze into his heart and share their love. It would take time to get over his feelings for her, he knew that. The memories would always linger, but they wouldn’t cut through him like they did now.

For now, the only thing he could do was lie in his bed until his next mission the following day. Without her, he didn’t see any reason to get out of bed anyway.

______

Y/N returned to her apartment after being discharged from the hospital, and did as she was instructed to do. Each day she would look through her belongings, pictures, trinkets, anything that had emotional value, hoping it would bring out some of her old memories. Nothing really changed. Sometimes she could see flashes of people in her head that lived in the village. Kakashi, that guy in the green suit, Yamato, the sweet girl that took care of her all her days in the hospital. All of them appeared in her mind at one point or another, but nothing strong enough to give her any knowledge.

Tsunade told her to just keep trying and hopefully, something would fix itself. It seemed like a shot in the dark, but anything was worth a try.

It wasn’t until a few hours into the cleaning process, scrapping blood and ink out of carpets and stocking her shelves of the store, that she found something of real importance. Deep in the back of her front counter, hidden in a drawer, sat a small shoebox, filled with stacks of papers.

At first, she assumed they were probably just old receipts, but that was not the case.

Inside she found many things. Photos, notes, letters, and little trinkets all stacked carefully in the box like her previous self took extra special care of them. For this reason, she took the box to the table to sit down and go through everything one by one. Anything was worth a try, and maybe this would propel her recovery in motion..

First she examined the letters. They were very short, but full of information about her past self, and she found herself more intrigued and surprised with every word. Each one was from Kakashi, she noted that immediately. Out of all people, she could not imagine that man sitting and writing out anything nice or thoughtful to her.

But she was wrong.

They stated things about how he was on missions and wouldn't be back for a month or so at a time. He often stated how badly he wished to come back home and visit her bookstore again. How he was sorry for being gone so long that he couldn’t help around the store.

The first few, dated as far back as 7 years, were very friendly, nothing out of the ordinary for a correspondence between friends. It still seemed sketchy to her that Kakashi took time out of his day to send her letters, but not unbelievable. It wasn’t until they progressed right in front of her eyes that she was taking in every word with awe.

They detailed how much he missed seeing her face, which he often described as beautiful and precious. She was his motivator that kept him going each morning and through the long nights, he said. The man proclaimed his love over and over in the letters starting four years ago until the very last which was from a few months ago. He was never very descriptive or detailed, but he got across what needed to be said and what was on his mind very effectively.

She had no idea Kakashi felt that way about her. He really didn't act like they had any relationship at all. He actually spent most days avoiding her at all costs. Of course, she would see him walking down the street, and wave through the glass panels of her bookstore, not that he ever cared. He would usually take one look over at her, and then walk faster in the opposite direction.

To say her first impression of him was a bit off putting was an understatement. Where other people like Yamato treated her with kindness and humility, he seemed to think he was too good to try and reconnect. Although, he was certainly a handsome man and very courageous. She could vaguely see why her old self was at least physically attracted to him. Even if he wasn’t acting the nicest now, the letters led her to believe he was possibly a hopeless romantic.

She scanned through the other things in the box. The photos were ones of her with all her friends, but the majority were just Kakashi. The first few photos, the oldest, with the most damage around the frayed edges, were of them when they were much younger. He didn't have on the jounin vest he wore, and she had such a baby face to match a toothy grin. Maybe they were teenagers, 20 somethings? She couldn’t tell for sure.

The photos were just of them together. Sitting by certain sights or buildings, hugging, eating, on every kind of date you could imagine. It looked like she documented each one. Time stamps on the backs in whatever pen color she had at the time, scribbled details here and there.

It made sense now, why she had a pile of disposable cameras in her room. Dozens of photos of Kakashi, decades of memories all piled up in this box between the pair. It felt surreal, seeing herself in places she couldn’t recognize, in the arms of a man she barely knew.

She must have really loved him before. Their relationship was one of quite a few years from the looks of the things in this box, and obviously she cherished even the little moments. She felt guilt pang in her chest, and her stomach to turn over painfully. How he must have felt when she told him she didn't remember him. How it must feel walking past her in the street and knowing what they had was gone. She couldn't imagine the pain he had to be going through.

And he said that the entire thing was his fault. That day he walked into her hospital room, he apologized for what he did to her, saying that his family was the cause for this, and that he should have come to the store earlier to make sure something like that never happened. He wasn’t a superhero, despite what everyone thought of him. He was merely a man, a shinobi with a love for porn novels and dogs and one girl he desperately wanted to protect. Now that was gone.

Needless to say, she felt awful. It wasn’t her fault for not remembering him, but it sure felt that way.

She set everything back into the box and put it in its place under the counter before flipping the open sign to closed and heading out into the street. She knew where he lived, only because of the return addresses on the envelopes of the letters. She was still quite familiar with Konoha and it's workings, some of the street names hazy but there. She was now determined to make it to his apartment, even if she had to ask everyone in town to help navigate.

If he was on a mission, so be it, but if he was home, she wanted to see the man.

Thankfully, she realized that he lived only a few streets away from her when a street vendor pointed her in the right direction, but damn, he lived on the fourth floor and she inwardly cursed him. Her legs were still a bit shaky from the incident, and she hadn't healed completely. Stairs were a pain for her. This entire man seemed like a real pain, honestly.

She finally made it to the fourth floor after hobbling up like an old man, and knocked on the second door. She was going to have a conversation with this man, the same man who was keeping their history a secret this entire time without trying to make a connection again.

No one in this town wanted to explain anything to her. Yamato was nice but he always beat around the bush and left when things started getting informative. Sakura just fawned over her broken limbs and injuries. And the man in the green jumpsuit was too loud, she usually had to kick him out once she felt a headache coming on. Other than that, she didn’t have many friends. They’d told her her family died in a “jinchuriki” attack, whatever that meant, so she didn’t have any family to ask either.

As she waited at the door, she felt her stomach churn. Part of her was genuinely curious how her younger self fell for him and what they were like together. Like, what was the appeal? He seemed kinda strange and distant, and she couldn’t help but want cuddles and love constantly. It seemed like an odd match, and Y/N couldn’t help but question it.

Opposites attract, I guess.

After a couple seconds, the door opened a crack, and a half dressed man answered the door. She found her face heating up a bit. He wasn’t even exposed in any way, he just wasn’t wearing his headband, nor did he have his jacket on, revealing toned arms and fluffy, messy hair that she had to admit was pretty adorable. Okay, so she could definitely see herself falling for someone so handsome, but regardless, she was on a mission.

He looked startled to see her standing there in all her glory, out of breath and bent over like she’d run the whole way here. She held onto the doorway to balance herself. Perhaps she was just a tiny little bit out of breath from climbing the stairs still. Y/N apologized quickly, “Sorry, give me a second. Going up the stairs is really hard to do and you live on the fourth floor so, yeah.”

“Who told you where I live?” He questioned, scanning the walkway to make sure no one else was around to be listening.

“You did, actually,” she answered after taking a deep breath. “I found an old box of letters from you, and I just went to the return address.”

The letters. How could he forget about them? He had tried to rid her place of all signs of him, taking out pictures of the two of them together save for a few with other people included. He took out every single belonging he had. The only thing he missed was the letters, ones he didn’t even know Y/N had kept in the first place. He cursed himself.

Her reading the letters made him feel violated. Even if the letters were for her, it felt like a stranger had just read some of his deepest and most pathetic thoughts, the ones of love and adoration and depression all piled up in a few letters addressed to a Y/N he used to know. He felt sick thinking about what this woman now knew.

“Okay. Well, listen, you really shouldn’t just come to my apartment like this. I’m not fond of drop in visits.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I want, Kakashi Hatake, or should I say, my lover,” she laughed, resting one of her hands on her hip proudly. He felt himself wince at the sound of those words coming from her lips, seeing her childish grin. It reminded him too much of before, how they used to be, and he couldn’t handle that. Suddenly, he felt that familiar sickness rolling in his stomach. “How come you never said anything about it?”

“Because, I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“Why? Obviously you were a very big part of my life and I, yours,” she asked.

He sighed and leant on the doorframe, his eyes never leaving the village over her shoulder, anything other than meeting her eyes. He really did not want to have this conversation with her. He would have talked her ear off about a month before when she actually had her memories and knew who she was, but today, with the way she was, he might as well be speaking to a stranger.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Of course.”

“It’s because I was going to leave you after the accident either way” he confessed, and she could only nod. It wasn’t like she was gonna get offended by his words, she didn’t even know him. He continued, “It makes me sick knowing that all this was my fault in the first place.”

She tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“The reason that man and his lackeys kidnapped you is because of my father’s mistakes,” he sighed, “That bastard wanted to get revenge by hurting you, since you and I were close.”

She nodded, tapping the floor with her foot as she absorbed everything he’d said. That is what he alluded to before when they met in the hospital. She replied calmly, her tone so understanding it made him feel nauseous.“I see. Well, I wouldn’t exactly call that your fault. You definitely didn’t directly cause anything to happen, if anything it was your father. I’m not offended at all.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think. It doesn’t make this anyone's fault but mine.”

“Really, it’s not your fault. You could have never predicted this,” she tried to say, but he just went on, words flowing out faster than she could argue against them.

“It doesn’t matter. I knew that it was wrong to let you into my life. You would have lived just as happily if I’d have ignored you and let you meet some son of a baker, get married after a year, have a bunch of kids, shit, I don’t know,” he cursed. She could tell he was breaking down feelings he had been harboring for a while, and she pushed past him into his apartment, walking right under the arm he was resting on. This wasn’t something to talk about in public, out in the open. “I knew that if you were with me that you would never live a normal life, and I still let you fall in love with me, all because I was too selfish to put my own feelings aside.”

“Love shouldn’t be suppressed like that. You did what was natural.”

“Yeah, and look where that got us. Look where that got you, Y/N.” He waved to her bandaged legs. “You’re never going to remember me again, so it doesn’t matter if I rekindle our relationship, does it?”

She took a seat on the edge of his bed to rest her tired legs. He seemed so angry with himself, so much self hate radiating from his person. He was hurting so badly, and she just wished he would let her comfort him.

For a moment, she wondered if he would let her hold him like before, so he could pretend that things hadn’t gone wrong, even for a short time. Put his mind at ease if only for a short while. Y/N refrained from saying anything, though. Physical touch was probably one of the worst things for him right now, especially from her.

Instead, she meditated on what he said. She sat there fiddling with her fingers, trying to figure out what to say to him, anything that would make the situation easier for him. All she ever wanted was to make life easier for others, and if her way of doing so was being kind and thoughtful toward these worn shinobi, then that is what she would do.

She leaned back on her hands and let out a soft sigh, words surfacing in her brain that might just do the trick. “Kakashi, do you want to hear something that might bring you hope?”

“Whatever,” he brushed off, not thinking anything she could say would make the situation better. He’d tried for a month to make things better and nothing was working.

“I’ve been having dreams. Dreams of the past, dreams of memories that I have forgotten. When I look through photos, new images appear of people that I used to know,” she told him softly. “Tsunade says that means I’ll regain my memories with time, it’s just taking a bit longer than we had hoped. She thinks I can get everything back. The girl that you used to know.”

He stood there for a moment, just processing what she said. He could feel his heart beat a little faster in his chest, and he lifted his eyes slowly to meet her own. She always had such soft, gentle eyes, even now. “Do you have any dreams of me?” He was hesitant to ask, but she gladly nodded. “What do you remember?”

“Well, it’s mostly just snapshots here and there of you and everyone else. Short little tibbits of what life used to be like. I know Yamato has wood nature jutsu because in one of my dreams he had summoned this ginormous tree. I know there is a younger guy with the most yellow hair I’ve ever seen. I know that you have a red eye under the headband, but I don’t know what it’s for,” she explained, listing off some examples of things shehad dreamed of.

He hummed. “Firstly, you’re right about Yamato. He’s actually the only one alive who can use that jutsu.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Is that why he’s head of the...uh, that group? The ones with the animal masks?” she asked, feeling foolish at her lack of knowledge.

He let out the tiniest of chuckles, just a hint of one. “It’s actually ANBU, but good on you for knowing about them. And it’s not just because of his wood jutsu, he is also a very skilled and strong shinobi. He is a good team leader,” he explained. For a moment, he almost found it fun to listen to her struggle to remember things and then help her out. He noticed the way her nose crinkled when she was thinking especially hard about something, and god, it reminded him of before. He felt his heart thawing with each look her way.

Kakashi shut his front door and walked over to the other side of his bed. He took a seat against the wall, kicking out his legs. He was beginning to relax. “And about the yellow haired kid? That’s one of my students, Naruto Uzumaki. He’s a handful, but also a very talented, determined shinobi.”

She mouthed the name to herself a couple times, trying to memorize it. It sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t be too sure. A lot of things sounded like she should remember them, and she couldn’t exactly figure out which were right.

“And your red eye?”

“It’s a long story, and we won’t go into it. Simply put, this eye is called the sharingan. It’s a special dojutsu that only members of the Uchiha clan possess.”

“So you’re part Uchiha?”

“No. That’s the part I’m not gonna get into,” he brushed off her question. That was something that he really did not want to discuss again. He’d already told her the story once, he didn’t need to do it a second time, even if she had amnesia. When he looked over at her, she looked so familiar. Her eyes were filled with happiness, and he noticed that her lips were curled up into a sweet smile. “What are you happy about?”

She shook her head and turned her head to hide the upward curl of her lips. She was just so glad, her whole body felt warmer because of it. “Because you are being nice to me and explaining things. No one really explains things to me, they just skip around stuff usually,” she confessed as she tapped her heels together.

He could only shake his head at that. “You deserve to know at least the basic stuff, just until you get your memory back.”

“Hmm? You’ll explain any of my memories? Like any of them?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Oh, yeah, well explain this dream I had.”

“Shoot.”

Her smile took a mischievous turn, and he definitely noticed the change. He could only imagine what she was about to ask. “I’ll give you a hint...I know what you look like completely naked,” she giggled, falling back on the bed and covering her face with her hands.

“And you call me the pervert…” he sighed, crossing his arms behind his neck. Her laugh, it was like music to his ears. No matter what she could say, he was just relieved to feel her beside him, gleaming with a happiness he missed for nearly a month now.

“I really had a sex dream about you the other night, but you can imagine my confusion. I was like, what the hell, I don’t even know the guy,” Y/N laughed, “It all makes sense now.”

He rolled his eyes at her sense of humor. Things felt so normal, like before. He felt his chest grow warm at the feeling. Kakashi’s lips cracked into a grin under his mask, not that it mattered to wear the mask. She already saw his face in a dream, it seemed kinda pointless if they were alone.

Maybe he would let things go back to normal. Maybe he would talk to her more, and let her visit when he was home. Maybe he could go to her store when she waved to him instead of running away like a coward. Maybe he could let himself be happy, despite his faults, despite what happened to her. The wounds could be mended, he decided.

He just couldn’t help but be selfish and let her back in.

#kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi imagine #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #naruto x reader #naruto imagine #naruto one shot #i really love reader in this #i would marry her if i could #steal her from kakashi lol

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dilly-oh · 4 years ago

Text

Trashy Romance Novel

“Naruto, you frigging idiot,” Iruka began hotly, barging into the hospital room, “of all the stupid, brainless things you could have done, this is by far the-”

He stopped.

The person lying in the small bed was definitely not Naruto. It was a grown-ass man with messy gray hair and a faded scar over one eye, the sterile white sheets pulled up over his nose, apparently sound asleep. Iruka stared at him for a long moment, dumbfounded, before it clicked.

Oh shit, he thought. This is the wrong room. I'm in the wrong room. I need to hurry up and leave before-

The stranger's eyes cracked open and he squinted up at Iruka in confusion.

“...Who're you?” he croaked out. Iruka managed a rather articulate gurgle of dismay, frozen in sheer mortification. He considered the distance between him and the IV drip, wondering if he could dose the man back to unconsciousness before he could scream or buzz for a nurse. “Are those for me?” the man asked, sitting up in bed to regard the bouquet of flowers in Iruka's arms. He opened his mouth to disagree, but then the sheet slipped off the man's face, and Iruka suddenly thought giving him the flowers might not be such a bad idea. He definitely deserved a thank you after gifting him with...that. He didn't even protest as the alarmingly handsome stranger reached out and took the bundle of flowers, opening the card on top.

“You're a dumbass. Love, Iruka.” he read aloud, then looked up at Iruka, batting his eyes. “Aww, babe, you shouldn't have.”

“Whoa whoa WHOA!” Iruka finally blurted out, his face burning half from embarrassment at the situation, half from the thinly-veiled flirting. “I'm sorry, sir, there's been a mistake. I'm in the wrong room and-”

“You mean you aren't my doting husband I tragically forgot about due to amnesia and now you have to win back my love by passionately recreating the story of our romantic union?”

“Excuse me, WHAT-”

“Sorry, I've been reading trashy romance novels. They're the only books this hospital has. Can't blame me for trying.” The man shrugged, then reluctantly handed back the bouquet. “Who's the lucky person they're actually for? Must be someone real special if you're calling them a dumbass to their face.”

“My kid brother,” Iruka explained with a sigh. “He's here with a head injury.”

“Ouch.” The man winced in sympathy. “Poor kid.”

“Not really. He head-butted a brick wall.”

“...May I ask why?”

“Because his stupid boyfriend walked into it and he had to, and I quote, 'defend his honor'.” Iruka paused, looking the man up and down. Despite being a bit on the pale side, he looked perfectly fine, pun very much intended. It was almost unfair how well he pulled off the hospital gown (although Iruka would much rather be the one pulling it off, wink wink, nudge nudge). “So...what're you in for?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Was...was it the crappy romance novels? Did they rot your brain?”

“I have an extremely rare, aggressive form of cancer with only two weeks left to live and the only cure is a kiss from my one true love...” The man swooned back onto the pillow and looked expectantly up at Iruka, who rolled his eyes.

“Yeah they definitely did-”

“Alright you got me. Broke my leg.” He pulled the sheet off his lower half, revealing his legs, one of which was wrapped in a cast, propped up on some pillows. Several encouraging words from friends were scrawled on the white surface in marker, one of them a jarring green highlighter. It almost hurt Iruka's eyes to look at it.

“...How did you break it?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

“I heroically threw myself in front of a speeding car in order to save the life of my beloved-”

“Okay how did you really break it?”

“Tripped chasing after my pug at the park,” the man admitted with a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“...Is the dog okay?” Iruka asked after a long pause.

The stranger burst out laughing. It was a nice laugh, warm and contagious enough to elicit a chuckle out of Iruka, who was growing more and more intrigued. He couldn't deny the spark of attraction he felt for the other man, spontaneous as it was, and it seemed to be reciprocated. He didn't even know his name, but something about the man made Iruka want to know more about him. Maybe this was like some trashy romance novel, where the two would-be lovers met under unusual circumstances and fell instantly in-

“Hey, Kakashi,” a man with short brown hair said, suddenly walking into the room, “I brought the next three volumes of your shitty porn series from the hospital library and a couple pairs of clean underwear, so you can stop fucking texting me the specific style and brand you want from home, you're so damn picky-” He stopped dead as he caught sight of Iruka, pausing for a beat, then glanced at the man in the bed, his eyes darting nervously between the two. “Umm...am I...interrupting something?”

A cold pit of ice yawned open in Iruka's stomach.

Oh my GOD. Here he was, borderline flirting with some stranger in a random hospital room, when obviously the man already had a boyfriend and Iruka was just making a complete ass of himself. The flirting had probably been misinterpretation on his part anyway, and if not, the guy was a total dick. Either way, enough was enough. His face aflame with rage and shame, Iruka spun towards the door.

“I need to go.”

“Hey, wait!” Kakashi or whatever his name was called after him.

Iruka was already out the door, ignoring the man's cries. Screw him, and screw Naruto, too. He was the cause of this whole mess. Iruka would just text him later. He was probably making out with Sasuke anyway and wouldn't even notice his brother hadn't popped in to visit. Iruka needed out of this hospital NOW. He turned towards the stairs, immediately got lost, and spent the next five minutes growing increasingly flustered as he stormed through the winding hallways, desperately searching for the exit. Why the fuck was the hospital so damn BIG-

“Hey! Iruka! Hold up!”

Iruka spun around to see Kakashi speeding towards him in a wheelchair, his boyfriend dutifully pushing him down the hallway at a dead run, IV dangling after him on its cord like a faithful dog. The wheelchair stopped with an audible squeal in front of him.

“What- where did- did you steal that?!” Iruka hissed in outrage.

“Of course not, don't be silly,” Kakashi protested, sounding offended. “The guy it belongs to was asleep in his bed. I'm just borrowing it. I'll return it later. Anyway, Iruka-”

“Were you flirting with me in there?” Iruka demanded, cutting him off. “Be honest.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Kakashi said without an ounce of remorse. “So can I have your number or what?” Iruka bristled.

“You're a piece of shit! I can't believe you, hitting on me like this right in front of your boyfriend! You have some nerve-”

“Wait...boyfriend?” Kakashi cocked his head in confusion. “You mean Yams?”

“The fuck do YAMS have to do with anything-”

“Hi, that's me,” the short-haired man said, raising a hand. “Yamato, actually. 'Yams' to my friends. Which is what we are. Just...friends.” Iruka scowled at him suspiciously.

“Friends? Don't fuck with me. You brought him underwear-”

“Really close friends,” Yamato reiterated. “Also, roommates. It's awful. I can't get away from him.” Iruka studied him for a moment, but couldn't spot any hint of deception. The man's almond-shaped eyes were surprisingly honest.

“So you two...aren't dating?” he asked hesitantly. Yamato gave him a horrified look.

“Dear God, NO. Kakashi is the WORST. He's lazy as hell, procrastinates til the last minute, is perpetually late to everything-”

“You are a shit wingman-” Kakashi began.

“He needs to know what he's getting into,” Yamato snapped at him, then turned back to Iruka. “Seriously, though. You should run while you still can. There's hope for you.”

“Don't listen to him,” Kakashi cut in. “I'm a fucking catch. Which is exactly why you should let your flaxen hair down, rip your shirt open to reveal your heaving bosom, and throw yourself into my arms-”

“Will you cut that out?!” Iruka burst out impatiently. “Life is not a trashy romance novel.”

“You sure about that?” Kakashi said, quirking an eyebrow. “Because I met you in a hospital through total coincidence. After really hitting it off, we had a misunderstanding brought on by miscommunication. Then I chased after you in a fucking wheelchair to declare my undying attraction to you. If that isn't a plot to a trashy romance novel, I don't know what the fuck is. At least it's not raining right now.”

“I dunno, it might be drizzling,” Yamato said, glancing at a window.

Iruka paused, considering.

“I guess it...would make a pretty good book,” he admitted quietly. “The only thing is...I'm not sure what happens next.”

“That part's for us to write,” Kakashi said, his tone eager. “Only we can complete the story.”

“Aaaaand I'm going to puke,” Yamato stated.

“Sorry, we crossed the line from 'trashy' into 'sappy'.” Kakashi shook his head. “Anyway. Iruka. Please, I'm begging you. Let me sweep you off your feet. Just...give me a chance.”

“I'll do you one better,” Iruka said after a pause. “I'll give you my number.” Stealing a marker from the nearby nurse's station, he bent and wrote his cell number on Kakashi's cast, then straightened and held out the bouquet. “Here, you can have these. The message works for you too, I guess.”

Kakashi accepted the flowers with a laugh, taking an appreciative sniff.

“And now, I shall ride dramatically off into the sunset,” he said with complete seriousness. “Come, my valiant steed. Awaaaay!”

“I will push you down the stairs,” Yamato grumbled as he spun the wheelchair around and started back down the hallway. Iruka watched them go with a fond smile on his face, giddy with anticipation.

He was eager to read the next few chapters in his life.

Including the steamy bits.

(Written for @kakairu-fest KakaIru Month 2021, Day Twelve Prompt: Hospitals)

#kakairu #KakaIru Month 2021 #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #naruto #hospital au #crappy romance novels #all the cliches

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darklingichor · 3 years ago

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Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir **MAJOR SPOILERS**

So, this is a first, I've never written a revisit this fast.

I do often read or listen to an especially good book, again, right after I finish it. Usually because I can't get into another book until I do.

I did it with Lamb, and I did it with the Martian.

This one is going to be chock full of spoilers, I really want to analyze the main characters in this book, and I can't do that without going into details. This is why I marked the hell out of this.

Project Hail Mary is even better the second time around. This is often the case. Books are like soup. The leftovers from the fridge are often even better than when you had it the first time.

*SPOILERS* *SERIOUSLY SPOILERS TURN BACK NOW IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THIS BOOK* *SPOILERS* *THE REST OF THIS RAMBLE WILL RUIN THE BOOK* *SPOILERS*

Okay, so run down.

The book opens with our main character waking up to an annoying computer asking him basic math questions. This is detecting cognitive function, that's my guess anyway.

Our character quickly discovers a few things. First, he's in a room with robot arms tending to him, including unhooking him from various life support systems as it figures out that he is awake and functioning. He's not alone in the room, there are two others, but they are long dead. And he has no idea, who he is, where he is, or why he's there.

What follows for a little while is what I would call a psychological screwball comedy. It takes him several days to work out that his name is Ryland Grace and he is a microbiologist PhD who had a falling out with the academic community and found his calling as a Jr. High science teacher. Though exploration, experiments, and memory flashes, he works out that he is on a spaceship, the corpses were his crewmates, and he is on a mission to Tau Ceti to save earth from an alien algae like creature, called Astropgage, that is dimming the sun and setting earth on the course to an ice age that will begin to wipe out humanity in 30 years. Tau Ceti, which is 12 light years away from earth, is resistant to this energy sucking algae.

We get all the backstory of how he became a crew member aboard the ship Hail Mary, in flashbacks as his memories return. A big memory that returns? Project Hail Mary is a suicide mission, he will not be going home.

In the meantime, he is slowly trying to figure out how to save earth, while he does this, he sees a very weird spaceship and meets an intelligent alien being. This being (Grace calls him Rocky) comes from a world (Earid) that is in the same situation as Earth. Together, Grace and Rocky have to work out how to save both of their home worlds.

Ryland Grace is a complex character, he’s very very different from Mark Watney (I haven't read Artimis so I can't make comparisons to those characters).

The Martian points out that Astronauts are inherently noble, willing to risk their lives for science and a good cause.

Grace is not an astronaut. That's not to say that he isn't a good person, just that he is an average person. He can be all at once self-sacrificing and selfish.

Early on he is drafted into the research team on what would be called Astropgage as a science expert by Eva Strat, a woman in charge of figuring out what is going on and how to stop it.

Once he was released from his part in this research, he goes back to teaching, only to be struck by the fact that his students would be in their early forties when all hell breaks loose, and that they might die. He then goes back to Strat and demands to be part of the research again.

This back and forth happens a few times in the story. In fact, it becomes a big part of it. See, the crew of the Hail Mary were put into comas to ensure that they would not go nuts and kill each other on the 12 light-year (four years from their perspective) journey, a medical company discovered that 1 in 7000 people have the genes to survive long comas and still function when they wake up. Grace is one of those people, but he is not volunteering for this mission. It's not that he doesn't care, or even that he doesn't want to help, it's that he's scared. And who wouldn't be? But honestly? I think Grace has imposture syndrome and is generally very sensitive. He realized that his kids would suffer, after starting to teach a class, that speed him to become a part of Strat's team again. Events happen that lead him to being the only logical candidate for the science expert aboard the Hail Mary. He refused, Strat basically kidnaps him, sets the computer induce amnesia in only Grace and plunks him on board.

Before she does this, she harshly calls Grace out.

“Do you think I don’t know you, Dr. Grace?!” she yelled. “You’re a coward and you always have been. You abandoned a promising scientific career because people didn’t like a paper you wrote. You retreated to the safety of children who worship you for being the cool teacher. You don’t have a romantic partner in your life because that would mean you might suffer heartbreak. You avoid risk like the plague.” (pg. 392 Kindle Edition)

This all seems to be true, but we don't know Grace's full story. Other than a mention of one girlfriend in college, and brief mentions of friends, There is nothing in the book about his life before he started teaching. This could be because the amnesia has left those things fuzzy, but in my head, it's because he doesn't want to think about it. Maybe he had a bad family life, maybe he had *no* family life, maybe he had an early tragedy. Maybe he realized his short comings and that, no matter his talent, he just didn't have the temperament for acidemia.

He does like being the cool teacher, he does say he likes being looked up to, but this isn't necessarily a bad thing. He's a *good* teacher.

I had cool teachers before I switched to home school. They weren't all good. I had one that would literally just let us mess around during class because they didn't want to actually grade papers. Cool to a kid? Absolutely! Good for education? Not on your life.

Grace isn't like that, he loves science, he loves teaching, and the kids are learning.

He doesn't like animal testing, he's emotional at the fragility of humanity. In short, in his quiet way he loves life.

He leaves his comfort zone to be a part of Strat's team because he knows he's good at what he does and he couldn't look at his students and knowing they could die when he could help prevent it. That doesn't mean he thinks he will be Earth's savior, just that he can help.

He's unwilling to die.

Usually in books and movies, this translates to coward, but really? It's not. Most people wouldn't volunteer for a suicide mission, especially one this pressure filled. "So, we need you to go into a coma, go to a different solar system, save your whole species, and then kill yourselves so you won't starve to death. We good? Cool."

You can't fault a living being for wanting to live. Plus, the other crew members had time to think it through, really decide, make peace with the decision and *then* carry through with the training. Grace? He was given the training, but Strat always said it was for the science of the mission. She was a little like Dumbledore, in that she was training him in case he had to go, but never told him it was a possibility. When it became clear that he was the choice for the vacant spot, he was given less than five hours to decide, and then was told he had no choice.

He makes noble choices throughout the book, but that one choice was not his own, because Strat was given absolute power and used it absolutely.

I can't say that Strat is a villain, either. She was elected to save earth and given the power to cut through any red tape. Handed all this authority, she doesn't become corrupt, she uses this power ruthlessly, but always with the only goal being Save Earth, full stop, that's it. And even as Grace, understandably terrified, yells at her she tells him that she likes him, that she knows that he is a good man, that he will give this his all. She doesn't *want* to send this unwilling and scared man on a suicide mission. She *has* to. Strat is also complex, she is not nonsense and is committed to her role in saving humanity. I like the reason she gives as to why, toward the end of the book. She got her undergrad degree in history. She takes to heart the old saying that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

The climate scientists and their models assumed survival based on the idea that all countries will work together for the common goal. However, Strat points out that history shows that that ideal scenario, is not likely to work. She says that most wars, up until very recently, were fought over food, and resulting in famine. As the sun loses energy and crops fail, there will be wars, and they will be over food. And that is what she is desperately trying to avoid – the horror of history brought to the modern day.

I started as a history major, and history is interwoven into anthropology – I understand this perspective.

I am not going to get into politics, but I’ve experienced the agonizing frustration of watching history repeat itself, more than once in the last couple of years. Guessing at how something will probably go due to how something lines up with a similar event in the past and knowing that if someone in power would just listen it might turn out different, or that the eventual problems could at least be prepared for, and watch it happen anyway and everyone act surprised. It’s enough to make you pull your hair out.

Strat has the knowledge and the authority to act on it, I can’t say, that in her position I wouldn’t act the same way.

That is the major difference between Grace and Strat: viewpoint. By necessity of her position and by virtue of her education, she sees the big picture clearly, Grace, however, doesn’t. He’s a microbiologist, his entire career and education is looking closely at the small things and how they would translate to big things. He studies the universe by studying the smallest things in it. It is no surprise that he would need the smaller things to make the bigger things to snap into focus. When he was forced to start research on astrophage, it wasn’t until he was faced with the small scale (his kids could suffer) to make him see his part in the grand scheme of things. Strat is right, he does avoid risk, because he’s avoiding pain, he doesn’t let things in because he feels too much. Yes, the realization about the kids, puts steel in his spine, but not before he narrowly avoids a break down. For Grace, seeing Strat’s point of view, without being able to work it though to his scale, is like yelling at someone standing too close to a mountain for not being able to see the peak. It just can’t be done from where they are.

It makes me wonder, had Strat been up front with Grace, would he have willingly gone? It takes him a while to come around to the idea of helping the project in the first place. If he were told sooner, given some time, had been able to go home, and think, I feel like he would have gone. Something would have set him on the course. Maybe it would have been one of his former students, telling him about their plans for trying out for high school track, or going to college, maybe he would have gone to his usual cafe for breakfast and found out that one of the waitresses had just gotten engaged, maybe he would be told these things and see the fear and desperate need to keep life as normal as possible in the person's eyes, and then he would decide, if, on the off chance no one else could go, he would. Until he remembers his refusal, nearly at the end of the book, he accepts quickly that he volunteered for the mission. Of course, that could have been simply because he couldn't imagine someone forcing someone into something like that, but even as his memories and sense of self come back to him, he doesn't have a sense of terror or blind panic at the fact that he's not going home. I would think that if his unwillingness were something hard wired into his personality, he would know soon after remembering who he is, that he would have never considered being a part of the voyage.

So, I think, had Strat told Grace early on that he had the coma resistant genes and that there was a small possibility that he may have to be the backup for the backup, and then allowed him to come to terms with it, he would have gone without the drama. Don’t get me wrong, there is the possibility that he would have run off and had to have been hunted down, but I think, just like when he went to his class and saw his students, something would have made his conscious kick in, and he would have come back.

That might have been interesting, him running scared for a little while and then coming back? Might have given a little more background into why he is the way he is. But that’s not really what this book is about, I think it’s a forgone about conclusion that Grace would have helped, but what’s really interesting is how Grace and Rocky work together.

Rocky is cool! I love that Weir didn’t go the easy route with the creation of an alien character. Rocky is no Roswell gray with a humanoid form. No no, for our sympathetic alien, we have a spider like creature with liquid mercury for blood who “sees” with echolocation and speaks in musical notes. And it works!!

Rocky is expressive and funny and is great with Grace. It’s hilarious, other than the Russian scientist on Project Hail Mary, he doesn’t get along with anyone as well as he does with Rocky, out of everyone in the book, Grace connects most with a spider shaped rock being, he has to make a computer program to speak with.

Rocky is a tad steadier than Grace, but that makes sense simply because of the two, Rocky knew what he was getting into, and Eridens not only have more time before their star dims to the point of causing a problem, but also, they live a long long time, so, Rocky knows he is going home. But the steadiness is also built into his personality. He and Grace are both analytical problem solvers, but seeing that Rocky is an engineer, his focus is to fix things. A problem arises, and his first reaction is “I will fix that.” He won’t be dissuaded until he has all avenues exhausted.

Grace has a habit, early on, of moping for a little while before rallying and getting to work. His interaction with Rocky brings that pouting time down a bit, and he even pulls Rocky out of a slump a time or two.

The relationship between these two is interesting because Grace says flat out that he is not a social person, he feels awkward in groups with people. But he easily communicates with his students, and he easily communicates with Rocky. Rocky is not childlike, but he does have something in common with the students, Grace, like any teacher, teaches his students, and learns from them. Grace teaches Rocky and learns from him. Grace is comfortable with this sort of interaction; with his students this is where the relationship stops. With Rocky, it doesn’t have that boundary. By virtue of the fact that both are alone in space and crave interaction, they talk a lot. Also, activities that Grace is use to doing alone, Rocky’s culture requires to be done in pairs. The biggest: Sleeping.

Eridens do not sleep without another person watching them. So, he insists that he watch Grace sleep and that Grace watches him. It is not expressly said what other things Eridens don’t do alone, but it is implied (at least to me) that they work better in pairs or in groups. This is true of humans as well, but Grace in particular is a loner, even as he complains that science doesn’t happen with one scientist doing the work (and he’s right) but he does work alone even when the astrophage project opened up to more people, the feeling I get is that he still does most of his work alone unless asked to teach others, or forced to come along by Strat.

Grace quickly becomes acclimated to Rocky’s way of doing things, in an odd way, Grace is more comfortable being Eriden, than he is being human. And I really think that this is the crux of their relationship.

I read somewhere recently that family isn’t necessarily blood, but who you would bleed for.

I feel that Rocky and Grace would sacrifice themselves for their respective home worlds, but they will bleed for each other. Grace must go to a different star system to find family, which is actually really cool to me, because the story manages to have Grace have a story of growth and even a quiet redemption arc all with the background noise of a potential double Armageddon, and we manage not to lose sight of any of these elements. Add to this that the book will make you laugh, cry and think all at once. I love the Martian, but I honestly think this one is better!

#project hail mary #andy weir #book #books #revisit 21 #spoilers #major spoilers #book blogging 2021

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bollitosensible · 3 years ago

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Epilogue of Harrow The Ninth [theories]

Okay, I've just finished HtN and have come up with some ideas I'd like to share.

(I don't want to make any spoilers, so please keep reading if you are interested. I would like to know your opinions! 🥺)

Palamades, Camilla and the ending of HtN:

I think it's pretty clear that, by the end of HtN, Palamedes and Camilla have work out their own way of inhabiting the same body. I wouldn't call that lyctorhood, not without knowing the details, given that Camilla is a cavalier, not a necromancer. But we see Palamedes' eyes in Camilla and, taking into account what we know about it, I think we can be sure about Palamedes' soul being on Camilla's body.

"But, hey, are you sure those are Palamedes' eyes?" Let's look at the descriptions displayed on the books.

This is how Gideon describes Palamedes eyes the first time she sees him:

«Up close, he was gaunt and ordinary looking, except for the eyes. His spectacles were set with lenses of spaceflight-grade thickness, and through these his eyes were a perfectly lambent grey: unflecked, unmurked, even and clear. He had the eyes of a very beautiful person, trapped in resting bitch face» (GtN page 130)

And this is how, our unknown person, describes Camilla's eyes at the very end of the epilogue in HtN:

«...and she loved without reserve the eyes — those great lambent eyes, the iris so skilfully and gently blent it seemed there was no tint or shade in that clear and beautiful grey.» (HtN page 507)

I marked in the same way (bold, italics and red) the points in which the descriptions coincide. Camilla's eyes, in contrast, are described like this by Gideon:

«...Camilla's eyes were much darker than her necromancer's: his were clear stone or water, and hers were the unreflective, fathomless colour of overturned Ninth House sod, neither grey nor brown.» (GtN page 131)

In short, I think there are no doubts that this mysterious person is watching the eyes of Palamedes in Camilla, and therefore, is living within her, whatever this means.

The identity of THAT person

Having this clear, I would like to provide some insights on who this person might be. The hints are quite vague, but I think we can assume we are talking about Gideon's body, as the cohort was unable to locate her, and Mercymorn saw her body:

«...When they show me your corpse I didn't think to check the eyes. Stupid, Mercy» (HtN page 409)

This post may also help to reconstruct what happens immediately after GtN. Knowing this, I'm holding the hypothesis that BoE took Gideon's body along with Camilla, Judith and Coronabeth, and that Mercymorn was, at least, supervising part of this operation -which concurs with the fact that she was collaborating with them.

Another thing that points at Gideon is the next scene:

«She and the person who looked after her had used to go to a different haunt, where the food was cheaper and the sausages more juicy —but there the man who fried the food had once said warningly, "It's hot," only to find that she had already stuffed her mouth full of lacy fried things anyway. The man had said, laughing, "Her lips should be burnt off, eh?" But her lips had not been burnt off. It had barely hurt."» (HtN page 506)

As it has been shown multiple times in GtN, not only does Gideon have some incredible high pain threshold; she also guzzles down very hot tea without thinking and stuffs down easily any other hot meal she's given — she even states she has never taken a hot meal before.

With this evidence, I'm quite confident about this body belonging to Gideon. But...whose soul is it?

I've read on some reddit post (can't find it, sorry) that it might be a mixture of Dulcinea's and Harrow's souls, based upon the fact that «she loved without reserve the eyes», and who, if not Dulcinea, would love Palamedes's eyes, even unconsciously. HOWEVER, it's quite impossible, isn't it? We're told, both by Cytherea and Dulcie herself, that they HAVE NEVER MET in person. They just knew each other by letter, so there is no way Dulcinea would recognise the Warden's eyes.

I think this affection might have develop during the time gap. After all, Camilla is the person who looks after her, and presumably, she has been doing this for, at least, six months.

Could it be Gideon? I'm pretty sure Gideon would still be on Harrow's body for the next book. We know she dies, but she also sees the Body (and Alecto, at least that's my take on it) commanding CPR on her.

What about Harrow? Here is where it starts getting a bit...messy. I'm unsure about the location of Harrow at the end of HtN. I'm guessing she's either in a new bubble in the River or she has reached the place Gideon's soul was occupying while Harrow erased her from her memories (would that mean, she as somehow, returned partially to her body?). I'm not into the idea that she has appeared in Gideon's body and now has amnesia. At least, I'm hoping that this isn't it — please, enough of erasing memories.

My fave hypothesis here is that we have been presented Nona The Ninth, whoever she is, and we would —hopefully— get some answers in the next book.

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #tlt spoilers #htn spoilers #gtn spoilers #gideon nav #palamedes sextus #camilla hect #dulcinea septimus #nona the ninth

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dameronology · 4 years ago

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tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 4

summary: it’s the morning after the night before. time for a very awkward conversation.

warnings: warnings, very very brief alluding to smut but rly only if u squint

song for this chapter is best friend by rex orange county! also the series masterlist can be found through the link to my main masterlist in my bio :) enjoy!

- jazz

You were’t sure what you needed more the next day: painkillers, to help your hangover or another round of drinks, to help you forget what you’d done night before.

Or should I say - who you had done the night before.

You didn’t sleep with your co-workers, much less your boss. God, it was almost as bad as if you’d slept with Merl - no, you couldn’t even let your brain go there. You’d already thrown up twice that morning (once into Jack’s toilet and then once into the subway tracks) and you didn’t need to make yourself do it again. Your stomach was churning and it felt as though the Blue Man Group were rehearsing their drum set in your frontal lobe. You’d tried to nurse it with a large block coffee and a half a packet of painkillers but alas, to no success.

Somehow, though, your physical pains were the least of your worries. The fact you’d snuck out of Jack’s apartment and left without a word was playing over and over again in your head - so much so, that you almost didn’t come into work. Almost. Not even this situation was enough to make you take a day off.

‘Is there a reason you’ve been stood outside the office for fifteen minutes, agent?’ You jumped at the sound of Champ’s voice. He glanced between the Starbucks coffee in his hand and the bruise around your left eye (fuck, you’d forgotten about that), quirking an eyebrow. ‘Rough night?’

‘No.’ You quickly answered. ‘Sir.’

‘So you what...walked into a door?’

Got drunk, tried to square up to a guy, got punched and then fucked my boss - thanks for asking.

‘Yeah.’ You nodded. ‘I’m not normally clumsy but I forget that doors in America...go the other way? You know, drive on the other side of the road, use a different weight system, doors that go-’

‘- you can stop now, Percival.’ Champ cut you off. ‘Make sure you look after yourself.’

‘Right.’ You nodded. ‘Thank you.’

With the agent staring you at expectantly, you had no choice but to go into the office. You forced a smile, using your weight to budge open the door and step inside.

The sound of your heels against the floor announced your entrance; the faint smell of Jack’s aftershave wasn’t normally that noticeable, but that morning, it wasn’t doing you any favours. You stood in the door way for a moment, letting it shut behind you as your eyes landed on the cowboy.

He didn’t even look at you. Why wasn’t he looking at you? Fuck, had you upset him-

‘Nice of you to make an appearance, Percy.’ He suddenly spoke, flashing you a smile as he tore his eyes away from his computer screen. ‘How’s the shiner? Your buddy sure did pack a punch, huh?’

‘Uh, yeah.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘It’s fine, a little sore.’

‘You should pop down the lab on your break. Ginger will sort it out in no time.’ He leant back in his chair.

‘Are we just not gonna talk about the fact we slept together last night?’

Jack suddenly jumped in surprise, eyes widening. Right, clearly not.

‘I was trying to find a way to bring up such a sensitive subject.’ He replied. ‘But I guess I don’t gotta worry.’

You sighed as you walked over to your desk, placing your bag down and taking a seat. Fuck, your head was killing. You rubbed your eyes and cleared your throat, forcing yourself to continue the difficult conversation you’d just unwittingly started. You got the vibe that people in the South probably didn’t talk about sex so crudely. Twenty-something years of hanging around Eggsy Unwin had de-sensitised you to the idea of it being a taboo subject.

‘I’m sorry I left this morning without saying anything.’ You sheepishly murmured. ‘When I do stuff like that, it’s usually with random guys I found in a bar.’

The biggest question that kept playing over and over in your head was why?

Why Jack? You’d rebuffed Tequila’s advances before he could even finish the damn sentence and yet you’d slipped into bed with Jack with ease. It was probably to do with the fact he’d been such a good kisser, and the rest did not disappoint. It had been good. Really good. Possibly the best you’d ever had, actually. He’d said at the beginning of the night that he was going to help you kick back and chill out and...yeah, he’d done a pretty good job.

‘It doesn’t affect me, sugar.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I don’t see why it has to change anything between us.’

Of course. Had you forgotten who you were talking to? This was Whiskey, the biggest flirt at the fucking agency. He’d probably had a different girl the night before you, and he was probably going to have somebody else tonight. He hadn’t said or done anything that could have lead you to believe it meant something more. Sure, you’d become friends and saw each other day and yeah, he drove you home sometimes because he didn’t want you to walk home in the dark and he had invited you out to help you de-stress when you needed it most.

Did you like Jack? Did you want it to be something more? Did the last few weeks all....add up to something? Then again, maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he was just looking out for you, because you were a young woman, alone in the city. Perhaps last night had just been...a fluke. A glitch in the system. A wobble in what was otherwise a completely professional relationship.

‘No, you’re right.’ You nodded, scratching the back of your neck. It really felt like you should have said something more, because it felt like something more. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

He quirked a brow at you. ‘So we’re good?’

You forced a smile. ‘Better than ever, Whiskey.’

You’d had one night stands before. They were standard, really - but it was rare you found yourself thinking about them the next day. Something between you just worked. You couldn’t put your finger on it, in the same way you couldn’t spell out the sudden urge to kiss him last night, but some things just couldn’t be explained. Your attraction to him certainly couldn’t be - he was older, used the worst nicknames and spoke to you entirely in Southern metaphors. But, as aforementioned, he’d also looked after you.

Maybe that was what you needed. Maybe it was what you wanted-

- You stopped yourself there. No time to unpack all of that, especially when you were this hungover and spent most of your waking hours spitting fire about how independent you were. You’d had Tequila pinned to the wall less than twelve hours ago for trying to make move on you. It was probably something to save for therapy (which was on your to-do list).

The tension in the room felt a little more reflective of a fight between a couple than it did of two friends who had casually slept together the night before. Normally, the room was just calm, filled with the only sounds of you two occasionally cracking jokes or your fingers desperately tapping away at your respective computers. Now? It was tense. Suffocatingly so, as though it could have swallowed you whole.

‘I’m gonna get more coffee.’ You announced, abruptly. ‘And I guess I’ll pay Ginger a visit to sort out this annoying fucking bruise. You want anything from Starbucks?’

‘Didn’t you just go?’ He observed.

‘Yeah, but I want some fresh air.’

As you passed Jack’s desk on the way out, he reached out and grabbed your hand, quickly tangling your fingers in his. He peered up at you, brow furrowed - you were off. He knew you were off. He’d proven time and time again over the last month that he could read you like a fucking book. You were a clown for thinking that he wouldn’t notice the fact you’d completely retracted into yourself, or that you’d suddenly from from Jack to Whiskey.

‘You’re annoyed at me.’ He observed.

‘I’m not annoyed at you.’ You didn’t try to pull your hand back. ‘I’m annoyed at...myself, I guess.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I let last night happen.’ You explained. ‘I shouldn’t have made a move on you, I shouldn’t have broken every professional boundary between us for one night of meaningless-’

‘- what if it wasn’t meaningless?’

You froze, suddenly snatching your hand back. What were you meant to say to that? You couldn’t work out if you wanted it to mean something. There was so much to untangle but your main concern was sorting out your sore nose and banging head ache.

‘Jack...’ you murmured. ‘I can’t talk about this right now. My head is on fire and my nose is fucking purple.’

He stood up, reaching for his jacket. ‘C’mon then, I’ll take you down the lab.’

‘I can get there myself, really.’

‘D’you know where it is, sugar?’

‘I can work it out.’ You shot back. ‘I’m smart-’

Before you could finish your sentence, he had a hand on the small of your back and was guiding you out the room and down the hall. That was new; he hadn’t really shown you any signs of physical touch - excluding last night, obviously - but the progression felt...natural. Heck, Jack hadn’t even realised he was doing it, and you didn’t feel the urge to complain or push him off.

That was probably saying something.

‘There we go.’ Ginger murmured, slowly dabbing at the bruise with...something. ‘Good as new.’

You felt as good as new. After putting a weird paste on your nose and forcing some fancy, top-of-the-range painkillers down your throat, your hangover was gone and your nose was no longer stinging. You’d been out here thinking that Kingsman had been far ahead with their medical technology, but this place made it look Victorian. You were tempted to ask if they had an amnesia-inducing medication that could make you and Jack forget the events of last night, but then you realised something.

You didn’t want to forget.

‘Thank you, Ginger.’ You smiled. ‘I really appreciate it.’

‘What did you do to end up with a busted nose and black eye, anyways?’ Ginger raised her eyebrows.

‘Our girl tried to deck a man twice her size because she thought he was following a woman into the bathroom.’ Jack replied, gently rubbing your shoulder. That’s fine. That was totally fine. You were fine.

‘I had the right intentions.’ You muttered. ‘Anyways - Calahan isn’t gonna catch himself, so I gotta get back to work. Thank you again, G.’

That was code for Jack and I are about to have a very awkward conversation. To be frank, you would have begrudgingly left at the whole ‘it didn’t mean anything’ point, but he��d been the one to push it, to float out the idea that it could mean something. You’d thought it, but he’d been the one to say it. That was the huge difference between the two of you. You could compartmentalise your feelings when they proved to be an inconvenience. Jack Daniels, however, was...brash. When he felt something, he had to say it. It was a blessing and a curse.

You both walked back to your office in silence, once again with Jack’s hand resting on the small of your back. He knew you didn’t need looking after - hell, you’d proved that ten times over - but it almost like he was keeping an eye on you. He’d seen you square up to two different men in the last twenty four hours. It was for your safety, really.

The minute the door had shut behind you both, that tension immediately returned. This time, however, there was a little hint of excitement. Anticipation, maybe.

‘So...’ you trailed off, leaning against your desk. Awkwardly playing with your hands, you peered over at him. ‘Let’s recap: we slept together, I snuck out, we said it didn’t mean anything and then two seconds later, you retracted that statement.’

‘I didn’t retract it.’ Jack insisted. ‘I was just reading your signals - which are confusing as fuck, by the way, sweetheart - because you were the one who walked out.’

‘My signals?’ You scoffed. ‘You were the one who invited me out the in first place! And the one who drives me home every damn night so I don’t have to walk alone!’

‘You’re the one who’s being as skitterish as a calf at a goddamn smoke out-’

‘- as a what at a what?!’ You spluttered. ‘You’re the one calls me sweetheart all the time!’

‘Yeah, well, you’re the one who kissed me first-’

‘- just shut up a second!’ You held your finger out to him. He silenced immediately. 'I feel like we’re overcomplicating this.’

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘We are?’

‘Whi - Jack.’ You took a deep breath. ‘I am going to ask you this once, and once only. If you say no, I’ll move on and we can act like this never happened. If you say yes...we can discuss it, okay?’

‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘Go for it.’

‘Did last night mean anything to you?’ You asked the question slowly, in the same tone you might ask a child what small object they had in their mouth.

‘Not at first.’ Jack replied. ‘I didn’t go into it with the intention of it meaning something.’

You frowned. ‘Do go on.’

‘I was gonna come in this morning and pretend like it never happened. Then I saw you, with that stupid bruise and stupid smile and I realised that you’re brash and dumb and fucking gorgeous and ...shit, you’re spiteful as hell and I’m a little terrified of you but damn, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fucking obsessed with you.’

‘Well, shit.’ You murmured. It was the answer you’d wanted just...in a lot more words.

For a long time, your head strong nature and inability to tolerate ninety-nine percent of the human race was something people had used a reason not to like you. But Jack? Oh, no. Not him. He saw it as a challenge, maybe. He had an urge to cut through the thorny outside and trying to see what you held on the inside. He’d see little bits of it here and there - your smile when you spoke about Eggsy, or the way you’d gone out your way to try and protect that woman - but he was determined to find more. He wanted to find more. You were an enigma, a vortex of swear words and brash decisions, and hell, you were sucking him right in.

‘You gonna say anything more than shit?’ He urged.

You’d never been all that good with words. Didn’t actions speak louder? That’s what your mum had always said, and it had proven true in your line of work too. Punching the daylights out of someone was always a clearer threat than a concerning phone call. Pulling your weight on every mission was more proof of hard work than gloating to your uppers about your achievements.

And kissing your boss was a much clearer sign of telling him that you liked him too rather than just verbalising it.

Jack almost veered backwards when you lunged at him, just about catching you in his arms. Your lips crashed together - it was a little more desperate than last night, but then again, so was the whole situation. His arms caught you at the waist, holding you against his chest as he kissed you right back.

After a few moments, you pulled back for air. Neither of you said anything, instead choosing to just stare at each other with disbelief.

‘That was very unprofessional of me.’ You admitted. ‘But I do like you Jack and I’m worried it’s going to be a problem-’

‘- since when has mutual attraction ever been a problem?’ Jack practically snorted at the idea. ‘I like you. You like me. I don’t get what’s so complicated about that, sugar.’

‘Because it’s unprofessional! You’re my boss and I’m here to work.’ You suddenly took a step back, complex feelings finally colliding. ‘To prove myself and get a promotion!’

‘And you’re doing that just fine!’ He shot back. ‘Better than fine! You work your ass off ten times harder than any agent I’ve ever met. I don’t know how those uppity goddamn suit-makers haven’t realised what an asset you are.’

‘Are you saying that because you like me or because you mean it?’

‘Ouch.’ He murmured. ‘Even if I couldn’t stand you, I would still recognise the fact you’re one of the best agents I’ve ever seen.’

‘Wouldn’t that be an ideal world.’ You snorted.

‘How about this?’ Jack reached forward, taking your hands in his. ‘It’s clear that whatever happens now, we probably can’t go back to how things were. I can try, but I promise you it won’t happen.’

You nodded in agreement.

‘So, you can back track on everything we’ve just said and let it affect how we work together, or we can just lean into this whole stupid thing.’ He continued. ‘We’ll work together and play together. Two birds one stone, just until you go back to London.’

This was something of a rare opportunity: mutual attraction. Aside from the occasional one night stand in London, you barely had the chance to have fun. After years of hard work, maybe you deserved it. It was just...fooling around. You’d both admitted you liked one another but it was hardly a grand declaration at love. There were some feelings at stake, but not enough for you to be worried.

‘We need ground rules.’ You replied. ‘I like you and you like me but we have to put the brakes on it there. You have to promise not to fall in love with me. Obsession only, okay?’

Jack tilted his head to the side, as if to say fair enough. ‘Sure thing. Anything else?’

‘The minute this starts to interfere with my work, I’m cutting you out.’ Your tone was a little sterner. ‘Heck, the second it happens, this stops. It’s...an addition to my work, not a replacement.’

‘As your superior...’ he said the words teasingly. You hated that you loved it. ‘I will make that doesn’t happpen.’

‘Good.’ You gave him a curt nod. ‘Then it’s settled.’

You stuck your hand out for him to shake. Jack peered down at it, almost waiting for you to retract it and break into a grin. But that didn’t happen. You were completely serious. Could he put it down to British weirdness? Probably.

‘You drive me fucking insane.’ The cowboy grabbed your hand, yanking you towards him and capturing you in another kiss.

tags: @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @imananxiousdriver @phoenixhalliwell @66wookies @paintballkid711 @waatermelon-sugaar @hepburnwritess @haileyybird @xjaywritesx @jabbajambler @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @welcometothepedroverse @wickedmuse (message me if you wanna be added!)

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #agent whiskey x you #kingsman x reader #kingsman imagines

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inspector-montoya-fox · 4 years ago

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so... why did Honor Among Thieves disappoint?

and i’m talking about the episode, not the game. as usual, i’m popping off on something based on my opinion, because i’m aware a lot of you like that episode. but i feel like conclusion levels aren’t SP’s forte ? let’s take a look:

Setting: if you’re gonna base an entire game on breaking into an island fortress, you better let us play in that island fortress. and that’s not the case. the setup was perfect: an evil island citadel, kinda paying homage to Clockwerk’s lair, heavily guarded by mutated animal hybrids, but inside, the entire Cooper legacy. so why did it end up being a pool of acid? and why do most preparatory missions take place around the island instead of on it? circling back to the Clockwerk level similarities, i really like the linear structure for final episodes, i think it ups the ante and the tension. the sense of choice and safety granted by optional mission order or the safehouse is stripped and with each level we get closer to the main baddie. but here, the missions feel detached because of the gang being all over the place. Sly first loses his cane and is unconscious and then the original gang disbands before entering the vault. i didn’t appreciate SP’s choice to sacrifice platforming for other modes of gameplay. i know that when game devs introduce new gameplay, they’re usually really proud of it (Arkham Knight’s over-dependence on the batmobile...) but giving us a single platforming mission in the entire final level was kinda sacrilegious, imo. i’ll touch upon the reason behind this in the next section, but this was supposed to be Sly’s level, maybe even the gang’s. but, until we get to the vault, there’s Carmelita shooting, Penelope RC, Guru brainwashing, Dimitri diving, plane fight, Murray brawling and Bentley grapple cam. i think that simply diluted the importance of this episode, and made it lacklustre. i’d rather play as Sly breaking into the island 100%. if you follow me, you probably know how i feel about TiT, but i want to reference the Feudal Japan map here: it really conveyed the sense of a palace fortress. yeah, it was a village, but throughout its circumference there were imperial structures to remind us that we were actually surrounded by the stronghold. i think it would be much more effective to have Kaine Island be some kind of military base or evil tech lab instead of a vat of acid. the game’s tutorial mission was loads of fun and very intriguing because we got to enter the island and look at its interior. that should have been maintained for the final episode. and even if SP didn’t have this vision for the island, dumping neon green liquid mass everywhere seemed lazy. if they wanted it to be desolate, they should have emulated Clockwer’s volcano exterior which was full of lava but had clear characteristics.

Themes: the reason behind the various modes of gameplay was probably to express the theme of camaraderie and show that even if this is Sly’s legacy, all thieves are honourable. everyone gets to help out in some way, and that help is elevated further when Sly, the gang’s supposedly best asset, is benched. i really admire this, i think it’s a nice concluding message to a game which focuses on teamwork and how everyone is a unique individual, despite belonging on a team. that being said, the gameplay came across as repetitive, like Penelope and the Guru’s sections, or abysmal, like the underwater bossfight. i feel like they could have showed that message in a better way, one which wouldn’t require an entire gameplay section. although it was quite “silly”, having the Panda King transport the RC car and the van was an efficient way to show how he helped out without having us endure more firework gameplay. this way, there’d be more room for, again, platforming, which is much needed in this episode. at least the theme is explored well this way, like no one would doubt that the team cares for each other now. the other major theme is, obviously, legacy. unlike the camaraderie theme, this was explicitly presented. you literally go through your dead ancestors belongings. the mission is pretty cool too, i don’t have many complaints. i like how Sly has to channel each ancestor and their signature move in order to get through the obstacles they’ve set. and when the time came to go through Conner’s section, and Sly asked him what to do because he genuinely didn’t know... i lowkey kinda felt so emotional. the theme shows how Sly has come full circle, despite his minimal character development. we start off the series by collecting Thievius Racconus entries from ancestors he only heard about when he was a child, to coursing through what they left behind for us specifically. it’s really nice, and i think it’s what prevents this episode from being a complete disaster, like it’s the highlight of the whole thing.

Plot: my main beef with this episode was Bentley and Murray not entering the vault, despite SP putting in so much some work to portray them as equals. i’ve said time and time again that i absolutely love the Bentley x Dr Matt conversation because it hinted at an older version of the gang, and that Watchmen dynamic is so powerful, especially when the predecessor reaches out to their successor in a messiah kind of way (long sentence, sorry if i’m not making any sense). point is: why would they have this conversation if Bentley and Murray ultimately ended up staying behind? i get that Bentley inherits the Thievius Raccoonus at the end, but that’s a whole different discussions. like, they should have gone into the vault to show how they are as much a part of the Cooper legacy as Sly. i’m not sure how the gameplay would be, like maybe they’d get separated and meet up at the end, but i seriously wish they had followed Sly. but anyway, they didn’t, and then the amnesia thing happens... the perfect way to describe that is ‘bittersweet’. on the one hand, the entire vault and legacy come crushing down; on the other hand, Sly gets with Carmelita. this is perhaps the most development he gets throughout the course of three games. the Coopers are obviously obsessed with maintaining traditions and the lineage (which is weird when you consider all of them dropped like flies at the sight of Clockwerk, like you’d think after a few generations the fuckers would have some sort of back-up) so it’s interesting to think that Sly is the anomaly. he doesn’t have his own cane, he’s in love with a cop, he never introduced his own move to the book, and he ultimately decided he didn’t want to upkeep the Cooper legacy but reinvent it and start anew. so yeah, like that was a nice touch but everything happens so quickly and it’s a lot to take in

i don’t want to say that Honor Among Thieves is a bad case, but i think it doesn’t live up to the build-up of the entire game. one of the reasons why Sly 2′s ending was better was because the game went out of its way to establish a specific course the events would supposedly follow by telling us ‘here are the villains’ at Rajan’s ball. and then, as a direct result, Arpeggio’s death and ClockLa’s genesis came as such a big surprise. but here, we were promised a vault so difficult to get in that we needed to recruit outcasts from all over the globe, and at the end there wasn’t a twist. that’s just literally what happened. holy hell that was blunt.

#the remnants of The Episode Project are somewhere echoing in the background #spent my entire morning thinking about how Gen 9's starters should be fairy/ dark/ normal to play on morality instead of water/ fire/ grass #and then have three legendaries and make them water/ fire/ grass #or remove starters altogether? not sure about how that would work though #lots of thoughts head empty #and they have lots of time to actually implement change (not that they necessarily will) because of the Gen 4 remakes and Legends: Arceus #Legends: Arceus doesn't look promising i'm sorry babes... with that 1 FPS !? no no absolutely not #i showed my friend the trailer and i noticed that when a ball is thrown at the Shinx the one next to it doesn't even flinch...#unconventional opinion: pokemon should react like animals in the wild? interacting with each other and their surroundings? insane right?#sly cooper #lol i'm such a clown sometimes

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imnotwolverine · 3 years ago

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The Wolves Return - Part 3

< Part 2 | Part 4 >

Summary: Who’s more annoying: the goat or the girl?

Word count: 2.131 (7,5 minutes)

Disclaimer: 16+ - Mentions of injury, Geralt being sour old sock

‘There’s my girl! My sweet little girl!’

Eskel’s voice sounded at the other side of the dormitory, where Geralt lay tucked into one of the beds. With a soft grumble the bed-ridden Witcher cracked open an eye. What had happened? Why was he here? Swiping a tired hand over his face he watched the closed door from which some footsteps were heard. What was Eskel on about?

‘Ha! You are silly, you know that. Much like your father.’ Eskel chimed.

Geralt frowned. Who was he talking to?

‘Do not tell me she’s still here..’ Geralt whispered with a low growl, as he pushed his aching body away from the mattress. He felt like he had been thrown in a mangler and it took all his willpower to not let out a cry.

Back in the day he would have recuperated easily from his wounds. But age at last, though not quite visible, seemed to have caught up with him. And the less visible scars - those deep within, were there to always remind him that his young years were long gone now.

Eskel had gone quiet and a moment later the door opened. With powerful strides he came in, looking dangerous with his facial scars and gigantuous physique. Eskel was however tender as a butterfly, and it showed in the way he kept his favourite goat safely in his arms. Gertie. The black-and-white flecked cause of plenty of mayhem when her adoring human ‘father’ wasn’t around.

‘And she’s right!’ Eskel laughed, kissing Gertie atop her bony head. The goat blankly stared at Geralt.

Geralt silently rolled his eyes. ‘Eskel.’

‘Hi there old man.’ Eskel grinned. His weight made the floorboards of the dormitory crunch. And the light, hmm.. It must not be late in the day. Morning probably.

‘No older than I am.’ Geralt complained as he pushed his legs over the edge of the mattress. His legs were bandaged. Properly this time. Another good note was the lack of buzzing of his head. He did not know what kind of potion the woman had given him, but it had been a bad one. Even now he could feel a faint tingle in the far ends of his fingertips.

‘Couldn’t quit the hunt, huh?’ Eskel plopped down on the bed beside Geralt, who warily watched the goat. Gertie already air-chewed in that testy little way only she could unnerve him. After some minor incidents, Geralt had locked most of the rooms in the keep, so he wouldn’t have to chase down this darn goat as she’d sneak around eating everything and anything.

‘She’s a little on the thin side.’ Eskel said, scratching the goat beneath her chin. The goat continued to stare at Geralt.

Geralt shot an unamused look back at Eskel. ‘Gertie? Well..It’s her own fault. She escaped again.’

‘Ah, well they all come back in the end, don’t they?’ Eskel winked at Geralt, who grunted softly. Why was Eskel always so upbeat?

‘Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that --’

‘HI!’ Another pair of feet entered the dormitory. The woman. Geralt’s face fell into an ever deeper grimace.

‘Ah f--’

‘I thought I’d bring some food!’ She said, raising a small plate with some dried meats and fruits. Eskel whooped.

‘A woman to my heart!’

The woman smiled and walked towards the men.

‘Interesting taste in women you have.’ Geralt whispered beneath his breath.

‘Well I--’ Eskel looked up as the woman stepped in before the two Witchers. ‘Hi.’ He smiled and looked at the plate of food in her hands. ‘Great! Shall I eh…’ He eyed Geralt who looked at him with widening eyes. ‘Leave you two..?’

Geralt started shaking his head.

‘No?’

The woman giggled. ‘Don’t worry Geralt. I don’t bite as hard as Gertie does.’

Before Geralt could utter a complaint Eskel and Gertie had left and Geralt was left alone with the woman. Bouncing from one foot to the other she looked around the dormitory. She was wearing some old clothes Ciri had left behind, and though the clothes didn’t look too bad, it was clear they weren’t fitting quite as they should. A little too tight in some places, a little too loose in others.

‘Oh and the food.’ She quickly placed the plate of food next to Geralt. With long lashes she looked away as he pulled away the last of the sheets from his body. He was wearing no more but some knee length breeches and it was clear from the hot blush on her cheeks that she was very aware of how close to nudity he was.

‘Never seen a man before?’ Geralt quirked an eyebrow. With a swift move he landed a cut of dried sausage in his mouth. Sausage. The woman’s cornflower blue eyes looked at him with slight puzzlement.

‘You have no idea who I am, huh?’ She said, shoulders drooping.

Geralt blinked, chewing on the sausage. ‘I’ve recovered from my amnesia well enough to..remember..’ He frowned. Thoughts bubbled faster and faster up from the dusty corners of his mind. After years of close to no adventures, it felt truly like a lifetime ago last he traveled The Trail. Corn..flower..blue.

I’m going to be a father, Geralt.

‘Jaskier.’ Geralt whispered, ‘Son of a..’

‘His daughter Isabella, yes.’ The woman interrupted, offering a hand in greeting.

Geralt looked up at her hand and hesitated. Shake? Kiss on knuckles? Swat away? He studied the deep blue of her eyes that he could have recognised anywhere. She definitely had her father’s eyes. Hopefully, for her good, that was were the resemblance ended. She smiled.

‘Goat got your tongue, Witcher?’

Nope. She definitely inherited more.

‘Look I don’t know why you are here, but--’

‘Oh please!’ She sat down and plopped a dried piece of apple in her mouth. ‘If I wanted to hear stories about my father I’d just go to the local whorehouse. Sure enough the two of you left plenty a --’

‘Isabella.’ Her name tasted strange in his mouth. It sounded too regal for a woman who sat here dressed in something close to rags.

‘Yes.. Geralt of Rivia?’

Geralt contemplated his question for a moment. With a guarded gaze he watched her look around the dusty room.

‘Why ARE you here?’

‘Oh that.’ She looked back at him and smiled. ‘I eh.. Guess I need a Witcher?’

‘I don’t go out on The Trail any longer. Ask Eskel.’

‘Yea yea I know. And I also learned you gentlemen don’t work during the winter, so there’s that for timing. Besides, the weather truly has gone atrocious in moments. I do not know who else you expect to arrive, but they’ll surely freeze over before --’

Too much talking. Geralt growled softly and turned his head away, eyes squinting closed. ‘Woman!’ He inhaled sharply. ‘I mean..I-Isa-bella.’

She bit her lip. ‘Sorry.’

Geralt grunted and swiped a tired hand over his face. Why couldn’t all women be like Roach? ‘No, no I’m sorry. Argh.’

Isabella watched Geralt as he started chewing on a piece of cheese. His square jaw was dusted with a speckle of grey that would soon grow out in a beard. It’d probably look good on him.

‘Are you mad at me?’

Geralt’s chest rumbled softly, but he did shake his head no. ‘Let’s just say you take after your father.’ He looked up and shook his head in bemusement.

Isabella smiled. ‘Horny old bastard he was.’

‘I didn’t mean that you --’

‘OH!’ She gasped in shock at her own words. ‘Apologies! I didn’t mean.. I mean.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I am..neither a bastard nor am I..’ Her gaze involuntarily flew over Geralts chest. ‘horny.’

Geralt knew women well enough that he best keep quiet to prevent any further embarrassment on her end. She sure as hell took after her father with that mouth of hers.

With a slightly uncomfortable tug he pulled the sheets back over his abdomen.

‘Alright. We’ll eh..talk later.’ Isabella said, before hurrying off with a long string of near silent curse words on her lips -- something that unfortunately for her, Geralt’s Witcher senses picked up quite perfectly.

Kaer Morhen smelled differently. It was not only because of the stew that was cooking, or Gertie who had been bound to a ring to keep away from the furniture she had started eating earlier this afternoon. No. There was something strangely familiar about the scent of a woman.

As Geralt sat perched on a comfortable chair near the hearth, his fingers absentmindedly carved away on a piece of soft wood. It was a new pass-time of his and he had gotten quite skilled at it by now. Without so much as looking he could carve out small horses, goats, swords.. and if he felt adventurous: women.

Right now the little piece of wood in his hand was only becoming slimmer. No shape there to be defined. Geralt had a difficulty to keep his mind keen now his nose continued to drift off towards the herbal sweet smell of this strange new guest in his keep.

On the other far end of the keep’s main room sat Eskel, who was reading. Though brutish in appearance, Eskel had always been one of the more refined of the School of the Wolf. Much to Vesemir’s amusement, the late keep-holder of Kaer Morhen. Yes, those darn books. Geralt had despised them. And so father, so daughter: Ciri had taken on any chance to go out and train come rain and come shine in the courtyard.

‘What are you up to?’ Geralt finally said, focussing his eyes on the woman that sat huddled over a table with an avalanche of books folded open.

‘Reading.’

‘Hmm.’ Geralt sighed and turned a little more towards the woman. In the far back he could see Eskel look up in mild curiosity.

Scratching her arm, the woman kept her focus on the sheets of paper before her. She seemed not just curious. She seemed nervous. That is, what Geralt had been smelling. Her sweat. A thin aromatic layer of sweat that basked this whole room in her presence.

‘Is it exciting?’ Geralt pushed himself up with a teeth-gritted grunt and walked over.The potion the woman had given him had thankfully worn off, so he was back to the same old aches he had to live with in cold and humid weather.

Making his way to the table, he noted she was not really reading-reading. Before her lay maps. Charts. Prints of the surrounding grounds of the keep.

‘Planning for an escape already?’

Isabella finally looked up. ‘Gotta keep my options open, no?’

Geralt looked down at the map. Her finger was resting dangerously close to one of the secret paths. Paths that he thought not even Jaskier had known about.

Isabella continued. ‘I think I came this way. The local hunter a few villages north told me far too good a tale for it to be all lies, so I set out and--’

‘What tale?’

Isabella looked up. ‘About a dangerous troll, who lives up here.’ She sniffled as she saw Geralt’s face sour.

‘You know we can’t let you live if you know the path to and from the keep.’ He sat down with a pained grunt. ‘For hundreds of years only a select group of Witchers and friends have known these tracks, and we very well like to keep it so.’ With a quick swipe he retrieved the maps and started to fold them away.

Isabella sat back and sighed. ‘Shouldn’t have shown my dad then.’

Geralt looked up. ‘He told you?’

Isabella sniffed. ‘Have you met my father? If there’s one thing he was truly blessed at, it was talking.’ She looked at Eskel who quickly reverted his eyes to his book.

‘I remember that unfortunately too vividly.’ Geralt stacked the papers together and eyed Eskel. The other Witcher made a statement of not returning his gaze. Urgh, he needed Eskel in this right now. What did he have to do with this woman?!

‘Geralt I --’ Isabella started when she noted with a gasp that something had gone terribly wrong at the other side of the room. Geralt turned his attention to that corner of the room as well, only to note what it was; Gertie. Gertie was gone.

Before he could say it, Eskel had already jumped up from his seat and the three of them set out to look behind the crates, open doors and where not.

She couldn’t have gone far, right?

Geralt slowly hopped on behind Isabella. Again, like when he met her, he felt a strange feeling come over him. And his medallion.. He reached up and noted that Isabella started turning around with a sheetpale face.

‘Geralt..?’

His medallion started humming.

Part 4 >

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14 @aletheladyinred @moonlacebeam @kebabgirl67

#geralt of rivia #multichapter #eskel #henry cavill fanfiction #fanfiction #kaer morhen #old geralt

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nosferatvpussy · 4 years ago

Text

distorted lullabies [chapter XIV]

Word count: 6,791

Warnings: vulgar language, angst (everyone saw it coming)

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

__________________________________________________________________________

“Y/N, are you awake?” Mallory asked.

I closed the book and peeked my head up from beneath the covers to look at her. Light attacked my eyes and I squinted for a brief moment, gathering the covers under my chin.

“Did you really need to switch on that light?” I sat up on the bed and blinked. “This one was doing its job just fine.” I pointed at the reading light next to me.

“You’ll grow wings and turn into a bat any day now.” She laughed, and I glowered. Turning into a bat could very well be a possibility. I hadn’t asked Dracula about that. There was a lot I hadn’t asked, and a lot that he probably wouldn’t tell me now. “A joke, Y/N. You still remember those?”

“Not sure I do,” I scoffed. “You look great. Are you going out with Sean?”

Mallory’s blonde locks laid in large curls around her shoulders – an hour of carefully applied curling iron, I’d say – and her makeup was soft in such a way that her eyes looked more almond shaped than round and innocent like they usually did. A beige trench coat covered her outfit but her legs were on display. Mallory favoured mini dresses so I presumed that was what she had on underneath.

“No, he’s being annoying, it’s just me and the girls. And don’t you change the subject. I don’t feel good about leaving you here.” She sighed. “You’re my guest and I’ll leave you here to go party? That’s not right, but if you come with… It’ll be fun, come on. I’ll wait for you if you go get ready. We’ll drink and dance, and maybe you’ll find someone else.”

Someone else to end up bitten by Count Dracula. Another lesson, like Mallory was, to remind me that I was his.

“No rebounds,” I muttered. “I’ll be fine. I don’t feel like dancing.” She frowned. “Mal, I’m incredibly thankful that you’re letting me stay here but you don’t have to feel like you need to cater to me. We lived together during uni. Don’t think of me as a guest, more like a flatmate, a very brief one. I’ll go back home in two days time”

Staying with Mallory was more her decision than mine. Days ago, she’d bought a last minute train ticket from Gloucester and returned with me to London when the Sun was still up in the sky. When the taxi dropped me off at my house, Mal asked the cabbie to wait and strolled up my stairs on weak knees and packed my bags for me, saying that I needed her. I simply watched as she threw my outfits and shoes inside a large suitcase. While I waited, listening to her go on about broken hearts and that’s what friends do, I’d noticed that my bedroom’s window was open; I didn’t remember leaving it like that. Maybe I was being paranoid but being paranoid was a better choice than being stupid and I’d afforded enough stupidity for a lifetime, so I let Mallory harbour me. Dracula had unlimited access to my house since I had invited him in and closed doors and windows were no hindrance to him, as he had proved. Mallory was my best bet of avoiding him and staying safe, for now, and I could keep an eye on her to make sure she would be truly okay.

Mallory acted like usual, her ramblings, her chipper attitude, her easy laughter at the silliest things. Mallory, as before. Mallory, my best friend from college. Mallory, who had a scar on the side of her neck just like mine and, therefore, wasn’t at all like before. All she’d asked me on the following day after the wedding was how we got all the way from Berkeley Castle to Gloucester and how much she had had to drink. As a test I’d asked how she’d gotten hurt and she looked at me, bewildered, and said “I got hurt?”. When Dracula told me she wouldn’t remember anything, I didn’t expect her to not remember a single thing. I’d prepared a lengthy explanation but threw it away in favour of Mal’s bite-induced amnesia. Even when I went to change the bandage on her neck, she barely acknowledged me and simply stared ahead with empty eyes. She didn’t seem to notice the bite when she looked in the mirror, but every day before leaving the house, without a fault, she wrapped a scarf around her neck as if covering it was instinctive. A useful little trick in Dracula’s sleeve, I presumed.

“Tomorrow marks ten days, right?” She asked and I nodded. She motioned for me to scoot over and flopped down on the bed. “Can I just say that it’s weird that he gave you an ultimatum?”

“I was the one who asked for time.”

“Still weird. I mean, it must have been a huge fight. You said he was massively pissed.” She trained her large eyes on me, like one of Diana’s cats did when it wanted food. “And I’ve never seen you like this, Y/N. I thought you’d open up if you stayed with me. You cried the whole trip back from Gloucester and now you won’t shed a tear. You won’t talk about him. You’re sulking, and you never sulk. For a day maybe, yeah, you’ll sulk and throw a pity party like you did when you broke up with Paul a few years back, but then you’ll make yourself busy.”

Back in Gloucester, during breakfast at my rented flat, Mal, with a wound on her throat and face as pale as her hair, insisted for me to tell her what had happened and why I couldn’t stop crying. I’d told her what I could: that I’d lied to him about something, he found out and did something terrible and wanted me to explain myself in 10 days.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Mal.”

“No, you never want to talk but that’s how you’ll heal. You’re on a rinse and repeat cycle of going to work, picking at your food, and then holing up in my guestroom with that poetry book. Where is it, by the way? Did you finally throw it away?”

I retrieved it from under the covers and set it on her lap. The book was warm to the touch. It slept with me, under the pillow or over my chest. Two days after the wedding, Mallory and I went to grab something to eat at a book cafe near our office. The cover, a large red rose overflowing from a jar as moths and butterflies decorated the edges, caught my eye and when I read the title announcing it to be a collection of Russian poetry, I instantly knew I had to have it. To find in those pages the tranquility I found inside Gloucester Cathedral; a moment in which I was wholly unreserved and Dracula had put his relentless pursuit of me on pause. A perfect memory in which I could have lived in forever.

“I thought you liked French poetry better,” Mallory said as she picked it up and opened it at random. “Why are you so obsessed with this book, anyway? Let’s see.” She took a deep breath and spit out the words on the page so fast that they barely sound like verses. “ I love you, I love you and as I rage at myself for this obsession, and as I make my shamed confession, despairing at your feet I lie, blah blah blah, my one reward for a day’s anguish comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss. Okay, that part was nice.” She nodded in approval as her eyes skimmed down. “I dare not ask for love with all my many sins, both great and small, I am perhaps of love unworthy. God, that’s a bit depressing, isn’t it?”

“You found it!” The pages ruffled when I snatched the book from her hands.

“Found what?”

“But if feigned love, if you would pretend, you’d easily deceive me. For happily would I, believe me, deceive myself if but I could!” I completed as I read through the last lines. “You found it, Mal, you’re brilliant.”

“I just opened the book.” She shrugged. “Were you looking for this poem in particular?”

I nodded as I tried to read it from the start but my brain was foggy from sleep and the words weren’t making much sense.

“Oh my god,” Mal said and I looked up at her. “This has to do with Dracula, doesn’t it?”

“He recited it to me once. He told me it was Pushkin–”

“So you bought the book.” Mallory drew her eyebrows together.

“Well, I couldn’t remember the exact words to google them and I was curious– stop making that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you watch Pride and Prejudice.”

She giggled.

“Your ten days are up tomorrow. What are you going to tell him?”

I closed the book and let it rest near my knee. “I don’t know what I’ll say,” I finally said in a shaky voice. “I really don’t.”

“Maybe if you tell me what happened, I can help.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

The bond wouldn’t let me utter a word about the true issue surrounding the Count to her; I suspected the loophole I’d found with Renfield and Zoe was because they already had previous knowledge of Dracula’s nature.

Mallory took my hand.

“I wish you’d cry, at least I would know what to do.”

I squeezed her hand as my eyes fell on her neck. A crystal choker covered the bite. She should be the one crying because she didn’t remember, because she had a gash at her throat that she didn’t recognise and because a monster of a man had attacked her. I should be the one taking care of her, not the way around. That’s why I’d bargained with Count Dracula in the first place.

“I do cry but only when I wake up,” I confessed. “The tears just come out of nowhere as soon as I open my eyes and then dry up when I realise I’m awake.” My voice wobbled at the last word and I slapped the pillow next to me. “Oh, now they come. Shit.”

Mallory laughed at my frustration and made me lay my head on her lap. Tears fell in soft thuds to the duvet, running over my nose and eyes as Mallory smoothed my hair.

“It’ll be okay, lovey. He’ll understand if he likes you, whatever you did he’ll forgive–”

“He won’t, Mal.”

“He will, he’s gotta. I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. He was horrible. I don’t know how to begin to forgive him or if I can forgive him. He was nice to me and now I know that’s what mattered, that he was nice to me and only to me–” But he wasn’t nice just to me, he was also nice to Lucy. My chest constricted. “I don’t know if any of it was real or that he actually cares that he hurt yo– me,” I corrected. “He wants me as one wants precious jewels but that’s all it is. He wants to possess me.” The words were strung together between sobs. I barely understood myself so I knew Mal didn’t either but she still rubbed my shoulder to soothe me. “Why am I crying now? I’m done with crying and I don’t want to.”

I slammed a hand on the bed again but instead of the soft duvet, I found the book’s hard surface, and it hit me why I was crying.

From the moment I bought the book, I held onto it as if my life depended on it, skimming through pages during work breaks, sneaking glances at it during lunch, reading it faithfully yet slowly so it wouldn’t end too fast in search of that Pushkin stanza. I’d buried myself in Russian poetry, those biting words that hung on the edge of everyone’s lips, unsaid but that rang true, so I wouldn’t have to dwell on what to say. Perhaps those words would become mine and I wouldn’t have to say anything, not now or ever, and by some magic Dracula would understand. Then Mallory found the verses and I realised I still didn’t have the words. What did I have left to hold onto now that I didn’t need to search for Pushkin’s poem? The sweetness I searched for amidst the sting of my bitterness was gone and that moment in the cathedral wasn’t worth anything if Dracula killed me tomorrow.

Ten days wasted on poetry and in a moment that I would never have again. I wasn’t even sure if my voice would work when I tried explaining it to him. All I had planned was that I would tell him somewhere public in the hope that he still had enough scruples left to not kill me in front of witnesses.

“Diana called your phone when you were sleeping,” Mallory informed me as my sobs subsided. “Taking naps all afternoon and sleeping early won’t help you come up with an answer, you know.”

“It’s the only time when I don’t have to think about him.”

“You don’t dream about him?” She stopped playing with my hair for a second when I nodded and I felt a tug on a lock of hair. The slight resistance told me she was braiding my hair.

“Just once since the wedding. I dreamt that he was driving and we were holding hands but then–” my hand was nearly crushed in his grip as he raised it to his mouth and tore my wrist open. Blood trickled down to his lap and a scarlet jet stained the windows. I smiled the whole time as he consumed me. “It wasn’t a good dream. Did you get Diana’s call?”

“Yeah. She’s worried about you, told me you only answered one of her calls since you came to stay with me. You have over 10 calls from your cousin, too.”

“My cousin?”

“Yeah, don’t you have a cousin in Manchester named Zoe?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” I hadn’t spoken with my cousin for over two years and her number was saved only as ‘Zee’. “Did Zoe call when I was asleep?” I asked in a neutral tone. I ignored every call from Dr. Van Helsing and if Mallory had answered the phone thinking she was talking to my cousin–

“No, but she must be worried about you. Give her a call back,” she said.

“I will,” I breathed, relieved. Eventually, I would talk to Zoe and tell her that I was done with her – that is, if I survived Count Dracula. With that, rose the question of why Zoe was still alive. Wouldn’t Dracula have killed her?

“Diana said she’s going up to Glasgow for work in a couple of days and that she wants to see you before that. I told her we could all grab lunch Thursday.”

“All right.” I sniffled and started getting up slowly so Mallory wouldn’t accidentally pull my hair. “I’m getting in the way of your night out, Mal.”

“Did you actually think I was going out?” She looked at me in disbelief. “It’s Monday, Y/N, we have work tomorrow. More importantly, I would never leave you here and go drinking.” I frowned as I gestured at her made up face. “I’m wearing PJ’s under my coat. I got ready in the hopes that you would suddenly change your mind when you saw me leaving the house and decide to actually move your arse out of bed,” she explained. I snorted. “A-ha, that was a near laugh!”

“That was a shit strategy. And you knew it wouldn’t work since you didn’t bother to change clothes.”

“Well, I tried everything else.” She jumped out of bed and peeled off the trench coat, revealing butterfly print pyjamas. “Come to the living room. We’ll order hamburgers and watch something.”

She was already leaving the room as I slipped out from under the covers.

“No rom-coms!”

“I wouldn’t torture you like that!” She yelled back from the living room. “Is Harry Potter good enough for you?”

“Great.”

It was familiar enough for me to repeat the lines in sync with the character and keep me distracted. Tomorrow I would figure out how to tell Count Dracula. As I made the bed, I grabbed the book from under the pillow and fingered through the pages. Pushkin’s words didn’t jump out at me and I hadn’t memorised the page number when Mallory found it. For the best, probably.

I set the book aside and went to the living room when Mal called my name.

__________________________________________________________

“L/N, can I see you before you go?”

Talbot’s voice made Mallory and I stop on the way to the lift; my mobile chimed inside my purse and my fingers tightened around the purse’s strap. Another chime reached my ears as I turned back to meet Talbot with Mal on my heels. Whether she had followed me because a partner was summoning me and it was a good opportunity for her to be noticed or because she was fairly acquainted with my phone’s chimes and particularly what they meant today, I didn’t know, but I was glad to have her at my side anyway.

Golden orange sunlight refracting through a window hit my face when I stopped before Talbot and I forced myself to breathe properly. I still had a couple more minutes, an hour if I was being optimistic, before the sun went down and I had to meet Dracula, who didn’t seem to pay much attention to it; he had been texting me since four in the afternoon.

“Yes?” The word was strangled.

Talbot’s severe face didn’t seem to notice my anxious tone and simply nodded at Mallory before settling his cataract ridden eyes on me.

“Do you have anything on your schedule tomorrow at 3pm?”

“No, I don’t think I do, sir. Why?”

“I need you in court.” He handed me a thick manila folder he had hidden behind his back.

“A new case?” I took the file automatically. “But sir, I’m already flooded with them. And court tomorrow? I won’t have the time to prepare–”

“Of course you’ll have time to prepare. You’ll have the rest of the day and night, and tomorrow until three. Pulling all-nighters is part of every good attorney’s job.”

I smothered an offended huff.

“I’m aware, sir.” I paused, and my phone chimed again. I could feel my pulse on my throat. “Unfortunately, I have a commitment tonight and I can’t take this case. Mallory will gladly take it in my pla–”

“I’m sure Miss Nowak would do a wonderful job,” he considered her briefly “but this case can only be taken care of by you. It was originally Miss Grisham’s, your colleague, but she had to go under an emergency surgery yesterday – wicked things, spleens, don’t you think? – and the Judge on this case refused to reschedule a court date.” He scoffed. “Apparently, Grisham had already been granted several reschedules and Judge Llewellyn won’t have it again, which is precisely why this case must be yours. As I understand you have a win inside Llewellyn’s courtroom, which might bode well for you– for us at the firm. Llewellyn is notoriously a difficult man and I hear he’s been mouthing good things about you. No one in this office has ever won before him, except for you and Renfield.”

My phone started ringing loudly and I gave my purse a thwack as if that would shut it up. Talbot eyed my purse.

“Sir, like I said, I have a personal engagement that I can’t dismiss. It’s best that I don’t take a new case. Give it to Mallory, she’ll do as good a job as I would and then this firm will have three lawyers with wins before Llewellyn.”

A new case meant I would have to prepare an opening statement, not to say I would have to spend countless hours studying every small detail to not be stomped to the ground by the prosecutor. The remaining sunlight only gave me a few more minutes to work out my own closing statement – the very last closing statement I would do in my life, perhaps, considering it was entirely dependent on Count Dracula’s verdict – if I took that case I would have to neglect it in favour of my own troubles.

“You’ll take it.”

“Sir, I can’t–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, L/N,” argued Talbot. “If your engagement has anything to do with your phone’s incessant noise–” as if by command, the tune stopped “–then turn it off. Whatever it is, it can be rescheduled. This case cannot.”

Rage built up my chest; I could swallow it down before it reached my throat but the lump there wouldn’t let it pass as easily as it would allow it to burst out. And I didn’t want to swallow it down so more rage could merge with heartache. I’d had enough with rage and I wouldn’t let Talbot bully me into something that I couldn’t do in the benefit of his own interests.

“Any lawyer here would be happy to do it. I can’t,” I said as I offered him the file back. He opened his mouth to protest and didn’t accept the manila folder. “You don’t understand, you absolute c–”

“She’ll take it,” Mallory intervened, squeezing my arm and interrupting whatever name I was about to call him. One of Talbot’s eyes twitched as he evaluated me and he rose his chin, nodding at Mal for the interruption.

“I see Nowak has managed to keep her sense. I hope she’ll teach you some.” He gestured towards the lift. “You may go. Do not disappoint me, L/N.” He turned on his heel and disappeared inside his office.

I started stalking after him, picturing his outraged face when I threw the file on his desk, but Mal jerked me back.

“Are you crazy?” She shook me. “You almost called a partner the c-word–”

“You can say he’s a cunt, it’s not like it’s a lie.”

“Y/N!” She exclaimed, looking around us as if to check if anyone had heard that. “Being angry won’t solve your crap, and you can’t just shrug off work because of a relationship. Focus. Dracula is just a guy but this is your job. If he’s right for you he’ll understand. It’s not like he’ll die if he waits one more day so you two can talk.”

I stared out the window. My phone chimed, and then started ringing. The sun was still up and I wagered it would stay that way until I went home. As soon as it was dark, Dracula would be there. I could propose a meeting spot but I’d made enough demands – he had said so himself. He was done making concessions for me, and if I said one thing, one thing that didn’t please him, that sounded off to his ears, he would probably tear open my neck and leave me to die by myself on the quietness of my home. There were plenty of things in my speech that needed adjustments to prevent that, several things, actually, that I wasn’t sure I had worded properly. And I hadn’t rehearsed anything, either.

“You know you’re not mad at Talbot,” Mallory said, as though she knew I was pondering the situation. “Dracula will understand.”

My phone stopped ringing and then started shortly after.

“He won’t stop calling until I answer him,” I said. But I’d already made my decision. I’d made it the moment Mallory said I would take the case.

“Then turn off your phone. You’ll concentrate better. I’ll even help you,” she offered. I glanced at her. “I can see in your face that you’re dreading going home. You can stay at my house one more night, or how many more you want, and I’ll help you study your case. You’ll worry about Dracula tomorrow after the court session with Llewellyn , okay?”

Working this case was a perfectly reasonable excuse not to answer his calls and texts. It was good enough for me but I knew it wouldn’t be good enough for Dracula. It would give me more time to work on what to say, although I had the feeling that nothing I said would ever be good enough for him.

What did matter if he had to wait one more day? I was dead anyway.

“Okay,” I finally said. Mal smiled at me. I didn’t have the strength to retribute it.

“Text him and say you’ll see him tomorrow.”

I fished my phone out of my purse. The name ‘Count Dracula’ blinking on the screen made me frown. I pressed the button next to the screen until it went fully black.

“My phone battery is dead for all he cares.” I dumped the phone back in my purse. “Let’s go, Mal. Quickly. He’ll come here looking for me when he realises I’m not picking up.”

______________________________________________________________

Count Dracula tilted his head as he watched the man crawl between tables, shoulders clumsily bumping into a table leg as he tried to hide. Sobs escaped his mouth. Dracula pushed one of the bodies at his feet with the heel of his shoe as the man shrunk into the darkness beneath the table. The man’s ragged breathing made the Count’s bloodstained lips twitch. He made a show of looking around the blackened interior of the pub, putting weight into his strides so the floorboards would creak as he stepped over another body, pretending that he couldn’t see him in his hiding place.

This game of hide-and-seek never failed to amuse the Count but it wasn’t as fun in an enclosed space such as this. It made him miss his castle. If it was his castle, he would throw the man into one of the dungeon’s cells to play with him another moment. But here, in a London pub where he had already engorged himself until his cheeks were ruddy, he only had so much time before sunrise. He wasn’t thirsty anymore and he would have to go home soon to rest his head again, only to be assailed by dreams of Y/N.

“I won’t hurt you,” Dracula declared, throwing his head back. The low ceiling had beer stains. The cleaning staff, the one dead at his feet, must not do a very good job of cleaning the place. “You can come out.”

A whimper came from under the table but the man made no attempt to reveal himself. Dracula waited for a few seconds to give him a chance and then crossed the distance between them and lifted the table. Wide brown eyes filled with mindless fear stared up at Count Dracula in a skinny face.

“Get up,” the Count demanded and discarded the table to the side, leaving the man without his illusion of protection. “Come sit with me.” He took a seat at a table at the centre of the pub and snatched a napkin from it. Red gloves of blood left stains on every white napkin he touched. The man – boy, from the looks of him – just watched and Dracula flicked dark eyes toward him. “Now.”

Slowly, so very slowly, the boy stood up and took small steps toward the table. He threatened to snap in half like a twig from all his shaking. Count Dracula motioned for him to take a seat as he wiped his face and hands with napkins. The boy sat.

“I think…” Dracula began. “No. What would you do in my place?”

“W-what?”

“I gave her ten days. Today is Tuesday, the tenth day, and she wasn’t at her house. She won’t answer my calls and my texts. She was at her office today but left early according to–” what was the woman’s name? Caroline? Christine? Camille? Ah, Chelsea. She’d slipped him her number before he left the office at Canary Wharf. He would have considered keeping it, if only to feed from her, but Y/N wouldn’t like that. Ten days could stretch into twenty or a month if he fed from Chelsea. “She’s avoiding me. What would you do?”

The boy stared at him, mouth opening and closing several times as he tried to formulate an answer. He glanced at the parade of dead bodies around them and then back at Count Dracula.

“Um, who is– hm. W-why is she av-voiding you?”

Dracula nodded, smiling lightly. He was impressed that the boy had managed to restrain his fear for a while but he knew very well the boy was merely entertaining him until he started bargaining for his life. They always did.

“I did something,” said Dracula.

“This kind of something?” He gestured with his head toward the body closest to them and then his face turned red and shuddered.

“No.” He frowned. “Worse, I think. I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. What matters is that she’s avoiding me. I gave her ten days and she said we would talk. She said she knew not to flee. I can hunt for her but–” He threw the used napkins on the table, giving up on making himself presentable. There wasn’t any point to it with six bodies strewn metres away from him. “I don’t want to hunt what’s mine. She should come willingly.”

“Yeah,” the boy drew out. “But maybe she needs more time? I don’t know what you did, man, but if it was worse than this–”

“I bit her friend,” Dracula admitted.

The boy gaped.

“I– I’m sure you had a good reason to.”

“Are you?”

“I only mean–” he said, hunching his shoulders. “I mean, I… I don’t know?”

Count Dracula tipped in his chair and balanced himself so he could lever his feet on the table and cross them. Black leather shoes with small rounded dents at the tips shone at him. He hadn’t worn another pair since the wedding, when Y/N’s heels left those prints there. He didn’t know what that meant. He only knew that he couldn’t remember Y/N’s smile with the same clarity that he could remember her face stricken with black tears.

“Did she cheat on you?” The boy tried.

Dracula laughed mirthlessly.

“In a manner, but she assured me that she had stopped.”

“So, uh, why did you kill her friend?”

“I didn’t kill Mallory. I bit her, that’s all.” He’d bitten her without Y/N’s explanation, which he still didn’t have. “Do you think I exaggerated?”

“Um– uh, no?”

“I don’t like liars.”

“I’m sorry. Sorry.” The boy rubbed his nose. “My name is Trent.” Dracula’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand the relevance of that. “I’m only 19. I live in Whitechapel with my parents and sisters. I’ve got three cats–”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dracula glared at him. And then chuckled. “Oh, are you attempting to sensitize me about who you are so I won’t kill you? I’ve seen that on TV. People have been using that trick for centuries, too. It’s never worked on me. In fact, I think it’s kind of fun. First name basis is important, isn’t it? Makes things more intimate when I kill you.” He bared his teeth at the boy in a grin. “I asked you a question, Trent.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

The words echoed. Y/N had said the same. Dracula massaged the bridge of his nose.

“I changed my mind. Maybe it’ll change again if you answer me.”

Trent shook violently again and started rocking back and forth in his seat.

“I forgot what you asked me.”

“Do you think I exaggerated?” Dracula repeated. The boy looked around them. “Not about this. I know you might believe this is a bit much but it helps me not to think. However, I’m in need of a good talk now. So amuse me, Trent. Do you think I shouldn’t have bitten Mallory?”

“Uh. This other girl you've been talking about… Do you fancy her?” Trent’s thin eyebrows arched, trying to summon a serious expression. Dracula merely bobbed his head. “And you said she’s, huh, yours.” He looked at Dracula and he nodded again. “From what you’re telling me, you want her back. If she’s avoiding you, maybe she’s scared?” His eyes widened as if he realised he’d said something wrong. “Or, or, or! Or maybe she’s waiting for an apology?” He shrugged. “Did you try talking to her, eh, before you bit this Mallory bird?”

The Count ignored the last question.

“She owes me an apology.”

“Yeah, sure she does,” the boy agreed. “But don’t you think you oughta apologise, too? I mean… uh. I don’t know. I’ve never been cheated on but I don’t think biting someone is the right way to go about it.”

Maybe not.

Maybe if he had asked Y/N about it, he wouldn’t have to wait ten days to speak to her. If he had, she wouldn’t have cried. It could have been a terribly simple explanation and she would have kissed him again. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone on a murder rampage for the last days to keep memories of Y/N from permeating his every dream and thought.

Or, and it was just as likely, it wasn’t simple at all. She had learnt how to lie to him. He was certain that she could have lied about everything. It could all have been an act to fool him – the sudden interest in the taste of blood, her questions about his life before a vampire and after, her rare ability to see through him sometimes, the gleam in her eyes at the cathedral… The kiss. But the utter betrayal in her face, the acrid smell of fear, how her voice trembled as she wept, those weren’t false. When she said yes to him, covered in her friend’s blood with her dress ruined and hair in shambles, he knew she had spoken the truth. She had no other reason to lie after what he had done. And now, he found himself doubting if everything else was not all lies.

It didn’t matter.

He had destroyed it. And he knew that if he could go back in time to fix it, he would have done it all the same. She confused him. She had made a fool out of him like no one else had in half a millennia, and she would make a fool out of him for the next millennia as well. Despite what she had done, she was his, whether she liked it or not. He was willing to wait a few more days for her to come to him.

Count Dracula massaged the bridge of his nose again.

“Thank you, Trent.”

The boy’s heart drummed, his blood streaming inside of him in rapid currents. Dracula could hear the noise it made, like a wind howl against a window.

“Are you gonna let me go?”

“Yes, I will.” He flashed the boy a quick smile. “Although you haven’t been much help, I’m feeling merciful right now.” Trent exhaled a shaky breath and started getting up. “One last thing” – the boy looked up at that, watery brown eyes filled with alarm again – “you didn’t say… what would you do in my place?”

“Uhh–” he paused, panic flaring up and making the drumming in Dracula’s ears become louder. “Show that you care? Apologise if you want her back. She’ll apologise, too.” Dracula just stared. “Or do something nice for her. Especially nice.” Trent sniffled. “That’s what my dad does when my mum is mad at him, and it works.”

Trent waited as Dracula nodded, and then started shuffling across the pub in a slow pace as if he was doing his best not to draw attention.

He eyed the dents on his shoes and felt Y/N’s lips on his. He couldn’t wait five or ten years to feel them again and in order to have that, he would have to make amends. But then he thought of all the lies again and the taste of Mallory’s blood pouring down his throat and all the memories that came with it. A pungent reminder of how unreasonable he had become since meeting Y/N.

Trent was almost at the exit door.

“On second thought!” He called, planting both feet on the slippery red floor. The boy turned around to look at him and Count Dracula bared sharp teeth as he stood up from his seat. “I feel like having dessert.”

The boy ran.

His fingers brushed the doorknob but didn’t manage to grip it. Dracula blocked the way. Trent squealed and his entire body trembled in such force that the Count thought he could hear his bones rattling. He smiled at that and grabbed the boy’s shoulder to stop him from scuttling away.

Trent was as pale as a sheet, so much so that it was difficult to make out defining features on his face, but the shapeless, quivering thing on his face was most definitely a bottom lip moving as his teeth chattered.

“Ah, don’t be like that. I’ll make it quick, as a thanks.” Dracula stroked the boy’s cheek, pointed nails grazing the skin, and he shuddered. “Truly, you gave me quite the idea. But you see, it’s almost dawn, and I need a last bedtime snack to clear my head. You just so happen to be nearby.”

“Please, I–”

“No, no, no, no. Begging won’t get you anywhere and I’ve heard enough of ‘please’ tonight. I’ll make it quick and you won’t beg. Are we agreed?” He cocked an eyebrow. Trent shut his eyes and nodded. Dracula patted his face. “Good boy.”

Dracula turned Trent’s face to the side. He was met with no resistance as he lowered his head to tear through the soft flesh on the boy’s neck. Trent stopped trembling as Dracula’s teeth slashed deep and blood flowed inside his mouth. Memories started materialising but he ignored it and allowed himself to be swept away until nothing else invaded his mind except the taste of blood, its warmth cascading over his body and leaving him no choice but to be inundated with unrestrained elation.

He swallowed hurriedly and, in no time, the flow became sluggish and he began taking it less urgently. If he drank too fast, he would miss it. He waited for it to come as one waits for the first rain to pour, waits for it to wash remains, and to bring restoration. Ecstasy flitted across his deepest thoughts only to be replaced with perfect numbness. Sublime anesthesia and a brief glimpse into the true death he would never feel.

The emptiness he sought, the complete erasure of all thoughts, was the one thing that brought him relief and wiped the image of Y/N’s face. Her rancour and her grief that turned those eyes cruel to cut through him when she saw him with Mallory but, worst of all, the resignation that made her voice docile, almost cowed when she begged him for time. It touched something in him. Something that made him desperate to get rid of it, so abnormal was this sensation, that his only solution was to engorge himself with blood.

Only she had this effect on him. Usually he was picky with his food, choosing when should each dish be savoured and in which order. All it took for that to change was for Y/N to look him in the eye at the Victoria and Albert Museum and say that taking her there was the nicest thing someone had ever done for her. And he simply couldn’t understand that, couldn’t understand he had enjoyed knowing that, that he had enjoyed making her happy, and that he was possibly growing infatuated by her. Not in the way he had grown attached to Agatha or Johnny. It was entirely different; a foreign feeling. It had driven him to feast on a board of directors in an attempt to obliterate the memory. And it had worked for a little while but each time she managed to pull at his control until he wasn’t sure if he had any control whatsoever.

Dracula dropped Trent’s lifeless body.

The anesthesia had faded and here he was, thinking of Y/N again.

He groaned in frustration, wiped his chin and left the darkened pub with its new decor of blood carpets and artfully painted walls.

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gaarasgirlfriend · 4 years ago

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helplessly in love - kaminari x reader

in which kaminari finally gathers up the courage to confess to you

god, that smile. it really brightened up his whole day. kaminari found himself sometimes barely listening to you whenever you were excitedly talking about something to just stare at the smile that was painted on your pretty face. that smile of yours always managed to provide him with some temporary amnesia for whatever tribulations he might have faced earlier.

“kaminari! there you are! i’ve been dying to tell you about the new switch game i finally got…” your voice called out to him but he was too far in a stupor to be pulled back into reality.

he looked into your e/c eyes that shone so brightly as you recounted your new game once more to the blonde-haired boy. whenever you gave a small laugh, the crinkles next to pools of e/c appeared, and kaminari felt his heart skip a beat. subconsciously reaching his hand up to his chest in a pathetic hole to calm the organ down, kaminari noticed you faltering in your words as you peered curiously at him.

“kaminari are you okay?” your soft voice asked him. you reached over to place a hand on his shoulder, your eyes slightly furrowed in concern.

“i-i’m fine! continue talking!” he insisted, noticing the way his heartbeat quickened when you placed your hand on his shoulder.

the concern still had not left your eyes, and honestly? it made kaminari happy. knowing that you cared for him. maybe, just maybe, he had a chance with you. but after taking a glance at your beautiful face that seemed to be what he saw in dreams, he decided that that wasn’t possible. a girl like you could never like a guy like him… right?

“class is about to start, you should tell present mic-sensei if you don’t feel well. i don’t want you to get sick kaminari, i care for you!” you said in a carefree manner, not realizing the effect those words had on the lovestruck boy’s heart. he was really whipped for you.

as he watched you take your seat he walked back to his seat which was only a few seats diagonal to yours— giving him a good view of you. in a daze, he sat back down and placed his chin on his palm, thinking.

thinking about what? thinking about you, of course! what else was there to think about? kaminari has been playing with the idea of finally asking you out on a date for a few weeks now. he even talked about it to kirishima, bakugou, and sero!

‘do it! you’ll never know if she returns your feelings if you never try! despite how much you err… ogle at ladies, you’re a great guy kaminari! i’m sure she’ll at least give you a chance! be manly and ask her out’ his redheaded pal had told him.

‘tch, like i care. i have no clue why y/n would say yes to a dumbass like you!’ bakugou said with an eye roll.

‘you guys have been close friends for awhile right? there’s a chance that she likes you back! based from all the movies i’ve seen at least….’ sero sheepishly said while rubbing the back of his neck.

‘could they be right? could she actually like me back?’ his mind raced as he subconsciously glanced over to you. you were soaking up all the words present mic spoke as he continued his lesson. your pencil moved furiously as you focused intently on writing your notes. kaminari gave a small pout, he couldn’t even focus in class because of you! truth be told, he probably wouldn’t retain the information anyways but still! he would like the option of being able to focus on aizawa’s words rather than paying attention to the h/c strand of hair that fell against your cheek as you tilted your head while writing.

‘not fair…’ he thought as he sighed while picking up his pencil, finally writing down notes. he had no idea what to do about you, but he would deal with you another time. he had more pressing matters to attend to. finally tuning into present mic’s babbles, his eyebrows furrowed. what the hell was an adverb?

kaminari soon gave up on the lecture, opting instead to just doodle on his paper, giving you the occasional glance. god, he really was living the life of a teenage boy in a coming-of-age movie. how lame. after adding finishing touches to the house he drew, kaminari felt someone poke his back. kaminari knew better than to turn and talk to kirishima, so he dropped his hand to the bottom of his seat, palm facing up expectantly. once he felt the folded piece of paper in his hand, he slowly unfurled it under his desk. present mic was facing the chalkboard currently, so he was safe.

‘hey bro, are you finally gonna ask y/n out?’

kaminari gave a small sigh before writing down his response and handling the paper back to the boy behind him.

‘i think i might, it’s just so nerve-wracking.’

after hearing kirishima scribble on the paper once more, he felt the familiar tap on his back before he collected the paper.

‘mina told me some second year student was thinking of asking her out on a date! you better hurry bro!’

kaminari’s heart stopped while reading that. you? with another man? that was just too much for kaminari to handle. he had to confess to you before it was too late! before he lost you to some cool, probably super handsome, super funny upperclassman.

as class went on, kaminari worked on his confession, writing some stuff down for kirishima to look over. it honestly wasn’t going too well. kaminari has so much he wanted to tell you, yet he couldn’t. the poor boy’s nerves were skyrocketing so much that he could barely form a proper sentence. he groaned frustratedly as he grabbed his hair. he felt kirishima pat his back in reassurance. class was about to end, and it was almost time for the students to go home. kaminari walked you home almost everyday, not wanting anything bad happening to you.

as the last teacher finally dismissed class, the students all got up and started to pack up their stuff. kaminari was scrambling to finish his confession letter.

‘what about her hair you idiot? how it smells like coconuts? or it seems so soft? no, no, no! don’t talk about her hair, that makes you sound weird!’ he thought.

he heard you walk up to his desk as he rushed to finish his paper. if only he worked this hard on his notes in class, maybe he would actually learn.

“you ready to leave kaminari?” you asked with that pretty smile of yours.

“y-yeah, just give me a minute.” kaminari said before getting his book bag and packing up.

“you still look a bit off, do you want to go see recovery girl before we leave?”

“haha, no i’m fine!” he chuckled unconvincingly, finally slipping his book bag onto his back.

before you made it out the door, kaminari made it there before you, quickly scanning the hallway in search of this mysterious second year that also harbored feelings for you. his eyes fell on a figure that was a bit taller than him, a brunette boy who was also clad in the ua uniform. he radiated a cool vibe and was also not to mention model worthy.

“nope, not today.” kaminari muttered before taking your hand into his and pulling you out of the door, power walking your way out of the school.

“k-kaminari- slow down! why are we running away? are you okay? what’s wrong?” you asked when you finally made it outside, standing beside kaminari as the two of you caught your breaths.

kaminari didn’t answer, he just focused on his breathing as he worked up the courage to confess to you. kirishima and sero’s words echoed in the back of his mind, urging the boy to tell the girl beside him of his feelings.

“kaminari are-”

“i like you. i’ve liked you ever since we talked during lunch on our first day of school! i liked the way you almost choked on your food because you were laughing at one of my dumb jokes! i like the way that your eyes crinkle whenever you smile! i like the way you do that stupidly cute dance of yours whenever you get food! oh god- don’t even get me started on your smile. that beautiful smile of yours… i just- i’ve liked you for a long time! and i’m tired of keeping it in! i won't wait for someone else to sweep you off your feet and be upset because i did nothing about it! y/n l/n, i like you! accept my confession!”

after he finished his speech it went quiet. kaminari could literally hear his heart beat with every passing second. oh god, bakugou was right, there was no way a girl like you would like him. he’d better start looking at other schools to move to. shiketsu was pretty good, right?

“kaminari… you like me?” your voice called out to him, breaking him away from his thought. he flinched at the mention of him liking you before nodding.

“yeah…” he said, twiddling with his fingers a bit as he waited for you to reply once again.

he looked at your face to see your mouth slightly opened in shock, your glittery orbs wide in shock as well. if he weren’t so terrified of rejection right now he would’ve laughed at that adorable look on your face.

“i-i can't believe it! you like me back!”

‘huh? like you back?’

“h-huh? does that mean...?” he trailed off, hopeful.

“yes! kaminari denki, i like you too!” you said, your face breaking out in the biggest grin he’s ever seen.

kaminari froze for a bit, taking a few second to register the words that you had just said. you, the girl of his dreams, liked him back? was this some kind of prank? no, you were too nice to do anything like that to him. kaminari could almost cry, his heart was overflowing with joy and pure happiness.

“y-you mean it? you’re not messing with me?” kaminari said while smiling, holding her shoulders.

the girl laughed while shaking her head, “of course not! i’ve liked you for the longest time! ever since you offered to charge my phone because it was dead! i thought you were really cute and funny!”

oh gosh, you thought he was cute? that’s it. kaminari could die happy now.

“i’m so happy right now y/n, you have no idea. i’ve waited for this moment for so long… this feels like a dream.” kaminari said while looking into your eyes.

you smiled before linking your hands together, “trust me, i know exactly how you feel.”

kirishima grinned as he saw kaminari and you walk out of the schoolyard while holding hands.

“looks like your plan worked bakugou! that note really did push him to confess to y/n! who knew that you were rooting for him…”

“tch stupid, i only got tired of him always talking about how soft her hair looks or dumb shit like that, not because i care for him.” bakugou said while rolling his eyes.

but maybe, just maybe, he did care for his friend who was so helplessly in love with you.

#kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #kaminari #kaminari imagine #kaminari denki #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #kaminari fluff #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #bnha imagines

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