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revelwrites · 10 months

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The Wild Hunt Pt 2

Part One

It was oh, so easy to coax a blush to her face.

And unexpectedly sweet. Lips curving secretively, he barely resisted the urge to reach out. To see if Sadie’s face could get any redder, because he suspected it could. While he was annoyed that the mortals had dared trespass, his irritation had faltered the minute those big, blue eyes had turned his way. She hadn’t been the shortest of the group, nor the tallest, nor lovely the way the Folk were. Mortal and unremarkable.

Dismissible.

But her strawberry blond hair had caught in the sun as she’d turned his way. It had looked like fire, something elemental and wild that had snared him. Drew him in.

Now those same eyes stared up at him, igniting his urge for mischief. She was already wary of him, her curvy frame poised to bolt at any wrong move from him. Straight through the damned barrier and out of his reach.

Ending the game.

Lounging against the Rift despite the way it angrily hummed and sent tension spiraling through him, he watched her. Watched those wide eyes darting from him to the other Folk and around at the buildings. Curious, but so scared. Though she hadn’t made any effort to put distance between them either. It would have been so easy to dull that fear with glamour. Too easy.

Not nearly as much fun, either.

“I can help carry your belongings to the inn,” he said, nodding at the old building. A sprawling two-story of rough, asymmetrical stone blocks that was covered in a thick tracery of ivy, and topped with overlapping, green clay shingles, the Wisp had become a safe harbor after the chaos of the transition. “If you’re here for the Hunt, you’ll need a place to stay. Unless you plan on sleeping on the ground outside with the monsters, little bird?”

Full lips pressed into a thin, unamused line. “We’re not staying. Just watching the Hunt and leaving.”

He hummed softly, amused at her optimism even if it was misplaced. She really had no idea how vulnerable she was. Eyes sliding to the watching Folk, he tried to gauge which ones would be a problem.

Humans were a novelty. Something new to break up the dullness of being trapped. Prey to some of the Folk. Not that any of his people would dare while he was around her.

“You really are a dear,” he said, pushing off the barrier and into her space. Those eyes widened as she froze at his closeness. Moving slow so as not to spook her, he snagged a wayward curl that had escaped her braid and tucked it behind her ear. Letting his fingertips linger against her cheek, surprising himself. Soft, delicate skin stood out in stark contrast to the inky blackness of his fingers and claws. He leaned in to inhale the scent of her. Rose and vanilla. “So naïve.”

Even though he hadn’t held her under any sort of spell, she stiffened and backed away. Reddening from her neck to the tops of her ears even as she glared at him, the fire in her eyes a pleasant surprise. So, there was a temper there.

“I’m not naïve,” she muttered, voice unsteady.

The tip of his tail flicked as she turned her back on him and began walking purposefully the way her friends had gone. Smiling, he tried to remember the last time someone had dismissed him. Or even challenged him. He followed in her wake, his paws silent on the cobblestones.

Sadie glanced over her shoulder at him, heading down a narrow alley beside the Wisp. Completely oblivious as the hanging vines shifted and stretched toward the warmth of her.

“What?” She grumbled, arms wrapping around herself, but not before he saw the gooseflesh covering them. “Why are you following me?”

Stepping closer to make her back away from the vines, he flashed his small, sharp fangs at her in a smile. “And if I was just going the same way?”

He’d meant to be charming, but she blanched instead, lips pressing into a thin line. Spine straight, she walked out into the town square, her steps fast. Running from him but trying to not be obvious about it. Stirring the predator in him. He huffed out a soft laugh, trailing after her.

She stepped out of the shadows of the alley, the sun catching in her hair again. Haloing her as she rocked to a stop. Drawing even with her, he watched her lips part. He dragged his eyes from her to the square. Trying to see it as she saw it.

Swags of bright ribbons hung from the woven branches that formed arches across the street. Tangles of honeysuckle and morning glories sprawled over the buildings and overspilled onto the sidewalks. Glass orbs hung from the arches, gleaming in the sun. Wisps cascading in sunset hues hummed inside the orbs, colliding with the sides in a soft hush of sound reminiscent of moth wings. Here the sidewalk was broken up by the roots of huge trees that towered over the buildings.

There were Folk working at decorating for the Hunt, and they turned to stare at her. He could feel the hostility even from the distance and it creeped into him even as his smile widened.

Bravery faltering, she backed up a step into him and he steadied her. “That’s why I followed you, little bird,” he whispered. Meeting the hostile stares head on. Daring them to try anything. To try him.

She shuddered, but didn’t pull away from his touch this time.

Taking advantage of her hesitation, he curved an arm around her, guiding her forward. She was warm and small tucked against his side. “They won’t bite.”

Her eyes flashed to his, then back to the other Fae. But she let him lead her along the sidewalk without protest or argument. Even so, he could feel the tension in her smaller frame. The instinctive need to flee from a predator.

Urging her down the street and away from the gathered Folk, he savored the softness of her. She slowly relaxed as they moved away from the hungry eyes.

He didn’t really have a destination in mind. Just knew that he wasn’t willing to let her go. Not yet. Mortals occasionally slipped into their realm. Occasionally he found them before the red caps or kelpies did. Before some other Fae found them and became curious about what color mortals bled.

Or how they tasted.

His lips twitched as the heady scent of herbs and baked bread filled the air from one of the shops lining the street, distracting him from his thoughts.

“Hungry, little bird?” He asked, lips twitching. While Fae food wouldn’t really harm a mortal, it did come with side effects.

“I’m not stupid.” She muttered. Her voice lowered as her eyes dipped to his fangs. “Why are you helping me? Are you helping me? You’re not leading me somewhere to eat me, right?”

His brows arched, a surprised noise escaping him. She’d made the question a joke, but her voice had been strained. “That’s a thought.”

It was almost worth it to see the shock flit across her face as she shrugged off his arm, eyes quickly narrowing. Even as her face reddened again, scent sweetening. “That’s not funny.”

Smiling crookedly with the knowledge that she was clueless about where his mind had gone, he kept walking. There was still plenty of time until the Wild Hunt. Time enough to coax and win her over. “So suspicious.”

“Yeah, well,” she trailed off, before darting past him. “Brooke!”

He swallowed a growl as his head lifted to spot the other mortal standing with a Fae he knew. The taller woman was standing in front of the bakery, her honey-blond hair knotted with goldenrod and honeysuckle. Eyes dark and glassy, the woman sluggishly turned. A half-eaten pastry in her hand.

The tall Fae standing at her elbow, inclined his head in greeting, the familiar face reassuring. Elith’s long, silver hair sliding against the tops of his shoulders as one thin hand lifted to steady the woman. The mortal, Brooke, lifted a hand in greeting, her brow creased and confused.

Sadie darted toward them, slowing as she took in the other Fae. “You can’t eat their food.”

Glancing down at the food in her hand, the woman seemed surprised. Even from a distance, Ruslan could smell the glamour clinging to the woman. The confusion.

“I didn’t-I didn’t?” Brooke looked up at Elith as though to ask him.

One of the many extra spidery legs jutting from Elith’s back twitched then stilled. “She was already glamoured when I found her,” he said, meeting Ruslan’s eyes.

Closing the distance between them, Ruslan reached out to touch Sadie’s elbow, frowning as she shrugged him off.

“Brooke, we need to go. Now,” she said.

The other woman backed into Elith as Sadie reached for her, chin lifting defiantly. To his surprise, the woman pointedly threaded her arm through Elith’s. Clinging to him and pressing her cheek against the front of his shirt. Elith grimaced at the contact, but didn’t shrug the woman off.

“I’m fine,” Brooke insisted.

Looking lost, Sadie glanced at the taller Fae and then her friend. “You can’t stay here.”

“She’s right,” Elith said to the woman, dark eyes patient.

Growling softly, Ruslan studied the other human. Elith was right that someone had glamoured her. And then given her their food. The food he could almost write off as ignorance, except they all knew how little control mortals had around it. They would starve themselves for it, but it still could have been mischief. The glamour, though?

Someone had been playing, but he wasn’t sure what the game had been. Seeing how far they could push her until she broke? Irritated, his fingers flexed at his sides. “You’re both going to the Wisp for your safety.”

Sadie rounded on him, lips parting to argue and he shook his head at her. Her words faltered in the face of his anger. That spark of uncertainty was back in her eyes. The fear of him.

And that made him angrier than anything else. He forced a smile, not even bothering to hide his fangs. If she thought he was a monster, then he could play the part all too well. It wasn’t like it was anything new.

His fingers closed around her wrist, feeling the thin, delicate bones under her skin. Enough to temper his anger. Gentle his hold. Trying to calm himself, he met Elith’s dark eyes. The other Fae inclined his head in agreement.

“We’ll find your companions,” Ruslan said, tugging gently on her wrist.

Those blue eyes met his, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Promise.”

Startled, he inhaled. She couldn’t possibly know what she was asking of him. A promise from him would be a binding oath. One he couldn’t break. He ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth in thought. “And in exchange, little bird?”

Now she hesitated. Balking. So she knew enough to be careful, but how much did she really know? “Like what?”

Wicked temptation lifted through him, heating his blood. He allowed himself a slow smile, leaning close. “My promise in exchange for you. You enter the Wild Hunt.”

#fantasy #paranormal romance #terato #monster x human

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soulmate-game · 3 years

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Curiosity Killed the Exorcist

“And then, see here? You have to be on the lookout for subtle signs like these. This indicates that he’s…” Marinette nodded as Tim continued explaining, pointing out various body language and other clues out on the Batcomputer. It had only been about six months since the Batfam collectively adopted the little ladybug into their menagerie of heroes, and started teaching her deductive habits and skills. She would not allow them anywhere near Paris on pain of death (some of them had already tried, and Bruce was still recovering from the bruise to his ego. The bruise on his ass from being teleported out of the city and onto the stone of the Batcave was gone, though) but she welcomed any help they could give from within Gotham’s city limits.

Usually, at least in the beginning, they did their mentorship at a distance over video call. But then Tim found out her identity, and Marinette made the excuse of wanting to meet with them in person to gauge their trustworthiness for herself and erase their memories of her identity if they failed her test— and, well, it all snowballed from there until she was teleporting to the Batcave every few days for detective lessons. She was practically a Bat herself, if not for her out of theme codename. And she found herself surprisingly comfortable with the thought of them being a… very eccentric extended family.

Tim was flipping to another saved video in the Batcomputer archives to show another example of his current lesson, when Tikki flew up to Marinette in a hurry. She was holding Kaalki’s glasses. The little kwami whispered something in Marinette’s ear, instantly making the teen blanch and force on the glasses.

“Sorry Timmy, gotta cut this short! I’ll come back tomorrow to make up for it! Okay? Okay! Awesome, you’re the best, bye!” She ignored all of Tim’s protests and rapid fire questions, instead opening up a portal and jumping through it as fast as humanly possible. The portal has barely disappeared before an all-too-familiar voice rose up from behind Tim.

“Maybe I’m still drunk, ‘cause I could’a sworn I just saw a portal closing in the damned Batcave, of all places,” the British-accented drawl was accompanied by the flick of a lighter and accompanying fizzle of a flame. Tim groaned, mentally making a note to ask how in the world Marinette had known that John “Annoying asshole” Constantine was showing up soon, and if he could be in on the warning next time. Bruce, cowl still off, walked over from where he had been sparring with Damian and crossed his arms. He had also heard Marinette’s hasty exit, and made a few mental notes of his own before focusing on the exorcist in front of him.

“What do you want, Constantine?” he grumbled. Any time the blond brit showed up, things only got far more complicated than he ever enjoyed. And he always gave Bruce a migraine, to boot.

“Two things actually, Batsy,” John held up to fingers as his free hand tucked his lighter away in his pocket. His unlit cigarette stayed in his mouth though, probably just for the familiar feel of it. “One; I’m gonna need you to tell me why there was a portal closing when I walked in, because I’ll be honest. The implications there are way more interesting than what I came here for in the first place.”

“None of your business. What’s the second thing?” Bruce immediately shot him down, but John was not one to be deterred. He never fucking was.

“But you hate magic! You make sure I know that all too bloody well every time I pay you a visit, so why the sudden change in heart? Huh?”

“Drop it, Constantine. What. Do you. Want?”

“Fine, fine. I need your help with…”

— * — * — * — * — *

A week later, Marinette was sitting with Jason and Damian in one of the manor’s sitting rooms, the three of them just minding their own business and silently enjoying one another’s presence. Even if two of them would never admit it. Jason was reading Jane Eyre for the millionth time, Damian was leaning against Titus on the ground as he sketched, and Marinette was embroidering a sunhat. Unfortunately for her, Alfred the Cat was currently asleep on her lap and thus holding her hostage.

Even as Tikki flew up to her ear in a panic and whispered, making Marinette prick herself with her needle. She hissed for a second but shrugged off the familiar pain, much more concerned with whatever news Tikki had given her. Damian and Jason were already on high alert from the second that a whispered curse had left her lips, and were staring straight at her and her kwami and Marinette frantically tried to find a way to get up without awakening the cat sleeping on her.

“Uh, what’s wrong?” Jason asked, feeling thoroughly confused and left out. On one hand, he knew that if they were in physical danger she would have moved Alfred the Cat without hesitation. On the other, he did not like the sheer amount of anxiety he could see her experiencing. Marinette’s frantic eyes shot over to him, pupils mere pinpricks and hands mouth agape as she tried to form some sort of plan.

“Uh— “

“Ah! You must be the fair maiden that the Bats are comfortable with using magic around them,” John goddamned Constantine threw the door to the sitting room open wide, making it bounce off of the wall and lightly smack back against his shoulder. He ignored it as he grinned at the three younger people in the room, waltzing in casual as anything. He wagged a finger at her playfully. “I’ve been awfully curious about you, ya know? Brucie boy knows a shit ton of magic users, but he never likes seein’ any of us do our thing. And to not only allow you to teleport without any apparent discomfort but to actively protect your identity from me? Now that’s a damn accomplishment and I really gotta applaud you for it,” he mockingly clapped his hands a few times. “So what’s your secret, huh? I won’t tattle.”

“No thanks. Kaalki, a little help?” Marinette carefully pushed Alfred the Cat off of her lap before diving into the portal that Kaalki whipped up for her, the entire process happening so fast that Constantine couldn’t even get out a proper “hey!” before she was gone and the portal closed. He just nodded, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.

“Ya know what? Fair. That’s fair.”

“Goddamn it, Constantine!” Jason threw up his hands in frustration. “Why the fuck do you have to scare away one of the only sane people in this family?”

“Part of my charm, little red riding hood.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“You know, I’ve been pretty damn nice not teleporting right over to you whenever you disappear. So why don’t you just tell me why you’re avoiding me now that we happen to be in the same room by complete accident, huh?” John asked from where he sat in one of Bruce’s lounge chairs sipping on a beer. Marinette mimed choking him, clearly fed up. He had been trying to have a conversation with her for the past three months, ever since that one time he caught the tail end of her portal closing in the Batcave. Three. Long. Months. And he hadn’t given up, because something about this little Parisian teenager intrigued him. She was sixteen, that much he had gathered from the Bats. But to be sixteen and not only in possession of the Horse miraculous but also clearly the Ladybugs, since he had seen Tikki more than once as well, now that was interesting.

Anybody being in the possession of more than one Miraculous was already cause enough to be keeping an eye on them, which was why he had been keeping an eye on the Paris situation and had pieced together on his own that the presence of Tikki meant that this little parisian teenager was none other than Ladybug herself. Now, that? That was a whole new level of concerning, especially since he knew firsthand that the old Grand Guardian was gone and passed his title down to— yeah, Ladybug.

After that deduction, his interest in Marinette had swiftly switched from curiosity to fuck-I-need-to-know-what’s-going-on-here. Because no kid should have to deal with that kind of weight, and Constantine always looked out for kids when he could.

But right then, Marinette was glaring at him. She had been just coming over for a normal “family” dinner with the Waynes, which she attended from time to time. And apparently they had decided to have Constantine already over so that they could chaperone a meeting between them that would hopefully appease the stupid british magic user enough that he left them all alone again until the next time he needed help.

“Believe me when I say, you’d rather not know,” she replied sharply, glaring Dick. He was the one who had convinced her to come despite her recent close calls with Constantine in the past few days. He studiously avoided her gaze. “I just would rather not cross your path, and there’s no reason for us to interact. Why do you care, anyway?”

“You see, now that is an excellent question!” he chugged the last of his beer and gestured to her with the empty bottle. “Normally, I wouldn’t give a flying rat’s ass. But I’ve put two and two together, since I know who Tikki is,” he nodded to the red and black Kwami. “And maybe I just wanna keep an eye on the new Grand Guardian to make sure she’s doin’ alright. That’s an awful lot of magic and responsibility that you don’t deserve, but I’m not about to try to take it away. Keepin’ an eye on you is the next best thing.”

“Try again,” Marinette shot back, crossing her arms. “You were interested in me before you learned about me being Ladybug.”

“I’m nosy, what do you want me to say? I saw a portal in Batman’s man-cave, I get curious. Sue me.”

“Well. I have Bruce and everyone else already watching out for me, so you can leave me alone now. If I need your help, I’ll make sure to ask every other magic user first before contacting you.”

“Woah, now what’s all this venom for?”

“Uh, maybe we should go and actually eat dinner?” Dick tried to step in, hands up. Constantine had stood up from the chair he was in, which was usually a cue to change the subject as fast as possible. “Before Alfred has to come get us?”

“Maybe I’ll be less venomous if you let the subject drop and leave me alone!”

“Context would be nice, though.”

“Seriously guys, let’s go! Food!” Dick was once again ignored.

“Context is the last thing you need in this situation,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, her arms dropping to her sides. “We’ve had this conversation so many times in so many now-deleted timelines. Just drop it this time.”

“If those timelines are now-deleted, then I obviously don’t remember what’s so bad about telling me why you’re acting like I’m some hated family member you’re avoiding!”

Silence.

Pure. Fucking. Silence. As they all watch with front row seats as Marinette flinches at the word ‘family’.

Pure silence as Constantine’s shoulders drop at the sight of her flinch, realization slapping itself on his face.

“No.”

“See? I fucking knew you would— that this would happen. This always happens, you always hate finding it out, but you’re so— so stubborn!” Marinette was blinking away tears, digging in her pockets and bringing out Kaalki’s glasses. “You’ll drop it now, at least. You always do.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” Constantine rubbed his forehead, still trying to sort through his amalgam of emotions. Marinette just shook her head, turning to Kaalki.

“Do you mind showing Monsieur Constantine the way out, Kaalki? I’ll grab you a load of sugar cubes afterward.”

“No, wait, hang on a second!”

A portal opened up under him, making John “Stubborn Idiot” Constantine drop ten feet down onto the hardwood, polished floor of his house. His bruised tailbone would take a while to heal, but his frazzled mind was by far the more concerning development. He staggered to his feet, reaching for the nearest bottle of tequila.

“Ugh, fuck my damn life.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“Marinette..?” Damian nudged the girl with his shoulder, frowning. It was after dinner that same day, and as much as he hated to admit it he had grown to actually like having her around. She was a good friend to have. And seeing her slumped back on one of their sofas, sketchbook covering her face and not a single rambling conversation to be had or heard? It was very concerning. She just made a groaning sound to answer him, prompting his frown to deepen. “Are you alright?”

“I just can’t believe that such a sweet, adorable thing like you is half made up of Constantine’s genes,” Jason mused bluntly from the opposite couch, where he tossed a rubber ball up and down out of boredom. “But now I see where you get all of your Disaster Bi-ness from.”

“Shut uuuuup,” She groaned, chucking her sketchbook at him. He caught it in midair, replacing his rubber ball with it and tossing it up and down in the air. “I’m just frustrated. This timeline is still perfectly stable, so I can’t erase it. And I can’t exactly ask ‘hey, can someone commit a horrid atrocity that makes this timeline split from the main one so that I can erase it and we can start over from four months ago?’ because that would be horribly irresponsible of me. But seriously, Jason. If you’re gonna ever commit, like, city-wise arson? I’d probably condone it right now if only so I have an excuse to use time travel to get out of this situation.”

“Not committing arson unless you give me a better reason for it, Pigtails.”

“Damn.”

“But are you okay?�� Damian asked again, seeing as she had completely ignored him.

“I’m fine, Damian,” she finally sighed. “And I know how this is gonna go. He’s going to totally ignore me now, until we meet during some magical crisis and he only interacts with me when necessary. Then he pretends we never met, we have a private little one-sided whisper-argument about how he will never make a good father figure and I would be better off leaving him alone, blah blah blah. Avoidance is a coping mechanism I guess I inherited from him.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m trying to bite that in the bud then, eh?” Marinette startled out of her sitting position, seeing John stumble into the room…

Drunk off his ass. But apparently still at least mildly coherent.

“I agree with deleted-me’s, I’m not gonna be a dad. Not me,” he tripped, landing on his still-bruised ass and hissing in pain before continuing from the floor; “So if you’re looking for another Daddy dearest, that ain’t me.”

“See, I knew this is how you’d—”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “I don’t know how long the booze is gonna last and I need it’s courage here. ‘Kay? ‘Kay. Where was I? Right. But I know magic, ya know. The kind that doesn’t rely on little bobblehead gods to do. I got— like, a million books. Shit ton of books. At my place. Ya can read ‘em. My books. At my place. But I ain’t gonna parent, but I can lend ya books. Maybe give magic advice. Teach a little. Little bit. Didn’t think I’d have a child, but apparently I do and she’s the fuckin’ grand guardian and a damn hero, and I don’t know how the fuck I was able to help make someone like that. But whatever, it’s not like the world’s ever fuckin’ been easy on me,” He pulled out a sample-sized bottle of whiskey from one of the pockets on the inside of his trench coat and chugged it. After a brief wince and hiss at the burn, he kept rambling. “My door’s open, is what I’m tryin’ to say. No guarantee I’ll be in any state to talk to when you walk through it, but it’s open.”

Deciding to steadfastly ignore the tears streaming down her face, Marinette just swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I, uh. I think I can work with that.”

John barely made it to the nearby bin in time to vomit into it.

— * — * — * — * — *

I hate my imagination sometimes, guys. I started imagining a convo between Mari and Constantine at like 4am and it wouldn't leave me alone until I got it down. but by the time I wrote it, I kinda forgot like 60% of the original convo and just winged it. And this was born. I 100% blame @multifandomscribette because their Bio!dad John Constantine headcannons are amazing and even though this isn't in that universe, those headcannons are exactly what inspired this. So blame them, lol.

#dc x mlb #ml x dc #mlb x dc #maribat fanfic #maribat #maribat fic #miraculous ladybug x dc #bio!dad John Constantine

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melancholydreadfuldream · 4 years

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wonders lost and wounded

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: 10th Doctor x Reader

Summary: The Doctor has lost so much and he has gotten a bit dark but will you still stay with him or leave?

Warning: ooc, angst, plot holes, dark!doctor, manipulation, death, etc. You have been warned.

More warning: English is not my first language so beware of the headache you will receive upon reading this.

The Doctor sighed in relief and disbelief as he realized he is still alive. He chuckled. "I'm still alive." Maybe the prophecy is wrong after all, he thought.

He turned to you who were knocked unconscious on the floor a few feet away from him. He crawled toward you to check you for injuries. He is relieved knowing you are fine too.

You slowly woke up under his touches. "D-doctor..." You whispered groggily.

The Doctor grinned at you. "We are alive." He said and pulled you into a hug.

You were surprised at his sudden show of affection but you were not complaining. You knew about the prophecy, he had told you before about the four knocks. You both thought it was about the Master.

You smiled at him too, relieved, thinking he is able to cheat the prophecy.

He chuckled again until four sharp knocks were heard. The dread you both felt was so great as you both turned around slowly and saw Wilfred, trapped in the radiation booth.

And the Doctor knew then, he still trapped to fulfill the prophecy of his death.

You knew what will happened next. You thought the Doctor will have to sacrifice himself to save Wilfred.

You listened numbly as the Doctor explained the situation to Donna's beloved grandfather.

"Can't you just open the door?" Wilfred asked.

"The Master left the nuclear bot running and it's gone into overload."

"That's bad, is it?"

"No cos all the excess radiation gets vented inside there. Vinvocci glass. Contains it. All 500.000 rads about to flood that thing."

"Well better let me out then yeah?" Wilfred said with a chuckle.

The Doctor doesn't laugh. "Except it's gone critical. Touch one control and it floods." He pulled his sonic screwdriver. "Even this would set it off."

"I'm sorry." Wilfred looked a bit scared but also resigned.

"You had to go and get stuck. Cos that's who you are, Wilfred. You were always this. Waiting for me all this time." The Doctor said calmy but you could sense the rage and despair in his voice.

"Oh really just leave me. I'm an old man, Doctor, I've had my time." Wilfred said softly.

"Well, exactly look at you. Not remotely important." The Doctor said in such a ruthless tone.

You stared at him in disbelief. You knew he is working on the acceptance of his upcoming death but his words are cruel. You didn't say anything though. You wanted to comfort him but you got the sense he will refuse any comfort right now.

"But me...I could do so much more. So much more! But this is what I get. My reward." The Doctor raged at the world. "And it's not fair!!"

You flinched when he threw some stuff on the floor in his anger. Your heart ached for the Doctor. You wish you could do something, anything to help him at this moment.

You know you could choose to sacrifice yourself in his place but you were too afraid. You can't judge him for wanting to live. He is right. He deserve to live longer. But he need to save Wilfred. The Doctor will die but he will regenerate, you know this.

"I don't accept it."

You turned to look at the Doctor at what he said.

The Doctor's words chilled you to the bone. He sounded so cold. "I'm sorry, Wilfred, I'm so sorry." He said. "I refused to die here."

"Doctor..." You whispered his name. You didn't know what to say, too horrified at the thought that he is willing to let Wilfred die.

The Doctor didn't even look at you. He still staring at Wilfred with a dispassionate look.

Wilfred glanced at the Doctor and nodded his acceptance.

"No." You said. "Doctor, you can't just let him die. He is Donna's grandfather." You grabbed his arms, pleading at him. "There has to be a way."

"There is no other way. Would you rather I die instead, (name)?" The Doctor asked you insensitively.

"That's not fair. I would never wish for your death, you know this." You answered with tears on your eyes. "But, Wilfred..."

"It's okay, (name)." Wilfred said. "I have lived a good life. I am old. Sooner later I will die."

"Not like this." You said to him. "Not like this." You turned to the Doctor. "Donna would never forgive you if she know..." You knew it was cruel to bring up Donna but you just wanted the Doctor to snap out of whatever the state he is in. He frightened you. He sounded like the Time Lord Victorious back at Mars.

The Doctor flinched. He turned and glared at you. "Then, it's a good thing that she will never know."

"Doctor, please, you are scaring me..." You begged him.

He won't budge from his position and you didn't know what it is you are trying to make him do. You wanted him to save Wilfred but you didn't want him to die either. So, what are you going to do now?

You couldn't think straight as you made your way toward the booth but before you could reach it, the Doctor grabbed your arms roughly.

"Don't even think about it." He hissed at you. "You can't regenerate. You will die."

You turned to him, tears in your eyes. You didn't want to die either, part of you is relieved he stopped you but all you know is you can't let Wilfred die here, certainly not because the Doctor choose not to save him.

"Doctor, you can't just let him die..."

"I can't always save everyone." He said callously.

You flinched.

"It's okay, (name), it's alright." Wilfred said comfortingly at you.

The Doctor pulled you away from the booth. You didn't stop looking at Wilfred. He is still smiling gently as he resigned to his fate. You turned toward the Doctor and blanched at how unfeeling he seemed as he stared at Wilfred.

7777

The Doctor has dragged you back into his Tardis.

He had done it. He cheated death, he broke the prophecy. He will live on. He is victorious.

The Doctor smiled.

You couldn't believe your eyes. How could he be smiling like this after he let someone he close to die?

You were still shaking and in shock after leaving Wilfred to his death. You wiped your tears and you turned away from the console room and back into your room aboard the Tardis.

You sat on the floor, hugging your knees. You didn't know how long you were on the floor. You couldn't think straight.

7777

You first joined the Doctor in his current incarnation. He was traveling with Rose at the time. He invited you to travel with him and Rose. Rose never like you, thinking you were her competition. You did started having feeling for the Doctor but you could tell he loves Rose so you never tried anything with him.

You stayed with him even after he lost Rose. But you were never good enough for him. At long night when he especially missed Rose, he would glance at you and you could tell what he was thinking. Why you? Why can't Rose be the one who gets to stay by his side?

He would feel guilty when he saw your hurt look but he never apologies.

You were grateful when Martha joined the Tardis. You got along well with Martha. You and Martha were both miserable with the love you both felt for the Time Lord. You bonded with the fact the Doctor always compare you both with the awesomeness that is Rose Tyler.

It surprised you at all that John Smith ended up falling in love with you during the period of hiding from the family of blood. Oh it was hard for you to fend off John's affection for you. You couldn't bear the thought that when John disappeared, the Doctor will remember everything he did as John. You were mortified, especially knowing his true feeling for Rose.

However John is very persistent in wanting to court you and he is so adorably awkward about it. If thing is different, if John is just a simple human, you could see yourself falling in love with his charm. But you know better. Or at least, you should have.

And yet despite knowing this, you ended up accepting his courting. Martha supported you albeit a bit bitter about it. You can't blame her for you would be too in her place.

John would always smile at you whenever he saw you, offer his arm as he took you out on a stroll into town. He shared with you his weird dream and his journal. That made you felt guilt because you know the truth about his real identity. You saw his drawing of Rose. Even as a human, this version of the Doctor is still fascinated with the idea of Rose.

He draws your picture in his journal and he was very good at it. You thought he have made you too beautiful and told him so. He had said that is how he see you.

And you realized he did see you when the Doctor himself didn't. You both shared a look and he kissed you.

If it's not for Martha's interference, you would have been sweep away by your passion for John. You felt bad for Martha when John shouted at her for not knocking before entering his room.

You tried to leave despite John's insistence to stay. "This is a mistake." You said without thinking.

John looked hurt. But it was the truth. You shouldn't have let him kiss you or kissed him back in return. You were ashamed that you have no self-control.

He tried to stop you from leaving but you were a coward as you ran out of his embrace.

You hated yourself for being so weak, for easily falling in love with John just for his show of affection of you, even knowing full well that he has an expired date. What were you thinking? Stupid!

You talked to Martha about it. You apologized to her for everything she has to endure in this period and for having John's heart. Martha, brave-heart Martha, never blame you and she understood you. You were grateful for her friendship.

When the family of blood attacked, John were attending dance party with Joan, the matron who have her eyes on John ever since the first time they met. You thought he did that on purpose to make you jealous, to hurt you as you have hurt him when you rejected him.

You and Martha raced against time to find the pocket watch containing Doctor's time lord consciousness. You and Martha had to convinced John to open the watch but he refused to do so even after you both explained everything about the Doctor and his current enemy.

John glanced at you mournfully. "Did you love him, this Doctor?"

You didn't know how to answer him. You wanted to lie but you found you couldn't lie to him. "I love him."

"And did he love you back?"

Your heart ached at the question. You shook your head.

"Then how can I return to be him when he didn't even love you?"

"John..."

"I don't want to go..." He whispered brokenly. "Why can't I stay?"

You pulled him into your embrace. Tears filled your eyes as your heart ached for this man, John Smith.

"Promise me something, (name)." John whispered to you. "If this man, this Doctor, would never love you back, promise me you won't stay with him. You deserved someone who loved you back. You find that person. Can you do that?"

You glanced up at him. You hesitantly nodded. You didn't know if you could keep your promise but you made that promise anyway.

After he returned back into the Doctor, you noticed he started treating you a bit differently. Martha said she caught him staring at you a few times. You believed it was a remnant of John's feeling for you and yet it still not enough for the Doctor to do something about it. So you both tried to ignore the elephant in the room. But Martha is right though, you kept catching him giving you a look. You wondered if he remembered the promise you made to John and whether you would ever act on it.

You lost the only family you have left in the world during your travel with the Doctor. You didn't even get to say goodbye. You were devastated. The Doctor and Martha were thankfully there for you. The Doctor granted you a chance to say goodbye to your mother and you were eternally grateful to him and his Tardis.

Afterward you needed a break from the Tardis but you made the Doctor promised to come back for you when you are ready. You reunited again with them on Valiant when the Master arranged his people to kidnap you. It was painful year for everyone involved. You were so glad when the Doctor and Martha defeated the Master and time is reset.

Martha left the Tardis after the fiasco with the Master. She warned you not to put your life on hold for the Doctor. You wished you could take her advice but maybe you are still one sick puppy for you let yourself burn over and over again for him.

The Doctor invited Donna to join you both. You got along with Donna. You love how she took no nonsense from the Doctor. You remembered your first meeting with her in her wedding dress. She never stop yelling or slapping the Doctor. It was funny. You thought Donna is exactly the kind of companion the Doctor needs. You loved watching the two exchanged banters, it was very entertaining.

You thought you could keep your feeling for the Doctor under wrap but Donna noticed it. Despite her teasing and support, you refused to act on her crude advice regarding the Doctor.

Then Rose returned. She always is possessive of the Doctor. She doesn't like that you were still there with the Doctor. She is afraid that you will take her place in the Doctor's hearts. She really need not to worry for you know the Doctor only has eyes for one Rose Tyler. You could never compete with her.

With Rose returned, you know it was time to take Martha's advice and keep your promise to John about leaving the Doctor for good. At least that is your plan until everything fall apart around you. The Doctor once again stranded Rose in the bad wolf bay and gifting her a gift of a life with Metacrisis Doctor. Then, he had to erase Donna's memories of everything pertaining the Doctor.

You can't leave him now. You can't let him be alone. He is the loneliest man in the universe and you wish to ease his loneliness even for just a bit. So you stayed for him.

The Doctor treated you differently now. He is more affectionate with you. You were confused and you couldn't help the hope rising in your heart even though you knew he is just using you. You found you didn't mind. How pathetic you can be? So hungry for his affection that you would be anything he want.

He frightened you though during a trip to the Mars. At first he insisted to leave for he doesn't want to mess with a fixed point in time. But he changed his mind when he saved some of the crews' lives. You were properly scared when he proclaimed himself the Time Lord Victorious. You thought he snapped out of it when Adelaide committed suicide to keep the timeline in tact.

Now with what happening with Wilfred, you have to wonder if he is still the Time Lord Victorious.

7777

You felt guilty. You knew it was out of your control and yet you still felt guilty anyway. You had nightmare about Wilfred. You couldn't stop shaking every time you woke up in cold sweat.

The Doctor acted as if nothing has changed, grinning at you and talking about the next trip he planned for the both of you.

You couldn't stand it so you asked to be taken home even though there is nothing for you at home. You needed a break from the Doctor so that you can sort out your mind.

A dark expression crossed his feature immediately, making you winced as you took unconscious step back away from him.

"Okay." He said solemnly.

You blinked in surprise and confusion. You glanced at him, wondering if your mind just played a trick on you earlier.

He smiled at you and talked you about giving it a few days for him to prepare a last hurrah for you.

You couldn't refuse when you watched how excited the Doctor as he was planning that last hurrah thing.

7777

True to his words, he planned a very exciting trip for you. You had a lot of fun that day. You laughed along with the Doctor. He would grab your hands tightly as he made you run as he showed you the wonder of the universe.

He glanced at you fondly, grinning boyishly. You love the sound of his laughter.

And then he kissed you.

You were stunned.

He cupped your face gently, pulling your chin up as he continues kissing you.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" You asked in hurt tone.

He glanced down at you, putting his forehead over yours and let out a soft sigh. "Can't you tell?"

"Are you trying to stop me from leaving by doing this? Kissing me?"

"I don't want you to go." The Doctor whispered in your ear. "Stay with me?" He is distracting you with kisses on the neck.

"Doctor, I..."

Your mind short-circuits when he kissed you again.

And so, you give in to him the next time he asked you to stay.

7777

Ever since that day, your relationship with the Doctor changed. He kissed you a lot, not that you are complaining, you just still not sure whether you were a couple or not. You were too afraid to make confirmation though. So, yeah, you did indeed stay with him again.

He was smiling and grinning a lot and still talked really fast over everything like over excited puppy. The dark look that alarmed you before never made appearance again until Jackson Lake.

The Doctor took you to London on Christmas Eve in 1851 where you encountered a man that the Doctor thought to be his future regeneration. Soon the both of you are pulled into the cybermen fiasco where the Doctor learn the man he met is not a future version of himself. His name is Jackson Lake. His mind got infused with cybermen infostamp which made him believe he is the Doctor.

It was there you once again saw the Time Lord Victorious. He let Jackson Lake fell into the time vortex along with the cybermen. He didn't even bother to try to save him.

You confronted him about it much to his displeasure.

"I can't always save everyone. You know this."

You couldn't believe him. You knew he could have; he just chooses not to. "Is this who you are from now on, Doctor? You would just let people die."

"I did the best I can do in the situation."

"Yeah? And will one day you would do that to me too? Someday you will just choose not to save me?"

He glared at you as he moved toward you, causing you to flinch in fear. You thought he would hit you. He trapped you instead between him and the wall.

The Doctor cupped your cheeks with his hands. "I will always do everything in my power to save you, (name)."

You were stunned to see the sorrow in his eyes.

7777

There were times that you wanted to leave the Doctor but then he will do something that made you feel too guilty to ever leave him behind. So, you never did leave him.

You and the Doctor ended up in Leadworth where you met Amy Pond while the Doctor deals with Prisoner Zero and the Atraxi.

Amy told you she has a message for you from her raggedy Doctor. You were confused. She took you to her house to her bedroom and told you to touch the crack on her wall.

You were hesitant at first but you eventually did.

You found yourself in some white space and you saw a man who Amy claimed is the raggedy Doctor.

The man smiled at you fondly. "(name)..."

"Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor."

"But you can't be."

"Well, I was supposed to be the Doctor until he, your Doctor, changed his path." He said.

Suddenly the surrounding around you changed into the time where the Doctor were still with Wilfred, only this time you saw the Doctor walked inside the booth, allowing Wilfred to survive another day. You watched in tears as the Doctor made his goodbyes trip and his heart-breaking final words which reminded you of John. Then he regenerated into the man you saw, the so-called raggedy Doctor.

You blinked suddenly when you realized you weren't with the Doctor in these visions. "Where am I? Why am I not with you?"

The Doctor looked so sad. "Oh, (name), remember Mars?"

You nodded hesitantly.

"Do you remember what happened after Mars?"

"You mean with Adelaide...?"

"After that..."

You pondered about it. "I was in the Tardis with the Doctor."

"And then what? Where did you both go?"

You frowned when you realized you didn't remember. "I don't..."

The raggedy Doctor has such a sorrowful look as he look at you. He cupped your cheeks. "I'm so sorry, (name)."

You felt like choking. "What is going on? I don't understand."

You woke up on the Tardis med-bay. The Doctor, your Doctor, apparently found you unconscious in some empty house. The owner of the house apparently were in a coma, a victim of Prisoner Zero.

You didn't tell the Doctor of what you saw.

7777

You and the Doctor encountered River Song in the Byzantium. You were annoyed watching River flirted with the Doctor. You watched the Doctor tentatively flirted back much to your disbelief.

River then explained why she called the Doctor here and asked him about what he know of weeping angel. There was supposed to be only one angel. However, it turned out this time, the Doctor didn't notice the danger the weeping angel pose as you and everyone involved were in the middle of the angels army waking up.

Despite the Doctor warning for you to stay close, you ended up got lost and you screamed when you met face to face with one of the angels.

You woke up feeling weak inside the Tardis med-bay and you distinctly heard the Doctor arguing with someone, arguing with River, apparently.

It sounded very heated. River looked pissed and the Doctor looked annoyed.

"It was very stupid and foolish, not to mention, cruel!" You heard River yelling at the Doctor.

"Don't talk about things that you don't understand."

"Oh I understand more than you think, Doctor."

You choose that moment to cough.

The Doctor and surprisingly, River, fussed over you immediately.

You touched your stiff neck. "Ow, I think I sleep wrong, my neck is killing me..." You whined.

The Doctor and River exchanged a look but it went unnoticed by you.

7777

You were shaking in fury and in tears.

Earlier that day, during routine adventure, you and the Doctor naturally gotten into trouble. By the end of it, you were taken hostage. And as you always dreaded, he chooses not to save you.

At first the Doctor has threatened them with his usual no second chance thing, his oncoming storm vibe. His eyes cold and calculating as he stared down the people who took you.

Your eyes widened in disbelief and hurt when he said to the alien to go ahead and kill you. You felt so betrayed. Even the said alien was confused with the Doctor's sudden change in mood.

The Doctor's firm look betrayed nothing of what he planned. He just stood there with flat look even as the alien insisted he will kill you. Instead you saw him lifted his sonic screwdriver at your direction.

You must have fainted at some point because you woke up on the Tardis med-bay unharmed. You cried though when you recalled what happened.

The Doctor entered the room and dare to look happy to see you awake after he just betrayed you like that. How can you trust him again?

You were so furious. You refused to hear his explanation that he was just bluffing and that everything turned out okay.

"(name), you need to trust me. I would never abandon you." The Doctor said as he grabbed my arms.

"Take me home, Doctor. I am done. I can't stay here anymore. I don't feel safe with you anymore." You said with tears, ignoring his pleading eyes. "I can't do this anymore. I can't trust you."

The Doctor looked like he was being slapped. His eyes looked sad and tired. "After everything we have gone through together, how can you not trust me?"

"I am afraid of you. I know I am just human. I know traveling with you is dangerous and that someday I will eventually die. But I have always trust you to have my back, to protect me when it matters. But you told him to just go ahead and kill me!"

"It was just a bluff. I would never let him kill you." The Doctor pleaded. "Please, (name), you can't leave..."

"I can't stay. I am sorry, Doctor. I just..."

"I am sorry too."

You glanced up at him and saw a dark look on his face. You took a step back away from him in fear.

He glanced down at you as he walked toward you slowly. "Don't be afraid of me, (name), not you..."

You tried to stay put as he stood before you. He raised a hand over your head. He tentatively wiped your tears with his thumb. He bend his head toward your ear and whispered something to you.

7777

You woke up to the sound of bird song inside the Tardis even though you were pretty sure you were at home just before. Were you really at home though? Didn't you decided to stay with the Doctor? You couldn't think straight.

There was a man that look exactly like the Doctor, saved for his ginger hair, sunglasses and his dark clothing. He called himself the Dream Lord. He was very loud about it too.

He insinuated the Doctor is keeping some secret from you. You said that was nothing new. But then he mentioned the secret involved yourself. He showed you a door, a vault really, with complicated lock on it.

"How am I meant to open that?"

"Well not here you can't but when you woke up and find it, just think open sesame, it will work."

"Seriously?" You asked in disbelief.

"Don't you want to know what happened after Mars?" He asked in a chilling tone.

You froze under his gaze.

"Find the vault. Learn the truth."

That's when the original Doctor suddenly appeared and the vault dissolved before the Doctor noticed as he was busy yelling at his twin.

You eventually woke up for real. You wondered what is that dream lord thing. The Doctor had said the dream lord is not real, just a manifestation of his darker side, influenced by psychic pollen inside the Tardis which heated up and causing both you and the Doctor caught into some dream world.

7777

You secretly tried to find the vault you saw in your dream but you couldn't find it within the Tardis. You wondered if the dream lord is bullshitting you. Would open sesame even worked to open the vault?

But you were curious about what he said about after Mars. It was twice now a version of Doctors warned you about it.

What happened after Mars? Where did you and the Doctor go? Why can't you remember?

You must have lost your mind because you started to hearing whispers in your head. You followed the whispers alongside the corridors within the Tardis.

Find the vault. Learn the truth. Find the vault. Learn the truth.

It was like someone is chanting those words over and over again.

You clutched your pounding head with both hands, wishing the headache will go away.

"(name)? Are you alright? What's wrong?" The Doctor asked.

The whispers suddenly gone and so is the headache. You glanced up at the Doctor, eyes glassy but you were relieved.

Without thinking, you rushed toward him and hugged him close. He hugged you back and rubbed your back.

"Come on." He led you away from the corridors. He discreetly turned to look at the corridors you both just left. The air around it started to falter, showing something hidden beneath it. He pulled an arms around you protectively.

7777

The Doctor let out a heavy sigh. That was a close call. One more step and you would have seen through the perception filter and once again find the vault.

Each time you did find the vault, he would have to erase your memories of it for you could never cope with the truth behind the vault.

And yet for some reason, time and time again, you continued to stumble your way into the vault no matter how many times he relocated the vault, regardless the many protective layer after layer of perception filter he placed upon it.

You always ended up finding the vault, learning the painful truth behind the vault, almost like something is guiding you to find it.

After making sure you were asleep, he left you behind. He walked toward many corridors within the Tardis before stopping in front of the vault.

He pushes open the vault door with ease. He entered the room with heavy heart as he walked toward a huge tube containing a figure submerged in watery grave.

The figure within the tube is badly disfigured. The tube is connected with some complicated machinery which put the figure in deep sleep. Not far, there were some sort of bath tub containing icky white liquid.

The Doctor sighed as he put one hand over the tube. "I swear it, (name), I will never stop finding a cure for you, until then you will have to bear seeing reality through your gangers."

He leaned against the tube. "I'm sorry about yesterday. Your ganger got her neck snapped by a weeping angel. I know that was very unpleasant. I will do better next time to keep you safe."

He slowly sat on the floor, staring forlornly at the floor, remembering an early ganger version of you, crying in pain, unable to fully stabilized, feeling too much pain of the original you, melting and screaming, unable to accept that you weren't real.

"I am real! I am (name) (last name)! I am real! I am not ganger!" You had screamed and raged amidst the pain. You were confused and in pain even though you weren't injured at all. You were horrified to see your own skin, how wrong it feels. You watched your hideous flesh face from the reflection of the tube and screamed.

He stared at you solemnly, eyes looking apologetic and sad. "I am so sorry." He raised his sonic screwdriver, turned it on and vaporizing you. The eyes are always the last to go and he hates it.

The Doctor sobbed as he harshly clutched his own hair. Keeping the truth from you has been hard. And now even your ganger self is wanting to leave him. He can't let you do that. He can't let you leave...so he made you forget your intention.

He was thankful he got to the real you when he could. You weren't grateful though, in absolute pain as you were, you begged him to kill you.

He couldn't do it. It would be a mercy to put you down. But he couldn't. And so against your wishes, he put you into the tube, put you into deep sleep, pumped you full of anesthetic drug.

You were hanging by a thread. He knew he will lose you so he forcefully bound you to himself. You will live as long as this version of himself remained alive.

And so he fought time itself, the prophecy of his own death, to buy you more time. He will not accept another loss, no more. But in order to keep you alive, he was forced to sacrifice another. He will have to live with that with the rest of his life.

The Doctor was lonely. He didn't want a new companion. He wanted you. So when he found out about the flesh technology, he hooked you up to it. He tampered with your memory to ensure the trauma didn't get transferred to your ganger self.

He found the hard way just how far gone you are and that caused some of your gangers he created descent into madness. So, he had to dig deep inside your mind, separating the damage, salvaged a semblance version of you before he could connect you into the flesh technology.

He had to experiment with many versions of your ganger self in order to make sure you will get the best experience. Unfortunately, it didn't always work. The flesh technology is not perfect but enough to give you a half-life.

The Doctor had no idea how River know about you and the vault. She was not pleased with it. She said he was playing God. She said he was being cruel to you. It made him angry. How dare that woman says such a thing? He did everything for you, to ensure you live. How can him trying to keep you alive being seen as cruel?

He could feel time is falling apart and rearranged itself around him forming a new timeline. He was supposed to die that day and regenerated into his eleventh self. But he didn't. He cheated his death. Part of him is relieved he can postpone his own death. Because...he didn't want to go.

A/N: ok, this story won't make any sense at all. I think halfway through writing this, I lost sight of what I actually want to write. I'm not satisfied with it but honestly, i don't think i can continue developing the storyline for it. I already use KISS to try to salvage this, erasing half of what I already write, it still won't connect the dot though. But I already write too much of it, I figure I will just have to accept it is a failure and then dumpost it so that it will no longer occupy my mind and just filed it as finished or discontinued.

#10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #doctor who fanfiction #dark!doctor #shiefenwrites

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jjk-biased · 4 years

Text

kim taehyung x reader

genre: angst, hanahaki disease au

words: 1.8k words of bigger sad than belle vie. enjoy!

warnings: mentions of sickness, a few hinting at blood, character death

synopsis: taehyung has always been your red carnation, your one true love but he never viewed you the same way.

a/n: *this fic is part of the special prompts for my milestone event. had fun writing this one (yes i’m happier when i write angsts lmfao) hope you guys enjoy!! was listening to how can i love the heartbreak, you’re the one i love by akmu while writing!!

masterlist | events masterlist

Ever since, Taehyung never understood why people value flowers so much. They were simply budding pinks and yellows, violets and whites, and other plethora of colors that sprouted from the soils. They were meaningless tokens that were impermanent, that would soon wither, and would soon return back to the soils from which they came from.

While he wasn’t onboard with the masses’ opinion on these flowers, he really didn’t exactly hate it. Often would he receive a bouquet in his locker from one of those girls that deemed themselves his fans. He wouldn’t mind receiving such, but he’d never really see himself wasting as much money as the girls did for a measly flower with a lifespan shorter than his friend’s height.

You, on the other hand, were much more knowledgeable on botany. You were a natural and would be able to identify flowers, their meanings, and even their significance.

You and him were nothing alike, yet you found solace in each others’ presence. Taehyung stuck with you and only you, finding comfort in the fact that you weren’t like the girls in your school - that you weren’t a girl who’d fling herself at him.

Your fate was sealed as his best friend.

As much as you loved your flowers, you always voiced the opposite. Taehyung never understood why you’d go on and on about how much you hated carnations when you did in fact love such once you received one from him. He never got to ask why you’d act like they were the bane of your existence when you two hang out in school.

He never understood you as much as he never understood flowers.

You hated them. Every speck of vibrance, every bundle of red, every petal that made one a whole.

You hated flowers.

They were too romanticized, too overpriced, too overhyped. People associated so much meaning to something so impermanent. Heck, people themselves grow too attached to these easily-withering measly things.

You hated them so much. How each took its time to grow in beauty, how each carried a specific symbol, how each added a little bit more of color to the room.

You hated how much they reminded you of him.

Every blossom you’d see on the road would always lead your mind back to Taehyung. He was like a song that would always be on repeat- always in the back of your mind. You didn’t want him in your head yet he was annoyingly unforgettable.

You hated how much flowers symbolized you and your growing love for your best friend.

Strikingly similar to that of a growing bud, the florescence of your feelings for said best friend alarmed you greatly. While it did take its painstakingly long time to develop, somehow you didn’t even notice it, your feelings towards Kim Taehyung blossomed into love.

Love. Fucking love. Why love of all things?

Why your best friend?

The idiot was an airhead at heart who took things too lightly. Kim Taehyung was always indifferent to everything that occurred in life. So why him? The Kim Taehyung who never knew what flowers meant. The Kim Taehyung who always received bouquets and baskets of expensive reds. The Kim Taehyung who only confided in with you.

Why him?

Why did it have to be the airhead you grew up with? Why did it have to be with the sole being that knew you did in fact love carnations?

You didn’t know.

But one thing was clear.

You hated flowers so much.

“I don’t get why you try to deny your love for them, sunflower,” Taehyung snorted as you two gazed at yet another basket given to him. This time it was roses- I love you.

“I don’t love them. I hate them,” You grumbled, yet ever so gentle when you handled the abomination on Taehyung’s desk.

Taehyung only hummed to disagree, observing the way you handled the expensive bunch given to him by some seniors he didn’t bother to know. He spotted a small bouquet of carnations beside the rose basket.

Carnations. Didn’t you like them the most?

“Sunflower, look! Aren’t these your favorite?” He grinned, the smile on his face seeming more coy than it looks.

“Don’t call me that and carnations? I hate them the most,” Your eyes twitched as you reached for the bundle.

Taehyung noted the way you’ve become much more gentle as you held the bouquet. He chuckled. You seemed like a tsundere even if it’s towards flowers.

“What do they mean?”

“A lot of things, mostly connected to love. Fascination. Admiration. Rejection. Innocence,” You listed all that came to mind.

All except one - they remind me of you.

For someone who claimed to hate carnations so much, you sure have a lot of knowledge about it. Taehyung didn’t point it out though, he kept that thought to himself.

Yet again, as you two look over the gifts that Taehyung’s fans gave him, you are reminded of your predicament. Your fate was sealed as his best friend. Really, can you blame anyone?

You never acted on your small crush for Taehyung because you were too scared to do something; that if you took it a step further, the bond you two had would disappear, break, and wilt.

Once again, you are reminded of flowers. Maybe everything in your life was like flowers. Your best friend were carnations, your love was a rose, your friendship was lilies. While all did bring beauty to your life, they were still impermanent. Soon they will wither and die. Soon they will leave you.

You hated flowers so much. And that hatred grew the day Kim Taehyung asked you for advice.

“What should I buy if I wanted to court someone?”

That phrase was on repeat in your head like a broken record. Over and over again, all you could hear was him consulting you on what to give someone he liked. Someone he liked that definitely wasn’t you.

Ironically enough, you blurted out carnations - red carnations for admiration and white carnations for pure love. It was an answer given on a whim because you were too shocked to comprehend that Taehyung is pursuing someone else.

You hated flowers but you hated yourself so much more. You shouldn’t have given him that answer because soon, he’ll gift whoever this lucky person was with carnations - your favorite flower.

It hurt so much to think that your carnation liked someone else.

It hurt so much that flowers began to bloom in your lungs.

Hanahaki, they said. A phenomenon in which a victim of unrequited love vomits petals and flowers from a blooming plant in their lungs. Soon said flowers would fill your lungs, ensuring an impending death.

How cruel life was. Your fate was sealed as his best friend. Only his best friend.

Despite the inevitable death promised by the damn disease, you told no one. Not even your carnation, the love of your life, and your best friend. God.. If Taehyung found out, you were sure you’d rather choose death than his rejection. So instead, you silently wished he would notice your turmoil. That he would miraculously choose you over his current fling.

You guess it never happened. Never had, never will.

The red-painted petals that covered your bathroom weren’t recognizable at first. You’d only cough out reds and whites and pinks and yellows, but you haven’t been able to discern which exact flower bloomed in your lungs.

That is until one day, when Taehyung relayed that he had been successful in his romantic pursuits. You blanched just as he finished his story. You can feel it coming out of you. So you rushed to the nearest bathroom and vomited out the damn bunch of petals.

Except it wasn’t a petal. It was a whole flower.

A yellow carnation. Disappointment. Rejection. “I don’t like you”

How ironic. The flowers that grew inside of you were your favorite. Another reminder that you’d never be able to experience being on the receiving end of Taehyung’s affections.

You hated flowers so much.

Since then, you began to distance from your best friend. As much as your love for him grew, said love was killing you. Sad to say, Taehyung never really noticed.

From a single flower vomit to ten to… you stopped counting. Red-smeared yellows covered your bathroom floor. You stopped caring about the mess. After all, since your fate had been sealed as Taehyung’s best friend, your life would soon wither. He wouldn’t notice anyway.

He never did.

Taehyung never got to hear from you again since the day he shared his success with his crush. It hurt, knowing that he lost his best friend in the process of pursuing the one he thought he loved. Three weeks, yes it took him three weeks, later, he decided to finally get his best friend back.

But he was too late.

He literally lost his best friend.

The day he visited you was the day you had your worst fit. You couldn’t breathe, you knew it was time. This is it. This is how everything will end. Another bunch of yellow carnation was coughed out. You couldn’t stop the tears. It hurt so much.

It hurt so much.

I’m sorry, Taehyung. I never got to say that I-

There he stood at the door of your bathroom, speechless to see that you’ve been suffering. Clumsy steps as he hurried towards you, he discarded everything in his hand to cradle your head on his lap.

You couldn’t make out what he was saying. Too hurt to comprehend anything but the burning sensation in your lungs. He couldn’t exactly give out straight sentences either, he was choked up to see you were dying.

You died that night, among the red-painted yellow carnations, on the lap of your best friend who never loved you back.

Taehyung was miserable. He never even got to say what he found out from his three weeks of lamenting. He finally figured out why that fling of his didn’t matter, why he was so much hung up on your sudden avoidance.

He finally realized that he liked you.

But as he cradled your unconscious, blood-covered, body, it was already too late.

His sunflower was slowly withering in front of him but he never noticed until it was too late.

Kim Taehyung was your carnation, your red and white, and while you thought he saw you as a measly yellow bud of carnations, you thought wrong.

The flower that Taehyung coughed out that night was enough proof.

Sunflower.

A sunflower covered with blood but still a sunflower nonetheless.

You were always his sunflower.

permanent taglist: @luvinseokjinnie @97faerie @amoreguk @bbyjoonies @borednia @tanumiki @taescake

#when flowers bloom #kim taehyung x reader #angst #kim taehyung #bts #hanahaki au #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #lin's special event #request #taehyung angst #hanahaki disease #bts angst #bts imagine #taehyung x gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader

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constancecunningham · 4 years

Text

Safe as Houses || Constance & Remmy

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Gallow’s End Estates

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead & @constancecunningham

SUMMARY: Shaken by her actions at the docks, Constance goes for a walk, but she isn’t alone. Remmy makes a proposition.

CONTAINS: Brief references to past abuse.

Remmy had a decision to make.

Life was still moving and they’d been standing still so long. It was time to decide if they were going to keep moving, or if they were going to stay still. Sure, they had forever, but that didn’t mean the people around them did. And forever wasn’t even guaranteed, was it? As long as slayers and hunters existed, nothing was guaranteed. Not that Remmy blamed them, but they had to accept the fact that even if they did nothing wrong, even if they presented no threat, did nothing bad, there would always be people like Alain who would cut them down anyway. Though he had agreed not to go after them until they hurt someone for real again, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t change his mind again. Or that someone else would come along who wasn’t willing to compromise. There were too many variables in forever, that was the one thing Remmy knew was true.

And so, it was with that in mind, that Remmy found themselves strolling through town, coming upon old places that they’d found comfort in in the past. Mooseventure, Al’s, the Commons...and lastly, the Bend. And the awful, dirty, shitty apartments they’d first lived in when moving here. And while the place had been just horrible, they’d met two of their very best friends while living here-- Blanche and Nora. And while Nora was off doing...who knew what, Blanche was still here. Still fighting. And Nora was around, she made sure maintenance came to the house to keep it in working order for the residents that did still live there, even if they were undead. They deserved a nice place, too.

It wasn’t until Remmy got closer to the building that they realized the person they’d seen standing out front wasn’t standing at all-- they were hovering, just above the ground, and Remmy could see straight through them. A ghost. Thoughts of Nadia flooded their head and Remmy hesitated a moment before they realized, again, that they recognized this ghost. She had been the ghost sitting next to Remmy on the bench in the park that day-- the day Morgan had died. This ghost was Constance. Remmy would never forget her face.

They walked up towards her nervously, but kept their demeanour calm. “You’re um...you’re Constance, right?”

Constance had fewer and fewer places left to her where she felt safe. Everywhere she explored, there Morgan was and there her rage blazed, weakening her grasp on her own soul, narrowing her vision to the size of a pinprick. And yet the sun rose and the sun set and she could not sleep. Perhaps, all this considered, returning to the outskirts where she had been born and the woods where she had played alone. Constance glimpsed the gray sunlight cut and scattered like flour through the many branches. She imagined that the sun remembered her, the trees remembered her, and the creatures she cared for and buried and the treasures she was so afraid to lose she buried them too and touched them not at all until they were useless--those must remember her too.

Drifting forwards, she explored further, searching for the way back home. Or what she had called and cursed as home. It had to be right around--

Oh.

Constance was no fool. This world had no love for brittle things like the excuse of a house she had been born in. No markers or ruins signified the life of her or anyone else she had crossed paths with. And yet, there were still ruins before her. Chipped and peeling print, exposed bricks of gray rock, falling shingles, a faint drip of a leak, somewhere. It almost brought a smile to Constance’s face, to know that this world, and this spot, was one still riddled with leeks. Inside people were cold, they cried, they hated, they starved. And most likely, no one would remember them any more than her. How to think of such a miserable life, now rendered into multiples like some catastrophic math riddle. Was it cursed ground? Was it her, or just the twisted bend of this world and the wickedness of the people who moved it?

She heard a voice call her name and turned. She knew the face, but its place didn’t come to her at once. “...Good day,” she said curiously. “You’re solid, real solid. I don’t have many of those that know my name. How are we--” And then it came to her. That day at the beach. Constance stiffened. “If this is another one of Morgan’s blessed stomping grounds, I can take my leave without being threatened,” she said. And she should leave, if this was true. She was so weak, and so angry. She wanted Moran’s death to be something precise, even elegant. She couldn’t manage that if even looking at the woman riled her to snapping light bulbs.

“What? No,” Remmy said, shaking their head. “It’s not-- it’s not. This is uh-- I used to live here.” They motioned to the apartment building down the way, as ragged and decrypt as the houses surrounding it. This had nothing to do with Morgan, and Remmy found it all the more quiet when they realized that, too. They turned to look back at Constance. “Why are you back? You know she-- she wants to hurt you, because of what you did, what you’re...doing.” They weren’t sure what to feel yet, only that they knew they could sense a deep sorrow coming from the specter, and the idea of one of her closest, best friends wanting to harm someone simply to harm them. That wasn’t the person they thought Morgan was, but it terrified them, deep down. And they weren’t sure if it was the thought of her hurting someone or the thought that Remmy hadn’t known her capable that scared them more. “It’s not safe here for you.”

Constance grew more confused. For people who were determined to align themselves with the Bachman family, Morgan’s friends demonstrated a strange amount of concern for her. “I never left,” she said carefully, waiting for the subterfuge to reveal itself. “I saw her bleeding on the street, and there was so much noise I thought even you wouldn’t hear how I screamed with relief. I was sure I had never done anything more perfectly. Did you know that there were only two other casualties? I regret them as sins and doubtless I will be punished eventually, but all those machines, all that glass and noise and screaming, and she was gone by her own doing with only two more people caught in the crossfire.” Constance’s voice softened, wistful. “And I thought, I want to stay to see the moon and the stars and a new sun, in a world with no more survivors of the Bachman line. And I saw it. And then I thought, alright, that must be enough now. Only I didn’t fade. And I think I’ve tried rather hard at it, but no one I ask can tell me the secret, because if they had it, they wouldn’t be here still. But here we are. I can only think that some part of me suspected the truth all along. I did nothing perfect. I only made her into more of a monster.” She went quiet, regarding the strange figure again. “I don’t care about being hurt. And I don’t care about what she wants to do. I want what I asked for.” What was so very hard to understand about that? “Why is this not safe? If you’re not going to beat me with iron or tell her where to find me, why wouldn’t I be safe? Why is it any concern to you in the first place?”

Remmy wasn’t good at this part. There was a struggle going on in their heart and it made them feel sick. Morgan was their best friend, they should be on her side for this-- but Constance was clearly suffering, too, and even if she’d been the one who’d put Morgan’s death into action, did she not deserve a chance at forgiveness as well? If Morgan got that chance, why not her? Simply because she was a ghost? And so young. Younger than Remmy. Younger than Nadia. Remmy wiped at their one exposed eye. “What’d they do to you?” they asked quietly, ignoring everything else for now. “The-- the Bachmans. What made you so...sad?” And they chose the word carefully, pausing for a long moment before saying it, because it was a very particular feeling they heard in her voice. It seemed like such an innocuous word, but Remmy could find no other to describe it. The sound was so familiar, so close to their heart. “It’s not safe because...when people want to hurt you, it doesn’t matter who you are or how you feel, they’ll do it. And it’s just-- it’s just another cycle of violence. Why does everyone wanna hurt each other so much? Why does anger have to be the emotion we respond to? Does anyone really think making someone else hurt fixes anything? Makes anything feel better?” They sniffled again. “It’s my concern because I don’t want to see you hurt. You or Morgan or anyone. I’ve had enough.”

Constance rolled her eyes and turned back to look at the building that had replaced her family’s house. She felt nothing as she drifted through the world, but she could feel the despair coming from this place. “Why do you care?” She huffed. “It was tragical, and foolish, and I lost everything. Even before I cast the spell, I had nothing left but myself. And handkerchiefs worth of objects I had on my person, but those were worthless, too.” A picture. A phony charm. Some cornbread. A flattened penny. The paper she’d used to make her plan with Agnes. A baby’s rattle would have been worth more in comparison. “My father said I was born melancholic. And cruel. He said a great many things, but perhaps he was right about the way I was born. It is difficult to come to an end such as this and feel as though you were not fated to pain from the start. And if you cannot understand a feeling such as mine, if you have never needed to see your pain paid back threefold, if you have never needed to feel a name and a line burnt out by time once and for all, I should think you wouldn’t want to taste it.” But the figure persisted, and Constance wondered if they knew Blanche Harlow as well. “Morgan is my only missing piece,” she said. “And my worst, for of course it should be this way,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “It used to be that you couldn’t walk half a mile without running to a Bachman relative, or Bachman owned land, or a Bachman friend. And now I have one fiend of a woman so small, she’s practically the size of a child. I think I’ve accomplished a great deal. I’ve changed the world. If that was your only wish, and you’d paid for it with your self, wouldn’t you risk paying again to see it done? To be finished, and have your wish come true?”

“I don’t know,” Remmy answered honestly, “I just do. I can’t help it.” And they couldn’t. And the more they thought about it, the more they realized they’d always felt this way. They’d always had a bleeding heart, hadn’t they? Even when they were a child, so angry and lost and scared, all they’d wanted was to help other people. Taking the fall for things that weren’t their fault; letting others use them if only to make themselves feel better; helping others even when they were struggling themself. Remmy had always felt the pain of the world around them and wanted to help-- it had just taken death for them to realize that. Swallowing, they looked square at Constance. “No, I wouldn’t,” they finally said, once Constance was done speaking, and was looking at them for some sort of validation. “But that’s just me.” They knew everyone, everything was different. “Doing that will just turn you cold, you know. I-- I understand how you feel. Maybe not entirely, but I do, on some level. I grew up with nothing. No mom, a deadbeat dad, poor as shit...and queer, to boot. People all told me I was never going to be good for anything. That all I did was bring others pain. I was trouble. I wasn’t worth it.” They swallowed, clearing their throat of the tears that threatened. “But they were wrong. Because...they don’t get to decide who I am and what I’m worth. I get to decide that. And-- it took me a long time to figure that out, but I did. And it’s true for you, too. What do you even gain by killing Morgan? By destroying a family line? Whatever pain they caused you-- it was so long ago. Morgan is so far away from whoever really hurt you, the pain you cause now just starts a new cycle of pain and violence and-- why would you want that? Don’t you want peace? Don’t you want...to be happy?”

The story the figure told was so familiar, Constance couldn’t bring herself to trust it. Perhaps someone had written about her, perhaps her death had meant more than one more miserable, nameless body in the woods. Which was more plausible? That some misguided record and put down the details of her cruel existence, or that this stranger, this person who had screamed and cried over what Constance had done would possibly understand her? “You don’t understand anything about me,” she said stubbornly. She drifted away from the building, away from this...person. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m trying to conserve my energy and be stable! A solid like you wouldn’t understand that either.” She wanted them to go and leave her be. A world that ignored Constance was painful but it was at least familiar. And perhaps if she stomped on her feelings enough she could find the words to explain how hopeless she truly was, and how little she had left beyond her wish. She bound herself to it that night, however many moons ago. Constance wasn’t sure if she would know how to let go until it was finished, even if she was mad enough to ever want to.

“Yeah, I do,” Remmy insisted, following after her. “Life treated you like shit-- you never got anything good and happy. And then when you finally did, it took it from you, right? It tore everything away, including yourself?” They went around her-- remembering how Nadia had said she didn’t like being ignored and walked through-- and stopped in front of her. She could easily phase through them, they supposed, but it was the act that mattered, right? “If you really think you’re the only one that’s ever suffered, you’ve got a big reality check coming, Constance. I died, too, you know,” they said, crossing their arms over their chest. “Alone and afraid and only after watching the rest of my world be destroyed. The only difference is that I woke up solid and you woke up transparent. That doesn’t make you any less of a person, or-or any less worth being given a chance. Maybe-- maybe you’re still here because this is your second chance to do better, to be better. To be...happy. And don’t-- don’t tell me what I do and don’t understand. I understand a lot more than you-- or anyone-- thinks.” And they were tired of everyone thinking they didn’t. They were tired of being pushed aside.

“If only I had truly been here this long,” Constance said bitterly. “If I had really been here this long, I might have finished my curse before your wretched friend was ever born. But when I bargained myself, I went…” Constance didn’t know the words for what had happened to her. There was nothing like it in any scripture she had ever read, Christian, Pagan, or otherwise. “It was like sleep, but it wasn’t. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know that my house was trampled like it never mattered, or that there were huge petrol beasts coloring the air or that a girl can get made fun of for wearing a dress now, that was a stupendous treat to discover while I was visible. By the heavens, I wish I had really been here for so many years! I would know what to do with this nothing body better!” She was getting upset again. Lights behind her were flickering, screaming strange, buzzing, artificial screams. “I...woke up...in a circle. When she brought me here,” Constance said carefully, voice trembling. “To hurt me. I died and then I...was there, and I had lost even more than I knew how to reckon for. And I don’t think I’m the only one who’s ever suffered. I just think I’m willing to do something about it. I wasted my power when I was alive, mostly, but I won’t make that mistake again. I was a witch beyond measure, and even in death I can rebalance the scales. If there’s anything being in this wretched era has taught me, it’s that time bends long and slowly. Maybe you don’t see the point in what I’m doing or what I want, but maybe the stars and the trees will, maybe the lives that can grow without so much destruction or meddling. And I will know. I’ll know I didn’t just take it, or give up or ‘get over’ it.” She sighed, and realized what a fool’s gesture it was. “I don’t know if I am a person. I don't feel that way all the time, and however I try to be better, whatever I touch so far has turned to destruction and hut, and not even that which I intended. I think my soul is...strange, at best. But I do appreciate...whatever it is you are trying to do. There are not many kind people here. It is good to know they continue to exist, however few.”

“Morgan isn’t wretched,” Remmy said quietly, “and neither are you.” They were quiet for a long while, not flinching when Constance made the lights flicker and screech with electric hums. They looked over to the decaying apartments, then back to the spirit, and felt another tug at their heart. “She didn’t summon you to hurt you, you know,” they finally said. “She just wanted answers. To why her life was always falling apart, to why she wasn’t allowed happiness. You can...relate to that a little, can’t you?” They didn’t know what they were searching for in any answers from Constance, but they knew that she was trapped in a world that she wasn’t allowed to escape, suffering more pain. Remmy looked at her with eyes full of sorrow. “This world is-- scary, yeah. There’s a lot of not good things in it, but...there’s a lot of good, too, you know. You just haven’t...seen it yet. I could show you, if you want,” they wondered if she was even still listening, “if you’d give me the chance. Not everything here is destruction and meddling, like you said. And...certainly none of it is because of one person. Cursed or not.” They paused, biting their bottom lip, before continuing. “You are a person. Maybe different than the kind of person you remember being, but...you’re still a person. Just as much as me, or anyone else. And I think...I think maybe your soul is just a little lost. And I don’t think you deserve to be hurt just because of that.”

Constance couldn’t cry or rail at the stubbornness of this person, not without destroying yet even more of the world, and she did not want to rush to disappoint herself or Blanche even further. But it was all she could do to keep herself from it. She wanted to laugh, or fall over from the incredulity of it all, but feared the impact of that feeling as well. Could a shade such as she disrupt the world from delight? Had such a thing ever happened before? “What manner of creature are you?” She asked, shaking her head. “You know better than many what I am capable of. What I have done. ...What is it you really want from me?”

“I don’t...I don’t want anything from you, Constance,” Remmy said back, shaking their head again. “That’s not...I just want to help you. I know you’re probably alone and afraid...and I know how that feels. I don’t want anyone to have to feel that way.” They mumbled, hands digging into their pockets. Constance wasn’t safe, just drifting out among the general population. There were hunters and exorcists and mediums everywhere. She was already having such a hard time even keeping her spirit body together. It reminded Remmy of some of the ghosts they’d seen wandering the old haunted mansion. Slowly, an idea struck them. “Hey, you, um-- you said you’re having trouble staying stable, right? Figuring out this...spirit thing? What if I had a place for you to go? Where there’s other ghosts and it’s safe. No one can hurt you there. Would you come with me?”

The idea of such a place had never occurred to Constance. She couldn’t imagine it in her head, except as some euphemism for a ghost prison. They didn’t make human proof vessels, only salt and iron lines that tore her apart for trying to exist. But this...whoever they were, were so persistent. Surely if this was some jest or a trap, they would be worn out by now? Or would they? Constance had learned the hard way how persistent a lie could be. Perhaps this was how they proved their loyalty to Morgan, by luring her into a trap.

Constance hesitated for a long time. She should know better than to believe in...oh, so many things. But she said, “Tell me where it is and I will find it on my own. I can find out if it’s what you say it is or not. Who are these ghosts who trust you anyway?”

“Right, yeah,” Remmy said, nodding slowly once Constance finally spoke. “It’s um-- here,” they motioned for her to follow them around the building to where the horizon broke and on top of a small hill sat the mansion, off in the distance, beyond the cemetery. “It’s that house there. I, um-- used to live there, actually. When we moved in, there were already ghost residents so we just sorta...let ‘em stay. Didn’t seem fair to make them leave, you know? We had to establish ground rules and stuff, but we made it safe. For us and for them,” they explained. “We’re all just people. I think they...liked being seen. I would sit with them, even the ones that didn’t talk. It felt nice...to be needed by them.” They paused, went quiet, then looked over at Constance one last time. “Come whenever you want, no obligation. But...it’s safe there. I promise.” And even if it wasn’t yet, Remmy would make sure it was.

#safe as houses #wr remmy #wr chatzy #wr remmy chatzy #abuse tw

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satananon · 4 years

Text

Satan McWrath Private Investigator (Part Two)

I step out the front door of my building and grimace. It is another cold day, the clouds hanging overhead like some kind of bad omen, warning me to watch my step on this case.

I see you there, standing off to the side of the building, looking anxiously at your wristwatch.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to come,” you admit as I approach, relief washing over your face.

I scoff as I place my fedora on my head, “I may be considered an unsavory character up there where you are from, but I am not a liar; my word is golden.”

I placed a hand on your back, guiding you to turn as I began to walk down the sidewalk.

“I think we need to start by checking the places that your partner was last seen. Work, their car, things like that.”

You nodded as you began to walk with me, struggling to keep pace with my long strides.

“Then, we will want to start at the pawnshop down on 32nd.”

I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at your statement as I once again took in the richness of your clothes.

“I mean no offense by this, but you don’t exactly look like the kind to be holing up with some pawnbroker.”

“None taken. My partner is an accountant, there is lots of travel involved, and Mr. Gold just happened to be yesterday’s client.”

I pulled my notebook back out of my pocket and jotted down Gold’s name among the notes from the night before. I was well acquainted with Mammon Gold. He was the town swindler, known on more than one occasion to be selling stolen goods in his shop.

“Did your partner make it a habit to associate with unsavory characters?”

“Unsavory characters?” There was a recognizable tone of confusion in your voice. You stopped walking, causing me to follow suit and turn back to look at you, “Mr. McWrath, if you are implying that my partner was involved in criminal activity, I would implore you to change your approach.” Your hands clenched into fists as you leveled a glare at me. “What place would an accountant have in the criminal underworld?”

I took a few steps towards you, my voice serious. “You’d be surprised the double lives some people live.”

I wheeled around then and restarting my trek towards the pawnshop. “Disagree with me all you want, Sweet Cheeks, but I’ve been in this business for a long time. No one is ever who you think they are. “

With a huff, you hurried to follow behind me, your eyes practically burning holes in the back of my head, but I didn’t turn to give you another glance. It didn’t matter if you liked me, what mattered is that I found the answers you were looking for and got paid. After that, we could both wash our hands off each other.

Turning the corner, a giant flashing sign came into view. ‘Gold’s Pawnshop.’

“This will be it. Mind yourself. Gold is a sneaky bastard; he will pick your pocket faster than you can say, Barbatos is your uncle.”

You gave me a worried look. I watched as you began to tuck your valuables into the inner pockets of your jacket before you followed me inside.

A small bell situated above the door announced our arrival, and a short man with stark white hair and tinted yellow glasses whirled to greet us.

“McWrath, you old so and so, what brings you into my shop today?” He turned his gaze to you, and his eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me that you are finally done playing Sherlock and decided to settle down.” He leans toward you and places a hand in a mock conspiratorial fashion against the side of his mouth, “Between me and you, hot stuff, he’s trading up if you are the prize.”

I slam my hand down on the counter, startling Mammon into an upright position. “Listen here, Gold, I am not here to play your games, we need to ask you a few questions about the accountant working in your shop a few days ago.”

Mammon scoffed, adjusting his glasses and running a hand through his hair. “Whatcha want with that smuck? I don’t know nothing bout him, he did the books and left Bam boom end of story.”

He opened a small door that the other end of the counter and walked to the front, pulling the front door wide. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need ya to leave; you are gonna scare away the customers with your mug.”

I strode across the room in a few short movements, picking Mammon up by the collar and pushing him against the window, his feet leaving the floor as I pushed him upward.

“No, you listen here, and you listen good, you no good scumbag; you will give me the information that I am looking for, and you are going to give it to me now. Otherwise, I may be tempted to truss you up and leave you up at the docks for the Peacock to find. I hear he is dying to get his hands on you after you robbed him blind in a poker game last month.”

The color drained from Mammon’s face, and his words began to come out in stuttering blurts. “Woah McWrath, woah. No need to get extreme, I told you I don’t know anything.”

He struggled against my grip but found that my grip held tight. He looked to you with pleading eyes and slammed him against the glass once more.

“I know you know something, Gold, you wouldn’t let just anyone touch your money.” I brought my face in close and glared at him. “Now, tell me what you know.”

“Fine, fine…” he began, “I’ll tell you what I know, but first, let me have a little dignity and put me down.”

I lowered him to the ground and stepped back, crossing my arms. He stood up straight, brushing the wrinkles from his clothes and looking indignant.

“The chump was recommended to me; apparently, the work could be done under the table and real discreet like.” He shrugged, walking back around to the counter. “I don’t know much more about it. Came in, did the books, and when they were done, there was a black town car waiting outside. That’s all I know.”

I look to you, gaging your reaction. You look surprised, leaving me to guess that this was not a part of your partner’s job that you were acquainted with.

“You said recommended. Who gave you the recommendation?”

Mammon blanched a bit. “Now listen here, I told you that I would tell you what I know, I didn’t say I’d be your stool pigeon.”

I started to pull up my sleeves, intent on threatening him again when you stepped forward.

“Please, Mr. Gold,” you pleaded, “ my partner is all I have left in the world. If you could just give us this one last bit of information.” You reached down to your wrist and unclasped the gold watch that had been hidden beneath the sleeve of your jacket. “I would be happy to compensate you for your time.”

Mammon’s eyes shone greedily as you held the watch out to you. He snatched it quickly, holding it up into the light to inspect it. Looking satisfied, he dropped it into his pocket and looked back up at us.

“I got the recommendation from the Admiral. You know the weird shut-in that’s holed up in the old lighthouse? Each month I run him out the comics that get pawn off here at the store, they don’t really have much turn around, ya know, and then in return, he gives me the latest gossip from his other connections. He’s a weird one, but his info is legit.”

I pull my notepad out and jot down a few notes before turning back to Gold.

“We will see ourselves out.”

I gesture towards the door and follow behind you as you begin to exit. I hold the door as you step into the street, and just before I make my own way out, I look back to the counter.

“Mums the word on this, Gold. If I find out you are blabbing on us being here, I will personally hunt you down and make your regret your scummy existence.”

With that, I pushed my way out the door to join you on the sidewalk.

“Have you heard of this Admiral before, Mr. Mcwrath,” you ask as we begin to walk back towards my office.

I nod, slipping my notebook and my hands into my pocket. “He’s a well know informant around these parts, plays both sides from what I have heard, but he sounds like our next stop. I hope you brought your swimsuit, darling, because it looks like we are heading to the beach.” Part One

#obey me shall we date #obey me satan #obey me au #gender netural reader #private eye

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shuttymcshutfuck · 4 years

Text

I’ts okay if you can’t find the words, let me take your coat and this weight off of your shoulders

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Type: hurt/comfort

Word count: 1,059

Relationships: Juno Steel & Peter Nureyev (Jupeter), Past Juno Steel & Diamond (Mentioned)

TW: past sexual assault, dissociation, flashbacks, PTSD, self-harm (I’m not sure if it is or not but better safe than sorry)

Ao3 link

Sometimes even when you have a good day the past can creep up on you. Juno is mostly used to this by now. What he's not used to is someone caring for him.

It had been a day off from jobs on the carte blanche so everyone was just doing little bits and bobs. Juno had spent most of the day held hostage on the couch by Rita with each member of the crew popping in and out every so often. He hadn’t paid much attention to the streams Rita had put on, just letting his mind rest for a little. Once they had well and truly stayed up a bit later than they should have Juno decided to call it a night and head back to the room he and Nureyev shared. He walked in and Peter lay on the bed reading a book, his glasses on the very end of his nose.

“Coming to join me?” Nureyev spoke softly, still not looking up from his book.

“Just gonna hop in the shower real quick first.” Juno walked straight into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Nothing was different, so why did something feel off? Suddenly it flickered in his mind. Diamond. No, this wasn’t going to happen again. Today was a good day after all, why should he think about them. But it wasn’t them he was thinking about, it was something they did. Juno tried to hold on, trying to focus on the feeling of the water running down his back. As much as Juno wanted to forget it he couldn’t help but feel Diamond’s light touch on his body. Their unwelcome touch, that is.

He slowly turned up the temperature, using the faint burning of his skin to drown out the ghosts of touch that haunted him. And he stood there, just grasping onto his last thread of reality. He knew that they weren’t here, that they were long gone, planets away and he was safe on the Carte Blanche. The static of his thoughts were so loud that he didn’t hear Peter call his name. He didn’t even know that Peter had come into the bathroom until he had pulled back the curtain slightly and came into Juno’s line of sight.

“Nureyev?” It came out more like a sigh than anything else but it was enough to let Peter know that Juno was back in the present at least a little.

“Juno, why is the water so hot?” It was only now that Juno felt the burning sensation all over his shoulders and back. When the only response Peter got was Juno’s eyes widening he assumed that Juno wasn’t aware that his shower was scalding hot.

“Dear? I’m going to turn off the shower and hand you your towel, okay?” Juno nodded slightly, still partially stuck in his memories. Peter did as he said, moving slowly as not to scare him. Juno wrapped the towel around himself, taking Peter’s hand when it was offered to keep him steady. He led Juno over to the bed and shuffled over to the chest of drawers, pulling out an old baggy t-shirt and pair of joggers. Making sure Juno knew when and where he would touch him, Peter helped him into the clothes and into bed. He was humming a soft tune that slowly soothed Juno’s frayed nerves. It was only after they were both lying in bed, Juno’s head on Nureyev's chest with his fingers carding through Juno’s damp hair that he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry.” It was close to a whisper, his voice a bit hoarse from tears he doesn’t remember shedding. Thankfully, apart from Peter’s gentle humming the room was silent.

“For what?” Peter’s voice was just as quiet and Juno could feel his chest vibrate lightly.

“Me? Tonight? You shouldn’t have to put up with this.” Juno nestled his face deeper into Peter’s chest, trying to hide the embarrassment that was slowly washing over him alongside the realisation of what had happened.

“You have nothing to apologise for, my love.” His humming had stopped now but his hand kept carding through Juno’s hair, slowly massaging away the growing headache that always came after crying hard enough.

“Don’t you want an explanation?” Juno said, confusion evident in his voice.

“If you want to talk about it I’m all ears but, you don’t have to explain anything to me. Whatever happened was clearly distressing so if you’re not up to it then I won’t force you to relive it just to clear some things up. If at any point you want to talk about it then of course I’m here. For now though, I am quite content just laying here with you.” At that Juno felt the whisper of a smile graze his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been so kind after one of his “moments” as Diamond used to call them.

He hid it from Rita as much as he could because he didn’t want her to worry. Of course there were still times where he slipped and Rita saw a stray tear or times where she would catch him staring into space, his hands grasping onto his arms like a lifeline. But there wasn’t much she could do apart from waiting for him to come back to and asking if there was anything he needed. An offer which he always declined, not wanting to bother her. Juno doesn’t even want to think about what happened on the rare occasion Diamond found him, especially after Benten died. Those nights never ended well.

“Would you like me to read to you, Juno? It may not be the start of the book but it might help.” Nureyev’s voice was sincere and raw. No trace of Rex Glass, Duke Rose or even Peter Ransom. It was just him.

“Oh, uh sure.” As Peter started reading Juno focused on his voice. Within minutes Juno was struggling to keep his eye open as fatigue continuously hit him in waves. Peter, of course, noticed this and paused his reading.

“You can fall asleep, Juno. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” At this Juno finally let himself drift off to the sound of Nureyev’s voice, his heart beat and the feeling of his fingers running through Juno’s hair. And when he woke up the next morning, Peter was still there as promised. Maybe things weren’t perfect in the mess he calls a brain but he thinks that maybe that’s okay as long as he has Peter by his side.

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev #jupeter #junoverse #tpp fic #my writing

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alchemist-shizun · 5 years

Text

As soon as the curtain is raised

Read on Ao3!

Now available as an audio recording of yours truly!

Wonderful illustrations made by the kind @doodledoobug 🧡

Word count: 2,230

Characters: Deceit centric, but all the other sides are here too

Relationship(s): I'm giving you all carte blanche and you can interpret this the way you'd like!

Warning(s): Negative thinking, suicidal thoughts, cursing, a sort of self harm

Taglist: @shitpost-sides, a fellow angst lover

A/n: I swear it has a happy ending. Thank you to @stop-it-anxiety since they came up with the scales idea! This was written in honor of suicide prevention day and honestly I'm not entirely sure of how this came out but I feel like I tried to convey a message more than focus on a decent storyline. Either way, hope you enjoy the suffering! (I know snake skin is supposed to shed, but let's just pretend this is what actually happens for him)

✾

❝ It's alright, it's okay, it's alright, it's okay. You're not a monster, just a human, and you made a few mistakes. ❞

It's fine. It'll be over soon.

Another sharp pain traveled through the man's body, warm glimmers sparkled from his cheek, hitting his eyes from the inside. His mind was clouded, his common sense long lost in previous silent cries of help.

Just one more. You'll be satisfied.

He had tried to tell them. He had tried so many times, without success, to make them realize what had been circulating in his subconscious.

He had tried, but never actively did tell them.

Deceit was scared and he wasn't able to admit it to anybody; he had shown up more often in hope that the other sides were going to notice his strange demeanor. Instead, they found it annoying at first, as they believed he wanted to go against their points of view on every single dilemma.

Only that everything he did was give trivial suggestions and hardly pay attention to the topic at hand, or talk at all.

Thomas had side glanced him a couple of times, but that was all that it was, since he had been nothing but harmless.

Then came Patton's suspiciousness.

He had stopped him before he could retreat to his room. « I know you won't tell me, but ... » he looked unsure of his own words. « Do you have anything on your mind, or ...? »

Deceit wasn't exactly being hostile to the group. Patton was being wary of him though. That was what he believed, at least.

And it was also what he convinced himself of, the reason why he looked at Patton with a questioning look, narrowing his eyes. He felt the scales on his cheek pressing on one another in his expression.

Patton left, with a defeated "Alright then".

The second time there was a hopeful buzzing fire at the pit of his stomach was when he found the will to seek Virgil out after one of their meetings with Thomas.

But when it was time to let everything out, it was as if that same fire had burned down all of his words.

Deceit's shaky hands were hidden behind his back.

« What is it? »

Virgil ... he had just started to accept him again, didn't he? Maybe that wasn't the best idea. Or, he could always tell him some other time.

« Dee? » his tone was lower, kind of like a whisper. Did he notice he hadn't been responding for quite a bit? Deceit's head snapped up with a "huh?" and was met with Virgil's slightly arched eyebrows.

Why did he call him like back then, when ...

« Are you ... good? »

I'm so sad, I'm so gone, I'm so lost, I'm so sad, I'm so down.

Before he could respond, Virgil's eyes scanned a particular spot at the side of his face. « What's that? »

Deceit's heart dropped in his chest, his hand flew to his cheek and his fingertips brushed the only uneven part among his scales. His skin felt chapped with dried blood from the day before, when he couldn't stop picking at it. Were he to press it, the faint pain would still be there.

« Just Remus and his ... "surprises". » he mused, although he had meant to tell the truth, for once. To scream what the reality was.

He had hoped for him of all people to see him. But Virgil only nodded and headed for his room a moment later, the purpose of their chat was forgotten.

It hurts so much.

After that, it could have only gotten worse.

Deceit started being more subtle, hardly ever leaving the dark sides' part of the mindscape. He thought Remus wouldn't have noticed, or, if he did, he would've brushed it off as some kind of actual activity he'd suggest too.

He was worried they could have grown back.

When he found scars in their place the days after, he could have said he was satisfied.

He could have, really.

But as soon as he did it one time, as soon as he discovered what he was capable of doing, he couldn't stop himself anymore.

He'd think about his scales for more than an instant, and there he was, urging to rip off every single one of them.

There was no reason at all most times, just an impulsive feeling. And he complied to it at any chance.

It wasn't easy to get rid of them completely, he knew he wouldn't have been able to; he had to go through never-ending shots of pain, he had to deal with the crusts of blood on his wounds, peeling them off too, out of frustration.

When he did that enough to leave darker spots on his skin, he knew he was done and could move onto the other scales.

He felt relieved to see he didn't look quite as monstrous as he did before. At long last, he could be happy.

Deceit discovered it was the complete opposite when he rose in the living room, face wiped of his hideous snake traits, and was only met with wide-eyed stares.

I still disgust them?

His face dropped.

« What have you done? » Virgil was the only one to speak, shock in his eyes.

Logan couldn't find any word to assist, Roman's hand flew to his own cheek and Patton was clutching at his shirt, you could read suffering on his teary eyes, as if he were experiencing the same aching all at once. Their reactions were interpreted as disgusted.

« Are you kidding me? » Deceit was in utter disbelief. « Just what the fuck do I have to do- » he caught a sob and suppressed it. When had he started crying? « -to be accepted? » he wiped at his face. Everything hurt in his chest.

He knew where to find physical pain to complement.

Deceit sank down faster than any other day, leaving a dreadful aura behind himself.

Losing balance, he stumbled in the common room to find some useful objects; Remus wasn't around, that was to his avail. No distractions.

He looked up at a small mirror. That's what was still wrong.

That horrendous eye.

His hands trembled and went into his hair. Now, how could he fix that? Lenses? Maybe, but what about the skin around, it seemed too much like he had burnt it. Too gruesome to be acceptable. He just wanted to be normal, why was he the only one that had to look like a beast?

Was he, in fact, one? Was that his punishment for being himself? If only Thomas could have gotten rid of him, he'd have already done that.

Could he ... get rid of himself?

Was it possible? Was it worth something? To hell with it, there was no thinking straight about that, he felt twisted enough to deserve to stop existing.

As his mind got stuffed with cotton and misery, his auditory system seemed to stop working.

Remus was wondering exactly that, he had been calling his name three times and he didn't seem to notice his presence at all. He wasn't stupid, he knew something was up when he saw him shaking.

When Deceit felt his arms being lowered by foreign hands, he was surprised to have the Duke himself presenting in front of his eyes.

His blurred vision didn't let him recognize Remus' concerned expression. nothing that was on his mind helped him calm down at all, he didn't even realize he was surrounded by multiple people. He didn't want to open his eyes.

I'm just revol-

« I love you. » a broken voice made its way through his thoughts, silencing them.

« I'm sorry. I love you. » he felt hands on his shoulders, but his eyes were still squeezed shut.

He couldn't see the sides stepping aside to let Logan help him. He didn't see his soft expression as he whispered things he didn't comprehend.

Yet, it seemed his breathing pace was slowing down, the cotton in his ears fell out and he tentatively craked one eye open, just the right amount not to be blinded by the disappointment of reality.

Was Logan telling him a tale?

Deceit focused, behind him were a deeply emotional Patton, still clutching at his cat hoodie the same way he did before. Virgil could barely bear to look at him without feeling guilty. Roman was keeping his brother still, who wanted to rush to Deceit as soon as he gave signs of regaining his consciousness.

« Okay? »

Deceit nodded before he could register what he had even agreed to. Afterwards, Logan helped him up to his feet and the others decided it was safe to approach.

Falling to the ground was another one of the things he forgot he had done, apparently.

Roman let go of Remus and they both paced towards him. He eyed them, confused as to why they were both raising their right hands to his face.

When they touched his cheek, he had a horrible feeling of anticipation, but he didn't move.

In a matter of seconds, the twins made the scales come back, one after the other, replacing the scars like little blossoming spring flowers. The pain disappeared altogether, though he was going to be still scarred inside.

« Please, keep them. » Roman murmured, he let himself show a genuine smile. « They're pretty, I like them. »

Deceit blinked, stared at him, but remained silent, still incapable to remark anything, while both Creativities stepped to the side as Patton launched himself at him, wrapping his arms around Deceit's chest.

« Don't go. I'm sorry. I should've understood. » his words felt disconnected between the sobs. Patton hugged him tight, Deceit found the will to return it, slowly burying his face in his hair. He closed his eyes yet again and felt like all his negative feelings were being drained out of his body.

He was, bit by bit, restoring his awareness. Which meant he was starting to regret all he'd done.

« You absolute idiot. » he felt another presence at his side, all at once another pair of arms was around his neck. Virgil's voice was muffled as he was speaking with his mouth pressed on the other's shoulder. « If you try any of that again, if you even remotely consider the thought, I will kill you. »

« That's kind of what I was going for. » Deceit whispered low enough so that only Virgil would have heard clearly.

« Please don't. » there was a slight crack in his voice as he hugged him tighter.

Deceit looked up to see Logan smiling at the endearing scene, a few feet away from the group, his chin was resting on his palm while his elbow was on his other hand.

His presence made him smile back and mouth a quick "thank you". What was happening anymore?

« Let's give him some space, guys. » Roman brushed his back for a moment, offering a tender gaze, then he gently pulled Virgil and Patton away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Remus holding back from basically throwing himself at him.

« Why such kindness, all of a sudden? » something didn't sit right.

That was when the Duke finally spoke. « Well, I don't know. Maybe because you started mumbling about "possibly getting rid of yourself" and freaked me- us out? »

Deceit did a double take. « I have? » weren't those just his thoughts? He didn't remember talking at all.

« Yes, Dee. You didn't stop for minutes. »

He had to blink several times before he was able to recollect himself. He had been at his limit for so long he had exploded only when he lost control over himself.

Remus paced forward and took his hand, a look that affirmed "If you dare let go I'll glue our arms together."

Then, Logan nodded at Roman.

The latter wore an excited expression and gestured widely, bending his creative powers to shape a form of light in front of him. Deceit peeked from his place.

Roman walked towards him, holding a tiny snake that twirled between his hands; he chuckled, then handed it over.

Deceit was already in love with it, practically beaming with so much joy that the others swore they saw some sparkles coming from him, too.

Remus later added a tiny hat and a cape to the creature to match Deceit, getting a laugh out of everyone as the snake simply slithered around and stuck its tongue out several times. Roman offered he could take the animal around the dreamscape whenever he wanted.

It was when, later that day, they were all hanging around in the kitchen and living room, doing small talk, petting the new family member and just relaxing with some movies on, that Deceit knew he could recover.

It wasn't going to be easy, or immediate at all.

He knew he would fall back into the habit sometimes or find himself scratching his scales without even realizing. He was going to believe he couldn't do it, that he wouldn't be able to make it. He was going to cry when the negative thoughts dived back in his mind.

But he had support, this time.

So, yes. He believed he was going to see a better day, eventually.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #fanfiction #angst #deceit angst #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #read the warnings #ts fanfic #purp's writings

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gatticus · 4 years

Note

Becca & Troy: “Lucky shot.”

combining this and ‘have you lost your damn mind?!’ for becca & gat just becos i didnt wanna bug ppls dash lmao

Lucky Shot:

“250.”

“No.”

“350.”

“No.”

“400?”

Troy’s resolve snapped as he rolled his eyes. She hadn’t even seen 400, let alone 250. “What? No.”

“500!”

They were in strip club, surrounded by other lieutenants and bangers and yet he hadn’t spoken a word to any of them all night. Him and Becca had been flirting—couldn’t call it anything but, for a couple of hours now, oblivious to anyone else.

He shouldn’t have. He was cautious, reserved, knew to keep whatever they had going on between them behind closed doors and apartments, but with her wearing a top that was made out of a couple of chains, lips forming attractively with every stupid comment she made, he couldn’t help it.

“You’ve never even seen 500,” he retorted, raising an eyebrow at her.

She rose a single thin eyebrow at him. “I’m rich now,” the hand that tucked hair behind her ears went into the back pocket of her jeans—and he had to stop his eyes from following until she produced the bill in front of him. “Wanna take that back, honey?”

Honey? He almost laughed, but from the grin on her face she wasn’t being serious. “Guessin’ it’s your turn to treat me to freckle bitches then.”

“I’ll treat you to more than that.”

He blanched, choking on the spit in his mouth as he glanced at the others, who were too drunk to care, nor hear. It was still risky though. “Becca,” he chastised, eyes flicking back to the gang near them. “C’mon.”

Her nose wrinkled into a short laugh that made his heart squeeze. “Sorry.”

Well he had to forgive her when she did things like that. He wondered if she even noticed that she was effecting him the way she did.

“Anyway,” she pretended as if they were talking about the weather. “I can always go back to 100 if you’re scared, Bradshaw.”

“Oh?” He rose an eyebrow at his last name. “It’s that serious? You’re bluffing Algani.”

She laughed again as he played her at her own game. He wanted to see it again. And again. “200 it is.”

The bet was stupid too. Who could get a dollar bill in between the nearest dancers tits. Stupid, far too stupid, but he didn’t care. For once he was enjoying himself, and the company.

“Deal.”

She held out a hand for him to shake. He stared at it, shaking it before he had a chance to overthink it. She squeezed his hand once before letting it go. He was too old to get flustered over affectionate gestures, but he felt like a school kid with a secret, sharing hidden gazes when he thought people weren’t watching, and—

She aimed, and scored. The bill went straight into the woman’s cleavage, settling comfortably as she gyrated on the pole in front of them. He didn’t even need to turn to Becca to know that she was wearing a smirk.

He bristled. “Lucky shot.”

“Awww,” she cooed. She slid an arm around his waist as she pressed up onto her toes to murmur into his ear. “Maybe next time.”

His face was burning as she dropped back onto the balls of her feet, navigating through the crowd to talk to Johnny as if she hadn’t been ignoring him all night.

He simply stood there, rooted to the spot, until he glanced at the stripper, smiling with perfect white teeth and a bill between her tits that had just flushed him out of two hundred dollars.

Maybe next time.

Yeah. Probably not.

anddddd ‘have you lost your damn mind?’ for gatboss ♥

“Yeah because this shit doesn’t spell trap.”

She didn’t care about his reasons, all of which were right, she knew that. But she didn’t care, Maero was going to show, and she had to end it, didn’t have a choice.

“Yeah,” she retorted, watching him over the dinner table. “Probably.”

“What,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re just gonna waltz in there? No back up? Maybe a knife and a couple of grenades? Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?”

She appreciated the concern for her welfare. It was touching when it wasn’t so irritating. She used to go straight into traps all the time and he wouldn’t say a word, but now he barely let her out of his sight.

“I’ve got shit,” was the weakest reply she could have given. She shrugged, trying to play off his worry like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ll make sure I’m prepared.”

“Yeah?” Johnny almost looked like he was conceding, but she knew him too well for that. “That’s ai’ght then. You’re prepared.”

She didn’t say anything. She knew this wasn’t it.

“—You’re not gonna be fuckin’ prepared if he has backup!” There we go. She knew he wasn’t finished. “Which he will ‘cause he’s a fuckin’ pussy. And then you’ll last, what? About five whole seconds before he puts a bullet in your ass. Real prepared.”

He could be dramatic when he wanted to be. A real homegrown drama queen with large gestures and glares and staring at her over his glasses, jaws set. A small part of her—or a rather large one, was still scared by him, still intimidated, still in awe of him. She couldn’t help that her heart was hammering against her ribcage as he glared at her, but she could help the bravado. It was all she had.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He rose an eyebrow. “I’m not beggin’ you. I want you to say somethin’ that makes fuckin’ sense. That’s what I want.”

He was saying it without saying it. Take me with you.

In part, she was doing it for him too. She was dispensable. He on the other hand, was not. Not to her. It was ridiculous because their job was dangerous, yet she tried to limit that whenever she could, because the prospect of doing this without him—

Well. She tried not to think about that.

He was still staring at her. Waiting for a response. She stared back at him, but the words fell out of her mouth quicker than she could stop them.

“Alright,” she conceded. “Come with me.”

His face softened for the most brief of moments. It was so quick she barely saw it. “Aight,” he nodded. She saw it written all over his face; Thankyou.

It was a silent thanks, he was too proud to say it, but he knew that she knew. It didn’t need to be said, and she didn’t need to ask for it.

“For all this talk about being prepared,” a joke was started, an attempt to lighten the mood. “I hope you’re packing something good, mister.”

Just like that, the tense atmosphere dropped, like it often did. His eyes were shining as his lips pulled back over his teeth, grin close to feral;

“You have no idea.”

#twistedsinews #hope u dont mind that i comboed them!#otp; not a mistake #otp; not without you #fic #rachael dont look #boss becca

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fugio · 6 years

Note

hi! are you taking request? if so, can i get scenario for number 74. "you should marry me"? with Oikawa thank you.

Hey nonnie! Thank you for requesting ❤and I’m so incredibly sorry this took me so long to write…

idk if you would see this, but anyway, enjoy!

Prompt: “You should marry me.”

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Words: 3,136

Based on this prompt.

“Stop lounging at my house.” A voice called out.

You spun around at that, and your gaze landed on Oikawa. He has just come out from his bedroom, looking disheveled – hair sticking out in every direction.

Grinning, you said, “Good morning to you too!” as Oikawa yawned, stretching his body.

“I could sue you for trespassing, you know,” he said, closing his bedroom door, and padded to the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah. You do that,” you said offhandedly, turning your attention back to the TV, munching on his cereal.

“But then who’s going to cook for you and get rid of those junk in your fridge?” you retorted.

“I don’t have junk in my fridge,” he said defensively. Faintly, you could hear him filing out the kettle and turning on the stove.

“Oh, didn’t you know? The milk is already expired.”

“Really?” he asked, not believing your word. He opened the fridge and took out the milk, checking the expired date on the cartoon.

It was indeed already expired a week ago.

“Guess I should do grocery shopping again tomorrow,” he said, yawning. “I’m too beat today.”

He made his way to the couch – stopping at kitchen counter to grab the milk bread you have made for him – and flopped down next to you.

It was your routine. Oikawa, for all the things he was great at, was incapable of making decent food. And he was almost always busy at the hospital. So, being the kindhearted best friend you were, you took pity on him and cooked enough for two people, sometimes.

Today’s milk bread was a bribe though, since you were going to ask him a favor.

“What time did you get home last night anyway?” you asked.

“Morning,” he said, shaking his head. “There was an emergency. I didn’t leave the hospital until around five.”

“That must be rough.”

“Well, it’s nothing new,” he said, yawning again – closing his mouth with the hand that wasn’t holding the milk bread. “Thank you for this,” he said, gesturing to the milk bread.

“God, this is so, so good!” he said excitedly in between chewing. “You should marry me.”

“Ha ha ha,” you responded flatly, rolling your eyes. “Your girlfriend will give me hell if she hears you say that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, mimicking you from earlier.

You’ve been hearing him saying that ever since forever, you were not surprised anymore. But still, you had been shocked into silence when you first heard him said, back during university.

You had been helping him making a power point presentation – slaving away at the library with little sleep and coffee as fuels, when out of the blue he blurted out, “you should marry me.”

He had said it with such a straight face – you couldn’t tell whether he was joking or serious. You sat there, staring blankly – dumbly – at him, mouth slightly opened. He stared back at you, face not betraying anything until he couldn’t hold it anymore. Bubbly laughter erupted from him and soon his laughter turned into loud guffaws. He pointed at your face in between laugh.

“Oh my God,” he said, still trying to rein in his laugh. “You should see your face!”

Realizing he was messing with you, you felt relieve, slightly. But you still kicked his shin from under the table – both for messing with you and to silence him, because you were at the library, after all.

Since that day, Oikawa has been saying that to you a lot, even over the little things you helped him with. But every time he always said it jokingly, always with that slight smirk, and the teasing glint in his eyes – at least you thought so, and he never clarified, so you stopped taking him seriously.

But, that day, were you truly relieved? Were you not slightly disappointed?

Even if you were, you refused to acknowledge that slight pang you felt in the deepest corner of your chest. You refused to give it much thought. Oikawa was your best friend – your 911. He has been ever since ages ago. And you wouldn’t trade that for the world.

Besides, you were happy now with how the things were in your life.

A loud shrill sounded from the kitchen – Oikawa rose to his feet and went to turn it off.

You eyed him from on the couch. “You’re making tea, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“And you’re only making a cup?”

“Of course.”

You gave him the stink eye.

He definitely felt your stares, because not long after, he paused from stirring his tea and glanced up, “What?”

“Make a cup for me too.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Please?”

“Only if you cook me something for lunch.”

“Deal!”

He went back to sit beside you on the couch. You smiled sweetly at him as thanks when he handed you your cup.

“Anyway,” he began. “She isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Oh?” You paused from sipping your tea. “I thought you are going steady with whatshername.”

“We went out to dinner once. She kept asking me to have dinner again with her, but I don’t want to. She was horrible.” He shuddered remembering the terror.

“Anyway,” you began, putting your cup on the table in front of you. “Like I’ve told you last week, I’ll be going out of town for the weekend for my boyfriend’s sister’s wedding. I’ll be leaving around noon, today. So please –”

“–help feed your cat and water your plants?” he finished your sentence. “Sure thing,” he agreed easily.

“You, mister, are a lifesaver! Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Go annoy someone else,” he said, nudging you off the sofa with his foot.

“Hey!” you exclaimed.

“Shhh, I’m going back to sleep,” he said, laying down on the sofa and closing his eyes. He made a shooing motion with his hand, telling you to scram.

You stuck your tongue at him before making your way out of his flat and back to yours, next door.

“Close the door!” he half-yelled from the couch.

–

Later that night, Oikawa was woken up by the loud knocking sound on his door.

A little disoriented, he checked the time on his phone, wincing as the light blinded him.

2.13 am.

He groaned.

Who the fuck comes at this godforsaken hour?

He tossed his blanket aside and got out of the bed - almost tripping half way.

He was still groggy from sleep. His brain hasn’t quite connected the dot that since he lived alone, whoever came should have been knocking at his front door, not his bedroom door.

To say Oikawa was surprised was an understatement. He opened the door and the first thing he saw was red, swollen eyes on your usually bright smiling eyes.

Wait –

Had you been crying?

Oikawa stared at you, dumbfounded. His brain short circuited. He didn’t even know what to do, or what to say – you weren’t even supposed to be here. Not until tomorrow night, at least.

You were supposed to be off somewhere with that boyfriend of yours, enjoying the vacation in disguise. Killing two birds with one stone - or so you had said.

But here you were, standing right in front of him, in a crumpled oversize sweater, duffel bag strapped on one shoulder, and eyeliner smeared on your face.

“What happened to you?” he finally managed to ask, voice slightly raised in alarm.

You opened your mouth to answer him, but no sound came - words got caught in your throat. Instead, you found yourself start sobbing.

You desperately tried to hold back the tears. You harshly wiped the tears with your sleeve, bit your lip tightly as to not let out another sob. But you failed spectacularly. Big fat ugly tears kept streaming down your cheeks.

Oikawa’s heart blanched seeing you breaking down like this. He reflexively took a step closer to you, and gathered you in his arm, pulling you so close he wished he could absorb your pain away.

You couldn’t stop your tears. Your cries only got louder once your head hit his chest. And Oikawa’s arms held you even tighter in response.

“Hey,” he whispered softly in your hair, his hand rubbing soothing circle on your back. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll be okay.”

But you didn’t give him any response - you couldn’t. You were too emotional to talk, so you just continued to cry against his chest, spoiling his shirt with tears and snot. But that was okay - both you not answering him and you spoiling his shirt. Oikawa didn’t mind, he understood.

Whatever causing you to break down like this was not a trivial matter. Oikawa has known you for years - you were strong. Even stronger than he is, sometimes. You weren’t someone who would let emotions rule her head - always the logical person.

And it hurt him seeing you like this. He hated seeing you in pain. Oikawa was angry. Angry at whoever and whatever causing you great pain like this. He felt the anger slowly rising and burning his chest. He could feel the ugly taste of it on his mouth.

He was not an idiot. Oikawa could put two and two together. You were here alone, crying, while you were supposed to be on a wedding with said boyfriend. Something must have happened.

–

It was a while when your tears finally stopped falling, and your sob quieted down into small hiccups.

Oikawa led you to the couch, grabbed blanket from his room, and brought water from the kitchen for you.

Parched from all the crying, you downed the water in three big gulps, and thank him meekly.

He ruffled your head in response, smiling. And he just sat there facing you - waiting for you to tell him what the hell was all that about. Frankly, you gave him the scare of a lifetime.

He never wanted to see you like that again. He just wanted you to be happy – you only deserved to be happy. He vowed right then and there that he would do his damnest to make you happy, whatever it takes. He had enough regret as it was. He regretted not being truly honest with you, always masking his true feelings with jokes.

He was afraid – what you both had was beautiful, and he didn’t want to risk ruining it. His relationship has never worked out fine since high school, after all – so, what would make this one work?

It has always ended up with one party badly brokenhearted. Iwa-chan had said it was because Oikawa couldn’t set his priorities straight. But back at that time, volleyball was number one; his previous girlfriend had known that, but had refused to understand and still clung to the belief that Oikawa would change.

Oikawa didn’t think he has changed much since then. During university, volleyball was still a priority, but on par with his study. Right now, his work at the hospital – playing hero, saving people was definitely a priority, but –

He stared at the girl in front of him – you. The one, who not until five minutes ago was still crying her heart out in his arm.

You – he decided. Was a number one priority in his life, now.

–

You were a bit disoriented when you woke up. You blinked, taking in your surroundings. The walls were free from any Polaroid pictures that were supposedly decorating your room. There wasn’t a vanity on far right wall. Instead, in its place was a drawer, on top of which stood some framed photos – that was when you realize you weren’t in your room.

Ah yeah…

You were at Oikawa’s.

Yesterday’s event came barging in your mind, sending your head reeling. After the big fight, you had calmed down enough and came back to the hotel to make amends with your boyfriend, only to see that disgusting scene with your own eyes. Your mind went blank and goes into autopilot mode. You fled home.

Home?

But you didn’t come home, which is next door to Oikawa’s apartment. Instead, you were banging on Oikawa’s door, crying.

You had told him everything then.

How at first you had been having a great time on the rehearsal dinner – talking, and laughing with your boyfriend’s family. How it all had taken a turn for the worst – both of you at each other’s throat, having a full blown argument in the car ride back to the hotel, screaming mean things you both didn’t mean.

Even when your boyfriend had almost crashed the car into a lane divider, that didn’t cooled him from his rage. He had said an unforgivable thing at you – but even that you could let go.

After you both had arrived back at the hotel, you headed out a bit to cool your head. You had been ready to make amends with your boyfriend – apology was right at the tip of your tongue when you opened the hotel room only to find him with other woman in his bed.

Wincing from having flashback of the scene, you sat up. Your head really was pounding – you really needed to take an aspirin. You tossed the blanket aside and made your way out the bedroom.

The first thing you notice after opening the bedroom door was a leg sticking out from the couch. A small smile formed on your lips as you walked toward the offending leg.

You stared at Oikawa’s sleeping form. You couldn’t deny it, he was breathtakingly good looking – even with a crease on his eyebrow as he slept. He didn’t look comfortable sleeping on the couch like that. He would be cranky once he woke up. Praying he wouldn’t wake up - you reached out and smoothed the crease on his eyebrow.

He didn’t.

You smiled fondly at him. Thanking him silently for letting you crash in his place – and for being there for you when you needed it the most. For simply existing in your life.

You turned back, about to walk into the kitchen, looking for some aspirin, when you thought you hear your name being called out.

“Yes?” you answered, walking back toward the couch. You thought Oikawa was awake and calling you.

But he wasn’t. He was still sleeping – he talked in his sleep.

“…me,” he mumbled again.

You smiled. He was so adorable, mumbling in his sleep like that. Not having the heart to wake him up, you let him sle-

“Marry me,”

You froze.

A glance at Oikawa’s sleeping form, you were sure he wasn’t pretending to be asleep. But he said it so clearly in his sleep.

He called out your name again, softly – and then, “love you.”

A pause.

“Marry me.”

A barrage of emotions hit you like a tsunami. You were so overwhelmed, confused.

Was he serious? He was asleep – probably dreaming. He wasn’t serious. But –

But weren’t you secretly happy, though?

Your head and your heart were an ugly mess. You were still nursing your broken heart – definitely not ready to deal with this so many emotions at once. Fresh stream of tears roll down your cheeks despite your best effort.

You wiped at the tears angrily, making your way to his kitchen. You grabbed a glass of water and drank it to wet your parched throat before heading back to your own apartment. But you paused halfway. Glancing to Oikawa’s sleeping form,you decided to make him a toast and scrambled egg as thanks.

–

It was days later when you met Oikawa again. Despite living next door, it was difficult to see each other since both of you were busy with work – him with his work at the hospital, and you as one of the senior researcher at your lab. Though, you still cooked for him and left food on his kitchen when you had the time.

It was a Saturday, you were lounging on his couch again, stealing his cereal when you heard a rustle in his room.

True to your prediction, not long after, Oikawa came out of his room – yawning.

“I told you to stop lounging at my house,” he said by way of greeting.

“Good morning to you too!” you replied cheekily.

A glanced at his clothes had you snorting in amusement. “Nice boxer, by the way.”

“Shut up,” he said, walking to the kitchen.

You followed him, and sat at the stool at the kitchen counter.

“You never did the grocery shopping, so I took care of it. I restock the milk too.”

“You’re a god-send.” He smiled at you. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the plate of omelet you had made for him.

“It’s for you,” you said. “God knows what you do if I didn’t cook for you.”

“Starving, probably,” he said nonchalantly. “Thank you for the food,” he said and began eating.

“How was it?”

Oikawa swallowed the food before facing you. “I don’t think words will be enough to describe it. It’s so good!” he said, face serious. “You should marry me,” he said again, face betraying nothing.

You blushed and stayed silent – you couldn’t form any witty reply like usual.

He smiled softly at your silent, and continued eating the food.

You didn’t even have any idea what that smile meant. Was he messing with you again? He seemed pleased by himself? But at the same time, the smile didn’t reach his eyes… it seemed like, he looked almost sad.

When you finally found your voice again, you sighed before saying, “yeah, maybe I should…”

Oikawa’s head snapped at you so fast, you were afraid he was going to have whiplash – his spoon and fork found their way on the floor with a loud clattering sound.

“What?” he asked dumbly.

You rested your elbow on the kitchen counter, chin on your palm and stared at him, smiling.

“I’m saying, maybe you’re right. Maybe, I should marry you. And, maybe, I will.”

“You’re joking.”

“Are you? Do you mean what you said?”

His eyes bores into yours, expression hard and serious just like when he played volleyball or when he operated his patient.

“No, I’m not joking right now, and I do mean what I said.”

“Good, because I’m-”

You were cut off by Oikawa pulling you against his chest, his arms around your back, holding you like he would never let you go, burying his face in the crook your neck.

“Marry me.”

You smiled, with happy tears brimming in your eyes. “Okay.”

“But wait-” you said pulling away from the hug, smiled still etched on your face. “Shouldn’t we be dating first?” you asked.

“That’s not fair!” Oilkawa whined. “You said okay, no tack backs!”

You laughed, your hand reaching out to his face and pulled him closer.

“Okay,” you said before closing your eyes - kissing his lips lightly.

#writings #my writings #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #haikyuu #reader insert #prompt request

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otheroutlandertales · 6 years

Photo

@scotsmanandsassenach sent us the following picture as a prompt:

Witches - Part 1

by @whiskynottea

“Claire!” Jenny’s voice was loud and clear in the empty field. “Come here! Quick!”

Claire rucked her skirts up and out of the way and ran. The rustling of her petticoats mingled with the chirping of a bird - alone, wistful - keeping company to the single tree standing proud next to the abandoned house.

They were too late. The whole family had been taken.

“Look at this.” Jenny held a ribbon in her pale, shaking hand. It had been pink once, before the dark splotches of mud stole away the innocence it had carried.

“I… I saw her. Again.” Jenny swallowed forcefully. Her eyes were moist, but her voice rose steady against the wind. “She’s around sixteen, Claire. A scrawny lass, wi’ a head full of russet curls.”

Claire nodded, her lips a tight line. It was one of Jenny’s visions that led them to the farmhouse. She’d seen the girl’s hands reaching for her mother, fingers itching for safety. Next moment, a bigger hand was holding them tight, binding them together. A hand certain and determined, leading to an arm hidden by the red uniform. Jenny and Claire knew that image all too well - they were trying to stop him from hurting their people for the last six months. They were following him, to amend his wrongs.

“How many days do we have?” Claire asked, looking at the sun setting on the horizon. It was an enchanting sight, but she felt the colors mocking her, reminding her how beautiful life would be if they’d arrived in time to save the family.

“Two, maybe three. The bastard was punching her in the face. There was blood on her chin, her lip torn,” Jenny said through gritted teeth. Her hand, clenched in a tight fist, was shaking with anger.

“Where?” Claire spoke the word fast, her breathing insufficient to support a whole sentence. She swallowed and tried again. “Where are they?”

“Fort William.”

“Show me.”

Jenny took Claire’s hands into her own; with a nod they both closed their eyes and focused on their connected palms, the fingers laid lightly on each other’s pulse. None of them saw the white light emanating from their hands, an aura the two created together, bright and pure. Powerful. They didn’t need to see it. They knew of it; they felt it.

It was a current travelling across their tissue. An invisible energy flowing between them, making itself apparent only by the light and the warmth left in its wake.

The gate opened. Their minds connected. Jenny’s visions were transferred in front of Claire’s eyes, misty in the beginning, dancing around like ghosts, but slowly becoming clearer, real. Sharing a secret with her. Whispering images to her mind.

Every time they connected, Jenny showed Claire someone who needed help, someone who needed her; showed her what would come to happen to these people in a few hours, days, months - each time was different. Jenny opened a window to the future as easily as she opened a room’s wide window in the morning to see the Highland hills glowing with mystical serenity.

Jenny was a part of this place. Her father had taught her its past. And her mother… Her mother gave her the ability to see into its future.

And sometimes, her own future.

That was how Jenny knew, when she first met Claire.

They were both in Inverness, a rainy day like all the other days – and yet it wasn’t. Jamie was leaving for France, and Jenny would be left behind – again. First Castle Leoch, now Paris. Living the life, her younger brother. Jenny took him in her arms and squeezed the wee dolt until she felt tears threaten to run over her face. She stayed put, watching him aboard the ship until he became nothing more than a distant black spot in her vision.

It hurt her that he’d be away, that she wouldn’t see that red mop of hair decorating his empty head every day. But what hurt more was that she couldn’t go with him. That she’d never had a vision of herself living away from home. No, her da was resolute. It would be too dangerous for her to leave Lallybroch. She almost didn’t come to Inverness after their da insisted she should stay home to take care of the animals. Thank God for Mrs. Crook, who coughed politely, reminding Brian that she’d stay back, anyway. And thank God for Jamie, too, who hugged Jenny and said that it would be nice to travel with both of them, his whole family. Finally, Da yielded to the common front.

Jenny glanced over at Da from the corner of her eye, still vexed, and walked towards her horse to wait for him to finish his conversation with an old friend he’d met at the docks.

That was when Jenny spotted Claire. She was standing close to the boats, looking at the sea, her gaze lost in a far away land, her curls blowing in the wind. She wasn’t like any other lass Jenny knew. Her dress was silky and shiny, the color a deep green that made Jenny almost smell of the pines it brought to her mind. She must be close to Jenny’s age, and the lass certainly wasn’t a Scot. No Scot would wear such a dress on the docks of Inverness.

What was she doing here?

Jenny felt her eyes close, involuntarily looking into the curly-head’s future. She wasn’t supposed to do that, she knew, but today, she was far too angry to heed her father’s instructions.

She opened her eyes again, wide with surprise. She had seen the brown haired lass in Lallybroch, sitting in the armchair across from Jenny, a cup of tea warming her long white fingers. She was laughing, and Jenny was laughing with her, a feeling warming up her heart and taking her previous anger away.

With a smile, Jenny approached the strange girl.

Jenny wouldn’t be alone anymore. This lass felt different. Special. Like her.

It was months before Jenny shared the truth with her, shared her visions, the way she glimpsed a future inexistent. She wanted Claire to trust her, to know her as a true friend and not a threat.

Slowly Jenny came to know more about Claire, the lass with the whisky eyes to match her golden heart. She had been a five-year-old English orphan when Master Raymond had found her and took her to Paris. She hadn’t known back then that she was different, that her family was different. Master Raymond had helped her heal from the attack, physically and mentally, until she became strong again. Her parents might be dead, but she was alive and away from danger - for now. Their assailants thought her dead.

This gave Master Raymond precious time to train her, slowly and patiently, to bring out the powers she had inside. Both Claire’s parents were healers, but she was something more. She was the healer professed in the worn pages of mystical books. She was the White Raven, born once in two hundred years. If trained properly, pushing herself to her limits, she would be able to heal herself. She’d be immortal. If she wouldn’t get killed in between.

No matter how hard Raymond had tried to hide it, over the years people started talking about Claire’s healing abilities. She was loved and feared. She endured - and survived - violent attacks. She was La Dame Blanche. She had to leave France to stay safe.

Enemies are made by power. They want to steal it; they want to use it. And if they can’t wield it, they want to destroy it. And Claire had too much power for her own good.

But at Lallybroch, she was safe.

A few months after they first met, Jenny and Claire’s relationship ran deeper than anything else they’d experienced before. There were no secrets, no lies.

Only one person would change this, Jenny knew, but he was in Paris, fooling himself with petite French girls. Jenny had seen Jamie and Claire together, their eyes shining with intoxicating love, but she talked to neither of them about it. If it was to happen, she’d let them do it by themselves. Claire had become a sister already; she knew Jenny’s heart.

As a sister, Claire was the only person who knew about Jenny’s abilities aside from her da and her brother. Jenny and Brian were the only people who knew Claire for the healer she really was; not one with potions and concoctions, but with powerful hands. Jamie would come to know later. Claire used small bottles, giving them to the people she healed with her powers, encouraging them to believe it was the herb-colored water that brought them back to health. It was safer, this way. Here, at Lallybroch, she was a healer, not a witch.

“You witch,” Jenny had teased her after coming back from their visit at the MacLays. Jenny had had a vision of Aileas, their youngest daughter, fallen ill with a terrible fever, her frail body shaking under the plaids, her eyes lost in the fog. Pretending that they’d visited to share Mrs Crook’s bannocks, Jenny and Claire had arrived at the little house, at the end of the Fraser lands.

The girl was safe, sleeping soundly when they left. It was the first time Jenny saw Claire healing, and she was sure that she’d witnessed more than the girl’s family who stood around them.

A blue light leaving Claire’s hands, rippling along the tiny body until it was all taken in, like rain on dry land.

Once back at home, Jenny had narrowed her eyes on Claire and tried to keep a straight face while teasing her, but a shadow crossed Claire’s face in the shape of a frown. It was only when she saw Claire taking a deep breath that Jenny had burst into laughter. “I didn’t believe that you’d buy this nonsense, Claire! Witch? Come on!” she said, rolling her eyes.

A slow smile had transformed Claire’s pale face as sadness faded from her whisky eyes. “Takes one to know one, right?”

“Aye,” Jenny winked with a small smile.

“You’ve seen it then?” Claire asked, looking at her with a surprised but hopeful glint in her eye.

“The blue light? Aye. Scared me to death before I realized no one else could see it.” Jenny chuckled, placing her hand in the crook of Claire’s elbow. “Let’s go make supper, visions always make me hungry.”

They wouldn’t have time to eat now. Fort William was a two days ride from the Fraser lands.

“The rotting bastard.” Claire whispered the moment she opened her eyes again, the vision fading away under the daylight. “Not him. Not again.”

Jenny huffed, placing her hands on her waist. “If someone doesna kill him, Claire, he will never stop. Come on. We have to hurry.”

Part 2

#outlander fanfiction #otheroutlandertales #mod whisky #ch: Claire #ch: Jenny #ch: Jamie #ch: Brian #ch: Master Raymond #canon au #witches #oot #*

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authorellenmint · 6 years

Text

Isabela, the duelist

Another article about Julie d'Aubigny, the famous French duelist and opera singer with no fucks to give, was making the rounds and it got me thinking what if that was Isabela.

So, here’s an AU of Isabela in late 17th century France.

In the bustling theaters and bordellos of Paris, ruled a fist far finer than usual. While francs often tumbled free, it was just as likely to deliver a fatal blow as a waft of delicate perfume. For the moment, it was locked around the shapely hip of one of the dancers, a woman named Giselle. Sadly, Giselle bore a suitor of her own -- whether she wished for his attentions or no.

Claude Renoir was not so easily shaken from his prize.

"Do not bother," his friends cajoled, complaining as he ventured from the smoking room, glasses of brandy barely disturbed and abandoned upon the table. "Come back to watch the show. From our seats you can look straight up their skirts."

He would not listen. No, Claude assumed he was in the right -- as he often does in whatever matter the young man thinks was his divine right. At the tender age of twenty-three, with a rich father and a business to whet his beak upon once he exits university, he was nearly right. Men of his cloth were offered the whole world upon a satin pillow.

Such a shame he chose to butt up against the one sword to slice his future to ribbons.

Rounding up the stairs, Claude spotted Giselle laughing, her pert form reclining upon a fine divan. Her delicate fingers splayed out against a stranger's chest, her perfect face dipping under the stranger's wide-brimmed hat to press a whisper in an ear. Another woman sat astride this usurper, dressed in even less than his dear Giselle.

How dare he! To take not one but two women for himself? It was unheard of!

"Sir!" Claude stomped his foot on the rug before this lecher. Both of the girls looked up into his scarlet face, his anger and passion transforming into purpose. "I say, you have no right to abscond with my Giselle!"

"Your Giselle?" a voice rolled from under the bent hat, its brim obscuring a face. But the sound was odd, far more tenor than he would have expected within this house of debauchery. "I see no ring, no brand to her succulent rump," a hand slid off Giselle's shoulder to slap into her buttocks.

Claude roared at the slight while Giselle, dear Giselle giggled. "You dare!"

"I dare do what I wish, Sir...whatever you call yourself. No point in telling me, it will slip from my ear before you go."

The anger turned to rage, Claude's eyes glaring death upon this usurper. Still, the man wouldn't move, refused to take his hands off what was rightfully Claude's. So be it! Claude reached forward, about to grab his beloved Giselle off of this stranger's lap, when fingers latched onto his arm.

Brown as the peasants that burned in the fields, they dug in tight and refused to let go. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man laughed, his voice raising into an alto.

"Do you have any idea who I am?!" Claude howled.

A glint of a smile appeared below the shadows of the hat, "You speak as if I should care."

"I am the eldest son to Monsieur Renoir, heir to the..."

That brown hand released him in order to wave through the air, cutting off his credentials. "That's who your father is. Who are you, boy?"

Boy? This puerile farmer trucked in from the provinces dared to call him such! "You have greatly offended me, Sir. I demand satisfaction!"

The two women astride the stranger gasped, Giselle covering her mouth in shock. Good. May the man quiver, fall to his knees in subjugation begging to be forgiven, and let Claude have what he deserved. He was about to reach out for his love, when Giselle turned to the hat and cried.

"Please, he's a foolish child. You shouldn't..."

A child? Oh Giselle! How her cruel thoughts wounded him straight through the heart.

"You are aware that duels are illegal in Paris," the man said.

"Are you afraid? Are you a coward? Do you have not the balls to face me?"

The smile lengthened and the stranger rose from the divan. "There is nothing a pup like you can do to scare me, and..." a hand yanked off the hat to reveal long black hair cascading down HER back. She was a woman?! Cocking a hip to the side, her brown face smiled, "I don't need a pair of danglers to face you."

Dressed in little more than what the whores working through the theater wore, she paraded about in all white. There was no dress to cover her shame, only a corset with a sash of purest blue tied around her waist. Boots rose to her thighs as if she'd walked the streets dusk to dawn.

"What are you?!" Claude cried, skittering back a step as he feared the woman to be a hag dragged in by the sea. While her features were fine enough in the low light, the sea hags could shift them to torment men by dawn.

The woman turned to Giselle, circled a hand around her peaches and cream jawline, then sampled a long, slow kiss from those pink lips. Claude hung in shock. He hadn't even had a chance to hold her hand yet and this woman, this degenerate, was kissing her in public!

"I am Isabela, feared pirate of the Caribbean, master duelist in all of France, ransacker of beds, lover of such fine art," her hand scooped along Giselle's décolletage, showing no care for decorum. Golden snake eyes snapped up at him, "And you, young pup, are the next man to dance upon the end of my blade." In full view of the patrons, she unsheathed a sword kept at her hip. The candlelight danced up and down the rapier's edge, Claude transfixed by the glow.

"Or," she paused, "do you relent and allow me to continue with my business as I see fit?"

He was no duelist. His father owned a sword but if he found out Claude was scuffling, was breaking the law, he'd go spare. Perhaps even threaten to disown him. Fighting her would be foolish. If he won, he'd have beaten a girl, which afforded him little honor. And if he lost...no, he wouldn't lose.

"Oh," this Isabela paused in staring longingly at Giselle, "and you have to leave her alone. Forever."

Claude saw red, his hand rising up to strike her in the face, "We shall meet outside the theater."

The woman didn't blanch, she didn't turn and run. No, the idiot smiled wide, took his hand and gave it a powerful shake. "This shall be fun."

His friends agreed to back him up, two of them braying about Claude managing to work himself into such a predicament. Fighting against one woman for another, it was a waste of his time and skin. He didn't care about Giselle. Forget the whore. No, this was all about putting that...cretin in her place. Proving to her that she belonged under a man's thumb, not philandering about in theaters with other women.

"Perhaps she won't even show," his close friend said, the drunkard laugh shattering the night, when the swish of a cloak overpowered the inebriations.

Claude's blood boiled, his hand locking around the grip of his foil. This woman had returned her hat, complete with a long crimson feather in the brim, upon her head. It was tipped back, allowing her to gaze at her challenger, as well as his seconds. Where was hers? Did she come alone?

A cloak as black as night circled her body, Isabela casting it off of her shoulder with a flip of her arm. "Forgive me, I had to...enjoy a rather long goodbye. Giselle is quite skilled in such matters."

"Draw your weapon!" Claude cried, quickly unsheathing his rapier. The hilt was a silver steel, twisted like a brambled mulberry bush. He'd never fought a man to death with it, nor a woman for that matter. But the anger in his stomach boiled, assuring Claude that he could cut pieces off of her blackened hide and feel no remorse for it.

"Such a hurry," she shook her head, then plucked her hat off. With a throw, she flung it to one of his friends, who caught it in surprise. "Hold that for me, darling," she winked at him, and the bastard blushed. "Yes yes, as you were saying," she gripped onto the hilt of her sword and unsheathed it into the waning gas lamplight of evening Paris.

Claude snickered while eyeing up her pathetic blade. The edge was thin as a blade of grass, but it was the grip that had him laughing. "You don't have a hilt upon that thing. There's nothing to shield your hand from my blows."

"Arrogant little shit, aren't you?" she laughed, swiping thrice through the air. "Funny thing is, " Isabela raised her arm up, the elbow cocked as the edge of the blade cut through the air right beside her eye, "so am I."

Screaming, Claude ran at the woman. He didn't need a countdown, only for her blood to litter the cobbles. With everything inside of him, he swung for her hand. Disarm her, make her fall to her knees and weep. Sweep Giselle off her whore feet and into his bed to be used once and discarded. It was a brilliant plan.

His blade's tip cut through the air, about to flay the brown skin from her hand, when suddenly his sword was thrown back. Another swing bounced into his blade, skittering it even further into the night as the woman danced forward on the balls of her feet. Through the rush of his blood he heard his friends shouting for him, cheering him on, but Claude was too slow to retrieve his skittered blade.

Two twin cuts sliced against his cheeks, stinging deeper than any shaving mishap ever would. Gasping, Claude fell back, touching his enflamed flesh to find sticky blood swiped over his fingers. "How dare you?!" he screamed, his eyes widening in shock.

"Well, the trick is to be good. Which is probably why you're having trouble. Oh, you don't mean how can I but how may I." Another swipe of the blade swung from the darkness, striking faster than lightning. He barely had a chance to block it, this one aiming for his wrist. Claude bounced one away, but a second thrust cut into his waistcoat. The chain thudded to the ground, Isabela whacking him away until she could pick it up for herself. She eyed the thing by the moonlight as if it were a prize, before pocketing it on her barely-there clothing.

"See, young pup," her attacks were unending, backing him into corners, then chasing him away. All Claude could do was keep her from killing him. Still, cuts were appearing all over his body. Slashes to his arms, his legs, the back of his knees. His friends fell silent, watching in terror as Claude was led about on an invisible lead.

"If you had a lick of sense in your brain, you'd know me as Isabela, Queen of the Siren's Call."

"Sweet mother Mary!" one of his friends shouted before crossing himself.

"Ah, a fan of my work," Isabela winked and nodded at him. "Shame your friends didn't warn you about me. I've fought in at least fifteen different duels since weighing anchor upon your shores. Always with stuff shirt pricks who think they own whatever they can take. And you know what happens to those men?"

"What?" Claude snarled. She was bobbing but slowing, circling around his back. If he swung fast he might be able to knock into her smart mouth with the pommel of his sword. Isabela darted close to his shoulder, which was when Claude struck.

Swinging behind, he expected for his fist to come in contact with her face, but suddenly there was naught but air where she'd been. Something hard bashed into the back of his bleeding legs, sending Claude crumbling to the street. Filthy muck splashed up from his hands splattering into fetid water and piss. He gasped, trying to spit the muck out, when a sharp blade drew against his throat.

"They always lose," she smiled wider at him, about to plunge the blade deep and finish him off.

"You!" another woman's voice roared through the night.

"Oh, for the love of..." Isabela stepped back, her blade fleeing away from Claude's neck. She sheathed it while turning to whoever was shouting at her. It wasn't yet another jealous husband but a woman built like an ox. Hair redder than the seine by sunset, an unsophisticated stomp to her manly gait, this woman approached Isabela and grabbed onto her collar.

"You know duels are illegal here! We've warned you once before."

"Yes, Aveline. I heard you the first time, I simply didn't care," Isabela whimpered as this muscular woman began to bind her hands behind her back. "You should know, he challenged me."

"Right, anyone in Paris is stupid enough to challenge you to a duel," the redhead chuckled mirthlessly, clearly finding his humiliation hilarious.

"I was doing you a favor by cleaning up this trash. I dare say I deserve a medal..." Isabela sighed.

Struggling to rise, Claude shook away the spots in his vision to watch the subject of his ire being clapped in irons as befitted her. "Yes, arrest her. Take her away!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" this Aveline rolled her eyes at him,

"Told you," Isabela whistled, rocking back and forth on her toes even as the iron cuffs clanked on. "Total prat."

Sneering, Claude stomped closer to the woman unable to fight back. His nose flared as he declared, "You're an abomination. Creatures like you should be stoned before the church steps. It isn't natural for a woman to abandon the home's hearth, dress like a man and fight. You're no better than a feral dog."

"Damn it," the redhead groaned, her head tipping back to the stars. Claude turned to her in confusion, worrying he'd have to be the one to take Isabel in as a feminine vapor overtook her, when a massive fist burst into his jaw. He collapsed to the street, his head bouncing against the cobbles as he stared up at the bruised knuckles of the redhead still hanging in the air.

The redhead turned around to Isabela and snarled, "Get out of here." Then she bent over to haul Claude up from his dizzying state. He could barely see after that punch. "Disorderly, and drunk in public. Gonna have a long stay in the Bastille for that, prat."

The iron cuffs clanged to the ground without the redhead having to assist. Isabela dashed to pick up her hat from his friend's useless fingers. Once it was on her head, she gave a jolly wave to the men and walked right back into the theater. Claude groaned, his head throbbing from every hit to his body as those cuffs were now strapped to him.

"Don't you know anything? Never interrupt her when she's watching a show. You idiots," the woman hauled him up and tossed him over her gargantuan shoulder, "you never learn."

#isabela #aveline vallen #french duel #dueling #historical au #dragon age #my writing #short story #fanfic

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lovemesomesurveys · 6 years

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Do you have a big or small family?: My mom’s side is huge, but my dad’s side is very small. Do you like the way it smells after it rains outside?: Yesss. As a kid, did you ever get in trouble for drawing on the wall?: Nope. Do you toss & turn in your sleep?: Not really. I just have a hard time going to sleep. Do you often flip your pillow over to the “cool” side?: Yeah.

Have you ever thrown popcorn at someone in a movie theater?: Uh, no. Do you need complete darkness to be able to sleep?: No. I sleep with the TV on. Have you ever jumped off a roof?: Noo. What are your #1 priorities in life?: My family. Do you have a motto you live by?: Keep on keepin’ on, I guess. Are you gullible?: Nah. Have you ever came close to dying?: Yes. Twice. Do you believe that there’s good in everyone?: Not everyone. Does it annoy you when people play dumb?: Yes! You just look, well, dumb. Have you ever ate a crayon when you were little?: No. Can you change the oil on a car?: I’ve never tried. Have you stolen a street sign before?: No. I don’t get why people do that.

Do you have freckles?: Yeah. Do your intials spell out anything cool?: No. I’m watching The Golden Girls; though, and this reminds me of this one episode where Blanche says that her initials are BED, which spells bed and if you know her character it’s so perfect and it was just a funny moment and yeah. Do you take the shampoos & conditioner bottles from hotels?: Nah. Do you use a night light?: My TV. Have you ever peed in the woods?: No.

Do you dance even when there’s no music playing?: No. I don’t dance at all, except maybe bob my head a bit. Do you chew on your pens & pencils?: No. Where would you bury hidden treasures if you had some?: Nice try. Why would I tell you? Do you take vitamins?: No, but I’m supposed to. Can you curl your tongue?: No.

Which are better: green or black olives?: Black. I don’t like the green ones. Can you knit or crotchet?: Nope. Do you believe things happen for a reason?: Yes. Do you live in the moment?: Well, I take things day by day so yeah I guess. Are you a daredevil?: Ha, no. I very much play it safe. Are you passive or aggressive?: Passive. Do you think you are emotionally strong?: No. Have you ever had your mouth washed out with soap as a kid?: No. Do you have any unhealthy obsessions? With what or who?: No, I don’t believe so. Do you have any scars?: I have a lot of scars. Does the future make you excited or nervous?: Very nervous. Are you allergic to any animals?: No. Who makes your day brighter?: My pup. If you HAD to lose one of your 5 sense which would you choose to give up?: I don’t knowww.

Do you like your tea sweetened or unsweetened?: Sweetened. It just takes one Sweet ‘N Low packet for me when it comes to tea. Are you a skeptic or do you easily believe?: I’m a skeptic usually. Would you rather be Amish or homeless?: Oh boy. Can you read music?: I used to. Do you blush easily?: Yes. Does public speaking make you nervous?: Extremely. So glad I don’t have to do that anymore. Do you frequently experience deja vu?: No. It’s pretty rare, actually. Have you seen any famous city landmarks?: Yeah. Do you deal or run away from your problems?: A bit of both. Like, I’m kind of forced to deal with them but I do try and avoid them when I can. You never really can, though. Do you act your age?: How should a 29 year old act? What gets on your nerves?: Nagging. Do you color inside the lines? Yes. Do you believe in a lot of conspiracies?: Some. Even if I don’t, I still find them interesting. Have you ever bought anything from an informercial?: No. Can you tell people honest things straight to their face?: It can be hard depending on what I’m telling them. Are you double jointed in any way?: My thumbs are. Are you easily offended?: No. Did the movie jaws scare you?: I’ve actually never seen it. How good are you at keeping secrets?: Good. What stupid little thing stresses you out?: Gah, I don’t know. Some days it can be any little thing. Have you ever tripped over your own two feet?: No. Do you talk to yourself?: Well, it’s more that I’m thinking out loud. Do you crack your knuckles?: Yeah, sometimes. Would you flip off the president?: No. What does the world need less of?: Violence.

Do you stop to smell the roses?: No, not in the literal or figurative sense. Would you ever drop out of school?: I was tempted a few times, especially towards the end, but I ended up finishing. Have you ever went rock climbing?: No. What would you take from your house if you knew it would be flooded tomorrow?: Besides my family and pup, obviously, I’d take my laptop, cell phone, medications, and whatever else I could. Do some people truly not deserve to live?: ;; I’m not the judge of that. Would you prefer to be emotionless so you didn’t have to feel a heartbreak?: I don’t want to be a robot. Is there a way to solve world hunger, that we are ignoring?: I’m sure there is. Can you count in roman numerals?: No. Do you sleep on your side, stomach or back?: Side. Do plants die in your care?: I don’t have any plants. What do you think of when you look at the stars?: They’re beautiful. Have you ever blacked out?: No. How do babies make you feel?: They’re cute and pure, but I don’t want any kids of my own. What really makes your blood boil?: Blaaaah.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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lattetudes · 7 years

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requested by @atnuka idioms + expressions list. mostly idioms. an idiom, as defined by the dictionary of cambridge, is a group of words in a fixed order that have a particular meaning that is different from the meanings of each word on its own.

coucou! french idioms. it’s about all authenticity and truly investing yourself in the pathway towards fluency. you are going to get confused when you hear expressions like fat morning or to drink like a hole. that’s inevitable, confusion is a part of learning. making mistakes is a part of learning. you may be able to translate these expressions literally, but knowing the figurative definitions and fundamental meanings beyond a fixed group of words is much more important. i’m going to say this once, and i’ll probably say it again: when trying to reach fluency in a language such as french, do NOT translate everything LITERALLY, especially if you’re doing more complicated work. just don’t do it. it will lead to problems down the line, i can promise you that. french and english for example, differ in nature, structural systems, phonetics, many (many) aspects of grammar, basic sentence construction, syntax, semantics, rhythm, etc. it’s essential to realize what some languages require linguistically / socially, and what some do not.

i wanted to include so many more, so if you guys want a part two i’d totally be open to writing one.

resources of choice

wordreference.com

linguee.fr

if you’d like to search for more french idioms, google them in french “expressions idiomatiques en français”, not in english “popular french idioms”. you’re bound to get more accurate results that way as they’re more often than not written by actual french writers / authors / bloggers.

thank you for 7K followers! i’m planning to do something very special @8.5K. vote on upcoming masterposts

french movie and song playlist

french proverbs: a guide

french idioms and expressions, part two?

idioms, a-z

au fur et à mésure - as one goes along

à l’eau de rose - sentimental, insipid, bland - usually refers to a book or movie.

à bout de souffle - breathless, out of breath; on its last legs

avoir l’air crevé - to look exhausted.

avoir d’autres chats à fouetter - to have better things to do

ah la vache - holy cow, oh my god

avoir les yeux plus gros que le ventre - your eyes are bigger than your stomach

au pif - a general estimate.

avoir le cafard - to lack morale, to be so bored that you’re depressed.

avoir la banane (pêche, patate) - to feel happy, to be in high spirits.

avoir une faim de loup - to be extremely hungry, to be starving

avoir une peur bleue de - to be scared to death of something, to be extremely terrified of something.

avoir la flemme - to be lazy.

aller au droit au but - to go straight to the point

bourrer le crâne - refers to an ill-informed individual

bouge ton cul! - move your ass, hurry up

boire comme un trou - to drink heavily.

brève de comptoir - a one liner

boire un coup - to have a drink

croire dur comme fer - to firmly, strongly believe

ça marche - that works, alright, okay.

ça craint - this/that sucks

ca lui prendre au bout de nez - he/she’s got it coming

ca va barder - shit is going to hit the fan

c’est la fin des haricots - it’s the end, there’s nothing left

casse-toi - get lost

c’est nickel - it’s all good, it’s spotless

c’est casse-couilles, c’est coton - it’s a pain in the ass

coûter les yeux de la tête - to cost an arm and a leg, to cost a fortune

con comme la lune - particularly stupid.

devenir chèvre - describes a state of extreme anger, rage

dire ses quatre vêrités - to tell it like it is.

en avoir marre (j’en ai marre) - to be fed up with something, someone

en avoir rien à foutre/faire - to not give a shit, to not give damn

en avoir ras le bol - to be fed up with something, sick of something

être canon - to be hot, to fit someone’s standards of beauty

être crevé - to be extremely tired, exhausted

être en train de - be + ing

être paf, être ivre - to be drunk, to be stoned

être chiant - to be annoying

être à l’ouest - to be spaced out

être mal en point - to be in a bad state

en prendre de la graine - to take a page from someone’s book

fais gaffe - watch out, be careful

faire une nuit blanche - to pull an all-nighter

faire flanelle - to abstain from doing something, to do nothing.

faire un tabac - to be a hit

faire une croix sur - to write something off, to kiss someone goodbye, to give up on

faire la sourde oreille - to turn a deaf ear, to pretend to ignore someone

faire le pont - to take a long weekend

faire la grasse matinée - to sleep in

friser le ridicule - to be a laughing stock

faire la tête - to sulk

jeter l’argent par les fenêtres - to splurge, to carelessly waste money

(jeter) un coup d’oeil - to take a look, to glance at something

larguer quelqu’un - to break up with someone

manger sur le pouce - to eat on the go

mettre du piment dans sa vie - to spice up one’s life.

mise en abyme - the story within, a story within a story

ne pas y aller de main morte - to not pull one’s punches

ne pas sorti de l’auberge - to be well and truly in it, to not be out of the woods

n’y voir que de feu - to be clueless

pleuvoir des cordes - to be raining cats and dogs

pleurer comme une madeleine - to cry your eyes out

prendre la téte - to drive crazy, to give yourself a headache

prendre son courage à deux mains - to summon the courage to do something

point barre! - period, that’s that

prendre quelqu’un la main dans le sac - to catch someone red-handed

prendre ses jambes à son cou - to run for one’s life

poser un lapin à quelqu’un - to stand somebody up

quelque chose qui cloche - to not add up, there’s something wrong

raconter des salades - to talk bullshit, to bullshit

ramener sa fraise - to join a conversation without being invited to do so, get your ass over here.

revenons à nos moutons - let’s get back on topic

s’envoyer en l’air - to get laid, to have sex.

sage comme une image - quiet as a mouse

sur un coup de tête - on an impulse, on a whim

se casser la gueule - to hurt someone (/fall down), to smash someone’s face in [humor, loose translation]

sentir le sapin - to have one foot in the grave

se ronger les sangs - to be worried to death

se faire une belle jambe - to make oneself look good

s’en mettre plein les poches - to line your pockets.

ta gueule - shut up

tomber dans les pommes - to faint

tenir au courant - to keep up to date, to keep posted

tomber dans le panneau - to fall into a trap

tomber des nues - to be shocked, to be flabbergasted

tout craché - spitting image

tourner au vinaigre - to get out of control, to get nasty

tu m’étonne - tell me something i don’t know. [ironic]

un coup de foudre - love at first sight

un suppôt de satan - hellbound, a minion of the devil

un froid de canard - to be icy cold

une bouchée de pain - for next to nothing

y mettre de sien - to put one’s all into something

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