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morganaspendragonss · 3 years ago

Note

If you still have the square open, fingore for Tarlos? I looked it up and the definition made me all cringy lol because I am a giant wuss, so I was thinking maybe threat of fingore (or actual fingore if you want to go for it because you are clearly made of cooler and tougher stuff than me ;) ), something with Carlos hostage on a case and the bad guys want him to give up some information? Or Carlos is protecting TK somehow and won't tell them where he is?

holly's august extravaganza day 8: we'll hold each other soon

unfortunately the square had already been taken when this came through but i hope you like what i came up with! thanks for the prompt! tied into chapters five and eleven from the breeze in my austin nights

ao3 | 2.1k | angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, torture, carlos briefly thinks tk is dead but he's not

Carlos had known this would happen. He’s known for weeks; he’s felt the suspicion in the gang growing, sensed his cover crumbling bit by bit. It’s been especially bad since his run-in with Paul and Marjan, but that was really just the final straw.

Things with this mission have been going sideways for a long time. He’d reported it to his supervisors, of course he had, but all they’d said was that the case was too important to give up just because of one man’s feeling.

He wishes he could take satisfaction in being proved right.

Unfortunately, him being right means nothing to his supervisors. For Carlos, it means getting dragged out of his temporary apartment in the early hours of the morning and taken, blindfolded and gagged, to a remote corner of town, probably unknown to everyone outside of the gang.

Carlos doesn’t struggle as he’s shoved into a chair and chained by the feet, his hands and torso bound to the wood with a rough rope that rubs his skin painfully. By the low mutters and footsteps echoing around the room, it’s clear there’s more than just one or two of the gang holding him, so he figures that fighting will only make things worse for him.

Once he’s sufficiently tied up, the blindfold is yanked from his eyes and the gag removed. Carlos gratefully sucks in a few deep breaths, blinking hard as his vision adjusts to the harsh fluorescent lighting in the room. There are six men surrounding him and Carlos recognises one as the gang leader, Manese. Another, Daniels, is holding a crowbar, and all of them are armed with at least one gun, probably more.

Carlos, meanwhile, is lucky he’s wearing socks.

Thank god for draughty apartments.

Manese steps forward, his hard stare betraying little emotion. “I’m gonna cut the bullshit, Reyes,” he says. “We know who you are, we know you’ve been passing information to other cops, and we know you’re probably not doing it alone.

“So, you’ve got two choices. Either you make it easy for us and we’ll make it easy for you—I’d say I’d let you live, but you and I both know I can’t do that. But I will leave a body to bury. Or, you make it difficult and we’ll return the favour. And, believe me, we can make things very, very difficult for you.” He grins and spreads his hands out, tipping them in a mimic of a set of scales. “This only ends one way for you, Reyes. All you gotta do is decide how fast you want to get there.”

The look Manese sends him lets Carlos know that he already knows exactly what decision he’s going to make, and that he’s going to enjoy it. Carlos sighs and closes his eyes, briefly hanging his head. He spares a thought for his family back in Austin—his parents, TK—and prays that, whatever happens, they’ll at least be able to get some closure.

Then, he steels himself and looks Manese dead in the eyes. “Do what you want. I’m not telling you anything.”

Manese’s grin takes on a shark-like quality, and Carlos has to force himself not to react to the way he leers at him. “Excellent choice.” He flicks his hand and Daniels steps forward, a manic look in his eye as he flexes his grip around the crowbar.

Carlos barely has a moment to prepare himself before all he knows is pain.

He screams as the crowbar comes down for what feels like the hundredth time, eliciting a sickening crack as his arm breaks. Carlos’s vision white out and he folds in on himself as much as he can, his left arm straining to cradle his right, but all he achieves is the already abused skin becoming more raw and sore. He breathes heavily, blinking rapidly as the room slowly swims into view once more. Daniels looks bored, the crowbar swinging loosely in his grasp, and Manese seems to be running out of patience.

“Got your memory back yet, Reyes?” he asks tersely.

Carlos just shakes his head and braces himself for the next hit.

Which doesn’t come.

And doesn’t come.

Carlos squints up at them, frowning when he sees Manese with a hand on Daniels’ arm as he studies him closely. The calculating glint in his eye sends a flash of dread through Carlos; nothing good can possibly come of this.

“Go for his fingers next,” he orders after a while, releasing Daniels. “I don’t care how—break them, shoot them, crush them, whatever—just get me answers.” He turns to Carlos and tuts, sighing heavily in mock regret. “This is your own fault, Reyes. All this can be over like that”—he snaps his fingers—“if you just give me what I want. A couple names, a location or two, that’s all I’m asking. Not much, right?”

Carlos stubbornly stays silent—at this point, he’s not sure he has enough breath left to speak even if he wanted to—and Manese sighs again.

“Your funeral.” He shrugs and steps back to give Daniels room, but before anything can happen, one of the others in the room rushes forward to whisper something to Manese. Carlos can’t hear what’s being said and he’s too exhausted to try; all he can feel is relief for the brief reprieve. His arm is screaming at him, the pain in the rest of his body paling in comparison, and he’s not sure how much longer he can stand it.

The hushed mutters continue for another minute, until eventually Manese nods sharply and four of the six men in the room file out. He smiles at Carlos, sickly sweet, and claps his hands together once, rubbing them for good measure. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Reyes,” he says, with a lazy drawl that can’t mean anything good. “Business calls.”

Carlos doesn’t have time to comprehend what that means before Manese and Daniels are also leaving, flipping them lights off as they go.

And Carlos is left alone.

Time means nothing as Carlos waits for someone to return and finish what they started. The only thing he’s certain of is that something must have changed to get Manese to halt his torture, and it probably isn’t a very good something.

Not for Carlos, at least.

He thinks about trying to escape, but even slight movements are so painful that he fears he might throw up or pass out or, more likely, both. Besides, even if he did manage to get out of the bonds on his arms and torso, there would still be the chains on his feet to deal with, and Carlos knows there’s more of a chance of rescue than him dealing with those on his own, especially with a broken arm.

His mind is left to wander, and he keeps circling back to one point that seems to solidify itself more with each second that passes.

He’s not getting out of here.

A fresh wave of pain—not physical, this time—washes through him, and his whole chest aches as he thinks of TK. He’d been so worried for Carlos ever since they found out about the case, and he’d begged him to stay safe the morning he’d left just over three months ago.

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away. TK didn’t let him go far before dragging him into a real kiss. It felt like it lasted forever, only to seem far too short when they broke apart, still clinging to one another. Carlos allowed himself another minute in TK’s embrace, then forced himself to move away, giving his boyfriend one last smile.

TK returned it with a smile of his own, and Carlos carried it with him long after the door swung closed between them.

It’s the last good memory Carlos has, and he’s going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he’s going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK’s smile, even if it is just in his mind.

Carlos is nearly blinded when the lights suddenly turn back on, revealing Manese and two other gang members standing in front of him. He only vaguely recognises these two—it’s possible he could dredge up some names if he thought about it for long enough, but his attention is locked on Manese, who looks far too pleased with himself, in the same way a predator must look before it catches its prey.

“You’ve made it clear you’re not going to give us any names,” Manese says, “so now I’m going to give you one.” He steps closer and lowers his voice, grinning like he’s sharing a secret just for the two of them. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”

Carlos’s blood runs cold at the sound of TK’s name.

TK’s full name.

“What—” but his ruined and dry throat refuses to cooperate. Instead, he levels a glare at Manese, and hopes that it’s enough to convey every single question and threat running through his mind right now.

If possible, Manese’s smile widens. “Recognise it do you?” he says lightly. “I thought you might. See, Carlos, we have people all over, not just in this shithole town, and once we knew who you were, it was child’s play to track down your nearest and dearest. And who is nearer and dearer than that pretty boy of yours?”

He steps back and snaps his fingers, holding his hand out. One of the others hands him a slip of paper, which Manese then presents to Carlos, dropping it carelessly in his lap. “Take a look.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Carlos looks down at what he realises is a photograph. He can’t understand it at first, but slowly the details become clearer and more familiar, and—god.

“I’ll give him credit, he put up quite the fight,” Manese is saying, but he sounds like he’s shouting down a tunnel, the roaring in Carlos’s ears blocking out most other sounds. “It’s unfortunate that fists can’t stop a bullet.”

Everything stops making sense after that.

TK is dead.

It makes no sense, so why should anything else? Carlos stares and stares at the photo, and keeps staring even after it’s snatched out of his lap, the image burned onto his retinas by now. He’s aware, distantly, of voices and sounds and sensations but they’re all muted, happening outside this bubble he’s created around himself.

He wishes they’d just get it over with.

Carlos blinks, and there’s someone new in front of him, someone unfamiliar who touches him gently and looks at him kindly.

He blinks and the scenery changes. He’s in a vehicle, staring up at a white ceiling, being taken...somewhere. He feels warm and the pain has dimmed, but he’s sinking again before he can put a thought to what that means.

He blinks and he’s in a bed, a woman standing in front of him and asking him questions. Carlos doesn’t really understand what’s going on, doesn’t know what could possibly be more important than the fact that TK is dead and it’s all his fault. He shakes his head at the woman and turns away.

He blinks, and TK is there.

And, when he blinks again, TK is still there.

And it’s—it’s impossible. He’s hallucinating or dreaming because TK is dead, and dead people don’t come back to life just because he might wish it.

So he tries, and he tries, and he tries to snap himself back to reality. But it doesn’t work, and TK is still in front of him, that crease between his brows growing with every second that passes. Carlos wants to reach out and smooth it away but he knows he can’t, and—

And, TK takes his hand and presses it to his chest.

Hallucinations don’t feel that solid.

They also don’t have a heartbeat.

This time, when TK doesn’t disappear, Carlos allows himself to believe.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” TK whispers in his ear, holding him close, warm and solid and alive. “I’m always going to be right here.”

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #lone star #911ls #holly's august extravaganza #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #221bsunsettowers

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hetalia-has-a-secretary · 4 years ago

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I feel lonely tonight, the pandemic makes you distance yourself a little from those you love. It would be nice to see the allies and the axis in a super cheesy situation when seeing each other after a long time due to the pandemic with their partner and realizing that the spark between them is not gone, and they make love after a long time.

*Breathes out pure fluff* Yes- YES ANON! GENIUS ANON IS! Genius anon has made hetalia Secretary happy! Happy for a thousand days! (I'm sorry, I may have... Overreacted...)

Trigger Warning: Romantically Sexual themes

My NSFW tag is 'handsypandsy' For those who are uncomfortable with sensual things.

Allies and Axis rekindle a flame with their S/O after quarantine

Allies:

America:

It was a very painful experience for Alfred. Regardless if they lived together or not, having to be somewhat distanced sucked. He wanted nothing more than to hug and kiss his S/O but due to his job, having to quarantine became a regular for a couple months. Every phone call he'd profusely apologize to his lover, already expecting them to get bored and leave. But when the time finally came he sprinted into his house, slightly spooking his S/O with the door being whipped open, and immediately showering them with kisses and cuddles. It was almost out of character, but the briny tears soaking his cheeks made his S/O realize just how anxious he was. What started out with panicked kisses soon formed into gentle caresses, and drawn out moans as each party seemed overly sensitive to the touch that they so desperately missed. Clothing staying out, and hardly moved as they had grinded like two stones against each other. The bed that night stayed empty as the two did their romancing on the floor in the living room. Bare skin finally making it's grand entrance, and turning red from the forgotten sensation of making love. A movie they had tried to watch together Beforehand illuminated their bodies as they moved in sync. Gripping, and grasping for anything to help them to keep the pace steady. Both their panting and lustrous sighs hidden by the sound of the credits as the movie ended. The hot and heavy haze in the room had caressed the lovers to sleep in each other's arms. Both satisfied and feeling the safety and familiarity of their skin. Morning had come and Alfred's Sleeping partner was out of sight, but the smell of breakfast eased his worry, and he waddled to his lover. He had sneakily turned the flames off and whisked his S/O back to their spot on the floor, promising to take them out after one more round. Except the second time around was more for the fun of it, and whatever worries they had vanished.

England:

His S/O wasn't very far from him, so it took him all of his being to not see them. Phone calls weren't good enough, even with the suggestions of having intimate moments through the phone cables. It just didn't feel right. He began to worry it would never be the same, and this was what it felt like to drift away from someone. Once he was in the clear and could see his S/O again he bought flowers and take out in hopes that he could convince them to stay with him. To his surprise his S/O pulled him in, the flowers dropping outside on the doorstep, and they kissed him. He pulled back, his face shocked and flushing. But that soon turned into a playful grin as he convinced them their mealtime was slightly more important. As they ate Arthur and his S/O exchanged goofy noodle slurping faces, and stole from each other's plates, the atmosphere turning warm and comfortable. Yet it had a sense of urgency that was fully ignored by both lovers as they indulged in each other's presence. Clean up after the meal was going to wait as England decided to make the next move. With sincere words he held his lover in his arms and let every one of his worries slip past his lips. His concerns fading with every reassurance his S/O provided. Soon enough they had made their way to the bedroom, lips locked and hands loaded like springs. Trying so desperately to remember nights they had like this. Their clothes were pulled from their bodies as if they needed a desperate reminder of their soft skin and joints. He was smooth on his feet as he held his lover down to the blankets, and promised them more than just a good night. He wanted them to remember this moment for everyday after. He wanted them to feel loved, and wanted nothing more than to give them the love they desired. Putting his intrusive thoughts to the grave he gave them every inch of his emotions and attention, almost neglecting his own. No matter the sensation he made sure they were both well relieved, and confident the other would be there by morning.

France:

This was the biggest challenge he's ever faced. He felt like he worked so hard to keep his S/O around, and this cursed pandemic was about to shatter it. But with every phone call, and every video chat he was given more and more hope they're his still. His goal when he found his way into their arm was to make sure they knew he was still theirs as well. He kissed them, held them, and soothed ever single nerve they had until it was as still and unwavering as a lake in the early morning. No more talk about sickness, no more paranoia of the air, or touching being infectious. They were both given the chance to feel again, even for just one night, and he was going to make sure they took it. He picked them up and brought them to the bed, playfully trapping them in the blankets. After shortly joining them under the covers he asked them about how the distance made them feel. Upon learning how needy it made them for his touch, it felt like a thousand roses had bloomed from his chest. He made every move and touch painfully slow. Looking into his sweet Darling's eyes for consent for every inch of movement. But when the final connection of limbs and loins happen, he let every ounce of his adoration for them flow. He grabbed and caressed at random sections of their bodies, allowing them to instruct his movements, via by their moan or their words. He worshipped them, and their affection. Even after the high of their passion simmered down, he held them close, smothering them with soft kisses and adoring talk about being in that position forever, where not even hunger will stop him from moving their relaxed figure.

China:

He had the patience to wait it out, but that did not mean it was without it's agony. Truth be told he'd rather not hear the sweet voice of his S/O. It only made things harder, but he couldn't say no to the phone when it rang. It wasn't the time that went by that concerned him. It was the lost look on his S/O face when they realized they didn't love him anymore. It plagued him, and haunted his soul more than getting sick. He was a country so he'd survive, but he really only did this to protect his precious gem. But to his surprise he heard the knocking come from his door. Gladly accepting a distraction from his thoughts he opened it. He thought he was dreaming as his S/O stood there. He was so lost in thought he didn't realize their time to quarantine was up, and he was way past the time he promised to meet up with them. His heart ached and he assumed it was the final straw to the relationship, but that fear went away as his S/O embraced them, concern that he was mad or upset. The laughter that filled the room, as he explained how he managed to lose track of time with his own untrusting thoughts, gave them both relief. Soon enough they had found other ways to relieve their worries away. It started with china feeding them what they desired. He saw the chance to wipe away some leftover crumbs from their face, but chose to do so with his lips, than to do so with a napkin. The shock that came with the sensation pushed them both over the edge as they kissed and bite into soft flesh. Not tearing or bruising it, but simply testing the reality of the situation. They soon allowed themselves to become whole as the smell of warm food coated the room, but gave way to the lover's hunger for each other's affections, and bodies. It wasn't a completely soft reunion for too many hours were missed. But the sensation had them on cloud nine with every thrust or caress. Their inner flames peaking, and going out several times before they had exhausted their physical strength. Ending their love making session with tired smiles, and rumbling bellies. Though they felt weakened from their activities they had managed to carry themselves off to bed with a few plated of food to sedate earlier's, original, hunger.

Russia:

Between the cold winds, and the familiar taste of loneliness, Russia was suffering greatly. He called his S/O time and time again, just to hear their voice. Just to hear their affections reach to him through the phone. He feared he'd retrieve some form of addiction to this form of communication if the quarantine lasted any longer. He thought day in, and day out about his S/O to try and quench the foreign desires that kept him up at night. Embarrassed by his fantasies that started out innocent, but ended in something more raw and carnal. His S/O would soon hear more apologies for something Ivan couldn't bring himself to admit to. But when the day arrived he could see them again, any other words told to him by his boss were cut short as he rushed out of his home and directly to his little bear. Covered in snow, and almost freezing to death, his S/O dragged him inside, their motherly concern giving Russia a familiar warmth that surpassed a hearth's. He quickly shed his coat and boots. Taking his scarf he tied tied his S/O to him, telling them they were not allowed to be apart like that again. Endearment ran through his fingertips as he gently touched their face, a guilty look as he cautiously admitted to his sensual fantasies. The shame he wore in his body language signaled his S/O to start to coax him out of his intrusive thoughts, and into bed with them. Filling the space in between with comforting words, and an 'I missed you just as badly'. That's all Ivan needed to hear before letting himself take charge of the situation. His actions were rushed, and desperate. His lips and teeth traveling from their lips, to their neck, and to the collar of their shirt. Large hands squeezed and carefully probed his sunflower's flesh as they both quickly shed their clothing, not caring where the items fell to. Russia came to a halt as one final look of remorse masked his face. Sensitive to his needs his S/O egged him on with soft kisses of their own. The following friction and suffocating adoration was the only feelings present in the shared hours to come. Russia had allowed himself a tear or two to shed as the salt mixed with saliva of their kisses. With each worry came waves of pleasure, melting it away. Even when morning had come, and both sweethearts were aching and sore, they lay tangled up under covers, refusing to let the world outside peek into their serenity.

Axis:

Germany:

Time had stopped for him. Everything did. He felt a bizarre emptiness, and knowing the cause made it worse. He's use to the laughter his S/O made when he was too serious, and started talking nonsense logic. He missed their gaze from across the room as they would attempt to sneak baked goods fresh off the cooling rack. He missed everything. But he stayed strong. He promised to himself to not let some illness take him over. He stayed his distance from more than his S/O, even to the concern of his closest friends. He was more agressive with his training, the slight burn that came with it giving him some respite from his longing. It was an endless cycle. One he was more than happy to break when the time finally came. Yet he froze at the sight. It seemed his S/O has fallen victim to the pandemics careless attitude towards haircuts and hygiene. In other words they were perfect, regardless. In fact seeing them as if they barely crawled out of bed made it seem like all the time waiting never happened. And he loved that about them. So much so he scooped them up, and carried them off to the bedroom. He wasted no time in asking them if they missed him, if they wanted him. And with each yes he made his way to hover over them. Though he wanted to just dive in and feel connected again, he made sure they could handle it. Softly gave them words of reassurance if any fears had aroused. He made a promise that whatever was happening outside the front door, would never reach them where they were. Inch by inch he layered kisses and sweet words and praise against his S/O's skin. Hands finding theirs as he leaned into them, their beings touching yet again. He had them pinned down, not wanting them to waste a single amount of effort as he gave them whatever they wanted. At the same time he gave his love in the form of attentiveness, and teasing. He was calculated in every move, every kiss and every word. He would not stop these sensations until his S/O asked, or simply couldn't take anymore of Ludwig's motions. The end had neared to quickly for them both, but neither complained. It wasn't about how long they lasted, all that mattered was they had made it through part of the storm, and they would see their way out back to beautiful clear skies, once again.

Japan:

He was use to it so it didn't bug him. So long he was able to at least talk to his S/O he was satisfied. But he could sense the tone through the phone that his partner wasn't fairing as well. That's what got to him. The discomfort his S/O had, had soon transferred to him, and even with the distance he began to miss their playfully, hidden touches and affection. He slowly realized how long he made them wait, even for just holding hands. Guilt kicked in as he he came to the conclusion that his Darling had worked so hard for him to warm to their touch, and now it was being torn from them. From him as well. That's when the feeling of missing set in fully. He would shudder at the slightest breeze that came across his skin, and imagined it was their own hand, or just their breath. But that wanting soon came to over flow as he walked back into a shared living space with his S/O. He knew his face was redden, and noticeable so he informed his S/O of his feelings. Then slowly they both found a comfortable space to allow the feeling of intimacy to take over. Small hearts were drawn on each other's skin with their fingers, and they eased in to it. Not going to fast, or to slow. For Kiku's sake since he was still unsure of what these feelings were. That is until the first embrace. Then he melted to the sensation. Those ghostly drafts from his quarantine turning into the actual breath and skin of his precious blossom. Finally the tension in his body snapped and he moved against them, pillowy lips finding theirs. He never understood why others found it hard to kiss like this. There was plenty of air shared between the two of them, but as much as he enjoyed the sensation, he began wanting more. Greedily he laid down his S/O, enjoying their longing whimpers, and pleading eyes. Even with hands unfastening the cloth barriers, he never shied away, and took in his S/O's being for what it was worth. To him that was priceless gemstones, and silk. Every bit of his lover sprawled out in front of him, as he showed his true colors like he did the first night they intermingled like this. The pace increased further as his first release built. But not yet. He showered his S/O with every sensation they deserved to have. He was going to give him twice the amount of affection and touch as they gave him from the very start. Only then would he be truly happy, and satisfied. The lull of love making came and their after glows and blush cooled down against the wooden floors. He had just enough energy left to kiss their tired bodies, and rub away any sores, a physical lullaby that let them finally get a restful night.

Italy:

He was almost depressed most of the time. He wanted so badly to hold his S/O, and just squeeze them until they gave that adorable giggle he loved so dearly. But alas, he had to wait. He had to be patient. So he used that to make paintings, and small trinkets for his beloved. And it almost worked. He could get so into his craft making he'd forget that his S/O wasn't there, and call out for their opinion. Only bringing on the sadness again he was trying to avoid. Calls were hard to make as well, and it frustrated him to no end. Then the end to the waiting had come, and he left as soon as he could, a small bag of gifts in hand. He knocked loudly, despite the morning hour, and said many things to his S/O as he embraced them. None of which came in his S/O's native tongue, or at the very least sounded like gibberish. After his S/O received so many little gifts they couldn't help but feel better. There was a small silence as Italy leaned over, pecking their lips. Unsure if they were still there, if they were real. Lingering kisses washed away to soft touches to the face, and arms. Soon clothes had been pushed aside as the two memorized the sensation of being in the same room. Then all at once they collapsed to the couch, hands fondling buttons and buckles. Hair being moved aside from ears to be nibbled, and lips struggling to find each other's rhythms. Once they did the rest came easy. Sighs were elicited as their bodies became almost glued to each other. Barely ever separating. Surprised gasps, and soft moans claimed the silence as sweat and tears mixed together, right until the end. Though neither of them disconnected from their combined warmth. Making every sore and slight bite mark worth the effort.

-End-

And holy cow the amount of times I had to change the word 'of' to 'if' and vise versa was painful! Anyway- I hope you all enjoyed this! Cause I certainly did *cough Russia my love cough* I feel slightly bad American's was slightly shorter than everyone else's, but it just felt like a good place for him. I don't know, let me know what y'all think.

#hetalia #hetalia world stars #hws #aph #hetalia american #hetalia england #hetalia france #hetalia china #hetalia russia #hetalia germany #hetalia japan #hetalia italy #handsypandsy

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candyopala · 3 years ago

Text

Stuck in his ways, Chapter 6

Chapter summary: Obito follows Kakashi’s advice and tries to find out more about Y/N. When things don’t go his way, he finds himself lost and on Y/N’s house in the middle of the night.

Words: 2.3k

AO3

Please like or reblog if you enjoy, check my rules for requests too!

It’s almost time for work and Obito hasn’t slept yet. Despite the weird act, Kakashi gave some actually useful advice to him. He said that he manages to get team seven to work harder by playing with their goals, using their objectives as something to incentivize them through a tough mission or a hard exercise. Especially with Naruto, who can get a little lazy sometimes, bringing up his objective to be Hokage as his father seems to always work like a charm.

The thing is: Obito knows virtually nothing about Y/N. Besides what he has on her personal file, he knows nothing about her personal life and objectives. He spent too much time acting like an asshole to the girl instead of trying to get to know her. He keeps on going through her files maniacally while his mind gets lost in thought.

Don’t get him wrong, Obito hasn’t put any effort to meet new people since his accident. In addition to his insecurities with his appearance, his social skills get worse by the day. Okay, Kakashi does make him go in blind dates from time to time, but those always end up in failure, since he refuses to actually give any girl a chance. He tends to get lost in his thoughts while they talk and he usually ends up straight up ignoring them, which would make anyone reasonably mad.

His face still hurts when he remembers about that time that Yamanaka lady slapped him right on the face after he yawned while she talked. Or that time Kakashi ended up going home with both girls and he had to help take Gai into the hospital, after the fool hurt himself in a bet with their friend. Not to mention that time Kakashi tried to hook him up with a lady fifty years his senior. He would have been actually okay with it if she had not called him “grandson” twice. Obito shivers at the thought. Truth is, Obito actually has not given a chance to himself since the accident and Rin’s passing. Obito shakes his head to make the thought go away once his mind mentions his former teammate’s name.

Give me a break for once brain, right?

He finally gives up on the files and goes to lay in his bed, only to be instantly scared by the alarm clock, letting him know he should be waking up. He goes through with his morning routine on autopilot, putting on the jonin vest and heading out to meet Y/N on the training field. For the first time in ages, he arrives on time. He was so into his head that he did not get distracted on the way. He needs to learn more about Y/N today, one way or the other, so that he can get this whole deal to end soon.

Y/N arrives shortly after, looking sleepy and grumpy.

“You’re on time; did you die and get replaced for someone responsible?”

“Ha, funny. Why the grumpy look?”

“I had a little trouble sleeping tonight”

Come on Obito, what’s the best way of trying to connect to someone and to learn about them? Right, through empathy, being relatable!

“Ugh, me too, totally. What’s on your mind?”

“Lunch and dinner. Come on, let’s start.”

“Ouch”

Fuck, alright, this is bound to be tough.

Obito starts today’s training with some blade technique. Y/N is admittedly really good with hers, but she could use some refinement if she is going to be a shinobi now. He corrects her stance first, also focusing on not letting her leave her defense open.

“Raise your arm like this” He shows to her the things he learned from his family during his childhood.

Their treatment of him at that time was… harsh. Being a direct descendant of Madara made everyone treat him like a potential fuckup, and his abilities before the accident corroborated that. They only opened up more to him and begun to treat him with respect after he became one of Konoha’s finest jonins and one of the few ones to awaken the mangekyo in the whole family. Remembering this makes Obito feel a little cramped on the inside, making him want to go back to his current objective with Y/N.

“Right”

“So… when did you learn to use your sword?”

“On the road”

“And?”

“And I think it’s cool”

“Nice… I guess…”

Fuck fuck fuck.

They both go on for the rest of the morning with Obito not being able to make any progress. His difficulty with social situations is making an already hard situation get even tougher. Y/N refuses to respond to any prodding, only talking back to crack jokes at his expense and to cut him off.

“Want to go get some barbecue for lunch?” He asks hoping for her to accept, as a last desperate attempt to approach her somehow.

“Can’t do Uchiha, I have a reunion with the Hokage, later”

She leaves him in the field alone, a sense of hopelessness eating him up by the second. Then comes the explosive frustration of not getting what he wants. He just needs to make this end quicker; he needs to go back to relevant missions to make his objectives come true. He cannot be left behind, he has to make his promise to her come true, he needs to change it all and he can only do that by becoming the next Hokage.

Tears prickle up at his eye, hurting his heart more than his pride. He gets angry at this completely ridiculous situation he put himself in, he had lost focus lately, he got lazy. He had lost the fire that once burned inside him, only leaving him a pile of sadness and old regrets.

It all explodes within him, driving him to start training in a maniacal way, trying to create something new with kamui and kunais at all costs. He has been trying to develop a new jutsu for a while, but he always ends up stumped. The thought of failure is the last straw, he starts to attack the training posts with all he has, not noticing the pain consuming his arms as the hundreds of knifes coming out of his other dimension go through them in a whirlpool of time and space.

It’s the middle of the night when his body achieves its limit, he spent the whole day training and rampaging on the field. Obito falls down on the dirt face first as exhaustion and blood loss finally hits him. Still filled with adrenaline, his last thought is to head to Y/N’s house to get that information, one way or the other.

~”~

A rushed couple of knocks wake Y/N from her slumber. Confused, she looks around the small apartment in search of the noise’s origin. She hears them again, coming from her front door. She looks over to the clock on the kitchenette; it shows that it is around two in the morning. She knows virtually no one in the village still, who could it be?

She grabs her trusty sword at the entrance area and heads to the door, expecting it to be some scammer or maniac. Without turning the lights on, she opens it only to find a tall figure, with broad shoulders and that forlorn look on his face… Obito.

What is he even doing here?

Upon further inspection, she notices that his figure seems a little bit off, worn out even. She finally turns on the lights, only to be met with a grizzly sight: he is covered in dirt and his arms are all bloodied, his shoulders are slumped and his signature messy hair is even unrulier. This image brings her an awful distant memory.

“Want to go for that barbecue?”

“Obito, what happened?”

“Don’t worry about it; we can talk it out on the way” The man speaks in a catatonic way, fully running on his impulses and on the verge of exhaustion.

Those unwanted memories rush back into her mind: a bloodied hand touching her face delicately, a catatonic smile, foggy eyes, a goodbye that came too soon. Her head rushes with rage, rage at her own mind for reminding her of that, anger at him for leaving so soon, anger at Obito for doing whatever he did to do this to himself.

Before she can even think, she pushes the man into her house with force, guiding his almost limp body to her tight bathroom, sitting him on the rim of her bathtub. He does not respond, his eye is directed at nothing, he just lets out a small wave of breath when he sits down. She grabs her first aid kit from under the sink, kneeling down to face him as best as she can in the small space.

“What happened?”

“…”

“Obito!”

She snaps her fingers in front of his face, taking him out of his trance. He gets startled, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare.

“Sorry, I’ll be going, okay?”

He tried to get up again, only to be swatted by Y/N and forced to sit back down on the tub.

“We have to tend to your wounds; you look like you lost a lot of blood already. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me what happened, but I’m not letting you go like this”

“I’ll just go to the hospital”

“The hospital is on the other side of the village, dumbass”

He flinches and tries weakly to tear his arm away from her grasp, once her hand touches an exposed bit of his bicep. Y/N does her best to rip away the ripped fabric that covers the wounds, trying not to pull the parts that are stuck together with the cuts. She rips his sleeves away, exposing a mass of cuts in all directions all over the length of his arm.

Y/N bites her lips at the sight, her brain working against her again. Tears threaten to well up on her eyes, so she tries to make go away as best as she can.

They stay silent as she cleans his wounds, still having to hold him in place from time to time. He manages to be stubborn even in times like this, incredible. Once she finishes up bandaging him up, she just sits by his side on the tub.

“Obito…”

“Thank you”

“Is there something going on?”

“A lot”

“… I get it”

They cross looks quickly, Y/N immediately cutting the contact away as soon as it happens.

“I promise I won’t ask anything else… just… did you do this intentionally?”

“No”

“Alright”

A couple of extra minutes passes, only the sound of their breaths filling in the room. Obito looks up again and faces Y/N’s direction. She looks back at him, completely lost in all that is happening. First, he seems to loathe her, treat her like a chore, and now he appears at her door in the middle of the night like this…

Obito opens a small smile in her direction, a genuine one. It’s the first time she sees wrinkles around his eye sockets. He still has that sad look deep down, but he seems to be trying to honestly lighten the mood and say that everything is okay. Y/N lets out a little bit of her tension go away, letting her shoulders relax a little bit more, but not completely.

“Did some granny stab you Obito?”

“Yup, they stole all my money and dignity also”

“Maybe I’m the one who’s babysitting someone huh? Seems like I’ll have to be around to look for you”

Cracking jokes is Y/N’s way of trying to lighten the mood, but it does not seem to work. Obito suddenly gets that really sad look back up on his eye again, looking back down. Y/N can just make out a single tear rolling out of his right eye.

Did I say something wrong?

“Obi-“

He interrupts her by starting to break down, crying loudly and closing his fists with force on his thighs. Y/N instinctively grabs his hand and forces it open, holding his hand with her own with some degree of strength, to try to calm him down. She feels the heavy texture of his palm on hers, a sign of closeness she missed a lot for the past couple of years, something she refused to admit she… longed for. She comforts him like this for the next couple of minutes until his cries diminish to some uneven breathing.

“Thank you, Y/N. I guess having you around… is… uhm… forget it”

Despite the weirdness of his words, she eventually convinces him to go to the hospital to get his wounds healed, letting his warm hand go and realizing she might have done something wrong. She accompanies him to the door, thoughts flooding her mind while they both must up the courage to say something.

You should not be getting this close; you know what happens when you do that. Why did you do that?

“Promise me you go straight to the hospital?”

“Sure…”

“Obito…”

“What, Y/N?

Despite all that, she feels the urge to give him a hug. She is conflicted, she feels that he needs it badly, but she also feels like getting this close is far too dangerous. She should not be opening up like this to someone she barely knows, to someone that might not even like her as person. There is something that drives her to him, something she does not understand. He seems hurt, he seems like he needs a friend, someone by his side.

No, shut up. I didn’t come here for this, I can’t live all that again.

All she can muster up is a weak goodbye before rushing back in.

What the hell even was all of this?

#Obito #obito uchiha #obito x reader #obito x you #obito x y/n #uchiha obito

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chibimyumi · 5 years ago

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Dear @lunitamoon,

First of all, I am sorry it took so long to get to you, but thank you very much for your sweet compliments! The day you sent the ask was great, and so is today. I hope your life is good to you too.

But now without further ado, your question.

Uchikawa Reo

I think Reo is a very good actor. My first opinion of him when I saw him in Noah’s Ark Circus 2016 was that he has a lot of talent. Some of these talents were not polished yet, (his singing being one example, but given his young age I couldn’t possibly blame him), while other talents were already polished to a sparkling gem. When people talk about Reo, it is usually “cuteee, so tiny!!!” or compliments of the like. His looks make people shove his remarkableness as an actor under these irrelevant external qualities. That is a shame, so please allow me to highlight a few things that are remarkable about this boy.

Character interpretation and understanding

I think Reo understood the character of O!Ciel very well and he was able to deliver many of the nuances even his first time in the role. When hastily interpreted, O!Ciel’s character runs the risk of being taken for nothing but cranky, sulky and haughty. Reo however, even at the age of 12 managed to see that these three obvious traits have a much deeper root: ‘doneness’. O!Ciel is done with his butler’s sauciness, done with people around him imposing their opinions on him, done with the world. Uchikawa Reo managed to capture this fatigue quite well.

In the scene where Soma is altogether a bit too clingy, I think many would think O!Ciel would push the prince away or slap him away. Reo however, did not. He was trying to pull away Soma’s hands, but he never showed antagonism. Just doneness. Regardless of whether O!Ciel does or doesn’t see Soma as his ‘big brother figure’ and ‘friend’, he does care about him. Even when Reo-bocchan said: “I’m exhausted because of you,” there was no callousness in his voice; just irritation.

Reo managed to find a beautiful middle ground between ‘warm’ and ‘cold’ for O!Ciel, and that is exactly what I believe our Trash Baby Lord is. That is a lot more nuance in character study than I could possibly expect from most actors, let alone a 12 year old one.

Another example of Reo’s great understanding of his role is in the scene where he questions his butler whether he would be able to bring them to Baron Kelvin’s manor within an hour. Here he raised an eyebrow as he spoke. This raised eyebrow is very significant.

In the post ‘That Butler, Punchable‘, I discussed in detail how Sebastyun is constantly being very snarky at his master, presumably so because he did not consider the boy worthy of his full respect. In the scene of this example however, O!Ciel has earned the demon’s full respect, and he knows it.

Raising an eyebrow, O!Ciel shows that he has reestablished dominance as master, and that intellectually he is on the same playing field as the demon. He knows what he is doing, and unsurprisingly, the question asked was thusly phrased as a rhetorical one. Hence I did not translate this line as: “can you?” but instead as “you can, right?” Through this nuance, Reo-bocchan shows a great level of confidence and his grasp over the case.

Something else remarkable about 12-year-old Reo is his body-language. In the showdown between him and Baron Kelvin, Reo knew very well how to deliver his actions and the tension of the scene to even the people in the furthest back of the theatre. He takes his time to carry out every movement with meaningful decisiveness. One powerful kick. Re-assume stance. Walk behind his victim. Trap him under his foot. Point the gun at him. Had Reo just kicked Kelvin and stood on him in one consecutive movement, then the impact would have been broken.

I am not sure whether this was intentional, but before Reo pointed the gun at Kelvin, the hand that held the weapon was relaxed, which meant it would not attract attention away from his footwork. Only when the footwork was finished did Reo reveal his gun again from underneath his cape, effectively re-shifting attention back to the weapon when that should be the central focus again. In theatre where audiences don’t view the production through edited and selected footage, it is vital that actors know where they should draw attention to, and reversely, where not to. Reo did well.

Reo’s natural flair for comedy is also noteworthy. O!Ciel’s character’s funniness is mostly his insane cuteness and inability to can at times; not because he has funny remarks to make. Trying too hard to be funny is a big theatre/movie sin, but Reo is luckily no sinner

As demonstrated above, Reo has an excellent understanding of his role and is careful in maintaining it even when the musical calls for comedy. Reo employed a very advanced technique of achieving comedy; namely discrepant solemness. He does not loosen up or start monkeying around; instead he maintains his usual up-tightness while tricking Aberline into saying his own name wrong. The brilliancy in this scene was not just Reo’s ability to employ this advanced comedy technique, but also that the nature of this skit was perfectly in character for this insidious, manipulative brat.

In Tango on the Campania Reo filled most of the ‘space for growth’ he still had in the previous musical. Even though Reo’s body language on stage was already great in Noah’s Ark Circus, he did have the tendency to stand idle when the scene’s focus was not on him. In the latest musical however, Reo would not forget to also act when he was in the background.

His singing also largely improved, and was able to prolong his notes as well as transitioning between the notes. He still had trouble hitting the highest of notes, but his voice would no longer die off mid-way in its ascending.

Fukuzaki Nayuta

I think Nayuta is a great actor too, and personally a seemingly very underrated gem. In the first run of the Lycoris that Blazes the Earth (2014) Nayuta was admittedly not the best actor ever seen in theatre history. However, he did up the game for Ciel actors even at the time. Acting style is more preference-bound, but undeniably Nayuta’s singing was more solid than any past Ciel performer before him. Despite him having outclassed past Ciels’ singing, Nayuta received a lot of hate from fans, most amounting to: “I can’t watch this, he is too ugly.” (Yes, very constructive, very legit. Ughum. The Kurofandom never fails to remind me how so many are here just for the pretttiiiiiiessss >_>)

In 2015, Nayuta’s voice was actively dropping, sending him in a constant swing between up-and-down. I don’t have experience with a dropping voice, but I heard from everyone who did that it is incredibly hard to control your voice in speaking, let alone singing. And yet, though his voice was rough at all times, Nayuta did manage to hit all the tones. I find that very impressive. I think technique-wise, Nayuta is the strongest singer among all Ciel stage-actors so far. I haven’t heard his singing after his voice-change was complete, but I can imagine him having become a very good singer now. His capacity for control over his voice is superb, after all.

Nayuta’s acting is very subtle but convincing. When Nayuta-bocchan was in his cage, he even added some little movements of the hand that would not be in people’s usual expectations given the situation. To me, this little quirk seemed to convey how despite already having hit rock bottom, the last straw had only fallen just now. This boy is not just scared and desperate, he is murderously angry and resolute.

Nayuta’s subtle and yet convincing body-language can be seen throughout the musical. To demonstrate what I mean by ‘convincing’, I wish to point at Tango on the Campania. Compare Nayuta’s shaking to the headbanging of the stand-in for O!Ciel... Nope. (This actress is not a child, so I can be harsher.)

Again, Nayuta’s acting is subtle, but it does mean it is easily missed, especially in a live theatre. (’Overacting’ is obviously a thing (see demonstration 1 above ⇈), but to the people who initially criticised Furukawa for “moving around too much”, that’s the theatre medium for you. Theatre was not made to be recorded and viewed in close proximity. Moving any less will basically be invisible in a theatre (see my analysis of Tamaki’s performance as Snake).)

Enough side-tracked, back to Nayuta. In the scene where Nayuta-bocchan just woke up, he performed the panic dying down slowly expertly. We can tell that the shaking and heavy breathing really got the better of him, but that the boy was actively trying not to show his butler. This was probably not visible live, but we have footage of it, so let us savour the panic-dying-down for what it is.

Though I might go as far as to say Nayuta might be better suited as a film-actor than theatre-actor, what was not missed on live audiences was this iconic scene below ⇊ when it finally dawned in O!Ciel that he had been chasing the wrong tail all along.

The atmosphere he created was incredibly tense, and we could practically hear the gears grinding and suddenly coming to a shocking halt. Bravo. It is ultimately for this scene that I think Nayuta would make a phenomenal stage-actor with just a BIT more stage-oriented instructions from the director.

Another scene that also conveyed the tension excellently was when O!Ciel was putting up with the Viscount. Nayuta knew better than put on an insulting high-pitched voice in parody of “a girl’s voice”, instead he minded the intonation of speaking and subtler mannerisms girls are socialised to perform.

When the Viscount really got way too close, Sasaki’s acting was incredibly flamboyant and loud, and yet it never threatened to overshadow Nayuta’s performance. Nayuta knows very well how to keep people’s attention on him even when he doesn’t have lines to say. When the Viscount turned Nayuta-bocchan around, the boy’s facial expression spoke voluuuumes.

Sakamoto, Nishii and Tanaka

I don’t have footage of them, and I am not going to get them legally or illegally, so I will include no visual examples of them in this post.

I don’t want to be harsh on children, they all did their best I believe, but do allow me to say that I am not very enthusiastic about their performances.

Sakamoto’s performance of Ciel was not very memorable, but I think it mostly has something to do with his part in the script just not being memorable at all. To sum up; Ciel in ‘Friendship’ received some guests from Japan, played chess, and stared wide shifty-eyed until the case solved itself. Sakamoto’s singing was decent, though. I wish they capitalised more on that.

Nishii... I think many people were initially especially enthusiastic about him because he did not “look like Vincent Phantomhive”. He did his best, I could tell he had fun in the performance, but whatever acting-talent he might have, the musical never gave him any chance to shine. That musical gave his character ZERO nuance. Nishii’s singing was very unpolished, and in the mere 3 weeks of audition time, there was also no time to get it polished. But then again, the same goes for the singing of most of that cast.

Tanaka... I could tell he did his best, but perhaps he was doing his best not to f*ck up a bit too hard. The songs in this musical were rather challenging, and Tanaka always seemed very tense as he was trying to chase the notes. It was like he was desperately clinging to his spot within a safety-zone, which ultimately meant he didn’t explore any potentials outside the range of monotony. When it comes to acting, it also seemed like cranky outbursts were the only emotion he dared touch upon.

So that was that! Thanks for reading!

#Kuroshitsuji #Black Butler #Kuromyu #Musical #Noah's Ark Circus #tango on the campania #Lycoris #Lycoris that Blazes the Earth #TotC #NAC #MBD #the most beautiful death in the world #uchikawa Reo #Fukuzaki Nayuta #aka my underrated boi #sakamoto shougo #Nishii yukito #Tanaka Taketo

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ofgunshy · 4 years ago

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TASK 09 / IRENE BRADFORD.

you’ve known enough heartbreak to last a lifetime, and you figure that this is your destiny. the work you do makes everything worth it.

maddox & tilly.

you never understood why your parents had children. your mother was cold and aloof most of the time, not hateful, just disinterested. and your father, well, he loved kids. when he came home, he'd lift you up into his arms and spin you around, walk around the house with you on one shoulder and your brother on the other. but he was hardly ever around, so it didn't matter much. you always told yourself that if you had kids, they would surely know that you wanted them. you wouldn't ignore them, and you wouldn't disappear. but it's easy to make promises when you're nine and it's harder to keep them once you turn twenty-three and you're holding a pregnancy test in shaking hands.

when maddox and tilly leave for summer vacation at gallagher, you promise to keep in touch. your emails are short and terse, but that's just how you communicate. they're mundane updates at first, evenings under the virginia sky with laura, catching up with your god-daughters and their friends, but it doesn't take much time before communication becomes even more vague.

tilly – i'm taking another job. i can't say much about it, it's highly confidential, but i'm working with people i trust. i'll be safe, talk soon. hope you're having a nice vacation – look after maddox, of course :) not that i need to tell you that.

elise.

when roman calls you, it'd be a lie to say that you weren't expecting it. after all, you told him you had a hunch it wasn't over and your hunches tend to be more right than wrong. you just didn't expect that he'd pull you into it. you're not exactly the best of friends. but the second he says elise's name, you can feel yourself falling prey to the weakness of caring. "i'm coming to d.c.," is all you say, he doesn't even need to ask. and then you're there within the hour.

elise has been under interrogation all day by the time you step into the room. she looks exhausted, more than you've ever seen her, and it's not like elise park to be seen with split ends. you hate how it humanizes her after what she did, and you hate the brotherhood more than ever. after all, it seems like everyone you love gets swept up in it, and it's starting to feel personal.

"th—they have him, irene. i dont know how true but they have him and i dont—i dont know what to do."

in a way, it should feel good to see her cry. elise betrayed you, sold you out to the brotherhood, supported the murder of your children. she should rot for that. but you also knows what it's like to grasp at straws for a second chance at what you've lost. "don't do that," you say, "you're better than this." you reach across the table for elise's hand, leaning forward and looking her in the eye. "i'll tell you what you do. you get revenge. you fucking pull yourself together and you turn it around on those motherfuckers that took him from you. because you can still save him." your eyebrow arches slightly, "why else would i be here?"

roman.

and so, it begins. you spend the rest of the summer searching for clues, attempting to take down the brotherhood and restore what was lost. you spend hours sitting over the desk with roman, going over his notes as he briefs you, jack, and naomi on what's next for the mission. he's a good planner and you come to respect him for it. you don't sleep well, it's rare, and you spend a lot of nights perched in a chair beside him, trying to be helpful – although it usually results in more sarcasm than genuine agreement. but he makes you laugh, too, and you come to admire and respect him as the leader of this haphazard group of misfits. somewhere in those late nights, you figure any information about the brotherhood could help the case, so between glasses of expensive whiskey, you tell roman all about your dad. all about miles, and with that comes maddox and tilly and everything you did to run and hide.

"i'm no better than elise in some ways," you admit, "i knew so much, but when i discovered the truth about miles, i ran. i hid, and i didn't say anything to anyone. i had two kids to take care of and i prioritized myself, and even now...i'm not sure i did the right thing. if i'd said something, maybe i could've stopped it all. so, this is my second chance, too."

naomi.

you probably shouldn't have stayed up so late, because you and naomi have an early morning together. when you make your way into the warehouse to recover documents, you're off your game. your head's in the clouds, thinking about tilly and maddox and how as long as this goes on, they're not safe. after all, this mission, this case is extremely personal. you're pulled out of your thoughts as a shot whizzes by your head.

"got you," noami grins cheekily as the perp stumbles backward. "now, you get my back," she says, rushing forward. your eyes widen because you're not used to taking orders from a kid, but considering she's just saved your life, she's probably earned it, so you push your thoughts back out of your mind and use your energy to make sure that you have her back the rest of the way. there's growing admiration for her as you allow her to take the lead, a sense of pride and you feel lucky to mentor this young woman. you can see how she loves the work she's doing and all you can hope is that she never, ever becomes as jaded as you are. you'd love this field infinitely more if you could work with women like her all the time.

jack.

it was supposed to be goodbye. you can remember looking up at his eyes, trying to remember his face like it would be the last time, but here he is again – sturdy as ever, and unmoving presence in every single chapter of your life. perhaps you should give up trying to shake him, it's starting to seem futile. so, you just flash him a wry smile as the two of you both silently recognize the irony in this. "hello, jack," you greet rather cheekily, plucking the file in his hands from his grasp with a glint in your eye as you get to work.

about a month out, you follow a lead together in brussels, attempting to check out a shipment in edward atkins name. as you're running together on the dock, he catches your eye. "go on, i'll cover you," he insists. you charge forward and duck behind some cargo, meeting his eyes for a moment. there's no time for either of you to say it out loud, but it's apparent: we make a pretty good team after all, is what you think, because once you put your differences aside, you know that jack is someone you can rely on, that he's a good agent, and that your strengths play pretty well into each other's. maybe gallagher was onto something when they paired you with him all those years ago. even though you're not nineteen any more, sometimes he makes you feel like it.

when you get to the hotel room, you half expect him to try something ( or you hope? it's been a while since you've gotten laid, after all. ) but he doesn't. he's a perfect gentleman, he doesn't even fight you for the bed, wordlessly taking the couch. "night jack," you say before rolling over onto your side. and it's the first good sleep you've had in a while, and when you wake up well-rested you realize that like it or not, you trust jack stone. you can sleep peacefully when he's around, because you know he's not a threat. he's a friend.

during the final mission, you can tell something's wrong. you do the math quickly, and there's something off about the sound of the three shots, and though you doesn't know for sure, there's a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. but you don’t argue with jack when he says that he's fine, because the mission is always more important. and you knows that jack would agree with you. so, you don't even react when you see the blood on his shirt back at headquarters, your lip doesn't tremble as he collapses to the ground. you have lost so many people over the years, this is hardly the first casualty you've seen on a mission. but this feels different somehow.

"can you forgive me?" jack asks as your hand slips into his.

"of course. i never once hated you jack, even when i wanted to." and you always thought you would be stubborn, but you're glad that you get to tell him that before his entire world goes black.

laura.

it's funny to attend a wedding and a funeral so close together. but seeing elise and tristan together feels like closure. after all, you can remember when they met, bright-eyed and constantly smiling, stealing glances at each other from across the room. at their wedding, you notice that they still look at each other like that. and that's in part because of what jack did. when you stand there at his grave, you wish that it could all be a ruse – it's like instant karma that he spent the past five years thinking you were dead. and now it's him, six feet under instead. you look up at the sky and roll your eyes, mostly at god for whatever cruel joke he's playing – but if jack can see you, then that's just as well.

you're back in laura's apartment where you started the summer, an old fashioned in the palm of your hand as you lean up against the kitchen counter, rehashing any of the details that you're allowed to tell her. "i just don't know what to do next," you say. "and i know if i dive back into my work, i'm just...i'm going to lose touch with them," you sigh, referring to maddox and tilly. "but maybe it's for the best. i always seem to find my way into dangerous shit like this."

"what if you didn't?" laura asks, looking up at you with a knowing smirk that you've seen one too many times before, and it reminds you of being eighteen years old and breaking into all of gallagher's secret passages. granted, you were both escorted back to your rooms after getting caught, but you would spend the rest of the night laughing and talking. you made fast partners in crime for the rest of your years at gallagher and beyond. she’s the one person you trust more than anyone in the world. and that’s a bit more important than love, at least to you.

"don't look at me like that," you laugh, waving your hand dismissively, "just tell me what you mean."

"there's an opening in the protection and enforcement department, if you want. you could stay here, teach a couple classes. get to know your kids a bit better," laura offers.

"don't sugarcoat it, you just want to hang out with me," you tease, "i've been living here long enough to know that you don't have any other friends."

"watch it, i'll rescind the offer."

but before laura even asked, she knew that you would accept. she's funny like that, she knows you better than you know yourself. and you think of what jack said to you the night before you packed your things and left the sixth floor: you've got a second chance here, don't waste it.

and you look across the room at your friend who's pouring you another drink and you shake your head dismissively. i won't.

irene will be an npc at gallagher academy in the fall ! she’s quit her work at the CIA and is now a teacher on the protection and enforcement track. she’s hoping to use this opportunity to get to know her kids better and...she definitely got the experience to impart some wisdom.

are irene bradford and laura sutton endgame ? maybe. i think they’re in love and that’s why irene has never let any of the men in her life in completely but that’s none of my business.

#gallagher:task #bye mom #death tw #blood tw

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reydelcastill0 · 4 years ago

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Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary: SKULLY! JESSICA AU || Jessica Locke wakes up in an unfamiliar place, a hotel room she has never seen before. She doesn't know how to get home, so she stays in that hotel room. Unfortunately, the longer she stays, the more disconnected she feels from herself. Jessica grows increasingly anxious and an unknown skeleton mask somehow makes her feel better.

The walls were bleak and unfamiliar. Nothing was notable about them, in that case. The walls were shrouded in the darkness that the closed blinds created. No light poured in and it gave the room a solemn sort of feel— an underlying uncomfortableness.

The bed wasn’t soft, nor hard, but not one that is particularly preferred. That middle ground that isn’t “Just right!” as Goldilocks would have said, but “Good enough...,” as anyone down on their luck would proclaim. The sheets were thick. The type of thick that makes good blankets in winter, but not-so-great ones in summer.

The atmosphere was overall a drab one, and whether the thumping noise that echoed in the room made everything less drab or even more drab was unclear. It added, but maybe it actually subtracted? Glances around the room didn’t help Jessica know more about the room she was in. It just made her situation seem worse.

She had a duffle bag of stuff that were probably hastily packed, but she wouldn’t know. She couldn’t remember. It was then that she realized how much worse the situation was. Where was she? Why was she here? She looks like she was running from something— maybe someone—, but why? Why is she here in a room she’s never seen before?

It’s obviously a hotel room, but it makes her anxious nonetheless. A tension in the air that suffocates, but not fully, instead leaving her feeling breathless. Certainly not the good kind of breathless. Not the kind where you danced till you found yourself euphoric and out of breath. The sort of breathless where it’s like you’re screaming your lungs out into a pillow because how else would you vent your troubles?

The contents of her bag were as follows: clothes and money. She very quickly counted her money. It was too much money for a short vacation— for a getaway from home (without Amy, though? Because she knows she wasn’t tired of Amy)—, but too little for anything long-term (so she obviously hadn’t planned on, say, moving somewhere else). It adds further anxiety to her mind because why would she need this amount? And she doesn’t see Amy anywhere near her. What (or who) was she trying to get away from?

IT WATCHES BUT,

There weren’t enough clothes to last her forever. Enough, yes, to swap daily, if she washed every few days that is. Not her full wardrobe, she notices, and certainly picked without abandon. She hadn’t picked any particular combinations, so this was not a wardrobe suited for some local event. So surely she didn’t get drunk and end up in some hotel. Her head hurt, but not like the pain a blackout drunk would feel. Like if something had been ripped from her, something important, but not vital.

Ending it with her bag, she stands up firmly— almost like she was confronting a problem—, but deflates when she doesn’t even know half of the problem. She’s somewhere she doesn’t know and can’t recall the previous days. Last she remembers, she and her roommate Amy were chatting in their living room about family or something. But she feels like that is far too distant a memory.

She sighs and walks groggily around the room and checks all the doors. One of the doors leads to another door that is locked, so she decides to continue before going to it. The other door leads to a bathroom and the last is a doorway to some midway space between it and the door leading to the hallway.

The hallway is bright— much more than her room was— and empty of people. She ignores that fact because not all hotels are bustling, and not everyone walks through the halls as comfortably as they would in their own homes. The emptiness of the hallway, however, gnaws at her emotions like the unfamiliarity of her situation does. She enters her room again and searches for her phone. It lays upon the nightstand and she grabs it.

The… The time must be wrong? It’s a date she can’t recall ever being close to. Her last memory was with Amy, and that was months back (according to how the dates would match up). How much time has she lost?

WOULD CONFIDENCE DEFER ITS PRESENCE???

She clutches her head, exhaustion overtaking her in a rather mental sense of things. She was tired beyond what she could fathom and there was a paranoia falling upon her. Her mind racing with “Where am I?”s and “What do I do?”s. She goes to her contacts, ready to contact someone, Amy maybe. They were thick as thieves, after all.

But Amy did not answer, and that settled paranoia into her skin similarly to how the overwhelming heat of the sun melts ice. She would have called her family had this newfound flood of emotion not made her worry as to what calling would lead to.

So she stayed in her room, panicked over feeling lost— over the feeling of having lost something. Memories? She’s lost those for sure, if the date on her phone is anything to go by and so, by result, she has lost time. But it is not the matter of lost time or the prospect of losing memories that has her worried. It is the worry that she has lost herself in it.

Eventually she caught sight of a card by the T.V. and upon closer inspection, realized it was her room key. Useful, knowing full well that getting locked out of the one place that could ground her right now would prove to be the worst thing to happen. She grabs it and leaves her room in search of the front desk. She could ask about her stay and hope to know more about her situation.

Passing by a man in the hall, she sets out for it with a confident and determined stride. Eventually, she manages to speak to the lady at the front desk. She had hoped it would be more helpful than it was, but was it futile from the beginning?

WOULD IT INSTEAD PLAGUE ONE’S SOUL TILL THEY ARE LEFT FEELING LOST???

The lady told her that it was a night for one booking, but that Jessica had also come in with a man whom she chose to get a conjoined room with. With a smile, she thanked the lady and went back to her room, more anxious than before.

Why had she arrived with a man she can’t remember? If he was a threat to her, he would be more open about interacting with her? Their shared rooms would have been open to each other, right? Maybe he would have even knocked to check on her. That locked door must’ve led to his room then? Right? Right?

She thought about it more, worried he might not be safe, but after extending her stay at the hotel, he seems to not know her, too. So she lets a few days pass before she grasps at the first thing to talk to him about. His chest-mounted camera.

She knows that’s what it is. It’s only obvious with how close she is to the man, but she needs to talk to him, so she only asks him what it is. And he was awkward about his answers, telling her it’s for a documentary on hotels. She may not be the type of person to make documentaries, but documentaries in a hotel that isn’t some five star one? A review on the hotel would have been more believable. But she settles on introducing herself so she could learn his name.

When he tells her his, she can’t help the sense of familiarity washing over her. Comforting at first, but the familiarity eats at her like the unfamiliarity does. The name “Jay Merrick” rings a loud bell, but it’s distant and distorted. He fumbles after she tells him that it sounds familiar, confused as to how she might even know him. A voice inside her head tells her that he seemed scared of that.

But like he said, “It’s a pretty common name.” If she’s grasping at straws with this, she’d rather do so more than she would like to be in the dark.

THE FAMILIAR HAS BECOME A THREAT BECAUSE OF IT AND

Days pass and Jay barely speaks to her. Maybe a passing “Hi,” but it’s because she speaks to him first. He seems anxious, too, more than her, like if he is avoiding something. She needs to figure something out and she expects he has the answers.

But first she needs to settle a personal problem. It may be the environment or the situation she has found herself in, but she barely sleeps. She spends time at night tossing and turning, unable to close her eyes long enough to fall into a slumber. Something deep within her seems to prevent her from sleeping. It's as if she knows something that she also doesn’t. An instinct her body is keeping track of, but one that her mind fails to.

Over the coming days, she still tries to talk to Jay because now it’s increasingly eerie that he, aside from hotel staff, is the only person she has ever seen there. She has seen other people, thankfully, such as those when she works (the job she had to take up just so she could stay in the hotel much longer), but in the hotel? Not a single person that hasn’t already been there. And on a roadside hotel, too? People would most likely stop by at least a few times.

She goes to his door to knock, but he mustn't be there because any normal person would have answered. So she grabs her phone and holds it to her ear as she waits outside her door, hoping he gets there before she has to leave for work.

The moment she notices him, she pretends to be on the phone with someone and uses that as a moment to see how to strike a conversation. He has groceries which is weird, because 1) if he was filming a documentary (still absurd), he would not be in the hotel for a month with food, and 2) it has been around one month and he has made no move to leave. She asks him about it, because maybe he’s just some hotel hermit.

“What are you doing here? You’ve been here for a while…” She asks him, to which he tells her his house is being renovated.

His house is being renovated?!? He doesn’t even bother continuing his bullshit hotel documentary story and that leaves her stewing with a bit of unfondness as she leaves for work. He’s lying to her for what reason?

Is he hiding something from her? Something deep inside says no, but she wants to believe otherwise. She has been in an unfamiliar place for around a whole month and the least Jay could do is lie consistently.

IT EXPECTS YOU TO FALL TO FAMILIARITY,

That night, Jessica feels asleep, but even in her dreams she feels awake and uneasy. Her thoughts are a blur, but something in her soul feels like it is lagging behind a moving body. She feels dazed and without a clear head. She feels slow, but fast. She feels lost and found at the same time. She feels like a contradiction, but has no mind to figure out why.

But she hears the knocks on her door and it brings her back to reality. She’s groggy and half-awake, but it’s reality nonetheless. The knocking wasn’t the front door, but rather the door connecting to Jay’s room. She walks towards it and forgets to take note of the fact that she was already standing. But before she can open the door, she coughs, her throat having suddenly felt raspy (as has suddenly been happening during her stay at the hotel).

When she does open the door, Jay tells her about loud noises coming from her room. The loudest noises she heard had to have been Jay’s knocks and when she tells him she just woke, he seems confused. He must’ve thought she was the one making the noise? It leaves her feeling sleepless once again, and she doesn’t go back to sleep that night, worried that she’s lost herself to her dreams— lost herself in her dreams.

BUT THE FAMILIAR WILL KILL YOU,

━

The forest is quiet, but not quiet in the sense that everything is calm. No, it was quiet as if there was no life. The leaves did not rustle, birds did not chirp, and bugs did not buzz. It was as if time was frozen— in fact, there may have been no time at all such a weird place— and it was distressing.

The trees were tall and it did not look like there was a sky— except there was a void. It was dark, but it may not have been night. Surely, there must not exist a day in this world. It was clear that this world lacked any sort of time. The forest in it’s timeless horror was, unfortunately, not as clear. It was blurry— hazy like an unfocused image. There was no sound, but there was a static. The static was almost a feeling, a sense, but not a noise nor a physical thing. The static was akin to hearing, to smelling, to seeing, to existing.

It is an uneasiness. It is an entity. It is terrifying.

It is all so terrifying to the lost child in the woods, learning all this for the first time (but she has learned it all already). She does not know how she got there, but she was there in the woods, alone (but not really). She does not know why she is there, but she was already running, towards something (but actually away from everything).

She is running, no thoughts in her mind, but there are feelings in her being. She feels like she is watched. A young child lost in the woods, but she is unaware as to when she got lost. She is running, but she has no mind to know what from, yet she still runs. Had she any mind, she would have assumed she was running from a monster.

Because do children not all run a monster? Do children not all run from the faceless man in a suit? Do they not? Because young Jessica does and, had she any mind, she would have thought it her life’s purpose— to run from It forever, knowing Its eyes (eyes It does not have) are trained on her every move.

Every tumble she falls, every jump she makes, every step she takes, every breath that leaves her because she feels like no air enters her lungs— It is aware of these (little had they not been the very fiber of her present being) things.

Jessica feels like she is in pain,— screaming her voice raw, yet no sound leaves her mouth, not even a whimper— but her body is numb. It feels like a static— she feels like a static. She feels like she is every uncomfortable feeling at once, but she knows that in these woods, she is nothing at all. She can’t even be sure that she is actually existing, but she will not focus on the inkling of such a though, not when she is running, no—

She is running, as quickly as she can, but she makes little progress. The forest extends with her very stride, but she is in so many different places at once she can not process any of it. Her legs feel tired, yet they do not lag. She is like a puppet, following the motions, but she does not control them.

Jessica is a young child, lost in the woods, and her only purpose is to run from It. It is a monster that all of humanity must fear, but It is an elusive being. She is unable to see It. She is unable to know It— only know that It watches. She wants to cry, and she would have had she been able to. She would have cried and, if she could have controlled any bit of herself, she would have gladly died. If it meant It was not watching her, she would have gladly died.

━

SO SEEK THE FAMILIAR FOR IT SHALL SAVE YOU.

Jessica wakes up, finding that she was in a sitting position, a mask held loosely in her hands as if she was supposed to know why she has it. The dream she just had was long (unusually so for a dream, because dreams are like short clips of a video— snippets of the whole) and it makes her realize that it is not the first time she has had the dream (always the same, with no change), and she doubts this time will be the last.

She checks her phone, but not before letting her eyes scan the room, checking for something. Jessica has no idea what to check for, but it feels like her body is still moving on its own. Preparing for danger, but hoping for safety. Her phone reads a date days pass what she last remembers. It reminds her that her stay at the hotel is not normal. That this is a recurrence and that is not normal. It reminds her that suddenly, she feels as though she is not normal. Like she is someone else now and it terrifies her.

But the mask in her hand doesn’t. The mask she is holding— the mask that she has never seen before— does not terrify her. The mask, rather, makes her feel well, for once. Her stay at the hotel has not been well and she has not slept well nor has she felt well, but for once— with the mask in her hand— she feels well. Her head does not ache, for once, and her throat does not feel raspy, for once.

She realizes then that she feels normal. No threat hangs in the air and she feels normal. Her paranoia is gone for a bit and she feels normal. She feels normal. The rest of the day feels normal. The rest of the day is normal and Jessica is normal. But she only sees one issue with that. She doesn’t feel like Jessica (not the young dream Jessica who only runs, nor the physical Jessica that wants to be done with these newfound problems).

Her body is moving, she feels it moving and can see the actions from her own eyes (a contrast to how she “moved” in her dreams), but she feels like she isn’t in control. It’s as though she were watching a movie, sitting in the theatre and taking in all that’s shown. But she is not the camera that recorded the scene, she is only the watcher, and it is so much better than being the puppet.

She is a watcher and it is a newfound sense of normal.

And the next day, Jay takes that normalcy away from her. He took it away from her the moment he knocked on her door, reminding her that he is also not normal. When she opens the door— noting how she suddenly felt more in control of her body— Jay fumbles over his words at first. She suspects that maybe it was on impulse that he knocked, especially how he begins to awkwardly ask about local parks. She’s confused at first: why does he want to know about parks?

But then he tells her it’s ‘cause his job is being relocated so he’s decided to look for a new place. He says that he wants to move next to a nice park and Jessica tells him that she’s probably been to Rosswood park as a kid (but she can’t say with pure certainty that she has, yet she feels like her visit there was recent. Though she can’t shake an underlying feeling of seething rage. She’s mad— at him, the situation, the hotel—, so very mad.

When she calls him out, Jay feigns innocence. He pretends not to remember telling her about the documentary or about his apartment and it makes her so very mad. But she keeps that rage in because she needs to cling to something. He rips normalcy away from her so the least he could do is cut it out with lies, but she’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. She’ll humor the possibility that he is also forgetting his days here.

But then he brushes her off, making her seem crazy. Making her feel crazy and all he had to do was slip into his room, away from her like she was crazy. But she can’t possibly be crazy, right?

Retreating back into her room, an anxiety chewing away at her soul like bugs on a carcass, she feels like every weight that wasn’t on her shoulder yesterday is on her now. It feels suffocating, and if she knew what it meant to have one, she would have assumed she was about to have a panic attack. Instead, she settles on knowing she has a coughing fit (but it does not ease her mind in any way).

She stumbles throughout her hotel room, tripping over her duffle bag, and falling onto the floor. She doesn’t know what to do. Jessica’s throat is scratchy, her coughs coming out in hacks and her breaths leave her body painfully (pain that while, yes, she has grown used to them, do not hurt less with each fit). She lays on the floor, coughing, coughing till she can’t no more and suddenly, she feels like she is in her dreams again.

She feels like she is watched, her body feels like static, and this terrifies her more than anything. Because this is not a dream. This feeling is more real than anything she’s ever experienced. Her livelihood is fake in comparison to this nauseating feeling of being watched. She does not see what watches her, but she somehow knows where it is. There are no trees to cover it this time, and she hasn’t the ability to get up and run.

She tries to crawl away from the presence that sends her body into all states of fear— the presence that freezes her; the presence that makes her body prepare to fight despite how badly it tries to flee. Beside her bed, a corner she tries to cower in, is her mask. She does not feel her body moving towards it, but she is in control. She knows that this time she is, and she feels that grabbing at the mask surrenders the control she has. But she doesn’t want the control, so if she must surrender it, she will do so willingly.

Her hand manages to grab the mask, her coughs garnering more intensity as she does, and she reaches to put it on her head. The mask— the white mask with a skeleton-grin— provided her a sense of comfort yesterday, she could only hope it helps again.

She will not cope well knowing that the mask could not save her (not like she hoped it would), because she dreams again. She dreams of running from It, and she’ll run till she can get rid of It. But she can’t get rid of It. Not right now. Not while she is so vulnerable. Not while her body is currently hers. But she only wants the mask to save her, so she allows another to take her body from her, if only a bit, it only to get away from It—

There is a woman who wakes up on the floor . She wears a mask, but it is as much her face as the one beneath it. She manages to leave the room— to escape It— but she knows It will not be pleased with this outcome, and now she has to inform The Mask and The Hood of an upcoming change, whatever it may be. There is a woman who runs in every sense of the word, but right now, she is The Skull, and she runs from It so that Jessica doesn’t need to.

IT IS HOME— THE UNFAMILIAR— AND IT IS SAFE.

The next time Jessica finds herself in full control of her own body— no sleepwalking or the like— it is January 12th. The preceding weeks were accompanied by blips in memory, a fleeting conscious moment, and then more blips in her memory. The entire time, she has felt asleep, but her body has not rested well. Her body has not rested well, her head aches, and her chest is scratchy. But it is on the 12th that she finds herself able to stare at her phone and process the information before her.

Her mask— the mask, because she resolves in the moment it is not hers— is on the bed beside her. She glares at it, unhappy it is here, because something tells her it didn’t save her as she hoped, but just pushed the moment of suffering to a later date. She grabs the mask a moment, but throws it across the room the moment she begins to feel at ease.

The mask doesn’t help find normalcy as she first hoped and that makes Jessica feel bitter. She feels bitter— bitter towards the mask, towards the hotel, towards Jay— so very bitter. She sits on her bed, head in her hands, thinking bitter thoughts. Why would she think a mask can help her escape the monster that terrorizes her (she’s learned there is a monster, but she could never learn how it looked)? Why was she so dumb to just stay in the hotel? Is it because of Jay…?

She then gets a bit mad, lifting her head up to look at his door. She made the final decision to stay in this hotel because of Jay. She knows— somewhere deep inside of her, she knows— that she is here because of Jay. All because of Jay! He’s the problem, the fault in all this. He’s the liar and she has to accept that.

She has to, but right now, she chooses not to. She stands up— a confident fire within her soul ready to expel all her anxieties— and heads to the door. She inhales as she grabs and twists the door knob, and exhales when she knocks on Jay’s door. She intends to give him an earful, call him out on all his bullshit, and maybe they wouldn’t even acknowledge each other after all was said and done.

When he opens the door, Jessica’s mind fixates on the camera and then remembers that the two of them are just coping differently. She eases a bit, confused about why he’s recording her. But then she gets a bit mad again, calling out his lies and then she explains to him her experience in this hotel because he has to be going through the same thing? They can’t live in adjoined rooms and not suffer in the same ways? Right?

And then he tells her he’ll explain it all, but that they need to leave. They need to leave? This whole situation is just crazy and it’s so bad that now they need to leave? She complies, but she feels woozy at the notion of them needing to leave. She makes an attempt at packing her stuff, but most of it already was. It has been every moment since she first woke up in the hotel room.

Something told her she would need to be ready, but right now, she feels too overwhelmed. Too overwhelmed by the severity of the situation to care about how everything is already packed. And she is most certainly too overwhelmed to care about the piece of paper with numbers scrawled on it that certainly wasn’t there before— and too overwhelmed to care that a man in a mask is in her hotel room.

She wanted to make a noise, call out to Jay, say something, but she knows this man isn’t isn’t the monster that she fears with every fiber of her being— the monster who chases her in her dreams. But she can’t seem to think much— not about how his mask resembles the one she tossed away from herself—, not while she’s passing out in the middle of her hotel room. Not while she needs to accept that some things are beyond her control.

IT IS SAFE BECAUSE THE FAMILIAR IS DANGEROUS.

━

Disoriented, Jessica wakes up on what feels to be a dirt floor and her back against a tree. She leans forward, her palms pressing against the dirt floor— floor that reminds her of her dreams, but are not paired with the crippling fear— and she groans. Her mind is racing with thoughts. Did she and Jay go somewhere? Did she sleepwalk again? Who was the person in the mask? Is she safe? Is she safe?

Her mind is racing with thoughts, but all she lets out is a confused “What happened?” She gets no response, she isn’t even up off the floor yet, but a hand touches her back. The touch isn’t invasive or intrusive, rather, the touch on her back seems to intend to be comforting, but she’s only more confused.

She raises her head, ignoring the hooded person beside her because if they were a threat, they would have already hurt her (she reasons this with herself, but can’t be sure). What does seem like a threat, though, is the flashlight peering through the trees, searching for something (someone, she assumes in the end). She asks who it is, but the hooded person covers her mouth and she can’t help the gasp and whimpers escape her.

They may not be a threat— the hooded one—, but she reserves the right to get scared. The way they tell her to shush like the situation is just one she shouldn’t make a noise in, it’s nerve wracking because what are they hiding from? She knows he probably means well, but the disorientation of being in an unfamiliar place has made her anxious in the past and it definitely still makes her anxious right now.

The hooded person tries to help her up, but Jessica is stubborn and confident. She tells them, “It’s fine, I got it,” as she roughly shrugs her arm away. When she is properly standing, she sees that the hooded person notices how close the light of the flashlight is and grabs her, making a move to run away. She has no choice but to comply, yet she can’t even be sure if this person is safe.

Jessica and the hooded person don’t make it far, though, as the one with the flashlight yells at them to stop. They do, but the light is almost blinding in the pitch black, so Jessica has trouble seeing what the flashlight man is holding. Before her eyes can adjust to the dark, the hooden person grabs her hand and makes another attempt at running.

However, behind them she hears a gunshot. She screams— she screams hoping that she didn’t get hurt. The hooded person lets go of her hand and continues to run off and Jessica only follows a bit before she crouches, curling in on herself, and moves off to the side so that she doesn’t get shot . Jessica would only be able to get so far before the man with the gun shoots her, so she can only accept that she’ll die here or somewhere else. Thankfully, the man went pass her, shooting at the hooded man a couple times.

The shots scare her, but when the man calls out her name and mentions Amy (specifically that he and Amy were dating), she feels inclined to trust the man. He says he’ll help her get out of the forest, which is more than the hooded person had done (he only shushed her), so of course she has to trust him, right?

The only thing is, is that she doesn’t know why she’s in the forest in the first place. Why? She sees the hooded person’s camera and makes a move to pick it up. She reasons that the camera has to show her why and how she got to the forest. Wasn’t she just in a hotel? What happened to Jay? Is Jay okay?

Alex, he said that was his name, let her have the camera, but he says he’ll explain the whole situation after they leave, but Jessica feels like they’re only going deeper into the woods. Something deep inside of her tells her that all of this is wrong, and Jessica believes it, but she knows that some things are out of her control.

Alex starts up conversations, trying to ease her nerves, most likely, and he tells her he can help catch her up on everything she needs. She wants to trust him, she does, but she finds herself quietly doubting Alex. He has a gun and it would be super easy to shoot her and that installs distrust within her. A bullet flies faster than a person could move. She has no choice but to follow him (but she wants to run).

When he takes her to the tunnel, he tells her to go ahead. He’s been suspicious of being followed, but with a gun, he shouldn’t have all too hard a time surviving…

He gives her his flashlight and that makes her anxious. The feelings she’s been feeling since she turned up at the hotel, they’re back, and that terrifies her. Jessica is terrified, and nothing eases her. She tries to tell herself she’s just needlessly paranoid, but something deep inside of her (almost like a voice, she realizes) drowns her out. It’s like it’s yelling at her— her mind is yelling at her and that is not comforting. No, it is a bone chilling fact.

IT WANTS THE FAMILIAR TO KILL YOU.

She turns around, hopeful she can scream back at her own mind, but then she sees Alex’s gun pointed at her. She turns the camera and flashlight towards him and rocks back and forth on her feet. She wants to charge at Alex, and when he tries to blame all this on Jay? Her body lunges towards him. She sees herself do this, but she knows that her body is moving on its own.

She isn’t in control. She isn’t in control as he doubles over. She isn’t in control as she picks up the gun. And she isn’t in control when she yells at him to shut up.

She regains control when the hooded person runs by her to beat up Alex and she sets down the gun for a moment so she could grab the flashlight, but then picks it back up as she runs off. She runs, even if her mind yells at her to go back and help finish off Alex. No, she is in control right now, even if she shouldn’t be. She will not listen to herself right now, because her only goal is to get away from both the hooded person and Alex— even if it means denying instinct.

SO WHY DO YOU NOT TRUST THE SKULL???

Jessica is running, so many thoughts racing in her head, and so many feelings she is trying to repress. She feels like she is being watched, but she doesn’t know by what. She has half a mind to know it is that thing, but she can only hope this is another one of those wretched nightmares. She can only hope, but right now she is running. She is running, even when she feels she doesn’t make it closer to the end of the woods.

She sees a man, tall and in a suit and she calls out to him. She hopes he can help her, but every fiber of her being is telling her that this is no man. It is a thing, and It is what watches her. When she is alone, when she is dreaming, when she is working, and when she is existing, it is this thing that watches her (and perhaps it had been watching Jay, too).

She realizes this all a bit too late, because the moment she notices its lack of a face, all of Jessica’s mind seizes and for the first time, she does not dream, nor does she sleepwalk. She and The Skull are silenced, but they could only hope it is not for long.

The walls were bleak and familiar. Nothing was notable about them, not yet at least. The walls had a bit of light that poured in through the blinds, highlighting lines across the walls. The light that poured in Jessica that it was time to get up— but she could do so at her own pace.

(The Skull always invites The Hood over into Jessica’s house. The Hood mostly chooses to use Jessica’s computer, though. The Skull never asks why.)

The bed wasn’t soft, nor hard, but she prefers it this way. It’s that middle ground that is “Just right!” as Goldilocks would have said. The sheets were slightly thin. Jessica finds these types of blankets ideal, because in winter, all she would need is multiple blankets to be warmer.

(The Skull thinks The Hood is doing something with the videos they record. The Skull does not care to pry.)

The atmosphere was overall a tranquill one, and whether the ticking clock added to it. Glances around the room reminded Jessica that she should focus on decorating her apartment room more. With time, her new place would be rather homely. She has a computer at least, some clothes, and a few plants throughout her room. She wants more candles, soon, but she’’l only have some when she can afford them.

(The Skull does not know why The Mask does not visit, despite being invited, but The Hood won’t say the reason for this. It irks The Skull, but perhaps The Hood would rather stay silent than to lie.)

She sits up and moves to get out of bed, but she finds that her mask is beside her pillow. Recently, she wakes up beside it and while she doesn’t mind, she can’t help but wonder when it is that she puts it beside her. She didn’t go to sleep with it? She can’t remember, but she doesn’t care to bother about it. Not right now because nothing matters. Not while she feels safe.

(The Skull is given medicine— two pills each time— that The Hood always presents as an offer of thanks. The Skull knows it wards off The Operator. Hopeful, with these pills The Operator can finally accept being told “Goodbye.”)

She picks up the mask and smiles. It fills her with a sense of ease, and she likes to think of it as a good omen. Everytime it is near her, Jessica can’t help but feel calm. The skull-like mask has that surprising effect on her. Life is stressful, but as long as she has the mask— her mask, as she has come to fondly refer to it as—, she feels she can get by.

BECAUSE AS THE SKULL, YOU FEEL SAFER.

#akobj fic #marble hornets #marble hornets jessica #mh jessica #mh #jessica marble hornets #jessica mh #jessica locke #marble hornets skully #mh skully #skully!jessica au #oneshot #fanfic #skully!jessica

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hilllsnholland · 5 years ago

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Bucket List - Prequel

Wc: 3.8k

Warnings: swearing, drinking, depression, anxiety, and other mental health talk

Summary: Tom has no idea what he wants to do with his life. He’s stuck in the suburban town of Creekview with Harrison and two idiots friends. No passion, no drive, nothing but a beer by the poolside. Until he meets Y/N, the Deaf rebel who has a bucket list she needs to complete by the end of the summer. The two come together to make their last summer of freedom the best Creekview has ever seen. What could possibly go wrong? Or more so, what could possibly go right?

Dashboard Confessional’s ‘Hands Down’ played through a wireless speaker while Tom took another sip of beer. Although American beer did not have the same kick as England’s, it would have to do. Nothing was the same here, which was the main reason why Tom was drinking four days out of the week. Since the semester ended a week ago it was a blur of sun, drinking, and constant calls from his parents.

Tom tilted back in the lounge chair, sunglasses sitting perfectly on his face. From the distance, he could hear someone calling his name but choose to ignore it. Tom amplified the sound and sighed. Watching the pool water ripple was becoming mind numbing. But that was the point of doing all of this. Acting like he was a bum on vacation was a facade to mask the over presenting battle in his head. Tom could not stop the pestering thoughts and anxiety from creeping up on him, so he pushed it down with alcohol.

Tom sat lazily in the stiff counselor chair. He had been waiting there for almost twenty minutes now, unsure of what the reasoning was. This was college, not regular high school. Why was he being sent to the office? Maybe they did things differently in America but this felt strange. Every few minutes he would look over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming his way. Tom wasn’t a nervous person, but he felt like he was under arrest. Something was definitely not right.

“Mr. Holland?”

Tom snapped straight up and turned to see the Head of Counseling, Mrs. Scott, reaching her hand out to greet him. He shook her hand, standing up awkwardly and following her as she took a seat at her desk.

“Am I in some sort of trouble?”

Mrs. Scott, who usually wears a bright smile, is flat lipped as she types away on her computer. Tom had met her at orientation with Harrison. She was a middle-aged woman who was wise and a school favorite at Creekview State. Not that Tom had to think about it, it was all Harrison’s fault he was even here. Why would he leave beautiful London for this small Bay Area suburb? His best mate of course.

Somehow Harrison had gotten hooked on the idea of moving to California. Not even LA, but San Francisco area. Tom never understood it. It was a different world out here. The weather was bipolar, people had weird phrases, and the school system made no sense. Yet, Harrison begged him to go to California with him. Showed him the transfer program at Creekview State, and now here they were. Well, here Tom is, sitting in front of a very concerned counselor.

“Thomas-”

“Tom, just call me Tom,”

Mrs. Scott nods and turns the computer to face him.

“You have spectacular grades Tom, but you haven’t selected your major?” She points to the screen where major is set to ‘undetermined’. “And I believe you are aware of our policy correct?”

Tom nods slowly. At orientation, they had made it very clear that by the end of a student’s two years at Creekview, a major needed to be set. Administrators claimed that it was a way to ensure students achieve success, but Tom could see through that bullshit. Having students select majors early on ensures that the college can get as much money as possible from donors and the state. Tom though, did not have a major planned out.

“So, school ends in a week Tom and I need to know what your major is.” Mrs. Scott puts on a plastic smile.

“Mrs. Scott, I don’t know what I want to major in,” Tom says flatly. “I don’t see a future in any of the careers paths that the school promotes.”

Harrison had found his calling in theatre. He knew what he wanted since he was a kid. Tom however was lost. He found no satisfaction in business or English, not even theatre sparked that joy. He felt lost. A true imposter syndrome at its best. Tom was grasping at straws of life, watching everyone else know what they wanted. Harry and Sam, his own brothers, knew exactly what they wanted. They were set. Tom was the oldest, yet he was in their shadow.

“I’m sure we can find something-”

“Seriously, I’ve tried every career test and gone to all the job fairs. I don’t know my place. I can not figure out where I belong,”

Red was the only word to describe the interaction. Tom’s face was rouged with frustration and embarrassment, his heart pumping against his chest. His hands shook on his thighs, he had never expressed this concern ever. Now Mrs. Scott was blinking at him, mouth open slightly as she tried to figure out what to say. Tom wanted to run out of the building and never come back. This could be the chance to move back to England, start over with his education and figure it out there.

“I can tell you’re under a lot of stress. You’re in a country you didn’t grow up in and now you’re being forced to grow up. I get it Tom, so I’ll give you a choice.” Mrs. Scott brings out a piece of paper and turns it to Tom. “You can pick a major now or I can give you until the first day of Fall term. If you choose now, you get aid and first pick to all classes. If you wait, you’ll have to pay upfront and have to deal with last pick classes.”

A choice. A real fucking choice that Tom had the opportunity to pick. He didn’t have time to contemplate it until his friends or family butted in. He needed to make the choice now and it was all up to him. A few years into young adulthood and he still felt like a lost child, until now. This could be his chance to take the reigns of his life. To stop following what Harrison says, or his family, because now he was in control of his life. Tom looked down at the paper that listed all the different majors. None of them sparked joy. None of them ignited the fire he had always hoped for.

Tom knew the fire was real though. He saw it every day when Harrison would go to rehearsals or talk about an amazing day in Theatre. Tom felt it resonate off Harry when he would show off the latest photography project. The way Harry would tell stories of each photograph, give it life and meaning. Even Sam, who was going to trade school, had the undeniable ambition to become a carpenter. It was something Tom envied. It gave him that pit in his stomach, the dread you get when you know you’ve done something wrong. Tom felt it every time his parents called him and asked about his future. Now though, he had three whole months to figure out his future. If twenty odd years hadn’t given it to him, how would three months?

“I’ll let you know before the first day of term, but I’m not ready right now,” Tom grabs his things and stands up. “Thank you for this though.”

Tom goes towards the door but stops.

“Tom,” Mrs. Scott sighs. “I don’t expect you to have all of your life figured out right now, but take a chance. Explore or do something you’ve never done. Come back to me when you’re ready. I hope to hear from you soon,”

Mrs. Scott is looking to Tom with big eyes. He can tell she’s been through this before. The exhaustion behind her face from the need to balance the pressure from the school and the well-being of the students. Tom felt the pit appear at the thought of causing her more stress or pain. He could just randomly pick a major, change it later when he figures it out, but her words. Those words snapped the chord in his body.

Since he arrived in Creekview he hadn’t explored much. He would go to parties, class, and work. It was a routine to keep his mind off the homesickness. Tom kept himself busy so he wouldn’t miss home, his mom’s cooking, his bed, god he even missed his little brothers. But, he hadn’t lived more than that. Tom hadn’t let himself loose. Maybe that was the fault, maybe he needed to relax. Tom’s mind became clouded with the different anxieties so he pushed them away, sighing audibly.

“I hope so too Mrs. Scott,”

Tom rolled his neck into the bar of the lawn chair, unkinking the knots from his stiff neck. The music that had been playing from the speakers was now being replaced by the nuisance of his ringtone. He saw the picture of his dad appear on his phone requesting a facetime. This wasn’t the time, he thought.

Last time Tom talked to his father was before the guidance counselor meeting. He hadn’t told his family he wasn’t going home for the summer, like the year prior, so they must be wondering where he was or when he’d be coming back. Tom exhaled, fearing what he wanted to talk about. Tom slid the phone to accept and there his parents were, smiling and talking in unison to greet him.

“Hey guys, I miss you both,” Tom pushed back his glasses and melted at the sight.

It hurt. It hurt so much to not be with them. Although they were a major part in his dilemma, it was impossible to feel normal here. Tom knew his parents would make everything better again. Their cooking would settle his nerves, or his dad’s jokes would make him crack a smile finally.

“Tom, you don’t know how much we miss you right now,” His mom gushes. “When are you coming home, sweetie? Last summer you were already here and making a mess of the place?”

Tom laughed with his parents.

“I know mum,” He bit his lip and shrugged. “I was going to talk to you about that…”

“You know Tom we haven’t heard much from you. Is school going alright? Is Harrison still with you?”

“Yeah, he is. We’re at the house right now. I just,”

The weight crushed him. He wanted advice, he wanted to know what they would have to say about the whole ordeal. He knew it would come with nagging and lecture, which terrified him to no end. Failure was not an option.

“We’ve been calling you for a while now. What’s going on?”

“Guys, everything is fine. I just need to...I need to…” His mouth was dry and something came over him. “I need to invite you guys here.”

God he wished he could have shut himself up. Not answer the phone. Fucks sake, just throw the phone in the water and get it over with faster. His parents made a ‘hmph’ noise and cocked their heads at him.

“I can’t leave California due to...school and work...so why don’t you and the boys fly out here? July or August maybe?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. Why in the world did I do that, he thought. Tom froze at the silence that followed. His parents looked to each other what seemed like a lifetime. This was it, this was the end of the world, wasn’t it?

“Of course we’ll come! We can’t wait to see this little town you’ve been living in!” His mother laughed and smiled. She was giddy.

“I was getting worried Tom,” His dad starts with a small laugh. “I was afraid you were going to tell us you got kicked out or you haven’t picked your major yet. But I can’t wait to see you.”

Yikes was all Tom could think. He laughed along, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling the pool of sweat coming down his skin. Fuck it was hot and he was a horrible liar.

“Love you guys. Talk to you soon,”

Their faces disappear, leaving the lock screen picture of Tessa looking adorable to overtake the phone. Tom flips it over and presses the play button on the speaker to continue the music from before. Fuck, his new favorite word because that was the only thing to describe how he felt. Tom felt stupid, angry, depressed, anxious, probably every emotion under the sun except happiness. This rut was driving him insane, but now he drove himself deeper into it. Tom flipped his sunglasses back down his nose and laid back again.

Was this going to be the rest of his life? Juggling life, unsure of what he wanted or what he needed? Trying to impress and satisfy the ones closest to him? The pit returned bringing with it the feeling of nausea. It must’ve been the beers he had been drinking for the past few hours because he felt sour. Tom clenched his fingers into the bands of the lounge chair, bending them to circulate the anxieties. He picked at things, twisted and broke them, while he was nervous. Either it was his nails, tables, clothes, you name it. It was the only calming factor he had.

“Tommy boy!” An all too familiar voice yelled.

Tom wanted to be dead. He could probably play dead and his so-called ‘friends’ would believe it. He watched as Brant and Ty made their way out to the backyard, holding up bottles of vodka and assorted mixes. Brant was a buff and tall dude, black skin and a face that nobody could say no to. He was known around campus as the star player, of football and hearts. Ty was scrawny, a lacrosse player that actually had talent. He had a long face though, almond eyes that were perpetually bloodshot. He was always high or looking to get high. They were the definition of what Creekview college boys were about.

“Tom, why are you sitting on your ass?” Brant laughed while jumping to take a seat next to him. “Dude, we need to go to Lauren J’s party tonight. With your British accent, we’ll need to be slapping the bitches off of us.”

Tom mentally groaned. He hadn’t been with a girl, not even a date since he got to Creekview. The girls here were not his type he supposed. The ones he had classes with were shallow or too dim-witted. Creekview felt like another dimension honestly. He had never experienced such fakery in his life. Nothing was real, nobody gave a shit about being authentic. It was all Daddy’s money, Mommy’s Lambo, and going to whoever’s lakehouse.

“I think I’ll sit it out. I don’t feel too great,” Tom rolled his head away from the two men looking at him.

“Pussy!” Ty cackled. “Pussy boy is afraid of fun,”

“Ty, shut the fuck up,” Brant elbowed his smaller friend and sighed. “Fuck if I care dude. More hoes for us,”

Brant shrugged it off and walked to the back of the house with Ty following at his tail. God, Ty would do anything to please him. It was pathetic. The only saving grace of the situation is that he didn’t live with them. Tom and Harrison had been renting a house for the year, getting some extra cash from their parents so they didn’t have to live on campus. Although Creekview was safe, the campus was rampant with theft and destruction. It felt like you took middle school children, injected steroids, and let them have the run of a college.

Crisis averted for now, at least. Tom loved parties back home. It was a party to have fun, to get together with your mates and drink. Creekview parties were to show off. Who has the best clothes, best mansion, best alcohol. Tom felt like an alien here. Nothing felt right anymore.

Tom heard the sliding door open again, this time it was Harrison. The blond boy smiled at Tom, shrugging his shoulders as he crossed the backyard. He wore a white shirt with neon splatters on it. There were remnants of neon paint on his face too. Tom quirked an eye at him and slid the glasses off his face.

“What’s with the paint?”

“LJ is having a neon party and she invited us,” Harrison threw a white shirt at Tom. “We should get going if we want to make it there before all the good booze is gone,”

Tom looked at the shirt, splatters of blues, oranges, and yellows scattered it in an abstract pattern. Did Harrison really have time to do this? He met eyes with his best mate, Harrison narrowed worried eyes at him. Harrison knew something was up with his friend, he saw the joy deplete from him every night after class. He saw Tom after the counselors meeting, saw the pain and stress illuminating off of him. The thing about Tom though was that he needed to figure out things for himself. He was constantly needing advice from others while also needing the pride of being self-efficient. Harrison wished to reach inside his best friend’s head and yank out the real Tom again. But, Tom sat there with heavy eyes and sighed.

“I don’t think I’ll go,” Tom rubbed the T-shirt fabric between his fingers.

“Mate, please come. I don’t want to be stuck with Brant or Ty all night,”

“So hang out with Lauren J then,”

The flicker of interest was undeniable. Tom knew Harrison fancied LJ, he could see it miles away. Everytime the sorority girl walked past. Harrison was head over heels in love. Yet, Tom didn’t know if anything had actually happened. He felt the nauseating flirting all the time, he saw the long glances to each other. Harrison however was quiet about it all, maybe out of fear that it would disappear if he spoke of it. This was a concept Tom knew too well.

“Tom, I’m really worried about you. I didn’t think that major thing would-”

“I’m fine Haz,”

Harrison sits to face Tom, hands folded in his lap like he was going to give him a lecture.

“We can talk about it if you want.”

Tom felt the pit deepens. He didn’t want to get Harrison involved, it was a mistake to even tell him. Tom did it so that it wouldn’t be so heavy on his mind but now he infected Harrison with his problems too. The brunet boy sat straight up, throwing off his red shirt and replacing it with the neon one.

“No, you know what let’s go to LJ’s party,” Tom grabbed his sunglasses and stood up as fast as he could.

“Tom, stop avoiding the topic-”

“Haz, you want to go to the party right? Let’s not keep LJ waiting,”

It was the flip in the situation that frustrated Harrison, but he wasn’t going to mention. The reverse psychology trick that Tom always pulled was getting real old, but now was not the time for it. Harrison was just happy that Tom was going to leave the house for once. Tom grabbed his wallet and keys, waiting on the front porch for his friend, nerves building up again. Thank god there will be alcohol at the party or this would be a disaster.

“You know, it’s okay to talk about your feeling,” Harrison comments as they walk towards the Jeep. “I don’t do words,” Tom smirked.

Harrison laughed, it would take a miracle to get him to shut up. Which was why it worried him that Tom had been silent for so long. Tom rolled his back into the leather seat and strummed his fingers against the plastic panel of the car door. Harrison looked to his friend again, exhaling in defeat.

“What’s your fear, Tom? Just tell me that,”

Tom froze his fingers and looked to Harrison. It was a moment of weakness, both having pleading eyes for answers. Harrison needed to know his best friend was alright, while Tom needed to know it was going to be alright.

“I just...don't want to be wrong,” His voice was barely above a whisper.

It was silent. The radio was turned off and the only sound was the car going to the somewhat empty Mainstreet of Creekview. Tom wanted to slap himself for telling the truth. Admitting failure was what was holding him back. It was the agonizing anxiety of having no control and failing to do what’s right. Tom gnawed at his bottom lip, his heart thumping against his chest so loud that he was sure Harrison could hear it. Harrison looked from the street and back to Tom.

“Whatever happens tonight Tom, it’ll be right,” Harrison finally says.

“What do you mean?”

It was the assertiveness that Harrison spoke with that sparked a little hope. He knew how to draw Tom out of his shell in times of darkness, yet nothing had been this serious before. But it was what Tom needed, that stupid faith in him.

“You will do something unequivalently right tonight. That’s final,”

The two looked off towards the sunset, visions of blue, pink, and purple bleeding out into the sky. It was...calm. For the first time since the counselor’s meeting, Tom felt at ease with Harrison, with his lack of decisions. Although it was creeping in the back of his mind, swirling through with random thoughts of terror. Tom felt okay for once and prepared himself mentally for the party.

It would be draining, shitty music and drunk people who can’t handle their alcohol. Yet, Harrison was right. Tom could do something tonight that was right. He wasn’t sure what, or even how, but it settled him for the time being. Tom rested his head on his hand, watching the beautiful colors take the sky. It was a moment of bliss, a moment of freedom that Tom was looking for. He remembered he needed to take chances, go on an adventure like Mrs. Scott had said. Maybe now, maybe this could be his first adventure that leads to many more. Tom just had to leap. He looked over to Harrison and laughed.

“It’s all going to be alright,”

Harrison smiled, nodding along with his words.

“Yes, Tom. Everything will always be alright,”

Tom breathed deeply, taking in the beautiful scene and moment. His eyes dreamily stared off into the sunset to admire the vibrancy. He had never seen anything like it in England. The California sunsets were a different breed. The colors made bubbles of serenity, and Tom smiled. He loved the way the pink shined through, it gave him a weird feeling of knowing. Like he knew something good was going to happen. Tom felt at ease with the color and he didn’t know why. It was odd, but maybe it was the anxiety finally settling so he could enjoy life for a bit.

Pink may be my new favorite color

////

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@screeching-student-unknown / @nyctophilicstyles / @captainbuckyy / @vintage-moonlight / @breadbudzo / @h-natale / @originalpinkpowerranger/ @happywolves81 / @drunkgreek/ @iamnida95 / @sydthekidsloth / @spiderboytotherescue / @laureharrier / @starksparker / @madon566 / @nophunleague / @itsbrittneynicole / @hereiamhereigo / @kkaup04 / @way-ward-whale / @thewackywriter

#Tom Holland imagines #Tom Holland imagine #college!Tom Holland #Tom Holland blurbs #Tom Holland fluff #Tom Holland angst #Tom Holland fanfic #Tom Holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #Harrison Osterfield imagines #Harrison Osterfield imagine #college!Harrison Osterfield

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harry-leroy · 5 years ago

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So @ticketybooser left some wonderful comments on my last George Warleggan fic that I posted (thank you for those! ❤️) - and so I got some ideas for continuing it. This doesn’t end in any particular spot, and it’s probably something I’m just going to keep adding onto as I feel like it. Leaving under the cut for length + angst. Also going to tag @forcebros because our boys!

From the door, another figure came into frame. Tall, imposing, he turned the lock and swung open the door. His eyes locked with Dwight’s. Impulsively, Dwight let go of George’s arm. It was Penrose.

“Ah, Dr. Enys,” he began, relieving the other doctor by means of a slight nod. “Word was going around that we might be expecting you here today. Come to call me other names? Or does ‘brute’ settle it for you?”

George stepped back, his shoulders tensing. Dwight had to steel his courage, which wavered in Penrose’s presence.

“I’ve come to take him home,” Dwight swallowed, remembering that his position was the right.

Penrose chuckled a little.

“Take him home?” He shifted on his feet, almost as if marking it as a jest. “Who said you would be allowed to do that?”

“He shouldn’t be here-“ Dwight began.

“As far as our procedures are concerned,” Penrose’s eyes narrowed on Dwight, as if sizing him up. “George will not be allowed to leave until he has received a clearance that his madness has been cured. You’ve been made aware, Dr. Enys, that he is one of the most stubborn patients we have yet come across,”

“So-“ Dwight attempted to interject.

“So the prospect isn’t likely,” Penrose almost sneered.

“So you are aware,” Dwight finished what he had to say, voice calm. “My claim to take him home is not under the basis that his condition has improved. In fact, I think it has become far worse since his arrival,”

“Worse?” Penrose gritted his teeth.

“Have you checked his pulse?” Dwight asked. “I think you’ll find it rather quick. Quicker than I am comfortable with,”

Penrose took a few short steps towards George and took his wrist. He was met with some resistance, though Penrose fought to get his way, nearly taking George off his feet when he pulled the wrist in his direction. There was a pause in the conversation, then a frown on Penrose’s face, followed by the wrist being thrown down at George’s side.

“Oh, so the kind and patient doctor has come to intervene,” Penrose mocked. “This is not a charity house, it’s a hospital,”

“So leaving a man with his pulse that high-“ Dwight began.

“George is not used to visitors. He is forbidden from seeing anyone from outside the hospital under normal circumstances; circumstances which I would like to keep in place,” Penrose explained, his patience running short.

“I’ve been made aware of that,” Dwight said.

Penrose blinked, trying to piece out if Dwight had said what he thought he had said.

“I’ve been told that his uncle and his son have been denied from seeing him on several occasions,” Dwight continued, deciding to then lower his voice. “Now his son has taken ill. He will not eat. George’s son is a growing young boy who needs nourishment,”

“Young boys should stay out of this,” Penrose said with an air of contempt.

“How about his uncle?” Dwight stepped closer to Penrose. “The stiffest man in Cornwall was nearly brought to tears by his nephew’s suffering,”

“For God’s sake, Enys!” Penrose snapped. “George Warleggan is gone from their lives now. He’s incurable. Do you hear me? Incurable,”

Dwight shuddered at the word. This whole time, George had been running his index finger along the windowsill in slow little patterns. They were the patterns on Elizabeth’s jewelry, though no one could guess that but him. He was used to men talking about him like this, and saw no more reason to intervene. That would only bring him more punishment.

“No,” Dwight shook his head, staring at Penrose, incredulous. “No. You’re wrong,”

Penrose scoffed, regaining his temper.

“And what are you going to do?” He challenged. “I’ve said it before, and I’ve said it again. Your lunatic methods go against all proven treatments,”

“And this isn’t lunatic?” Dwight nearly lost track of the conversation from the sheer exhaustion of trying to reason with this man. However, Penrose’s approaching figure, all the more menacing, all the more imposing, brought Dwight back.

“I could have you put away right now if I felt like it,” Penrose’s eyes were monstrous. “Your entire coming here has been nothing but an act of utter madness. If you think you’ve been destined to save George Warleggan of all people from my grasp then you are sorely mistaken!”

He started laughing under his breath, it was short, though enough.

“Pity,” he said. “The mad doctor. Believing he can cure the incurable. How shameful that would be for your charming wife to hear,”

The thought intruded into Dwight’s mind like a slippery worm. He thought of suffering as George had suffered. Aching. Alone. Without agency. He thought of Caroline. She would forget him, surely. She would marry some rich heir. The only child he could give her had died. Who was to say that the rest would not turn out the same? If they were given another? Another husband, a better husband would suit her more. The screaming down the hall brought him back to France. He felt his pulse quicken. He could not be a prisoner again.

“Dr. Enys?” Penrose recalled the man back from a horrid trance. “Don’t tell me that I have cause to act against you now,”

Dwight swallowed, still caught off guard by the doctor’s remark. His methods had been unpopular, yes, but they were far more humane and effective than anything that Penrose would do. No. Caroline loved him. France was behind him. If anything, George needed him now. If he could save one, it would be George Warleggan. Dwight was the sane man in the room. All the same, he was the odd man out.

“I think you’re forgetting who is now the head of the Cornwall Infirmary,” Dwight reminded him, and also himself. “I think you’re forgetting who they decided to turn down to place him there. If there are any issues with George Warleggan’s release into my care, you ought to take it up with him,”

Dwight turned back to George and took him gently by the hand, then began to walk with him towards the door of his room. As they walked, Dwight wrapped one of his arms around George’s shoulders, as if to protect him from Penrose as they went past.

“Come on, George,” Dwight said, his voice soft. “Let us leave this Hell,”

* * *

Valentine now felt as though he were deaf to Ursula’s incessant crying. He stared blankly at the ceiling from his bed, a soreness dragging him deeper into the mattress as he huddled against it for warmth. His chest felt heavy, like it did when his Mama died. No tears came though.

He might have been glad once to have his Papa gone, but that was when Cary was gone too. They were in London for the week, and would return on a Saturday night. There were often little gifts waiting for Valentine the next morning, expensive trinkets from the high street and sometimes the odd toy. In those times, he had his Mama. She was not always as attentive as he wanted her to be, but at least Papa was not there to argue with her. Now, his father was somewhere else entirely, very sick, maybe even dead. Valentine had decided that of all the ways to die, madness would be the worst. Once, it had been childbirth, though Valentine realized that it was not something that he would likely experience, and so madness took over the spot.

This way, the way he was at the moment, didn’t seem a bad way to go. Starvation. Not something he was taught to worry about; his Papa had made that adamant. But now he couldn’t remember the last time he ate anything. He didn’t want to. The thought made him nauseous.

Valentine wondered if this is how Papa sometimes felt after a fit. Lethargic. For a moment, he pictured himself a madman as he lie in the bed, locked in his room to sleep. It sounded cozy, thought Valentine, with a sense of irony that was too much for his tired young brain to analyze. Perhaps he would go back to sleep again, as he had been doing for days on end.

There was a soft knock at the door before he saw Cary enter. He hadn’t been expecting Cary. Normally, it had been Bessie or Lucy with some soup or something of the like, which often went untouched. He was told that Dr. Enys had come once and given him something to soothe him, but it was beyond his memory. Valentine thought for a moment to pretend to be asleep so he wouldn’t be bothered, but the thought didn’t come fast enough.

“What are you doing here?” Valentine asked, face feeling flushed and feverish.

Cary hesitated a moment before speaking.

“I came here to tell you that I spoke with Dr. Enys,” Cary decided to sit down on the side of the bed, causing the weight on the mattress to shift in a funny way. “About your father,”

The pressure on Valentine’s chest felt tighter and heavier than before. He was dead, the boy knew. It would be some gross story that his uncle would coat in sugar as best he could. Passed out naked on a bed of straw, wouldn’t wake up, hadn’t bathed in weeks. There was blood in his hair, but it was from a fight with a doctor some days earlier. His wrists were as red as cranberries. The welts on his back would have been enough to kill him, but George Warleggan didn’t go down easy - that was the image Valentine had spent the past few months imagining, the picture of his hypothetically dead father becoming more complex each time he thought about it. But that wasn’t the news at all.

“He’s coming home,” Cary said, a pained smile crossing his face for a brief moment. Cary was sorely unused to smiling at all, and the news was almost bittersweet, knowing well in his heart that he would have to see his nephew in a wretched condition once again.

“Oh,” Valentine said, almost too tired to react in any other way. The tenacious illness that grabbed him seemed to lessen his excitement. Or perhaps it was the fear of seeing that imaginary dead man walking.

#george warleggan #dwight enys #poldark fic #poldark au #poldark #valentine warleggan #my fic #ahhhhh #:’)

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whosjunglejim4322 · 6 years ago

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A Bitter Taste-JJK

Summary- Your new roommate happens to be a vampire. He also happens to have a peculiar distaste towards humans, ironically. What happens when he realizes, that you're the only person he’s sorta liked in over a century?

Genre | vampire!Jungkook x reader, best friend!Taehyung x reader, angst, some fluff between bff Tae and Y/n

Warnings | slight nsfw content, mentions of blood

So a vampire and a human walk into a shared apartment..."

The joke will never be even remotely funny, not even when it is passing the pink lips of your best friend Taehyung, his eyes transforming into crescent moons as he laughs exuberantly at his own wit.

You roll your eyes with the ghost of a smile still lingering on your pout, chin in your palm as your metal straw clanks against the melting ice in your empty glass. You finished your Bloody Mary an hour ago, but you just can’t bring yourself to leave the company of Taehyung.

Mostly because the creature who has been your housing mate for the past three months, sort of despises anything that has an actual heartbeat.

You don’t exactly blame him, considering what humans have done to vampires in the past, and the fact that in some other parts of the world vampires are still hunted and killed rather than accepted.

Your city, in fact, is one of the only ones that actually considers vampires as common folk, even having functioning blood banks filled with volunteers ready to help cater to them as to create a safe and healthy environment for everyone involved.

Of course, there are a few bad apples, just as humans, which is why your city does things the way it does.

If they have a safe place to get their meals, there are less rampages or hungry vampires going rouge.

Not that vampires really scare you, which is why you had little to no inhibitions when signing the lease to become Jeon Jungkooks roommate.

Though, it was safe to say that he wasn't exactly thrilled to have you in his quarters. But he was desperate, and honestly was willing to accept anyone. Even people like you, with your rose scented hair and bright, blinding smile.

Disgusting, he had thought to himself. Who even are you? To come waltzing in smelling sweet, to have such warmth within your aura. You didn’t flinch, not even when he was telling you the rules you’d have to follow when living with him.

“First and foremost, keep all of your refrigerated food on the bottom shelf. My meals stay on the top at all times, to keep them colder, and fresher.”

You felt your skin crawl at the mention of his meals, but it’s no like you hadn't expected it. He’s a vampire for god sakes. It still doesn't mean that trying to make yourself a sandwich and seeing a bag of blood is very pleasant, though.

He met your eyes for the first time since you met him, the almost obsidian irises feeling as if they were boring into your soul. You are sure he could hear the beating of your heart, the pounding of your pulse. Maybe it’s because he looked like a walking, fallen angel; dark hair shadowing the sharp planes of his face, eyes hooded as if even looking at you is a task.

Or maybe it was because, quite frankly, biting your tongue was becoming difficult, especially with the tone of his next statement.

“And for no reason should you ever go into my room or study, no matter how urgent your mundane mind thinks the situation might be. Understood?”

You grit your teeth, remembering that he simply is a disgruntled creature and that you shouldn't let it get to you. “Of course, your majesty.”

You aren't quite sure what compelled you to think that a being like him would find sarcasm to be even partially amusing, but it was already to late to take it back.

“Your room is down the hall.”

His face remained stone cold, pink lips set into the same, straight line as they had been throughout the entire introduction. You leaned down to grab the handle of your suitcase, and gave him a jubilant grin as you turned on the heels of your boots and trotted off towards your room.

He grimaced, suddenly feeling as if he needs a drink. He really didn’t know how he was going to put up with you.

“I think I’m gonna head home, feeling woozy.” Taehyung pouts as you push your empty glass to the side, stretching your limbs before you slide out of the booth.

He stands with you, gently grasping your wrists and pulling you towards his lithe figure. You let out a sigh as he looks down at you with puppy dog eyes. “Why don’t you stay over? We can have a movie night and eat our weight in snacks, for old times sake.”

You smile warmly as you wrap your arms around Taehyungs middle, feeling contentment when surrounded by his warmth and sweet, lavender scent. You remind yourself to steal a dollop of whatever lotion he uses the next time you visit his place.

“I wish I could, but I don’t want to piss off grumpy pants by coming home any later than midnight. Isn’t it you and Jimins anniversary anyways?”

You look up at him through your lashes, watching his expression change from one of disappointment, to giddiness at the mention of his lover.

“Yeah but he loves you, and so do I. Besides, why are you worried about coming home too late? Does someone have a crush on Mr. Cullen?”

You groan against his chest before pushing yourself off of him, giving his broad shoulder a swat as you glare up at him, his dark eyebrows wiggling about.

“First of all, he’s much more of a Dracula and-hey! I don't have a crush on him! I’d never-he’d never even look at me like that.”

Taehyung pulls you back into him with a goofy, boxy grin, chuckling at your tipsy state as he whispers in your ear.

“Whatever, lightweight. Just remember who your first and best kiss was.”

You squeal as the mint haired boy begins to assault your face with a series of loud, obnoxious smooches, causing you to push yourself off of him with a grimace as you wipe your face with your sleeve.

You giggle as he throws up a finger heart, your eyes rolling for the tenth time tonight as you pull your phone out of your back pocket to call an Uber.

It is, in fact, true. Taehyung was your first kiss all the way back in sixth grade, underneath the sunset at an empty park after band rehearsal.

There was a time you had a helpless crush on the boxy smiled boy, how could you not? He’s all soft, honey colored skin, long eyelashes shading chocolate irises, and plump pink lips serving as the centerpiece of his canvas.

But, you soon realized that he is much more of a platonic soulmate than a romantic one, and you were more than ok with that. In fact, you were thrilled when you found out that he and your universities most famous dance major, Jimin, began dating.

“Uber is here, gotta go.”

Taehyung groans, reaching over and giving your hands a squeeze. “That was fast, want me to walk you out?”

You smile, shaking your head. “I think I can survive one night without TaeTae’s protection. Plus, your lover boy will be here any minute.”

His lips turn upwards at the mention of his childhood nickname, given to him by you, and his grin only grows at the thought of Jimin arriving shortly to begin celebrating their anniversary early.

“Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow? I’ll have to tell you all about tonight.” he gives you a playful wink as you walk towards the exit, your eyebrows wiggling mischievously.

“Of course, use protection!” you shout at him from across the bar, both of you ignoring any stares or expressions of distaste, You and Taehyung have always been like this, shameless around the other. It’s refreshing, having a best friend like him that seems to break you out of every shell that you are trying to hide in.

“Always, baby!” he shouts back, causing a boisterous giggle to bubble in your throat as you exit, giving him a small wave goodbye.

When you push your key into the lock belonging to you and Jungkooks shared apartment, you realize Taehyung was right. You are a lightweight.

Stumbling through the cold and dark apartment, you begin to think about how obvious it is that you live with a vampire. Speaking of Jungkook, it really bums you out that he doesn’t like you.

Maybe it’s just the alcohol and exhaustion that is making you feel this way, but the more you dwell on it, the more it gets to you. You have been nothing but nice and accepting these past three months since the day you met him, and frankly, its unfair that he treats you the way he does.

So, instead of walking to your room, you decide to make an admittedly unwise detour. You know that this isn’t a good idea, but hey, fuck it, right? If he was going to kill you or drain you of your blood he would have already, it’s not like this is going to suddenly make him angrier than what he already is.

It’s the moment before your palm touches the cold door knob, that a petulant sound graces your ears.

Actually, the more you listen and the louder the sound grows, you realize its far more than just petulant. It’s a cry, sharp and enough for your fight or flight senses to kick in.

All your last two braincells can piece together is vampire, girl, crying, and before you know it, you are impulsively swinging Jungkooks door open.

There are a few things you are expecting to find. Perhaps, a girl getting her throat ripped out. A room covered in blood. A sight that would undoubtedly be Lestats wet dream.

But, to your surprise, there are none of those things.

Just Jungkook, with one knee propped up on his messy bed, fingers digging into a soft pair of hips as he fucks the stranger into his mattress with enough force to make the person hang onto his nightstand for dear life.

You don’t even realize how long you've been staring until you hear Jungkook yelling, one arm in the air as he uses the other to cove his still hard manhood with one of his beige colored sheets.

“Get the fuck out! Didn’t I tell you to never come in here?!”

One look into his raven eyes, and you seem to come back down to reality, feet finally moving as you run out, slamming the door behind you before scuttling into your room, out of breath.

You close your eyes, back against your door as you try to figure out what in the fuck just happened.

You thought Jungkook was murdering someone, but instead, you just found him clapping cheeks.

You feel like crying, quite honestly. You have always been like that, too sensitive for being scolded, too soft to be yelled at. You should have taken up Taehyungs offer and just stayed with him and Jimin, it would have been a hell of a lot better than making your already irate roommate dislike you even more.

You don’t bother to remove your clothes as you slip into your bed, underneath the weight of your comforter. You try to think of anything other than the sight you’ve just seen, but it proves to be even harder than you think when you hear his bedroom door creak open, footsteps padding towards the front door before it opens, and then slams shut.

You are going to hear it in the morning.

The sun warms your skin as its golden rays peer through your blinds, light being the only thing you can see from behind your eyelids.

For a moment you almost forget about last nights disconcerting events. Key word, almost.

Dread fills your empty stomach as you hear rustling coming from the kitchen just down the hall, signaling that Jungkook is awake.

You have three options.

Number one: pretend it never happened, go on about your business.

Number two: just wait until he’s gone, then go make breakfast, and continue to avoid him at all costs.

Number three: talk to him.

In your head, none of these will go particularly well. Pretending it never happened just isn’t going to happen, considering Jungkook practically jump at every opportunity he has to scold you. He will definitely give you hell for this one.

Avoiding him is also literally impossible, since you literally live with him and will have to cross his path sometime or another.

Talking to him, even with all the options being bad, is the best one. Perhaps he will understand once you explain to him that you were tipsy and totally misinterpreted what was going on.

Or maybe the situation is just as helpless as you think it is.

You open your door just enough to make sure Jungkook won’t see you as you scamper off to the bathroom, only catching sign of his back before you are in the clear.

Emptying your bladder and brushing your teeth gives you time to think. Not nearly enough, though. But you figure if you brush any longer your gums will start to bleed, so it’s time to suck it up.

You hype yourself up enough to actually feel semi confident as you walk out, giving your reflection a sigh. You look tired and scared, an image you don’t like.

You know Jungkook knows you have entered the room, he’s a vampire, a stubborn and irritable one at that. But still, he leans against the counter with his broad back facing you as you sit at a bar stool opposite of him.

He is sipping something out of a mug, what most people would presume to be coffee, but with all things considered you know better. Although, it probably is sort of like a vampires breakfast, so it doesn’t really bother you as much as it used to.

It’s quiet until you speak, and you are sure he can sense the lump in your throat, the pounding of your pulse. Sure, like you've stated, you aren't scared of Jungkook by any means, but you are most definitely intimidated at times.

It’s funny, because his appearance can sometimes juxtapose his personality and nature so much, that any one else would think of him as a soft young man with a charming smile and sweet eyes.

If they only knew.

“Listen, I really want to apologize for last night. I-I should have respected not only your wishes, but your privacy above all.”

You take a deep breath, some of the blood returning to your face as you finally get your initial statement out into the open.

He doesn’t reply for a few minutes, which should freak you out, but instead honestly gives you more time to breath properly before he finally does.

“I honestly don’t know if you are an imbecile, or just human. Did you not hear what was going on? Did you just decide to barge in anyways despite specific instruction to never enter my room?”

Despite his words being venomous, his voice is eerily calm. Still, you hate how it’s making you stammer over your own words, how it’s making you feel inferior in a way that's unlike any other.

“T-That's the thing, I didn’t know what I was hearing exactly-” he cuts you off, whipping around to face you with both of his palms flat on top of the granite countertop. A gasp passes your lips as his wicked gaze meets your meek one, your eyes instinctively flicking to his chest as to avoid his malevolent stare.

“Oh I’m sorry, was the please Jungkook don’t stop, not a clear enough of an indication?!”

At his voices rise in octave, you find yourself shuddering, trying to fight back the tears that burn the back of your throat. You don’t want him to see you cry, that's the last thing you;d ever want, in fact. For people like him, you feel as if it will only give them more of a reason to call you weak.

“Cat got your tongue?” he spits as you fail to respond. It’s only a few more moments before you manage to find your voice

“You know what I really heard before I barged in? What I thought was crying. And for a moment all I could see was an image of you, ripping some innocent girls throat out. For the first time, I was scared of you. Terrified, even.”

His countenance twists into one of disgust and confusion, as if you’ve just used a slur.

“And the worst part is that, after I realized I was wrong, I felt awful. Awful for going against your rules, awful for thinking you could ever do something like that. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I wasn’t too far off the mark. Turns out you don't have to rip some ones throat out in order to be a vile person. I will be out of your hair by next week.”

He’s stunned, for the first time in a long time as you scoot away from the counter while wiping your cheeks free of the tears that spilled from your eyes, hopping off of the bar stool and disappearing into your room.

He feels odd. No, he feels sick, if this is even what sick feels like. He can’t really remember the last time he felt like this, like if he had a beating heart, it would be bleeding out. Ok, that's dramatic, but he can’t explain it any other way.

He doesn’t care if he hurts you, right? No. He does care, that's why he feels like this, right? You have never even shown an ounce of fear towards him, yet you were actually scared last night? Of him?

No. No. This doesn’t feel right. You are Y/N, with an annoying bright smile and sweaters that are two times two large for your frame and who always manages to annoy him to the highest degree with your loud ass laughing whenever you’re watching Brooklyn 99.

In fact, he actually remembers being pissed off at first, at the fact that you never even batted an eye at anything he did that showcased his vampiric characteristics. He is a monster, he feeds on your kind.

Why are you acting as if he is just like anyone else?

Some where deep inside, Jungkook wanted you to see him as evil. That's what he’s thought of himself for an entire century.

But having you cry because of him, admit that you were terrified, to see a dark cloud of sorrow above your head; it doesn't feel as satisfying as he thought it would. In fact, it doesn't feel good at all. It feels like it’s shredding his insides.

What the fuck are you doing to him, and how does he make this right?

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medicatemedrmccoy · 7 years ago

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When in Rome - Pt 2

I’m going to go ahead and apologize for this chapter. I think its pretty boring as its a filler chapter. I’m sorry :( but trying to cut it down just wasn’t working and didn’t feel right. The next chapter will be much more exciting!(hopefully)

Leonard x Jim

Teen for violence

2,590 word(s) of plot and story development

Warnings: None in this chapter

Part One

Jim stood firmly planted in the sand, head on a swivel as he glanced at the crowd as they continued to cheer, and watched their surroundings, not knowing what might happen next. His hand lay protectively and reassuringly on Leonard’s shoulder as the other continued to catch his breath and gathered his bearings, still trying to figure out what was going on.

Jim and Leonard’s heads both snapped up at the same time when they heard a loud creak just to their left. Jim’s eyes narrowed as he stared into the dark, barely lit doorway. Leonard made to get up and grab the shield again but he couldn’t make his legs cooperate. Leonard decided to stare angrily into the darkness instead, sweat and blood trickling down his brow.

After what felt like forever to both Jim and Leonard, a man holding a spear and dressed in traditional Roman style garb, stepped out of the darkness. Jim instinctively placed himself between the man and Leonard, wiping his sweating hands on his pants before quickly picking up his sword from off the ground and holding it halfway in the air in front of him.

Leonard tried to grab at Jim’s pants, trying to pull him back but Jim just shook him off and stood his ground, continuing to glare at the man. The man only used his spear to point at the dimly lit doorway and said “Come”.

Neither Jim nor Leonard moved a muscle at the man’s words. The man then simply walked out from the doorway, slowly and non threateningly, yet Jim didn’t lower his guard. As the man approached and made his way behind them, Jim moved with him, always placing himself between the man and Leonard, despite the others protests of still trying to grab Jim back.

“Go.” The man said again as he lowered his spear and pointed to the door, yet made no other moves.

“Jim, maybe we should, what else are we going to…” Leonard whispered quietly to Jim, seeing no other choice besides fighting but the man was obviously not threatening them and they were exhausted. Jim’s eyes darted to Leonard for a split second, he was bleeding and tired. Jim wasn’t fairing much better, but if the man tried something, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

When the man made no more moves but to keep pointing at the door, Jim eventually lowered his sword before dropping it into the sand next to Leonard’s shield. Jim backed up slowly, not taking his eyes off the man, and stood beside Leonard once more.

“Come on Bones, lets get you up.” Jim said as he put his arm underneath Leonard’s shoulder and helped him out of the sand and to his feet. Jim glanced back at the doorway and slowly started inching his way toward it, still keeping himself between the man and Leonard. Jim kept his arm around Leonard, helping him walk to the door. Jim knew Leonard had to be tired when the other didn’t protest at the assistance.

Jim led them through the doorway, slowly, still on high alert for anything amiss. The only thing he got was the door slamming behind him, causing him to hesitate, making the man behind them jab him in the back with his spear to make Jim keep walking. Jim hesitantly kept walking them both down the dimly lit hallway, after giving the man behind them a stern glare.

“You’ve done well. The Emperor is pleased.” The man holding the spear said quietly as they rounded a corner.

“Emperor? Who are you? What do you want with us?” Jim fired off as the man finally broke the silence. He was hoping for answers but didn’t really expect the man to answer any of his questions, and it was quickly confirmed when the man just laughed at his confusion as he stopped them in front of a large door.

“Inside.” The man said, nodding in the direction of the open door. Jim didn’t bother arguing and shuffled himself and Leonard inside the door. Jim sat Leonard down gently on the straw floor. Leonard groaned softly as he slid to the floor, landing with a soft “thump”.

“You alright Bones?” Jim asked as he took Leonard’s face into his hands, looking the doctor over, his stark blue eyes full of concern.

“I’m fine Jim, but your hands are filthy. No telling what kind of germs are in this place.” Leonard groused as he slowly pried his head from Jim’s grasp. Jim rolled his eyes, amused as he put his hand on Leonard’s leg and hoisted himself up. Jim walked around the fairly small room, no windows, only tall wooden walls with the door they walked in, the only means of escape. Jim sighed in frustration, continuing to look around for something, anything to give him a clue.

“Jim, stop. We’ll figure it out, but for now come over here and rest.” Leonard said softly as his eyes followed Jim around the room. Jim stopped for a moment and glared at the wall in frustration. As much as he knew Leonard was right, at the same time he didn’t want to admit defeat and continued to check the walls in vain.

“Jim…” Leonard said more sternly this time. Jim heaved a heavy sigh and admitted defeat for now and made his way over to Leonard and slid his way down the wall next to him. Jim rested his head on Leonard shoulder and let out a small huff. Leonard chuckled and patted Jim’s leg as he laid his head on top of Jim’s ruffled hair.

The two of them ended up dozing off, for how long neither of them knew. They were both startled awake when the door to the room creaked open loudly. Leonard and Jim’s eyes snapped open just in time to see another man being shoved roughly into the room, landing face first in the straw. They both stared from the man to the soldiers until one soldier came in carrying two trays and plopped them down next to Jim and Leonard.

The soldiers left as quickly as they came and both men were stunned for a few moments before Leonard got up slowly, sore from the earlier fight, and made his way over to the man. Leonard knelt down next to the man and checked his breathing and his pulse.

“You with me?” Leonard said loudly as he smacked the mans face a couple of times. That’s all it took for the man to come around. His eyes flew open as he scrambled up to his feet, knocking Leonard on his ass in the process. Jim was over Leonard in a flash, not sure what the man was going to do.

The man calmed down quickly, finally getting his bearings and realizing that he was outnumbered. Jim and Leonard both retreated back to their side of the room, not taking their eyes off the man.

“Easy you two. You’ll find no trouble with me. Best to save your energy.” The man said as he slid himself down slowly against the wall on the opposite side of the room, exhausted and still bleeding from his various wounds.

“Who are you? What is this?” Why are we here?” Jim said quickly, he wanted some answers and this guy was going to give them.

“As for who I am, that’s unimportant, but who we are is the same. Noxii.” The man answered with a grim smile as he held his bloody arm closer to his chest.

“A what now?” Leonard asked, arching an eyebrow, halfway looking from Jim to the mystery man for a clue.

“Noxii, basically slaves or criminals used for fodder in gladiator events, lucky us.” Jim replied with what almost sounded like a scoff, like he was offended.

“As for the what and why, I think you can pretty much figure that one out. You seem to be pretty smart.” The man spoke once more, closing his eyes as he finished his sentence. Jim let out a small bark of a laugh, a little from the humor, but mostly from nerves. This was going to be a tough one to get themselves out of.

“And don’t even think of trying to escape. They’ll find you, they always do. No one has escaped and survived. Your best chance is to stay here, fight and hope you survive and earn your freedom.” The man added in, peering over with one eye cracked, as if reading Jim’s mind.

“Might as well get some rest, the two of you are going to need it.” The man suggested as he made to lay down on the hay lined floor, trying to get comfortable and closed his eyes.

“What the hell do we do, Jim?” Leonard asked quietly, still trying to take in this whole situation.

“We play the game. If they want a show, well give them a show.” Jim said simply, shrugging his shoulders, as he too lay down on the hay floor, glancing at the trays the soldier dropped off earlier. There was a little bit of bread, cheese and grapes on each tray. Jim dug in hungrily and offered Leonard some cheese.

“Oh good, another one of your death defying schemes. I can’t hardly wait.” Leonard let out a small sigh as he took the cheese without another word, not realizing till now how hungry he had become.

Jim went to offer the wounded man some bread but he refused. Jim shrugged and sat down next to Leonard as the other ate some of the grapes. Jim finished off some of the bread before curling up on the floor, exhausted. Leonard followed soon after and curled into Jim. It doesn’t take either of them long to fall fast asleep.

Jim and Leonard were woken abruptly when the cell door was flung open and soldiers marched in and they were both roughly lifted into the air and onto their feet.

“Hey!” Jim shouted as they were being manhandled, trying to grab his arms out of the soldiers grasp. Leonard grumbled some obscene, choice words as he fought back slightly against the soldiers. The soldiers didn’t care and ushered them both unceremoniously out into the hall.

Leonard and Jim both walked down the hallway, angry at being woken up so roughly. They were led to yet another room like the one they were in before when they first woke up.

“Fantastic.” Leonard grumbled as the door shut behind them with a loud click, plunging them both into darkness once more.

This time at least the two of them were semi aware of what was going to happen next. They both stood next to each other in the darkness, waiting for whatever would happen next. Both of them practically vibrating with tension as they counted down the minutes that felt like hours.

After what felt like forever, the door finally creaked open slowly, bathing the small room in bright light. The two of them tentatively made their way to the edge of the doorway, Jim being the first to peer outside. When his head broke the doorway, the entire stadium erupted into loud, raucous cheers.

Jim stepped out fully into the light and surveyed their surroundings, trying his best to ignore the cheers of the crowd. After confirming that the coast was clear, for now, he motioned for Leonard to follow behind him. When Leonard stepped out, the crowd only got louder.

While the two were still looking around them, noting obstacles and walls that were randomly placed, when suddenly the sound of more doors opening filled the air around them. Leonard and Jim immediately went back to back, looking in the direction of the doors that just opened.

The two stood together, neither moving a muscle. The air was thick with anticipation, both of them remembering their previous experience all too clearly. They both stood their ground as they watched numerous other men peek their heads out of their respective doorways, all looking utterly terrified.

“I don’t think they’re the enemy, Jim.” Leonard said as he glanced around, noting their behavior and the looks on all of their faces.

“I don’t either, Bones.” Jim stated flatly, eyes trained on one doorway that was still closed. “We need to find weapons, armor, anything.” Jim added in, looking around quickly, never taking his eyes off the door for too long.

“Over there!” Leonard shouted and nudged Jim with his arm, pointing over to where their previous days weapon and shield lay. Jim and Leonard rushed over and grabbed the weapons, and just in time too.

The last door finally started to creak open slowly. All the men that were still in the doorway ran out into the arena and scrambled towards Leonard and Jim, the only ones with any sort of weapon. The men scrambled around them, ducking behind whatever cover they could find.

“Maybe we should follow suit, Jim.” Leonard said a little nervous, holding his shield up as much as he could, glancing from Jim to the open door.

“In a second. I want to know what we're dealing with.” Jim replied, his eyes trained on the dark doorway.

The sound of hooves suddenly filled the arena as a big, black Andalusian came trotting out of the cell as a rider, dressed in light Roman armor, armed with a bow and arrow, egged his steed on into the arena.

The man suddenly stopped the horse as he saw Leonard and Jim standing out in the open. He quickly drew his bow and arrow and sent an arrow sailing in between the tiny gap that separated the pair. Leonard flinched and moved away, Jim stood his ground, glaring at the man as if daring him to knock another arrow.

“Come on you idiot! Get down! Do you want to be a shish kabob?” Leonard yelled to Jim as he grabbed him and forced him to take shelter behind a small wall closest to them. Leonard glared at Jim for a few moments, angry at Jim’s stupidity, but it soon went away, that wasn’t what was important right now.

“What do we do, Jim?” Leonard asked as the sound of the horses hooves hitting harshly and kicking up the sand, filled his ears, drowning out the shouts and cheers of the crowd.

“Simple, survive.” Jim answered easily while glancing around the wall, trying to size up his opponent, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“I hope you have a plan, Jim.” Leonard replied as his grip tightened around his shield. Jim smiled in reply and gave Leonard a small wink. Leonard didn’t have a good feeling about this, but he trusted Jim. He had gotten them both out of similar situations, mostly intact.

Leonard shut his eyes for a moment and steeled himself. He let out a big breath and brought his shield up and placed it standing up in the sand.

“I’m with you Jim.” Leonard said finally as he brought himself up on one knee, his hand resting on Jim’s shoulder.

“I knew I could count on you Bones. Let’s do this.” Jim said, bringing himself up as well with a large grin on his face, careful not to stick his head above the wall.

“I’m so going to regret this.” Leonard mumbled as Jim went to move to a different shelter with a better view, and closer to the other men. Leonard reluctantly following suit, this wasn’t going to be pretty.

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coeurdastronaute · 8 years ago

Text

Giant: Ch. 4

When you know I don't have nowhere else to go Does it feel good to leave me on my own?

Previously on Giant

Though it was summer, too much happened after the funeral. Lena stayed at her apartment in the city for the summer. Work kept her busy, preparing for grad school kept her exhausted, keeping an eye on her father and brother kept her borderline crazy. Long ago, her duty washed away any artifact of herself, and of that she was damn near certain.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but if they had to place blame, it was time and distance and life. In moments of frustration, when Kara would think about her friend, she second-guessed every step taken since that moment on the beach when they could have ran away. And as summer slipped into fall, and the year passed as it was known to do, with little regard for anyone arguing against it, Kara found herself far away from Lena, seeing her more in newspapers than in real life, getting voicemail more often than not.

Superman grew in popularity, grew in responsibilities, and reading the newspapers and seeing the toll it took on her cousin, just affirmed Kara’s mission to be normal, to have a proper, non-alien life.

There were a few lunches after school started again after the holidays. A few nights of drinks. A hang out one weekend, but other than that, everything stopped, and neither Kara nor Lena knew how or why or when to save it. Instead, they grasped at straws.

Lena felt herself getting pulled deeper into research in order to keep up with her brother, to counteract anything he came up with or tried. He worried her sick, kept her up at night with this sick feeling that her father wouldn’t listen to, despite her protests.

After the funeral, Lena pulled away. Gone was this seeming bright spot in their universe, gone was the woman who brought balance to her and kept the family rooted. She only made it into one semester of grad school before she found herself moving to Metropolis, tugging the friends even farther apart.

Eventually, a month turns into missed calls and texts, turns into just growing up and growing apart. Every single August twentieth, without fail, no matter where they were or what was happening, they ended up on the top of the water tower back in Midvale, waiting for each other.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Kara smiled as Lena crawled up the ladder behind her, her heels kicked down at the bottom in favor of bare feet and summer. She helped the youngest Luthor take her seat.

“This night has been the only thing I’ve looked forward to in months,” Lena confessed as Kara pulled her into a tight hug.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in decades.”

“I saw you… New Years. And your graduation.”

“I guess this is what becoming an adult is like,” Kara sighed. “How’s Metropolis?”

“It’s… tall. Everything is so big,” she realized. “It’s a lot of trying to do what my mom did, and also what my dad does. I don’t know. I like my little office where I get to build things.”

“How’s things going with Lex and Lionel? I’ve seen… um…” Kara fiddled with the railing. “I saw the quotes in the paper… about Superman, and weapons.”

“It’s like babysitting toddlers. But making money on people’s fears is working.”

“Did you… um. What Lex said, at the funeral? Kryptonite?”

“I was doing some digging into it. I think… I don’t think it's harmful to humans, but it could accelerate already malignant cells. And Dad was doing research on it in his office at home. I don’t want to think about it, honestly. She had it in her, and something happened to accelerate it. It’s that simple. She’s gone. Nothing changes that.”

“How are you?” Kara asked in a whisper.

The science and business part was easy to talk about, thinking about anything else was difficult and painful. But Kara smiled and the sun was out and Lena remembered the feeling of sand and simpler times. She became a different person near Kara, someone she wasn’t quite sure existed anymore any other time.

“I’m alright. Good as can be. How have you been?”

It was easy to trigger a ramble, and just as it started, Lena breathed a sigh of relief, welcoming it yet again, something true and honest and adorable. The only good thing about being apart, about distancing herself was the small, tiny hope that perhaps she’d be a little less in love with her best friend when she saw her again. Lena found herself always disappointed with that fact. Because she would see Kara, and listen to the flowers in her voice, and be reminded of goodness. Oblivious to it at all, Kara didn’t seem to notice the glances or sad smiles Lena had as she reminded herself of these things.

And as she talked about her sister, Kara’s hands would wave around, excited that they lived in the same place now. And when she talked about her new apartment and how nervous she was for her job, Lena promised it would be okay, and she would be magnificent.

The night rolled on, and the city looked exactly the same as they could remember from every other year. Five other nights they’d done this exact thing, looked at the exact view, were mesmerized by its exact feeling.

Lena wasn’t afraid of her answers for Kara. She might be the only person she didn’t have to be guarded from or against.

“I don’t know. I like Superman,” Kara shrugged. “Kind of nice to think of someone just trying to help people.”

“I see both sides,” Lena agreed. “But Lex has a point. What stops him from… being human? From losing control and leveling Metropolis or DC. If he’s human enough to understand justice, isn’t he human enough to be corrupted?”

“I… Well. It. He wouldn’t.”

“Can you be certain?” Kara remembered the night she beat someone raw, put him in a coma for three days, how she didn’t want to stop, how she couldn’t make herself.

“Yes,” she decided with a nod, steeling herself. “That’s part of why he’s so important. He’s the thing we get to believe in.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“They can be.”

“The last time things were simple, we were sitting on a beach and you wouldn’t run away with me. Since then, we’ve had aliens and weapons and space rocks and near disasters.”

“Were you serious that night?” Kara asked, leaning her cheek on her elbow that hung over the rail. She stared at the profile of her friend who clenched her jaw and flexed it, the telltale sign she was upset and swallowing it.

“You know I was.” It came out through gritted teeth and with a sigh.

The look was hard and honest, toO honest for Kara. To help herself, she retreated to the safest form of self-denial.

“So, I saw those pictures of you and that girl,” she needled, chuckling as she nudged her friend’s shoulder with her own. “What’s her name again?”

“Veronica?”

“She looks like a model.”

“She’s… okay,” Lena shrugged with a coy grin. “We’ve had dinner a few times. You know how the tabloids read into anything.”

“I can’t imagine dating a Luthor would ever be easy.”

“Yeah,” Lena remembered. “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

“Your brother’s engagement got called off. Was it because of that?”

“Of what?”

“It being hard, to be in love with a Luthor.”

“My mom once said that being in love with a Luthor was like being in love with a wildfire. Beautiful and keeps you warm, gives you life and helps keep the scary things out, but if you leave it unattended it’ll burn the world down. I guess we’re prone to being high maintenance.”

“I don’t know. If I was lucky enough to love a Luthor, it’d probably feel pretty good, to be loved by something capable of such things. Like Superman, the power for destruction comes from the same reserve as the power to love, you just have to pick which one you want to live by.”

“That would explain why my dad is still grieving.”

“He loved so hard it filled him up.”

“That’s a nice thought,” Lena smiled and leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder.

In the distance, the waves were crashing. Kara heard them before she focused on Lena’s breathing and the grip her friend had on her arm.

“I told you.”

“Told me what?” Kara sighed, resting her cheek on her friend’s hair. She turned her head and dug her nose into the crown.

“It’s too late. We should have left while we had the chance.”

“We can still go. Book a flight tonight. I’ve been enamored with Morocco lately.”

“It’s too late,” Lena simply repeated and held her bicep harder. “My brother and father need me too much, and you are about to start your life. We missed our shot.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do.”

“No Morocco with me?”

“I’d leave right now if it was an option,” Lena smiled as lips kissed her head and she felt Kara take a huge breath. “Every year we come up here, I feel a little farther away from... I don’t know what... from just something. Like... life is pulling me like a riptide away from shore, and the more I struggle, the worse it gets.”

“I’m a fantastic swimmer,” Kara whispered, earning a chuckle. “I get it though. I can kick and struggle and try to figure it out, but its never simple. For me it’s like a funhouse. Where I open every door hoping that what I’m looking for is on the other side, and the second before I swing it open, I have all of this confidence, and then I open it and I’m just... more confused.”

“About what?”

“Life... I don’t know. I guess if I knew that’d help.”

“You were crafted for great things. I knew it the moment I met you.”

“Yeah?”

“Without a doubt.”

“I thought that you were by far the coolest thing to ever exist,” Kara confessed. “Even in that moment, I knew you’d be important. Not just to me. But to the world.”

Far out, the sun came up behind them, the sky turned that fait kind of grey. Lena’s heart did flips and she gave up her struggle against the riptide that was her last name and duty.

“Morocco you said?”

The arrest came just after a rather lonesome holiday. Christmas spent alone in the house on the edge of Metropolis while her brother stomped around and her father retracted more within to himself, Lena was grateful to be back at work, until the arrest came.

Splashed across the news, pictures of the billionaire’s face with the title of War Profiteer smeared across it. The lawyers worked around the clock to get it dismissed, but the idea of Lionel the terrorist, creating weapons of mass destruction, it was too big. The videos were of him being led out in handcuffs, screaming against the government, against Superman, his own innocence as to how that bomb in Central Station was designed to save them all.

Hundreds of people died. Chaos reigned and more was promised. Hatred reared its head with the voice of Lionel Luthor elevating it to national discourse. The greatest threat to the world wasn’t itself, but aliens. And Lena watched it all happen, unable to form a word.

Kara tried to call, but the voicemail was full. She sent emails and texts, but got no answer. It was to be expected. Every day, she looked at the paper at the newsstand and saw Lena’s face, strong and resigned, behind her father in the orange jumpsuit.

It was fast, the fall of LuthorCorp. Even before the verdict was announced, the stocks started to plummet. When he was cast guilty and thrown in prison, Kara watched the announcement on the news, where Lex and Lena stood up and he said he was taking over the business, that his father was wrongly persecuted for trying to help the public.

That very same night, Kara decided she couldn’t wait any longer. It’d been months between using her powers, but she flew and strained to find Lena in the chaos of the world. It came as a surprise to find her back at the home in Midvale, but still, Kara smiled as she touched down on the familiar balcony.

The rest of the house was silent, but a familiar playlist echoed through the speakers, one that Kara always mocked the pristine, palaced princess for having, that no one else would ever know about, the oldest, most classic punk rock, the good stuff, as Lena had explained though Kara never appreciated it, it blared and for a second, Kara thought about the teenage girl who danced around to a similar song, with a beer in her hand and a soccer trophy in the other senior year.

She looked more relaxed than the girl on the television. Gone were the pearls and the tight dress, the perfect make up and the tight pony tail. Back again was sweatpants that had seen better days and an old college work out shirt with the name Luthor still there, despite fading from being washed so often.

This was her Lena, the Lena she knew and understood. So often, she found herself looking at her friend’s picture and seeing those dead, cold eyes, with nothing but malice behind them. So often, she was unsure if they were directed at her or the world or both.

It felt as if they grew up quickly and were being pulled apart, and Kara didn’t know how to stop it, and then she would see Lena, and it was as if the world made sense, and that feeling was made up in her own head.

“I half-expected you to show up,” she muttered without looking up from her packing. “Like my own personal Superman, you just swoop in and out when you think I need saving. But I don’t, Kara.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t… You… I was worried, Lee. You haven’t called, or emailed.”

Kara barely made it inside the room, deciding to stay close to the door if need be, suddenly feeling very out of place.

“I’ve been a little busy. I should have asked the judge for a recess, you know, so I could text my friend. Because nothing else important was happening.”

“I know, but… It can’t be easy. I know you weren’t--”

“Don’t try to make me feel better. That’s why I haven’t called,” Lena yelled, tossing whatever she was packing on the ground. “I don’t deserve to feel better. Not for what my family did.”

“You’re not your family.”

“Jimmy Garcia. Adrian Yates. Tara Mann. Fred Warren. Celia Wells. Holly Reyes. Darryl Malone. Archie Cohen. Archie Cohen, Jr. Darlene Hardy. Rose Page. Hugh Kim. Gwen Cortez. Dominick Conner. Connie Hanson. Samantha Hanson.”

“Lena...”

“Vernon Hart, fifty three, just welcomed his first granddaughter. Dead. Nina Torres, seventeen, accepted to Kingsmont for the fall. Dead.”

“Lena,” Kara stood a little firmer, moving to take the notebook away from her, the one filled with tiny notes and tiny words that were her reckoning. “Please.”

“Here’s some a little closer to home. Harold “Oikbar” Peters, crashed here from Saxon 5 thirty years ago. Spent his life caring for homeless in the sewers,” Lena shrugged, not stopping. “Or Taulai, the district representative from Southside who was the first elected alien official. Or Dolov from Arawak, who you might know better as Thomas McKirk, the cop who saved a family of four from a mugging last summer.”

“Lena, you can’t--”

“I can’t what, Kara?” she screamed, throwing the notebook until it exploded against a wall. “I know their names. I count them every day, all day. I repeat them like the Rosary. It takes me eight minutes and seventeen seconds to say them all. And then I start over again.”

“You can’t do this to yourself!” Kara yelled back. “You can’t push me away, and you can’t quit.”

“I should have done more.”

“You’re not your family.”

“My father took away people’s mothers and sons and grandpas and I’m just supposed to be okay? I’m not supposed to be okay. I’m supposed to be this fucked up. Do you not get it?”

“You’re not--”

“No, I mean it. Do you not get it? Your dad died, so you’re an expert on pain? I wish my father was dead. I wish I had killed him. Do you know I thought about it? Three months ago, after a meeting.” Kara swallowed and watched the flames dance across Lena’s face and eyes. “It was late, I knew something was happening. In my gut I knew it was bad. I just knew. And I remembered holding this pair of scissors from his desk. Those old, old sharp kind. The heavy kind,” she held up her hand as if they were phantom there. “And I said to myself, ‘Do it. Just do it.’ And I wish to God I had.”

“Lena...” Kara cocked her head and knit her brow. The amount of pity to which she looked at the Luthor was enough to stun the harshest critic. Lena felt the shame rise up like bile in her chest and cheeks and throat. “I know what it’s like to lose everything, to lose your entire world and to always feel like... like... you just don’t fit--”

“This isn’t some damn after school special, Kara,” Lena drank the last bit of Vodka from her glass and threw the empty glass against the wall. “My father wanted to kill Superman. My father lost his mind. My brother is losing his. And I lost everything.”

“Not me. “

The music finally stopped and Lena took a deep breath before running her hand over her forehead. The days caught up with her, the feeling of loss, of not knowing who her father became until she was suddenly the last one standing in their family home, packing up the remaining bits before it was potentially sold. It fell on her, and she lost both of her parents, and she didn’t know why or how or when she became this person who didn’t deserve saving.

“You’re always the one that has to come help me. I don’t need help!” she yelled.

“I know, but I thought you might need a friend anyway.”

“SuperKara, here to cheer me up once again,” Lena sighed and took a seat on the couch. The glare she gave her friend was challenging, begging her to tell her the truth. She was exhausted and weak. “Just go, please. I can’t… don’t attach yourself to me. I mean it. It’s dangerous.”

“You’re a full-time job, Luthor,” Kara smiled. “So, do you want to drink too much and dance around to this terrible music, or are you too fancy and cultured now?” She ignored her friend’s words because that was all they were. “I don’t scare easy. I’m not going anywhere, Lee.”

For too long, Lena stared at Kara from under a heavy, gloomy brow. Too much concentration went into this. She wanted to yell and kick and tell her to leave and never look back, but it was impossible and she was weak.

"Please go.”

“You’re no match for me, and I like that. Makes me feel powerful,” Kara observed. “Scotch it is.”

“Please, Kara.”

“Shut up,” she groaned and picked up one of the half empty bottles from an already packed box. “You don’t scare me.”

“That’s one of the reasons.”

The evening, they passed it commiserating and complaining, Lena upset and reeling against her father, against what her life would become, against what a mistake it all was. Kara listened, feeding her alcohol and promising it couldn’t get worse. And Lena danced and yelled, they bowled with old vases in the hall, they slid down the bannisters and skidded around on socks and fancy floors.

Eventually, the liquor caught up and Lena fell asleep on the mattress they dragged into the living room. Kara took great pride in at least helping her friend for the night, a small drop in a large bucket of what her future held as a Luthor.

By the time the first bit of sunlight slipped through the windows, just above the trees, Lena woke with a throbbing headache and a blonde curled against her side.

“Two more hours,” Kara begged, rolling over.

For too long Lena laid there in her empty home and let the foggy thoughts of her father come back to reality. She knew what was coming and what she had to do. Though she half thought Kara would come by because of her uncanny ability to just know when Lena needed her, she full prayed that she wouldn’t. It made it a little harder, to protect her.

Lena let Kara sleep, left the note on her pillow, and said goodbye to her home. Before Kara even woke, her friend was on the plane, running as best she could.

The first summer Lena missed their standing date at the water tower, Kara didn’t want to believe it. She sat there for hours, just in case, making a million excuses. Even though she’d gone months without a glimpse or word from her friend, she had this mighty, irrevocable belief that this mattered more than anything else.

It made sense though, and she couldn’t find it in herself to hold it against Lena. Her father killed people, trafficked in dangerous weapons, waged a war against aliens. It was a lot to have attached to a name, and her brother was not shying away from the same kind of roving madness, ruthless in business and weeding himself a nice plot of future space tech, reaping the benefits of his fear that was shared by more and more people. Lena escaped because it was safer, because it was good for her, and Kara took some solace in that, or at least she tried.

Still, she sent emails and texts and called from time to time, though the voicemail stayed full and everything went unanswered. She wanted to search, to fly up and hunt her down, just to see her, to make sure she was safe and happy, but Kara respected the need Lena must have felt to escape. She’d been right, that if they didn’t leave, they’d never escape, and Lena did what she had to do.

The second summer, Kara was excited. Superman was a hero and popular beyond reproach. She had a new job, almost a dream job, working for an amazing woman, surrounded by people she thought of as friends. She had a new apartment, and a cranky neighbor, and her mother was happy, and Alex was around, sometimes, more often.

It felt like a kick in the chest, like shotgun blast at close range, like a boulder landed on her when she realized Lena wasn’t coming. It was almost perfect, and then Lena didn’t show.

The rest of the year was spent with half glimpses of eyes that were a hue off from the green she loved. The rest of the year was spent like the previous ones, occasionally searching for Lena Luthor. Her heart ached so hard, she was certain it would hurt less to yank it out completely. Those were the moments she sat on the water tower and realized she’d loved her. They were followed by the moments signaling she’d lost her.

The third year, Kara had hope again. Lex in jail, the tragedy of the battle between Superman and the metal suit wearing Luthor replayed for months after, the death toll, the fact that Clark left soon after, leaving the world without their symbol, coming back only when Lionel escaped. It all pointed to Lena coming back, taking her place as the last standing Luthor.

Supergirl existed, in the world. Kara took the night off though, knowing that Lena had to show eventually, that she had to miss her, that the mess between the Luthors and the Supers was nothing, because it didn’t have to be.

With a sigh, Kara left the little box and present she brought for her friend atop the water tower and flew home, vowing the same thing she did every year, that she would never go back.

Deep down she knew it was a lie.

The top floor of Catco was always a state of organized chaos, a fact that Kara was always in constant battle in, one that she occasionally was able to beat out, until she got her job moonlighting like her cousin. Now, she more often than not just tried to manage the chaos as best she could, a juggling act that took a lot of energy, but felt rewarding enough.

Long ago, Clark had been right, to tell her to just be normal, and finally, Kara felt as if she had the best of both worlds, she found the balance of herself.

“Didn’t you used to know her?” Winn asked, staring at one of the screens projecting one of the news channels Catco ran.

“Who?” Kara didn’t bother looking up, busy sorting Ms. Grant’s mail in the order she liked.

“Lena Luthor.”

The name felt foreign and far away, but the girl on the screen was a blast from the past, was a sight for sore eyes, reminded Kara of a part of herself that was long since gone.

“We went to school together,” she swallowed and nodded, adjusting her glasses as she watched.

The years had been kind to her, Kara realized, as she gulped and let her eyes make the trip up Lena’s profile, from her long legs, to her round hips, to her tight dress, to the same jaw and lips and nose and those eyes that Kara could never forget. She was beautiful and strong and so far away despite never being closer. There was no mistaking that Lena Luthor was beautiful, always had been, and it made Kara’s throat dry in the same way the fact always did.

It was an unfortunate realization to have, that she was still in love with her, that she still felt angry and betrayed. But there stood Lena, the girl who laid on the grass with her after letting her do hand stands instead of studying, who stole heart-shaped sunglasses and drank wine that turned her lips so red they looked delicious. There stood Lena, and Kara felt her heart sink into her shoes.

“Can you imagine?”

“What?”

“Having the same last name as someone who murdered so many people in one instant?”

“She didn’t have anything to do with it though,” Kara argued, not able to move her eyes from the screen of the girl who smiled, that fake, Luthor smile, as she took a podium.

“I heard the tech at her company is miles ahead of DOJ models. Alien detection, surveillance, intelligence, bio-engineering,” he whistled appreciatively. “I’ve seen her work. She’s brilliant. Sucks that she’s a Luthor and will be put down by Supergirl.”

Kara couldn’t help it, she ripped the stack of mail in half, staring at it in her hands before coughing and trying to cover it up. On the news, Lena spoke about being a publically traded company, with full transparency, and for a second, Kara believed her, her default setting. For just the briefest, most shameful of instants, she had the thought to roll her eyes at the thought of Lena ever being transparent, even just slightly.

After the quick briefing on the news, Kara found herself unable to think of anything other than her old friend. She couldn’t even stop herself from hovering outside, watching her work, surprised to find her still there, afraid almost that she was a mirage.

Accidentally, or so she told herself, Kara found herself walking in the park during the unveiling of L Corp. The press flashed and took pictures, the board sat behind her, the day was full of morbid fascination, though for a different reason than why the alien found herself blending into the crowd.

“My mother was a force of good in the world, and before the wayward actions of my father and brother, our company was a strong name, a good, honest name that emphasized the good, that grew ideas, fostered brilliant thinkers, lived outside of the box,” Lena explained into the microphone, strong and firm.

Gone was the angry girl who complained about soccer scores and blasted terrible punk, replacing it was a demure woman who Kara saw as so much Lillian Luthor, so much perfection, it was daunting.

Kara met her eyes and remembered the feeling of crushing her lock between fourth and fifth period so, so long ago.

“From our company came good research and products that drove sales, not sales that drove our research. We traded in hope, not profited from fear. After the actions of my family, I wear my name and feel the debt it owes to this world, to our community, and we here at L Corp plan to pay it back, tenfold. I only ask that we be judged on the merit of our actions moving forward, as a whole, and not by the past outbursts by two individuals.”

She wasn’t sure if Lena saw her, or even if she did, if she recognized her, but Kara held her gaze until the youngest Luthor looked down at her notes and smiled to herself, small and different than the assuring ones she gave to the press.

“I left after my father. I wanted to get away, to be my own person, and I ignored the signs of my brother’s madness. I left because I am human and decisions are hard things to make. Not a day goes by that I don’t personally blame myself for my contribution to the horrors of my family by simply deciding to look away. We will not look away again,” she promised, finding Kara again. “L Corp will look directly in the eyes of what scares us the most and not shirk our responsibilities.”

There were a few forgiving claps, a few gentle mumbles in the crowd. Kara held her breath and disappeared into the crowd, unable to handle those eyes or that person.

One month in, and Lena was exhausted. Only just after lunch and she found herself in her office with her fingers massaging her forehead as it worried over stacks of budgets and proposals. She knew it would be a slow start, even a non-started, to rebrand, to start again. She knew no one would trust her name, but deep down, despite trying not to, she believed her father’s words, that the power her name had came when she gave power to it. It was impossible odds, but it was what she was meant to do, and despite what happened to her family, she was going to do it.

For just a moment, she sat back in her chair and turned toward the sun that streamed through her balcony windows, allowing it to warm her face and ease the tension in her jaw. She gave herself another chance, to hover of Kara’s name in her phone, to will herself to press the button. But she didn’t know how, didn’t know what to say or even if Kara would pick up. But she thought she saw those eyes at the press conference, she was certain.

With another frustrated sigh, for about the seventieth time that month, Lena tossed her phone onto her desk and went back to rubbing her forehead.

“Miss Luthor, it’s time to leave for your meeting,” Jess called over the intercom. “Shall I tell them to wait?”

“I’ll be upstairs in two minutes. Make sure you gather the prospectus from the legal team together, and the files from the pitches for small business loans. I’ll take them home with me tonight. “

“Yes ma’am. Would you like to schedule a meeting with Catco, they want a quote on the Alien Amnesty Bill. They’ve called a dozen times.”

“Not just yet.”

Lena shrugged on her coat and grabbed her bag before making her way out into the hall where her assistant was still talking to her over the intercom.

“Be sure to schedule my lobotomy and or death by firing squad for first thing in the morning. Try to get out of here early, Jess,” Lena smiled. “If the boss is away, let the mice play. Just have those things sent over to my place.”

“Yes ma’am,” she nodded with a smile, renewed with the duties of her job in the hopes of getting out so much earlier than she’d been the past few weeks.

Carefully, Lena used a side door and took the stairs until she reached the creaky thing at the top of the building where the helicopter waited, it’s blades lazily swinging around, waiting for her.

“Hi, Billy,” she smiled and took her seat, putting on the headphones. “Skies look lovely today.”

“Not nearly as lovely as you,” he nodded politely to her. “You break my heart, Ms. Luthor.”

“I’ll tell your wife,” she teased, glad to have friends, or people she paid that came back despite her brother and his rage firing of the entire staff she grew up beside. “Get us there in one piece this time, will you?”

“Fly me to the moon,” he crooned. “Let me play among the stars….”

His voice wasn’t terrible, and Lena liked the elderly pilot. He was reliable and made her get over her fear of flying. He was nice enough to share the banana bread his wife baked from time to time, and those were important things to Lena.

It was a short flight, just across town to a research lab on the outskirts, in the warehouse district near the port. It would save her about an hour of traffic, and it was a beautiful kind of commute, with onboard entertainment in the form of butchered Sinatra ballads.

They made it halfway before the systems started going haywire and the explosion from the back blade severed it in half. The entire carriage began spinning at a terrifying speed as it dropped and loped its way toward the ground.

Somewhere between realizing she was going to die and hitting the ground, the force made Lena pass out. Not until a familiar pair of blue eyes were staring down at her and soft hands were rubbing her cheeks did she furrow and realize she didn’t.

Her senses came back slowly, but sitting in the field where Supergirl gently placed the broken helicopter, Lena second-guessed herself. She furrowed and stared intently at her savior before she nodded and disappeared in a blink.

“James, where are the pictures?” Cat asked, not looking up from her desk as she perused the layout for next week's magazine. “The ones of Supergirl saving her and the others.”

Kara clung to her notebook and tried to focus, while the bulk of her effort went toward figuring out who was trying to kill Lena Luthor. She caught bits and pieces of the conversation, most of it mingling somewhere with the evidence her sister has collected after the attack on the helicopter.

“It’s an effective stunt,” the editor waved her hand. “I don’t want the Heir to the Luthor Fortune with kids playing soccer. I want the harrowing helicopter attack. I want her dressed up and smirking at men’s ego, eating them for dinner. She’s a giant, and she’s either next to follow in the family footsteps or she’s going to flip it on its head. We need--”

“It’s not a stunt,” Kara murmurs, a familiar name making her ears perk up. She surveyed the image, of Lena at a soccer camp, guarding a little girl and laughing as she moved. If she hadn’t known Lena, she would have said that she was happy.

“What was that Kiera? How many times do I have to ask you to stop mumbling. If you’re going to speak,” she waved her hand disinterestedly, already bored with repeating.

“She’s… It’s. Not. She’s played since she was five. Won a state championship. Played in college. She likes the game. She set up a few camps in low income communities with her mother and Kingsmont University.”

Even without the pure silence that followed, Kara knew to be embarrassed, but she couldn’t stop once she started, and so she kept talking until it was all out there. She felt nine sets of eyes on her and she closed her eyes for longer than a blink, hoping a merciful god would let the floor envelope her.

Cat’s face betrayed nothing. Instead, she was the first to move, pulling her glasses off of her nose and setting them on the desk.

“You, Kiera, are either an incredibly boring stalker, or perhaps happen to know Ms. Lena Luthor from your dreadfully dull childhood, and have since remembered this fact just this minute, seeing as I’ve been personally calling in every favor I could to try to get her to sit down with this publication for the last six weeks!” Her voice rose as she spoke and Kara swallowed before meeting her eyes again. “Which is it, Kiera? Are you a boring stalker or potentially fired?”

“Potentially fired,” Kara whispered.

“Out. Everyone out.”

Her eyes never left her assistant’s face as the room emptied in a shuffle. She didn’t move until the door closed, at which point Cat leaned back and gestured for her assistant to sit.

“Ms. Grant, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just… It felt unfair to dismiss something important, or that you think would diminish her power or na--”

“You’re talking.”

“Sorry.”

“How well do you know Lena Luthor?”

“Um,” Kara thought for a second, genuinely thought about it, as it was, perhaps, more complex than Cat Grant could realize.

At one point, she might have said she knew her as well as she knew herself. Maybe she still did. But Kara was stung with the rejection of abandonment, and it clouded her. Long years, and sitting on a water tower alone, it made her think twice. And then she thought about stopping the helicopter, her heart freezing, unable to beat as she wrenched open the door and carried Lena out of it, checking for a pulse after the explosion. And just like that, sitting there with emerald eyes on her, time hadn’t passed.

“Um,” she shook her head again. “You know. Well enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Since senior year. We were, um, inseparable. She was my best friend, I think, next to my sister.”

“The abridged version,” she snapped her fingers and leaned forward.

“I haven’t spoken to Lena since she disappeared before her brother’s… you know,” she shrugged, adjusting her glasses.

“Perfect. Don’t you think it’s time for a reunion?”

“I couldn’t… No. I wouldn’t. I. No,” Kara huffed slightly. “No. There’s… no way. I don’t--”

“I think it’s time for a reunion,” Cat decided. “She won’t speak to the press about anything other than that damn company. If you want an honest story, unbiased and not absolutely boring to our readers, I’d suggested you make it happen.”

“Ms. Grant I--”

“That is all.”

#supercorp

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waywardfeathered · 6 years ago

Text

tragedybefalls‌ ☾ dean .

it takes everything in him to wade back through the darkness to the pinprick of light calling his name. he wants so desperately to stay here in the blanket of darkness, to just stop for a moment. and he doesn’t know how long it takes, but blurry, unfocused eyes blink open. cas is a hazy figure, even as close as he is, and it requires almost the remnants of his energy to wave the angel away.

“‘m fine,” he mumbles. “jus’ tired.” he straightens, swaying a moment. “think – think i’m gonna –” flattens a hand on the table as leverage to push himself to his feet. “bed.” he takes one step and nearly falls, his hand on the table the only thing keeping him upright. eyes close for a moment as the world spins. he knows something is wrong. he knows sleep isn’t going to fix this.

“cas –” it’s a warning, dean’s tone shaky. vision swims, a ringing high in his ears, the weight of his heart beating sinking against him. “i don’t,” he starts, fingers digging into the wood of the table. “i don’t feel so good.”

and then he’s falling, the darkness claiming him as it’s own.

you’re not... but he can’t get the words out, too terrified. he lays a hand onto the side of dean’s neck, steadies him with a gentle grip on his upper arm with his other hand. this isn’t normal exhaustion, cas knows that much.

“hey, hey, hey,” he mumbles, trying to become a calming presence, but failing. he sinks onto the floor with the other man, as he collapses.

instinct has castiel gather his ability to heal, using every last bit of energy he has to try to fix... he doesn’t know what he’s trying to fix, and it doesn’t work. doesn’t work even as he gasps from the sheer drain of energy, trying again, and again, in half-panic, unwilling to lose his everything again, not now, not when they only got him back hours ago!

he snaps out of it, can’t be more than a few minutes later, with sam, jack and mary hovering over them.

“we need to... hospital,” he says, humane instinct taking over a celestial creature, grasping for every straw he comes up with.

he refuses to lose dean, again.

#tragedybefalls #; no matter where you go i will find you [tragedybefalls / dean]#; you deserve to be saved [fallenandfailedverse]#; tragedybefalls / dean / 038

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imaginingmyforest · 8 years ago

Text

What Peace Brings

Fandom: Elder Scrolls V Skyrim, The

Character: Erandur

TW: Mentions of nightmares, low self esteem, guilt

While you both suffer from the nightmares, neither of you mention it. You pretend everything's normal, go about your days as though the two of you aren't exhausted, that your nights aren't spent in the thralls of Vearmina's revenge. The Daedra is toying with you both, torturing you, and Erandur will speak nothing of it, you know, because his past still haunts him, because he believes this is his penance. And you don't mention your own suffering because you know his is much, much worse. The knowledge would only be a further burden on him, and his soul is burdened enough.

It's another sleepless night, and as you sit, fighting the fatigue that weighs your body down and slumps your shoulders as though in defeat, you watch the sky. You watch the sky so that you don't watch him, as you’ve done too often at times, but instead of watching him you’re thinking of him, which probably isn't much better. At least he won't catch you like this, but you still sigh, staring determinedly at the stars.

The dark sky is beautiful over the expanse of crystal white snow. You’ve been traveling together for some time and, though you won't admit it to him, with no real purpose in mind. He'd offered his companionship and you'd accepted it. You don't need a companion, though you miss company often on your lonely journeys, and you've gone through more than one traveling partner; it’s because you can't leave him there alone in that place, where the dead bodies of his betrayed friends lay just beyond a door, with only a cold altar to his goddess to keep him company. His story, his quest for redemption, his sad eyes and solemn voice, they break your heart.

And you have the uncomfortable feeling that it will be broken all over again someday. In trying to pull one man tied down by demons from his darkness, you had gotten so much more than you'd bargained for. In your time together, you've felt it growing, more and more, these feelings of protectiveness towards him, compassion and even, at times, annoyance. You want him to heal, to move on, to accept himself and love himself and maybe someday love you.

So far, loving him has only caused you more pain. If it isn't Vaermina's nightmares, it’s his own self-induced punishments, his denial of his own happiness and his indentured servitude to the goddess of, ironically, love. By Mara, you hadn't meant to fall in love with him. It’s frustrating and infuriating and a fine line to walk, being so emotionally invested in someone who trusts you so much, who looks at you with those tired eyes and barely notices your flirtings.

Behind you, curled up on his mat and tucked under the warmth of furs, he stirs. You tense, knowing what little bit of peace he'd had till now has ended. His breathing becomes labored, groans fill the air, and you cringe away in shared agony as his first cries begin.

You have to think of something else, have to distract yourself, block him out. You have to keep on pretending you hear nothing, that you don't know. But even if you weren't plagued by nightmares of your own, you still wouldn't sleep at night, not with this. Your heart aches for him, burns your eyes and clenches your throat, digs your nails into your palms and gnaws your lip till it bleeds. If you try to open your mouth, you'll choke. You growl instead, trying to be frustrated instead of helpless.

Slowly, you bring your shaking fingers to your gear and hunt out your blade and whetstone. After dropping it several times to the sound of the Dunmer's pain, you finally are able to hold it steady and run the stone down the length. The deliberate, lengthy motions dull your mind, pulling it away, setting you into a monotonous rhythm that requires all your attention to keep from slipping and cutting yourself. The sound of it is searing, and you pretend his cries are only the sound of the metal beneath stone.

The process can only last so long, however, and soon enough you’ve sharpened all your weapons and his own, as well. Still, he sleeps, caught in the nightmares, and you grow worried. He's never been trapped this long, not without waking up and spending his own lonely hours trying to stave off slumber before being recaptured by the curse. You’ve lain there almost every night, pretending to sleep, knowing he was doing his best not to wake you despite his turmoil. This feels wrong.

You give up your fight and settles down at his bed side. He's on his back, arched up against some invisible force, his eyes tight closed and his face gnarled under the strain of heaving fits. Sweat drenches him, and his hood has slid back behind his neck, pulling, almost forming a noose. The idea scares you, and you move to take it off him. He looks smaller without it, thinner and frailer, his robes loose from his struggles and draping his skeletal frame.

You take a moment, a guilty look, to admire his bare collarbone, the line and shape of his neck and shoulder that the falling fabric has revealed. Then you’re chastising yourself, a roll of your eyes and a click of your teeth, and reaching out to grab that shoulder with purpose. You shake him, just a bit.

"Erandur?"

He makes no response, not to your touch or call. You bite your lip, then try again.

"Erandur?"

He cries out, voice rasping in breathless suffering, but it isn't because of your efforts. It's like he's so deep in the thralls, he's out of reach, and the idea is scaring you. You shake him more roughly this time, panic threatening. You’re being ridiculous, you know. He's always awoken before, he will now, but you'll just feel better once he opens his eyes so you allow your fear to guide you. You call his name again. And again.

It's not working. Frantic, you search around, then comes back with a small bucket of water from a nearby stream. It's freezing, and you feel bad doing this, so you try your best not to soak him. You trickle the liquid over his face, his eyes, and it runs down his cheeks, mingles with the sweat and dirt and facial hair. Your hands shake as the water splashes on your fingers, but your companion gives no sign the cold has penetrated his terrors.

Desperate, you start trying healing spells and potions, but you’re no expert, and none of them make any difference. You give his face a good slap, and are rewarded with further guilt and his continued thrashings, nothing else.

"Oh, come on!" You cry, feeling helpless and useless and terrified that he'll never open his eyes. Trapped forever in Vaermina's realm, dead to all but the nightmares. "Wake up! Please, Erandur, wake up!"

You recall that Erandur isn't his real name and wonder if maybe his subconscious doesn't recognize it, still goes by his birth name. Or maybe it’ll just reach his guilt. Grasping at straws, you’re willing to try it. "Casimir?"

His body seizes, as though trying to hold itself, and you know he heard. He gasps again, and you lean over his chest, calling out. "Casimir! Casimir, wake up! I need you to wake up! Come on, please, Erandur, Casimir, whatever, just come back!"

His arm jerks towards you, grasping your hand tightly, holding it to him like a lifeline. His chest is heaving, but he rolls, curling up around you, and you have hope again, pounding in your ribcage. "Casimir! Fight the nightmares! Curse you, Vaermina, release him! Open your eyes, Casimir!"

With a final convulsion, the tension releases, leaving him in a heap around your body. His eyes are open, fluttering beneath his soggy locks, so you immediately move your fingers into his hair, pushing it back and out of his face. He's still struggling for air, hand limp on you lap, eyes clouded with lingering fear. You keep up the soothing rhythm across his forehead, relief flooding you with all your tenderest feelings, feelings you’re not used to expressing.

It takes several minutes, but he eventually calms, and moves to sit up. Your hand slips away, and you mourn the loss of contact with him instantly. He looks to you, eyes finally free of fear but still lost in pain and grief. "I'm sorry."

You shake your head, dismissing the words, having known him long enough to realize he thought his very existence merited apology. Instead, you fix him with your worried gaze. "Are you alright?"

He nods, and you place your hand on his. You don’t believe him, but you also understand. "You wouldn't wake up. No matter what I did, you just … "

"I fear Vaermina's curse grows stronger, and so does her hold upon my sleeping consciousness. She can no longer feed off our memories, but the world of dreams is still her domain, and we are at her mercy there. Falling prey to brutality that the mind believes is real is just as dangerous as true torture."

You move your hand up again, brushing his hair away, and settle it there against his cheek. You're lost in his red eyes, that haze of sadness that seems to symbolize his entirety. Slowly, you ask again, searching that gaze. "Are you alright?"

He's watching you in return, face much older than you know him to be, careful with his words. "I'm alright. Thank you, Y/N."

Nodding, you let your hand drop. And suddenly you notice his robe again; skewed, revealing lengths of blue-gray skin down his legs, open at his chest. You take a selfish moment to reward yourself and stare, admiring.

"You called me Casimir."

"What?" His words barely register, your mind is so intent upon his body.

"I could hear your voice, in my dreams," he continued, unaware of your distraction. "You called me Casimir."

"Right," you nod, smile, try to bring yourself back to the moment. "You weren't answering to Erandur. Casimir seemed to work, though. I figured, subconsciously, you’d probably recognize it, if you didn’t Erandur."

Now would be a bad time to mention your feelings, you think, even though you'd been dying to for weeks. You’re terrible at this, timing and such. Erandur, however, has proven oblivious to most of your expressions of interest, and you’re beginning to think this will take something more blunt.

"I like it," you add thoughtfully. "I know you're trying to start over, redefine yourself, all that. But I like your name. It’s not something terrible."

"It was … strange … to hear it again, and from someone who's never called me by it before. I suppose you are the bridge between my old and new lives, the only one left that knows both Erandur and Casimir." He says this as though it isn't a good thing.

"It makes me feel special," you perk up, raising your hands to straighten his open robes, even though you just want to stare at him more, even touch. "Like I'm the only one who knows all of you. The past, the present–and I'll be around to see the future. The lessons you'll learned, how you'll grow and change. No matter who you are, I get to know you."

"And you accept them all."

"Of course."

"It doesn't bother you to travel around with a former Daedra worshipper, a coward who abandoned his friends?"

You grin. "Doesn't it bother you to travel around with an escaped war criminal, the Dragonborn running from their responsibilities while dragons fly overhead, killing?"

"Daedra worship and betrayal are hardly comparable to fighting for a noble cause such as one's freedom."

"You're right. A lot more people die on my account."

He can't argue with it, and you know it. Your smile is smug despite the somber topic and he knows it hurts you. "I'm sorry."

"Stoppit." You stick your tongue out playfully, then move to stand, picking up his hood and handing it to him just for something to do. He pulls it on, and you decide you rather likes it. His face, framed in the fabric, is a familiar sight, comfortable. "Well, I don't think either one of us is gonna get any more sleep tonight. Shall we head out?"

"If that is what you wish."

You roll your eyes and slap him on the shoulder, where it lingers momentarily before sliding off as you move forward. "Come on, then. Our destination is south-east!"

"And where exactly, might I ask, is our destination?"

You both gather up your things as he speaks, and you take a second to pause, watching him. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose it doesn't."

Because he'll follow you anywhere, you know.

It has been another few sleepless nights, and both your tempers fluctuate with the winds. Silence has kept the peace in your company, and you know weariness is bearing down on you both, crushing your spirits. You wonder how much longer either of you can take this. You worry your relationship may not survive it, even if you both do.

The trees have grown more colorful with the trek south, the scenery a painting of reds, yellows, browns, and gold-orange, a rain of the gilded leaves pouring down around them. The weather is warmer, the air drier, and the ground beneath crunches, not from the crushing of snow-powder, but from the mixture of dirt, stone, and flora. The change in the land around you, if nothing else, gives rise to renewed feelings of hope, and you feel a smile creep back into place as you near the destination you’ve been keeping from your companion.

"Riften."

His voice is gruff, curious, and pleased, you can tell. The hold is in sight, and you feel excitement growing as they approach. You turn around, continuing with your back pointed towards the city, and grin as you walk. "Riften."

His eyes are brighter than you’ve ever seen them, filled with awe and hope and affection, all of which he tries to hide. He knows what's here, though he doesn't know that's exactly why you’ve come. "I hear it's a bad place. Do you have business there?"

"Some friends of mine I haven't visited in awhile. Nothing sketchy, if that's what you're thinking."

He nods, unable to pry his eyes from the city walls. You laugh, whirl around, and there's a bit of a skip in your step as you make your way around to the front gates.

Inside, you’re instantly aware that, war ended or not, Riften hasn't changed at all. Shady deals seem to be going down in every corner, low-lives fill the streets, and guards seem to be lost as to how to do their jobs. Shaking your head, you take Erandur's hand and pull him along, keeping to the edge of the city, circling around the ring with purpose. You take him straight up the steps and through the door without giving him a chance to gather his bearings, and once you’re both inside and you finally stand still, he freezes in dawning wonder.

He seems overcome by it, struck through the heart at the sight of his Lady's statue, unable to look away. You find yourself struck similarly, eyes locked on his enraptured face.

"The Temple of Mara … " He almost gasps, a breathless whisper escaping him. He's still bowed from being half-dragged inside, but he rises now, slowly, taking everything in, from the rows of pews to the simple wood walls and floors, he's caught up in experiencing this holy place.

You’re tickled with yourself, heart thundering in your chest as you watch his amazement. You had been hoping to cheer him with this, to surprise him and please him, lift his spirits after the torturous nights and tiring days. This is so much more than that. Just watching him, you feel like you’re falling in love all over again.

"Y/N!" Dinya has spotted you at the door, and the Dunmer priestess comes to greet you, a smile and a warm clasping of hands for her friend. "It's so good to see you. It's been some time."

"Yes, it has," you reply, doing your best to keep your eyes off your companion by glancing around fondly at the surroundings. "How's the business been, hm? Any more missions from Our Lady I could help with?"

Erandur finally looks to you again, his bliss mingling with surprise to know you’re so familiar with this place, these people, their work. You grin, pleased.

"Not at the moment. Though we've had a few weddings in the past months, which has been wonderful. Lady Mara's influence is as alive as ever."

"Don't I know it," you smile softly, then blink the tenderness away and pull Erandur into the conversation. "Dinya, this is Erandur. He's my traveling buddy, keeps me company and makes sure I don't rush into something I can't handle. And he's a priest of Mara."

"Really?" Dinya smiles her elegant smile, delighted at the news. "Wonderful to meet you, Brother. Welcome to the Temple of Mara."

"Thank you, Sister. I've always wished to make the pilgrimage here … it's an honor, truly." His gaze drifts back to you, and the look in his eyes has you beaming before he finishes his words. "I cannot express how happy this has made me, Y/N. Thank you."

You’re elated, glowing inside, and you know if you don't do something quick, you'll embarrass yourself; you want to kiss him. Instead, you wave him off and make your way down the aisle to the altar, where you kneel and motion for Erandur to join. "Come pray with me."

He nods to Dinya to excuse himself and settles in beside you. Together, you bow your heads, and in silence, send petitions up to their goddess.

You don't know what Erandur prays about, but your thoughts are centered on him. You wish Mara's blessing upon him, her strength, her healing, her protection. You wish his guilt alleviated, his heart lightened, a world of happiness in his life.

You wish he'll love you. It's the only wish you make for yourself.

When your prayer is done, you place your hand on the altar, heart heavy with your thoughts. You want your own relief from Vaermina's retaliation, yes, but you care about him more; most.

You’ve prayed for him before, you'll continue to do so even after things are set right. But in this prayer, just in case, you call him Casimir.

You both settle into Honeyside for the night, thankful for a soft bed to share and a roof over your heads. Neither of you is eager for the usual attempt at rest, however, and much time is wasted to put off the task. Dinner is you’re favorite, as Erandur will eat anything and be grateful, to your annoyance. You stay up with books you've already read, practicing small spells on each other, discussing your next adventure, avoiding the large double bed that calls to your exhausted minds. Eventually, however, the dark of night gets to you both and you migrate quietly under the thick covers, backs pressed together in comforting camaraderie.

You wake up rolled over, tucked tightly into Erandur's arms. This situation would probably illicit apologies from him and flirtatious jokes from you normally, but you only stare quietly at each other, slow smiles conveying a shared message; it's been a good night, the first in a long time. No tossing and turning, no waking and struggling back to sleep, no cold sweats and hot muscles, no nightmares. No Vaermina.

You snuggle yourself back in closer, resting your head against his chest, feeling the pulse of his blood and beat of his heart and steady breathing. His arm drapes over you, not holding, but not letting go. You stay like that for hours more, sleeping the day away. Noon passes and the two of you are still together, catching up on weeks of missed sleep, slumbering silently, soothingly.

Dark has rolled around again by the time both your eyes are open, but neither of you stir. You would sooner fight a camp of giants than leave your piece of Sovengarde here in Erandur's arms. He is as careful as ever; the slight twitch in his hand took over half an hour to turn into the slow stroking of his fingers in your hair.

You are the first to break the silence, not because you need to or are uncomfortable or have something important to say. You only desire to improve upon perfection (just slightly) by adding his voice in the air, the deep, gravelly tones and thick accent, and the feel of his throat thrumming with his words. You don't even know what you say, but soon enough you are conversing in the quiet of evening Riften, low and slow and with no purpose, just talking about whatever comes to mind, whatever keeps it going.

The moons are high in the sky by the time you finally get his favorite food out of him, and, with both eagerness and reluctance, raise up out of the bed and go to fix it. You eat the midnight breakfast together with more smiles and soft words, barely able to keep the joy and relief off your faces, barely able to keep their eyes off one another. you have suffered together, now triumphed together, and each holds that your salvation is the other, and Mara.

You spend the night along the water, watching the stars flickering across the dark surface as Masser makes its journey across the sky. You are at peace, like neither has been in weeks, and you continue long into the morning perched there, feet hanging off the wooden walkway, talking and laughing and praising the goddess. You wander the marketplace at noon, buying things you don't need and anything Erandur shows even the slightest interest in, no matter how he protests. Lunch is at the Bee and Barb, the afternoon spent with Maramal preaching in the streets, smiles on all your faces, enjoying another homemade meal together as the sun sinks away, and then seeking out the reassurance of each other's bodies as you slip into bed and wait to see if the night before was a fluke, if you are truly free.

He's still asleep when you open your eyes, and you simply bury your head back in his hair, unwilling to wake him. You smile to yourself at the irony that, after all the nights they you've slept together, in the same place, without sleeping together, lying awake in the dark, and never slept together, you've finally slept together two nights in a row while sleeping together, and yet you still haven't slept together. You mark it down as next on your list of things to accomplish–right after you marry the darn man.

You want more nights and days like these, side by side. You're not sure if you'll be able to go back to sleeping alone after these nights together.

You don't want to let him go.

When his eyes open, you’re watching. You wait, and the look in his eyes tell you what you need to know; he's had another good night, just as you have, and you melt into each other with relief. He watches you closely, realizing something is up, something is happening here, and you meet his gaze with resolve. You let your palms trail down the folds of his hood until they reach his robe, which you take hold of. Lightly, you tug him closer, and the look you share leaves no room for misinterpretation. This is it.

Slowly, he lets you pull him in. You lift his chin and softly presses your lips to his.

You want so much more. Instead, you leave it at that and lay back, letting it settle between you both. You sit in silence for many long minutes, and wonder if you’ve messed things up now.

"Y/N."

You bite your lip before smirking, batting your eyes at him with a playfulness you don't feel. "Casimir."

He visibly starts at the name, and you make a note to keep using it when you're alone. You like the effect it has on him, how special it makes you feel--that he’s okay with you using it, being the only one allowed to call him that. His face softens, and he just continues to stare at you curiously, and you wonder what he's thinking, watching you so tenderly like that. It's a bit too much on your heart, and you can't help but kiss him again, whether he's ready for it or not.

It takes several seconds, but he slowly kisses back. You revel in the triumph, cuddling closer as your lips move together.

His arms hold you tighter and your hands slip under his robes. You’re trying to control yourself, trying to move slowly for him, but you’re dying in the exaltation of the moment, drowning in his returned affection, and even he seems to be finding control difficult. When his own hands begin to roam he abruptly pulls free, clearing his throat in a visible effort to contain himself.

"I apologize."

It's always the first thing he says, a reflex, and you laugh.

"Never apologize to me."

"Still-"

"No 'still.'" You smile, perching yourself on your arm.

"We should speak about this, Y/N."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

He sighs. "We should consult Lady Mara."

It's a step in the right direction, as far as you are concerned. "Then let's do that."

A simple prayer with your amulets is not enough for Erandur, nor is finding a small alter. You arrive at the temple after a few minutes of debate, standing before the statue of the goddess in silent prayer for the second time in three days. You pray, again, for his love. For approval.

He prays much longer than you do, and no matter how restless you feel standing beside him doing nothing, you remain still, waiting. When he finally unclasps his hands, you’ve been holding yourself in check for too long and launch immediately into what you want; something you’ve wanted to say for some time, and are excited to finally have out in the open.

"I want to marry you."

He gazes at you. "Y/N … "

"Not much would change considering we already do everything together. It only gets better." You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively.

"There are certain emotional obligations-"

"I already love you."

His eyes flash up to yours, which are solid and clear. You smile sincerely.

"I love you. Our goddess would never be against it if you feel the same."

"No, she wouldn't." You feel his fingers touch yours and look down as he takes your hand in his. "And I do feel the same, Y/N."

He gives you a small smile, and you return it two-fold. His slips away after a moment.

"I am, however, hesitant. I don't-"

"If you say 'deserve happiness' I will slap you with a Horker." You hold his gaze and he doesn't continue. "If karma decides to come back around and punish you for past crimes then I'll be right there with you to fight it. I will be even if we don't marry. I promise you, Casimir, you will never be alone again, by choice or otherwise. Whether you deserve it or not, I want to make you happy. For as long as you want me."

His glossy eyes convey his gratitude far better than his terse nod. You nod back.

"I want to marry you."

He smiles again. A real one this time.

"Then we're in the right place."

#imagine #fanfiction #elder scrolls skyrim #erandur

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