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thoughtfullyrainynightmare · 11 months ago

Text

Cover art by @/crazycookiemaniac

Summary: The strings of Fate continue to twist and turn and wind in a rather odd manner. It's almost like the fate of the world would be dependent on just a few of the threads. Is there a chance to affect the way they are woven together? And how about the formerly so happy couple? All they carry of the other as of now, is the tender, but bittersweet emotions in their hearts, along with the rings on their fingers. Rings, which held a spell.

Pairing: Fuegoleon (CC) x Solara (OC) Fanfic type: Book/long fic Warnings: Mostly canon typical content, the battle/war themes are there, angst, Fue's fear manifests as anger (he's only human, after all), Solara is still pregnant so themes of pregnancy

Tag list: @succulentsunrise @loosesodamarble

A/N: Three months later... I wanted to see where canon progresses, but decided to make some decisions of my own in the end anyhow. Hope you like them (nyehehhee).

Word count: ~3.6k

Chapter 6: The Rings

‘Tis curious... It’s as if the Seer is no more. The string is awfully thin... Like all else. So, I wonder... I wonder if ... I wonder what’s in that room, beyond the mirror. The passage. She’s always looking at me through it, but I think there’s something behind her. Not that she ever spends more time there. But I think... there is something in there.

I wonder what it is... for ever since I was... how old was I? When I came here? Decided that it’s best to observe. To be an observer, rather than a Seer. Which, perhaps... Perhaps it’s what the researchers of Old Micah were supposed to be. To watch, but not tinker and toil.

Though the bells are awfully annoying.

Maybe they could hear the bells too and just wanted them to shut up.

Though sister... sister says that she can’t hear anything wrong with them. That some hear the bells, but hear nothing wrong about how they play. If you call that as playing. The blasted bells. They drill into my very soul. At times.

Maybe they drilled into the souls of the scientists too. And that’s why they drew the strings, and ventured too close. Trying to tinker with them. Temper with the threads that shouldn’t be tempered with.

And thus were no more... Nothing but a whisper. A distant memory for only those who are able to remember them. Their lair being nothing but ruins, hidden behind forcefields in fear of it taking place again. Another one breaking through because someone played an off note with the strings.

She half scoffed; half chuckled.

Or weaved them the wrong way. Since ... though I... perhaps it’d be better to call them as weavers. I’m not one, despite being like a spider caught in a web. Or... at least feeling like one. Though maybe spiders don’t feel trapped inside their own creations.

And since this isn’t my creation, I think that a spider isn’t a fitting description after all.

But... then... what does it make me? What am I?

I’m not a Seer, Weaver or ... Or... anything that there are supposed to be. I just exist.

Just exist and watch as the threads turn and twist, helpless as ever. Though. What would it affect me? If they’d cease to turn. If they’d... become tangled in a way like never before? What would it affect me? I am here, without a burden on my consciousness. For if I ever do nothing, then how could I be guilty of doing anything wrong?

Though sister is adamant that I do something, because choosing to do nothing is as bad as doing something wrong. While she also agrees that sometimes it’s best to mind one’s own business. Take care of her queendom and let others do as they will. Because others existing as they do, while not bothering us is... they might exist differently than we do, but it’s not inherently wrong in any way.

However... the twisting and the turning that’s taking place... Never did I think that so many threads could be affected by one path... two paths... Or maybe... It’s hard to tell.

The threads are awfully small and wound together where I can see them.

But still. They’re tied to awfully many places, and the web seems like it’s crumbling. Falling apart.

So maybe... but I couldn’t.

No one is to touch the threads. That is a Law.

One that the researchers of Old Micah learned the hard way.

No mortal hands are to touch the threads as they are.

But that makes me wonder... how would one then affect the twisting and the turning? Perhaps with a tool? That is how the scientists made it possible to weave into the net. With a set of tools that allowed them to touch threads that weren’t meant to be touched.

However... that doesn’t mean that there wouldn’t be a tool that wouldn’t allow for it. To take a hold and play the bells, attached to the threads. Or even... maybe if you connect something to the threads, and touch those instead of touching the threads themselves?

I wonder...

Her head turned towards the mirror, the pathway and the thin sheet of something she couldn’t name, which existed between that place and another. A place from where her sister gazed to her every once in a while. And for reasons that were lost even from herself, she couldn’t turn her eyes away.

I wonder what’s in that room...

---

The art of crafting a wedding band is delicate and precise work. After all, the piece of jewellery is meant to be worn around one’s finger for the rest of the days they have on this earth. And thus, it should be both durable and stylish; something that fits the person carrying the ring itself.

Designing such a piece takes time, let alone execute the craftmanship. Especially while working with a fragile material such as a leaf from the Tree of Binding Fates.

It was long, long time ago discovered that the material, which becomes hardened after falling off, could be used in jewellery or other memorabilia. But considering the significance of the ritual, it seemed only logical to incorporate such a fine material, add a fine detail, to a piece of jewellery as important as a wedding band. It in itself would already make the pair of rings unique, because no one else would have the same leaf, the same pattern, of the same shape and size and weight, as the one that The Tree served the couple. Perhaps one might find similar ones. Even hauntingly similar, while looking at older rings, preserved and kept intact for future generations to see and admire. Because surely love is something to admire. To read about the joys and sorrows the couple held, while looking at the rings, which were still there, as if to prove that the couple had existed, once upon a time.

The old man, in Thea, working for the [Lil’ Old Jeweller] had been doing what he knows best for 55 years already, in that very same shop, which was founded by his great-grandfather with no greater aspirations than to simply do a good job. It had been his wish to do an honest day’s work, in a manner that he could be proud of.

The old man could remember his grandfather having told how his father had felt rather silly while putting the word ‘old’ into the sign while opening, but he had felt that it added a certain charisma to the name. However, the word had grown true to itself, as the shop had gained popularity.

The old man could remember when his grandfather had gotten his first job with a request to add a leaf from The Tree, and how nervous he had been. Because it wasn’t just any material, it was something that couldn’t be replaced. So, he had started by chipping off only a portion of the leaf in hopes of being able to chip off another piece if he failed on the first try. And the method had proved to be successful. There had even been only a handful of occasions when a new piece had needed to be chipped off the leaf, because as the old man, his father, and grandfather, had all noticed, the work took shape around the leaf piece.

There was always a hint of a kind, along with having spoken to the couple, most of them easy to talk to, and some seeming more like they’d be the end of each other than the love of each other’s lives, about how the rings should look like. One had to work with the ring, instead of having to make the ring work for oneself. That was one of the things he had hoped to have gotten across to his daughter, who had taken an interest in adding leaves, actual leaves and flowers into the rings as well. Encase them in resin or alike material, along with the leaf from The Tree. And she seemed to do good job. Her customers seemed happy. Which was enough for him. He might not have understood the fascination, because when he thought about a ring, he thought of silver and gold, fine elements of the earth, along with gems and the leaf.

But he was already an old man. And he supposed that it was alright. Time went on, and his daughter also had the skill of listening. The old man had thought himself to have held the gift of seeing too, but upon watching the pieces his daughter made, he thought himself to have only a narrow view of seeing.

Though the daughter said their ways of seeing to simply have been different. There was no right or wrong, as long as you work with the couple, and do a good, honest day’s work.

The old man had been pleased with this answer. Perhaps that was all there was to it.

And so, the old man would continue doing his work, with the couples, the leaves and the pieces of metal, embedding the magic of the leaves of The Tree into a piece of jewellery that was worn on the ring finger of the left hand, from where there was a straight path to the heart.

Sometimes he would think how many utilize the magic that was embedded into the ring. Perhaps not quite many, because it could be used only once, and it wasn’t that often one held such a desperate need to get to one and another instantly. Especially if it was only once. Though he could always make a new ring, with the remainders of the leaf. None just seemed to think of it. Or then it wouldn’t be the same, because you only, really, get married to one person once in your life. At least... in most cases.

It was also possible that many simply... forgot about it. Put if off as just some ol’ wives tales and went on with their lives.

He also went on as to speculate that some might have thought the spell, or the mana, to activate to have needed something grand. A specific set of words that would wind into a sentence that would bring one to their loved one, or vice versa, for after all, the door swung both ways. But in reality, what was required, was rather simple.

Another thing he thought that many forgot, because more didn’t use it. And those that, perhaps, remembered it, deemed it invasive to simply yank one’s beloved to them away from whatever it was. Especially, again, since the spell could be used only once. And would give away to this one little ace in one’s sleeve. Not that it was so special that other nations couldn’t have come up with it and used it for themselves.

But, during times of trouble, he also found himself thinking if people, who once upon a time had sat there, in the small seating area of his shop, talking to him about their wishes for the rings, eyes full of love and hope for the future, had found themselves falling out of love. After all, it was not always love that bound people’s fates together. So, it was possible, that somewhere down the road, what had brought the couple together, drove them apart. And thus, the magic that existed in the rings was left unused.

Luckily, those thoughts, those moments, were scarce. And more often than not, he found himself smiling while thinking back to all of the encounters he had with the brides and grooms to be. Every story different from the other. But the smiles and the gazes, the tender, subtle displays of affection, they he could recognize. Even if they all harboured a special flare of their own, no matter how similar one might have thought them to be based on a glance. And the similarities, he had found, stretched far beyond the borders of nations.

For a while he had nearly forgotten it. During the years that it had been only Thean couples that came to see him. But one of the latest couple he found himself thinking more than any other for a while. Perhaps because of how much they had been talked about. Because of what was achieved, essentially because they had been the driving force for the borders opening and new alliance forming.

He had thought that maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised to find them, sitting across the table from him. But. He had been.

However, the surprise and the wonder had faded away as he looked at them smile. As he smiled because they smiled, and because the smile was contagious.

He hoped that the couple would never need to use the magic of the rings. He hoped that they could be happy and content; spend the days of their lives, together.

---

The smooth surface of his wedding band, which hid a pattern, as if flames, on the inner surface of it. He let his thumb grace the piece of metal, which spoke of a promise. A shared vow between two lovers, during a time that had been filled with... hope... More hope. A time that had been joyous and had made his flutter in the best of ways.

And he could remember... how it had been her fingers gracing over that surface of his wedding band. He could remember, how her fingers had trailed up his arm to play with his hair. How she whispered gentle nothings to his ears, or how she’d giggle, burst into a laugh because of something silly that he couldn’t even remember anymore. He just remembered the laugh.

He remembered how beautiful she had been.

He wondered how he had been blessed. Even for such a short while. A passing moment. A breath.

That’s how it felt, even if they had been together for years. Despite having been the best years of his life, they had been over in a blink of an eye. Too soon. Too quick.

Though he wasn’t sure if even a lifetime had been long enough of a time. But that was all the time he had; all the time she had. A lifetime.

It was just a shame that his lifetime would end up being shorter than hers. Not that he would have willed it any other way; for hers to be shorter than his.

And for a moment, he had to wonder if it had been only a dream. Something his mind had concocted during his coma, which he wished to believe with his entire being.

But... it hurt too much for it to have been a mere dream. The golden threads of fate, spun into ropes, were wound tightly around his still beating heart, which he hoped would carry his affection to her. He hoped that she could hear him, feel him, there, until he wouldn’t be. And perhaps, even after that.

He wished that she knew his last thoughts to be of her. Even when the battle was raging around him. Even as the end was nearing.

Something seemed to have caught the angels’ interest, perhaps a squad, or another captain. He wasn’t sure. But he had seen Yuno upon a glimpse, battling Lucius. He almost sure that he had seen Noelle too, which meant that the Bulls had returned. Perhaps that was why the angels seemed to have found something else of interest than the civilians, for the most part. Which allowed him to look around. Gaze around the area that surrounded him, rather than fire spells haphazardly at the enemy all around.

And what he saw, did anything but shed hope into him. If there had been much to begin with.

But the thing was, as a knight, he couldn’t give in; give up, turn his back on the sacrifices of his knights. He owed it to them. He owed it to the citizens of Clover. And, he felt that he owed it to his family. To stand his ground and be the man that he had tried to be, all his life.

He didn’t think himself to be afraid. Not anymore. He didn’t think himself to be angry, or sad... He didn’t know what he thought himself to be. If he was anything but a pawn in a game that seemed fixed. He knew that he had preached about the dangers of hesitating, freezing up; doing anything but steeling oneself.

He had learned that the hard way.

And yet, he found himself placing, again, his thumb over his wedding band, and thinking of her.

I wish... that we could have been together. This was our choice, and it was... the right ... choice. But still... I wish that... you’d be here.

However... as his mind formulated the thought, the words, the gentle, genuine confessions of his heart into a manifestation, he didn’t think the gilded string of fate, bound into ropes, to be listening. He didn’t remember the little spell, not in the pendant around his neck, but in the ring around his finger.

The little spell where the door swings both ways.

And the magic, the first spark of mana was so faint that he almost missed it. Almost, but not quite.

It was just enough for his gaze to fall onto the small piece of precious metal, which now glowed a gilded, reddish glow, which reminded him of the leaf from The Tree, the rest of which was still in their room.

The glow was followed by a flash of light. Golden threads coiling around what looked like a small, tender, summer sun.

Perhaps, in another time, in another place, he would have thought it to be beautiful. Perhaps, but now, it chilled him right down to his very bone, because it meant something he didn’t wish to comprehend. Something he didn’t want to understand; believe.

He couldn’t believe it.

He didn’t want to believe it.

Never would he have thought that seeing her, would have equalled his worst nightmare. But now, as it did, all he could do, was stare at her. Eyes wide open, pupils constricted and locked onto her.

This… can’t be…

“Are you hurt?” She asked, as if that had been a reasonable question. The first thing she asked, as her eyes met his, her arm moving to her other, to do... something... but he didn’t register half of it. He could only think about the question.

As if it had been a reasonable question…

As if…

She was wearing an armour, and though it wasn’t… one that he could recall, it still… wasn’t enough. The thick plate around her stomach seemed only as a thin veil over what was more than a target to an enemy.

“Honey?” She asked, eyes full of worry, sorrow, but still with a soft fondness in them that was far too gentle for a place like this.

Place that was worse than the Underworld, worse than hell. Because even in hell are only those worthy of the punishment cast upon them. And here, it was mostly those … who were not.

“What… are you doing here…?” He could hear himself asking from her, through the haze and the deliria.

For a moment he had to consider that he had died, and this was but a fever dream. A horrid, twisted concoction of his mind during his final breath.

“I... was drawn to you,” she replied, looking at her ring. Yet another horrid statement.

Though… perhaps… in another life, another time, he would have deemed it soft and sweet, a promise fulfilled and so sacred that he couldn’t comprehend… But now, in its gentle caress lied thorns.

Oh how he wished they would have been mere thorns, instead of the soul carving, hollowing, burning, flooding sensation that sought to take over him.

A primal emotion. The primal emotion of fear, fluttered in him. But it came out as rage.

“What, are, you doing here?!” He shouted as his face twisted; teeth bared as if canines to ravage flesh.

“I-, came to-”

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” He yelled again, jaw clenched and overtaken by a flood from within him.

“I… You...” she managed, before his right hand grabbed his left, fingers twisting onto his wedding ring.

“GET. OUT!” He yelled, slamming the ring, embedded with a leaf from the Tree of Binding Fate, onto the pavement of the Capitol. It clicked against the stones under them as the only sound she heard.

It might have been but a small, ringing sound of metal against stone, but the faint sound, was the loudest thing she could conceive.

And with it, she could feel her heart sinking in her chest. As if punched, her organs pushed all the way to her back.

As if a slap in the face.

And all she could do, was stare at that ring, as it rolled away from her.

But she didn’t want to see it go, so, she reached forward with a motion that was heavy; trembling. And cast Gravity of the Sun with minimal effort in hopes that it’d come back as tears rolled down her cheeks in the middle of the Capitol where she sat, alone, on the cold harsh ground.

No choice that she could have made, was good. But somehow, this, felt the worst one she could have taken out of the options provided. To sit there, unsure of what to do.

And… what made it worse, was the fact that she could feel the little ones kicking in her stomach.

They’re so feisty… she smiled to herself despite the tears. Just like their father…

#black clover fanfiction #the vows we made #fuegoleon x solara #fuelara #oc x canon

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hydropyro · 8 months ago

Text

I’ve been seeing a lot about Gale lately so I have been thinking about how Gale and Abdirak may interact.

And I wrote this. I might do one for each of the companions. Maybe not.

Based in “Webs of Fate” story, but is a separate excerpt/ficlet

The wizard was forlorn after the older man had left. Despite everyone seeming cheary enough, something must have gone awry with their meeting. Abdirak had gone for a walk to forage for some mushrooms and alchemical herbs, which he now brought to Gale as an excuse to talk to him.

“Who was that — wizened fellow?” Abdirak asked. Of course he knew who Elminster was. Who didn’t? If anyone could see through his ignorant facade, it would be the wizard.

Gale was not amused, and he did see through Abdirak. He accepted the mushrooms, muttering thanks, though he was still broody.

“You look like you’ve received unfortunate tidings, child.” The Paingiver said, searching the tautness of the wizard’s expression. “Does it pertain to the orb in your chest?”

Gale gave a sigh and nodded, not looking at the Loviatan.

“I can lend an ear.”

The wizard had not been fond of the Paingiver in their journey, but he was a pleasant and cordial man all around so they weren’t at odds. Gale still did not trust Abdirak’s motivations — which hardly made sense because he’d been very open as to his reason for being there, and a ‘desire to help’ was not quite it.

“We believe the center of the Absolute Cult will be at Moonrise towers when we get there,” the wizard said. “Mystra wants me to destroy it when we find it.”

“By suicide?” That surprised the Loviatan. Gale had been a Chosen of the Goddess of Magic. Whatever his mistakes, he was no doubt valuable.

The wizard nodded, his expression grim. “Can I ask for your opinion?”

Two surprises in one day. Abdirak considered it probably prudent for them to rest for the remainder of the day, despite the sun still being high in the sky, lest that count become three. “You want to know what I would do?”

“Few in this group understand the relationship one has with their god. There’s Shadowheart of course but—”

“I would do it.” Abdirak said without thought. “But,” he added, holding up a finger, “that does not mean that I believe you should.

“Much of what I have heard regarding your — condition — has been second hand. Would you be comfortable telling me the tale?”

The wizard frowned. “If you would, why shouldn’t I?”

The Paingiver only hummed. “You make some tea and meet me at my tent.”

He started away before the wizard could respond, but heard the other man say, “I am not going to let you hit me.”

Abdirak only laughed.

•••

Despite his reservations, Gale appeared at the Paingiver’s tent a short time later, two mugs of tea in hand. He passed one to Abdirak, saying, “It’s mint. And some other things. Rosemary, etcetera.”

“Perfect.” Abdirak gestured for him to enter and indicated a cushion he had sitting on the far side of his small tent where the wizard should sit. He himself knelt on the ground, resting back on his heels. He waited for Gale to situate himself, sipping the steeped tea quietly.

“It’s very tidy in here,” the wizard said, making awkward conversation. The Loviatan knew that he meant nothing by the comment, but he had enjoyed the way the intelligent man could stumble over his own words.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

The wizard gulped hard on his tea and cleared his throat, shaking his head. “No, just an observation.”

Abdirak hummed. “Tell be about your condition, Gale.”

The Paingiver listened attentively while Gale explained how he had obtained the orb. Child prodigy who had caught the attention of the Goddess of Magic from a very young — prepubescent — age. Devout worshiper. As a young adult he had become the goddess’s lover and Chosen. He had begged for more from the goddess — not power, but access to the Weave — to experience, study, and further his devotion. When being denied, Gale sought to prove himself by returning a piece lost to the goddess. She scorned him and denounced him. Should he detonate the orb at the time of confronting whatever controlled the growing Absolute Cult, Mystra would forgive him for his greed.

Abdirak sat quietly and digested the wizard’s tale a long while after. “What is Mystra going to forgive you for?”

“For disobeying her. For trying to go around her.”

“Is that what you were doing?”

The wizard frowned. “Not exactly. I wanted to — please her. I wanted to show her that I was worthy by finding and delivering that part of her that she lost so long ago. She's been through so much.”

“It wasn’t a part of her, though.” Abdirak said.

“Well, I didn’t know that. By the time I realized it was already burrowing into my chest.”

The Paingiver nodded. “I can see it causes you a great deal of physical pain.”

“It does. It feels like it is gnawing away at me.”

“And so you were removed from being her Chosen. How do you serve her now?”

Gale shook his head. “I was removed entirely.”

“You aren’t a devout?”

“Well,” Gale paused. “I am — but she won’t have me.”

Abdirak nodded. “One would think she does not care for you. It must be difficult to have gone from her lover to — nothing. It seems she did not love you.”

“I understand pain is your — forte — but I would thank you not to prod that particular wound.” Gale said, making the Loviatan chuckle.

“Force of habit,” the Paingiver explained, taking another long drink of his tea. “But — avoiding a festering wound does not make it heal faster, nor alleviate its pain.”

“How do you know that Loviatar loves you?” The wizard asked defensively. “You said you would do what I’m being asked.”

“Oh, she doesn’t.”

The wizard balked. “You would kill yourself for someone who doesn’t even care about you?”

The Loviatan considered how best to explain it to the man. “The gods — they are not like us. They do not care for us in the way we may care for one another. Indeed, in the way we care for them.

“I suppose you could equate it to — a business partnership. Loviatar does not love me, Abdirak, the man. But she loves my utility as her Pain.” His hand fell to the scourge ever coiled at his hip. “When broken down to its parts, my love and devotion to her comes down to her utility to me, too.”

“You can indulge in pain without Loviatar,” the wizard argued.

“And you can use magic without Mystra. But it wouldn’t be quite as satisfying, would it?”

“You are useful, Gale Dekarios. You would not have been made Mystra’s Chosen and her lover had you not been.

“Yes, you are wayward, but even your mistakes were driven by your desire to serve her.

“While you may not ever be invited to — warm,” he frowned, “do gods have beds to warm?”

“I’d rather not discuss that with you,” Gale said quickly.

The Pain eyed him carefully, enjoying the wizard’s discomfort under his stare. “Another time, perhaps. I am so curious.”

“Aren’t you with Alakvyr?” The man tried to deflect the conversation.

The Pain laughed, “I wasn’t asking for a demonstration.”

The flustered wizard waved an agitated, dismissive hand. “Can we get back to the conversation? Why would you do it?”

“If my Goddess asked me to end my own life, I have every belief that it is because the benefits of doing so outweighed my utility to her.”

“And why can’t Mystra feel the same?”

“Because she has shown that you have no value. Your utility to her is nonexistent.

“I am not familiar with Mystra, Gale, and I do not seek to blaspheme your goddess.

“In asking this of you she is not asking the acclaimed Arch Wizard, Gale Dekarios.“ The wizard’s eyes flicked away but Abdirak continued. “Mystra is not asking for the life of a follower who gravely wronged her nor a hero who will save the world.

“She is asking a little boy who was told how special he was, a young man who she took into her arms — not because gods need it, but no doubt to control him further —until he didn’t do exactly as she liked.

“She’s offering you ‘forgiveness’ for your efforts to be a worthy follower — following the punishment you’ve already long suffered of stripping you of your power and title and leaving you in the cold with a painful condition that threatens to destroy you and anything near you.

“She believes that only you can stop the Absolute Cult, and yet offered no information as to what it is that you will face?

“She can send her who is considered the most powerful wizard in the realms to give you a message, but not aid you in this?” Abdirak snorted quietly. “Your life has value.”

Gale raised his eyes to Abdirak again, his eyebrows up as if he was surprised to hear it.

“There are many gods who would welcome your talents with open arms—” Abdirak held up a hand before the man could protest, “I am not proselytizing.

“There is no guarantee this course of action will save anyone. Truly, if the blast is as devastating as you suggest, it will undoubtedly harm many.

“So who all will benefit? Not you, you’ll be dead. Not anyone nearby who helped you get to that point. They will, also, be dead — all of your companions, because it’s not going to be easy to access whatever it is — you’ll have to fight your way in, no doubt.

“Only she does. Her wayward pet brought to heel and an artifact she fears destroyed.

“My advice is that you lean on those around you who see your worth and treat you accordingly.”

The men stared at one another for a long while, neither speaking. He could almost see the gears working in the intelligent man’s head.

“Besides,” Abdirak said, smiling at the man, “You can’t suffer the sweet agonies of life if you’re dead — what a waste that would be.”

“That was proselytizing,” The wizard said, though he had a small smile.

“Force of habit.”

Gale groaned as he started to pull himself to his feet. Others may have thought him older than he was by the way he moved, by the little sounds of discomfort he made throughout his day — but Abdirak knew pain. This was a young man living with an incredible pain and hiding it away.

“Thank you, Abdirak.” The wizard was upright now, so the Pain also stood. Gale held out a hand to accept Abdirak’s nearly empty mug. “You’re — a bit different—”

Abdirak laughed. It was not the first, nor would it be the last, time he’d heard that. Despite the tone, he knew it was not necessarily a compliment.

“But,” Gale was saying, “I appreciate you. And I’m glad you joined us.”

“It has been interesting.” Abdirak put a gentle hand on the wizard’s shoulder and lifted the tent flap so he could leave. “Should you ever wish to learn about the delicate intricacies of pain, I am always eager for a willing student.”

“I doubt I will take you up on that.” The wizard said, his tone pleasant nonetheless. He gave the Pain a quick nod in farewell, his hands full, before turning to go back to his own tent.

#baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #ficlet #gale #abdirak #what if scenario

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cursedvibes · 2 years ago

Note

Sukuna looks so ugly in Megumi’s body lmao

Anyway!! Spoilers.

Wtf is going on with Yuji? How is he not dead? That’s interesting. And yup Sukuna is straight up trying to kill the kid.

It looks like Megumi’s is trying to fight back and regain control of his body but I would really kinda hate if he succeeded? Like are you telling me that he just happened to be another character with restrictive vessel potential?? It does feel a lil bit like bullshit so I hope it doesn’t go that route, with Megumi taking control.

Also Gege really said fuck Hana. I don’t think she died at all but huh. These weekly releases are agonizing, so many things happening and you gotta wait weeks until the new web of events weaves itself.

Yeah, idk what it is but I'm not really feeling that Sukuna. Maybe because Megumi makes him look even more like a school yard bully. Good on him for experimenting, but sometimes you have to accept that that dye job is just not working for you.

Well, Yuuji got punched through some buildings before (when being attacked by helicopter guy) and came back relatively unscathed. Even when he had no CE Higuruma called him an "unbreakable doll", that's gonna be even more true with CE. Compared to Shibuya he improved a lot, we just didn't really get to see it before. Besides, Sukuna didn't actually penetrate his chest, the force of the hit just ripped his back. And that punch alone managed to hurt Sukuna too.

However, while I didn't expect him to die, I was surprised by how quickly Yuuji bounced back. Proven once again, Yuuji's a tough boy and Kenjaku had complete faith in him. I'm sure his anger at Sukuna also gave his natural capabilities an extra boost.

Sukuna might be trying to kill Yuuji or at least incapacitate him, but he's doing a bad job at both. Generally, he's been pretty tame so far except for that Nue attack. As we can see by his point count (or lack thereof), he hasn't killed a single person yet. Terrible Culling Game player He also went oddly soft on Hana. She was right there in his arms and all he does is rip her arm off. He doesn't even eat it. Considering that Angel can probably regrow or reattach limbs, that's not a very consequent method to take care of a problem. It might take longer because she's exhausted after Jacob's Ladder, but it isn't a life threatening injury. Shows he is struggling way more than in Shibuya, which is partially his fault for not properly taking care of the problems that are thrown at him.

Yeeah...I expected Megumi to come into play somehow, but it does feel a bit tired to have yet another twitching vessel. However, even if he did get back full control, I don't know how that could be a permanent state. I still don't think he suppresses Sukuna as easily or well as Yuuji. He'd have to be constantly on the lookout, even sleeping might be difficult because Sukuna is gonna try to overwhelm him. And they have to kill Megumi to get rid of 15 fingers of Sukuna for good. It's not like he can just vomit Yuuji's finger back up. The chances that he succeeds at all beyond hindering Sukuna during a fight are pretty low though. Between Sukuna & Yuuji, Kenjaku & Geto, Toji & Ogami's "grandson" and the reincarnated sorcerers, Yuuji is the only vessel who regained control over his body. But maybe Megumi will be #2, who knows...won't be easy though and as long as Sukuna is inside him, he has to die one way or another.

#asks #jjk spoilers #jjk 214

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georgiapeach30513 · 3 years ago

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Desperate Affairs, Part 7

Summary: What does Jake find out? Time to meet the Thrombey’s

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader, Ransom Drysdale X Reader (past)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit language, implied spousal abuse, conspiracy (?), The Thrombey’s, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6.8

Series Masterlist

Nervously you ready the girls to talk with Jake. After the fight Andy was back to himself. Randomly looking at you, telling you how sorry he was, and that he had just been stressed. Letting you know that he would never get that angry again, that you guys were a family, and Aster needed her parents together more than ever.

Everything that’s happened with Andy runs through your mind. You had thought he would make the perfect dad, and he does. However, thinking he would make the perfect husband, you have major doubts now. Scared of him, and even more scared of giving up time with Aster has you with many sleepless nights.

When you arrive at Jake’s store front, he gives you a quick wave from the phone and you sit in the waiting area. Peering into the stroller at your perfect daughters. No matter what they are yours. They smile up at you, and then begin jabbering amongst themselves.

“Mrs. Barber, come on back. I’m gonna walk you through some things,” you follow the adorkable Jake to his personal computer. Nearly slapping yourself for checking out his butt, that you can only barely see with his loose khakis.

He brings up a chair for you, almost too close to his before he starts tapping away. “I know you didn’t ask me to do all the searches I did, but I had to help you out you know,” he looks into the stroller at the girls, making little faces at them before gesturing for you to sit. “Please, sit. It’s a lot.”

Walking around the stroller, you make sure the girls are content before bringing your attention back to Jake. Both of you stare at each too long before he rattles his head, looking at back at the computer. “This is quite a web that’s been weaved. The original email I was able to dig up, Andy had deleted it. Traced it back to an IP address, and checked that out. It came from Richard and Linda Drysdale’s house.”

You turn your head over to him. “So that means either they or their son Ransom sent it? Didn’t clear much up.”

“Well, it’s worse. That’s just where the original came from. Every photo after that bounced around. They were sent from the IP address from the Drysdale’s to an address in St. Petersburg, Florida. The house is registered to a Roberta Taylor.”

“I don’t know a Roberta Taylor, or anyone in Florida for that matter. Must be someone connected to Linda, wouldn’t you think?” you finally look over to Jake after studying the computer. Too slowly he jumped back from you. You caught him sniffing your hair. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh, sorry. What shampoo do you use?” he slowly asks causing the two of you to awkwardly look at each other. Jake clears his throat before beginning to talk again. “Yeah, anyways. That house is a rental. Would Andy know anyone in St. Petersburg. It might do you some good to ask,” with a fake smile you nod. There’s no way Andy knows anyways in Florida.

“I also took it upon myself to um…”

“You didn’t look at those pictures did you.”

A stiff shake of his head and a tiny shrug of his shoulders, let’s you know he did look. “I mean, not closely. I had to dig through a lot of emails. Needed to uh, well, make sure it was the right ones. But now, I looked through your phone…”

“My phone? Why?”

“Just a hunch. You know your phone has been tagged?” you shake your head no furrowing your brows. “It’s um, someone is watching everything you do on your phone. Phone calls, how long, which texts you send or come through, GPS giving them your whereabouts.”

“And they can read them?” you had figured Andy would have done something like that, which is why you didn’t call Ransom to set up an additional test. Jake nods his head.

“Look, I’m not sure exactly what’s going on, but are you okay?” you sigh looking at your girls before back in the spectacled eyes of Jake. “I mean, I’m no expert, but there’s some messed up shit going on with your life. Not to get personal, what’s all this about?”

For some reason you trust him. He’s goofy, but he seems sincere, honest, caring. You hadn’t had that feeling in so long. You’ve spent so much time curating your life to what you thought was perfect, you hadn’t stopped to think that maybe this perfect family you were hoping to make isn’t perfect at all. At this point far from it. “I’m a good listener. Most of the time. Terrible at advice, things just roll off my tongue that are usually inappropriate or make no sense. But you’re a mom and you have someone following your every move through your phone. They know you’re here right now.”

“I got involved with two powerful men.”

“At the same time?” you huff but nod your head. “Was it just fun?”

“One was. The other I loved…love,” you glance back at the girls. They’re the only ones keeping you sane, and you’re beyond blessed that they’re good babies. “The girls, they’re twins, but have different dads.”

“The two powerful men?”

“Yeah. One is a rich prick. Full of himself, but deep down I think he has potential to be a good person and good dad. The other…I’m not sure anymore,” petting along Iris’s face before cupping Aster’s cheek you look back at Jake, only to quickly look away.

“He the husband?” when you don’t say a word, he only nods.

“He’s a great father though. To both girls.”

“Good fathers don’t always mean good husbands,” you twist your teeth, fighting back the urge to cry. You have never been this candid about Andy, and you definitely haven’t been this honest with yourself, much less with a perfect stranger. “Look, I know it’s not in my job description, but I’m smart. I got resources. I’m not just an IT guy,” he gives you a quick wink. “It’s not much, but if you’re in a situation you need out of. I can be that guy.”

“Thanks Jake,” tears roll down your cheeks, and you try to fan them away, only for Jake’s thick thumb to wipe them across your cheek. Unable to look away from his sweet crooked grin, the sight of it warming your whole body, but you can’t do this. Infidelity got you into this mess. Another won’t get you out. “I’ve…we’ve got to go. Thanks for everything. I guess my services with you are finished.”

“Unless you,” Jake clears his throat, looking down at the girls before reverting his eyes back to you, “need me for anything else. Or help you get out of whatever you’re in, I mean it.”

“Right, thanks. I got your number.”

“I’ve got yours,” his teeth clenches before grimacing. “I’m sorry. I won’t call you. I do take this seriously.”

You give a little giggle before you get a ding on your phone. Removing your eyes from his to glance at your phone. “Shit.”

“The husband or the rich prick?”

“Rich prick. Time for reality to set in. Thanks again Jake,” turning you push the girls out to your car. Thinking of the difficult conversation you have to have with Andy. Well, two conversations. And the plethora of conversations with Ransom, and his family.

When you mentioned how Ransom was ready for you to meet his family along with Aster at dinner. Andy’s demeanor changed. Silently he stabs at the food on his plate. You watch his teeth clench, his hands rubbing along his brow. “You wanting to do this alone?”

“His grandfather wants to meet me. Have a conversation. Just me and Harlan.”

Looking up at you before his gaze turns back to his plate, he huffs, continuing to puncture every single piece of food on his plate. “Iris won’t be meeting them. I guess I’ll keep her. We’re going to have to go to court. I need things to be legal for my daughter,” Andy pauses, growling angrily. “His daughter. No overnight visits. He has to take a drug test. She’ll be at his house away from them.”

“Andy…”

“No, we’re going to court with this. If he wants to see her, he needs to prove himself. You know what? Our daughter will not be around him if he can’t pass a drug test. I’ve been raising her; I should have a say so.”

“I agree. Nothing concrete right now. He can have visitation until mediation. Now, I spoke with Jake. The original photo can from an IP address at Richard and Linda’s,” Andy looks up at you scowling shaking his head. “However, after that they were sent from their address to someone in St. Petersburg, Florida before sent you.”

“What?” Andy asks surprised.

“The address is from a house owned by a Roberta Taylor,” when Andy chokes on his food you look at him shocked. “You know her?”

“Nope. I’ve only visited St. Petersburg a few times.”

When he divulges this information, you think back. Remembering Andy has taken several business trips to St. Petersburg. You force yourself to remember to look back to see just how many times he’s been there. “It’s a rental property.”

“Hmm,” he answers, seemingly disinterested in everything you said.

“It might be nothing. Linda might have hired some random person to get us off her scent.”

“Yeah, probably. It’s over. Haven’t gotten any since before we were married, I guess that’s when you stopped. I’m really not that worried about it.”

Silently you and Andy eat dinner. Periodically tending to the twins, almost feeling normal for a moment. “Who called you?” looking up at you, Andy twists his eyebrows not following. “When I went to Ransom’s. You said someone called you. Who?”

“Client. They’re neighbors with him.”

“He doesn’t have neighbors.”

“Right, he lives way out. They happened to be in the garden. Saw your car drive past. Doesn’t take a genius to know where that driveway leads. Can we drop this. I don’t want an argument.”

“I’m sorry. How was your day?”

Trying on your sixth outfit of the morning, you look at yourself only to start taking off the garments, discarding them on the bed. When your husband walks in, holding tightly to Aster, you offer her sweet coos, before going back to the task at hand.

“Honey, it’s not a beauty pageant.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “I know. It’s meeting my…our daughter’s other family. Well, Harlan, maybe the others. You’ve only got one chance to make a first impression.”

Walking over he gives you a quick kiss on your cheek, “And you’re perfect. Harlan I’m sure will love you. The rest of the family, Ransom included, are all crazy.”

“And we’re not?” you mutter under your breath. “I just want, no need, things to go well. I need to understand who and where our daughter will be. Ransom won’t always be at his townhouse.”

“I know. You want me and Iris to go too? We can wait in the car?” you watch Iris finally crawl into the room. Sitting down on the floor reaching up for her daddy. Andy leans over to pick her up as well. Giving both girls kisses.

“No. I don’t know how long this will take. And even though my sweet little Iris Jade is big on her sleeping, she’s also a baby that’s now mobile. She needs to be able to move. The car isn’t the best.”

“Well, hopefully it’s not too long. I don’t like sharing you two.”

Those words sit heavy in your chest. You try to ignore it grabbing another outfit. “What about this?”

“Perfect. You better hurry or you’ll be late. One chance to make a first impression, remember?”

You follow the directions to Harlan’s estate to a tee. And still, you doubt exactly where you’re being led to. Living even further away from civilization than Ransom. It’s weird when you and Andy live in a tight nit community, with neighbors everywhere. But when you finally spot the house, you just know that it’s Harlan’s, and then you see the stupid Beemer in the driveway. You look back in the mirror at Aster, who giggling, plays with her now bare feet. “You never can keep shoes on, can you sweetheart?”

Hearing your voice, she screams out her nonsensical words. Slowly driving up and parking next to Ransom you see him walk down the steps, smiling at you before reaching back to get Aster. “Where are your socks and shoes?”

“She takes them off on long drives. You think he’s secluded enough?”

“The further out you are, the less people can hear you scream.”

“Well, that made me feel comfortable. Can I have my daughter? You said we needed to meet Harlan.”

“Our daughter. He wants to meet with you privately. I’ll babysit while you’re talking with him,” you don’t like this. Other than Andy, no one has ever had your girls without you present. And the ominous statement about screaming doesn’t put you at ease. Not to mention…

“You’re the father. You don’t babysit. Remember that,” you look between the two. Her in his arms, he could never deny the girl. “Fine, here’s her bag. If you need anything, diaper change, breastmilk heated up. Please come get me. I’m assuming you’ll know where I’ll be at?”

“Yes. Do you need me to get you when she breathes too?”

“Ran, this isn’t easy for me, okay? She’s never been away from me.”

“We’ll be in the same house. It’s not that big of a deal. Come on, follow me, I’ll point the way.”

He leads you into the house. Barely acknowledging any of the help that bustle around the estate. Okay, go down that hall, and up the stairs. His room is all the way up.

“I can take her. I need to give him some meds anyways. Marta.”

“The help,” Ransom responds.

“No, we’re not gonna do that. Aster will respect her, so don’t give her a reason not to,” Marta stifles a laugh, but Ransom shoots daggers at you.

“Thank you, Marta,” he dryly responds before turning and walking into another room.

You follow Marta, “What is it that you do here?”

“Harlan’s nurse,” is the only thing she says. You know there’s no telling what she thinks of you. You have a baby with Ransom, who also has a twin, but a different father. Mess, that’s what it is. And it’s all your mess. “Harlan, Mrs. Barber is here.”

“Ahh, Y/N. I’m glad I finally got to meet you. Go on, sit.”

You follow his instructions, waiting on him to be the first to talk. Neither of you speak, while Marta helps him with his medicine. When she finally leaves, is when Harlan changes his posture. Straightening up, before bringing his hands together, lacing his fingers, and he leans forward, looking straight at you. “I’m sure you’re full of questions. Can I ask a few quick ones first?” you nod your head for him to continue. “Do you love my grandson?”

“No.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Not fully.”

“One last question for now. Why did you get involved with him? Unprotected no less. Children are a lifetime, even after eighteen.”

“I was unaware that I wasn’t protected,” you look down at the floor. Personal question, but it’s the reality check that you desperately needed. With a smile from Harlan, you see he’s beckoning you to ask him anything. “Why was he so pushy with the DNA testing?”

“You don’t think a man deserves to know if he’s fathered a child?”

“I do. But he was uninterested. He saw me pregnant. Told me he was glad they were both Andy’s. Only for him to pop up randomly demanding a paternity test.”

Harlan sits silently. With a deep breath and a lick to his lips his gravely and commanding voice speaks. “Some of that was due to me and some his mother.”

“So, there is something in it for him?”

“Let me start by saying, after he saw you pregnant, he didn’t just write it off. He came to me scared. No matter what you feel for him, he cares about you. I know my grandson; he doesn’t mention women. He’s mentioned you multiple times. He was worried that Andy had trapped you. He was worried that the twins could be his. He didn’t know what to do. I told him to trust himself. After my daughter saw the baby, she knew she was Ransom’s. Told me that she knew in her heart that baby belonged to him. I was overjoyed. He’s harsh and a…”

“Ass hole?”

“Yes, but he has potential to be a great man, a good father, possibly a good husband,” huffing out a laugh you shake your head, and look down into your lap. “You doubt his ability to be a good husband?”

“I feel like you’re insinuating me as the wife.”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m speaking about Ransom.”

“I feel Ransom and I may be toxic.”

“Might have something to do with you having an affair with him, while engaged to Andy Barber,” again you look at your lap. “Given the right situation, you two might not have been toxic. I will not deny he’s pompous. But had the occasion arise that you two given yourselves a real chance…”

“You can’t change the past. It’s done.”

“But there’s always a future. Especially considering there’s an offspring. However, let’s not talk about you and Ransom. That’s not what’s important. I told you I was thrilled about him having a child. I can’t wait to meet Aster. But you’re right. His inheritance has been changed. Along with an added inheritance to his daughter. I understand she has a sister. I want, if you and Andy would allow, to write in her twin as well.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“I understand it’s a lot of information. I can’t speak for the family, but I won’t treat the girls differently. While, Ransom may not have fathered Iris. That’s still my granddaughter’s twin. Not just her sister. I also won’t lie to you, Linda and Richard have requested I not do that,” when you let out an exasperated sigh, he raises his eyebrows. “Am I led to believe you’re not a fan of my daughter and her husband? They are your daughter’s grandparents.”

“I have reason to believe that Linda meddled in mine and Ransom’s indiscretions. Trying to alert Andy of the situation.”

Harlan laughs at you, and trying to be respectful you deeply breathe. “My dear child, if you knew one of your daughters was having an affair, and she was also engaged to another man, what would you do?”

“I’m not Linda’s daughter.”

“But Ransom is her son.”

“That doesn’t give her a right to snoop through her son’s phone, and send Andy photos of us in sensitive positions.”

“I’m assuming you have proof of this?” he asks, looking perplexed, and genuinely concerned.

“Something like that. I may not know it was Linda, but they were sent from hers and Richard’s computer.”

“I see. Couldn’t it have been Ransom?”

“No. We had an um…”

“That’s right. The contract,” when he sees you look at him surprised, he chuckles. “Ransom and I talk more than you thought, huh? He has his flaws, but with time and guidance, he could be good.”

“Can I be honest?”

“I thought that’s what we were doing?”

“Your family scares me. Having my daughter here, without me, and with a man who had no interest of having a child, scares me. Everything about this scares me. I just need to know, when she’s with Ransom, and with his family she’s safe, she’s loved, cared for, and treats people, every kind of people, not just the family, with respect.”

“That last thing. It’s one of Ransom’s unfortunate flaws. I think you could change him. He already is changing,” the two of you look at each other, and he smiles. “But we’re not talking about the two of you are we? We’re talking about the care that Aster will receive while away from you. I may be an old man, but I’m for the most part loved and respected by my children, their spouses, and my grandchildren, now a great grandchild. You have my word that I will watch to make sure she’s cared for. Now, I understand you two haven’t gone through any lengths of his time with her, or even child support,” you shake your head no. “We’ll get to that point in time. The family would like it legal, for the safety of everyone. I have a request though. I would like her last name to be changed to Drysdale.”

You knew this was coming. In many ways, that’s what needs to happen. You know it’ll break Andy, and then the prospect of your twins now having two last names. It will be blatantly obvious even to strangers that they have different dads.

“At least think about it. He deserves to have his daughter carry on his legacy.”

“I was thinking more of the embarrassment of the girls. Twins with different last names.”

“You weren’t thinking about that when you were sleeping with two different men. I hate to be brutally honest, but it seems like you need some honesty. Ransom also fears for you and the girls around Andy.”

“Why?”

“Andy is a kind, just and fair man? With you I mean? Andy’s a great lawyer, he’s been good to my family, especially my grandson.”

“Andy’s been finding this situation stressful.”

“Has he hurt you?” unsure of how to answer you just shake your head, diverting your gaze back into your lap, twiddling your fingers. “Has he hurt the girls?”

“Never. Andy’s a great father.”

“How about husband?”

“We’re newlyweds, it takes times.”

“Don’t make excuses for the ones who don’t deserve it. I won’t dwell on it. If you or the girls should ever need a place, I’ve got room. Aster will be provided her own room here. I’ve requested that the family doesn’t spoil her too much, because she does have a twin sister.”

“Thank you,” he knows you’re thanking him for more than wanting the family to not spoil her. He knows that your thanks are for the prospect of having a place to go, should you need to get away. The man hardly knows you, and has showered you with so much kindness.

“Now, how about you introduce me to my great granddaughter, Aster?” you walk over extending an arm to help him up, which he does take, but you allow him to lead the way, and when you go into the sitting room, you’re overwhelmed by the amount of people. You had figured it would just be Ransom, no. You see his mother, and too many people you don’t know. All gushing over your sweet flower. When Aster gets sight of you, her face crinkles up, crying as she reaches for you.

Walking over to the young girl that holds her you pick her up. Pressing her tightly against you and humming a sweet lullaby. She notices Ransom walking over to the pair of you. Through her tears Aster let’s out a little giggle at her dad, quickly you glance up at Ransom, who only has eyes for her. Noticing the quick melt of his face, you look back down at Aster, giving her a quick kiss. You don’t notice the silence in the room, the people watching the three of you. Watching the sweet moment, even from the pompous ass.

When Ransom finally notices the quietness and everyone looking at you guys, he huffs walking out of the room, leaving you in a room of strangers. “Y/N, can I see my great granddaughter?” walking over to Harlan you lean forward, and Aster clings tighter to you. “Don’t force her to sit with me,” he smiles at the little girl. “You do look like your daddy though, don’t you? You’re such a pretty little thing, remind me of your dad.”

“She looks just like him. I knew when I saw her at the park that she was a Drysdale,” recoiling, you keep your eyes on Harlan. You know that the voice comes only from Linda. “Will we get a chance to keep her? We’re her family.”

“We still have to work out the details with Ransom. No overnight visits right now. She’s not been away from me, and he’s not been a father.”

“It’s hard to be a father, when you’re not given the chance,” the man puts his hand on Linda’s thigh, and you know, that’s Richard.

“I wasn’t aware of Ransom’s parentage when she was born.”

“You had to know it was a possibility when you were underneath him. Don’t tell me you don’t look at that little girl and know that she’s his.”

“Linda! That’s enough,” Harlan shouts, making you jump, and Aster whine.

“I’m just saying, the little tart should have been worried about her fiancé instead of my son.”

“And you think I didn’t have a role in it, mother? We’ve all established we were having an affair. We all know that my daughter has a twin, that isn’t mine. Cleared the air. Now, if we can stop being so fucking rude to the mother of my daughter, that would be great. Realize that she holds my custody in her hands. You want Aster around here; you won’t speak ill of her mother. She had an affair just as much as I did. She didn’t rape me,” Ransom’s voice booms through the sitting area. The more he speaks to his vulturous family, the closer he gets to you and Aster, ending by looking at her with a smile, and then back to the room. “Have I made myself clear?”

The room all nod, speaking their yeses. “Now, let me introduce you to everyone,” he says, looking back at you. “You met my grandfather. This here, is my lovely mother and father, Linda and Richard. I understand you already met my mother once. Here is Joni and her daughter Meg. Then there’s Walt, Donna, where’s your creepy son, Jacob?” you elbow Ransom. He just got finished chastising his family for speaking poorly on you, only for him to make a comment about someone’s son. “At any rate. He’s somewhere, young, always has a phone in his hand. That’s Jacob.”

“You’re forgetting someone?”

You don’t need to turn around. Your body tenses up, chills run up your spine at the sound of his voice. “No one invited you,” Richard tells him.

He walks over to your side, his hand touching your daughter, and you jerk away, and even Ransom pushes his hand off, “I’m Robert. You must be Mrs. Barber. And that means, she’s my bastard niece.”

“She’s not a bastard,” your voice strong protecting your innocent child.

“She’s like me, huh, mother?” Robert’s eyes turn to look at Linda, daring her to make a comment.

“Robert, you’ll refrain from speaking ill on my great granddaughter, or you can find the door. Are we clear?”

“Crystal. Just wanted to see the woman who liked spreading those pretty legs for my narcissistic brother.”

Ransom squares up with him. Pushing his chest into Robert’s, “Is there a problem?”

“Sweet cunt she’s got, huh?”

Now the majority of the people in the room you would wager, know nothing about that time, but still the gasps that happen shock you. Ransom pushes Robert out of the sitting area, and Richard comes up to you, missing your hip, and his hand lands directly on your ass, slowly rolling up before he pushes you and Aster in the opposite direction, “Sorry about my wife’s illegitimate son. I should have stepped up and been a better father.”

“Are you okay?” Meg asks, shooing Richard away. With nothing to say you only nod your head. Feeling the warmth from a now oddly shy Aster, you know it’s time to change her diaper.

“Excuse me. I need to, she’s wet,” you walk to grab her diaper bag, spotting Ransom coming back alone. “I need to change her.”

“Oh, um, come on,” his hand pushes up against your mid back, much more appropriately than his father’s hands, leading you into a small room on the ground floor. Your eyes look around at the room that was prepared for Aster. Complete with a crib, changing table, closet full of clothes. Looking like it came directly off Pinterest. “Do you mind showing me? I won’t always have you with me.”

For the first time since being here you relax. Smiling at Ransom you show him the proper way to change his daughter. Aster chatters up at the two of you, smiling, giggling, and feeling comfortable herself. “Everyone kinda helped pick everything out. Jacob’s the youngest. There’s not been a baby in a while,” he picks up Aster, and uses his hand to guide you through her room. “No expense will be spared. She’ll have everything she needs and then some. And if there’s anything you know she prefers, we’ll…I’ll get it.”

“It’s perfect. It’s just…”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yeah, your family. They’re…”

“I know. Sorry about Robert. He really wasn’t invited. Sorry about mom. She’s bitter. Aster’s nearly one, and she feels she’s missed out, ya know? Me, too. I’m just not as hung up on it. I want to try, I do.”

“It has nothing to do with the extra money?”

“He told you? Figured he would. At first, yeah, but then she liked me. She reaches for me, and talks to me. It’s like she chose me. And she’s…yours.”

Too often these days mixed emotions run through you. In this moment, there’s more than ever. Ransom is usually such an ass. Before it didn’t bother you, because you weren’t attached. It was always just sex between the two of you. But lately, when these tender moments arise, you feel tingling in your body. Lust running through your veins. The man holds onto your daughter, and takes one step to you, closing the gap between the two of you, close enough to the feel the shaky hot breath coming off his lips. Lips that you know you didn’t kiss nearly enough, believing kissing to be more intimate than even sex.

But when his eyes dart from yours to your lips, you lean in, careful to miss your daughter. And when he leans into you, bringing his lips closer to yours, you don’t want him to stop, but then the door opens abruptly and Linda clears her throat, you both turn to look at her, looking pissed off with her hip jutted out and her arms crossed. “Lunch is ready,” she says haughtily. “Would you like to call your husband to join us?” her voice emphasizing husband. You know it’s wrong. But your emotions of late are all over the place, and for once, you want something sweet and happy. You didn’t know there would come a time that you would miss that side of Andy, and you’re not sure Ransom could fully give you that, so it is a good thing that Linda interrupted the moment.

“We’ll be right there,” Ransom tells his mother, but she still refuses to close the door. “I said we would be right there mother,” Linda turns to stomp off, leaving the door wide open behind her. “Where were we?” he asks, leaning back into you. Putting your hand up on his lips to stop him, you reach to grab Aster, and he pulls back.

“Sorry, Ran, but we should go eat lunch with your family.”

“I know what we were about to do,” he snidely tells you, cocking up an eyebrow as he looks down at your figure.

“And it’s a good thing it was stopped,” he only rolls his eyes at you before walking out. You follow behind him. Needing some space, and not that it would matter, his father sits you beside him, across from Ransom and Aster, who has a high chair right beside her dad. Meg on the other side of you for the most painfully difficult lunch. You mostly sit quiet, stealing glances at Ransom and Aster. You assume he tried to be flirty with you, only to have kicked Meg instead, and when you giggle, he shakes his head at you, turning his attention back to Aster, who very slowly gets used to the people. Opening up mostly for Ransom and even Harlan who sits at the head of the table, right in between Meg and Aster.

Harlan is very delicate with Aster, and he loved when she would talk her nonsensical words to him. After lunch, Ransom politely tells his family that you and Aster should be getting back home. Promising there would be more time with the little girl, but to of course not get too used to her, because he wasn’t sure how often he wanted her around them. Linda put in her two cents, Richard agreeing with every word, and adding a few choice insults, that you choose to ignore.

Walking you outside to your car, Ransom buckles Aster in, but you readjust her chest strap, reminding him exactly where it needed to be, in order to keep her safe. You can tell he absorbs everything you tell him about taking care of her. When you close her door, he follows you around the car, opening up your door before the two of you stand looking at one another. “I know it wasn’t perfect, but thank you for being patient. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“No, but that’s her family. I want to get along with them. They’re apart of her.”

“Please, don’t say that. She doesn’t need that on her shoulders,” the two of you laugh, and he leans in to hug you. “I mean it, thank you,” lingering in the hug, you just hold onto his toned frame. “I want to have a united co-parenting thing. I know it’ll be best for us and her.”

You pull back from the hug, but still leave your arms resting around his waist. Every part of you needs to just look into his deep blue eyes, reminding yourself not to get too deep with him. But when he leans forward, first kissing your cheek innocently, only to move to your neck and back to your lips, giving you the softest chaste kiss. But when he pulls away, it’s only slightly. His lips still too close to yours, and when he tells you, “You feel it, too, don’t you?” his lips sporadically touch against yours.

“We can’t do this, Ran.”

“Why, daddy Andy? He’s not the man you fell for though, is he? Looks like we’re trading places,” he finally backs away from you. Leaving enough room for your lips not to touch against the others.

“He’s a good dad.”

“What about for you? We could make this work.”

“I’m married,” you remind me, but the two of you still are too close. Neither of you noticing the glare coming from Linda, and the rest of the family walking past any windows, and not too casually.

“There’s a thing called divorce.”

“I don’t want to make too much of a mess.”

“So, we’re doing the affair thing again?”

“We’re doing the co-parenting thing.”

“Fucking hell, Y/N. You’re just going to stay with him, even though he’s getting…” his voice raises, and he removes your hands from his side.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And you’re still trying to make something work.”

“It was just sex between us, don’t forget that.”

“Was. Past tense. Dammit, you have options. Don’t push yourself into something just because you think it’s perfect to other people.”

“Don’t act like you know what goes on in my home.”

“Can you just…fuck…just think about it? That’s all I’m asking.”

“If you just promise to do everything to keep our little girl safe and happy? Ran, when overnight visits happen, I have to trust you.”

“My bed’s big enough for you to stay,” when you look at him angrily his smug smile leaves his face. “You’re married, I get it. It didn’t bother me when you were engaged, still doesn’t.”

“It should. I really need to go. It’s nap time. Iris will need her sister.”

Ransom opens your door wider, holding onto you, assisting you in the car, and when his body turns to the side, he sees the family watching him. He sees the many expressions everyone makes. From shock, to happiness, to the anger from his mother, and he gives her his signature crooked cocky grin. Staying outside until your car is completely out of his sight.

When he walks back into the house, Harlan lifts a finger to wiggle at Ransom to come to him. “Help me to my room, Ransom.”

Ransom knows that’s an excuse to talk to him, but he does as his grandfather asks of him. Leading him to his room. Harlan sits in a chair, the Go board in front of him, motioning Ransom to sit and join him. “Did you ask her?”

“Not exactly.”

“Are you afraid of what she’ll say?”

“A bit.”

“It looked like the ball is in your court. Regardless of what she told me. I saw you two. She’s not as emotionless towards you as she’s pretending to be,” Harlan lays down a piece, and Ransom counters him.

“She’s stuck on having her perfect life. She won’t divorce him easily,” the two men lay down a few pieces, before Ransom studies the board. Trying to get you off his mind. Ransom sighs, his eyes never leaving the board. “He’s losing her though. I see it. I don’t know he’s being abusive. But I suspect it. I see her light fading.”

“You need to act fast. If she leaves him, and she hasn’t admitted her true feelings concerning you, she’ll find another. She doesn’t have the best taste in men. And now you have a daughter to worry about.”

Ransom nearly slams a piece down on the board, ending the game, with him as the victor. “I’ll worry about my problems. You just hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Play nice, son. It’ll get ugly before it gets better.”

“I’m aware. Andy thinks he’s so smart. He’s an idiot. She’ll find out all his secrets. I wonder if she’s aware of his father or the others.”

“Ransom, let her discover this herself. Don’t you worry about it. You get involved and she’ll hate you. Let the game, if you will, play out. You just may beat it. Much like you did tonight. Get some rest. You’ll need it. She did dig up who sent the photos to Andy. She knows your mother’s involvement. Knows she was sending them to him. But how was she to know he would send them to his brother?”

“I hate this. For her and for Aster. Why can’t I just…”

“You tell that woman all of Andy’s secrets then she’s going to distrust you. She’s suspicious of Andy. She’ll keep digging. She got in touch with that paranoid Jake Jensen. He’s the one that discovered who was sending the photos.”

“Yeah and Jensen goes above and beyond what he’s asked. He probably looked in her phone, and her history. Andy’s history,” Harlan smiles shaking his head at Ransom. “You think he’d dig that deep? Bring all of Andy’s family to life?”

“Jake Jensen does anything for a pretty face. Remember, she has to realize her feelings for you before she gets a divorce. She’s pretty. She has options. Jake Jensen could be one of them.”

Ransom bids his grandfather goodnight. Ignoring his mother’s protests as he walks out the door to go home to an empty house littered with baby stuff. He hopes there will come a day that you and the twins will be living there with him, maybe in time.

Masterlist

#desperate affairs #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #andy barber #andy barber x reader #knives out #defending jacob #chris evans #chris evans characters #fanfic #fanfiction

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Take X-pecting for 200, Alex

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid plays a trivia game at the request of his wife, Y/N, but he’s in for more than some heaving hitting questions.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Wife Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: I really don’t think that this summary does this justice

I’ll Take X-pecting for 200, Alex

Shuffling the cards with a shake in her hand, Y/N tells herself to just breathe. This is something that Spencer and her have been looking forward to, dreamed about, and constantly discussed. Regardless of how much she knows Spencer loves her, there’s a lingering seed of doubt that only grows with the sound of Spencer walking into their house.

“Y/N!, I’m home, darlin’,” Spencer calls from the hallway, dropping the “g” because he knows that Y/N finds it endearing.

“Baby,” Y/N yells from the table. “I’m in the dining room. I made us a trivia game! Come play with me, I need your brains,” she finishes, smiling at her husband, who has been away for nearly two weeks.

“You know do I love trivia, Y/N,” Spencer says. He takes a seat next to his wife, but before he can kiss her, she pushes him out of his chair and motions for him to take the seat opposite of her.

“Before we start, how was the case? Everyone make it home in one piece?” Y/N asks concerned over the wellbeing of some of her closest friends.

“Everyone’s fine, Y/N. The unsub ended up being a team. Two women hellbent on getting revenge for their children’s murders. One of them got away,” Spencer explains, solemnly.

“Oof,” Y/N says, letting out a sigh. “It’s at times like these that I’m glad I don’t have your job. I’m kinda glad she got away, between you and me.”

“It’s hard, sometimes we don’t really know who we’re bringing justice too. But, I’d do anything to protect my future children, and you. Anything I needed to do to keep you safe,” Spencer tells her, leaning across the table and kissing Y/N’s hand. She gives him a sheepish smile, but inside her mind is eager to get this trivia game started.

“You’re a charmer, Dr. Reid,” Y/N flirts.

“Just for you, Y/N. Now you mentioned something about trivia,” Spencer says, clapping his hands together excitedly.

“I just thought you’d like to rest your brain after a case but shifting though all those facts you got stored up there. And I always said you should try out for Jeopardy,” Y/N says as she collects the cards with the clues.

She spreads out the categories, Child Psychology, Children’s Books, Labor & Delivery, Nursery Rhymes, X-Epecting, on the table. They were all handwritten on different colorful pieces of cardstock and decorated with baby animals and block letters. Y/N read the categories aloud to her husband, allowing herself to steal a glance at his face while he concentrated on the categories, as if he already could answer the questions.

“All right, Spencer, you pick first,” Y/N says, in her best Alex Trebek impression.

“I’ll take Child Psychology for $200,” Spencer chooses, looking up to smile at Y/N.

“This is the substitute mother that baby monkeys formed an attachment to in Harlow’s psychological experiment,” Y/N asks.

“Terry-Cloth,” Spencer interjects.

“Not uh, Spence, you need to answer correctly,” Y/N teases. She looks up at him expectantly to choose the next clue. He rolls his eyes at her, but secretly he enjoys the playful banter they still share even after all these years.

“Um, Children’s Books $200,”

“This is the story of the clever spider that can weave words in her web,”

“What is Charlotte’s Web?”

“Correct, pick again please,” Y/N says, as she tries to maintain a stoic composure.

“This is the average of days that newborns keep up their sleepless parents,” Y/N asks, sure that this question would stump her genius husband. But to no avail, Spencer answers the question correctly.

“Okay! Next time try-outs are around, I’m forcing you to take the test,” Y/N says running over to kiss Spencer on the cheek.

“You know judges are supposed to remain impartial, Y/N” Spencer tells her, putting his arm around her waist as if he’s signally her to sit in his lap.

“I can’t help it, how about you win kisses every time you get a question right, Spence,” Y/N proposes.

“I guess it’s worth more than fake money,” Spencer teases.

“You offend me, baby!” Y/N pretends to be hurt by Spencer’s words, but urges him to continue the game.

“You only got a couple more left, Spence,”

“Okay, how about X-Expecting for $200,” Spencer chooses.

“This chromosome is linked to the baby’s mother,” Y/N quizzes, finding it difficult to keep her smiles and secrets at bay when Spencer’s arm tugs around her waist tightly and his fingers draw patterns under her shirt.

“What is X-Chromosome,” Spencer answers before Y/N can even finish the clue.

“You know that you’re supposed to wait until the clue is read, Spence. I should redact kisses,” Y/N fake threats.

“No! Y/N I’ll die without your kisses, please!” Spencer cries out in pretend disain. Much to his amusement his goofy behavior leads Y/N to plant small pecks on his forehead.

“There, that should hold you over,”

“I doubt it, Y/N. I miss you already,” Spencer mutters into her shoulder, as if he’s trying to get closer to his wife more than he could already be with her sitting on his lap.

“Two more clues till Final Jeopardy,” Y/N announces, ignoring the fact that she’s bypassing the rest of the clues and totally disregarding Double Jeopardy.

“Hmm, let’s go to Nursery Rhymes for kissing for the rest of my life,” Spencer picks, peppering Y/N’s shoulder with kisses.

“Huh! Look at that, Spencer, you got the Daily Double, so whatcha going to wager?” Y/N asks, knowing she’s pulling this Daily Double straight out of the air, but Spencer’s affection for only one lifetime is not nearly enough for her.

“I’ll make a true Daily Double, darling. That means double the amount of kisses,” Spencer tells her, ticking the sides of Y/N waist.

“Here’s your clue, Jack is urged to be nimble & quick, helping him do this,” Y/N reads from the card.

“What is to jump over the candlestick?” Spencer guesses, closing his eyes to be assaulted by Y/N’s eager lips.

“Yay! Double kisses!” Y/N yells happily as she pecks Spencer’s eyelids and nose, causing him to laugh at her light affection.

“Next question, it’s the last one so you don’t get a choice, but I have so much confidence in you, my genius husband. These are the names of the 3 stages of labor?” Y/N questions, looking over her shoulder to get a glimpse of Spencer’s mind at work.

“What are dilation, expulsion, and afterbirth,” Spencer answers, once again perfectly.

“Okay, Dr. Reid you’ve accumulated a total of double kisses for the rest of our lives. Your Final Jeopardy category is, Ready For It…” Y/N announces.

“Last one,” Spencer says, and Y/N wonders if Spencer’s figured it out by now. She hands Spencer the small cardboard box. He looks at it curiously and Y/N can feel her heart in her stomach. He must know by now, she thinks. He’s brilliant, but sometimes he can be a little clueless when it comes to things like that. Y/N thinks back to how they danced around each other for years before Derek practically had to force them out on a date. He must know.

“You’re clue is inside the box, Spence,” Y/N tells him, her voice shaky and unsure.

Spencer carefully opens the cardboard box and reaches in to pull out the small pregnancy test that lay hidden inside. He looks it over, reading the test twice, three times, maybe even four times. He honestly can’t remember taking longer to read something. Spencer looks up at a terrified Y/N.

“You’re pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?” Spencer asks, desperately wanting to believe what he holds in his hand.

“You’re gonna be a daddy, Spence,” Y/N tells him, her smile struggling to conceal itself in between the bouts of happiness and joy that courses through her veins.

“A baby! Oh Y/N. A baby!” Spencer shouts rushing over to where his wife stands in between the entrance from their kitchen to their dining room.

“You’re happy, right Spence. You want this with me-” Y/N starts, a sudden rush of fear lodging itself in her heart.

“Of course I’m happy, Y/N. I’m so happy to be a dad. You’re going to be a mom! You’ll be the best mom, Y/N. I love you, Y/N,” Spencer says, crouching down to rub his hands on Y/N’s belly.

“Hi sweet baby,” Y/N says softly, looking down at her belly and covering her hand over Spencer’s. “I want you to meet your daddy. He’s going to take care of you so well, he might talk a lot but you get used to it”

“Hey, baby. It’s your dad,” Spencer murmurs quietly into Y/N’s belly. “I’m so glad that mommy told me about you. You gotta do some growing in there before you can meet us, but we love you so much, baby,”

“I really love you so much Y/N,” Spencer says as he sits up to kiss his wife.

All his life Spencer’s loved science. He loves discovering the undiscovered. Memorizing all those theories and facts and methods could never prepare him for the awe that sat before him. He realizes that he’s looked at science all wrong. There's a beauty in science- a natural, unadulterated beauty that’s so rare to find. But he’s found it and he’s never letting go.

Thank You for Reading!

Taglist: @calm-and-doctor

If anyone wants to be tagged in new posts, feel free to comment and I’ll be thrilled to tag you <3

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fics #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid deserved a happy ending

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teacupfulofstarshine · 3 years ago

Text

jet-lagged heart

summary: logan’s research in antarctica has finally finished, he has job offers from three of pretoria’s major universities, and there are three plane tickets sitting in his backpack. he’s going to south africa to be with virgil. he’s going home.

(or: a fic about the first time virgil and logan meet in person, set in @lovelylogans absolutely phenomenal sense8-inspired 2021 big bang fic)

CW: minor anxiety

wordcount: ~1.7k

pairing: romantic analogical, platonic sides

read it on ao3!

It has long become habit for Logan to wear his earpiece constantly. He can’t remember the last time he took it off other than sleeping and showering - he puts it on daily along with his glasses.

“Hello there,” a familiar voice says, a familiar weight draping around his shoulders. Logan smiles, leaning back and tipping his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder. “How are you, hmmm?”

“Excited,” Logan says. Virgil presses a kiss against his cheek, and Logan feels the uncontrollable urge to stim. One hand flaps at his side, and he can feel his cluster flapping in unison - a surge of joy from Patton, fond exasperation from Roman and Remus, mild annoyance from Janus, and nothing but lovelovelove from Virgil.

“Today is the day. When does the plane leave?”

Logan glances down at his wrist, only to realize that he isn’t wearing his watch. He blinks, and suddenly the arm in front of him is bare and tattooed with a bright blue paw-print-patterned watch on it. He blinks again, sees himself and Virgil reflected in his mirror, and quickly does some mental math. “Approximately four hours from now.”

“Did your virtual interviews go well, umthandi?”

“I have offers from three separate universities around Pretoria. Will you help me select which offer I should accept?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, kochanek,” Logan hums, turning to nuzzle into Virgil’s stubbly cheek.

“I have your bedroom prepared in our apartment,” Virgil says. Logan turns to look up at him in confusion.

“Are we not sharing a bed?”

Virgil flushes slightly, and Logan feels him rubbing at the back of his neck. “I know that sometimes you get anxious when crowded, and sometimes you get overwhelmed by the presence of other people. I thought it would be best to prepare a place where you could retreat and rest from the world.”

Logan laughs, and he feels Patton laughing with him (even if Patton doesn’t really know what he’s laughing about.) “What?” Virgil says, and when Logan turns around he sees Virgil standing in front of a jacaranda tree in his yard, pouting.

“You do not count as people, kochanek. None of our cluster does. You haven’t for some time.” Virgil becomes even more embarrassed - Logan can feel it surge in his chest. He leans forward and gently kisses Virgil’s nose. “I appreciate your sensitivity. It’s one of the many, many things I love about you.”

Virgil presses a hand to Logan’s cheek, and Logan leans into the warmth before he can stop himself. He watches Virgil smile at him, blinks and sees the lovestruck expression on his own face, and closes his eyes happily.

*~*~*~*~*

“Did you buy the -”

“Yes, Janus,” Logan sighs, swinging his carryon over his shoulder and tapping at the Bluetooth. “For the seventeenth time, I used the money that you and Roman wired me to buy tickets for the seats around me so that no one will notice me talking to myself when I have to take the earpiece out.”

“You had better be bloody cautious.” Logan takes a step into Janus’s office, careful not to disturb the papers spread across the carpeted floor in an intricate web. Janus, sitting in the middle of the madness, reaches out and underlines something in dark yellow highlighter. “I will not have someone sending me psychic pain because they were stupid enough to get caught and experimented upon.”

Logan is familiar enough with his cluster to feel the worrypanicfearterror don’tgetintotroubleican’tgetyououtofpleasepleaseplease vibrating in Janus’s chest. He reaches out and squeezes Janus’s shoulder, pretending he doesn’t notice when Janus drops his head briefly and squishes his hand. “I promise to be careful, Janus.”

“You better,” Janus says. Logan takes another step and glances up at the arrival and departure board to find his gate.

*~*~*~*~*

“Had to take the earpiece out for the flight, huh?” Remus says, lounging upside-down in the empty seat next to Logan. Logan, who is focusing on his e-reader, offers a discreet nod. “Sucks to suck, my man. Sucks to suck.”

Logan doesn’t verbally respond, and Remus takes it as full permission to keep going. “Your boyfriend was telling me all about poison plants the other day - did you know that a deadly nightshade and a tomato are in the same family?”

“Solanum lycopersicum,” Logan murmurs, glancing around to ensure that no one is paying attention to him. Remus babbles on about plants for a few more minutes, flipping himself upright and flopping into Logan’s lap. “Do you mind?”

“I don’t, actually, thank you for asking!” Remus laughs. Logan puts his hand below his e-reader, where no one else will see it but Remus, and flips him off. “You’re gonna have to come visit the rest of us soon or we’ll think you’re playing favorites.”

Logan looks directly at the exaggerated fake pout on Remus’s face and says, “I do have a favorite. It is not you.”

Remus rolls his eyes and slides off the seat, disappearing before he hits the floor.

*~*~*~*~*

Patton looks up with a mouthful of sandwich to see Logan slumped in the air in front of him, one hand pressed against his forehead.

“Rough flight?”

“Travel headache, plus a visit,” Logan mutters. Patton hums, narrowing his eyes just slightly to judge which member Logan saw by the frown pinching his face.

“Remus?” A nod. “I’m sure he meant well.”

“Unexpected.”

“Don’t you have your earpiece in?”

Logan shakes his head briefly. “Not on a plane.”

“Ah.” Patton reaches out and gently pats Logan’s shoulder. “How much longer until you land in Pretoria?”

Logan glances down at his watch, then in front of him. Patton blinks and he’s sitting next to Logan, staring at a screen at the front of the plane that tells the expected arrival time. “Ninety minutes, give or take.”

Patton leans over and gently presses against Logan’s shoulder with the side of his head. “Hang in there, Lo. I know you can do it.”

Logan sighs, again, but his face relaxes a little. Patton blinks again, and Logan disappears just as his students return from the lunchroom.

*~*~*~*~*

“Virgil, calm yourself down,” Andisiwe says. She offers Virgil a cup of coffee, but he doesn’t take it, too busy pacing back and forth in front of the arrivals and departures board.

“The flight was supposed to be in ten minutes ago,” Virgil says. “The board still says that the flight was supposed to be in ten minutes ago, so why isn’t the flight in?”

“You cannot control the weather,” Andisiwe says. She sets the cup of coffee down on the small airport end table next to her own depleted cup, her purse, and the book Virgil brought in a fruitless effort to distract himself. “We knew that he might experience some turbulence leaving Antarctica, to say nothing of the layovers and connecting flights and the myriad of other things that come with air travel. You would know if he had been hurt or killed, would you not?”

Virgil’s entire body runs ice-cold at the mention, and he takes a few quick, panicked inhales. He feels reassurance flood his body - his mother’s hand on his shoulder, Patton’s arm around him, Roman’s hand on his back, right between his shoulderblades. He feels Logan’s hand slide into his, and he exhales shakily.

“You’re right,” he says, speaking to his mother and his cluster in unison. “Thank you.”

Patton and Logan both squeeze gently, Roman rubs his back and pats him a few times, and his mother smiles at him knowingly.

“Has he arrived, then?” she asks.

Virgil blinks, and he’s sitting in a plane, watching Logan collect his luggage from an overhead compartment and head down the aisle. He blinks again, and he’s back with his mother.

“He’s offboarding now,” Virgil sighs. Andisiwe pats his shoulder and takes a seat next to the end table she’s claimed, taking a sip of her coffee. Virgil takes a hasty swig of his own before turning back to the gate.

It isn’t long before he spots a familiar face, backpack and duffel bag slung over his shoulders and rolling suitcase behind him. Logan’s hair is slightly mussed, glasses smudged, tie loosened. Virgil blinks and he’s looking at himself, taking in his own wide eyes and spreading grin and feeling an immeasurable amount of love well up in his chest. He blinks again, view changing but love remaining, and Logan is smiling at him, speeding up to a not-quite jog as he weaves through the crowd.

“Logan,” Virgil breathes, reaching out as Logan releases the handle of his suitcase and slips his bags off his shoulders. He spreads his arms, and Logan slides into him effortlessly. Virgil buries his face into Logan’s hair and inhales the familiar scent of shampoo and body wash and Logan that haunted him all those months Logan was in Antarctica. He feels himself slip briefly into Logan’s body, feels strong arms around him and kisses being pressed into his hair repeatedly (he hadn’t even known he was kissing Logan’s head) and hears a rabbit-rapid heartbeat.

“I have missed you,” Logan sighs softly, and Virgil lets his whole body relax around Logan’s.

*~*~*~*~*

“Is the apartment too small?” Virgil asks, anxiously opening the door and shooing Logan inside. He’d insisted on taking the majority of Logan’s luggage, despite his protests; Logan just smiles fondly and steps into the living room. It’s furnished with a television, a sofa, a small bookshelf in front of the window full of plants, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on the wall. Logan notes with increasing joy that there are two whole shelves cleared off for him to put books on, once he unpacks or has his mother send some from Poland.

He can see over a small dividing wall into the kitchen, with a table in the center and two chairs. There’s a hallway leading down to an open door, through which Logan can see glimpses of a toilet and bathtub, and one door on either side of the hallway; he presumes those lead to the bedrooms.

“Is it okay?” Virgil repeats.

“it is perfect,” Logan says. “Truthfully, the specifications of the apartment do not matter. We could live anywhere in the world so long as we lived together. The apartment is wonderful because it is ours.”

Virgil takes Logan’s face, hands warm, and Logan leans up to kiss him again.

#starshinewrites #annalise tag!#this was inspired by annalise's incredible sense8 au #i read her fic seven times in a row and this idea Would Not Leave until i wrote it #i hope you like it lise!!!#ilysm <3

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 4 years ago

Text

Wrath and Rage

Wrath x reader

Word Count: 1762

Summary: Wrath already had a queen when he was summoned to Emilia’s side. Needless to say she wasn’t happy about his absence.

Note: He’s hot, and I had a plot bunny. don’t worry about it

You didn’t bother to hide the laugh that bubbled up from your throat at what your husband just told you. “So you got spooked and dropped your knife, is that it?”

Those golden eyes of his seemed to glow with irritation as he looked over at you. “Well, I don’t exactly want humans to know I’m around, now do I?”

This time you scoffed. “If some little witch managed to figure out that she’d just laid eyes on Prince Wrath himself based on that teensy little interaction, I’d want to meet her and shake her hand.”

“But the knife--”

“Is no indication of who you are on its own, and you damn well know it.” You slid your hands down the front of his shirt, fingers deftly opening it button by button. “Relax, my darling. You’ve been running around like a chicken with your head cut off about this whole Pride thing for so long. I’ve hardly seen you in weeks.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s a lie, and you know it.”

You did. The trips never took very long at all, after all, but you still missed him. Before this it’d been centuries since he’d been away from you in the human world for any real length of time. “Be that as it may . . .” You slid the shirt off of him and allowed your fingers to trail down the golden snake on his left arm, a mark that had an exact twin on your own skin. “All you have to do,” you kissed that shoulder, “in order to keep Pride’s whole search,” this kiss was to his neck, “a secret,” jaw, “is get it back before the little witch does anything stupid.” That last bit was whispered next to his ear.

Then his lips were suddenly on yours, as demanding as ever as he shoved you against the wall. He tugged at the laces to your pants while his lips moved to your neck.

“See what you miss when you’re--” your teasing voice cut off when the heat of his body suddenly disappeared, “gone.” You opened your eyes. Sure enough, Wrath was nowhere to be found. Anger flared through you, its presence making the shadows writhe around you.

The only reason he would leave like that would be a summoning, something out of his control. And the only person dumb enough to summon a prince of Hell would be that. Fucking. Witch. Rage, the emotion your power stemmed from, swelled throughout your body.

She will pay for this.

Little did you know that in the human realm, your husband was thinking something similar.

The combination of Emilia’s staring and the searing mark that’d appeared on his normally-clear arm set his teeth on edge. It shouldn’t be possible, a second betrothal spell in addition to the already fulfilled one he had with you--willingly, he might add--; yet there it was. Moon-shaped and clashing with his color scheme.

Still, he didn’t let on to what it truly meant. Odds were good that it wouldn’t amount to anything anyway, especially if he had a say. And if it did . . . Heaven help the woman that had to face the ire of the Queen of House Wrath.

In your time spent forcefully separated from each other, you and Wrath found yourselves weaving a complicated web to end this stupid endeavor in your favor, not the way Emilia wanted. And as soon as she agreed to marry Pride, your victory was sealed. Hours before that, when he’d died in the human realm, Wrath explained fully what had been going on since the messengers that’d been frantically flitting between you two could only convey so much, and you’d spent the time planning the final pieces of this battle of wits.

And enjoying each other’s company, but that was neither here nor there.

When it came time for Wrath to retrieve her, you lounged on the bed as he dressed, crown and all. “You can’t kill her when we return,” Wrath was saying while you watched him.

Your eyes moved to stare hatefully where their mark of betrothal used to reside. “I am aware,” you bit out.

“Are you?” There was an evil little smirk on his face when he turned to look at you. “Because your shadow seems to have other ideas.”

Sure enough, when you glanced down you saw that your shadow seemed to be holding a knife. Always the cause of your bad poker face, that thing. With a flare of gold in your eyes, you brought the shadow back under control, and it resumed being a silhouetted version of you, nothing more. The frown that’d been on your face since this mess started though, that stayed stubbornly in place.

Wrath took that as his cue to sweep closer elegantly, fingers trailing lightly down the golden body of the snake on your arm. “I swore to you the day we married that no one would ever come between us, did I not?”

“You did.” And Hell if your voice didn’t sound sullen despite yourself. You wanted to be unbothered by this. Truly, you did. But it was just so . . . unsettling to hear that someone had (however ignorantly) tried to steal him from you.

His free hand drifted over to grab the crown that still rested on the duvet. Your crown. The match to his own with spikes sharp enough to kill a man if you so chose. “Have I ever given reason for you to doubt that vow?”

“You haven’t.” That was true. A demon like Lust might have warranted such a fear, but Wrath was another kind of beast, an honest one. At least when it mattered. Mattered to you, that is. A warmth settled in your chest as your fingers moved to lightly hold his.

“Then why are you doubting me now?” his lips were pressed to your temple and he placed the crown on your head as he murmured the question.

Moments like this you remembered why you married him with perfect clarity. For the first time since he was stolen weeks ago a heat other than rage burned through you like a flashfire. “It’s not that I doubt you,” you said, turning so you could see his fierce, golden eyes. “It’s that I hate her.”

“Soon enough she will be Pride’s problem,” he soothed, “not ours.”

“Good,” you snarled before sealing your lips against his.

If Wrath’s lips were swollen suspiciously when he stepped out of the shadows to bring her to Pride, Emilia couldn’t work up the courage to comment on it. She was already in this mess with these demons so much deeper than she ever expected; she didn’t think her heart could take the stress of picking that particular fight on top of everything else. Besides, they weren’t bonded anymore; it wasn’t any of her business who he did or didn’t kiss.

Still, for some reason her heart stung at the thought of him with someone else after all they’d been through together.

But then they were bantering like it was all normal.

And then she was trying to scream in agony as it felt like someone lit her soul ablaze.

And then they were standing in a throne room steeped in black and gold and red.

This wasn’t House Pride, she realized abruptly. These were Wrath’s colors through and through.

“You’ll have to forgive the brief stop here,” a woman’s voice called Emilia’s attention to the front of the room. She was beautiful. Leather pants, a billowing shirt, boots that looked artfully worn-in, all steeped in nothing but black. The only spot of color in her wardrobe was the golden crown atop her head. A flash of gold on the back of her hand drew Emilia’s attention. “A prince of Hell like my husband can only travel directly from the human realm to his home. An envoy from Pride awaits outside to escort you to your Betrothed.”

Emilia’s ears started and were still ringing at the word ‘husband’ by the time she finished talking. The gold she’d noticed on her hand. It was an exact copy of the snake she’d seen on Wrath’s body the night she summoned him. Confusion lanced through her. “What--”

You laughed, cutting her off. This was rich. “You never stopped to wonder what the mark on his other arm was?” You rose from your seat, shadows coiling around your feet menacingly. “You’re dumber than I thought.”

Emilia could only stare at the approaching figure, alarmed by the casual display of power as well as the pitch black veil surrounding her that was every bit as threatening as the black and gold one around Wrath. She had to fight to retain any form of dignity and stay carefully neutral-faced when Wrath’s hand settled on the woman’s lower back in a display so casual it couldn’t have been faked.

“How terrible to meet you,” you scoffed. “You can call me Rage.”

A fitting emotion for such a terrifying queen, Emilia supposed.

“I think it goes without saying that if I ever see you lurking around my husband again, not even your betrothal to my brother-in-law will save you.”

Said husband had a look of evil smugness on his handsome face that made Emilia recoil a little. Then a thought occurred to her. “If you already have a queen, then why--”

“Was everyone pushing me to make it official with you?” Wrath cut her off, one eyebrow arching. “That answer is quite simple if you think about it.”

“Which is exactly why she hasn’t figured it out,” you smirked. “They don’t like me because I’m not intimidated by them just existing as princes of Hell.” You turned to face Wrath, loving the automatic way his eyes trailed over your form heatedly. He’d been worked up since the two of you dressed; there hadn’t been time to burn off some of the aggression that danced within both of you. “ Now,” you addressed her even as your hand moved to cup his face, thumb skimming along his cheekbone appreciatively, “you’ve robbed me of Wrath here for quite long enough on top of forcing me to singlehandedly deal with the idiocy of lower demons. You’re lucky I don’t kill you for the former, and I hate you even more for the latter, so kindly get the hell out of House Wrath.”

You didn’t spare the girl a glance as a guard moved to escort her out. No, you only had eyes for your husband . . . at least until your eyes closed when you dragged him down for a bruising kiss.

#wrath x reader #wrath imagine #prince wrath x reader #prince wrath imagine #kingdom of the wicked imagine #reader insert

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narniaandplowmen · 4 years ago

Text

counting my way back to you.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

Also on AO3

3113 words.

General Audiences / No Archive Warnings Apply

Complete

It is not easy to make a Fae lose count.

It does not take much for a Witcher to worry.

If it takes a lot to make a Fae stop counting, then what exactly does it take?

It is not easy to make a Fae lose count. People say that, once you enter the immortal world, there is no way of knowing what time it is when you step back out. Jaskier had always found that foolish blabber, of course. It was a simple calculation: just keep count of the number of seconds you are in the Fae world, divide or multiply that by the number of stars in the sky when you enter - depending on the number of grass blades in the fairy circle you entered through - subtract the number of heartbeats it takes between entering the Fae world and touching a snowbell and voilà, that's how many milliseconds have passed in the world mortals know. A simple calculation, really. But it did not take long for Jaskier to realise that foolish mortals are easily distracted, it takes much more for a Fae to stop counting. It takes much more, but it is possible.

It does not take much for a Witcher to worry. Or, well, it does not take much for Geralt to worry when Jaskier’s concerned. To know your closest friend, soulmate, better half, husband, whatever you wanted to call it, is perfectly able to handle himself is something completely different than actually feeling it. If only the rational part of his brain listened to his emotions. Geralt sighed as he looked around him one last time. They had agreed to meet here, one damn week ago. And Jaskier was never late for these meetups.

Never. Until now.

If it takes a lot to make a Fae stop counting, then what exactly does it take?

‘Julek, you are to be crowned king this winter solstice.’

Breathe in, breathe out.

And Jaskier lost count.

‘You want me to do what?’ his reaction came, just a few seconds (minutes? hours? in the world of the Fae, who knows?) too late. Or was it right on time? The Fae world is weird when you lose count, however brief. But here’s the thing when you lose count: once lost, it can never be found again. Never truly. A decent estimation can be made, of course, especially for such a talented Fae as Jaskier, but finding it? No, even those who break the laws of nature in every regard have to keep to the mathematical rules of the universe.

A week later (two weeks too late, Jaskier never even arrived a second later than he wanted to. Sure, he arrived late, ‘fashionably late’ as he called it, but he arrived the exact lateness as he intended to. Even whilst Jaskier slept Geralt could sometimes hear the man in his arm count, count, endlessly count.) Geralt could firmly conclude that Jaskier was neither kidnapped, nor murdered, nor seen by mortal eyes ever since their goodbye at the end of autumn, when Geralt left the flowering field with Jaskier’s scent on his lips, his taste on his tongue and spots of white on his shirt he wouldn’t discover until three days later.

Knowing the number of days (hours, minutes, seconds) till winter solstice did not, Jaskier knew, meant knowing the number of days until he would have to be present at the tree where he and Geralt would meet, would rejoin their bodies and minds and souls and step as one, think as one, breathe as one creature travelling the endless continent. For yes, winter solstice for the Fae equalled winter solstice for the mortals, but assuming that the Fae keep to a linear timeline is a foolish endeavour. This solstice meant nothing, when it came from the mouth of a Fae who has not breathed human air for aeons (decades? centuries?). This solstice might be this solstice for them, but for Geralt? it could be a hundred solstices ago, or a million into the future. No, Jaskier had lost count, and there was nothing he could do to gain it back.

Five minutes into his visit to Yennefer, she confirmed his biggest fear. Jaskier was indeed not kidnapped, or drugged, or murdered, or bored of the life the witcher could offer him. Jaskier was gone. Simply gone. Unable to be found with any magic or spells or dreams or portals, lost to any who could not follow where he had gone. Jaskier, no matter how impossible it was to believe, had lost count. That was the only possible - even if it did not seem possible - way for him not to have returned. Either that, or- Geralt could not bear to think the words as Yennefer disappeared in a flurry of purple cloth and violet scent and muttered curses, looking for a way to bring the bard home. Home to Geralt, home to her, home to their little cottage where they would hide away when the world became too much for the three of them to bear, where they would have just each other, skin touching skin, lips touching lips, breath breathing breath, just them, just them.

‘Mother, why?’

‘It is time for the Fae court to have a king again, after the- unfortunate weaknesses of your father.’

‘The Fae court has not had a king for aeons. Why now?’

‘Because you are losing your way, Julek. Look at you, you have lost count.’

‘I have-’ but the words would not cross his lips. No matter how hard Jaskier tried, the sound dug itself into his chest, into his stomach, down down down away from his vocal cords, away from the air where the words would be sounded and heard and listened to.

‘Not? Julek, you have even lost the art of lying. It is time to stop playing with those foolish mortals and take up the role for which you were born. It is time for you to rule beside me, to welcome your responsibility and care for your people.’

‘Sit there and be an ornament, you mean, whilst you still hold all the strings?’

‘Julek’

‘I have not lost enough of myself to be unable to recognise your tricks, mother. Even if you crown me king, I will not stay by your side for long. I will return to those I love, and that is an oath.’

His brothers would have more monsters to fight this season, Geralt had resigned himself to the teasing he’d endure the next winter when he had to relinquish his 10-year record of ‘most monsters slain’. Not that any of them would blame him, if they knew.

Two months now, two months had come and gone and still no sign of Jaskier. They had fallen into an uncomfortable routine, Yennefer and him. Without Jaskier there to hold them together, to silence growing fights and touch their skin and hearts and souls at just the right ways to make them forget about all annoyances, to ply them and mould them and nudge them in just the right ways, the two of them had fought more often than they meant to, than they wanted to. But rather than leaving, rather than running away and slaying a monster and sleeping in the cold and dark and dirt and feeling sorry for himself, rather than running away and parading at court, manipulating royals and mages and feeling sorry for herself, Geralt and Yennefer remained. Every morning and every evening, Yennefer’s magic scoured the continent and all the known and unknown places beyond for any sign of Jaskier. And every day, she would portal to a new place, find new manuscripts, new books, new writings, new myths and legends and stories and they would read them all, trying to find a way to get the one who had stolen their hearts back to where he belonged: in their arms and in their beds (for Jaskier had never left their minds and hearts and souls).

As if things couldn’t get any worse, according to Jaskier’s calculations, he will have to leave a couple of seconds before midnight during the winter solstice. In other words, a couple of seconds before his coronation, in the middle of (for as far as there is a middle in) the Fae world. And, although Jaskier is a powerful man, even he cannot win a fight against all of his kind. They will find him during his flight, and they will make wherever he threads the middle of the world, regardless of how close to the border he will go. And it is not like he is ever given the opportunity to catch his breath, to see the stars and count the flowers and touch a snowbell and make a wish. No, for he is crown-prince Julek Taraxacum and a hundred million other names, and they will not let him go.

They talk. Every night they drink and stare at the ceiling in silence and drink and drink and drink and drink until not talking hurts more than talking and then they talk. One night it is just two words, on others two thousand. Yet the topic remains the same.

The one night: ‘I miss him.’

The next: ‘I know.’

The following: ‘It’s so quiet here.’

And, after a night of just silence: ‘No. I miss- I miss more than just his voice, or his touch, or his laughter, or his eyes. I miss his stubbornness. I miss his infernal, eternal unyielding determination to get done what he wants to get done. Regardless of the cost. Regardless if we let him or not. Regardless if I let him or not.’

From there, every night they drink and talk and drink and remember, painfully remember every glint and touch and look and movement and word and silent threats to those standing in the way between Jaskier and whatever he desires.

‘I miss his ruthlessness,’ Yennefer sighs. ‘That glint in his eyes and that innocent smile that threatens any who want to walk in his way. The ease with which his words weave a web and his fingers twirl a dagger until the whole world lies at his feet.’

‘I miss his sharpness.’ Geralt adds the next day. ‘I miss the way he yells and curses at me when I put myself into danger he deems unnecessary, I miss the way he hits at just the right spots to make you feel like you are absolutely nothing and yet everything at all.’

And, as the sun rises and Yennefer gets up to let her magic roam the world once more, always once more and once more again,

‘He is better than either of us could ever be.’

He does not succeed. Of course he does not. Not with his mother chasing behind him, not with the court pledging their service, not with the lesser fairies swimming his clothes and weaving his crown and setting the tables and not with the moon - bright, round, full and hiding the stars with her betraying light - rising higher and higher and higher until the Words are said and the Vow is made and the cape and crown and sceptre weigh Jaskier down and he is King, and it is too late (seconds? minutes? years?) too late (decades? centuries? millennia) too late to return, too late to escape and find his way back through the endlessly changing maze of time and space and place and all that the Fae world entwines and changes and corrupts and has been ever since even the gods can remember. It is too late, and Jaskier does not know if he can ever return home.

Jaskier still counts.

It has been a year without Jaskier and their nights cease to be long speeches, and fall into just words. Alternating, every night the other starts, and they - in between drinks, in between trying to find some consolation in being an immortal mortal and missing, missing, missing the one thing you believed to be a constant in your life, the person who holds your heart and mind and soul and who you wishes could hold you, trace your skin with delicate callused hands, touch you in ways you never dreamed possible whilst whispering your greatest secrets and knowing, knowing that there is no safer place than there, completely surrendered to the hands and voice and soul that holds them - just repeat the same list over and over and over and over until the betraying sun raises above the skies and their futile search continues.

‘Voice.’ Geralt drinks.

‘Touch.’ Yennefer drinks.

‘Laughter.’

‘Eyes.’

‘Stubbornness.’

‘Ruthlessness.’ They open a new bottle, stolen from some corrupt mayor.

‘Sharpness.’

‘Strength.’

‘Love.’

‘Compassion.’

‘Talent.’

‘Humour.’

Jaskier.

His second, third and fourth attempts fail too. Jaskier curses the patience and stubbornness of Fae as he counts to his fifth, unable to manage to smile because of the irony of his own patience and stubbornness being the things leading him to try again (he will try again and again and again and again his whole immortal life long, for he carries hearts and souls of value and he has to return to give them back). Yet as a king he is guarded too closely, kept too busy, held to too high a standard, and never, never, never alone (he had never minded being surrounded by others all the time, as long as those others held his heart and soul and these others certainly do not).

But as he reigns and makes decisions and cuts ribbons and blesses babies and is held as a prop by his mother who enjoys having the empty throne next to her filled and speaking as a Queen with a King on her side, he feels a tug. A small thread forming in his ribs, tying around his heart and weaving through his veins, first unnoticed but rapidly rapidly rapidly all-consuming, all-knowing, overwhelming and strange and yet so distantly familiar, tasting of lilacs and violets and onion and adventure and destiny and fate. He can feel it in his fingertips, spinning through his ears and knitting his joints together until his body feels like the restless sea and he can faintly taste the Beauclair White and Toussaint Red on the tip of his tongue and deep, deep in his empty throat devoid of words and song and him.

With every heartbeat, the tug gets stronger.

The best ideas happen when one is drunk. The most foolish, idiotic and dangerous ideas happen then too, but the only way to know whether your plan is genius or will end the world is by trying it out.

It is because of that reason that Yennefer and Geralt infiltrate the highest security library, steal an ancient manuscript and spend a full week without sleep translating their nightly list into the oldest language known to mortal men.

It is far from the oldest language ever spoken, but it is close enough.

Geralt feels a thread of something entwining his fingertips, rooting in his stomach and growing to his heart and encircling his skull. It meanders through his brain, wrapping itself like a noose around the parts of him he doubts and criticises and hates and loathes and tying it close, close, close, till no negative thought can survive and he has to admit that his hair his mouth his face his scars his eyes his everything is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Yennefer feels a thread of something extending from her hair, diving into her skin and spinning in the emptiness between her hips reminding her of the sacrifices she made, filling the void like a clew of golden, loving, sharp and stubborn yarn, pulling and pulling and pulling something, someone, the only person who succeeded in making her feel whole and beautiful and perfect and flawless and yet so endlessly, endlessly human.

They hold their hands, grab the thread so strong it is almost visible in the open air of their hidden garden and pull.

And then, just as he is once again paraded around for dignitaries and officials and others in positions that, by all accounts, should not exist in the frankly dictatorial Fae court, like he is some rare flower or pretty dress or beautiful painting or another essentially worthless, worthless object, the growing tug that drags him forward, that makes him walk quicker in certain directions or holds him back in others, that has interwoven around every cell in his body making him wonder why nobody has seen the almost visible golden string tying him to somewhere yet, why nobody has noticed he has lost his appetite (why eat flowers and grass and honeydew imported from the sweetest countries when the taste of your lovers weigh on your tongue and fill your stomach in a manner no food could ever equal) the tug suddenly grows stronger. The thread extending from him, through him, in him, grows from a thin cotton thread to a long string of woollen yarn to a thick rope to a cable filling his lungs and throat and tugs, and tugs and tugs.

And the world becomes blurred and the wind picks up and the chattering around him rises and then fades and fades and fades and the busy streets of the Fae city make place for an empty garden next to a lovely cottage and two pairs of arms wrapping tightly, tightly around his waist and chest.

And, like a breath Nature didn’t notice she was holding in, there Jaskier is. With regal dress and tired eyes and dulled cheeks, but Jaskier nonetheless. Their Jaskier, their life and love and joy and reason for holding on, holding on to life and the world when there is nothing to hold on to. He is there, truly there, really truly there.

If it takes a lot to make a Fae stop counting, then what exactly does it take?

A tug from another world. A hug from his loved ones. A frantic pushing and pulling and ripping of clothes, trying to get closer and closer and closer (true lovers can never be close enough, their souls are so entwined their bodies will always be trying to become one) to make up for lost time, to assure themselves that it is real, to touch, to see, to smell, to taste, to know that it is real, not yet another happy dream but real and present and here. A violent kiss. A perfectly placed touch. A hundred thousand touches in a row, all at the same time for forever yet for no time at all.

What does it take to make a Fae stop counting? Oh, although it is difficult, there still are many things that can.

But what does it take to make a Fae stop counting, without them worrying about it?

That is a secret only those who have loved and lost and found again can truly know.

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thequeenkrys15 · 3 years ago

Text

When Dusk Rises

Hey y’all! Sorry I’m a day late, a lot has happened within this past week. But I’m so excited for people to read the first chapter of “When Dusk Rises”. If you have not read the Background information you can read that here. A couple things before we start, first off: looks. Richard’s hair is red and curly. Christopher’s brown with the blond highlights. Zab will have his current style and so will Erick. Those styles are what I prefer and they are just SO CUTE with their hair like that. Next, the spells. I’m kind of using spells from everywhere, some from tv shows, movies and books, and some I find on the web. All harmless though. Lastly, posting. I know I said Sundays, but sometimes I might get caught up doing something, so if it’s not Sunday, it will definitely be Monday. Just know it will always be a week. Now, without further adieu...

Characters: Witch!Reader, Magic!Richard, Magic!Christopher, Magic!Zabdiel, Magic!Erick, OFC!Maya

Word Count: 1305

A/N: I don’t know if I need to say this, being that this is my first series and all, but don’t try to copy my stuff please. My work is my work, and I’d like to keep it that way.

Eyes. About twenty pairs of eyes are staring at me in this decorated classroom as the academy’s headmaster introduces me to the students.

“Alright class, I want everyone to meet Coach n’ Crown Oaks Academy’s newest student, Y/N Dusken. Let’s give her a warm welcome.” Everyone started to clap along with Headmaster Richard.

I’ve never really liked attention, it always felt like people were judging me, which they usually are. I can practically hear their thoughts: “She doesn’t look magical. Where does she get her power? Can she even control her magic?” Oh yeah, I’m a witch by the way. Well, not a good one, I didn’t even know I had powers until a couple years ago. This is currently the second academy that I’ve attended so far, the first said that I was a failed witch. Most students progress in perfecting their magic over time because they start at a young age with their families. I never knew my parents, or anyone who would be considered “family” for that matter.

“Alright Y/N, you have your schedule and all of the supplies you need in your bookbag, yes?” I nodded for Headmaster Richard, ready to just sit down and get away from the prying eyes.

I take an empty desk in the middle of the classroom, not too close so I’m not always called on but not too far so I can still see the board. Just because I’m a bad student doesn’t mean I don’t try. Most eyes have left my face but some are still lingering. Maybe I have a hair out of place? I get out a notebook and am currently trying to find something to write with. Did I leave my pens at the group home? I see a hand reach over, putting a pencil on my desk, the hand belonging to a girl next to me.

“Saw you struggling there. Thought I would help you out. I’m Maya.”

“Y/N. Thanks for the pencil.” I said as the class period bell rang. Guess I didn’t need a pen after all.

I packed up my stuff and started heading out of class with Maya hot on my heels.

“Hey hey hold up for a sec. So are you like a transfer or something? What school are you from?” she asked as we headed down the hallway.

“Something like that. I was at Why Don’t We Prep.” I turned towards Maya and noticed she had a shocked look on her face. “What?”

“That is supposed to be the best magic school of all time. Why in the world would you transfer here?”

“It wasn’t by choice. I kind of got kicked out.” She asked me why I got expelled and I cringed. This was not a topic I wanted to discuss.

“That’s okay, I won’t press. What class do you have next?” I looked at my schedule.

“Spell Incantations. Why?” A huge grin appeared on her face.

“That’s my next class. One of my favorites actually. You’re gonna love the teacher. Follow me and I’ll show you.” I quickly followed Maya as we weaved through the students to get to our next period.

*Time Skip*

Why didn’t anyone tell me this class was near a sea? And how did they hide this huge body of water behind the friggin school? The smell of fresh water as I surveyed the students sitting on the sand with books on their laps. Everyone seems to be ready for class, but where’s the teacher?

“He’s coming. Just watch the waves.” she says as everyone turned to the sea.

All of a sudden, a huge wave came out of nowhere, which appeared to have a tiny man on it? As it drew closer, the wave got smaller and smaller, until it placed the man on the sand, only sprayed the students with a fresh spritz. The man had brown hair with blond highlights, and the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He wore a long-sleeved button-up and some khaki pants, which were soaked, but by the way the water was manipulated off his clothes and was now totally dry, I’m gonna guess he’s the teacher.

“Hello class, I hope everyone is having a great day so far. Let’s do fifteen minutes of preparation time while I walk around and make sure everyone is ready.” He walked around with his clipboard to make sure all his students were in class.

He made his way over to where me and Maya were to check us both off of his list. He recognized Maya, but stared at me with confusion.

“Have you been in my class before?” Before I could respond, Maya answered for me.

“This is Y/N Dusken, Mr. Christopher. It’s her first day.” she was very excited to introduce us.

“Riiight, Richard said I’d be getting a new student today. Well, it’s very nice to meet you. As you know, I am Mr. Christopher and I am one of the Spell Incantation teachers here at CNCO Academy.”

I leaned over to Maya, “CNCO?”. She whispered in my ear, “It’s short for Coach n’ Crown Oaks.” Nodding, I tuned back into Mr. Christopher.

“Basically, I help students perfect the pronunciation of spells and help them focus to make the spell come to life. If you ever have any questions, please don’t be afraid to ask.”

I looked around at the location his class was in. “Why is your class next to open water?”

He smirked, “It relaxes me and my students.” He checked our names off and walked away.

Mr. Christopher seemed cool. A little quirky, but in a good way, like nothing really bothered him. In a way, his demeanor could be described as a wave, just going with the flow. He stood in front of class and began teaching.

“Okay class. Our spell for today will be: Cashmerus Appearus.”

*Time Skip*

Spaghetti and meatballs? I wish I knew a spell to turn this into some fettuccini alfredo instead. I get my tray from the lunch lady and make my way around the cafeteria. For once I’m glad we have to wear school uniforms; not many people are noticing I’m the new girl yet. Luckily, I didn’t have to walk around too long because Maya found me standing around.

“Hey Y/N! Over here!” I briskly walk to her table to find another person sitting with us. A boy actually, with nice curly black hair.

“Y/N Dusken, I’d like you to meet Joel Pimental. He’s on our training level too!” He shook my hand as I shook his.

“Mr. Christopher’s class today was kind of simple, not gonna lie” Maya said as she dug into her mashed potatoes.

“Are you kidding? My shirt kept turning into a jersey” Joel disagreed.

I sighed. “At least a shirt appeared for you guys. I couldn’t get one to show up.”

Joel nodded. “It just takes practice; you’ll get it eventually.”

I got up to get some napkins, and as I was walking, a girl’s shoulder bumped into me. I was about to apologize when she whipped around with a scowl on her face.

“What it newbie! Didn’t you see me walking?!” She dusted herself off while her two friends looked at me like I committed a travesty.

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to get some napkins.” I was trying to walk away, but she just won’t let it go.

“You’re not sorry, not yet.” She waved her hand in the air, laughed, and walked away.

That girl takes herself way too seriously. I tried to start walking again but tripped over myself, falling to the ground. I looked down at my feet and noticed my shoestrings had been tied together. Next thing I knew a nice group of people started laughing in my direction.

Yeah, I’m gonna do great at this school.

Well, that’s it for the first chapter! Let me know what you think! And remember to LIKE, REBLOG and FOLLOW! Help a sista out, please and thank you! Kisses!

#cnco #cnco au #cnco witch au #richard camacho #christopher velez #zabdiel de jesus #erick brian colon

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hephaestiions · 3 years ago

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thank you @stavromulabetaaa for tagging me in this wonderful game!! it’s so much fun and such a lovely way to get to know the people behind the blogs that make the fandom experience better <33

1. why did you choose your url?

why did i choose this url? i saved the url way before i made the blog, and the reasoning is a bit foggy but i do remember wanting to be very clear on it being a drarry blog (makes the anon who sent me the ‘why do u rb so much drarry’ ask that much more hilarious) and added the ‘oh’ because it expresses a certain sentiment that most drarry shippers are intimately familiar with 😂

2. sideblogs?

this blog is itself a sideblog, my main is @yesperfahey . that said, i am going to be embarrassingly exposed, but: @kitchenism (aesthetic sideblog where i rb reference photos, aesthetic images, web weaving posts, etc.), @geetstudies (studyblr), @yusufalkasayni (for films/tv shows, it was supposed to inspire me to watch more stuff but it’s languishing inactive mostly), @doriangray (dark academia, classics, pretty edits + moodboards + occasional fashion inspiration, etc.), @psykhes (mythology), @andrewminyyard (for aftg and trc) and @stevenroguers (for marvel and stucky). i have a few others but they aren’t particularly relevant or active and i don’t want this to go on forever.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

i think about 5/6 years.

4. do you have a queue tag?

yes!!! it’s potteresqueue !! i have a separate queue tag for every single one of the blogs you’ve seen up top but this one is one of my favourites.

5. why did you start your blog?

i started my main because tumblr was the fandom hub and i was neck deep in drarry as a teenager, but this specific sideblog happened when i started segregating my interests into separate blogs and wanted to be more active specifically in the drarry fandom.

6. why did you choose your icon?

it’s a picrew of me from my favourite picrew!! it’s too slytherin from back when i thought i was a slytherin and i might change the colours a little to fit the ravenclaw vibe better, but the slightly grumpy lesbian is here to stay <33

7. why did you choose your header?

i searched up drarry headers and this was one of the first ones i found. i think i’m going to change it, because while it does fit the aesthetic of my blog, i’m all about desi!harry. much as i love dan radcliffe, he’s stopped being the harry i imagine in my head.

8. post with most notes?

this one which is surprising, because i posted it,,,, two days ago, i think? people seem to enjoy me writing fluff, who would’ve thought. i’m not a big blog and i don’t create a ton of original content on tumblr, so it’s not objectively a ‘big post’ but it makes me happy either way to know a bunch of people chose to spend their time reading what i had to say <33

9. how many mutuals do you have?

tumblr’s system for checking this is... very basic and full of holes so i have no idea but i get very excited whenever an url i recognise likes/reblogs/comments/tags me in anything, so if you’re a mutual, then please know i cherish you deeply and you make my day whenever i see you in my notifs <33

10. how many followers do you have?

tumblr hides this for a reason, i choose to not share this <3

11. how many people do you follow?

520. i used to follow upwards of 900, but i purged many inactive blogs a few months ago so we’re at 520.

12. ever made a shitpost? not with that specific intention, i don’t think, but the #geets.txt tag on this blog and others feels plenty shitpost-y to me.

13. how often do you use Tumblr each day?

😬 i’m... very online. tumblr is my safe space on the internet and i spend a great deal of time on here with little regret.

14. did you ever have a fight/argument with another blog?

i don’t think so? i’ve got a couple rude anons, but those don’t count, right? there was a whole Situation on my main once upon a time, but i stay pretty chill on this one and i hope it stays that way.

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

i choose to ignore that line if it’s there. if i agree with the message and think it’s an important one to have on my blog, then i reblog, but if it’s a post that’s either fishing or guilt-tripping or being threatening, then i scroll past. i understand where the sentiment comes from but there’s a better way to phrase these things.

16. do you like tag games?

i love them, they’re so much fun.

17. do you like ask games?

yes!! ‘someone thought of me?? someone remembered me? someone went into my askbox to say this???? i am a puddle of love’

18. which of your tumblr friends/mutuals do you think is famous?

fame on tumblr is a myth, honestly

19. do you have a crush on a mutual? so many tumblr crushes. So. Many. everybody is so lovely, so welcoming, so full of excitement and appreciation for art and creativity, how could i not?

tagging @shealwaysreads @tackytigerfic @dragontamerdame @onbeinganangel @the-starryknight @orange-peony @drarrymybeloved @amortentiaboys @hogwartsfirebolt if they want to do it/haven’t already done it. this was quite a bit of fun so if you want to do it and i haven’t tagged you, then this is an open tag for you too <3

#geets.txt #tagged

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jadethest0ne · 4 years ago

Text

In need of Refueling, Chapter 2 - Silken Web

Summary: “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 1384

Ratings/Warnings: Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents

Notes: Time for another villain to appear! Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!

Read on AO3

———-

Red Son stands in front of a decrepit market stand. Shriveled brown excuses for vegetation dust the bottom of containers labeled as produce and cooking ingredients. But the demon he is looking for is nowhere to be seen. He peers into the tented area covered by curtains with an unimpressed glare. Still, the spider insignia on the stand’s sign is unmistakable, so he calls into the gloom with a demanding, authoritative voice. “Spider Queen! I have come to have some words with you. I am looking for something and I think you have the information I seek!”

At first there is nothing. But a soft wind picks up around his ankles and a sultry whisper drifts out of the stand. “Come in…” it says.

Red Son glances around the area, then slips inside the curtains.

“Farther inside…” the voice calls.

Red Son knows a trap when he sees one, but he continues on without fear as he looks around for any traces of trickery. It is dusty and the area seems untouched, except for the circular disk that he just stepped on.

“Right there…” says the voice, and Red Son can hear the smile in it as the disk drops down revealing a trap door.

Red Son gives a tired sigh as he falls and activates flames underneath his feet, slowing his descent on his way down the sudden hole in the floor.

He lands smoothly and kicks up flames around his feet in a circle to push back any potential enemy waiting for him below. It is dark, and he can hardly see anything. He hears some drip of water echo, giving a hint of a cavernous area. A scuttling noise bounces around him.

Red Son holds his palm upward in front of him and brings a ball of flame to life, lighting up his surroundings. He is indeed in a cave, as he thought, and it is covered in spider webs. The webs rustle and bounce as a result of quick movements that Red Son forces his eyes to follow despite them still adjusting to the light. The scuttling and the web movements sweep around him, and he twists around adjusting into a defensive stance as he prepares for what is facing him.

As he turns around he finds who he is looking for directly in front of him. If one weren’t paying attention, one might mistake her as an attractive human woman with long black hair and sparkling green eyes. But her greyish-purple skin and sharp fangs reveal a more demonic nature. Her spider-like body, complete with eight spindly legs with sharp ends come into the light, and she lifts herself high above Red Son, looking down at him with the ease of someone who knows how much power she holds.

“Spider Queen,” Red Son says with as much control as he can, despite an uptick in his heart rate. He takes a bow.

“My, what a polite boy,” the eight-legged spider demon drolls amusedly in an earthy accent. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of visiting me down in my Silken Web Cave?”

Red Son straightens himself up and introduces himself. “I am Red Son - the son of the Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan.”

“Yes, and a fire demon it seems,” she says eyeing the flame in his palm warily. “Spiders like us do not take kindly to fire like that…” Her mouth twitches in a hint of a grimace, but the smile never leaves her eyes.

“I did this so I can see, not so I may harm you… as long as I don’t have to…” Red Son says keeping his expression cool, but a smile of his own twitching at the corner of his lips. “I have come to request your assistance.”

“Assistance?” Spider Queen says with a tittering laugh. “That is amusing! What would I be assisting with?”

“Information. I want to know of any artifact or power source strong enough to kill an immortal.”

The Spider Queen quirks an eyebrow. “Might you be looking to destroy the Monkie Kid? I hear he has been causing you trouble. But I also hear that he is not indestructible. Your flames or a good enough whack should do the trick, I’d say,” she says clicking one of her legs harshly against the ground for emphasis.

“Not the Monkie Kid. The Monkey King!”

“Oh, is he still wandering around these parts!? I suppose that makes sense given that the Monkie Kid has been giving us demons a hard time.” She crosses her arms and looks up, tapping a finger to her cheek. “Well… I don’t know of any specific artifact that could destroy someone as powerful as that…” She again, eyes Red Son’s flames. “Buuuut… I do know of a way to power up your fire in a way that might allow you to gain the upper hand in a fight against him.”

Red Son’s eyes light up and the fire in his hand flares with his excitement. “Really!? Magnificent! Tell me! I must know!” He grins widely and wickedly, barely containing himself.

“Hahaha, you lose your manners so quickly when you are excited it seems,” Spider Queen laughs without joy. “Why would I give you such information without anything in return? What do you have for me?”

Red Son’s grin doesn’t falter, spreading further to show his teeth. “Oh, I hear that you’re looking for rare and powerful ingredients, and I have some for you right here.” Red Son pulls a pouch out of his pocket and opens it to reveal dark hairs sticking out of it. “The Monkie Kid’s hair, leftover from his defeated clones. I’m sure that's worth a little bit of information, now isn’t it?”

Red Son can tell he’s got her interest by the way that her eyes glimmer with no help from the flame he wields. She stretches out a hand, and two of her all too sharp legs reach toward him as well. “Yes!” she says, as if entranced by the sight of the hair.

“Uh, uh, uh!” Red Son tuts as he brings the bag close to the fire in his other hand, causing the Spider Queen to stop her advance. “I want my information first.”

Spider Queen’s smile tightens, and this time it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’re a shrewd little boy. But yes, I will tell you.”

Red Son smiles and listens intently.

Her posture straightens and with a flick of her wrist she spools out a strand of thread that begins to take shape into an abstract picture of a flame. So skilled is the puppetry of her silk webs, that the false flame seems to dance. “The power you are looking for is called ‘The True Fire of Samadhi.’”

As she weaves her story, so does she weave pictures into her web. She creates the image of a ring of mountains around a taller one. “You must seek out the Flaming Mountains surrounding the Monkey King’s own Flower Fruit Mountain. He knows not that his own weakness lies within the very fires that seemingly protect his solitude.” The abstract map-like picture shifts to a mountain to the left, with an opening about midway up. “In the tallest eastern mountain, there is a cave that leads to a shrine that can only be revealed by the rising sun. In there, you will find the power you seek.” Spider Queen releases her webs, letting them dangle, lifeless. She shifts her stance and her speech from storyteller to businesswoman in a second. “Is that enough information for you, sugar?”

Red Son nods enthusiastically and hands over the pouch. “I will be on my way, now.”

Spider Queen picks her finger through the hairs in the pouch as if counting gold coins. She certainly handles the pouch as if it were just as precious. “Oh, and one more thing, sweetie,” she says, waving an errant hand over her shoulder. “A warning, since you seem like quite the impatient type. The power there is as old as the mountains themselves. It has the power to overwhelm if found in the wrong hands.”

Red Son scoffs, barely giving her words a second thought. As if there were any fire that he couldn’t handle. He leaves, having gotten what he came for.

<-- previous // next -->

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #lego #red son #spider queen #lmk #in need of refueling #fic #fanfiction #my writing #jadethest0ne #jadethestone

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cunaeparker · 5 years ago

Text

between the bars | peter parker x reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which Peter follows a different path after Tony’s death and she stages an intervention.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drug use

Mini Playlist: Between the Bars by Elliott Smith // Autumn Tree by Milo Greene // Where’s my Love by SYML

Author Note: this is based on the song “between the bars” by elliott smith and i really really recommend listening to it while reading. it’s one of my all time favourites and super soothing. try listening to the whole mini playlist, i think it adds to the piece :) also i aged him up to college age for the sake of shit not being illegal

masterlist

drink up, baby stay up all night

His hands are weathered and unkempt; there's a layer of dirt underneath his fingernails that are bitten and rugged and his breath smells faintly of the whisky he nicked from his roommate's liquor cabinet.

with the things you can do you won't but you might

What he's doing is wrong and knows that for a fact. There's an ever-present sense of guilt that follows him everywhere he goes like a parasite, worming its way into his head and twisting his mind to warp to its will. It's not right and he knows that but he still finds himself taking long sip after grudging sip, alone in his room at an hour that's ungodly to the other people wandering the nighttime streets, numb and feeling nothing other than the bitter tang of whisky that clouds his eyes and makes the room spin on a top.

the potential you see that you'll never be

He doesn't care anymore. His brain is tired and overworking, steaming and on lockdown... the very thought of escaping his gaping black hole of a life isn't satisfactory. The mere thought of being anywhere but his room, laying on his bed and listening to Red Hot Chilli Peppers on repeat as his hand slowly guides the top of the drink to his chapped lips is close to nonexistent. He doesn't find anything interesting. His ambition to pursue a career in the science field along his deceased mentor isn't even an inkling of thought anymore. Lying alone on the floor in his room and ignoring every 'ping' of his phone - signaling a text message from his friend that he does not want to respond to - is where he sees himself for the remaining future, given he doesn't do anything reckless to ruin it.

the promises you'll only make

He's distanced himself from everyone he holds dear and not even his closest friends can get a rise out of him - he's stoic and numb and the only emotion he feels is pain, guilt, and a sense of loneliness... his broken promises are weaved tightly with purpose, with the intention of fulfilling them, though he can't. Holding up his end of the bargain has never been so difficult... he turns away.

drink up with me now and forget all about

He's in a loophole of blacked out. He's been on a month long bender and his head is always spinning. He's always irritable and unkempt, hair untidy and clothing smelling faintly of alcohol.

the pressure of days do as i say

There's a pressure on his chest. It eats away at him and digs into his vulnerable being with malicious intent, like a sinister speaking parasite implanting its eggs in his heads and leaving seeds for new negative thoughts... they grow like weeds. He can't live with it; he turns towards a numbing substance.

and i'll make you okay

He's convinced it's right.

and drive them away

It's left him alone and seething in his own guilt.

the images stuck in your head

Memories of an ash-stricken sky plague his dreams. Eerie, ghostly hues of purple indicate that the moments replaying in his head are a dream, but it doesn't stop his steps from being agonizingly slow, trying to run away from the hoards of aliens running after him with sinister intent... legs jelly as if underwater... tensile thread in his web-shooters absent; the scent of something rotten and decayed invade his nostrils as he runs, dream-like, legs aching and burning... but the stench isn't dirt, it smells organic... like a human... he reaches a burnt, shrivelled being, and everything stops - silence envelopes the wasteland like a thick fog and the beings chasing him vanish, turn into dust and blow away, eerily calm.... it's a human. A burn victim. There's a bloodied, gnarled hand, pointed to the sky as if reaching for something, and the stink makes Peter's stomach lurch.

There's a faint blue glow where the heart should be, but it confuses him - shouldn't the thing be dead? Isn't that a signal of activity? Peter slowly reaches forward, heart in his throat, but only before the thing sits up at an inhuman speed. It shrieks, a shrill, haunting, echoing sound, and Peter cries out and falls onto his tailbone, scampering away with a terrified grunt as he clamps his dirtied hands over his ears. It sounds like a siren, haunting and petrifying, though holding notes of despair -

Peter jolts up in bed in a cold sweat. He throws off his thick comforter with an angered grunt, feeling overwhelmingly hot and sweltering. It was a dream, he knows that, but it felt so real and now he can't help the involuntary heaving of his chest and the fear that bubbles inside of him, crawling up his throat and prohibiting him from breathing because now tears are falling down his freckled cheeks and he's scared because he can't breathe and desperate gasping noises are echoing deep in his throat but he can't get them out and May's working the nightshift so he's alone and he's going to suffocate on his own breaths - is that even possible? - and die, and she's going to find him dead in his bed, foaming at the mouth and blue and bloated -

He blindly reaches for his phone on his bedside table and fumbles through his contacts, searching for the only person he knows to call - he hopes he chooses the right person because his eyes are swimming in tears and his vision is going black at the edges - bringing the phone up to his ear and hearing the obnoxious ring of the connection, signaling that the call's going through though she's probably not going to answer at this time of night -

"Peter?" There's a muffled rustling and her voice is raspy and hoarse with sleep. "A-Are you alright? Why are you calling me?"

Peter's vision is still wavering and he doesn't know if he's in another dream because everything's dark and he doesn't have a grip on reality but he responds in the only way he knows how to.

"I-I can't breathe," he says, weeping softly with fear, trying to keep his composure for the sake of her mental wellbeing because he knows she has gone through as much as him but he can't keep himself together - his body is wracked with a sudden onslaught shakes and he nearly drops his phone. "I need you, I-I'm not okay, please come over."

There's another sound of rustling on the receiving end and it sounds like she just jumped out of her bed. Her voice loses its dreamy quality as she speaks into her phone, and Peter can tell she's picking apart her room in search for her old MIT sweater she wears religiously, and he doesn't really make out any words in his panicked state other than the three words that leave her mouth and mean more than what the world could ever offer: a simple, "I'm coming."

the people you've been before

A firm knock rings out through the apartment an approximate twenty minutes later.

Of course, she's wearing that MIT sweater, and it swallows her whole. Her eyes are lined with purple and are slightly bloodshot, looking pained, following Peter's line of sight. Her hair is thrown up into a messy bun and the flyaway strands that frame her face are most likely a result of her fevered running through the downtown streets and through the Metro.

Peter's sure he doesn't look too much of a looker either: he's donning a stupid oversized tie-dye t-shirt he got on Spring Break with his college friends and he's positive it smells reminiscent of weed and beer, but the exhausted girl standing in his doorway doesn't look like she cares.

She looks like she's in pain.

Her eyebrows are knotted together in worry and behind her eyes are signs of suffering, but, she doesn't leave any time for Peter to speak before surging forward and wrapping her arms around his waist. She squeezes her eyes shut and nudges her head in the crook of his neck, trapping him in her warm embrace, not allowing him to back away. It's ironic, because Peter used to be the one to hold her and wipe away her tears, but now, it's the opposite... things have changed so much and it makes Peter's heart sting.

He's not the same person he used to be. He pushed her away.

The last time he's willingly made contact with her was months ago, but now she's looking out for him like she's always had, and it makes the sticky guilt inside of him pile up layer upon layer.

"Hey, Pete," she says quietly, resting her head on her shoulder and pulling him from his reverie with her voice. "Let's go to your room to talk, you sounded pretty shaken up on the phone."

"Okay," he finds himself saying, nodding against her skin and sinking into her touch, though he doesn't know if it's a dream or not because he still feels faint and drowsy... he digs his face into the crook of her neck and lets her hand guide him towards his door.

that you don't want around anymore

Not many words are exchanged. There's a peaceful silence and the occasional whirr of cars speeding by on watered roads. It's raining heavily and Peter can't help but to find his chapped lips twisting up into a sardonic smile at the situation he finds himself in, because of course the universe is mocking him with its weather. It's offering them a storm; a symbol of his damaged psyche.

She's sitting on the edge of his bed and he's sitting on the opposite end, staring at the floor with an intense gaze that doesn't do a very good job of hiding his wild inner monologue. If she wants to glance at him, she would know immediately what he was thinking based on his body language: furrowed eyebrows, fingers picking at his cuticles, a leg bouncing restlessly.

His facade is crumbling and he feels foolish for calling her because now he's in his purest form... pitiful and sensitive and vulnerable... but he doesn't care to bring up the elephant in the room.

He called her for a reason, and a reason that was very clearly shown through his scared words and tone, but now there's a thick silence wary with tension and he hasn't said a word. She's been silent too, but he thinks she's waiting for the perfect time to interject. Strategy and planning - it's so overwhelmingly her that he feels a pang of something unknown in his stomach.

He pretends to gaze at the floor, and he knows that her insistent gaze is on his back. He can just see what she looks like through his mind's eye: disappointed and saddened.

The empty whisky bottle rolling aimlessly on the ground is a reminder of that.

that push and shove and won't bend to your will

"Peter," she finally says, puncturing the silence with a stern edge.

He slowly looks up, dreading what expression he would see on her pretty features... sadness? Anguish? Rage? He expects the worst, but as his eyes meet her with bated breath, he is instead met with something much more stony.

She looks conflicted and behind her eyes are battlefields.

"Peter," she repeats, and her gaze doesn't waver. It's insistent and soul-crushing and he feels like she can look into his eyes and figure him out right then and there. She reaches out a hand and leaves her palm open, inviting him to take it though leaving a reminder that she's trying not to intrude. "We need to talk," she finishes.

"About what?" he asks dumbly.

"Things," she answers. "There's some things we need to address, Pete."

She shrugs deeper into her sweater and waits patiently for his reply.

A small silence passes and a muscle jumps in Peter's jaw, peering deeply into her eyes and trying to identify the war she's waging, but she's stoic. He can't get a read on her.

He sighs and kicks an old beer can at his feet.

"There's nothing to talk about," he says baldly. "I called you because I needed help."

"You had a panic attack." Her words are said evenly though she furrows her eyebrows and tilts her head to the side. "That's not normal."

"It's normal for me."

"That's my point."

Silence.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Pete." She slides over towards him so that her leg is touching his. She peers at him with conflicted eyes and cups his cheekbone gently, tilting his head down to meet her line of sight that is considerably shorter than his. "You..." she bites her lip and tears well in her eyes and her words are laced with grief. "You aren't the person you were before. We... we need to talk. Please."

There's a pang of despair in Peter's stomach and he feels it crawl up his insides and taunt him.

"I'm still the same Peter," he tries, offering her a small smile, though he can't ignore how his eyes are starting to water... his hand comes up on top of hers though he can't properly hold her because it's shaking so severely. "I haven't changed."

Her eyes soften. Her lips twist up into a pained smile, though they start to tremble... Peter frowns and reaches out a hand... but now, tears are pouring silently down her rosy cheeks.

"You've changed, Peter," she confirms quietly, slowly shaking her head. "You're not the same person anymore. I can't watch you drive yourself deeper into the ground."

"I'm the same, Y/N," he pleads, moving closer and resting a hand on her thigh. It's clad in grey sweatpants, the pair that he reminds buying her for her birthday all those years ago... he's surprised they still fit. Tears stream down his freckled cheeks and he has to suppress a hiccough. "I haven't changed, I swear."

She shakes her head and smiles sadly. "You have."

Peter's struck with silence and his mouth goes dry. Words can't meet his lips and a surge of hurt washes over him like the pounding rain outside.

"You're not the same LEGO loving boy anymore," she whispers, looking down at the grey comforter. "You... you drink, you do drugs, you surround yourself with the wrong people, and you dropped out of school... you're the brightest guy I've ever met, yet you still managed to completely jeopardize your future. What happened to Spider-Man? What happened to talking to your real friends? They don't care for you, Pete. We do. We miss you so much. And actually, MJ can't stand to bring up your name anymore. She'll either start yelling or burst into tears." Y/N laughs bitterly and looks up at him, and the wars that she's waging behind her eyes are obvious... she's been waiting to defeat them and she's been waiting for the perfect time to bring them up. She's addressing them. Peter realizes what that means.

He lets go of her hand and backs away, wiping at his red-rimmed eyes with a trembling hand.

"No... d-don't do this. Y/N, please don't."

She regards him for a moment, but only before her lips begin to quiver, slowly, slowly... like a teapot being brought to a boil, and before Peter can even comprehend it, she breaks out into a sob.

"I can't have you calling me when you need something, Peter," she says with a cry, words slurred. "I know you only care about me when you need reassurance, and I want to help you, but why else would I be here? For no other reason, surely. You only need me when you want something. You've never talked to me or invited me over in months!"

She gazes at him with pain, agony, and Peter can't even respond. His walls haven't had time to respond and be put up yet. He just never would've thought it would be her to cut ties.

"I care for you, Pete, that's why I came." She cups his face and now her tears are streaming quicker than ever. "But, I can't put your needs over mine. I hate doing this, and I feel so fucking selfish, but I love you so much, I really do, please know that. I'll never stop loving you. You're my best friend, and I've never felt this way towards anyone before, but you're not the same Peter I met in seventh grade history class." She hiccoughs and her eyes are lined with red. "You've changed. And now, I..." she sucks in a breath and sits up straighter, retracting her hand from his. "I have to go now, Peter."

Choking out a sob, she stands up and stumbles to the door, tripping over her feet.

"W-Where are you going?" Peter asks, moving to stop her, though he decides against it because he doesn't want to end up with another broken wrist on his watch. "You're leaving?"

She doesn't answer.

She wraps her hand around the knob with a cough. She stares at the door for a moment. Suddenly, her hands begin to blindly reach for the bottom of her threadbare sweater, and he pulls it slowly over her head, sniffling as her eyes stare blankly at the door.

She throws her MIT sweater onto his bed and opens the door, staring into the hall.

Peter's heart stops.

No, no, no...

"You can have it, Peter."

She leaves.

i'll keep them still

Peter's stuck on his bed again, tears leaking down his cheeks.

Again, his life is a loop - of course, the universe likes to mock him.

He's on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and finding a bottle of vodka being drawn to his lips.

Red Hot Chilli Peppers is playing in the background.

His eyes are blank and unwavering.

His hands are weathered and dirty, and his breath smells faintly of alcohol.

A cycle.

***

as per usual, taggin’ some mutuals :) @quackeroos @chaoticpete @eridanuswave @parkersbliss @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @thirzaholland @andromedaaaaaaaaa @lost-space-ranger @peachyparkerr

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