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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

⋆⋆✵ Perfect Imperfections ✵⋆⋆

Chapter 1

Genre : Arranged Marriage AU! Angst! Explicit Sexual Content.

Rating : 21+

Warnings : Ableism , Chronic disability. OC has limited use of her left leg, Emotional infidelity? Mild Cheating ( nothing very physical.. a kiss or so )

Summary : Marrying Jungkook is a mistake. Falling in love with him? Definitely the worst exercise in masochism .

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

No one tells you how easy it is to imagine yourself in love with a beautiful man. Especially when you don’t have a clear understanding of what love actually is.

When I met Jungkook, even knowing he was in love with my sister hadn’t done much to douse the flames of hope and attraction. He was a lot of things that other men in my life weren’t. Kind without being pitying. Concerned without being overbearing. He took care of me without making me feel helpless. And there was always such a thin line between these things that I found myself impressed by his ability to toe the line so well.

Jungkook took care of me without making me feel like a burden and I suppose, some part of me had assumed that this could, in due time turn into love. But I was clearly wrong.

Jungkook and Liza had been kissing in the hallway of their hotel room and someone had taken pictures. My father and his had managed to get them taken down but the news was already out, spreading like wildfire . My phone began ringing sometime around eight in the morning and hadn’t stopped. It was now a little past one in the afternoon and I felt queasy, despite the assurances that it was all being taken care of.

It was the pity in everyone’s face that I couldn’t bear.

I wasn’t hurt. Angry, yes? Upset? Of course. But I wasn’t hurt because there really was nothing to be hurt about. Jungkook didn’t love me. He was in love with my sister . He had made it clear, through his words and his actions, over and over again. At this point, I could see this debacle as nothing more than a possible way to get out of the marriage. Perhaps, my father would approve of a divorce?

I glanced at the article again.

The photo is just so annoyingly clear, I thought with a grimace. If it was a little blurry, I could convince myself it wasn’t him and her. But it was clear. That was my husband with his lips locked with my sister’s. Against my better judgment, I read the article again. It was a gossip column, of course there would be nothing good in there. But sometimes curiosity can be a persistent thing.

I felt my skin crawling as I realized that the phrases were all pretty true. There was no gossip here. Just plain facts.

And then my eyes reached the end of the article.

Of note is the fact that Jeon Jungkook’s wife is disabled and perhaps the virile young man is merely looking for pleasure he can’t find in his own marital bed.

I swallowed, quickly exiting the page and tossing the phone on the bed, away from me. I stared out of the window of our bedroom, the large doors left open to let air and sunlight in. There was a tall sycamore tree right outside out bedroom and the branches almost reached in and I stared at the rustling leaves, trying to scrub my mind clean of the words I’d just read.

But it was impossible.

It wasn’t something I hadn’t thought of. The stark difference between me and Jungkook, physically. He spent five days a week in the gym and they were right. He was a young man with healthy sexual appetites.

I’d never cheat on you. Jungkook’s voice from a week ago still echoed somewhere inside my skull.

I sighed, playing with my wedding ring.

I wasn’t a virgin when I married Jungkook. Hadn’t been one , when I got into the accident either. My then boyfriend, a tall strapping lit major had been a very sexual guy as well and our libidos had matched pretty well. But I’d been an athletic nineteen year old, able to bend like a pretzel at his whim and there was just endless time and endless stamina and just a whole lot of attraction . We had spent hours, exploring each other the way college kids do. Weekends in bed spent trying every possible permutation of sex positions and kinks and I’d discovered all the things I liked. All the things I didn’t.

But then the accident had happened and well, when you’re in crippling agony, sometimes sex takes the backseat. I’d been focused on my recovery, on making sure that I came out of this at least with the ability to walk and I’d succeeded. Burying the part of me that craved a man’s touch, it wasn’t easy but it was necessary.

And then Jungkook had happened.

Sex with Jungkook hadn’t been difficult. Not really. I wasn’t completely crippled after all but it was also nowhere near as exciting as it could be with someone who had full use of her legs. I knew that. It was kind of obvious. But I hadn’t dwelt too much on it because to be honest, Jungkook hadn’t looked like he’d minded. He had seemed to enjoy himself .

But then reading about how he probably hadn’t enjoyed it definitely stung.

Worse yet, probably half the country was reading it with me. I felt nauseous. Did no one think that they should have left the last part out of that article? It was terrible enough without adding that bit about me.

A faint buzzing made me turn to the bed.

I glanced at my phone as it rang, my father in law’s name prominent on the screen.

Showtime, I thought with a grimace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I suppose it was too much to hope for , expecting that boy to keep his dignity. This is outrageous.” Mr. Jeon’s loud voice rang through the foyer of the house and I flinched, gripping the edge of the futon as Sana jumped a bit . She sat next to me, holding my hand carefully. Moral support I supposed but I was feeling entirely too blasé about the whole thing. None of this was unexpected, I thought miserably and I wasn’t feeling up to pretending otherwise.

“I still wish they’d talked to me about this.”

My brother in law’s voice broke me out of my thoughts. The man looked like he’d been dragged through hell and back and I felt a pang of genuine sympathy. He looked wrecked and it was obvious she was in love with my sister. Resentment coiled thick and deep inside me. Resentment and envy.

With no effort at all she had charmed both the Jeon brothers, I thought bitterly.

Jeon Jihyun looked absolutely stricken at the thought of losing his wife.

“I’ve asked Lisa to take the first flight out. She called me this morning, hysterical. It was something done in the heat of the moment. She .. She’s very apologetic. I believe her and I’m willing to forgive her. We’re…. We’re thinking of starting a family together. ” He said softly and my stomach turned.

I felt my skin go ice cold as I wrapped my arms around myself. Shivering just a bit, I lightly squeezed Sana’s hand. She looked at me in askance and I had to swallow to get my voice out, throat dry. The words made me want to retch. I could imagine how Jungkook would take this news.

“Can you get me my shawl? It’s in the green room.” I said hoarsely. She bowed before moving away from me and when I looked back up, Jihyun’s gaze caught mine.

“This must be hard on you.” He said softly and I flushed, staring down at my knees.

“Not like I can run from it. Literally or figuratively.” I smiled without mirth.

“Jungkook is …he’s just confused. He needs some time to sort himself out. I’ve asked him to take a break and come back to Seoul after a couple of weeks. The separation would do him some good.” Jihyun said quietly and I sighed before nodding. What else was I supposed to say to that anyway? There wasn’t much I could do, my influence on things almost nonexistent at this point.

“Are you going to give the boy a break, Jeon?” My father demanded, staring at Jungkook’s father who sighed.

“Yes. I’ve been trying to get these damned reporters off our back. They’re all over the place. And yes, I think Jungkook should stay in Japan for a while. We’re starting a new distribution branch there and I wanted him to scout places and possible vendors. I’ll tell him to hash out all the details before coming back.”

His phone rang again and he excused himself . I watched him leave the room, trying to make sense of his words.

How long would it take to build a whole branch in Japan? I had no clue. But it could hardly be done in a few weeks, could it?

“That’s.. That’s a long time.” I said hesitantly and my father frowned.

“is that a problem?” he asked.

I sighed. There was no point keeping this to myself. I was supposed to go to the doctor’s tomorrow. And well, it would be better if they heard it from me first.

“I.. I’m pregnant.” I said quietly.

The silence that followed was deafening. I stared at the carpet, not able to bring myself to look up at them. I could guess, what I’d find there. It was what I always found in people’s faces.

“Oh, sweet child.” My father’s sigh made me look up and there it was. The pity. I felt sick to my stomach. Sana returned, settling the hand knit shawl over my shoulders and I wrapped it tight, before glancing at her in some desperation. She smiled reassuringly, settling next to me and gently taking my fingers in hers. The warmth grounded me for a second and when Jihyun growled, I stared at him.

“I… I didn’t know. Fuck, I’m going to kill Jungkook. This fucker…” Jihyung swore and my father sighed, clearly thinking hard.

“you can’t be staying alone now.” He said softly, sitting up and cracking his knuckles, and I swallowed. I wouldn’t bear it if they tried to take me back home. I had hated it there.

“ You must come back home with me.” He said softly but I quickly shook my head.

“ No.. No I won’t. I … Please.” I begged, the mere idea of going back to my childhood home a nightmare. My mother would kill me with just her sharp and vindictive words. I was in no shape to put up with her verbal and emotional abuse. It was one of the things that had made me agree to marry Jungkook in the first place.

“Well, you can’t stay here by yourself.” My father protested. I’ve been by myself my whole damn life, I wanted to scream.

“I’ll be fine. I have Sana and the others to help me.” I said tiredly. My father shook his head before turning to Jihyun again.

“Is Namjoon still working on his book?” My father asked him and Jihyun frowned. The name elicited a tug in my memory and I turned to stare at my father, confused.

“You remember him? He used to tutor you when you were hi High School.”

I had a brief flashback to dimples and almond shaped eyes. I remembered him vaguely. Very vaguely. But nowhere well enough to want him to live with me, alone or not.

“Dad…” I protested but he held a hand up to silence me, nodding at Jihyun .

“Namjoon? Kim Namjoon? ” He shook his head. “ I’m not sure. Why?”

“I think it would be good if he moves in here. His father was telling me that he was looking for a place to stay, now that he’s moved back to Korea. ” My father said softly, staring at me and I stiffened.

“Father…” I began desperately and my father shook his head.

“Don’t argue. He was a dear friend of yours. I don’t think you should be alone at a time like this. And I think Jungkook would approve. Like Jihyun said, the kid needs some space to sort himself out. Let him finish whatever business is going on in Japan.” My father glanced at Mr. Jeon who looked at me with guilt.

“I owe you an apology , on behalf of my idiot son.”

I looked away, not sure what to say to that. I hated the man quite passionately. Jungkook wasn’t perfect… far from it. But this man had taken a sledgehammer to my husband’s mind and heart at every turn. The disdain, the condescension, the sick way he favored his brother over him, the way nothing Jungkook did was ever good enough. It had all taken a toll on my husband. I had watched it chip away at Jungkook’s self confidence, at his mental health.

“I think more than anything, you owe an apology to your son. You knew he was in love with Lisa and yet…. You forced him to marry me.” I said quietly and the room went eerily quiet. My father rounded on me , eyes blazing.

“Leah!!! Apologize, now!” He roared and I looked away.

“You’re all the same. Ungrateful and entitled.” Mr. Jeon said sharply, before turning to his son. “ I’m leaving Jihyun-ah. Tell me when that wife of yours get home. I want to talk to her.”

He shared a half hug with my father before stalking off and my father grabbed his jacket as well.

“I’ll leave as well. Your mother is being quite hysterical. Apparently, all her friends are hounding her about the article.” He sighed and I nodded , watching him shrug on the jacket before nodding at Jihyun and then following his friend out to the front doors.

Jihyun stayed standing , watching my father’s form disappear through the door before turning to me.

“ Are you alright?” He said quietly, moving to kneel in front of me. Sana stood up, bowing before leaving and I watched her disappear into the hallway leading to the kitchens. Jihyun’s fingers wrapped around mine, brushing my knees and I stared down at him.

“The question is, are you alright?” I brushed the hair off his face. He sighed.

“No. No I’m not. I’m angry and jealous and very much filled with resentment towards my brother.” He said honestly and I laughed, tugging on his hand and patting the seat next to me. He straightened before moving to settle next to me and I leaned on his shoulders, sighing as he wrapped on around me, the warmth of his body comforting .

“Are you going to give your marriage a chance?” I asked carefully.

“She told me she was going to break things off for good. We.. We’ve been talking about it. Starting a family, making this work.” He said quietly. I nodded. It was understandable. Unlike Jungkook and I , Jihyun had a responsibility. He would need a son and even though people liked to act like they didn’t care much about gender, like they didn’t care much about having children , it was sort of an unspoken rule. First son of the house ? You had to have a male heir to carry the family name.

I wondered how that conversation had gone between Jungkook and Lisa. It didn’t really match the photo I’d seen.

“I suppose Jungkook probably put up a fight. He genuinely wants to end up with her. He… He tells me often that he loves her and can’t love anyone else. ” I wondered if I ought to feel embarrassed or insulted.

But the truth was, I was numb to a lot of things that had once hurt quite a lot..

The conversation with Jungkook about my pregnancy had definitely cleared things up for me. There was nothing there worth salvaging. Chasing something that wasn’t real , that was foolishness. Especially when I had a very real baby to think about. A child that counted on me to make the right choices.

“I don’t think he did. She spoke to me last night and said that he agreed. Of course that was before the article came out. I’d like to think she didn’t lie to me but I’m not sure.”

I sighed, settling in closer to his chest. He was warm and firm, solid and reliable. I wondered if it would have been easier, if my father had just married me off to Jihyun instead. Jihyun and I …we were alike. We had been friends , even from childhood. Had watched with fond adoration as our younger siblings had fallen madly, wildly in love. Jungkook and Liza had been drawn to each other from the first. Inevitable.

Jihyun and I were more carefree. We didn’t feel things that intensely and perhaps that was why we could sit here in the calm of the afternoon air, quiet and introspective when we ought to be furious and raging.

“ Should we run off together? You and i?” He said suddenly making me laugh.

“Very much incapable of running.” I reminded him with a grin and he squeezed my shoulder .

“I’d carry you.” He said simply.

“Where would we go?” I asked curiously, indulging the fantasy for just a few minutes.

“Somewhere far away. Maybe India? There’s so many people there and we could get lost in the crowds.”

“That does sound appealing.” I smiled and turned to look up at him. His face inches from mine, not as handsome as Jungkook but strong featured and kind. “ But I’m not alone anymore. I have a child.”

His gaze dipped to my lap.

“Yes. Jungkook’s child.” He said thoughtfully.

“No. Mine. Nobody else’s . Just mine.” I said quietly. Jihyun’s gaze softened. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of my head.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, echoing his father’s words.” On behalf of my idiot brother, I’m sorry.”

And where Mr. Jeon’s words hadn’t made any sort of impact, Jihyun’s made my heart clench and ache in the worst way. Self pity was something I loathed but sometimes, being handed the short end of the stick at every turn in life makes it impossible to not feel sorry for yourself.

Tears stung, welling up in my eyes and spilling over my lashes like water bubbling out of an aquifer.

I blinked slowly, not bothering to wipe them as they traced a path down my face, dripping into the fabric of my shawl. In a moment of clarity I wondered what Jungkook must be going through now. Nothing good for sure.

It definitely said something, that I still worried for him. Sighing, I let Jihyun hug me closer. I would take advantage of his kindness for a few more minutes. It had been a while since someone had held me like I mattered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I called Jungkook that evening.

It wasn’t an easy choice but my heart ached and my mind raced with unanswered questions. I didn’t want to get lost in my own thoughts so I didn’t overthink it. We were still married. I was allowed to call him.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Where are you?” I asked quietly and Jungkook’s groan made my face heat up a little.

“I… Leah?” He sounded groggy. I glanced at the time. It wasn’t late.

“Are you sleeping?”

He didn’t reply for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry about what happened. We.. We didn’t do anything else. It was just.. it was a kiss. Just that.”

“Are you still in the hotel?” I asked quietly ignoring his words.

“ For tonight, yes. Dad wants me to stay with a friend of his. I’ll be going over to their place tomorrow morning.” He replied .

Silence followed for a few seconds.

“Namjoon is moving in tomorrow.” I said stiffly.

Jungkook didn’t respond for a minute or so.

“Yes. Father said it’s a good idea. And I agree. You shouldn’t be alone while I’m here. He’s right. Hyung’s a nice guy. He’ll help you out.” Jungkook said softly.

“Liza came home. She wanted to talk to me.” I said quietly.

Jungkook didn’t reply and I sighed.

“I told her I wasn’t going to talk to her before I talked to you. I don’t… I don’t want to say anything to her that I haven’t already said before. But I still want to know your thoughts on all this. Your plans, that is. I take it you weren’t happy with her ending things.” I said stiltedly.

Jungkook didn’t reply for a few seconds.

“Things between us ended a long time ago, Leah. It was over when we both agreed to marry other people. Maybe even before that, I don’t know… I … I guess I just didn’t want to acknowledge them.” He said quietly. “ She’s different, now. Even that kiss felt so wrong. She’s moving on. I’m glad in a way. She deserves better than me. She deserves someone like hyung. He’s better than me in everyway and-”

God I wanted to strangle him.

“So why did you kiss her?” I snapped. “ If you’re so generously letting her go why would you…” I stopped.

“I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me. It was barely for a second.” He muttered. “ whoever it was must’ve been videoing us for a while.”

I had to remind myself that in the grand scheme of things, this little detail made no difference.

“Right.” I sighed. “ So, you won’t be home for a while?”

“Six weeks at least.” He said quietly.

I tried to keep the disappointment down. I still wanted to see him, just to make sure he was okay. But I knew that was just the pregnancy hormones talking.

“Okay.” I said simply.

“How are you? Did you go see the doctor?” He asked softly and the question surprised me. I was half sure he had forgotten.

“No, not yet. Maybe in a couple of days.” I scratched at a small stain on my skirt. Lime juice and baking soda, I thought absently. That should get the stain out.

“Its pretty late. You should go see the doctor, Leah. I.. I looked stuff up. They say you have to be on pre natal vitamins, folic acid and iron supplements and you have to have a balanced diet. I called Sana earlier and told her to speak to our doctor and get a diet chart for you. She said she’ll do it soon. So , please take care of yourself.”

Jungkook sounded entirely serious and as always my brain felt muddled, unable to process why he did the things he did. He had looked things up about the pregnancy and that implied some sort of interest, didn’t it? But ….. he had also kissed my sister so what was I supposed to do with this?

“I’ll call you.” I said shakily, drained. I was done for the day.

“Right.” He said softly. “ Namjoon hyung will be there tomorrow right? Should I talk to him? He could take you to the doctor.”

“No.. That’s fine. I’ll manage.” I said quickly.

“You’re sure?” There was genuine worry there.

“Yes.” I sighed.

“Alright.”

Silence again. I exhaled shakily.

“Should I hang up?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah. Good night. ” He breathed.

“Good night, Jungkook.”

Click.

I stared at the wall, gently lowering the phone and placing it on the bed next to me.

She deserves better than me, his voice echoed in my head.

Well, so did I.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Namjoon looked nothing like the twenty one year old college student I’d seen a decade ago. I knew he was a successful novelist and I’d read all his books. They were mostly philosophical or commentaries on life and emotions. I enjoyed the way he wrote : melancholic and deep but also clear and easy to understand. It was like staring at a particularly deep pool, being able to see all the way down to the bottom because of how clean the waters were. But once you put your feet in, the depth always surprised you.

“That’s a lot of books.” I laughed, gripping the edge of the door frame as I watched him stumble under the weight of a crate full of bound books. Namjoon’s messy brown hair peeked over the top, and when he adjusted the huge load to stare at me, I caught sight of his handsome face stretched in a dimpled grin, eyes glinting.

“Research.” He grunted, straightening himself up and I watched the flex of his muscles as he carefully moved to place the crate down in one corner of the large bedroom that I’d had cleaned for him. It was on the west wing of the house, parallel to my own bedroom that I shared with Jungkook . Namjoon had spent three years working as a professor somewhere in Indonesia. And I knew that he’d spent a year backpacking all over Scandinavia. I stared at his tall strapping figure, watching him set up his writing space carefully, sorting out boxes and electronics.

He had driven here in his Range Rover and I knew all his clothes were still there in the back of the car.

“Should I ask the footmen to get your clothes?” I asked and he glanced up at me, frowning.

“Footmen?” He looked confused and I rolled my eyes.

“Namjoon…” I said chidingly and he grinned again.

“I keep forgetting you’re filthy rich. Makes me wish I should have beaten Jungkook to the game and bagged myself a rich wife.” He winked. It was a joke but there was no mistaking the hint of interest in his eye. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part. Being married to Jungkook had definitely made me question the attraction I held for men so it felt good, having someone as handsome and whole and successful as Namjoon look at me like that.

“I’ll ask them to get your clothes. You should shower and settle in. We’ll meet for dinner tonight.” I said quickly and he nodded.

“You’re going to be okay heading back to your room? Let me know if you need help.” He pointed at my feet and I nodded. It was sweet of him to offer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner was surprisingly not awkward at all. Namjoon had a lot of interesting stories to share and I found myself clinging to ever word in rapt attention. He spoke about all the folklore he’d run into in different places, how he thought that no matter the culture, there were always some common things you could find in every one of them. He also talked a little about his next book, which he hadn’t named yet.

“It’s about second chances. Forgiving and moving on.” He said, taking another bite of his braised pork and moving to make another lettuce wrap.

“ Heavy stuff.” I said thoughtfully. “ Most of my writing is commercial. I just try to sell stuff to reluctant people. It’s not much but it keeps me occupied and it’s always nice to make money that you can call your own.”

“It’s because you don’t write for yourself. When you start writing for yourself, you can truly be who you are.” He said firmly and I nodded in agreement.

My writing in college had been vivid and bright and filled with life. But after the accident, it had turned grey and gloomy. The words seemed to drip with loss and longing and I didn’t enjoy it, because it was a reminder that I was no longer the vibrant, attractive fulsome girl I once was.

“Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.” I smiled. “ Being who I am. I would rather pretend I’m at least a little alright.”

Namjoon stared at me, thoughtful.

“You used to run track.” He said softly and I grinned.

“You remember.” I said, pleased.

“Of course I do and you were captain of the volleyball team as well. You used to organize all those hikes and treks and stuff.”

“Yes I did. I loved the outdoors.” I stared out of the window.

“Loved? Past tense?” He tilted his head. I stared at him, shaking my head.

“What kind of question is that.” I shook my head. “ Look at me. I’m not trekking anytime soon, considering how the last time ended.”

“You can still go out.” He frowned. “ When was the last time you went somewhere?”

I shook my head.

“Oppa…”

“Listen. You know me. You’ve known me for more than a decade. Do you honestly think I’m going to let you rattle around this old house like a ghost when you should be out there taking in all the sunshine you can get?” Namjoon placed his chopsticks down and linked his fingers together, staring at me.

I stared at him, and it was definitely there. The concern, the affection. Not that different from when I was sixteen and struggling to understand what pathos meant.

But now there was a definite undercurrent of attraction. Back then it had been childish, the wild crush of a teenager on her hot tutor but now, now I knew that he was so much more than just a hot guy.

“I’m pregnant.” I said softly, more a reminder to myself than anything else.

Namjoon grinned.

“We’ll steer clear of horse riding and alcohol. Anything else you can just let me know.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“I think I’m getting one now.” I deadpanned.

“Because you’re nervous.” He grinned.

“Because your dimples look too adorable.” I retorted.

He laughed.

“I’ll talk to Jihyun and we’ll go see your doctor first. Then we’ll go out and have a nice picnic.”

“Namjoon, I can’t…”

“You don’t know that.” He said firmly.” You don’t know if you can or can’t because you’ve never tried. Listen I love picnics and I love going out and I want company. I’m agreeing to be stuck with you for a while and the least you can do is give me company at a picnic. You know how big a loser I’d seem like if I went by myself?”

It was like I was sixteen again getting brow beaten into things by a tutor who just hated the idea of not getting his way. I shook my head fondly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fourteen weeks. Three and a half months.

I stared at the ultrasound, feeling a multitude of things, not all of them good. The baby was growing well and I had all my prescriptions filled. Namjoon had offered to come with me but I had refused. It was too intimate and he was still a stranger. I did take a photo of the ultrasound and sent it to Jungkook.

/Jungkook called me back almost at once.

“You went to the doctor?” He asked, sounding a little breathless.

“Were you running?” I asked, surprised.

“Not really. I’m supposed to be meeting one of the vendors for lunch and I thought I could walk to the restaurant but its farther than I thought.” He huffed.

“Everything’s fine. Baby’s due in July.” I said quietly.

“Summer. That’s good.” He replied. “Right?”

I hesitated. What did that mean? What did it matter when the baby would be born?

“Because winter would mean it being too cold . Summer we can take the baby out and stuff without worrying too much.” Jungkook said softly.

Oh.

“How’s work?” I asked awkwardly. The non conversation was getting tedious. There was just so much to talk about and it was obvious that both of us weren’t in the mood to actually ask or answer anything worthwhile.

“Did dad say something?” Jungkook asked quickly and I frowned.

“No. Why?”

“He wants me to join hyung in the corporate office. Leave the smelter units.” Jungkook sounded subdued and upset and I felt sympathy well inside me.

“Join him? As what?” I asked quietly.

“Head of the marketing department. I’ll be reporting to Seokjin hyung.” Jungkook had clearly started walking again, breath coming in little exhales.

“You don’t want it?” I asked confused, not sure if this was a good or bad thing.

“I mean… I have a degree in Business and Finance. Hyung’s the CEO , I was hoping I’d be the CFO.” Jungkook sighed, “ But I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t disown me altogether after what happened earlier.”

I stayed quiet and so did he.

“We need to talk . When you get back. You … I know you don’t like sharing about what you feel but you owe me an explanation.” I said firmly.

“I know. But I meant what I said when I left. I’m going to be there for you and the baby. You’re still my wife. That’s not going to change.”

I ran my fingers over the ultrasound.

“Did you also mean the part where you said you can’t stand me.” I said bitterly .

Jungkook didn’t reply.

“I… You know I didn’t. That was just something I said on impulse. I’m sorry. You’re… You’ve been nothing but good to me. And honestly, just the fact that you’re carrying my child is proof that I can definitely stand you.” He sounded just a little hoarse.

I bit my lips, staring up at the door when I heard a knock.

“Leah? I’m going to have some tea in the garden … You wanna come with?” Namjoon’s voice rang through the room and I froze.

“Oh.. Oh.. yes. I’ll be down.” I said quickly, nodding . Namjoon pointed at the phone and gave to thumbs up before moving back out.

“Was that Namjoon hyung?” Jungkook’s voice came over the line.

“Oh… yeah. Yeah, he’s… he wants me to have tea with him in the gardens.” I said awkwardly.

“That’s nice. You should go. Get out of the house once in a while.” I didn’t know what to say to that so I stayed quiet.

After another minute or so of silence, Jungkook cleared his throat.

“ I got that form you sent in for me to fill, about my medical history. I’ll fill it up and mail it to the doctor’s office. Is that alright?” He asked hesitantly. “ If not I can fly back home. If they need me in person or something.”

I frowned a bit.

“They don’t need you in person, Jungkook of course not. Mail it, that’s fine.”

Another pause.

“This is really happening huh? A baby. We’re having a baby.” The exhaustion in his voice was palpable and I wondered.

“Yes. We are.” I said simply, not having anything else to elaborate on. It was happening. I was torn between pleasure at having something to look forward to and guilt at forcing Jungkook into a role he wasn’t ready for. But , for better or for worse we were married. The child was his. It would be a Jeon.

“ I’ll do better.” He said quietly. “ With the little one. I’ll be better.”

Tears these days, sprung up out of nowhere I thought miserably, furiously swiping at my face.

“Leah?” His voice came over the line. “ Leah are you there?”

“I need to go.”

“Alright.”

“Take care of yourself too, Jungkook.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loneliness .

It’s such an odd sort of feeling. Sometimes you get used to it so much, that you forget all about it.

It stays , a part of you that doesn’t make much of an impression on you until one day, suddenly it becomes unbearable,

Until you get a glimpse of what it’s like to not be lonely.

And then suddenly it’s like a deep chasm of longing and desperation just opens up inside you, craving love and warmth and company with a hunger that feels like it can never ever be satisfied.

I’d never paid much mind to the fact that my life revolved around myself, my writing and the flowers in the garden. Not until Namjoon had come, demanding to be felt and seen and heard .

Namjoon hadn’t joked about not letting me rattle around the house. Our days were spent sprawled on the lawns of the Jeon estate, each of us occupied with our own writing . Namjoon typed away on his laptop while I preferred my leather bound notebook. It was oddly soothing, lying there on the clean cut grass, the sharp blades rubbing against my bare legs, as I leaned back against a tree trunk, watching Namjoon’s furrowed brows as he wrote.

Namjoon had changed in a lot of ways and yet he was still somehow just as I remembered, focused and often lost in his own head. He was a contemplative man and seemed to spend as much time reading as he did writing.

“There’s a poetry club that meets every Tuesday in Gangnam. Would you like to come with me?” He asked casually, about a week after he’d moved in and I considered it. The paparazzi had finally stopped hanging about the estate and Jungkook had called the previous night with a ETA for when he would be back.

Four weeks at most, he had said firmly and I wasn’t sure if I was feeling all that excited for his return anymore. Days spent with Namjoon were more exciting. He included me in every little thing and I was addicted.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was probably wrong. Namjoon was sweet and kind but I was still married. But on the wake of that thought came the bitter reminder that there was nothing between Jungkook and I. He was in love with someone else. Why should I deny myself the joy of Namjoon’s company over a relationship that really wasn’t a relationship at all.

Namjoon treated me as an equal, teased and flirted like there was nothing wrong with the two of us living like this, together and away from the rest of the world and I liked it. It made me feel like perhaps happiness wasn’t such an abstract, unreachable thing after all. That perhaps I could find happiness like this. In friendship and mindless conversation with a man who didn’t see me as a burden.

“I’d love that.” I said with a smile, letting my fingers knit together with his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Scorned wife getting even? We spotted the recently cheated on Mrs Jeon getting cozy with a strapping, buff hottie in a private restaurant last Friday and we can’t help but wonder if perhaps the reclusive lady is trying to get back at her husband by flashing her own boytoy.” Namjoon read cheerfully from his phone, looking way too entertained as he showed me the zoomed photo of us holding hands over the dinner table .

“That’s quite the description they’ve put for you.” I grimaced, sipping my chamomile tea slowly. My father and Mr. Jeon had reacted with their usual anger, threatening to sue the gossip rag for libel but it was pointless. They would keep being intrusive rats. There was nothing much to be done beyond enduring them.

“My agent’s losing his mind. He’s been at me trying to get me to agree to book signings and public appearances and he’s pissed that this is the way I get introduced to Seoul’s High society. Poor guy.” Namjoon chuckled and I felt guilt churn.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon. I really didn’t think they’d be following me. I mean… usually they’re only tailing Jungkook but I guess with the whole thing with Lisa , they’re just looking for ways to make things worse.” I said hesitantly.

Namjoon hesitated, staring at me for a few seconds.

“We never really talked about how things are.” He said quietly. “ Between you and Jungkook, that is.”

I ran the edge of my chopsticks on the brim of my soup bowl.

“ There’s not much to say. He’s…. He’s still sorting things out. With my sister.” I smiled a little. It ached a lot less, I realized with surprise.

“They loved each other deeply.” Namjoon said softly. “ that sort of thing doesn’t go away that quickly.”

I nodded.

“Of course. And I’ve been …understanding of that. I like to think.”

“But its unfair to you. You deserve to be loved too. Fully and well .”

I leaned back to stare at him.

“Are you offering?” I laughed, teasing.

Namjoon didn’t smile, leaning forward instead.

“Depends. Will you ever consider leaving him, for me?” He said seriously.

My heart turned over inside me.

“Namjoon…” I choked out and he reached out and lightly touched my palm.

“I know how marriages work with people like you, so I think I should draw boundaries now, if I want to keep myself safe.” He smiled a bit.

“I’m pregnant. With his child.” I swallowed and Namjoon’s brows went up.

“I thought it was your child. Yours and no one else’s.”

I felt torn, staring at him and wanting to say that I didn’t consider Jungkook as the child’s father, not in the way most people did. But I also remembered my husbands determined voice, the way he kept insisting that he wouldn’t neglect the child.

“Its not about Jungkook or the child, Leah. Its about you. You married Jungkook knowing he was in love with your sister and that tells me that you listen to your parents. You don’t want to stand up against the rules set by our parents and I don’t fault you for it. But I can’t let myself fall for you, knowing you’re going to be bound by your obligations to yurr family.”

I shook my head.

“Don’t fall in love with me.” I said easily. “ You’re right. My family comes first. And whether I want to be or not, I’m bound to Jungkook for life. So don’t fall in love with me.”

He smiled and nodded.

“Alright then.”

“Do you want to move out?” I asked bitterly and he looked genuinely surprised.

“What?”

“You clearly think I’m trying to seduce you or something when really, I-“

“Hey. Hey, Leah…no. No alright, that’s not what I meant. These two weeks, it was amazing. I love your mind and you’re easily one of my favorite people on this planet. We’re friends. And we’ll stay friends no matter what but you must know why I said what I said. You’re a beautiful woman and I’m a lonely guy.” He smiled a bit, “ I just don’t want to make it hard for myself when you want me to leave.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook arrived back in Korea on a cold, rainy morning and against my better judgment I let Jihyun and Lisa drag me to the airport. It was some kind of publicity stunt, that much I could fathom but I didn’t know if Jungkook was in on it. I hadn’t spoken to him in a few days, he had been busy wrapping things up with the new branch in Japan.

It was another bad day for my leg and I found myself leaning heavily on my sister, her arm wrapped around my waist as we walked over to the waiting area. I could already identify a few men with cameras staring at us discreetly. Paparazzi . I saw them move their cameras down to the now obvious curve of my stomach and I swallowed. I could already imagine the articles wondering who the father was : Jungkook or Namjoon.

“You alright?” My sister asked worriedly and I nodded, not looking at her. Lisa hadn’t been discouraged by initial refusal to speak to her, keeping at it till I finally caved and let her visit me at the estate. She didn’t love Jungkook anymore, she insisted . It was over. They were over . She wanted to give her marriage a chance. Very sweet and nice, that. And it was obvious that she wasn’t lying, what with the way she and her husband kept

Jihyun and Lisa had made amends with each other and it annoyed me that they seemed to be madly in love with each other all of a sudden. Like the past couple months hadn’t even happened. I stared down at my wedding ring feeling stricken. Was it unfair that I resented them for this? Why hadn’t the two of them thought of this, of breaking things off and moving on before the damn wedding. And then maybe Jungkook and I would have had a real marriage too.

Bitter and hormonal was definitely not a good combination I thought with a wince, fingers splaying on the curve of my lower belly. It was so odd, being pregnant. The extra weight somehow foreign but also …so soothing. The last scan had shown that I had an anterior placenta and that meant that I may not feel movements for a while. I didn’t mind, having found comfort in just tracing my palm over the bare skin of my stomach.

“There he is.” Jihyun’s voice made me look up and ure enough there he was.

It wasn’t the longest we’d been away from each other and yet, I felt my heart leap at the sight of him. He truly was a very handsome man, I thought miserably. And no matter what people said, it was infinitely more difficult to hate your husband when he looked that good.

Jungkook’s eyes caught mine first and I saw the way his gaze dipped straight to the curve of my bump. Even from the ten feet between us , I saw hi lips part in surprise , eyes going wide. It probably hadn’t felt real to him till now, I thought biting my lips as he carefully handed his bags over to the two chauffeurs who had rushed to help him.

Jihyun wasted no time in bounding over and hugging his little brother tight.

I glanced at the man who had been taking photos, pleased to see the surprise in his face. Was he hoping that the CEO would punch his little brother in the face ? Idiots. Lisa stayed by my side and I exhaled shakily.

“ Dad told me something and I want to know if its true.” I said quietly.

She didn’t reply.

I took a deep breath, still watching the two brothers embrace each other, Jungkook’s face buried in Jihyun’s shoulders. I could see him shaking just a little and I felt my gut clench.

“He told me that …that you never told him that you wanted to marry Jungkook. That when he suggested Jihyun you agreed at once.”

She looked away.

“Lets talk about this later.” She said quietly.

“Does Jungkook know?” I demanded. “ Because he spent that first month of our marriage cursing our father out for forcing you to marry Jihyun. Forcing. And dad says that he did no such thing. So what is the truth.”

Lisa didn’t respond.

“Jungkook knows.” She said finally, “ I told him… the truth. When we were in Japan.” and I laughed in disbelief.

“Was that before or after you kissed him?” I snapped and she looked genuinely pained.

“Leah, I never meant to hurt you or Jungkook.” She said shakily.

“My God.” I shook my head. “ I always knew you were a selfish, greedy person but I didn’t take you for being a liar and a deceitful coward. ”

She stared down at her feet.

“Yes. I’m greedy..” She whispered “ And you may not understand it now but I did it for you and for Jungkook.”

She moved away and I watched as Jihyun pulled away from Jungkook, still holding his arm as he held a hand out to Lisa. The smile on her face seemed genuine as she took her husband’s hand and I shifted my gaze to mine. Jihyun and Lisa walked away to their car and Jungkook stepped closer to me, his face stoic and impossible to read.

“Leah.” He said quietly, dark hair falling into even darker eyes.

I didn’t reply, merely stepping up to gently press my palms on either side of his face.

“Welcome back.” I said softly, before reaching up and kissing him full on the lips. Jungkook’s entire body went stiff as a board at the gesture but he didn’t pull away , thankfully. It felt cold and impersonal and barely lasted a few seconds but hopefully the man had gotten a few good shots. I closed my eyes for effect, running my thumb over the clean shaven curve of his jaw, before pulling away slowly.

I peered over Jungkook’s shoulder, just to make sure and sure enough, the man was moving closer to get better angles. I smiled a little. Good. That should hold these vultures off for a while. I turned back to Jungkook and his eyes followed my gaze catching sight of the man with the camera and his entire body seemed to go stiff with anger.

“Why did you do that?” He growled and I bit my lips.

“You know why.” I made to turn away but he gripped my arm, hard. So hard that I winced.

“What are you doing?” I asked panicking, glancing at the man who was still watching.

“Since when did you start pandering to those pigs?” He whispered angrily and I flinched.

“Your father wants to introduce you to the Board of directors this weekend.” I whispered quietly, “Most of them read the news Jungkook. The last news about us can’t be about you cheating on me.”

“That’s my business. And I’ll deal with it. We’re not doing this, Leah. I’m not putting on some kind of act just to please my fucking father.” He looked furious and the taut line of his jaw made me flinch.

“I’m sorry.” I said quickly, guilt churning inside me. He was right. I shouldn’t have done that without talking to him about it but I knew that the scandal with him and Lisa wouldn’t go down well with the Board. And the Board generally had a direct say on who got hired to top managerial positions.

“I just want you to get that job.” I said softly and he stared at me, stiff body relaxing marginally.

“Let’s just go home. Yeah?” Jungkook said tiredly and I bit my lips.

Less than fifteen minutes since he came home and we were already at odds with each other.

The most ill suited couple in the universe, I thought with a grimace as he stepped right next to me and wrapped a hand around my waist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had a very terrible tendency to forget taking my pills. So I generally left them by the bedside table. Stepping out of the shower, I found Jungkook sitting on my side of the bed, examining the bottle carefully. I tugged on the white t shirt I had on, suddenly embarrassed because it was Jungkook’s

I’d asked to borrow a couple over the phone, simply because I no longer fit into my own and the ones I’d ordered weren’t here yet. Jungkook had agreed but still, it felt awkward when he was wearing the exact same t shirt himself.

He turned around when I moved to the vanity to put on moisturizer for the night and through the reflection I saw his gaze linger on my attire.

“Aspirin? Didn’t know that was part of pre natal vitamins?” He said seriously and I blinked., surprised. I turned around to stare at him, licking my lips nervously.

“How much research did you do?” I asked, genuinely curious and he flushed.

“I had a lot of free time. “ He said defensively. “ These six weeks.”

I frowned, before turning back to grab the small pot of night cream from the draw.

“My blood pressure is a little elevated. My mother had pre eclampsia with my sister and they just want to be careful.”

“Pre eclampsia?” Jungkook’s voice was fraught with nervousness and I turned back to see him almost white as a sheet.

“Jungkook…I.. its nothing serious.” I said hastily and his jaw went even more taut.

“What do you mean its not serious? Do you even know what it is?” He demanded.

“Do you?” I snapped back, annoyed at being treated like I was an errant child.

“I know that it’s the leading cause of maternal death during birth.” He all but shouted and I flinched.

“Okay…that’s only in extreme cases.” I held both my hands up. “ it’s a bit too premature to be panicking over that.”

Jungkook opened his mouth, as though to argue but then seemed to calm himself down.

“When’s your next check up?” He asked casually.

“This weekend. But its okay, Namjoon is-“

“I’ll come with you. I.. I want to come with you.” He said quietly.

I stared at him, feeling too awkward to outright refuse.

“You have the meeting with the Board. This weekend.” I said softly.

“So?” Jungkook shrugged. “ I’ll just tell them your appointment and health is more important to me. Besides isn’t that what you wanted? The reason you kissed me at the airport? You want the board to think we’re happily in love. I think that would be an excellent way to show them that. ”

Jungkook stared at me , head tilted curiously, daring me to deny what I had old him myself.

Sighing, I nodded.

“Alright.” I managed a weak smile. “ You can come with me.”

“Namjoon hyung left today, you said?” He asked casually.

I nodded.

“I should send him a bottle of his favorite wine for taking care of you so well. You look good.”

“He did it because he wanted to. Because he enjoyed it.” I retorted, his words rubbing me just a little wrong.

Jungkook smiled although it was more of a smirk.

“I’m sure he did. But I’m here now. And I did promise you that I’ll be there for you.”

“For the baby.” I said sharply, not liking the way he looked. The things he seemed to b implying.” You promised me you’d be there for the baby.”

“And right now, said baby is inside you.” He grinned now and I felt my pulse quicken at the sight. Jungkook didn’t smile with me. It wasn’t something that happened. At all. “ So I’ll have to take care of you.”

I stared at him, biting my lips.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. “My sister told you she never wanted you so now you want to start fucking me again?”

It was cruel. A terrible thing to say and I regretted it at once.

The smile faded.

“What?”

“ I…fuck Jungkook.” I groaned.

“is that what you think of me? Need I remind you that you were the one who came to me all those months ago? I never…. I would never force myself on you, Leah.” He looked like he’d been stabbed and I heart clenched.

“Jungkook , I…”

“I’ve been honest. Through all of this I’ve been honest to you. I lied to your sister, I lied to my father and fuck I even lied to myself. But I’ve been honest with you , Leah.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?!” I cried out, despairing. “ You were in love with my sister and –“

“And she wanted to marry my brother.” Jungkook yelled, standing up and turning to me, eyes blazing. “ All along. Know what she told me Leah? That it was never supposed to be me. That five years of us being together…it was because she was in love with my brother and she couldn’t bear the thought of being alone. She started dating me to make him jealous and when she saw that I spent so much time with Jihyun she stuck around . So she could spend time with him.” He shook his head.

I stared at him, horrified.

“Jungkook….”

“I thought I could never feel more pathetic than when I stood there listening her tel me how she never felt a single thing for me. But wow…. Thank you for proving me wrong. Because right now, standing here begging you to let me a part of the child we both made knowing you only see me as some kind of pervert just looking to get into your bed….” he shook his head,” I feel worse. I feel dirty.”

My throat went dry.

“You know what?” He moved to the closet and to my horror he grabbed a bunch of his clothes and a small suitcase. “ I’m going to go get a Hotel room.”

“What? No… Jungkook, wait!” I rushed to his side, grabbing his arm but he threw my hand off quickly.

“Ask Namjoon hyung to move back in. Better yet, tell dad the truth. That you think I’m disgusting. That the thought of me being in your life makes you sick. Tell him you want a divorce and-“

“It’s a girl.” I exhaled sharply.

Jungkook went completely still.

I swallowed, my heart racing so fast I couldn’t catch my breath.

I took a deep breath and moved to lightly touch his back, fingers splaying on the broad expanse of his shoulder blade .

He turned around at that and my heart lurched at the tear tracks down his cheeks. He looked wrecked.

“ A girl?” He whispered.

I bit my lips, nodding.

“We’re having a little girl.” He looked a little shell shocked.

“Yes. And hopefully, she isn’t as dramatic as her father.” I said softly, grabbing the dozen or so t shirts he’d pulled out of the closet and pushing them back into the shelves.

Jungkook didn’t protest, still staring into space, probably just taking the news in. I felt awful for one second because I hadn’t even cared all that much when the technician had told me.

I closed the closet door and moved back to the vanity trying to process all that had been said in the last five minutes, only to feel a headache come on. I would think about it tomorrow.

I finished braiding my hair when Jungkook’s voice came from the bed.

“If you don’t want me to intrude into your space you can tell me. I’m okay with only getting information about the baby.” He said quietly.

I stared at myself in the mirror.

I turned to him slowly. i took a deep breath, considered that what i was going to say would likely change everything between us. But i had to.

I’ve always been honest with you Leah, He had said and I decided that perhaps he deserved some honesty in return.

“I think I’m in love with Namjoon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : these two are such a mess istg.

ooh i don’t have a taglist for this so please comment if you wanna be on it.

#jungkook smut #jungkook fics #bts smut fics #bts smut #jungkook arranged marriage #bts arranged marriage au #bts fanfic #bts smut fic #bts fics

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saintprinsessa · 4 years

Text

Show me your colors: Agatha Harkness x Fem!reader

Summary: An Au of how Agatha met you and you pinched her curiosity.

You were a witch without colors. And every one of them had one.

Trigger warning: Hurtful past, but the rest is just pure teasing and fluff vibes.

Author’s note: If you find any mistakes, these are on me!

This cost me a bit, I hope it´s good.

Anyways, please enjoy. <3

----------------------------------------------------

150 years before the Hex thing.

Soft creaks could be heard in the deepest parts of the woods, in the night, everything turned less lively and more disturbing.

Crickets making a symphony in the pasture, the wind blowing through the trees making them tilt a bit, while some of the leaves fell, dancing harmoniously until they touched the ground.

It was raining, so the witch speed up her steps, she despised when her cloak damped, it could turn into days to let it dry completely.

A bad feeling hit her gut, she swears for a moment that she heard some kind of lament or whimper; she straightened herself and looked around, trying to find where did it come from.

Now, it turned into a crying, but it remained soft, like if it didn´t want to be heard.

The witch put one of her hands up, making a claw form and letting some of her purple magic dance in it.

She slowly approached the source of the noises, she ducked a little to pass a tight space between two trees, when she crossed to the other side, she accidentally stepped over a branch making it crunch and alerted the presence that was sobbing near, who quickly tried to get away from its intrusor.

Agatha hesitated a bit, she took a step backward and her hand went higher, trying to let know to whatever was in there, that she was capable of overpowering it.

After a few seconds, the movements ceased and the sobbing was back again.

The witch walked towards the being and stopped when she took what was in her sight.

A girl?

She whipped her wrist a little purple flame appeared to give her light.

How a girl could be in here... ah.

She got the flame to grow a bit and let it float near, then she carefully kneeled in front of the scared being that was curled up in front of her, who turned out to be you.

"Please, just let me go, don´t hurt me."

You said with a shaky tone, shivering a bit, your hands tangled in your hair for protection.

"Are you a witch?"

Agatha had her brows knitted.

In case you were one, what was the point of being so scared?

You stopped trembling.

A new voice...

You let your hands fell from your hair, then moved the hair off your face, so you could see who was talking.

But instead of seeing the figure first, your eyes caught the floating light, then locked into the witch´s ones.

She cleared her throat, expecting an answer.

"I am, ma´am."

You replied calmly, and Agatha hummed.

An intense stare fight started between you two, light tension could be felt in the air, the soft rain was the only thing daring interrupt.

It all stopped when a small droplet of water sneaked under Agatha´s cloak and ran down her back, she clenched her jaw, stood up, and rolled her eyes mentally as she started to walk.

"This way."

You were stunned, but as soon as you heard those words, you stood up clumsily, stepping over your dress and tried to catch the witch who was now meters afar.

The whole trip was silent, Agatha kept up a steady pace, the flame following close and then you, who almost tripped three times now.

When you recovered from your close fall and composed yourself, a cottage appeared in front of you.

This wasn´t here before, was it?

Agatha made her way inside, so did her flame, instantly disappearing and lighting all the candles around the house, and you followed, well, nearly.

You stood under the threshold nervous, waiting for something.

Agatha noticed your hesitation and chuckled while raising a brow.

"Are you waiting for an invitation? Close the door, it´s freezing."

You nodded eagerly, wiped your feet on the little entrance carpet, and shut the door softly behind you, just to feel a warmness in the air when Agatha conjured a spell to light up the chimney and made the house regain temperature in seconds.

"Now..."

Agatha said while she encircled you, observing.

You had your hands clasped at your front, chest rising and descending slowly and your eyes were fixated on the floor.

"How did you come to end sobbing and squealing like a harmed little rat?"

Of course, the witch wasn´t going to be easy on you.

You shifted your gaze to look at the witch and returned to the floor again.

"Well, I... I thought... I thought you were..."

You breathed deeply, then started to shift your weight from feet to another and chewed the inside of your cheek, avoiding her presence, feeling how her eyes burned into your skull.

Agatha didn´t like that, so she made a move.

With a quick trick, she had you trapped on a wall, with your hands pinned to your sides.

You squealed surprised, processing the sudden change, your head bumped onto the wall with force, and you hissed through gritted teeth.

"I won´t ask again."

Agatha said dryly, while a purple darkish cloud formed between her fingers and grew bigger as time passed.

"Wait! Please!"

You breathed almost tripping over your words.

"I thought you were one of the witches of the coven! They didn´t want me near them!"

That didn´t resolve Agatha´s curiosity about your origin but enlivened them.

"What got you expelled?"

You tilted your head as if Agatha was saying crazy things.

The dark-haired knitted her brows and took a step forward.

"Ah! Ex-expelled? I was never part of it... they wouldn´t let me..."

Tears now were falling freely on your face, not just the pain in the back of your head, but your story was affecting too.

"Why?"

The question was calm, Agatha´s hand didn´t glow anymore, she saw how you were not in any position of attacking her, you were vulnerable.

You raised your head to look at the woman and tried to lift your hand a bit, but it quickly was put down by a flick of a wrist of her.

A sob escaped from your lips, and the woman let your body fall to the ground, soon, you were curled up trying to be the farthest possible from the other witch.

"Please, just let me show you"

You said in shaky breaths.

"If you try anything..."

Agatha summoned the little purple flame again, but it had spikes now and it was dangerously close to your head.

You closed your eyes, inhaled, and exhaled sharply, while rising your hands slowly and making a little dance with them to just emanate energy from it.

Agatha was watching everything closely.

Now, the energy was a little sphere and started floating until it reached Agatha's level of eyes.

Her eyes shifted from the ball to your now-forming sad smile.

The energy had no color.

Every witch that Agatha had witnessed had a specific color in her powers, it showed the goal of the witch, that is why it was usual to see a coven with the same type of color on their powers, every one of them had the same objective.

Hers was purple mixed with black because of her thirst for power, even trespassing the insane limits and moving as free will in the dark side, but she loved to sugarcoat it and said that she just belonged to royalty.

"I´m useless, that is the problem, I won´t learn"

You said shrugging your shoulders a bit, while the energy ball faded.

Something in Agatha spoken for itself and decided that she had to be your instructor, she had to show you how useful you could be, otherwise, what she could do with you?

And as time passed by, you now could protect your thoughts, manipulate others and even shapeshift things easily.

But something was still missing.

A few years later.

Books were swirling around the witches as the oldest one in the room was conjuring, you were just observing, from time to time, making little figures of animals to make the ambient more alive.

Agatha snapped out her concentration when a ton of fishes came swimming through her hair and one slapped her cheek with her rear fin.

She glanced annoyed at your figure while you muffled a snort, trying to contain your laugh.

The brunette sighed and the animals disappeared.

“How come to after all this time you never, not even once, had color in your powers?”

Agatha put a hand in her head dramatically, while the other one rested on her hip.

You shrugged your shoulders and kept your head low, why she kept asking that?

“The powers of a witch always come with a specific color, not only it shows the intentions, but the personality and aspirations of the witch.”

You shook your head a bit and slightly twitched your wrist, so a little trick would show.

A flame was sparkling in your hand.

“Gray...”

Your lips twitched upwards and you were limited to nod.

“Don’t you have any mission, dear?”

You knit eyebrows.

Well, I´m hungry, so eat?

Agatha now started lecturing you, you just huffed defeated, every time that she brought the subject up, it ended with her being exhausting and repeatedly explaining how you needed to concentrate on finding your “true nature”.

“Are you listening, (y/n)?”

You rolled your eyes and smiled sarcastically.

“Yes, mentor, always.”

Agatha chuckled slightly, she knew how much worked up your nerves being told this and that, you usually called her “mentor” when you were mocking.

“Well, now, be a good girl and help me with this new spell.”

A pink flush was spread all over your face.

You did help her, because, you were a good girl.

A good girl for Agatha.

Later that night.

“I think..."

Agatha said aloud, suddenly irrupting the silence in the house, making you shift your gaze off the book.

"We have never tried putting you in an extreme situation."

The witch said reflexively.

"We need to find something that disturbs you enough to the point of reach your limits."

She said now enthusiastically, a train of ideas came fast to her brain, and honestly, it scared you a bit.

"What about trying with spiders?"

You gulped, and shook your head, completely disagreeing with her.

"No insects, no fire neither water, just no."

You said defensive, dismissing any crazy idea that she could probably have.

Agatha mumbled some incoherences under her breath about how boring you were.

"Fine, then, on the other hand, we have to fulfill one of your biggest desires, little one."

Your body trembled and you bit your lip nervously.

“Ah ah, I think I provoked something in there, didn’t I?”

Now your eyes were back to the book in your hands, avoiding Agatha.

“What is the thing that you crave most than anything, angel?”

You ignored her, but you knew that, sooner or later, you had to show her.

What your mind and soul wished was undeniable at this point.

There was no getting away from this.

Once you took enough encouragement, you tossed the book somewhere, took a step forward, and hesitantly cupped her cheek with a doubtful hand, and closed the gap between you two, brushing your lips into Agatha’s soft ones.

A jolt of energy went through your bodies, making Agatha and you squirm on your feet with excitement.

She let her palms rest on each side of your body, softly caressing up and down.

And deepened the kiss, tilting her head to the side while you sighed contently.

Now, the magic in the air became ecstatic, embracing you two close.

It was a slow dance with your magic and hers, intertwining and mixing to vibrate gently, your bodies synchronized your heartbeats and breathing, your figures locking as if somehow, they were made for each other.

You were finally accepting your feelings.

You had fallen for her.

Badly.

Every time that you saw her smile at you, your heart tried to jump out of your chest, your breathing became unstable and your cheeks burned.

Agatha made you feel invincible.

A muffled chuckle made you come back from your cloud.

How sweet you are, (y/n).

That sentence echoed in your mind, there was a sudden tickle in your head and you became a flushed mess, you were beyond embarrassed.

Agatha had heard your thoughts.

“Orange?”

Agatha said smiling, her forehead was pressed with yours, her eyes locked onto yours.

She was referring to your, now, colorful powers.

“The color of creativity and enthusiasm”

Agatha snorted a little and closed her eyes.

A lot of memories of you laughing, messing with her, making weird tricks and bad jokes just to make her smile were flooding in her mind.

“It suits you, sweet tooth”

She just smiled widely, little wrinkles forming in the corner of her eyes, she took a little distance from you to watch your features better, grabbing your shoulders and squeezing them, looking at you with a purple gleam on her eyes, she did this when she was excited.

Your eyes pulsated with light too, a smile was seen on your face as you started jumping.

Without a second thought, you hugged her tightly, wrapping your legs on her waist and your arms around her neck, that made her lose balance but your magic quickly caught you both.

You laughed for minutes, resting your head in her chest, she was brushing her fingers in your hair while humming.

“You must be proud of me now.”

You sat, straddling Agatha’s waist, your bodies floating together around the house, energy reverberating around.

“Oh (y/n), I have always been proud of you.”

Agatha sat a bit too so she could reach your lips and you leaned to join her in a slow and tender kiss.

This one was longer than the last, after you both lost your breath, you left each other's warm while sharing loving glances.

Softly, you grabbed Agatha´s hands and started lowering yourselves down gently until your feet touch the ground.

You were still lost in her eyes, so she was the first one to break the silence.

“Now, dear, help me clean the mess you made”

She tapped your hand and squeezed your left cheek.

You knitted your brows confused.

What mess?

You looked around.

Ah, that one.

To your bad luck, you weren’t the only ones floating around the house, but the decorations, books, and everything that was near you floated too.

“Oh, well”

You moved closer to the witch and she closed her eyes to receive a kiss that never came, so she opened her eyes again.

“That’s your problem now, mentor.”

You were nowhere to be seen, but your voice could be heard in the house, surely you were hiding in a room where you were partially safe.

Agatha chuckled and rolled her eyes while started putting everything in place, with her magic of course.

"Oh (y/n), there is no solution for you."

#agatha x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x you #wandavision x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha wandavision

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peachbear88 · 3 years

Text

A Whole New World (Pt 3)

A/N: So I have another idea for a oneshot or maybe series. "Forbidden Love". I think the name might already have been used but THIS IS THE PERFECT NAME FOR THE NEXT STORY AHHHHHHH! Anyways, back to the actual story at hand.

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You sit down cautiously in the leather seat in front of you, almost sighing. The chair is much more comfortable then you thought.

"So... what do you want from me?" You ask timidly, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as his gaze sears into you.

"Why do you think I want something from you?" He asks and you meet his eyes, noticing the amused glint in them.

"Because you didn't hand me over to the police and instead, brought me here." You gesture to the spacious, glamorous office. He chuckles, standing up to look out the massive floor to ceiling window.

"Touchè." You fidget nervously, waiting for him to continue. "I saw you paying a visit to the youngest Maximoff." Your breath hitches in your throat as he turns to look at you. "Very skilled, the whole, swinging from the tree branch." You flush and he smirks. "Young love. I presume you'd like her hand in marriage as well." Your face turns an even brighter shade of red and he chuckles. Not a genuine, hearty chuckle but a cold, dark laugh.

"She has to marry someone that benefits the company though." You pause, letting the smallest sliver of hope leak into your speech. "Right?"

Loki laughs cruelly, crushing the liquid hope you had.

"Correct. But. I can help you." You look up into his icy green eyes and he smirks. "I can make you rich enough to qualify for her hand in marriage. Powerful enough." You lean forward eagerly but he leans back, knowing fully well he had you wrapped around his little finger. "Nothing comes for free though."

You reach into your pocket, pulling out the brooch and examining it. You take a deep breath, steeling your resolve before turning back to him.

"What would I have to do?"

-----------

"All I need is for you to go into that cave and fetch me an object. A simple oil lamp to be specific." You arch an eyebrow.

"Easy peasey." He stops you, pulling you back from the mouth of the cavern.

"Not so fast. You cannot touch any of the treasures in there, no matter how tempted. And trust me, you will be tempted." You gulp, noting the ominous tone in his voice.

"Got it. How hard could it really be?" You mutter, slowly inching down the cavern. A pebble slips, sending you tumbling down the semi-smooth stone slide. You scream as you fall, hitting the bottom of the slide with a grunt. "Didn't see that coming." Dusting yourself off, you slink through the dark, ominous cave. The further you descend into the cave, the more tempting the mounds of gold and jewels become. The cavern expands, leading into a massive area, dozens of tall, sharp pillars looming above you. Dead in the center, perched upon the tallest pillar is the desired lamp. You smile, stepping towards the pillar only to be upended by a small gem. You go flying, squeezing your eyes shut as you prepare yourself for the harsh impact but it never comes. Instead, you find yourself on a fluffy carpet. It ripples beneath you, and for a moment, you fear the whole cave is coming apart. Then the carpet pushes you off it and you shriek. The carpet, the carpet that just caught you is moving. You examine it curiously, pacing around it.

"A frickin' magic carpet." You exclaim as it watches you inspect it, impatiently gesturing towards the giant slab of stone crushing it. You scratch your chin before slipping your fingers between a small gap under the rock. "Alright, here we go." You grunt, heaving the rock. The carpet tugs and the moment the stone lifts a little, the carpet zips out, dipping and whirling around the cavern, sending gold cascading everywhere. Eventually, it calms down, circling around you and patting your shoulders enthusiastically. "Not a problem bud." You return your attention to the towering pillar in front of you. "Alright. Let's do this."

You pull yourself up, following the pre-set trail you had created for yourself as you grip another sharp handhold. A bit of blood trickles down from a thin cut on your palm and you grimace before continuing your steep climb. Your muscles are on fire, the thin cut on your hand tearing wider and wider every second. With one final pull, you reach the top of the pillar, the dusty lamp shining right back at you. Not wasting a second, you grab the lamp and slowly lower yourself down to where the carpet stands, watching you with anticipation.

"All right! Now to get out of here..." You dust of your thin, ragged pants, leaving a thick line of blood smeared on the fabric. After a few moments, you locate the tunnel you came from and make your way up the steep slope. Your footsteps echo off the large cave as you reach the large stone slide. A gem next to your foot catches your eye and you lean down, examining it. The carpet frantically waves at you, even slapping you but you push it away, picking up the gem. "No one's going to notice one small gem missing. I could go without stealing for a whole month without this gem." You shrug before slipping it into your pocket. The effect is instantaneous, a roaring voice echoing through the cave.

"You have touched the forbidden treasure. Now, you will never again see the light of day!" Molten lava spews forth from the cracks in the cavern, rapidly covering the stone. You jump up, leaping from stone to stone, clambering up the rocky slide. At the mouth of the cave, Loki stands, watching you frantically scale the rocky wall, unable to find the strength to pull yourself up the last bit of the wall.

"A little help would be nice!" You cry and Loki peers down at you, golden staff in hand.

"Give me the lamp first." He sneers and you resist.

"No. Your hand first!" He leans closer to you and his once handsome features contort into an angry scowl.

"Give me the lamp first." He repeats and you relent, reaching into your pocket and handing him the lamp. He examines it greedily while you cling onto the rock face.

"Now your hand!" He looks back down at you, all the kindness from before gone.

"How about my foot?" Your eyes widen as he raises his foot and steps on your hand, squishing it. You cry out in pain as he relentlessly twists his foot, agonizing pain shooting up your arm. Unable to hold on any longer, you fall, the sweltering heat radiating against your body before you hit a soft surface, soaring up into the air. Prying your eyes open, you look down to see carpet, speeding towards the entrance of the cave where Loki stands, still entranced by the lamp. The carpet speeds up and you reach out, snatching the lamp from Loki's hands. Loki roars in anger, pushing you backwards with the butt of his staff as the cave crumbles. Rocks tumble down, covering the entrance as you fly backwards towards a certain doom. Right at the last moment, carpet catches you and the two of you go tumbling back down into the darkness of the cave.

--------------

"Ugh..." You groan, your eyes fluttering open. You're greeted by a brightly colored carpet hovering above you. "Hi." You mutter, pushing yourself into a sitting position. The lamp is still tightly clutched in your hand and you stare at it, wondering what that man could've possibly wanted from such a dusty relic. You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck before returning your attention to the carpet. "Well, you know any way out of here buddy?" The carpet makes exaggerated gestures with it's golden tassels at the lamp. You hold up the lamp, confused. "This old thing?" The carpet nods vigorously (at least you think it's nodding) and you shrug. "What's the worst that could happen." You take a deep breath, slowly rubbing at the lamp with your injured hand, blood smearing over the dusty brass surface. Slowly but surely, a thick blue fog spirals out of the lamp, revealing a massive blue figure. You stumble backwards, still clinging onto the lamp.

"Oh great one who summons me, terrible one who commands me, I stand by my oath, loyalty to wishes three." The figure roars. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, just a pathetic little whimper.

"Eh..."

He clears his throat, peering down into the darkness.

"I said, 'Oh great...'" His eyes land on you. "Excuse, me, dude, where's your boss?" You stand there, gaping as he waves his massive blue hands in front of your face. "Help me out here, where's your boss? If I was just gonna talk to myself, I could've stayed in the lamp."

"Eh... Uh...." You gulp as he stares at you impatiently.

"Hellooooooooo!"

"I uh.... I'm talking to uh.... Smoking blue giant?"

"No! BRRRRRRRRR." He hums out, shrinking down and swirling around you. "I am not a giant, I am a genie. There is a difference." He retorts, waving his finger in front of you. "Giants are not real." He reclines back, leaving you frozen in shock. "Where's your boss?"

"Uh, my boss?"

He sighs.

"Look, kid, I've been doing this a long time, all right? There's always a guy, you know..." You watch his hands, noting how he uses them to gesture with every word he utters. "He's cheated somebody, or buried somebody." He explains, teleporting behind you and floating around. "I mean, you get my point. Where's that guy?" You nod in understanding.

"I know that guy. He's outside." The genie's face lights up.

"So, it's just you and me down here?" A telescope appears in his hand with a blue puff and he scans the cave through it, his brown eye bulging out from the glass. You nod, unable to form coherent words. "So you rubbed the lamp?"

"Uh-huh." He scratches his goatee.

"Huh. Do you mind if I just, you know, stretch it out over here?" He asks, already floating away from you. You look around the cave, searching for another being that the genie could possibly be asking.

"Uh, are you asking me?" He groans as he stretches out.

"Yeah, you're my master." You laugh dryly, swallowing.

"Yeah no, you look like you should be my master."

The genie shrugs, looking you up and down.

"Yeah, but that's not quite how it works." You stare at the lamp, mystified.

"How long have you been in here?"

"'Bout a thousand years." You stare at him skeptically.

"A thousand years?"

"A ThoUSanD YeARs." He mocks you, sitting down on a rock. "Is it just me or does everything surprise you?" You don't answer and he sighs, floating towards you. "So you really don't know who I am. Genie, wishes, lamp, none of that ringing a bell?" You don't respond and he looks taken aback. "Wow. Well, that's a first." He teleports a few feet away, snapping his fingers. "Monkey!" A small, frail looking monkey appears with cymbals and a band drum attached to it's back. It starts clapping the cymbals together rhythmically and blowing into a small kazoo. You stare at the monkey and the genie brushes you off. "Oh, don't worry 'bout him, he's fine." The genie starts clapping along before bursting into song.

"Well, Ali Baba, he had them 40 thieves,"

"Scheherazade had a thousand tales."

"But master, you're in luck,"

"Because up your sleeves, you got a genie that never fails!"

He finishes with jazz hands, the monkey's kazoo dying off with a slight squeak. You look at the carpet apprehensively only to see it clapping it's stray threads off.

"Whoo!" The genie exclaims, zooming around. "I'm the best." You stare at him, unbelieving. He sighs.

"Not enough, huh?" You don't reply. "I'm kidding, watch this."

A beam of blue light shoots out of his finger tip, hitting the monkey, who goes flying. The monkey lands on a tall pile of rock, behind a drum set. A jazzy upbeat tune fills the dark cavern.

"Here I go!"

"Uh! Ooh! Whoo!"

"Back up!"

The carpet disappears, reappearing on another tall pile of rock, shaking a pair of maracas rhythmically.

"Uh-oh! Watch out!"

He scats and a trumpet appears in the monkey's mouth, blasting out a high note.

"You done wound me up!"

"'Bout to show you what I'm workin' with. Uh!"

"Well, Ali Baba he had them 40 thieves,"

"Scheherazade had a thousand tales!"

"But, master, you're in luck because up your sleeves,"

"You got a brand of magic never fails."

The genie appears behind you, the golden shackles on his forearms glowing with power.

"You got some power in your corner now,"

"Heavy ammunition in your camp!"

His arms turn into golden cannons that fire bright blue blasts to emphasize his point.

"You got some punch, pizzazz,"

"Yahoo, and how?"

"All you gotta do is rub that lamp,"

"And then I'll say,"

"Missus, man what's your name, whatever, what will your pleasure be?"

"Let me take your order I'll jot it down,"

"You ain't never had a friend like me."

He picks you up and plops you into an elegant restaurant where a menu is thrown in front of you.

"Life is your restaurant and I'm your maître d'."

"Come whisper to me whatever it is you want,"

"You ain't never had a friend like me!"

"We pride ourselves on service!"

"You the boss, the king, the shah!"

"Say what you wish, it's yours, true dish!"

"How 'bout a lil more paprikash?"

You disappear behind mounds of the Sokovian delicacy, reappearing between racks of clothing.

"Have some of column A,"

"Try all of column B."

Blue strings attach themselves to your arms and you find yourself being whirled around, dancing, but from your point of view, you look like a flailing chicken.

"I'm in the mood to help you dude,"

"You ain't never had a friend like me."

He starts scatting as he pulls you around like a puppet.

"Can your friends do this?"

You point to a clone of the genie, who's standing on his head, his lower half spinning around like a disco ball.

"Can your friends do that?"

You point the other way to another clone of the genie who is whirling around a magic lasso.

"Can your friends pull this,"

"Outta they lil hat?"

He reaches into a top hat and slowly pulls out the magic carpet.

"Can your friends go,"

He starts beatboxing, bright flares shooting illuminating the cave.

"I'm the genie, of the lamp, I can sing rap dance if you give me a chance."

A couch appears behind you and you fall backwards, landing on the plush cushions.

"Don't sit there buggy eyed,"

"I'm here to answer all your mid-day prayers."

"You got me bona fide,"

"Certified,"

"You got a genie for your charged affairs."

He slaps a certificate into your hands and the couch zooms forward at light speed, throwing you off. You wave your arms desperately, attempting to balance yourself as you teeter precariously above a pit of molten magma. The genie pulls you back by the hook of your jacket.

"I got a powerful urge,"

"To help you out,"

"So whatcha wish,"

"I really wanna know."

"You got a list that's 3 miles long no doubt."

"All you gotta do is rub like so."

The lamp goes flying into your hands as the genie appears next to you.

"Missus?"

"Y/N." You reply.

"Yes!"

“One wish or two or three?"

"Well, I'm on the job, you big nabob,"

"You ain't never had a friend,"

"Never had a friend."

"You ain't never had a friend,"

"Never had a friend."

"You ain't never."

"Had a."

"Friend."

"Like."

"Me!"

He scats as fireworks go off, lighting the cave up in blue, red, green, gold and purple.

"You ain't never had a friend like me."

The scene fades and you stand there, still trying to comprehend the turn of events. The genie's large blue face appears in front of you.

"You can clap now." He smirks, imitating a mic drop. You raise your hands slowly to clap and he immediately stops you. "No, no no, please, please. You can thank me outside. In the sun. When you wish us out." You smile numbly before shaking your head.

"Wait so.... how does it work?" The genie's face drops into disbelief.

"You're.... You're kidding right?" He sputters, shrinking back down to a normal size. "The- The whole song was the- The instructions!" He grabs your hand, sighing. "Obviously you can't dance and listen at the same time. "So here's the basics." The lamp appears in his hand and he mimes rubbing it. "Step one, rub the lamp." A second head appears on his body. "Step 2, say what you want." A third head appears. "Step 3." The other two heads disappear as you continue walking hand in hand with the genie. "There is no step 3! See, it's that easy!" He waves his hand. "You get three wishes.They must begin with you rubbing the lamp and saying 'I wish' got it?" You nod slowly.

"I think so...." He smiles.

"Great! A few more rules. You can't wish for more wishes, 3 is enough. I can't make anybody love anybody." Pink hearts float around his head. "Or bring anybody back from the dead." Papyrus wraps around him, muffling his speech and giving it an eerie feeling. "Feel free to interrupt me anytime you don't understand." You give a sigh of relief, opening your mouth to ask a question but he immediately cuts you off. "I'm kidding, don't ever interrupt me, no matter what." You close your mouth. "Now, I usually don't have to go through all this because by the time the guy." He emphasizes 'the guy' with little quotation marks. "Gets to me, he already knows what he wants and it generally has to do with," He clears his throat expanding to a large size, a red glow hugging his blue skin. "Tons of money and power! Mwahahahaha!" He exclaims evilly, money raining down from the roof of the cave. He shrinks back down into his normal size. "Do me a favor, do not drink from that cup. I promise you, there is not enough money or power on Earth for you to be satisfied. Good? Well, what's your first wish?" You scratch your chin thoughtfully.

"Well, I have to think about it. I mean, if there are only 3," The genie scoffs in disbelief. "I mean, why are there only 3 anyways?" He cuts you off, waving his hands about.

"I don't know! Who cares?" You smirk, approaching him.

"You don't know? I thought you were all knowing."

"That's 'cause you don't listen. I never said I was all knowing, I said I was all powerful." He quips. "The most powerful being in the universe." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Look, whatever I don't know, I know I can learn it. Outside in the sun. Why are you playing hard to wish?" He exclaims exasperatedly. "Give us some sun!" You relent, smiling and placing the lamp behind you.

"All right Genie. I wish for you to get us out of this cave."

"Boom! Booyah!" The genie zooms around excitedly. "She has made her first wish!" He reappears in a flight attendant uniform holding a safety brochure. "Thank you for choosing Genie Airlines. Please don't forget to tip your genie on the way out!" 3 more genies appear behind him in similar uniform, waving at you. "Hold yourself kid!" He whirls around you, bright blue fog enveloping you until you finally reappear outside on the outskirts of Sokovia.

"Whoa." You mutter, nauseated at the sudden movement. The carpet does a flip, soaring off into the air. "Why is the monkey still here?" You gesture to the little frail monkey next to you.

"Oh. Uh, consider it a gift." You shrug, picking the monkey up and depositing it on your shoulder. He snaps and the two of you are sitting under a makeshift tent, a chess board between the two of you. You gulp, holding your head. "Can you warn me before you do that?" He waves you off.

"You'll get used to it. So, have you decided what you're going to wish for?" He bites into an apple. You shrug.

"Nope. Haven't really thought about it." The genie laughs, depositing the apple on the chess board.

"Wow. You really are not that guy." You sit up in the woven tanning chair, watching the genie.

"So what would you wish for." The genie examines you thoughtfully before staring back at Sokovia.

"Easy. I would wish to be free." He raps his knuckles against the golden bands on his forearms. "To not have to say," Poof! He reappears in front of you in a waiter's uniform. "How may I help you?" Poof! He reappears in the chair beside you in his normal outfit. "Freedom. I wish to be human." You look at him curiously.

"Why don't you just set yourself free?" He laughs derisively, clapping.

"Only way I can be set free is if the owner of the lamp uses one of their wishes to set me free. The last time that happened was like, the fourth of Never-ary."

"I'll do it." You volunteer. "I've got 3 right?"

"Actually, 2. You used one to get out of the cave." The genie corrects and you smirk.

"DId I? Or did you? I thought I had to be rubbing the lamp."

"Okay little street-girl. Let's rewind the tape." He imitates a cassette tape rewinding. He examines the playback. "Okay! I see what you did there." You smile at him.

"At least now I can use my last wish to set you free." He leans forward in his woven tanning chair..

"See this is the thing. The more you have, the more you want." You look out at Sokovia.

"That's not me." The genie hums skeptically.

"We'll see about that."

"But... There is something." You sigh and the genie instantly notices the lovesick expression on your face.

"Oh! Seen that look before." With a blue puff, he appears in front of you, lying on his stomach, his chin resting on his hands. "Who's the guy?" You don't look at him.

"It's.... It's a girl." He smiles at you supportively.

"Well, I can't make anyone fall in love with anyone." You quickly shake your head.

"No, no. We had a connection." He quirks an eyebrow at you.

"Alright, alright."

"She's smart, kind, incredibly beautiful. But she has to marry- Hold on, can you make me rich?" The genie teleports back to his chair.

"Kid, there is a lot of gray area in 'Make me rich'." He snaps his fingers and a rich business man in a stylish black suit appears a few feet away. "I could just make you rich." You immediately backpedal, shaking your head.

"No, no, no." The genie nods.

"Right 'cause then you'd be stuck with this guy. Be specific with your words. The key is in the detail." He advises and you nod. "Which I don't really understand because if she already likes you, why change?"

You shrug.

"I told you, she has to marry someone that benefits her family's business." The genie stands up, fiddling with his fingers.

"Alright, I can do that. An official wish this time, for those of us that are counting." You clear your throat nervously.

"Genie, I wish..." He snaps his fingers, pointing at the lamp. "Oh right! Sorry." You pick up the lamp, rubbing it. "All right. Genie..." He raises his hands in mock surrender.

"Don't hurt em Genie."

"I wish... to become rich." You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for the worst. The genie smiles, waving his hands.

"Back up kid, I need some room to work. I'm gonna fabulize you."

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Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff angst #marvel au #avengers #wanda maximoff #wanda angst #wanda fluff

61 notes · View notes

ag3ntl3vi · 4 years

Text

Hoodie X GN! Reader X Masky | “Rock Paper Sisscors” |☁️

This struck me at like, 3AM while listening to Devil in Diguise. I’ll probably write more parts to this tonight if im being honest.

!Gender-Neutral reader!

Trigger Warnings: Sexual mentions.

Word Count: 2,317

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"Can you go any slower?" You laughed, stopping to allow your friend to catch up. Sweat dotted her chocolatey forehead as she panted.

"Yes! I can." She wheezed. "You're just too fast!" Taylor whined loudly, bending herself in half to try and catch her breath. You rolled your eyes and pulled her up, raising her arms over her head.

"You'll breathe better this way," You told her, taking a step back and taking a long sip of your icy water. Taylor nodded her thanks and slowed her breathing gradually.

"Wanna keep going?" You asked as you wiped your mouth on your wrist. Taylor feriously shook her head. "I'll pass, (Y/n)." She whimpered. You put yout arms behind your head as you began to walk down the worn dirt bath.

"That sucks," You murmered. "We were only 1/4th of the way done."

Taylor gaped at your cocky smirk. "And you do this everyday?"

You nodded. "Twice a day if I'm feelin' lucky," You winked and giggled. Taylor shook her head in disbelief.

"You're a machine," She grumbled, jogging to your side. You could tell she was tired, but she was the one who asked to join you in your near-night run. She said she needed the exercise to get the perfect "summer body", even though it was fall.

You hummed. "I didn't know they made sexy machines now." Taylor pushed away the urge to roll her eyes, though she desperately wanted to. She chose not to answer your stupid comment. You both started to walk back to your dorm and planned a junk food movie night. You had the feeling she wouldn't last, but you couldn't say no to her puppy face. You had to admit, you were a sucker for your best friend. Taylor ended up chugging the rest of her and your water bottles greedily, but you didn't blame her. She was pretty out of shape. The darker skinned girl took a large gasp of fresh oxygen after finishing off your beverage.

"Learn to breathe, my God," You snorted. She glared.

"I just ran a mile, you can shut your mouth, you fucking monster," She hissed playfully.

School campus soon came into view after your bickering. Taylor grumbled about how badly her feet ached and how she was never running ever again. You parted ways at the dorm. Taylor wanted to get the living room set up for the movie and sent you out for snacks and drinks. You easily migrated to the everything store. That wasn't its actual name, you couldn't care to remember what it was, but the everything store seemed to suit the run down shop better.

You pushed thr glass double doors open, a cute bell ringing to announce your presence to the cashire, Michael.

"(Y/n)!" He greeted with a smile. You returned the facial gester with a small wave of your own. "What're you here for this time?" He leaned his head on his open palm, his eyes trained on your figure. You had your back turned to him as you read the movie names on the rack.

"What does it look like?" You chuckles, plucking a familar title from the shelf. 'Kiki's Delivery Service', a childhood favorite of yours. Michael didn't verbally answer, he was too busy allowing his eyes to roam your every curve.

His eyes snapped to the side when you turned around to wonder down the candy isle. You shoved a KitKat , snickers, and (f/c) into your arm (allowing an extra of your favored one into your pocket, shh) before you turned the corner, finding the energy drinks. With a childish grin you grabbed a few of the better Monster flavors. You knew you had popcorn at the dorm so you didn't bother trying to find a box here.

You decided to check out as quickly as possible, avoiding as much conversation with Michael as you could. He gave you the creeps. He always tended to make sexual remarks regarding your running outfit, like how your shorts made your ass look plump or how cute you looked with a flushed, tired expression. In general, he didn't seem like a good guy or influence, though Taylor took an odd interest in him. She always had shitty tastes in men.

It was getting late, you noticed. The sun started to darken as students scrambled to their respected dorms or apartments off campus. You made your way to your room. The illuminated cobblestone path gave you the worst horror movie vibes, so to say you booked it was an understatement. As soon as you were inside the safe confindments of your dorms living area, you released a loud sigh of relief. You thought about taking the elevator up, but decided on the stairs to the third story. You were very grateful you were on a higher floor, to you it served as a lesser chance of being robbed or murdered.

"I brought a movie, candy and monsters, come on, you filthy goblin." you called into the freakishly neat room. Taylor was a very, very messy person so you tended to pick up after her more than you'd happily admit. It didn't take long for you to set positions for certain objects in specific places. Example, your shoes stayed in a small, plastic, blue bin by the door. They didn't ever make it to the carpeted floor of the living room. You had a key rack by the door so your keys were never lost or misplaced and Taylor had insisted you needed a coat rack, so your bookbags and Taylor's purses hung there. Any extra blankets, pillows, and sheets were placed neatly in the spare closet.

"Monsters..?" Her brown head popped out from around the corner.

-----------------------------------------------

Taylor had passed out halfway through the movie, not that you were surprised. You pouted. You were very well use to it, but it wasn't any less disappointing when it happened. You carefully laid her on the couch, not bothering to wake her. She was a literal demon when she was woken up. You covered her body in a large, fluffy blanket before standing, pacing for a moment.

You wondered back to your organized room and grabbed your large spray bottle you kept on your dresser. You stared down your mass of plants in your window seal and the few on your night stand and hanging from the ceiling before watering the ones that needed it, leaving your Rainbow Bush succulent alone. Satisfied, you grabbed your school jacket and your earbuds and phone before slipping your shoes on at the door.

It was almost 1 before Taylor and you had finally settled enough to sit and watch the movie, so it was fairly late now. But, regretfully, your body was still pumped from the sugary drinks you consumed not long ago. You made a quick choice to go on a short run to tire yourself out a bit before retiring for the night. Sure, wasn't the best idea to go out at night, alone and defenceless, but you prided yourself in your speed if needed. Besides, you've done it before and you were obviously still alive!

You made your way to the dirt path you ran earlier in the day, struggling to remember a stupid songs name. You grinned when you figured it out and hurriedly played it. The opening played through your earbuds as you gently bobbed your head to the beat.

"There are boulders on my shoulders, collar bones begin to crack, there is very little left of me and it's never coming back," You sung softly along with 'Be nice to me'. An old, but greatly loved song from your middle school years. You began to run.

Your lips parted in a content smile as a phrase slipped past your teeth.

"You're a killer, and i'm your best friend. I think it's unfair, your situation,"

You began to bounce on the balls of your feet excitedly. "You say i'm changing! I'm sorry I didn't know I had to stay the same!" You jumped as your legs moved, your voice growing louder and bolder with every word thoughtlessly spilling out your mouth. You became unaware of the eyes watching your movements, head tilted in confusion.

"Your voice is driving me insane!" You shouted, hopping more as you swished your head side to side, getting louder everytime the phrase was repeated. The last note rang through your ears and you let out a joyful that was quickly cut off. The overbearing feeling of being watched dawned on you.

You jerked around and scanned the treeline, your eyes falling on a tall male facing you with a tilted head. You stared at him, confused before your gaze fell on the bloodied pipe dangling by his side. You fearfully and turned around, bolting in the direction the path led you to. You didn't have much time to understand why he was watching you, but you could hear his heavy footsteps crushing dead leaves as he raced after you.

'Molly' blasted into your ears loudly, making you jerk in surprise. If you were going to die tonight, you were glad this was the song you'd die to.

You could hear him distantly still chasing after you. Not to brag, but you could run a mile amd keep going onto the next without breaking too much of a sweat, though you'd be fairly tired. Speaking of tired, you could feel the drousiness spreading to your head and deep down you knew that you couldn't keep the pace up for much longer.

Sucking in a deep breath, you turned into the woods, lifting your feet high so you wouldn't be the stupid one to trip on a root and be killed first. That would be an embarrassing way to die and not even Molly could make it better, you concluded.

So you did the most logical thing your sleepy brain could think of.

You climbed a fucking tree.

The man was a far enough distance for you to get a good amount of height between the two of you. You panted, your palms itching with needle-like pain from the rough and merciless bark, but pulled yourself up another branch and looked down. The man was panting heavily, bent over as he struggled to force air into his most likely burning lungs. He stood up after a quick second, glaring up the tree at you.

Childishly, but overcome with a sense of acomplishment, you stuck your tongue out at him.

Bad idea, you concluded when the guy's gloved fists clenched by his sides and he started to climb.

You squealed. "No! Fuck off!" You shouted. "Pick another goddamn tree, you humanoid orange!" A growl ripped through your teeth as you glared fearfully at him. To your surprise, he got down. He moved his head to stare at you before sitting indian style, his face pointed to you.

For the first time you had a proper look at him, and you weren't surprised. He looked like he came from a shitty horror movie. He wore an orange hoodie with a ski mask hiding his facial features, a red frowny face sitched into it. He had dark blue, wore out jeans and black boots that looked to be kept as clean as Taylor would keep her living space.

'Best friend' Began to play quietly through your (f/c) earbuds and you forced down a snort at the timing. You were hoddled up in a tree while a guy who most likely wanted you dead watched from below. You shook your head and glanced at the dark sky.

'The stars are out' You thought as you spotted the little dipper, the big one wasn't far away from it's child.

It only took about ten minutes for your easily distracted mind to get bored. You stared down at the hooded man as he drew in the dirt with his pipe. An idea struck you, a bad one, but an idea nevertheless. And it wasn't going to kill you, with a lot of hope, it may allow you to live another day.

"Yo, tangerine!" He flinched at your loud voice, moving his head to stare at you.

You held up a fist with your dominate hand, your opposite going under it, palm up and open.

"Wanna play rock, paper, sisscors before I die?"

The man stilled before very, and I mean very slowly nodded. You allowed yourself to snort. Now you were going to play a childs game with a murderer.

"Do you know how to play?" You called down. He nodded again and held up his hands. "Cool," You said.

The orange-clad killer was absolute shit at rock, paper, sisscors. He was even worse than your nephew, who was six and had the attention span of a squirell. Sometime in your game playing, you had moved yourself a few branches down to see him better in the dark woods. You now sat a branch above his head. He didn't move much, but his shoulders seemed to slump.

You threw rock, again, and he threw sisscors. You gave an evil victory crackle whiele he glared gloomily at his open fingers. "That was fun," You stretched your arms over your head, yawning. "Can I go now?" You calmly asked.

He didn't move for a long while, looking between you and his gloved hands, the, back to you. Finally, he nodded. You hopped down, smiling widely.

"Thanks," You said nervously. He was trying to kill you earlier, so you wouldn't be completely off guard around him. You started to shuffle around him cautiously. His arm shot out, grabbing your upper arm roughly. You flinched hard, looking up at him with wide eyes.

This is it, You thought He changed his mind and wants to eat me!

Instead, you heard a deep voice whisper.

"You can leave if we can play again soon."

#creepypasta #x reader #hoodie x reader #hoodie #masky #marble hornets #fanfiction #masky x reader #poly relationship #masky x reader x hoodie #cp #i dont know what im doing #rock paper sisscors #murderer #tim wright #brian thomas

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awkward-tension-art · 4 years

Text

Put on a Show

So @weebsinstash has an incredible yandere!erasermic x reader series go read everything they write, its fantastic

I wanted to play around with the idea too, so i asked for permission on anon lol.

enjoy this full 2,090 words

Warning: yandere themes, yandere!erasermic, League of Villains, fear, mentions of past torture, mentions of abuse, mentions of past abusive relationship, implied Spinner x Reader, kissing, Villain origin story, female pronouns used for reader, (if i missed a tag lmk)

You ran. You ran as fast and as far as you could. Your bare feet hit the wet ground, cursing as you stumbled. Your hands hit the mud, but you didn’t stop.

Even when your lungs screamed.

Even when your muscles burned.

You kept going.

With luck, a razor and your own wits you had managed to escape that hell house. You’d managed to escape from the clutches of your obsessed demons.

At the slight thought of your tormentors, the now healed break in your leg aches all over again.

Keep going.

KEEP GOING.

The woods betrayed you before, but hopefully, the downpour may erase your footprints. A branch latched onto your shoulder and you screeched. Memories of Aizawa’s cruel grasp flooded your mind. You slipped on the wet ground, tumbling down a slight incline.

Dazed, confused and hurt, you ignored your pain and kept going. Desperation and adrenaline kept you going.

Do not stop.

You looked down to avoid losing your eyes to another branch, only to embarrassingly run straight into a tree. Your body fell back, landing harshly on the mud.

You heard a groan.

Trees do not groan.

Fear overran your systems as you slowly, shakily looked up.

In front of you was a man covered in green scales. He looked more like a lizard, than an actual human, but you quickly guessed that was his quirk. But, he wasn’t alone.

A scarred man with piercings. A teenage girl with blond hair. Another man with a mask. And lastly…

You recognized him from the news.

Shigaraki.

The League Of Villains

“What the hell,” The lizard-man hissed, rubbing his head, “Where the fuck did you come from?”

You took your chances.

“Please…” you gasped, looking up at the white haired leader, “Help me.”

It took approximately 3 seconds to be taken from the forest. The scarred man, Dabi you learned, pulled out his phone and called Kurogiri, their method of transport.

Spinner, surprisingly like a gentleman, helped you stand and introduced himself.

Not a second later your vision was filled with black and you were out of the rain.

Out of the cold.

Out of the monsters’ clutches.

Instead, you found yourself in a surprisingly comfortable bar scene. It was warm, bright, and quite homey.

Shigaraki continued to stare at you, his red eyes giving away nothing. The blonde however, hovered, as she began to talk. You couldn’t keep up, exhaustion slowing your mind and mental process. All you managed to register is ‘blood’.

A tall woman spoke up first, “oh dear, look at you. You look like a wet rat.” She inspected you before standing straight, “Let me get you something dry.You can call my Big Sis Magne!”

You nodded, managing a small “thank you,” as she rushed out of the room to come back with a dry towel, draping it over you.

‘Huh, it smells nice,’ you thought, wrapping it around your shoulders, taking in the small comfort. Almost like roses and lavender…

The leader finally spoke up, “Who are you?”

That was the question. That one simple question caused the dam to burst. You broke down, telling them everything. The torture, the abuse, the agony, all by the hands of two supposed heroes. You went over every grueling, painful detail, tears pouring down your face.

They knew of your captors and torture before they even knew your name.

With every word, The league members, especially Dabi, became more and more disgusted and angry. You didn’t even finish when Spinner offered a kind hand for you to hold onto.

“P-please,” you finally managed, “D-don’t send me back…”

Shigaraki scoffed, “Heroes think they can just do whatever they want huh? Well fuck ‘em. Eraserhead and Present Mic want their precious treasure back? Well too bad. It’s ours now.”

Big Sis Magne let out a happy laugh, “Oh good! Another girl! If you ask me, only having Toga around was getting to be too much.” She took your other free hand, “We’re gonna be such a good team, those nasty heroes won’t know what hit them.”

“I can’t wait to make them pay with their blood,” Toga smiled, her golden eyes shining with excitement. Dabi remained silent, but Spinner gave you a kind smile. “What a show it will be! You, coming face to face with those demons, and having us at your back!” The one with the mask, Mr.Compress, finally spoke, giving a theatrical hand wave.

With every word, you felt your shoulders get lighter.

“Now,” The leader, your new leader, spoke up, “Tell me all about your quirk, and those pieces of garbage that hurt you.”

When Shouta and Hizashi returned home, they knew something was wrong. The house seemed...cold. You were not in the living room, nor the kitchen.

They assumed this was one of your bad days. Where you’d sleep until it was late at night, only so you can avoid them.

Quickly, that changed.

The closer Shouta got to your door, the more he felt his gut twist. The air seemed wet and almost humid.

“Hey, are you awake in there?” He knocked, concerned, “I’m coming in!”

When he opened the door, the wet air made sense. Your window was open, rain poured in from the storm outside. The carpet and everything else by the window was soaked, giving the hero a clue that you’ve been gone a while.

“HIZASHI!” The black haired male called out, darting into the room. Desperately he looked around, only to look up when he heard his husband cry out.

“She’s gone! Our songbird is gone!!” He panicked, aiding Shouta in his desperate search. The couple tore apart the house, hoping this was something else. Hoping you didn’t leave through the window.

They hoped and prayed, only for their optimism to be dashed when their search turned up empty.

“We need to go after her!” The blonde hero cried, “s-she could be hurt! She doesn’t know how to take care of herself!!”

Shouta was already preparing to venture outside. He was at the door when he turned to look at his severely distressed husband, “stay here. In case she comes back, I’ll go look for her.”

With that, Eraserhead ran out of the front door of the house, hoping to find you in the woods.

Days became weeks became months. With every passing hour, you felt happier and lighter. Your spirit and soul were healing. It will take time, but you knew you were able to recover. You had escaped, and found a family who would ride or die with you.

You’d ride or die with them.

Spinner was especially kind to you. He was a gentleman, always asking before touching. You spent most of your free time with him when he or you weren’t gone collecting information or searching for members.

You still weren't comfortable going on missions by yourself. Most of the them were with Dabi, Big Sis Magne or Jin, who you’d met shortly after your joining. Despite the short time with them, you felt like you belonged. You helped them, they helped you. You became a part of their family.

They’d even gone so far as to get your cat Mochi back. Dabi simply dumped the kitty on your lap and walked away without saying anything. You missed your feline friend, and now in the league, he gets all the love the villains could muster.

They try to keep sudden loud noises to a minimum. Occasionally a surprise yell or sound would happen, but someone was always quick to jump to your defense.

It was mostly Shigaraki, but he’d apologize begrudgingly.

Even he wasn’t so bad. You had gone with Toga to get him a new controller, and he’s tolerated you ever since (maybe even respect you after you managed to beat him to a quick video game match).

This was your life. This was your freedom.

This was what you wanted.

It’s been hell without you. Shouta and Hizashi were in hell. It’s been months since the eraser hero found your footprints surrounded by others. It’s been months of searching. Months of desperation to rescue you from your kidnappers. That’s the only logical reason for your disappearance.

You were kidnapped.

You needed them. You needed your lovers.

But they couldn’t save you.

Some nights Shouta would wake up alone. He’d be cold and lonely. Slowly he’d walk to your room, and find his blonde husband asleep, holding your favorite pillow.

It stopped smelling like you a while ago.

With every passing day their hope waned. With every passing hour their hearts ached.

Shouta finally broke down one night. When he woke up alone again he wandered to your room, finding Hizashi in his usual position. Instead of being asleep, the blonde’s shoulders shook with muffled sobs and cries.

The Eraser hero sat on the bed and held his husband, not bothering to muffle his own weeping.

This isn’t what they wanted.

The view from the roof was both beautiful and hilarious. You orchestrated a nomu attack, remaining hidden. Spinner was accompanying you. The others were scattered around the city, taking in the chaos.

You remembered those roads and streets. You walked them for so long.

Until those bastards stole you.

Now, with your life in the league, you could stroll down the sidewalk again. You could see the sky and feel the sun.

You could punish heroes for abandoning you. For letting you get kidnapped.

A smile graced your lips. The chaos of the nomu was beautiful.

There was a flash of black in the corner of your eye, and you turned your head. Slowly, your smile grew at the sight of Eraserhead struggling to take down the brutish monster.

Only to have your smile fade when Present Mic saves him.

“Ugh, I hate them.” You growled, “I see them and I hate them.”

Spinner looked up from his spot on the roof. He swished his tail once before following your gaze to your distant tormentors.

“You should put on a show,” he put a hand on your shoulder, “drive ‘em even more bat shit.”

You laughed warmly, the idea of breaking their hearts even more gave you infinite joy.

“Mind if I use you?” You asked, preparing to use your quirk.

With the villains you have gotten stronger. Your quirk was a weapon. A strong, powerful, useful weapon.

You’re the opposite of what Shouta and Hizashi said over and over again.

They can’t tell you that you're weak. Not anymore.

There was a tipped over bus, and that’s where you planted the illusion.

You and Spinner, hand in hand.

Oh this is gonna be good.

When they dealt with the Nomu, Hizashi looked to the bus, and even from a distance, you could see his eyes widen.

“S-songbird!”

You gagged, and Spinner laughed softly beside you.

Shouta looked up, meeting the illusions gaze.

You feared he’d use his quirk, destroying your fun, but he didn’t, at least not in that instant.

“G-get away from her!” The black haired male shouted, his black eyes trained on fake-spinner.

“No,” the illusion spoke, “I think your precious songbird belongs to me.”

The illusion of spinner pulled illusion you closer. The illusion of you looking bashful.

Shouta prepared an attack, jumping up in the air to do so. Hizashi prepared his own quirk, apparently ok with sacrificing your well-being to get you.

You cause fake-spinner to dip fake-you into a deep kiss.

That was apparently distracting enough to cause Present Mic to choke on air, and Eraserhead to stumble and miss his attack.

“Come on my sweet,” fake-you cooed, “let’s go.”

You created one more illusion, covering the two fakes in smoke, making them disappear.

As you finished with your quirk, you rubbed your temples.

Spinner laughed beside you, “m-my sweet! Oh my god you killed me.”

You gave a faint smile, that only grew when you heard Hizashi’s mournful howling.

Spinner and you peered over the edge of the roof, and spotted the two of them breaking down. The blonde was wailing. You swear you saw his fat tears from your position.

Shouta just looked broken. He looked absolutely devastated.

Maybe a long time ago that sight would have hurt you.

You made eye contact with your partner next to you.

“My sweet,” you teased, promptly bursting into laughter.

“Let’s go! Before they hear us!” Spinner tried to shush you, failing with his own giggling.

You nodded and grabbed his hand.

“Let’s go then,” you winked, “my sweet.”

The both of you fled, making your way to Jin and Toga.

You smiled at the sight of them, only feeling happier as more of your family of villains got together.

This is exactly where you wanted to be.

A villain, to make those heroes suffer.

#reader insert #yandere!erasermic #yandere #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere hizashi #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #yandere bnha #My writing

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limbo-lord · 3 years

Text

Session 1 Pt. 1

The small bustling town of Willowsdale was littered with colorful flyers that all have the same name advertised on them, The Circus of Discord. A young girl read them as she skipped by “The Barbaric Beast of Black Hollow” “The Athletic Acrobats” “The Keen Knife Thrower” “The Surreal Soothsayer” “The Resilient Ringleader”. The flyers showcased a silhouette declining the act it advertises. But, a flyer placed gently on top of a barrel caught her wandering eyes “The Comedic Clown”. A smile beaming with excitement spread across her face, her rosy cheeks rising with glee, and she tugged on her mother’s sleeve as a small group of three walked by to pass the sight.

A young golden skinned man, tall and lanky, with a mess of black hair that is just barely keeping a proper shape. A long cloak, as deep and blue as the sea, flows behind him with every step he takes. Black rimmed glasses sit on his face and frame his sunken silver eyes. His shoulders were low and he avoided eye contact with everyone who passed by.

A tiefling woman, built and blue, with jewelry decorating her face and hair. A large great axe shone on her back, glaring at those who passed by. The horns growing from her head and the tail dragging behind her steals looks from those around them. She wore a toothy grin, showing off her pointy teeth.

A quiet halfling woman with a green cloak hugging her shoulders. Her mismatched brown and green eyes were scanning every single store that they passed by. Her long cinnamon hair was braided and fell over her right shoulder.

The young man felt a crunch underneath of his foot and found a colorful flyer underneath of his foot. He peeled the flyer from the first road and read the words that were intricately written in swirly letters. “ The Circus of Discord: A Place Unlike Any Other!”.

“I suppose we’ve made it to Willowsdale,” he looked up from the flyer and said to the tiefling and halfling.

“Looks like it,” The tiefling grinned. “And with a day to spare! Good job with the directions Carlita.”

“Thanks,” the halfling responded, still not breaking her gaze from her surroundings. “Should we check in at the tavern?”

“You two go ahead,” The tiefling said. “I’m gonna have a look around town first.”

“If you insist,” the young man nodded. The three began to head their separate ways before he turned around once more towards the tiefling. “Keh’lani?”

“Yeah?” The tiefling turned back around.

“Would you like me to pay for your room? I still owe you for helping me with the kobolds.”

“Sweet! That’d be great, thanks!”

Keh’lani waved to the other two and then disappeared into the crowd. Despite her blue complexion compared to everyone else's, she left their view relatively quickly.

***

The door to the butcher’s shop creaks opened as a curious blue tiefling peaked her head through. At the counter the butcher, a stocky older looking man with a grayish beard hugging his chin, was shaking his head at what was on the counter before him. An elk laid sprawled out across the counter top, it’s head dangling in a twisted position. Keh’lani raised her eyebrows at it’s bulging eyes shrieking at her.

Across from the butcher, standing above the elk, a tall shabby looking man stood with a twinkling trident in his fist. His yellow straw for hair fell to his shoulders creating curtains around the stubble of his chin. His muscular arms were crossed into a tight shouldered position.

“I can’t give you any more than ten silver for this,” The butcher said, motioning to the mangled Elk.

“I spent six hours hunting for this,” the straw haired man hissed. The fist around his trident tightened with shaky rage.

“And too long getting it back, I’m not gonna get a lot of meat from it in this condition.”

“Look,” the man put his cracked hands on the edge of the counter before him and leaned over the carcass, it’s explosive smell now filling the entire shop. “Judging by how many elk I found out there, you need this and I am giving it to you. I’m sure you understand that all of us need to make a living. So, can you just let me give it to you for thirty gold. That’s my final offer.”

The butcher’s mustache twitched under his nose and he let out a smooth breathy laugh as he stared down at the elk. He looked back up at the blonde man across from him and leaned back.

“Then I guess you will just have to find business elsewhere.”

With that the scruffy looking man snatched the elk from the countertop and threw it over his shoulder along with his trident. He mumbled some words under his breath, in a language that Keh’lani was unable to understand, and stomped toward the door.

“That’s a nice elk you got there,” Keh’lani smiled. But, the man mumbled more words that she couldn’t understand and pushed past her, his eyes glaring daggers. Stepping out, he slammed the door hard enough that some of the meat hanging nearby shook. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Hunters have never really been social beings,” the butcher sighed and then looked at Keh’lani with a homely smile. “What can I do for you?”

***

Looking out on the bustling town stood a circle of trees and hills. Standing at the top of one of those hills were two figures. A pointy eared man with a dramatic purple hat looked down on the townspeople with a snide grin.

“Are you ready, my friend?” The man said to the one standing beside him.

A towering gaunt drow looking man, his pale complexion and chalky white hair causes his severely scarlet eyes to appear as if they are glowing. The twisted sticks and branches he wore around his head stuck out in jagged patterns from the sea of white that is his head. Draped around his shoulders and falling to his ankles was a blanket of woven leaves. He stood with curved posture, his sunken eyes also looking out onto the town.

“I guess,” the drow man shrugged.

“Well, I need to rejoin my circus. But, I wish you luck and do not be a stranger.” With that, the dramatic man turned and descended the grassy hill.

“Thanks, Marcel.” The drow whispered but his words did not reach the elf who had already disappeared into the lights of the town. He let in a deep sigh and nodded a good bye to the forest behind him.

***

The halfling women and young man made their way through the town towards the inn. The young man’s silver eyes float around the town as he walks. They darted away at the old man rambling on the street corner. They squinted at the small writing of a menu too far to read. They lingered on a few items laid out on a carpet for sale. A ring powdered with dust that showcases a glowing jewel, a pair of silk gloves with a unique sigil sewn into them that he recognized for exploration, and a steel lock and key both painted with rust that give off a recognizable energy. His feet began to wander toward the carpet when a tug on his cloak snapped him away.

At his knees Carlita stood, her green and brown eyes widened at him, pointing toward the direction they were walking. He lifted his head to see a crowd of people huddled together. He raised an ebony eyebrow at her and next thing he knew she was dragging him through the crowd.

“Hold on-” the young man started before getting a series of shoulders and elbows jabbed into him. People were holding bottles filled with a shiny purple liquid. As Carlita pushed to the middle of the crowd, a voice booming from it filled his ears.

In the middle of the crowd, up against the wall of the tavern, stood an elven woman. She wore a shit eating grin and had faded orange hair which fell under her pointed ears. Her hands wore white gloves that held out bottles of that mysterious purple liquid.

“Cure all elixirs!” She shouted to the crowds. “Cure any injuries, illnesses, or fatigues! Only fifty gold pieces!” Carlita and the young man both step forward toward the woman. “Why hello there! Are you up for an elixir? Only fifty gold pieces!”

“Hi,” the young man muttered. “Cure all elixirs? Are these healing potions?” The elven woman’s eyes widened and she leaned into conversation with the two of them.

“They’re even better than healing potions,” she whispered. “They come from my god The Enchantress.”

“They’re magic?”

“Even better.” The woman smiled at the young man and held out a bottle to him, the enchanted purple liquid shining within it. “You seem like you know magic.”

“Yes, I am interested in the properties of your elixirs.”

“Ya know what, I’ll give you a discount because I appreciate the interest. Thirty gold just for you.”

The young man’s eyebrows raised and he looked down at his halfling friend. Carlita only looked at him with dead eyes and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out thirty shimmering gold coins and dropped them in the palm of the elven lady who curled her fingers around them. She handed the shining bottle to the young man and stuck out her hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she smiled. “The name’s Liz Lightfire.”

“Dante,” the young man said and shook her hand. “And this is Carlita. Lightfire, do you happen to be related to-”

“Yes, my father is the famous apothecary of Etherbright. But, I just travel, selling my product and spreading the word of the Enchantress.”

“Interesting.”

“You two don’t exactly seem like the usual crowd of this town. What are you doing here?”

“That would be correct, we aren’t from here. We came to see the circus.” At the mention of the circus Liz’s eyes lit up.

“You two are here for the circus as well!”

“Well,” Dante said looking around, “we had a third with us but she’s gone off somewhere.”

“Ya know what,” Liz threw her arms around Dante and Carlita, the height differences putting her soldiers at more of a slant. “You’re going to the circus, I’m going to the circus, I can tell we will be great friends.”

“Friends?” The young ebony haired man muttered.

“Of course! Have you guys already got your rooms?”

“Well, not yet, we were on our way to go check in. Have you? Since, you were kind enough to give me a discount on my purchase it would only be fair for me to repay the favor by paying for your room-”

“That would be great!” Liz began to stuff some of her bottles back into a bag. “I really appreciate it…” Liz lifted her eyebrow as she looked at the bottle in her hand. Her head then whipped around at a kid carrying a suspiciously full sack on his back. “Hey! Those are my bottles!”

When she shouted at the messy haired kid his eyes widened and he ran into the crowd, disappearing before anyone could figure out where. Carlita began to run after him when Liz put a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said to the halfling. “They were just a few bottles, I’ve got plenty.”

***

Celeborne roams through the people-filled streets of Willowsdale, standing tall above everybody’s heads. The eyes of those around him seared into the white haired man’s skin causing discomfort to rise in his chest. Heat flushing his cheeks from the attention, he took a turn to step into an alleyway when something slammed into his leg followed by a crashing sound.

His ruby eyes looked down to see a young boy at his feet looking up at him with widened eyes. A bag was at the boy's side and it had broken bottles leaking out of it. A peculiar purple liquid covered the smashed bottles and opening of the bag, darkening it’s color.

“Hey kid, you should watch where you’re going,” Celeborne said, reaching for the bag next to the boy. But, all the boy did was swipe his hand away and cry over the broken bottles. Celeborne’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight before him. “What even are these bottles?”

“Hey!” The white haired man whipped his head around at the shout of someone else approaching him, a blonde man with a lifeless elk hanging over his shoulder. The man stomped toward him with a furious look on his face. “What the hell are you doing to his kid?”

“What?” Celeborne’s face was filled with disbelief. “The kid ran into me! I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.”

“Yeah, sure, this kid who is one fourth your ran into you.” The blonde man looked down at the crying child and then back at the drow. “Get out of here.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Celeborne snapped and made his way out of the alley.

***

The bell to the door of the tavern rang as the shaggy blonde man stepped in. Eyes stared at the lifeless elk bouncing over his shoulder.

“Welcome back Braxton,” the owner of the tavern, a curly haired woman, said.

“Yeah,” Braxton muttered and dragged his feet to his room.

***

Small break from the storytelling format? Just for time reasons I’m only going to fully write out the important parts of each session. So, what happened next? Braxton tried to carve up the elk in his room, but he didn't know how to properly do it, so the elk’s blood spewed all over him. He walked out to go clean himself up at the lake when in the hall he saw Keh’lani and Celeborne again this time with Dante, Liz, and Carlita. The five had met up and Dante decided to pay for all of their rooms. Celeborne also decided to pay for everyone’s tickets, because he gets a discount as a friend of Marcel, in favor of the free room. Celeborne commented on all of the blood Braxton was covered in so Braxton told him to piss off.

Down at the lake, Braxton washed his clothes when he met a mysterious man named Vincent. Braxton didn’t take much of a liking to Vincent and watched as he headed back in the direction of the circus caravans. The next day was the night of the circus and the group went to go watch the performance, well all except Braxton who went hunting instead. Stay tuned for part two!

#session recap #dnd recap #Atlantide Campaign

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Hypothetically,

Ao3, MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic Intrulogical, Platonic Logince

It is about! Damn! Time! That I wrote some Intrulogical! Also, y’all already know my stance on platonic logince,,,, guys they ARE best friends i’m sorry I don’t make the rules.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending). mentions of stuff like autopsies and nuclear explosions in the context of like experiments- they do stuff in The Imagination, basically. Panic attack (?). Hurt/comfort. Pretty heated kissing; It’s more intense makin’ out than I usually write but it isn’t anything explicit at all, don’t worry! ADHD Remus and Autistic Logan. Cursing- like So Much Cursing. Mentions of space, deep sea, etc. Food mention.

Word count: 6,769

There was a conundrum.

A., Logan needed to use the Imagination. B., He could not use it on his own, considering that he was Logic. C., Roman was nowhere to be found. The answer to what was frustrating Logan at that moment would be all of the above.

To be clear, he didn’t like going into the Imagination. It was simply the only suitable place to perform his ‘experiments’. His very necessary, very distracting experiments. But, as stated, Roman was God-knows-where doing God-knows-what.

Logan sighed at the door, as though it was the inanimate structure’s fault. The cracks gleamed obnoxiously bright, golden light pouring out from behind the door in a somewhat eerie manner. It was a nonsensical, unrealistic, completely insignificant place, and he wanted in.

Logan was contemplating asking Janus for help (lies took imagination, right?) when, out of nowhere, an arm was thrown around his shoulders. Literally an arm, disembodied and oozing sick-smelling blood onto the carpet. Ah. Wonderful.

“Hello, Remus,” he pulled the appendage from around him, holding it at arm’s length (no pun intended, dammit).

“Hi!” Remus took his arm back and reattached it with a disturbing crunch, a grin stretching his face. He sidled up to Logan, imitating the side’s stance in front of the door.

“Can I help you with something?” the logical trait tilted his shoulder away from where Remus had pressed against him.

“Not unless you’re willing to get really messy- but I can help you!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re implying.”

The Duke rolled his eyes, promptly flinging the door to The Imagination open. An encompassing energy radiated into the common room, corrupting the usual neutrality of the space. It didn't last long before Remus grabbed Logan’s wrist and dragged him along through the entryway, movements as sporadic and fast-paced as everything else about the creative.

“It’s not very logical to just stand there staring at the door all day, in my opinion. I dunno what you need Imagination for, but whatever it is, I can help! My half is much more interesting, anyway.”

“Oh,” Logan blinked, narrowly ducking his head under a branch as he was pulled forward, “Thank you, I suppose.”

He politely didn’t mention that he doubted Remus’ capacity for helpfulness. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

The door from the commons was quite a walk from the darker half of The Imagination, but at the pace its owner had them going they were there in minutes. The border was marked with tangles of densely thorned shrubbery, which parted for them, as if they sensed the approach. Logan just barely avoided snagging his shoe on one as they passed.

There was forest, twisted and shadowy, for only a minute. After that, they were in a city, with tall buildings and winding streets and dark alleys. Another switch, they came into what seemed like an amusement park. Nothing was consistent in theme, and none of the scenes held up for more than a minute or two. Remus shook his head and tisked. With a snap, a good portion of the ever-changing scenery was erased, leaving blank white space. The Duke turned to look at Logan with a satisfied smile.

“Ta-da! What do you need?”

Logan blanched for a moment, surprised at Remus’ willingness to completely delete Imaginings without a second thought. It usually took Roman ages to find a spot that he was okay with giving up on for Logan’s “projects”- which he always had thought was a little silly, seeing as he could bring it back when they were done. The change of pace was a pleasant one, though, so there was no need to dawdle for long.

“I need a miniature fully-functioning model of our solar system. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Oh, totally,” Remus waved his hand and the request appeared suspended in the air, spread out to be the size of a dining table. All was accounted for- sun, moons, eight planets plus pluto- orbiting and spinning around each other. Imagination, by nature, had no real limits, but the detail was still a sight to behold every time. Logic smiled, surveying the set-up, before gesturing to the edge of their blank section.

“Thank you for the help, you may go.”

“May I now?” Remus conjured a seat for himself, staring at Logan with his chin resting on his hands, “You’re not even going to tell me what this is for? That’s just rude.”

Logan glanced up from the tiny earth he was inspecting, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“You are welcome to stay, if you wish, but your brother usually leaves at this point. He says my experiments are-” he summons his notebook, “‘Bore-ifying’, which I assume is a portmanteau for ‘boring’ and ‘horrifying’.”

“Roman’s a big baby!”

Logan shrugged, not disagreeing, and resumed his careful observation of the tiny model earth. Remus made no move to go, wheeling his chair even closer. The scientific side carried on before his new audience of one, hovering a hand over the little planet. Abruptly, it stopped spinning. Logan made a gesture with his hand that magnified the model significantly.

The results were immediately catastrophic. Logan jotted a few observations down in his notebook, watching closely at the ways torrents of wind ripped up trees and buildings. In the back of his mind, he was faintly impressed by just how well-rendered ‘Dark’ Creativity’s earth was, down to the individual humans, brutalized by the storms.

“Whoah, what the fuck?!”

Logan looked up briefly to see Remus craning his head over the destruction of the stilled planet. His eyes were wide and bright with curiosity.

“Oh- I should probably explain. I come here, usually, to run some improbable scenarios as a sort of stress-reliever. Specifically, this one is what would happen if earth stopped spinning on its axis. As you can see, due to the earth no longer rotating at its usual speed, the wind would continue on at-” he cut himself off abruptly, sensing the beginnings of a ramble, “I’m sorry, I’ve been told that I have a tendency to ‘go off’ when a subject particularly interests me.”

Remus rolled his chair even closer, looking much like an excited animal (more so than usual, anyway).

“Well then, go off! Don’t leave me hanging! Is that really what would happen, just if it stopped?” He gestured enthusiastically to the way that the oceans had begun to crash against and consume shorelines. He looked interested- genuinely interested.

Logan bit back a smile. He didn’t have to be told twice.

It was one of those particularly restless nights. For no foreseeable goddamn reason, Logic’s mind had become alight with enough half-formed thoughts and barely sensible ideas to fill a very, very weird book. The Imagination did wonders when he got like this, but it usually wasn’t two in the morning when he needed to use it. That wasn’t to say the circumstance was unheard of, but all times prior he could push the urge to investigate away with the reasoning that he could just ask Roman in the morning, and that the Creative side needed his ‘beauty sleep’, as he called it. There wasn’t anything he could do about that, was there?

Tonight was different. Logan could hear the occasional snap or tear or cackle from the room across from his. Remus’ room.

It had been less than a week since The Duke let him use the darker half of the Mindpalace, and that was pretty much the only meaningful interaction they’d had in as many days. They weren’t close, Logan wasn’t even sure if they were friends (not that he was a good judge of that, given the first time Roman referred to them as ‘besties’ he had all but cried), but Remus was at the very least an option. He was also unlikely to mind, given that he was already awake and had exhibited excitement previously.

Logan made up his mind after yet again failing to fall asleep. Quietly, he opened his door and took the few short steps across the hall, raising his fist. Remus’ door was open before his second knock.

“Oh, hey! What are you doing, coming knocking at this hour?” he didn’t even try to whisper, accompanying his statement with an over-exaggerated wink. Logan didn’t waste his time trying to shush the side.

“Good evening, I hope I’m not interrupting anything-”

“You know I don’t mind your ‘interruptions’, Twunk-y Megamind!”

“-But I was wondering if you would… Help me, again. I seem to be having a hard time getting to sleep, and I think that getting out some of my ideas could help.”

Remus’ face lit up dramatically.

“Oh hell yes! Are we gonna blow up more planets?”

“Something like that,” he kept his voice monotone, disguising the relief and hint of pride at such a positive reaction.

“Well, come on!”

Logan let himself be dragged into Remus’ room, barely having time to make note of the surprisingly organized layout before he was pulled through a sleek black door.

“But you have to tell me about it,” he ordered, twisting them through narrow paths in his half of The Imagination. Logan suppressed a smile.

“If you want to hear it, then I’m happy to.”

Without warning, they stopped the breakneck pace that Remus moved at. The trait seemed appeased with their surroundings, though as far as Logan could tell it was just another piece of ever-shifting ominous landscape.

Remus snapped his fingers. The scene remained intact.

“Sorry,” he glanced around nervously, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Can’t get ‘em out. I’ll get it, I just-”

“It’s no trouble.”

Logan rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t like using his ‘abilities’ much, as every side had some set of special skills, and all of them were much too ostentatious. But they were helpful, at times. He waved a hand, gesturing carefully so that he didn’t dismantle any more of The Imagination than was absolutely necessary. With a small stutter, the landscape shifted to a blank slate.

When he looked back up, Remus’ expression was not unlike that of a Cheshire cat.

“What was that?”

“I am Logic, therefore it follows that I am the antithesis to any Imagination creations. It’s very easy to erase them with just a bit of rationality.”

“No clue what a lot of those words meant, but it’s still cool that you can destroy shit.”

Laughing was unbecoming, to say the least, and so the logical trait tended to avoid it at all costs. The snort that escaped him was entirely involuntary.

If Remus noticed the noise, he said nothing about it. He was too busy bouncing from foot to foot, expectantly waiting for instructions. Logan cleared his throat of the outburst and clapped his hands together.

“Alright, let’s start with something simple…”

At his request, Remus would construct immaculately detailed creatures, settings, and models, watching gleefully at the ordeals Logan put each one through. They tested various and progressively elaborate ways to sink populated cruise liners, they simulated the effects of falling from the Empire State Building, dissected approximations of obscure marine animals (a shared special interest of theirs, apparently), and any of the other unrealistic questions that occurred to the typically rational Logic.

The only way to get such questions from his mind, he’d found out a long time ago, was deconstructing them one step at a time, to see them in their full ridiculousness.

It was also, he was coming to realize, incredibly fun.

Before the two knew it, the already late hour had turned unreasonable. Logan blinked owlishly at his watch, distracted from the tiny supernova that he’d created.

“Oh, I must have lost track of time,” four in the morning. Four in the morning!

“Aw, does that mean we’re done?” Remus whined, yet he still began unmaking his small star system.

Logan was suddenly very aware of the heaviness of his eyelids and a rubbery feeling in his limbs. God, was he tired.

“I’m afraid so. I really should’ve gone to sleep hours ago.”

“Fine,” Remus dragged the word out with a groan, “But let me know next time you wanna fuck with space, or deep sea stuff, or anything like that.”

Next time.

As much as Logan adored Roman, there was something very nice about having the more grim brother help him out with these experiments. For one, his creations were often much more accurate to the real world- likely because gore and destruction were that much more impactful when they were realistic. For two, he actually seemed to enjoy the work.

Logan’s deliberation was brief.

“I will.”

As it happened, the night spent delving into dozens of ideas had purged Logan’s need to use The Imagination, for the time being. Clearly, Remus was not patient enough to wait for him.

He popped up, unannounced, in Logic’s room.

“Lo!!!”

The trait in question fell out of his office chair in a very undignified way. Not that there’s a particularly dignified way to fall out of a chair, but if there was, this definitely wouldn’t have been it. He ‘ate shit’, as the saying goes.

Out of pure embarrassment, Logan made no move to get off the floor.

“Hello, Remus,” he greeted, “How may I help you?”

The Duke laughed raucously, sprawling into the now-unoccupied chair and leaning over him.

“You’re a riot, Dork,” then, added with glittering eyes, “Did you break anything?”

“No. Given that I am metaphysical, I’m not sure that I have bones.”

“I have bones!”

“Are they your bones?”

“They are bones and they are in my possession, yes.”

Logan let the subject drop and repeated his first question.

“Right, I forgot! I have an idea for an experiment!”

Logan thought that, despite his mild humiliation, it would probably benefit the conversation if he wasn’t lying on the ground, so he stopped doing that. Brushing mostly imaginary dust from his clothes, he shot Remus a bemused look.

“That’s nice. But I was asking you why you were here.”

The Duke’s face fell, almost imperceptibly.

“I thought you’d wanna know, because of what you said last time. Isn’t this, like, a thing we do now? You know how shit works, and I know how to make that shit, and then you can tell me about it!”

Oh.

“Remember when you were talking about radiation the other day? You can’t just say stuff like that and then not expect me to want to try it out, so really this is on you. It’d be dumb not to let you in on it.”

Oh.

He’d been listening to that rant? Moreover, he’d remembered it, and now had his own ideas and follow-up questions about it?

Logan felt light-headed.

“You’re probably too busy with work, huh? I guess my explosions don't have to be accurate, if you’re set on being boring,” Remus’ tone was nonchalant, but he was obviously lingering for attention. Logan then remembered that words are a thing, and people use them to communicate.

“No! I mean, yes- I mean, I’m not busy. I can join you, I- I’d like to, even,” the intelligent side heard a small voice in his head, his own miniature Virgil, screaming- what the fuck was that, get it together, Jesus, because he, despite what his fellow sides insisted, was absolutely nonfunctional when trying to form a friendship.

Remus didn’t seem to notice or care much past his own cheer.

“Cool!” he, yet again, wasted no time in seizing Logan’s arm and yanking him away, “I wanted to see what would happen to animals and plants and stuff bunches of years after lots of radiation! Do you think they’d mutate? Get all twisted and fucked up so that they aren’t even recognizable as, say, a dog?”

Logan considered the question as he was led through the Mindpalace.

“Well, nothing would be able to live there at all. Additionally, anything within a little under a mile of the nuclear fallout- depending on a few variables- would be completely incinerated upon impact.”

“Like, flesh-melting incinerated?”

“More like vaporized. The fireball would burn 10,000 times the heat of the sun.”

Remus went starry eyed, bringing them to a halt a mere five feet from the door.

“I wanna see that,” he waved his hands around at their surroundings, “Can you do the white-out thing?”

Logan, much less hesitant than last time, obliged. A small smile escaped him at the wondrous look on The Duke’s face. It was another form of expression he didn’t particularly care for, but containing his emoting was more trouble than it was worth by now. He couldn’t find it in him to care much either, for once.

“Where do we start?” Remus prompted.

“You tell me. I will help you make it as accurate as possible, and provide any insight that you want, but it is your idea,” and he wanted to hear more about those ideas. Odd and violent, mesmerizing and clever. There was so much that he wanted to hear about, to talk about, to puzzle out together.

Logan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone to share such interests with. Maybe, despite how deeply he cared for his ‘family’, as Patton called them- maybe it was never.

Remus chattered as he worked, disrupting the train of thought. Logan almost tuned it out- after all, everyone had grown perfectly used to The Duke’s rambling- but he caught himself. That was hardly how he should treat the side that was so strangely considerate to him, wasn’t it?

Logan listened from then on. He began to add on to the conversation, corrections and elaborations and actual questions, because he actually didn’t know some of it. He didn’t regret the choice.

By the end, Remus and Logan were sitting together in the smoldering ruins of their make-believe test town, exchanging notes for different variables they could use in the next trial. They only stopped when Logan was abruptly summoned away by Thomas. He excused himself, a bit apologetic, promising to visit again soon.

As he helped Thomas (with what really should have been a simple task, honestly), Logic wondered briefly about the origins of the hollow feeling that grew in his chest. Something distracted, longing, and unfamiliar.

And then the oven caught fire, and the only thing he felt was annoyance with the man that he was somehow a component of.

So, that was that- Logan and Remus were friends, now spent regular time together, and shared interests. By all accounts, it was a simple and obviously positive development.

But then there was Roman.

“What’s wrong with my work? You’d really prefer whatever edgy 12-year-old DeviantArt account nonsense that he thinks up?”

Logan set his book down with a sigh and looked over to his doorway, where Roman stood with his hands on his hips.

“Come in, Roman, and thank you for knocking,” he snarked. The Creative side made a vaguely sassy noise, trotting right in and flopping backwards onto the bed. Without closing the door, the monster.

“I thought that building your Weird Science contraptions was our thing.”

Logan made a show of standing up and manually shutting his door before responding.

“You don’t like my ‘contraptions’, as you call them.”

“Yeah, but I still made them for you! Because we’re friends, but I suppose you’ve forgotten all about that!”

He really should have expected the melodrama. And yet, Logan had lived in a delusional world where he didn’t care about the most Extra being on earth.

With an eye roll, Logic dropped down beside Roman on the bed- though he wasn’t half as flamboyant about it.

“I can have more than one friend.”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be your favorite! We’re supposed to hang out together! Do the friendship bracelets I made mean nothing to you?”

He flung his arm across Logan’s chest, a ‘friendship bracelet’ clearly visible on his wrist (a loose usage of the term, given that it was a solid gold band with inlaid sapphires, because of course it was).

Logan held up his arm as well, showing that his (silver with inlaid rubies) was still very much in use, despite his distaste for jewelry.

“We hang out plenty. It wasn’t my intention to hurt your feelings by spending time with your brother. My reason for doing so is that he seems to take active enjoyment in building and learning about these things with me. He also makes very good conversation, in regards to the more, ah, eccentric experiments.”

Roman tossed his head to the side to watch Logan with narrowed eyes. After a pause, he linked their arms at the elbow.

“Yeah, you would think that. You’re secretly just as much of a weirdo as him.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh please, I can barely keep up with a word that either of you say,” Roman headbutted Logan’s shoulder in what was likely another of his odd displays of affection. He let his head rest there for a minute, a rare instance of peace before he inevitably resumed talking.

“Anyways-”

“Anyway,” Logan corrected.

“Anyways, if you nerds wanna talk about your weird, creepy experiments, then I guess that’s fine. But he isn’t allowed to co-opt anything else that we do together that we both actually like- no making fun of movies together, no Crofters jams, and no poetry-slash-rap battles.”

“Of course not, Roman. You will always be my favorite person to disagree with.”

“Love you, too,” Creativity bumped him again, then sat up to stretch. Logan snorted a laugh and considered shoving Roman off the bed, watching as he raised his arms up and straightened his back. Before the trait had the chance, unfortunately, his friend was already standing.

“Leaving already? Weren’t you just going on about spending time together?”

“Nah, that was all I wanted to yell at you about for now. I’ve gotta go help Pat with dinner.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“Thanks, I won’t.”

“I hate you.”

“Ditto.”

Halfway out the door, Roman threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, and whatever you two end up doing, do not give me the details. Please.”

Okay, finally, that really was that. Friendship established, blessings given, the end. A simple symbiosis.

Logan was thinking about the practical uses of medieval torture devices? Remus. He wanted to see exactly how long it would take your average healthy adult to succumb to drowning? Remus. Logan wanted to just rant, about anything and everything, his brain moving a mile a minute? Remus. They spent an inordinate amount of time together.

Occasionally, when he didn’t even have the energy to converse, he would sit down with a book in the commons when he knew Remus was there and let the trait’s never ending word-vomit wash over him. It was an odd sort of intimacy, but that fit within the theme of their dynamic. Like he said, simple symbiosis.

And that was when the not-very-platonic fondness grew. And Logan, to his own surprise, allowed it to.

After deep consideration he had seen no reason not to; Remus wouldn’t judge him, not ever. It put a name to the hollow longing that occurred whenever he, eventually, had to get back to work and part from their talks.

He hadn’t sorted out what to do about the feeling yet, but he felt no urgency.

Logan’s book lay forgotten in his lap, that morning being one of the quiet ones as he reflected on his unfamiliar emotions. It was almost nice, letting such affection curl up in his chest and settle there.

His contemplation was broken by a sharp jab to his shoulder.

“Are you listening to me?”

He tilted his head at Remus.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“What were you thinking about?” his eyes lit up, very obviously hoping for it to be something disgusting. Logan glanced away, given that he didn’t even like eye-contact in the best of circumstances.

“Nothing important. You have my attention now.”

Remus rolled his eyes with a huff, apparently genuinely irritated.

“Well now I forgot what I was saying.”

“Let’s backtrack: what were you talking about before?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s fine, we can talk about something else.”

The irritation had grown to something unrecognizable to Logan- frustrating, given how closely he tried to study body language. He felt a stab of guilt as Remus stood up from his spot.

“It probably didn’t matter. I’m gonna go annoy Janus.”

“Oh,” Logan’s voice was small, “Alright, then.”

He was already gone.

That was… concerning. Not to mention bewildering; Remus didn’t just pass up opportunities to talk! He didn’t just leave, not even when he wasn’t wanted! Logan really hadn’t thought his zoning out would earn such a reaction.

But he was far from perceptive about emotional problems. There was no way to know if it was anything to throw a fit over. For all he knew, it was just an off-day. He couldn’t always expect his friend to be rambunctious and energetic, even if that was a big part of his personality.

The issue would likely resolve itself.

The issue did not do that. It did the polar opposite, speeding from mildly concerning to downright frightening at a whiplash-inducing pace.

Remus barely asked questions and almost never offered insight, as he usually did when they spent time together. In fact, his contributions had become rare and unenthusiastic enough that he could have passed as neurotypical, however disturbing the thought was. And that was when they did end up spending time together, which was becoming less and less often, much to the dismay of one significantly smitten smart side.

Something was very clearly wrong with Remus. Not the demented, destructive, mildly endearing and unhinged sort of wrong. It was the wrong sort of wrong.

Logan was hesitant to confront him outright. After a couple weeks of careful consideration, a more subtle solution occurred to him, as he idly flipped through a very graphic murder-mystery late into the night. Something bloody, and awful, and very much Remus’ taste. He set the novel down, knowing full well that his friend would be wide awake as he made his way across the hall.

“Remus?” he knocked at the side’s door, wearing a smile much wider than he usually liked. He was more than willing to express exuberance, if there was even the slightest chance that it would be infectious.

The door decidedly did not fly open. Rather, after a good deal of wrapping at it, Remus slowly pulled it back and poked his head out.

“Oh. Hey.”

Logan didn't dwell on the concern that reaction brought. He had something that would cheer Creativity up, of that he was sure.

“I have a test tonight- it’s going to be very messy,” he began, searching the impulsive trait’s eyes for any signs of interest. There was the slightest glint, but not much more.

“So, you want me to make stuff for you?” His speech was monotonous.

“Yes, that was the idea. It’s going to be gory.”

Hardly a reaction. All Remus did was open the door the rest of the way to allow Logan inside. Clearly, he had underestimated just how poorly his friend felt.

“Alright, I’ll set it up for you. Just don’t take too long, I was actually hoping to use my part of the Mindscape today.”

Logan nodded, very taken aback. He couldn’t ignore the slight hurt at the cold, dismissive tone (the irony of that wasn’t lost on him).

They stepped foot into The Imagination and immediately Remus stopped, destroying whatever had been in front of them- which was usually fine, it was just how he operated, but normally out of enthusiasm, not apathy. Maybe this was more than could be fixed with some blood and guts.

“What do you need?”

Logan conjured a tiny notebook, giving a tentative smile. Still, he was giving this plan a shot.

“Operating table,” one appeared before him, sleek metal with rolly legs, “A standard set of surgical tools,” he looked up to gauge Remus’ interest, but his expression still hadn’t changed as he continued to create, “A human corpse, and then we can get started.”

With a wave, a perfectly generic body fell onto the table, but Logan’s attention remained on The Duke.

“Great, have fun, let me know when you’re finished.”

Logan faltered, watching him turn to leave.

“You- you aren’t going to stay and do this with me?”

“You want me to?” Remus crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Logan with a gaze that could (figuratively) wilt flowers.

“I- Yes? If you aren’t at all interested right now, then I can save this experiment for another day?” Yeah, this wasn’t working, but Logan had no backup.

“No, no, don’t wait for me, you’ve already got everything you need, right?”

“I mean- technically, yes, but it- it wouldn’t be the same.”

Remus cackled, sounding quite like the cartoonish villain that he often acted as. It hurt to listen to.

“So that’s what this is about! Let me just fix you up, then!”

He snapped, and a blank humanoid form appeared at his side. It tilted its faceless head curiously at Logan, who recoiled.

“Not good enough? Is a hunk of nothing too unrealistic for you?” he snapped again, and the being suddenly transformed to match its creator exactly.

Nearly exactly: it wore an enthusiastic grin, eyes wide and sparkling, rather than the steadily building fire that raged in real-Remus’ eyes. It spoke in a disgustingly cheery tone.

“Wow, tell me more! Show me that again? What happens when you do that? You’re just so interesting, Lo!”

Remus watched the creation, a look of one part pride and a million parts resentment.

“Is that what you want? It’s just like me, but without any of the hassle of being another person that you have to deal with! And this one, you really can get rid of whenever you want, isn’t that great?”

Logan looked between the two, a fearful understanding creeping up his spine. There was something he was missing here, wasn’t there?

“No,” he muttered, half to the fake-Duke and half to the real one.

“No?” Remus spat, circling his mirror, “No, of course, you’re so right. This isn’t nearly enough.”

He made an elaborate gesture, and about a dozen more Creativities appeared, surrounding them. Logan stumbled back from them, nearly tripping on the operating table that they’d previously made. When he looked up, the real Remus was approaching him with an expression that fought its way between guilt and indignation. It was all at once heart-wrenching and frightening.

Logan tried to right himself, tried to look unaffected and certain of himself, as he raised his voice. He would not let this go a step farther, despite his confusion.

“Stop,” and with that, a wave rocked across The Imagination, and all was erased. In the aftermath he stood before a teary-eyed Remus (just the one, though), uncharacteristically looking like a stiff wind would knock him right over.

“What’s wrong? I gave you what you wanted!”

Logan reeled.

“Why would you think I wanted any of that?”

“You wanted an experiment, I gave you one! You wanted a willing audience, I gave you twelve! But I guess I just get everything wrong, right?”

“You know that isn’t true,” Logan felt choked, his words clumsy. It was foreign and horrible and disgusting, but he’d trudge through it all if it meant fixing whatever he’d done wrong. It couldn’t have just been him losing focus once? Could it?

“Oh, of course, I do just enough to be useful. So I’ve got that right; I’m a good utensil. Is it so much to ask that people would care about me, not just what I can do?” he posed a rhetorical oozing with vitriol, but it quickly evaporated into something much more desperate, “What if it’s my fault? It was my idea, I wanted to help. I don’t know why I thought you’d care past all that, did I give you a reason to? I can’t remember. It might make more sense that way, if I were the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Logan was running out of time to fix this, watching Remus curl in on himself, barely keeping from falling to the floor. He had no clue how The Duke had reached the conclusion that he didn’t care about him! They spent nearly all their free time together: sitting next to each other just to have the company, throwing each other tricky and often troubling questions to answer, constantly toiling away at things in The Imagination. Sometimes, they didn’t even need to talk, they just worked together in rapt silence; Remus did the creating and Logan arranged his work just so, and- Wait. Wait. Wait.

Logan didn’t need to talk, or touch, for that matter. Perhaps it was a mistake to presume the same for such a needy, affectionate, boisterous side?

No, not perhaps, it was a huge mistake. A major fuck-up, if you will.

He’d thought, if the blunt side had needed such comforts, surely he would initiate it? He hardly shied away from anything, except, well.

Except. Feelings.

God, he was the dumbest smart person in the world.

“Oh, Remus…”

The Duke’s head jerked up, continuing his back-and-forth of desperation and rage.

“I don't need your pity!”

Logan sighed, twisting the end of his tie in frustration.

“That isn't what I'm offering,” he took a breath before continuing, linking the words together so it would come out right. “I'm so sorry, I didn't take into account how you would interpret our interactions. I thought it was obvious that I cared for you, that I didn't need to say it outright. Clearly… I was wrong. So, if you need more than what I previously expressed- which I'm now realizing was very little in the eyes of someone who is not me- then I am happy to provide that for you.”

Remus was shaken, a good deal of his ire slipping away. Whether that was good or bad remained unclear.

Before it could be overthought, Logan crossed the remaining few feet between them and brought his arms around The Duke in his loose approximation of a hug. The trait froze, but he didn't pull away.

Physical affection, check.

“I value your companionship more than I'm entirely sure how to verbalize. You understand me in a way that most others don’t seem to. While your ability to make detailed creations is very helpful, it is hardly the only thing I appreciate about you.

“For one, you make me laugh. A lot. More than I'm used to. Additionally, you can easily match the pace with which I speak, or change topics! And, you are so much smarter than you make yourself out to be,” Logan finished the spiel with a smile, genuinely proud at his ability to articulate such… sentimental things, with relative ease. Words of affirmation, check.

He snapped back to attention when Remus brought shaking hands up to Logan's chest. For a moment, he worried that Remus would shove him away. The fears dissipated when all he did was bunch the front of Logan's shirt in his hands and hold on tight.

“Do you mean that,” his volume was low, “Or do you just want me to calm down?”

Logan tightened his grip around him and, following a motion that he'd seen Patton employ many times to great success, he rubbed up and down his back.

“I understand that it might be hard for you to trust me, but I promise I'm not lying to you. I would have to be pretty awful to do something like that, wouldn't I?”

Hesitantly, Remus nodded against his collar. A good sign, but there was one thing left he had to say.

“And- If you need further convincing- then you should know. I love you.”

Remus stilled. He then unfisted his hands from Logan's shirt. It was an anticipatory second before he threw his arms around the logical trait and finally returned the hug. His hold was crushing, and it was the most comforting thing that Logan had ever felt.

They were okay.

“I'm sorry I-”

Logan didn’t let him finish the apology.

“Don't be. You didn't know how I felt, because I hadn't communicated it in a way you understood. That is hardly your fault.”

Remus nodded again, remaining much quieter than he’d probably ever been in his entire existence.

They held each other for longer than either would like to admit, speaking softly.

“Thanks,” was muttered against Logan’s shoulder.

“Of course. Just so you know, I'm more than willing to do this again whenever you need reassurance.”

“It might be a lot,” his tone was turning more mischievous, more him, “Are you sure you can handle that?”

“Absolutely.”

Logan hardly minded having an opportunity to gush about Remus to Remus. Not to mention, the physical affection was even nicer than he'd imagined it being. And oh, had he imagined it.

Remus' face returned to his usual ever-present zeal, and he ended their hug to bounce in place.

“Great! I'm good now! We can get on with that autopsy you wanted to show me- there better be buckets of blood!”

Logan shifted his weight.

“Maybe we should save that for another day.”

“Oh,” Remus' face fell the smallest bit, “Okay.”

Logan was quick to amend:

“By that I mean, I have something better in mind.”

Remus curled himself up in Logan’s lap, his eyes barely focused on the TV as the side carded his hands through his tangled mop of hair. Final Destination 3 played on the television (he had assured Logan that they didn't need to see the first two, and he was mostly right), serving as an excuse for the two to drink in each other's company.

It was right in the middle of a particularly graphic rollercoaster scene that Remus took Logan's hands from his hair to hold them, twisting around to face him.

“Is something wrong, Remus?”

“You told me you loved me,” he stated blankly.

“Yes, I did.”

“I didn't say it back!”

“No, you didn't,” it hadn't been the most important matter at the time, really. “You don't have to say it. It's perfectly okay if you don't feel the s- Mmph!”

Remus smashed their lips together, holding the sides of Logan's face (disrupting his glasses in the process) and pulling him forward harshly.

Logan, for less than a second, was floored. And then Remus tilted his head to deepen the already heated kiss, and the situation properly clicked. Logan reciprocated, slightly uncertain in his movements, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist.

Remus smiled against him. He nipped at Logan's lower lip with sharpened teeth, eliciting a very embarrassing yelp. Logic let his lips part in response as his thoughts grew fuzzier by the second.

The (somewhat clumsy) open-mouthed kiss lasted right until they absolutely had to break, separating for air. Neither moved very far, letting their foreheads rest against each other and all but panting for breath.

“I love you so fuckin' much, nerd,” when Remus spoke, their lips brushed ever so slightly, “Just so you know.”

“I picked up on that, yes.”

“A little clarity never hurts, right?”

Logan chuckled at the reference to his own sentiments, but the sound was abruptly cut off when Remus kissed him properly again.

When they broke apart, he explained how 'stupid-cute' that laugh was. And Logan, only half-joking (since when did he joke at all?), said that he’d have to do it more often.

Banter came easily to them, despite the raw undercurrent that still laced their conversation. Although, neither of them had ever found it difficult to talk; talk about the first thing that came to mind and the last thing that would come to anyone’s mind, talk about exceedingly simple nonsense and topics so intricate that they wound up sounding like nonsense, just talk.

So things would stay mostly the same. They would ramble to each other when no one else could stand to hear such disturbing things. They would sit, working side by side, running through plans and ideas and results at rapid-paced speech. They’d speak, and they would listen, when even their closest friends couldn’t manage such patience.

Only now, sometimes the rushed words might turn soft. Now, all that ranting might be more substantial than anyone would at first see. Now, they’d still listen, but leaned close together, gazes impossibly fond.

But then, on occasion, they would find that there were things far more fun than talking to do together.

@shrimp-crockpot

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goldenvoicedminstrel · 4 years

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realised after posting it’s actually @feanorianweek and even day 2, so have some Maglor

The sun was hidden from the sea that day, the rough waves turned murky grey in a perfect mirror image of the dull clouds overhead, both divided only by an endless pale horizon. All around, the colours had disappeared from the earth and Maglor wondered, if perhaps this was what the void looked like. An endless space devoid of colour, sound and feel.

An endless nothingness to isolate one from one’s own existence and drive one mad.

It was a far more frightening thought than any darkness or torture.

Is that what my brothers feel? he asked the only person still listening.

Does it matter? he answered his own question. He would never join them now, it had been much too long since he had failed to follow his brother’s example and throw the Silmaril into the waves with his body still attached to it. Too many years of wandering and suffering had passed, that had made his next step and the next note of his lament as unescapable as the passing of the hours and years. He had woven the mourning resonance of the Noldolantë into the music of Arda itself and himself with it.

Even if he did not care if he lived, he had been surviving for so long he thought he might not know how to die anymore.

The coarse sand and stones were biting into the soles of his bare feet as he walked, having long since discarded his worn through boots. Now the quiet crunch of his steps in the sand formed an imperfect metronome for his song.

“I fixed it.”

Curufinwë stands before him, hands outstretched and in them a little box, ticking away with the steadiness of his own heart beat.

“It was easy, Atar did not even have to show me how. Now you must not be cross with me anymore.”

Again his feet lost their rhythm, one sinking a little deeper into a puddle of water that had been hidden under the wet sand. Around his foot he could feel the pull of the waves towards the sea, dragging the sand with them and hollowing out the ground he stood upon. He stepped aside instinctively, onto a sharp shell that cut through his skin.

“Careful, Laurë!” Maitimo calls and the white towers of Alqualondë glitter behind him, shining with the colours of the Mother of Pearl fragments inlaid in their walls.

“Let me see that. Where was that head of yours again?”

He picked up the shell. Its hard, curved form was broken and the white edges ragged, now tinted pink with his blood.

“Káno, look what I found!” A smudge of silver races towards him, so fast, that his light hair whipping behind him in the wind blends into the pale morning light around him. When Tyelkormo opens his small hands they reveal a cone shell and, emerging from it, the scarlet claws of a hermit crab. “Can we please take him home with us?”

He thought his hair might be turning pale too. Grey, like that of the Edain, when their spirits and bodies started to wane after long years of sorrow and grief. His skin seemed grey as well, and sometimes he thought it was because he could see the grey sky through it. Perhaps he was just becoming a part of that greyness around him, fading into a lament on the waves, his song lost under the cry of the gulls and raging of the sea. Another gull flew over his head, so close this time that he could feel the gust of wind from its wings in his hair.

A shrill scream comes from the other side of the beach, followed by a bought of laughter.

“You sound like the gulls, Moryo!”

A dark haired elfling’s face is turning an impressive shade of red as he scowls at his brother.

“I do not!” he cries and crosses his thin arms, but when his indignation shows no effect, he quickly ducks down and picks up a handful of wet sand, hurling it towards his still laughing brother.

“Stop laughing at me, Tyelko!” he insists and the blonde’s face immediately turns grave, as he bends down in an exaggeratedly somber manner to pick up his own lump of sand.

“If this is how you want to play…” he says, and the scene quickly dissolves into childish screams of laughter.

Little wet droplets were running down Maglor’s cheeks. Ah, he thought, it must be raining.

There was an opening in the high basalt cliffs, nothing more than a crack in the dark structure looming over him, a comfortable shelter for a child perhaps, but not enough to hide a grown adult. He walked past and let his scarred hand trace the stone. It was as rough and blackened as his own scorched skin and its sharp edges seemed detached from under his unfeeling finger.

The wind blew sharper now and the dark strands of his dirty hair tangled before his eyes, obscuring his sight. He listened instead to the desperate howling of the wind trapped in the small cracks and hollows of unmoving stone.

Two red-haired children cling to him, the vibrant colour of their hair burning with the curb’s fire behind them and their identical faces are flushed with excitement and the only recently abandoned heat of the flames.

“Tell us a story Káno! About why the wind howls so. Does it sing like you do? What does it sing about?”

His hair was whipped away from his eyes again by another violent gust of wind, but the darkness stubbornly remained. Was it night already? There were no stars he could distinguish, not even in the West was his father’s creation visible to the hopeful eye. He clenched his hand and walked on, the howl of the wind lost beneath his own.

He walked until the path before him rose away from the soft sand and up on uneven stone, crumbling away under his feet as he climbed, the small pebbles falling endlessly into the abyss beside him. He would not sleep, only make one step after the other until he would drop from exertion, too exhausted for even dreams to find him, may they be horrible- or worse- good.

He stumbled.

There was a bird at his feet, the white feathers making it visible to him even in the night- no, that was the dawn breaking over the horizon.

One of the creature’s wings was twisted and its neck broken, overstretched into an unnatural position on the ground, his honey coloured beak turned away from its body as if pointing out the way ahead.

Did the storm do this to you? he asked, but the dark eyes gave no answer.

He touches the impossibly soft feathers with a trembling hand and suddenly, for the first time since he has been born into these immortal lands of Aman, he understands that even here nothing lasts forever. He thinks of his grandmother, lying as beautiful and lifeless as this little bird while his father strokes her soft hair. The bird must have a mother too, or little nestlings screaming for it, and if it doesn’t, how lonely it must have been. Perhaps it is a silly thing to anguish about, but he has a vivid imagination and a soft heart and has never seen death before.

Through his tears he sees his father hurrying from his forge, alarmed by his young son’s despairing wails.

“What is it, Makalaurë? What has happened? Are you hurt?” his father’s face is tight and pale and his hands are running over his child’s small form, trying to find the cause of his hurt, to fix it as he always does. “Please, tell me why you are weeping,” he asks again and spots the lifeless bird in the same moment. His shoulders drop in relief and his features relax into a sad smile as he pulls his sobbing son into a tight embrace. “It is alright ‘Laurë,” he whispers to him. “Everything has its time.”

He turned away from the bird and walked on as the sun rose higher into the clear, blue sky.

His father, who then had been so much younger than he must be by now, and so anxious about any sadness befalling his newly formed family.

Maitimo had been an easy child in that regard, and really in any other regard as well. Happy and content, with the sure confidence of someone who had grown up with all of his parent’s praise and attention and who, deep down, believed he deserved it. Kind and courteous to everyone and widely loved- and later admired- in return. When he had been quiet, it had been with thoughtful consideration or the comfort that needed no words. Maitimo had never been despairing.

He himself however, befitting the poet he would become, had been much more volatile. His joy had been delightfully loud but his sorrow even louder. How unsettling these first fits of despair must have been for his father, who had always lived under the shadow of his mother’s fate.

His brothers had shed tears too, of course, but they were easily quietened. Tyelko had cried in pain after falling out of a tree and Moryo often in anger. Curvo had sometimes teared up in frustration and the Ambarussa had sobbed in fear the first time they had heard the tale of their father’s mother and discovered that there might be a force in this world that could separate them after all. But Maitimo…

The hard stone under his feet had softened into dry earth and the narrow path was being overtaken by yellow and green patches of grass and finally a thick carpet of heather, the sea of small green leaves parted by spots of rose and purple flowers. A twig snapped underneath his weary feet.

The air is filled with the fragrance of blooming petals as he wanders through the labyrinth of thick green hedges and thorny bushes heavy with blossoms of every colour. Even now, thirsty and irritated as he is, he marvels at the beauty of it all, his parched throat aching to burst into a verse of song in celebration. Yet first he needs to find his brother, as his father had sent him out to do hours ago. But today Maitimo seems to have disappeared from the face of Arda entirely and his grandfather’s rose garden is his last hope. There is a spot there his brother had shown him when he had been but a little boy- his secret hiding place he had called it.

He ducks under the low branches of a young tree and carefully pushes away some of the dense shrubbery before he stills.

He hears their laughter before he sees them, sitting in the grass, a bottle of what must be grandfather’s good wine lying forgotten next to them. They are leaning against each other and speaking in hushed, excited tones, and suddenly his brother is throwing his head back and is laughing, laughing until there are tears running down his cheeks and he has to gasp for breath. He is still holding onto Findekáno’s arm as his giggling cousin wipes away his tears of mirth.

Quietly he turns away and leaves, reporting to their father that Maitimo is nowhere to be found.

The sun was high in the deep blue sky and the sea glittered faintly beneath it.

Maglor’s path lead him down again, away from the heather, towards the waves where the smell of salt perpetuated the air he still breathed. He did not hear the gulls anymore and the light breeze that seemed to caress his cheek was too weak to drown out his lament.

When his feet sank into soft sand again, the sun was already setting and suddenly the sky was set aflame in the same shade of red he had loved and hated and grieved more than anything else.

And again he walked on. Was it raining again?

And when Maglor walks the shore alone, his brothers walk with him, and on the wind his father’s voice whispers: “Why are you weeping, Makalaurë?”

#today on making myself sad at 1:30 am #maglor #i love you bby i'm sorry #makalaure #maedhros #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #ambarussa #feanor #feanorians #silmarillion #just realised it's #feanorianweek #and maglor day as well here #tis fate #golden writes

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whitherliliesbloom · 3 years

Text

fragrant sorrow

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #10 - heady ]

[ implied kaye/lily ] ★ [ 1,805 words ] ★ [ wozwald au ] content warning- features use of dr*gs, alcohol and tobacco. passing mentions of sex too but it doesn’t happen on screen or involve the main characters. kaye also kills a man. be warned, this is wozwald au, after all.

heady: intoxicating; affecting the mind or senses greatly

even after all these years, the scent of flowers brought the god of death the most amount of pain.

It fucking reeks.

His lungs hurt to even take a breath, nose filled with the cloying stench he’s grown all too familiar with. With fists balled tight in the confines of his pockets, he takes heavy steps deeper through the sickly grey corridors, with only the weight of the scythe strapped to his back serving as a reminder... or rather motivation for moving forward.

Flashing lights leak through the gaps of the rusted metal door that lets out a deafeningly ear-piercing shriek as he pulls it open, and the scent of complete and utter depravity floods his senses.

There’s the familiar and known - the odor of cigarette smoke and bitter alcohol intermingling in the air... so heavy and concentrated it would almost be enough alone to dull his senses. Like an old friend he hated to know - but comforting in it’s own sickening, addictive way, even if it hurt him to indulge in it.

And then there’s everything else that Kaye loathed that kept his disgust for the place increasing triple fold - distinct notes of burnt chemicals and sweet, heady musk that has him scrunching his nose up and resisting the urge to raise a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It fucking reeks. Even more than me.

The carpet beneath his leather boots feels damp - soiled and damp with a concoction of wine and bodily fluids. To even hear the very squelch with every step he took caused the man’s nerves to shrivel... though he has long since learned to hide whatever discomfort he feels.

And the sights are no more better than the scents and sounds - used needles lay discarded upon tables and couch cushions, crumpled smallclothes neglected and equally well worn strewn about... along with the numerous bodies of both warm and cold that littered the space of the club.

Most of the stiff bodies, as far as the man could tell, were caused by overdose of some kind... poor sods whose life essence had been willingly but not full knowingly given up to fuel the debauched existence of the pathetic excuse of a god.

It was a good thing he’d convinced Lily to stay behind at the camp - though he did promise to make his way back within an hour or she’d feel compelled to come storming through the place out of worry, which she has full right to.

But he didn’t quite feel like having her bear witness to what he’s surrounded himself with now. It’s sure to take several hours worth of comforting, soothing and a patience from him that he’s running thin on. It wasn’t that he disliked her presence - or hated to reassure what was to be the closest thing he’s had to an actual... companion or friend in god knows how long.

But the stench that was depravity has seeped too far into his own bones, tainted his own blood so much that to even think he was even in any position to separate himself from the very things that the far too innocent for her own good lesser goddess... it was a hypocrisy that made his blood begin to bubble and boil.

It fucking reeks. But this is exactly the type of scent that suited a monster like him best.

Kaye stops, expression morbid though unchanging and sharp gaze hardened as he stares down at the lesser god of all lesser gods lounging lazily upon the throne made of discarded plush cushions.

And like the sheer weakling he is, he is wholly unaware of the immense power disparity between himself and his visitor, so much that he’d looked up with a cocky smirk, drawing a sharp inhale of his cigar before blowing the smoke in Kaye’s face.

The further one is away from divinity, the more detached they become from the natural order... with senses so dulled by their own foils that they could not even recognize one of the original pantheon in the flesh.

But that only made Kaye’s job easier, as he silently eyes down the lesser god of carnal pleasures.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, lad?” The bastard has the audacity to act cordial with him. It would seem he’s as much of an idiot as he was perverse. “Yours is an unfamiliar face.”

“Of course it is.” Kaye responds, voice sour and aloof by comparison.

“Then what’re here for?” The man asks again, leaning forward to bear his rotten, blackened teeth in a wide grin as he spreads his arms out in a gesture of welcome. “The ladies? The booze? You seem the straight and narrow type. Thinkin’ about losing yourself to your carnal pleasures for the first time huh? Everyone always gives in to it eventually after they remember how worthless life is.”

Kaye grits his teeth beneath sealed lips, and with jaws tightened, he reaches behind his back with one hand.

“’Appreciate the offer... but I’m several millennia too old for this shit.”

“-Wait- What are you-”

The scythe takes another life, clean and effortless as ever. Blood spills freely, pouring over the altar of the now dismantled god.... and Kaye can hear the demented screams of what little of his worshippers assaulting his ear drums.

The smell of iron and death permeates the air, and Kaye turns to leave before he can become drunk on it.

It fucking reeks.

---

He didn’t have much luck in convincing Lily this time - stubborn as she is whenever she wanted to or felt like she had to be... and him not having enough energy to fight her enthusiasm. She’s younger, more energetic... and he’d admit to no one that he’s envious of that at times.

But she’s also naive and kind, traits that alone are praiseworthy... but certainly not something that belongs in the modern age - it was a miracle she even came into existence as she did on account of the state of things.

That was also part of the reason why he hadn’t wanted her to come with him on this visit - though that reason had been far more selfish on his part this time than before.

Because whereas his earlier refusal to let her join him in disposing of the god of carnal pleasures was out of a pure protectiveness for her wellbeing that Lily could fully understand, she could not fathom why Kaye would be so unwilling in letting her visit the abandoned altars of one of the original six.

He’d even brought a bouquet of flowers, something Lily thought she’d never in all her life get to see the ultra god of grouchiness would ever hold - even if the man did seem a tad put off by his own gift for some reason, for lack of a better term.

And so she’d followed even in his protest... deep into a forest away from the main city as they walked further and further away from the gaudy neon lights and street lamps into the cold glow of the moonlight through a canopy of dense forest tree branches and leaves.

Lily can tell as Kaye pushed past the overgrowth with practiced ease that he has the route memorized... despite there being no real set path to their destination at all.

And when they finally reached a clearing in the woods and reached the stone altar, surrounded by crumbled stone walls and mossy bushes, Lily finally gained an inkling of why Kaye had been so hesitant in letting her come visit the pseudo-grave of one of his old companions.

There was next to none left of the original shrine... now left with a singular stone with a shape of an hourglass carved into its surface that Lily instantly recognized.

It was the emblem of the late goddess of creation - the last god of the original six to have died barring Kaye himself.

Lily has read tomes about her - about the goddess who, despite her relative weakness in comparison to the other five... possessed within her the great gift that was the ability to create... to give life and change to the very essence of the world.

In a sense, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that this goddess was Lily’s predecessor.

And though the current goddess of change could not possibly know what type of person the goddess then had been... the fact that she had faded away due to the lack of followers and not due to the judgement passed on by the god of death’s scythe was enough for her to understand now the pain Kaye must feel even just thinking of her.

And it was apparent- even with the lack of emotion in his tense expression as he bends down on one knee to place the flowers beneath the stone before rising to his feet and forcing himself to feign a relaxed demeanor by burying his hands in his pockets and slouching... which only made it more obvious to Lily just how on edge and uncomfortable he was.

She hesitates for a moment, but she finally fights all of her natural instincts telling her to stay quiet to speak and ask him a question.

“What was she like? The goddess of creation?”

Kaye stiffens, and Lily almost mistakens him for a statue as he bows his head and gazes down at the flowers with sorrow welling in his dark eyes.

It takes a while for him to respond... but when he does, the pain in his voice shatters Lily’s heart.

“She was gentle. Kind. An idiot, all things considering... Not unlike you, I guess.”

This world as it is had no place for the softhearted, Kaye knew that the moment he had started to note this old friend’s power growing dimmer and dimmer. And yet even on her deathbed... even counting down the days to her inevitable disappearance, she held a gentle, weak little smile upon her face.

“She liked flowers...” He thinks to add, and his nose scrunches up once more.

It reeks. The whole altar reeks. He can barely even remember what her voice sounded like or what her smile looked like. And yet the scent of flowers would ever stay fresh to haunt him.

It’s a fragrance of floral notes and fresh wind... an intoxicating blend of gentle lavender, lilies and chrysanthemums. It was a kind, gentle, sweet and beautiful scent.....

And it ill-suits the rotten state of the modern age... It ill-suited him.

Just recollecting old memories has made the god of death wobbly on his feet, and he turns to leave before Lily can stop him. He needs a cig.

But not here... Not here where the scent of flowers still rung fresh. Not where his greatest sorrow and regret has yet to be tainted by the odor that he now carried.

#ffxiv #final fantasxy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #kaye #lily #wozwald au #fanfic #mine #I MADE IT WITH LITERALLY A SINGLE MINUTE #I was so frantic which is why the ending seems rushed greeehrhrufuhuf #angst angst angst angst

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siouiwrites · 3 years

Text

Apples of Discord

They’d always wanted a fixer upper.

Always dedicating time to watching many of HGTV’s homely couples who spend their rocky marriages building houses to keep things together—also dedicating their energy to saving enough to buy their very first dream home. Both of them had spent their twenties holed up in shoddy apartments, so moving to a house seemed like the best way to enter their thirties. And, on top of that, why not make it a 120-year-old house?

She was built in 1902. Like most of the other houses on the block, her exterior was fading and looking a bit splintery. But she was just in need of some quality love and attention, as Jamie always said driving down Fir Street. Harley disagreed, insisting that it also would require some quality dollarinos. Perhaps a new front door that didn’t look shriveled and uneven, some fresh siding, a functioning fence, new turf, some sturdy window frames that didn’t slope in the middle, perhaps a new porch(plus a swing, if there’s money left over) and of course a fresh coat of paint. But what color? The house as is was a dreadful beige that looked like her ex’s many pairs of khaki shorts. Maybe a light blue? No, the house down the street was light blue.

“Maybe it could be a white, something pure and fresh, right? Like, telling the world, ‘here’s our fresh start’.” Jamie was always a romantic.

Harley looked at her girlfriend. “Are you serious? That monster of a house across the yard is white! The last thing we need to do is twin with those bigots.” The house that shared a fence with them was a monster of a mansion with at least twelve bedrooms and huge presidential white columns lining the front of the home. However, from what the girls had seen the couple who lived there were practically ancient artifacts and Jamie and Harley always joked that they’d probably be sent to a nursing home within a few months, so their run ins should be few and far between.

“Maybe a shade of off-yellow, like an ochre? Eggshell?”

“Eggshell isn’t yellow, you doof.” She chuckled back, eyes glued to the house from the car window. They’d spent the last four months in mover’s limbo, looking at homes, hating their current studio apartment, constantly touring house after house gaging floorplans and judging bathroom tiles. But this one, they decided, had good bones.

The first time they looked at this one they had their doubts. Room after room there was something to complain about, ugly carpeting, cottage cheese ceilings. Someone had decided to gut out the vintage fireplace and make it some kind of awkward alcove for some bookshelves, filled with Tom Clancy and Daniel Steele to such a degree that the house started feeling like a Goodwill, with its plaid couches and tchotchke looking angel figurines along the mantle. But this was before they’d seen the kitchen.

Despite the “antique” amenities clinging to the walls of the kitchen, there was something immensely charming about the space. The fridge and oven might have been older then sliced bread, but the subway tiles lining the floor and the glowing yellow light spilling through a delicate dining room chandelier felt so much like home that the two of them shuddered at the unprecedented warmth flowing from the house directly into their hearts.

And then they saw it.

Resting in the very corner of the backyard in an easy standing position was a massive outstretched apple tree, with knotted limbs protruding in every direction. The trunk was rather stunted and most of the tree’s immensity came from its width; the branches reached far into the August air as if desperately stretching out, trying to grab for something just a bit too out of reach. But what was most eye catching of all were the bright red orbs floating in suspense off of those outstretched limbs, beautifully streaked red and yellow apples big enough to pass at a grocery store.

Harley’s breath hitched in her throat as she voicelessly ignored the droning of the property agent and pressed forward, prying open the screen door and traipsing over the unmowed grass toward this ancient presence.

“We used to have a tree just like this. When I was a little girl, the first house we lived in after we moved out of our shitty apartment had an apple tree just like this one. My mother, god rest her soul, made the best pies with apples like these.” She ruminated, pressing her palm into the uneven face of bark.

And the rest was history. They signed away all the papers, dotting their I’s; crossing their T’s. Within a month of touring the house they had already begun the tenuous process of moving in, collecting all manners of boxes from undescriptive locations, spending all-nighters packing up their dining room, bedroom, bathroom, all of which required doting attention from Jamie who obsessively labelled each box with exactly what treasures lied within. Harley was just glad that one person in their relationship could actually organize, although getting doted on after haphazardly throwing some things into their ‘improper’ place made her wish her girlfriend was a little less type A and a little more ‘let it B’. You’d think teaching yoga for a living(hardly) would’ve taught her to chill the fuck out, but moving was bringing out the stress monsters in both of their personalities.

On top of working full time jobs, both women had side hustles or occupations that demanded at least fifteen hours of work a week. Harley spent afternoons after school got out working for a grassroots Anti-ICE organization, headquartered downtown. She’d spend a few hours there, answering phones and mass-producing emails and posters. When Jamie got out of yoga it was usually already 7 PM, she’d spend her free time crafting bracelets and necklaces to sell on her Etsy. Around the holiday season she always saw a nice uptake in profits, and worked her hands until they bled to keep up with the order loads. But moving in to a new place was taking up both of their lives as the primary focus outside of their actual jobs. Whenever they had a chance to be home, they would spend it unpacking and organizing, desperately trying to speed up the process of getting settled. Being in a state of mover’s limbo had both of them emotionally fried and mentally occupied, meaning they were starting to forget to take care of themselves. When they ate it was short and almost always takeout. Their dining table was littered with things they ate wherever they could find a clear surface. Both of them had to remind each other to take showers, brush their teeth, call their parents.

But what was causing them the newest form of grief had nothing to do with the two of them and everything to do with the Nielson’s. They shared the stretch of their back fence with an elderly couple, Leslie and Rodrick Nielson. Both of them couldn’t have been younger than 80, and together they lived in one of the most extravagant properties either women had the displeasure of gawking at every morning over their cups of coffee.

317 Spruce Street was the largest house on that block, perhaps even the whole neighborhood. To accompany the hideous political signposts in their front yard, the home had a stark white exterior with colonial colonnades framing the front and connecting back patio which overlooked the biggest, gaudiest fountain in the whole county. Including the White house.

“Do you think she imported it from Versailles?” Jamie giggled one early morning, dangling her teabag over steaming water.

“Why, Marie Antoinette herself would’ve found that miniature water park to be a bit much, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s about time to unpack our handy guillotine.”

Every time they looked out onto that expanse of disgusting wealth they found something more to hate about the Nielson’s. For one thing, every morning the couple would have a crew of young migrant workers come trim their hedges and deadhead their rosebushes. One morning Harley overheard Mrs. Nielson bickering with one of the men to turn down his “god-awful spic music”, and Harley spent the rest of the day turning beet red every time she thought about it. She decided that the next time she heard that woman use that word, she was going to do something about it. That woman, that woman she called her in her head, walking down hallways glowing pink with anger on her cheeks. What was so great about her was how easy she was to despise without having any actual experience with the beastly woman, but she knew plenty through casual neighborly surveillance. She wore different variations of the same Juicy Couture track suit every day, rotating between hot pink, cheetah print and a more business-like all black. That woman was built like a grandfather clock but she dressed herself like she still shopped in the junior’s section of a Kohl’s. She kept her white hair pulled back tight into a ballerina’s bun, and she wore enough makeup to look like she was on stage performing Cats or something. And then there was her dog….her little, yippy, bastard shitzu….typically Harley would feel pity for an animal under the loving care of that block of ice of a woman but that dog was a pretty good match for Mrs. Neilson. Caesar was an old half dead and very blind scruffy little Satan who spent his free time barking at and biting little children who reached through the iron rod fence to give him a pat. This little tiny dog was the subject of a big, menacing yellow sign on the gate that read “Beware of Dog”.

One day Mrs. Neilson approached Jamie by her side of the fence as she was picking weeds out of their backyard, which was essentially like using ducktape to fix the Titanic. The house had taken up whatever time they’d had to spare and the yard suffered from a neglectful negligence, but it’s stark difference in comparison to the Nielson’s impeccable green lawn felt like an act of resistance.

“Hello there! I’m Nancy Nielson. I live across from you.” She chimed, pushing her Gucci sunglasses to the bridge of her nose. Jamie looked back in the house to see Harley looking back at her with wide, anticipating eyes as she scrubbed at last night’s dishes from their unsuccessful attempt at making baked ziti only to forget it in the oven for two hours and order more takeout. As soon as their eyes met she tilted her head back down, Harley didn’t want to be pulled in to whatever was about to happen.

“Ah! Yes. Beautiful house you’ve got there. The people who work to maintain it do a wonderful job.”

“Why, thank you! If you’d like, I could give you a referral…” she gazed at the land beyond her immense iron fence. Jamie gently chewed the inside of her cheek.

“I don’t think we’ve got the spare funds to pay for someone else to do the work, we’re both stretched pretty thin at our jobs so we don’t get much a chance to take care of it ourselves…” Jamie could tell that Mrs. Nielson was no longer interested in small talk. She came over here for a reason.

“Yes, being your age you have little time to do anything yourself. By the time you’re my age you simply aren’t able to do anything yourself anymore.” She cackled like some kind of evil witchy step-queen straight out of some Disney movie. “But I’m afraid I need to talk to you about something rather serious. This apple tree here….” She pointed, eyes looking up at it’s immensity. “Is such a massive hassle for us.”

Jamie didn’t like where this was going. Not one bit. “I was hoping I could convince you to let my husband and I pay for its removal, you see it drops it’s fruits all into our backyard and leaves such a nasty decaying smell that radiates through our whole property. I’m surprised you guys don’t seem affected by it at all! It’s positively nauseating.” She plugged her nose, for effect.

“I’m sorry, but the apple tree was what drew us to this property in the first place. My girlfriend and I simply adore it.” Jamie brushed her hands affectionately against the bark, if there was a way to do that.

And then the shift happened. Mrs. Nielson’s pupils became slitted, her shoulders rounded out and her back became straight, her arms curling around her chest like Medusa’s snakes sporting tracksuits. She was waiting for the old woman to get close to the fence and pounce at her, spitting venom.

“I see. Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to bring this up with the city. Not only do the fruits of this tree wreak havoc on our property, but it’s roots are bringing up our fence posts. The structural integrity is in jeopardy. Perhaps they can come up with some kind of resolution for us.”

“That’s such a shame, Mrs. Nielson. My honey and I were planning on baking apple pies for the whole neighborhood when November came around. If we did what you wanted, that just wouldn’t be possible.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing anyway. Apple pie is a bit tacky, don’t you think? And it’s so, so hard to prepare just right.”

Jamie heard the water stop running in the kitchen. She bit her lip.

“It’s a good thing we’re good cooks, right hun? My mom’s probably got a recipe tucked away somewhere.” Harley came up behind her, hugging her at her hip, letting her wet fingertips seep into Jamie’s thin pajama pants. “I’m sorry Mrs. Nielson, but there’s no way we’ll be giving up this tree any time soon. Not without a fight, that is.”

And a fight they got.

The next morning, a contractor working with the city came to the Nielson’s and began examining the land, chatting casually with another person in a crisp looking business suit, presumably their legal advisor. They loomed there, on the other side of the fence, gawking at the poor couple’s shabby yardwork. Harley and Jamie spent the morning watching back from closed blinds, carefully moving curtains aside to stare back, always meeting Mrs. Nielson’s reptilian gaze. When they returned home from their respective shifts, they were both too exhausted to do anything about dinner so they settled for crummy big-chain pizza delivery. They ate while glumly staring at an episode of House Hunters, both of them disengaged from everything besides the tree in their backyard.

Harley was on her laptop, searching for legal explanations in terms she might understand.

“You know, my cousin’s a tree guy, he works for the city. He could tell us the what’s what of tree law in these parts.” Jamie said between smacking chews.

Two days later Jamie’s hunter-gatherer-esque cousin came around bringing tidings of vegan homemade granola. Both Jamie and Harley tried it politely only to come to a mutual consensus behind his back that he had tried to feed them gravel. His name was Jasper and he was an aspiring dendrologist who was sleeping on a salvaged mattress in the back of his truck. Sure he could’ve found himself a nice place to hole up in, he said, but why spend money on being rooted down to one place? He liked the freedom of living in a car.

“So here she is.” He pronounced, gesturing wide armed at the ginormous apple tree protruding out of the grasses like a great arborous signpost: the people who live here are living the lives of people with a great big apple tree. For that, bow down to their fulfilled American Dream. But Jasper seemed less impressed.

“Oh no, oh no no no.” He said, cupping the belly of the tree, anchoring it’s bark in the palm of his hand like a tumor. “this is no good.”

He brought out a big toolbox full of tree-tools, he then took a long spindly device and twisted it into the body of the tree. Both Jamie and Harley winced, as if the tree’s pain was their own. As he worked on getting what was essentially a giant corkscrew out of the splinters. Jamie and Harley sniffled in the cold, arms crossed.

“What is it?” Jamie spoke up, approaching to stand beside her confounded cousin.

He let out a heavy sigh. “It’s the soil. The tree’s got phytophthora rot. It happens when a tree’s planted on bad soil. I’ll have to take a better look at different sections of the tree to see how badly she’s got it, but from the core sample I just took it looks like the rot goes deep. This tree, I hate to say it, might be on it’s way out.”

Jamie and Harley looked back at him, stunned. “What and you could just tell it was sick from jabbing it? What are you, tree Gandalf?” Harley stuttered.

He chuckled. “I’d concider myself more a Radaghast, but Tree Gandalf has a ring to it. Or rings, one could say.”

“I don’t have time for tree puns, Jasper. Are you serious? This tree’s gonna die?” Jamie looked up at the sprawling branches, reaching out towards the cloud-filled sky. She knew he was serious. “What can we do?”

“Well, the only thing to do for bad soil is to physically move the tree, and at this rate judging from how humongous it is, that would be quite a costly and time consuming endevour. If I were you, I’d give this tree a few last good years and let it pass peacefully. Maybe buy a peach tree instead or something. You’ve never been big on apples, if I remember right.” Jasper wiped the dirt off his hands after incessantly shoving his fingers into the wet topsoil. His fingernail beds were crusted with a black line of dirt.

“a few last good years…” Harley muttered, running a hand over the body of the tree. “That’s what she deserves.”

“You know as soon as our neighbors find out it’s dying they’re gonna send the cavalry to come carve it up.” Jamie replied, eyes watching the curtains flutter in their neighbor’s wide French windows. “She’s probably already got em on the phone. She’s got eyes on us at all hours. Yesterday, I swear I saw her peeping over here with a pair of binoculars.”

“She doesn’t know shit. I’d chain myself to this tree before letting it go down by her hands.” Harley’s eyes looked as if she’d awakened a deep-seated passion. “People like that aren’t going to ruin every good thing on this planet. I’m going to fight for this tree.”

Two weeks later, while the couple lazily drank first cups of coffee and read eachother tidbits from news sources they scrolled through on their devices, they heard the horses coming. Like a death knell, the slow and steady beeping of a bulldozer backing up came in through their window. They looked to their backyard and gasped.

“She’s gonna try and take it down from her side.”

Both of them shot up from their seats, the old house rumbling like an earthquake as they scattered to put their shoes and coats on. Harley dodged into the garage and grabbed hold of some tow chain the last owner had left behind, rusting away in the corner. She met Jamie outside, the cold damp air alive with clouds of steam coming from humans and engines alike. Across the fence, Mrs. Nielson and her husband and their barking dog were engaged with some men in hardhats and orange vests. She’d brought out the whole brigade. It’s a wonder what money will do these days.

“Ah! We were just coming to get you. You see, the city has served you some unfortunate papers. Because this tree is a hindrance on our land, we have the right to get it pulled from the ground. Ofcourse, only when the owners of the tree show neglect in it’s matinence.” That woman had a devil’s air about her, like she breathed fire. Her husband, a dull looking bald man with a face that looked as if it were simultaneously that of both a newborn baby and the oldest living human on the face of the planet.

“Sorry, not a chance. You’re not fucking with this tree.” Harley announced, hanging onto the chains as she tried to ahnd them to her girlfriend. “Babe, you gotta do this for me. Wrap this around me and the tree.”

Jamie’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god.” She knew it wasn’t a good move, but she learned not to make Harley wait when she had made up her mind. “oh, my god.” She reached around, turning in circles as she cycled the chain around Harley’s waist. “Is it too tight?”

The chain was limp against Harley as they tried to tie up the end. “Nah you gotta do it tighter!”

Mrs. Nielson gasped. “Are you serious? What are you, eco-terrorists?” She looked to her demolition goons. “Well what are you gonna do, just watch?”

“what’re we supposed to do?”

“No, its alright, honey. The more they act out the easier our lawsuit will be.” Mr. Nielson cackled like a storybook villain. Harley gave him a glare she’d been saving for some real asshole, maybe the first boss she’d ever had who’d taken out of the register and stuck the blame on her “sticky brown fingers”. She felt the chains, taut against her chest, cold bleeding through her layers of winterwear and pajamas.

“Baby, I don’t think this is worth it.” Jamie whispered into her ear, watching Mr. Nielson gleefully conversate with the police dispatch. “It’s gonna die anyway, why not just let them take care of it for us?”

Harley turned red, and not because of the chill. “Like hell am I letting that woman think she’s won. It’s not about the tree anymore. It’s bigger than that.”

When the police came, they acted like this was just another Tuesday in the Suburbs. Petty land disputes between neighbors popped up like daisies in Spring here. If there was one thing an American cared about, it was the fences that differentiated between ‘us’ and ‘them’. However, there wasn’t much anyone could do except wait Harley out. Sooner or later she’d realize how little she could actually do, wrapped up and chained to a dying tree leaking sticky sap like bloody syrup into her clothes and hair and skin. The sensation of sticking to everything she touched in the slightest was beginning to make her feel like she’d never needed a shower more in her life. Jamie came to feed her and slip some warm coffee into her mouth in steady gulps. Both of them didn’t have much to say to each other.

“I’m sorry.” Harley muttered. Jamie nodded, and proceeded to push cheeze-its into her lover’s grimacing mouth.

When the sun went down she folded. She was seconds away from pissing herself and she didn’t want Mrs. Nielson to enjoy the sight of watching a grown woman make a waterpark in her pants from within the comfort of the decrepit halls of her evil lair. She could feel that old woman’s eyes, all the way here across the metal fence. When she could spot her in between the interference of the fence posts, Harley starred her down until the old lady would walk away, moseying away from her watchpost. But seeing as Harley was stuck facing their humungously gross property, she was losing the willpower to see a purpose. These people with their fancy house, she was starting to buy that money could achieve anything. Maybe Jamie was right, the tree was dying anyway.

The next morning the men came again, and the tree fell down in a series of terrifying chopping sessions straight out of an unrated horror film. Jamie stayed behind to make sure they wouldn’t be getting up to any funny business, maybe they’d try to mow the lawn or plant some rosebushes in her yard while they were at it. Harley went to work early that morning, before they came. She left in the dark of the morning and arrived at the early dusk of the evening.

By the time November came they were alright again. They still despised the Nielsons, but so far they’d done nothing else to earn any extra disgust.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen either of them slithering around in a long time. I wonder if they’re on some fancy European river cruise or something.” Jamie ruminated, overlooking the immense fortress from the empty kitchen sink.

“No one’s been by to take care of the yard in a week or so, too. Very strange…” Harley was spacing over the morning newspaper when she caught sight of something that made her stomach drop. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?”

Harley brought up the newspaper, holding her forehead in her hand as if she’d been deeply disturbed. “Another famine or something?” Jamie reached to take it from her.

“Not…not quite.”

“Oh, dear.” Jamie immediately understood. There, in a big segment blocked out just for him, was a picture of Mr. Nielson. He was smiling, at his golf course. His obituary described him and a jovial man, describing his love of work and wife and home and life. But it ended a week ago.

“She must be boarded up in there, all alone.” Harley muttered, looking back at the property. Those closed curtains began to take on the form of solid walls of lonely grief.

The rest of their Saturday went by, they watched television and went about their homely chores. They just finished renovating the master bath and were due to start on the kitchen here any week. Despite the disaster that their home felt like in this in-between period of renovation, the air was sweet with domestic joy. Harley couldn’t stop thinking about the stuffy room Mrs. Nielson was holed up in. She couldn’t help but ponder wether that woman had been feeding herself, all alone there.

Chicken bake casserole was easy to make. Her mother taught her when they were living off of boxed food and cans from the food pantry at the church down the street. Cream of mushroom. Peas, carrots, and pieces of whatever kind of chicken you could get your hands on. She tore at a leftover rotisserie chicken from the night before, layering pasta and vegetables and meat, delicately smothering it in the thick, creamy base. Jamie stood next to her, watching her work diligently. “Your mom would be proud, you know. If she were here to see you. Seeing you cook again, after she passed.” She sipped a glass of wine. “She might wonder why you’re making a casserole for a racist, but that’s beside the point.”

“I know, I know. But I just got to thinking….the tree was dying, right, cuz of the soil. It was planted in bad soil. What if….what if Mrs. Nielson was just planted in ‘bad soil’ too?” Harley felt vulnerable talking about the softness she was starting to feel toward her. She will always be angry with that woman, but she’d never let her go hungry. “I hope that old lady doesn’t toss it.” Harley voiced her concern, but she really couldn’t care less. “When I’m done with hers, I’ll make one for us to eat tonight. We’ve been eating takeout like, 4 times a week.”

Jamie reached over and gently pressed her lips to the side of her head. “Wow, someday I’m gonna have to wife you, miss chef.”

They left the casserole on her doorstep. Harley scrawled out ingredients on a sticky note, wrote a brief message that partially made her cringe to herself after she read it through. They rang the door bell and only kind of sprinted out of there, worried the old woman was sitting by the door in anticipation. They didn’t watch to see what happened. They didn’t look at the sad broken stump that sat on the edge of their yard. They sat at their dining table and ate a meal together instead.

Dear Mrs. Nielson,

We’re very, very sorry for your loss. Fences might separate our houses, but our hearts will always be open to you. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate.

H&J.

#hopeful #fiction #writing #trees #neighbors #ameteur

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feynavaley · 4 years

Text

Hetalia Writers Monthly – November 2020

This was written for @hetalia-writers-monthly challenge, I hope I managed to fit the theme!

Theme: Autumnal Prompt: Despair (warning: discussion of death and grief) Characters: Canada and France (Gen) Word Count: 1,416

———

What Comes After

Orange and red surrounded him from every side. A bright carpet all over the ground, spots covering the tree branches and rivalling the orange tinge of the sunset.

It was odd, that dying things would show such vibrant and lively colours. Jarring, even.

He had to divert his eyes.

Ignoring the way they stung, he focused them on the small stream right in front of his feet. There were still spots of orange and yellow – leaves swirling in the current – but the crystal-clear water left the grey rocks underneath visible. Cold colour and even colder water. That was much more fitting.

He was cold too, his extremities tingling and his pants damp from sitting so long on the leaves. The numbness was unpleasant, not enough to distract him from the throbbing in various part of his body. His brain knew that it was the painkillers wearing off.

He made no move to take action against it – pressed his lips tighter instead and refused to follow the natural urge to move his body in a more comfortable position.

Pain was what he deserved, after all; not the luxury of looking at the gorgeous scenery in front of him and let his mind be soothed by it. The pain was a reminder.

He didn’t know for how long he had been sitting when the carpet of dead leaves started crackling towards him. Long steps, but measured and deliberate.

He didn’t want to acknowledge the intruder – but it would be rude of him not to, after all. He had already caused enough trouble. Perhaps, not even getting the time to mourn was part of his punishment as well.

“Good evening, Francis,” he said as the steps halted right behind him, so close that he felt the slow exhale at his shoulders.

“Matthieu.”

Matthew acknowledged the greeting with a nod, grateful that Francis hadn’t tried to woe him with pleasantries. There was so much he should have done – asked Francis about the travel, rushed to make sure all his needs were covered… but Matthew was too numb for that.

“Can I sit here with you?” Francis asked after a few moments of silence.

Matthew answered with another automatic nod. Something bitter in his chest mourned the chance to be alone – but he had no right to be mad.

Francis settled at Matthew’s side. Matthew was aware of his slightly titled head and the periwinkle blue eyes scanning him, but he kept looking ahead and didn’t acknowledge them.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the occasional rustling of the leaves in the wind and the gentle burbling of the stream. Matthew could almost pretend that nothing had changed…

At last, Francis took a deep breath. His warm hand landed on Matthew’s right knee and gave it a steady yet gentle squeeze.

“Matthieu—”

“I’m sorry that you had to come all the way up here, Francis. I’m… I’m not going to be of much company these days. You shouldn’t have gone through all the trouble.”

Somehow, he kept his voice steady and perfectly polished until the end. Even if he had to curl his hands into fists to prevent them from trembling.

“But this is why I have to be here, mon coeur. And it’s no trouble. We just want to help, this comes before everything.”

We.

Not only Francis but Arthur and Alfred as well, back at the cabin. With the same, genuine eagerness in their voices as Francis, the same urge to help.

Matthew’s breath itched, his eyes were burning.

He was being so awfully selfish.

But which reaction was truly the selfish one?

“Don’t try to pretend you’re fine. You wouldn’t be here alone if you weren’t hurting.”

In spite of the reproach, Francis’s voice held a gentleness that made Matthew’s chest clench. The assessment wasn’t wrong – yet, he couldn’t take that compassion.

He swallowed thickly, trying to regain control of himself.

“It just isn’t fair,” he muttered at last, unable to articulate the tight knot of regret that clenched his chest.

Francis’s fingers briefly tightened over his knee.

“Life often isn’t.”

Simple words. So right, and at the same time so utterly wrong that they stole Matthew’s breath away.

“But this should have never happened! I am the one who is supposed to protect them! I’m not even human, I can be hurt or killed but I’ll always come back and instead he—”

Matthew would never forget those dark brown eyes. The quiet acceptance in them, the way they had reflected his gentle smile in that split of a second when he had taken his decision. His last one.

Dale Harrison, sixty-three years old. In good health and still with many years ahead of him. Dead in an accident that should have never happened. Dead because he had decided to push a teen-aged boy away and take the brunt of the impact. The death of a hero – an unnecessary death.

Matthew chocked back a sob. His breath was hot inside his mouth and nose, his throat felt clogged.

“And I was too slow. I was right there and I knew what was happening but I hadn’t thought he was going to do that, I should’ve been more alert, I could have prevented it if I just had—”

When Francis’s hold tightened on his knee, Matthew realized that his body was shaking. He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, pressing his hands flat to the ground to steady himself.

“It was his own choice,” Francis reminded him.

Matthew shook his head, bitterness on his tongue.

“Well it was still useless! He didn’t know what he was doing! He wasn’t saving a boy, I wouldn’t have died! This… it should have never happened!”

Matthew found himself panting at the end of the rant. Tears welled up at the corner of his eyes, he tore away his glasses and brushed his eyes with the back of his hand, hating himself for his lack of self-restraint.

Fortunately, Francis diverted his eyes and got up, taking a few steps forward to give Matthew some space.

A small pang of humiliation hit Matthew’s chest – but there was also some relief underneath.

At last, Francis took a deep breath.

“Humans die, Matthieu. You know this. Whether today, tomorrow, or ten years from now… his time would have come.”

“I know he would have died anyway! But he could have—”

“Dying to protect a boy isn’t a bad way to go, all things considered.”

That shocked Matthew into silence. He took a deep breath, then stilled, unable to put his outrage into words.

Francis turned back towards him. There was grief in his features – but his ancient eyes were sharp, commanding Matthew to listen.

“Matthieu. You cannot burden yourself with the weight of somebody else’s decision. Whether ill-informed, or foolish… that man took his decision himself, and you could have done nothing to stop him.”

“But—”

“There are no ‘buts’. You can’t change what happened – you can only accept it and move forward. Are you going to honour Dale Harrison’s sacrifice and live the life he believes he has gifted you, or are you going to let it all go to waste?”

Matthew bowed his head. His chest was tight, hurting as if it had been struck by a blow.

“It isn’t fair,” he whispered in a pathetically weak voice.

The leaves around him crinkled, then, a strong pair of arms enveloped him in a hug.

“It isn’t. And you have the right to grieve. But don’t let the dead drag you with them – mourn them, and honour them by treasuring your own life. This is what they deserve for their bravery.”

At last, Matthew gave up his resolve and let his body melt into Francis’s welcoming arms.

It still isn’t fair.

So many people had died in front of Matthew’s eyes. Many more would follow them, he wasn’t that naïve. But to happen that way…

Francis, however, had relaxed as well, his gentle humming reverberating against Matthew’s chest.

Matthew closed his fists over the fabric of Francis’s woollen coat.

I’m so sorry, Mr Harrison. I really am. You didn’t deserve this.

It wasn’t fair. But while a man was dead, the people who cared for him were alive. Matthew couldn’t let them down.

Perhaps, that was why dead leaves looked so bright and full of life – as a reminder that even in front of death, life was more important.

“I’m… I’m tired, Francis. Can we please go home?”

#hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #aph canada #aph france #hetaliawritersmonthly #feyna's writing #ficlet #angst #hurt/comfort #mourning #warning: discussion of death #this one was really weird #writing it I mean #anyway I hope somebody will enjoy it!

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agentfreckles · 4 years

Text

Operation Holidate | Part 2

Part One, Part Three, Part Four

Rating: Teen for language. We let Mason say fuck in this house!

Word Count: 1,271

Pairing: Felix x Female!Detective (Eris Evergreen)

Prompt: Star

Summary: With Eris off planning Christmas parties at the station, baking enough peppermint cookies to give to every citizen in Wayhaven, and organizing toy drives for the less fortunate, Felix fears she may be too busy making the town’s Christmas dreams come true to take time to relax and enjoy the season’s splendors herself. With the help of his fellow Unit Bravo members, Felix is determined to surprise his girlfriend with the best holidate ever by bringing Christmas to the Warehouse in four easy steps.

Notes: Part two of a four part miniseries serving as a surprise holiday gift for the immensely talented @iristhemessenger. I’d recommend reading part one first if you haven’t already as this chapter contains a couple of direct references to the previous one.

“A little to the left.”

Felix does as instructed, moving the large red stocking another couple inches along the mantel on the fireplace. Mason’s name, which Felix had written in gold glitter glue over the white top of the stocking earlier that day, glistens in the glow of the roaring fire below. He peers over his shoulder at where the stocking’s owner is perched on the arm of the leather sofa and gestures back towards the stocking display.

“How’s that?”

“Down a bit. A bit more. Little more…”

Felix’s brow furrows in concern. “If I lower it any more it’s going to end up burnt to a crisp in the fireplace.”

Mason smirks. “Exactly.”

With an eye roll so hard it nearly knocks him back, Felix returns the stocking to its original place on the mantelpiece, “Gee, thanks for the help.”

“Anytime.”

With the Christmas stockings now hung neatly in a row, Felix steps back from the fireplace and gives the living room a once over.

Transforming the living room into something worthy of a feature spread in a Christmas catalog brings with it far more work than he’d ordinarily volunteer for, like, ever. But he’d move mountains for Eris if it meant getting a chance to make her smile, so one afternoon of hanging garlands and untangling tree lights is more than worth the trouble.

He's been largely unaided in his efforts despite Mason waltzing into the living room to keep him company at Nate’s request, the older vampire having reluctantly had to pull out of helping Felix himself to assist Adam with research instead. Predictably, Mason’s contributions thus far have amounted to little more beyond chain smoking and the occasional offhanded grumbling about the holiday being commercialized bullshit meant to drive merchandise sales. But at least he makes decent company.

Plus Mason’s utter lack of interest has given Felix the creative freedom to decorate the living room as he sees fit without objection, something that he definitely wouldn’t have gotten had Nate been the one to assist as he’d originally planned. And decorate he has.

Multiple side tables have been given the Christmas treatment with wintery figurines while a number of the armchairs littering the room sport plush holiday-themed throw pillows. A row of five stockings he'd just been fiddling with on the mantelpiece (representing Adam, Nate, Eris, Felix, and Mason, in that order) hang below a large strip of lush green garland and a large, ornate wreath.

Nearby a deep red table runner spans across the length of the antique coffee table and is adorned with round baubles of glittering silver and several large, unlit white candles. The pine cones he’d saved during his jaunt in the forest with Adam add a nice rustic touch to the display, enhanced by some leftover pine branch scraps from the alterations they'd made to the behemoth of a tree they'd brought in -- the very same tree that stands tall and proud atop an embroidered skirt at the opposite end of the room near the alcove with tinsel and garland and more colorful lights and baubles than he can count covering the lush green branches.

The room may not have come out looking like it just stepped out of a high-end department store display like it would've if Nate had stuck around and it's not exactly the vibrant winter wonderland Eris has set up in her apartment, but overall he's pretty darn happy with how it turned out.

With a satisfied nod of approval, Felix turns to Mason.

"What do you think?"

"Looks fine to me," Mason shrugs before meeting the younger vampire's eye with a grin. "I'm sure it'll earn you one hell of a reward from Eris when she sees it."

Felix laughs. "That's not what I'm doing this for."

"But you wouldn't mind if it happened anyway." The tiniest hint of a flush creeps up Felix's cheeks as he glances away and Mason chuckles. "So we done here? This has been fun and all, but I've got shit I'd rather be doing."

"Almost! There's just one final piece left."

Felix jogs across the room to the set of windows lining the wall and scoops up the gold eight-point star he'd left on the cushioned window seat. He'd set it aside early on to be placed at the end, a sort of pièce de résistance to tie all of his hard work together and give the room that final push over the top.

Star in hand, he make this way over to the tree. His amber eyes follow up, up, up the massive fir's heavily adorned branches to the small sliver of undecorated space at the top what seems like miles away from where he currently stands.

The question is, how the heck is he going to get the star all the way up there?

“Hey Mason, think you can give me a boost?”

Mason leans back further against the couch, grey eyes sparkling with thinly veiled amusement at the little predicament the shorter man has found himself in. “Nah, I think I’ll pass.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “It’ll only take a minute. Come on, there’s no way I can get the star up there by myself.”

“That’s what you get for bringing home such a huge fucking tree.” Mason retrieves a cigarette from the pocket of his jeans, shoving it unlit between his lips. “Just use one of the side tables as a stepstool.”

“No way! Nate knows my shoe print. If I get scuff marks on his precious antiques again he’ll freak out and lecture me into oblivion. And you can bet he’ll do the same to you when I tell him it was your idea.”

The threat of being on the receiving end of one of Nate’s disappointed mom lectures seems to do the trick as finally Mason lets out an exaggerated groan, rising from the couch with no small amount of reluctance.

“Ugh, fine.” He pockets the unlit cigarette once more and stomps across the room to stand in front of the tree, running a hand through his hair as he takes in its massive size. “So how are we doing this? If you give me your foot I can lift you -- AH! WHAT THE FUCK?”

In retrospect, jumping onto Mason’s back unannounced was probably not the smartest choice Felix could’ve made. He squirms in an effort to better position himself, narrowly dodging a fist Mason attempts to send his way.

“Hold still a minute, will you?”

“You’ve got ten seconds to get that star up before I drop your ass!”

Felix scrambles into action so fast the star nearly tumbles from his grasp. He grips Mason’s shoulder with his free hand to steady himself, earning a displeased grunt of protest from the vampire in the process, before extending his left arm up towards the top of the massive evergreen as far as it will allow.

“Hurry up already!” Mason barks impatiently.

“Almost there…” Just a few measly inches separate Felix from his goal. With one final burst of determination (or stupidity), Felix's free hand moves up and pushes against the top of Mason's head, lifting him up just enough to shove the star down over the top of the tree and into place.

"That's it, I'm out!"

Felix gets one brief moment of glory to admire his work before he is unceremoniously tossed from Mason's back and onto the carpeted floor below. He rubs his sore tailbone and turns to watch as Mason angrily stomps out of the room.

"So I'm guessing that's a no on helping me bake cookies tomorrow?"

"Fuck you!"

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #felix hauville #twc mason #twc detective #I love how the summary says UB is helping Felix #when so far it's been Adam chaperoning so Felix doesn't accidentally chop his arm off #and Mason being a little shit and only helping when absolutely necessary #maybe Nate will be a more willing participant #also shoutout to @mepheesto who posted that perfect Felix/Mason piggyback ride art as I was writing this #I died when I saw it #it's like you knew bro!#as always hope you enjoy!#frecklesfic

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The Monster’s Lair - Thorns and Thistles

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 2 | Chapter 3 - Thorns and Thistles | Chap 4 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - injury, references of stalking, possessiveness, kidnapping

Author’s note: I just want to let you know that I won’t be posting next week since I’ll be out on a (much deserved and long overdue) holiday. It’s going to be one week of good food, sleeping in and long, long walks. UGH..I just can’t wait! In the meantime, one more chapter to keep you entertained. Take care dear readers!

Word count: 2.923

Reading music: Le Quintet à Claques - Le diable aux fesses rouges (“the devil with the red buttocks”)

(Link to my Masterlist)

Violins, hurdy gurdy’s and drums strung another delightful tune through the dancing hall, new dance partners quickly rushing to the centre to join in.

‘Sweet Belle, would you care for a dance?’ Tomlin, the baker’s boy stepped in, making Belle nervously look around herself in hope she’d find a good excuse.

‘Oh ..eh..’ Her eye fell on her father who stood but a few feet away, his head bandaged but his spirits high as he discussed some horse-related stuff with his stable boy.

‘..I am afraid not. You see, my father..’ She bit her lip as Tomlin nodded in understanding, hurrying to find himself a new dance partner.

The little interaction didn’t go unnoticed, Arthur pausing mid-story to give Belle a warning look. She quickly looked away, knowing full well what he was thinking; “Go have fun silly girl!”

But it just didn't sit right with Belle. All this. This dance. The party. The happy people. It had been just two weeks since half the town’s centre had burned down, leaving naught but ash where families used to keep their shops, lived their lives.

The mere fact that the beast had been chased off, had been deemed enough of a reason to celebrate. People had pulled out their Sunday best, their joy not lessened by the sight of those who had been harmed that night. The butcher’s wife and their children - minor burns. The clergyman - serious burns, though mostly because he had climbed back in the fire to save his fineries. And papa.

With a somber eye Belle watched her father, his face looking even older now as half of it was bandaged up. He had brushed it off as just a silly incident, but Belle couldn’t help but feel bitter. Bitter about the foolishness that blinded the people here. The beast had become another tool that the Le Comtes used to manipulate the people into dancing to their strings - literally.

The many buildings that had burned down were partially or entirely owned by them, and they would surely raise the taxes to pay for it all, even if the country-wide tax payments already swallowed most of the people their incomes. The Les Comtes held such power over the towns folk that if they said left, all would go..

‘Your dancing partner left?’ A familiar voice awoke Belle from her pensive stare, her eyes meeting those of a smirking Ismael le Comte.

‘Sir.’ Belle curtsied, then looked back at the dancing crowd, not feeling like conversing with the handsome but obnoxious man. Ismael followed her gaze and shrugged. ‘I do understand. The boy’s barely a capable dancing partner, dare I say.’

‘Oh no. No no. Tomlin’s a fine dancing partner, Sir le Comte.’ Belle corrected before quickly lowering her lashes. ‘It’s just that I wish to not leave my fa..’ She looked to her side and noted that her father and the stable boy had disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone with Ismael.

Oh darn..

She bit her lip and looked back at an amused Ismael.

‘Now Belle.’ He stepped closer, making her step back, closer to the wall where heavy curtains hung before high windows, the fabric gathered and tied to a hook with rope and a thorny wild flower bouquet. Ismael grinned, squaring his shoulders to make himself look even more imposing and broad.

‘I dare say I could make a fine match..’

The dance in the hall ended and with an exaggerated bow he offered his hand, making sure that all were there to see.

‘..for a dance.’ He smiled near devilishly, the spark in his eyes falling in distaste with Belle.

Swallowing harshly she stumbled even further back, her hands catching herself before she bumped into a bench she had not seen, her fall broken on the snarling edges of that same thorny bouquet.

Whimpering in shock and pain, Belle flopped down to the bench, her eyes blinking away tears as she looked at her palms, red and scratched with pillowing drops of blood.

In that foolish tumble into the flower bouquet she had not noticed how Ismael had made no effort to “save her”, as he had so often promised, his head only twitching slightly, as if bewitched, before blinkingly returning to the land of the living, his mouth turning out in a dramatic little gasp.

‘Oh dear! Sweet Belle. Your hands!’ He wrapped his large hands around her shaking wrists and pulled her up without so much as a question. ‘You are bleeding!’ He exclaimed, watching with fascination as the blood started to drip down from her palms. Looking up into her eyes, his next words were resolute; ‘Come now. We must see to that at once!’

And before Belle could stammer a protest she was all but dragged out of the hall, Ismael’s hand pushing at the back of her corset, her feet hastily following his large strides.

‘Wait..where..SIR..where are you taking me?’ She whispered nervously, watching people step aside, their heads dutifully bowing at the sight of the dark haired, handsome Le Comte.

‘Don’t fret.’ He chuckled darkly, his deep brown eyes looking like pools of evil lust.

There was something about Ismael Le Comte that made Belle’s neck hair rise. No matter how kind and handsome and wonderful everyone thought him to be..there was just something..off about him. Belle couldn’t quite place her finger on it, but she wasn’t often wrong about people.

Besides. It was a bit weird that a man of his position was so committed to her well-being, right? Didn’t he have more important matters to attend to? Ladies to woo? Dances to dance? Belle looked over her shoulder, seeing some people follow her and Ismael with their gossip-glistening lips. Oh, stories were abound to be told, she knew that much.

‘I can..see to this myself. Truly. I thank you for your..OH.’ The hand that rested on her lower back eagerly pulled her closer now they were alone in a long and spacious hallway. On the walls more prickly bouquets adorned deep blue curtains that reached ceiling high, a watery moon light trickling through the clear glass panes behind them.

‘Oh Belle. Do you not see?’ Ismael purred, his mead heavy breath warming the shell of her ear. He chuckled, amused by his own thoughts, Belle swallowing harshly again as she clenched her bleeding hands before her. Oh she was making a mess of the carpet!

Ismael didn’t seem to see her discomfort.

‘In fact. Do you see all this?’ He used his free hand to point at the gardens, the meadows, the village in the far distance, little lanterns flickering behind the windows of the cots and barns, dusk falling. Slowly Belle nodded, looking back at Ismael with a sense of worry.

Why was he so..so close to her. What was it with this..beast..no not beast..he was far too handsome for that..no..a..an evil excuse for a man!

Ismael smirked and returned his attention to Belle, his arm still keeping her close to his chest. ‘You want your father to keep his job, keep the safety we provide? Hmm…?’ He hummed. ‘You are in no position to deny him a nice life, are you now?’ He raised a wicked eyebrow, making worried tingles run up Belle’s spine, his lips now moving so very close to her neck.

And before she knew it herself, realised it herself, she had started to run. Away, away from this spiteful, hideous man.

Had he no decency?!

With great haste in her long skirts Belle ran and ran, further down the long hallway, her ears pricking as she heard Ismael’s amused laugh.

‘I DO LIKE TO HUNT!’ He roared, his hands playfully clawing at her speeding off silhouette. And with that he started the chase, his attire far less restricting and his strides far stronger and longer, making it an uneven match from the get go.

Where to go next? Belle looked around, not knowing the estate quite well enough, whereas her predatorial suitor most definitely knew every nook and corner.

And then she noticed a door, leading out to the terraces.

Without a second thought she ran out, into the light trickle of another rain shower, the blood from her scratched open hands mingling with the clear heaven water as she ran and ran, blue skirts soaking.

The gardens of the Les Comtes were immaculate. Sharp shorn bushes, straight lines, everything neatly trimmed to angular perfection - following courtly fashions to a tee. But the problems with such a garden was that hiding there was just about impossible. And thus Belle continued to run, her heart thundering in her chest and the ache in her hands near forgotten as she made a beeline for the forest.

Ever her safe hide-out when she so needed, she knew the forest paths so well that the low light of the evening fall caused her no trouble.

Unfortunately for her though, the chase didn’t end there, her eye catching the silhouette of Ismael behind her as she had made it to the tree line. And from the looks of it he wasn’t stopping, his gruesome laughter hackling in the rainy wind.

Why was this idiot of a man laughing so?

Belle continued to run. Further, deeper, faster, her breath tight in her corseted chest. Her hands were bleeding so profusely that she sure was leaving a perfect track for any true predator, her blood staining the leaves and branches she swept aside in her flight. But she couldn’t care. She didn’t even dare to think of what the forest had to hide at this late hour of the day, the daylight faded away and her eyes barely managing to see a thing now.

It was then she felt her skirts snag into something, her bleeding hands instinctively pulling at the fabric, making it rip to shreds.

And.. on she ran, the sound of Ismael’s laughter slowly dying away in the ink black darkness, her skirts continuing to brush against invisible bushes and branches.

Was he still there? Oh, how could she always get into such trouble?!

Scolding herself she refused to slow down, her feet stumbling over tree roots, hands skinned open from the rough bark of the trees, her breath panicked and short. She couldn’t see a thing, but she surely must have looked a mess.

And then she got stuck again, this time much worse, her ankle crunching angrily as she sank through a rabbit hole of sorts, falling sideways in another thorny bush. The prickly plant cut like angry knives into her skin, her hands, arms, legs and face fighting in bitter despair to get out. But like a drowning sailor at sea, she simply didn’t know what was up and down anymore, her wild thrashing only making things worse, getting her more stuck.

It was then the tears finally came. Hot and angry in the veil of night.

Belle was a tough cookie, but this? This was just too much.

As she slowly halted her attempts to free herself, she came to the bitter conclusion that this may very well be it. Stuck in a dark forest, bleeding profusely and with a dull pain wrecking her terrified, trembling body.

This may just be it. Her end. Perhaps she would become a snack for that evil monster, or, as she suspected to be far more likely; a pack of wolves or a bear.

Quiet sobs escaped her rosy lips as she tugged a few more times, her body not managing to move, her torn skirts evilly twisted like a cocoon around her limbs and her arms caught in the embrace of the brambles.

Yes. This was it. Run from one problem..and get into an even bigger one. Classic Belle.

‘Forgive me papa.’ She trembled, angry tears billowing down her cheeks. OH she was such a fool! How could she leave him alone like that?! She should have never left his side. She should have never trusted that Ismael. She had known it! ARGHH!

He could have known.

Watching himself in the tall gilded mirror he watched the flurry of scars that marred his porcelain skin. All healed. And within a few months they would be completely gone again. It was always like that. But before then he tended to watch those tiny lines and ripples in his perfect skin, reminding himself of what a fool he had been.

Again.

Could he do any good at all? It was a question that rang in the back of his skull like a tolling bell. Bell. Belle. Hmm. And there was the second thing he couldn’t stop thinking about. That night, seeing Belle so up close, had awoken something in him. And seeing that she saw him - albeit in the lingering dark - made the hungry thoughts in his mind even wilder. His still heart was once again beating with a certain excitement. Life resetting anew in his veins.

In fact. That night the hunt for his hide had been but an afterthought, the burn of his skin but an inconvenience and the sorrow for the villagers’ rejection but another mild disappointment.

She had seen him.

And no, she had not screamed, or chased him off. She had just stood there. As if she knew who he was. As if she had known all along. It was that mere idea that made his empty stomach flutter with a certain giddy excitement.

Argh yes. The empty stomach. It was time to hunt, his beastly belly growling with a need for getting his fill. And as always, blood was on the menu.

Taking his sweet time he dressed himself, hiding every bit of his pale, marred skin. A long sleeved white blouse with high neck, dark high waisted pants and, last but not least, a slightly worn but ever his favourite, burgundy red velvet vest.

Walking down the grand staircase he busied himself with buttoning his cuffs, the small coppery roses pricking awkwardly in his claw-like finger tips. The cuffs had once belonged to his father. Centuries ago, that is. But now they were slowly decaying beneath his fingertips until at some point they would break.

It was like most discomforts in life; they proved terribly hard to die easily. And his rose-shaped cuffs? They were definitely one of them.

Arriving in the main hall he picked a long coat with a hooded mantle on top. A gentleman’s getup for a gentleman that was long past his due date. Centuries past his due date. The monster peered in the mirror next to the heavy doors, his lips curling up to show two pearly white fangs, the clearest reminder of what he was.

No gentleman indeed.

The winds were picking up again, sweltering summer nights but a distant memory now as new rain clouds drifted in on the starless sky.

Walking through the unruly path of the unkempt castle garden he sniffed his nose, pricked his ears, peered into the dark. The first drops were starting to fall into his dark chocolate curls when he felt a tremor not far from the castle gardens. A strange tremor. Not like the mice that were hiding in their hollows. Not like the squirrels that were hamstering their winter’s stashes.

No, this was not an animal. But a man. Or woman in fact. Yes. A woman. Pricking his ears even more, the wind making it slightly difficult to discern what he heard, he listened closely.

Indeed, a woman, agonised whimpers escaping her trembling lips, branches crunching as she despaired.

Should he...go?

Frowning at the very idea that he was contemplating whether or not this woman deserved his attention, made him shiver. He was a monster indeed! How could he even think of leaving the poor woman out here in this stormy weather, left to her own devices and obviously being no match to the many predators that loomed in the thicket of the forest.

With his cape flying out behind him he speeded with great haste to the tiny tremor he picked up, following its echo until he could hear her whimpers more clearly. Blinking in the stark darkness he could define her body as it lay there, entrapped in an evil looking bramble. Wild roses.

Those darn roses again. How could something so beautiful be so painful, too?

Stepping in closer he studied the pale limbs, the...blue..dress. Oh no, oh no. Panicking ever so slightly he started to use his beastly strength to rip away the thorny branches, finding beneath them a bloody body.

Belle.

Her breath was shallow, but finally calm. Most probably she had lost consciousness only moments ago, her fight with the thicket having exhausted her. The monster swallowed at the sight. The pretty woman all scratched and bruised, blood crusting on her pale skin. Her blood. Her sweet, sweet blood.

His nostrils flared at the intoxicating smell, but he quickly pushed the temptation aside, his eyes flitting out to watch the darkness around him, seeing and hearing if anyone was there. If anyone was following her perhaps. But for miles he couldn’t find a single soul, all townsfolk dancing at the Les Comtes, or safe in their beds.

Oh, sweet Belle, why are you here? Alone?

Looking back at the disheveled mess of brown locks, rosy lips and snowwhite skin, he came to the fast, though uneasy conclusion that he couldn’t leave her here. Pulling the rest of the branches aside he got an even better look at the state she was in. No state to just be dropped off at home.

She needed care.

And thus he picked her up, her weight light like a feather in his log-sized arms, his cold blue eyes taking in her face now she was here, so close to him, his legs carrying them back to the castle without a slip of the foot.

For years he had watched Belle from a distance. Growing up from this quiet little girl to a caring, curious young woman, her large brown eyes taking in the world around her with such marvel that he couldn’t help but marvel at it all the same.

Here she was. Belle.

His Belle.

Chap 4 >

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly

Vampire!Henry Tagsquad: @elinesama @i-cant-remember-my-old-login

If you want to be added to or removed from my tag lists, shoot me a message!

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #beauty and the beast au #vampire!henry #vampires #vampire #belle #stalking #kidnapping #dark fairytale #adult fairytale #long fic

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currywaifu · 4 years

Text

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: summer date 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: sumeragi tenma/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.9k words

𝐚𝐧: I debated what kind of “summer date” to do, until I remembered something I was supposed to do with some friends + one of Tenma’s lines about being tired. I hope this turned out decent!

“Are you sure it’s okay with your parents if I come over tonight?” Tenma asked, and as much as he tried to mask it you knew he still had his worries.

“Pfft, at this point I think my mom likes you more than she likes me,” you joked, “besides, it’s not like we’re gonna do anything.”

You laughed as Tenma sputtered; even though you were talking through the phone you could envision the traitorous rose flush blooming on his cheeks, his face turned away in a vain attempt to avoid your gaze.

“Hah? What are you even saying? You’re the one who's being weird!”

“Didn’t even say you were being weird in the first place, but go off I guess.” Other than an exasperated sigh, there was a momentary silence in the call.

“You sure you’ll be able to make it? If filming ends late we can always resched-“

“No need. I promised I could make it, right?” He interrupted with a huff, his tone eventually transitioning to something a little softer but still sure of himself. “I already cancelled our date last time. I’m not doing that to you again.”

You were unable to hold back the giggle bubbling up within you, being pushed outwards by the slight jump your heart did. For all of his oddly cute quirks, you sometimes forgot how cool Tenma could be.

“Tenma… my heart totally skipped a beat just now,” you teased, knowing fairly well he’d either tell you off or pretend to be nonchalant to hide his embarrassment.

“Of-of course it did! Are you only realising my charm now?”

You continued to talk a little longer, half indulging him and half teasing him. He would have to leave the call soon at the signal of his manager, so who could blame you for relishing even the shortest of moments together?

You knew beforehand that getting into a relationship with Sumeragi Tenma wouldn’t be the easiest thing. His celebrity status meant having to hide your relationship and a lack of time spent together.

The former wasn’t that hard to deal with.

Spending time with Tenma probably allowed you to pick up some of his acting skills, as it became easier and easier to dodge inquiries from your friends and his fans about your close relationship; it also helped that Juza and Taichi were often there to cover up for the two of you, both of them sworn to secrecy.

You knew the importance of Tenma’s image, so if he was with other celebrities in dramas or had to hide his face when he was with you, you understood that he was only looking out for the two of you and the peacefulness of your relationship.

Even so, it was hard not to get lonely sometimes.

Juggling being a popular actor and being a high-school student barely gave him any free time, and by extension, time to go on dates with you. Recently, with his practices and filming ending late in the day, the two of you only had the few hours of the evening to spend time together until one of you eventually had to retire in exhaustion.

Still, as nice as the songs sung together were during karaoke night and the dinners together in and out of his dorm, you wished you could take the time to have both of you relax, the summer breeze caressing your skin as you both relaxed and the week’s stresses flew away with the wind.

“I’m here at the shoot location. I have to go now,” Tenma said, “you don’t need me to bring anything later? I can ask someone to buy stuff.”

“I’ve got this, don’t worry. Do your best today!”

As soon as the line went dead, you sprung into action. Operation: Relaxing Summer Date Night with Tenma was a go!

“Maybe I should check the set-up again and see if I missed anything,” you muttered, glancing at the glass sliding door where you could see your backyard outside.

When your doorbell rang, you knew it was already too late for that.

“It looks great, kid. This Sumeragi boy is lucky you’re putting that much effort for him,” your dad said, ruffling the hair you already tried to make presentable an hour ago. “I didn’t get to meet him last time he was here. Should I pretend to be a strict and serious dad?”

“Dad, don’t scare him!” you exclaimed. Tenma was a talented actor, but very gullible. If your father didn’t admit he was joking right away, who knew how long Tenma would go along with his act?

“I’m joking~ I’ll greet him normally, just watch.”

You watched your boyfriend greet your parents respectfully at the doorway, his face shifting from slightly nervous to a more relaxed one as your father said something to him that you couldn’t hear.

When he finally enters the house you lock eyes with him, resisting the urge to hug him with others’ eyes on the two of you. You didn’t want Tenma to combust so quickly into the night.

“Alright, just call us if you need anything. Have fun, don’t stay up too late!” at the cue, you asked Tenma to follow you outside.

Tonight wasn’t the first time Tenma’s been to your house. Still, even with your dad telling him you worked hard on making tonight go perfectly, he hadn’t expected this.

Fairy lights hung from the tree branches, helping the stars of the night sky illuminate your backyard. A white drop cloth was hung and clipped on a string rope in between two trees, some rocks weighing it down in case of a heavy breeze.

A few decorative rugs, throw pillows, and blankets were placed purposefully on the grass— the combination tasteful but cozy. On the small side table, several food and drinks were stacked for the two of you, from a box of pizza to popcorn and candy to soda.

Tenma was glad for the minimal lighting, it was making it much easier for him to hide his flushed face and give him time to still his beating heart.

“This is…” he trailed off, unable to find any semblance of coherence in his thoughts.

“An outdoor movie theatre,” you supplied helpfully. “It was a bit last minute so the projector and sound system might not be the most high-qual, but I think I did well for a DIY!”

Well? Just well? Seriously, to think you’d even put in the effort to do all this for him, even though he was the reason the two of you barely went on normal dates.

Since the start of your relationship, he’d done his best to pace himself with you, to be the one to make the big surprises and heartwarming gestures, but somehow you were always one step ahead that he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Realising you were waiting for a response, he let out a small cough, forcing out a line that was so much easier to say in a drama. “Don’t sell yourself short, it looks really nice.”

As you beamed at him, Tenma resisted the urge to crumble into dust and settle onto the ground beneath him. Shouldn’t he be used to the sight of that by now? Does he need to practice looking at a picture of you smiling or something?

“Ahh, that’s good. I was worried it’d look too messy,” you said, him following suit as you plopped yourself atop a pillow. “Are you up for Aladdin first? It reminded me of you.”

“Because of Water Me?” Tenma asked, grabbing the soda bottle that you offered him. You hummed thoughtfully as he twisted the cap open, before finally replying.

“Because the camels there looked like you— Tenma don’t drop the drink! I’m joking!” you said, nearly shouting as his grip loosened. “Obviously because of the play.”

“You should really leave the comedy to me,” he turned away from you, hiding a small pout. “Seriously, why a camel?”

His body stiffened as you inched closer to him, hugging his arm loosely and trying to make eye contact with him. He wasn’t gonna look at you, no, no—

“Tenma,” you said in a sing-song voice, a syrupy sweet tone making its way to his ears.

He looked, and he immediately regretted it because he was, once again, spiralling down. Don’t think about how beautiful you are, the two of you haven’t even watched a single movie yet.

“Should… shouldn’t you turn the movie on now?” he said, barely giving him the time to miss your warmth as you were back beside him in minutes.

The movie was great, really. He enjoyed the songs, and he managed to tolerate the brief look you gave him whenever a camel was up on screen. Tonight, however, was one of those few moments where he could be honest— at least to himself— that you were a lot more interesting to watch.

It’s not just because he hasn’t seen you in a while, although that definitely contributed, it’s just that your reactions were so… endearing? Heart-clutch worthy?

“Did you see that? That was so, ahhhh, right?” you asked him, pointing at the screen.

“Mhm,” Tenma replied, unsure if you were referring to the magic carpet or the song or what. Even with his short response, you rewarded him with a small grin before dragging your eyes back to the scene in front of you.

You were adorable whenever you acted like this, you and your honest and unabashed enthusiasm. It was something he still struggled with every so often, so watching the way your eyes lit up always lit a fire in him as well.

As the next movie played, the more used he got to your proximity. Sometime in between the opening credits of Sleeping Beauty, the two of you had gone from sitting to lying on the bundles of cloth beneath you, a position much more comfortable and close.

At this point he’s barely paying attention, a little lost in his thoughts about tonight.

“Why did you decide on a movie night?” he asked, absentmindedly watching the main character dance with the prince.

“I figured you’d be tired from your busy schedule,” you paused to yawn, “plus, I thought it’d be nice to just… relax, you know?”

When you stared at him, he tried to give himself the courage to stare back instead of looking away immediately.

“You’re the one who sounds sleepy,” Tenma said, but not denying that he was tired. That this really helped him, your presence, and the plan you had for your date ultimately relaxing him.

“Did I do okay, though?”

He almost scoffed, only softening up as soon as he noticed it was a serious question. “You did great, thank you for doing this,” he murmured. That simple admission was enough for you, you returning to the movie and him wondering if you could feel his eyes on you instead.

It turned out the name of the movie was rather telling.

It was around two-thirds through the movie when you just fell asleep, then the cuddling started. He doesn’t even dare move at all. There’s nothing he can really do at this point, not that he minds your weight on his, even if his arm is a little dead.

The credits roll and you’re still fast asleep. Not wanting to wake you, he carefully moved to lay a blanket on top of the both of you. This might not be the most optimal way to sleep, his back might hurt tomorrow and he was still in his jeans, but as he watched you slumber he figured it was worth it.

“Good night,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head, his only audience the trees you two were nestled under and the night sky.

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