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ariadne-does-her-best · 3 years ago

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Love in G Major

Dick Grayson x Reader One-Shot; Soulmate!Au

Word Count: 2,500+

Warnings: Kidnapping but nothing graphic happens

Author’s Note: Hey guys! This is my first time posting a fic so characters may be a little OOC. Please let me know if you guys liked this and if you want to, feel free to send a request! Also, I might make a series of Soulmate! Aus since I have a good idea for Jasons thought out. xo, Ariadne

Summary: In a world where everyone has a soulmate, you’re one of the lucky ones to receive a physical sign of your soulmate in the form of a timer counting down to when you’ll meet. But after being kidnapped by the Riddler, hours before you’re supposed to meet them, you can only pray that the Riddler of all people isn’t your soulmate.

Five hours.

You swayed to the rich sound of your cello, eyes closed, as you shifted your hand down into fourth position. You rested for a beat before going down bow, still doing vibrato even after the piece was done. The audience waited for a sign that you were done with the piece, be it that your hand stopped moving or you physically stood up and told them to clap. Instead, you opened your eyes and smiled as the diners took their cue to start clapping before inclining your head in thanks as you waited for the applause to die down.

It was a normal Saturday at the small but expensive Italian restaurant you performed at. You weren’t supposed to be there since you had requested to take today off but the owner had still put you down to play during half of the two-hour live performance time slot. At the end of the day, money was money and who were you to ever say no to the thousands you always received in tips. After all, you could only think about the new bow you could buy with the money. Which would lead to you sounding better, getting more gigs, and making more money. The process was like a cycle, really.

After the applause stopped and those who were up putting money in your jar had sat down in their seats, you sat back down and started playing Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1, Prelude. You could hear the pianist who was supposed to take over for the rest of the night setting up, his hands flipping through his many copies of sheet music.

Aside from the sounds of cutlery and the wisps of conversation, there was not much noise other than the smooth sound of your cello. But even if there were no noises, something still bothered you.

At first, it wasn’t that bad. You could feel someone staring at you, which was normal since you were performing on a stage with your whole being on display, but it was longer and more intense than normal. Letting your eyes wander around the crowded restaurant, your eyes locked onto a pair of green eyes. You smiled slightly at the young girl before wincing as the slight burning of your wrist got worse. You continued playing, closing your eyes as you tried to ignore the burning of your timer. Your soulmate timer.

You were one of the lucky individuals who had a visible connection to their soulmate. Instead of feeling a spark whenever you touch your soulmate, like your neighbors do, or being able to finally see color when you touch your soulmate, like your parents, you were one of the few lucky ones who could count down to the precise moment when you would meet your soulmate. And that was exactly what you did. When you were thirteen and your parents had explained your soulmate mark to you, the first thing you did was calculate when you would meet your soulmate according to your timer and write it down in your diary.

It was impossible for you to ignore the burning on your wrist, impossible for you to not grin as you played. But your grin was wiped off when you heard glass shatter and a scream.

Four hours.

You had no idea where you were but judging by the smell of the place and the fact that two men wearing green suits with question marks were staring at you, you were not at the restaurant.

‘At least I still have my cello,’ you thought as you pulled against the ropes that tied you against a pillar. The henchmen were talking between themselves as they approached the pillar where you were tied. They started untying you from the pillar and you took this opportunity to suddenly stand up and run.

You heard one of the henchmen curse but you ran in random zigzag lines towards where the door was. It was weird that the henchmen didn’t shoot at you or even attempt to stop you. But you ignored the niggling in the back of your mind. Wrenching the door open, you looked back at where your cello lay and turned back around to walk towards your freedom.

Except it wasn’t your freedom, it was the Riddler in his forest green suit and bowler combo. A rather tacky-looking combo in your opinion but hey, you weren’t going to be the one to break the news to a murderous criminal. He looked up at your sudden entrance and smiled.

“Here she is,” he said, yanking you into the room where the guests of the restaurant were tied onto the seats of an auditorium. You shivered as the cold air hit you and you looked around the room, taking in the TV production set up and the large stage that covered up more than half of the room there.

The Riddler dragged you up onto the stage, and you couldn’t help but wince as the harsh lights burned your eyes.

“What am I doing on stage,” you asked the Riddler as you covered your eyes with your hands. The Riddler’s smile became somehow larger, looking rather comical for a second before becoming more uncomfortable to look at. “Riddle me this,” the Riddler started as he pushed you down onto a chair, “what is it that cannot open any locks and yet has 24 keys?”

Your eyes furrowed in confusion as you rubbed at your wrist, the burning sensation somehow getting worse.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled as a minute passed.

“Well, if you don’t know, why don’t we give you a little motivation to figure out the right answer?”

And with that, the Riddler drew out a gun and pointed it at the closest person seated at the stage, the pianist. At this point, you could hear the sobs wracking through his body and you thought about his elderly parents who depended on him to pay for their surgeries. You don’t know how you could live with his blood on your hands.

“Wait, I have the answer,” you cried out, reaching out to grab the Riddler’s elbow but stopping. Something told you that that wouldn’t be a good idea and he might take that opportunity to shoot you.

“Well, do go on.”

“It’s music,” you said, staring at the deranged man’s face. He broke into peals of laughter, clapping his hands, as he tried to settle himself. It was unnerving how he could flip the switch easily from being a man ready to kill another to laughing as if you were the funniest person on Earth.

“That’s correct. And with that, let us start the games.”

Three hours.

After asking you his initial riddle, the Riddler had quickly set up a broadcast to be shown to all of Gotham, using the footage that one of his henchmen had taken of him questioning you as the intro.

“Batman, I have two riddles for you,” he said, addressing the camera. If you weren’t stuck on stage with two guns pointed at you as you tuned a somewhat cheap cello, you would have sighed. Why couldn’t he also include picture puzzles or something else for once? But you were stuck on stage so you just carefully tuned the instrument, hoping that none of the guards took your movement as you tuned as a sign of your sad attempt at running away.

“There are as many constellations in the sky as there are keys in a piano. What number am I? There you will find the answer to, ‘What is it that makes songs but you will never hear it sing?’ You have an hour to find them before I start playing my little game.”

As if that's your cue, one of the gunmen poked your back and you tensed, surprised by how cold the metal was through your sweater. You quickly quit your tuning and started playing the op. 88, hoping that maybe Batman or Robin would recognize it. It would probably be difficult for them to recognize since they probably weren’t as necessarily as interested in music as you were. And if they were, it’d probably be a little difficult to hear and piece together the piece since you were playing more stiffly than your usual languid movements.

You just hoped that they could understand the Riddler’s riddle and show up to save the night.

Two hours.

An hour has passed of you sitting in your seat playing your cello. Your butt was stiff from the hard chair, your back hurt from your stiff posture, and your wrist was burning pretty badly. At the thought of your wrist, your mind recoiled slightly. What if your soulmate was one of the Riddler’s henchmen? Or the Riddler himself? The thought of it made you want to puke.

“Well Gotham,” the Riddler said, standing in front of the mic as he paused to look dramatically at the camera. “Batman still hasn’t arrived yet so I will be starting my game. And today we have a very special guest that will be playing with me.”

At this, the goons started applauding and you heard a child in the audience cry even louder.

“Our special guest is the one and only (Y/N) (L/N) who has been playing such lovely music for us during our broadcast.”

You sat in your chair, music forgotten as another stage light shone on you.

“Now come on (Y/N), don’t be shy. I know that I’m somewhat of a local celebrity but I don’t bite.”

You shivered under the Riddler’s gaze and got up, trying your best not to stumble as you walked towards him. Your breathing was labored now and the closer you got to the Riddler, the more you felt like you were going to faint.

“(Y/N) here is going to play a simple game. She’s going to play a song that shows up in the cards,” he held up a large stack of index cards and fanned them out on the podium. The crying from the audience became even louder, with ‘Please, no’s mixed in. You turned to watch the small girl from the restaurant being dragged onto the stage, the bright lights highlighting the tears running down her face.

“And if (Y/N) here cannot play the song or if she plays even a single note or rhythm incorrectly, little Bella here will be dunked into this vat of water. For each mistake, she will be kept there for thirty seconds longer.”

You watched in horror as the girl was dragged towards what looked like a giant hole in the ground filled with water. She struggled against her restraints as she cried, her bleary eyes focused on something over your shoulder. You looked over in the corner of your eye and saw the familiar red and yellow of Robin.

As you turned around to shake the Riddler’s hand in acceptance of the rules, you curled your hand in a fist.

“Let the game begin,” he shouted, smiling at the camera before he went to choose a card.

“I’m sorry but we’re going to have to change the rules,” you said before pulling back your fist and punching him in the jaw.

One hour.

You were hiding in the corner of the stage, hidden by the curtains as you tried to untie Bella. The poor girl was trying to hold her sobs in but some still escaped, sounding misplaced in the sounds of Batman and Robin beating the Riddler & co. into oblivion.

You shushed her and tried to twist the rope and push it through the knot when a birdarang flew through the gap of the curtains and sliced your cheek along with the stray strands of hair nearby before hitting the wood paneling behind you. You ignored the blood that was slowly dripping down your face before grabbing the birdarang. You probably grabbed it wrong since it cut the palm of your hand, making you curse under your breath as you started sawing through the multiple knots in the ropes around Bella’s hands and feet.

Once she was free, the little girl tried to get up and run but you grabbed her, putting a finger up to your mouth and cupping a hand behind your ear, whispering “listen.”

You both sat there, listening to the sounds of Robin giggling as he punched someone. You furrowed your brow at that, wondering who exactly was the boy crazy enough to dress up as a traffic signal and fight crime with an equally weird man dressed as a bat.

You slowly started standing up once the sounds of Robin’s laughter had receded before holding a hand out to Bella. The young girl grabbed your hand and you both started edging your way off of the stage area where the fighting was taking place and towards her parents. Batman and Robin were tying people up when you finally found Bella’s father, the sound of the GCPD’s sirens in the background becoming louder and louder as they came closer.

As you and the other hostages made your way out, making sure to jump across the dock to the other side so you don’t fall into the disgusting water down below, you felt someone grab your wrist. You turned and smiled at Bella’s father.

“Why don’t you go and seek some medical assistance?”

“I will sir,” you replied before making your way to the paramedics, letting them fuss over your cuts. You could see Batman speaking to Commissioner Gordon but you couldn’t see Robin near them.

“I think you have something of mine,” Robin said with a grin as he held his hand towards you. You were surprised to see him in front of you but you smiled at him confused.

“I don’t know what you’re…,” you trailed off when you looked down to where he was pointing to see that you were still holding his birdarang.

“Oh. Well, I don’t know… maybe I should keep it. Something to remind me of this day,” you teased as you held up the birdarang so it was eye-level.

“Alright, you can keep it. Just don’t tell Batsie,” he said with a wink, causing you to giggle. “I’m sorry for cutting you.”

“It’s fine,” you said, wincing as the burning on your wrist became worse. Robin also gave out a hiss of pain at the same time as you, causing you to both stare at each other. You reached your hand out towards him slowly, letting your hands ghost over his cheekbones slightly when you felt the telltale cooling sensation of your wrist.

“Let’s go talk somewhere else,” he said, and you nodded, following behind him to an empty alleyway.

“Let me introduce myself again,” he started taking off his mask, “I’m Dick Grayson.”

You were met with the most beautiful pair of lilac-blue eyes, causing you to catch your breath in the back of your throat.

“And I’m (Y/N).”

“Why don’t we get out of here and get to know each other better, princess?”

“I would like that, love bird.”

#robin #nightwing #robin dick #robin dick grayson #dick grayson #dick grayson oneshot #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x reader imagines #dick grayson x reader imagine #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson imagine #dc imagine #dc imagines #ariadne writes #ariadne does her best to write

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datleggy · 3 years ago

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Totally random thought I had right as I am going to bed but ya know that show "I didn't know I was pregnant"? Buck would be on that show lol the boy is oblivious when it comes to his own body, so like I can perfectly picture him collapsing on the job one day wracked with pain, and then Hen is poking around his stomach where it hurts, her, Buck and Eddie packed into the back of the ambulance as Chim and Bobby drive to the hospital, and she gets out the stethoscope to try and listen for internal bleeding or anything but instead finds an infant heartrate and she's like "Buck, you're pregnant?" And he's like "uh, no? What the hell?" And then his water breaks and he tries to convince hen and Eddie that he had an accident bc even that would be a better alternative to suddenly figuring out he's about to have a baby???? What the fuck???? But Eddie holds his hand all the way through it and by the time they get to the hospital, Buck has a healthy newborn cradled against his chest, Eddie knelt beside him and alternating between kissing buck and the baby on the head, and observing the baby in disbelief. I can also picture Buck like, sobbing his sorry's to Eddie the entire time he's pushing, like "Eddie I swear I had no idea, if I had known, I would have told you!" And Eddie is just reassuring him the entire time like "don't worry about that now, Buck, just concentrate. No one is mad, okay? But you gotta focus on the- on the baby" and buck just sobs and nods and focuses on the delivery again. But for a good while Buck is in denial that any of this is happening and it takes a lot of convincing and encouragement from both hen and Eddie for him to start actively participating in his baby's birth. Anyways, random half asleep thought is finished sorry for the long ask hdshsjjsjdbsjsj

WELL SHIT ok so i actually love that show and i could see buck doing this lmao so i wrote a thing. also ignore all medical inaccuracies, this is my distraction from monday lmao let me have this wildly inept fic pls.

also just in case, it’s pretty brief, i think, but TW for talk of weight and weight gain

It's nearing the end of their shift now and Buck can almost hear his feet howling at him in pain. Today hadn't even really been all that busy, he thinks, annoyed at his own body's betrayal. He's not even thirty yet, but in the last couple of months he's felt as though he's aged about ten years.

He's put on a few pounds, which isn't too uncommon, sometimes Buck goes through stretches of time where he eats more carbs than he needs and works out less than he'd like and so a little tummy fat is to be expected.

It normally doesn't bother him, except that in the last maybe three months he hasn't felt like exercising much outside of work but he's eaten nearly everything in sight every night. He's up about fifteen pounds, which he wouldn't have even noticed, seeing that he does fluctuate at times anywhere between five to eight pounds over or under what he usually weighs, if it hadn't been for Chimney teasing him about putting down his third Krispy Kreme donut of the day and picking up a barbell earlier this morning.

Chim and Buck poke fun at each other all the time--it's a staple in their friendship and brother ship, in fact--and Buck had flipped him the bird, nothing new there. What had been new was the fact that he'd excused himself to the bathroom right after that and locked himself in a stall and bawled his eyes out as quietly as humanly possible.

Buck grimaces, embarrassed still, by the outburst, even if no one had been there to witness it. He still has no idea what the hell that had been about this morning.

Eddie notices the sour mood and pulls him in close. "Hey, you ok?"

Buck nods. "Yeah, just tired. Ready to go home--shit." Buck feels a shooting pain so intense his knees buckle and Eddie has to hold him upright to keep him from hitting the floor.

“Woah!” Eddie calls Bobby over, who’s closest, for help, “Buck? Buck, you with me? What’s wrong? What hurts?”

Buck just shakes his head and grits his teeth, the pain so debilitating he can hardly breathe much less speak.

The Captain is on his other side in an instant and together Eddie and Bobby help Buck towards the couch, where he collapses in a heap, throwing his head back and letting out an agonized whine. “What’s going on? Did he get hurt during one of the calls?” Bobby asks Eddie, frantic to help put a stop to this.

Eddie’s helpless, “Bobby I don’t know, one second we were talking about going home and the next he practically fell to the floor in pain.” he turns to face his husband, “Baby, I’m here, look at me, what’s the matter? What hurts?”

Buck’s face scrunches up and he finally exhales sharply, his grip on the couch cushions loosening, and he opens his eyes, wide like saucers, and says, “What the fuck was that?”

At this point Hen and Chim, as well as half the crew, have gathered around and Hen is quick to put on her doctors hat and try to sus out the problem. She makes Bobby step aside and Chimney hands her a stethoscope. “Buck, is it your stomach?” she asks, noticing the stiff way he’s holding himself around his midriff.

“I don’t--kinda? I don’t know. It was just like, this crazy wave of pain, almost like a cramp, but way worse.” he struggles to describe the feeling now that it’s more or less passed for the time being.

Hen had seen Buck wince when he’d been in the harness on the last call of the day, but he hadn’t said anything and she hadn’t thought too much about it until now. “Did you hurt yourself in the harness earlier? Maybe pulled something when we reeled you back up?” she asks, palpitating his stomach with her fingers, watching him almost retract from her touch.

“Maybe?” Buck shrugs uncomfortably, wincing when she hits a particularly sore spot.

Something about this feels familiar and strangely obvious, but Hen doesn’t understand why until she puts her stethoscope up to his belly to check for lack of bowel sounds, indicating maybe some internal bleeding or sorts.

Hen gasps out loud and sits up like she’s been smacked.

Eddie frowns. “What? What’s wrong? Is he gonna be ok?” He almost wants to snatch the damn stethoscope out of her ears and check for himself, his eyes darting between Hen and Buck nervously.

“Buck, you’re pregnant. And in labor, by the sounds of it.” Hen blurts out in disbelief.

“What.” Buck blinks at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This has to be a joke.

“I heard a heartbeat in there...” Hen informs them, still awed. “Buck, that was a contraction you just experienced.”

Eddie gapes at Hen and then at Buck. “You’re pregnant?”

Buck gapes right back at him. “No!” he denies, shaking his head incredulously. “That’s insane, I can’t be pregn--ah--” Buck leans forward in pain as another contraction begins. “Fuck.”

“Jesus, yeah, no you’re definitely pregnant,” Chim announces, “Your water just broke all over my favorite couch, bud. I’m getting the ambulance ready asap.” he says, before running to do just that, head reeling. He thinks about Maddie and when she gave birth to their daughter and how scared out of his mind he’d been and he sympathizes for Buck and Eddie, who up until now apparently hadn’t even realizes they were expecting...

Back at the lounge Buck continues to deny any of this is even happening. He whines into Eddie’s chest, “That’s pee, it has to be, because I’m not pregnant. There’s no way.” he lets out a pitiful whimper as another contraction begins and buries his face against his husband to hide the tears springing up in his eyes.

“Buck, son, we gotta get you to a hospital right now.” Bobby tries, running a soothing hand over the top of his head.

But Buck shakes his head no, shuddering out a sob. “M’not going.”

Eddie, overwhelmed, looks to Hen and Bobby for help.

“Buck, ambulance is ready to go, we need to move unless you wanna have this kid at the firehouse.” Hen grimaces. “I know you’re in pain and I know you’re confused and hurting, but we need to get you into that ambulance and now.”

Buck cries out when another contraction hits him and Hen gulps. “Your contractions are getting way too close together, we need to move.” she nods at her Captain and Eddie to help get Buck up and together the three of them manage to get Buck onto a gurney and into the waiting ambulance.

Bobby rides up front with Chimney, leaving Hen and Eddie to work in the back with Buck.

“Buck, you need to start getting ready to push, this baby’s coming.” Hen warns him, but Buck refuses.

“I can’t.” he sobs. “I didn’t--” he throws his head back, the pain lighting his nerves on fire. “I swear Eddie, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me.”

Eddie takes Bucks hand into his and brings it up to his lips. “I know baby, I know, you don’t have to worry about that. I promise. Nobody is mad at you, ok? I’m not. But right now you need to focus on pushing, you need to listen to Hen, ok? We’re ok, and you’re gonna be ok, but I need you to push, baby. I love you so much, you know that, right?”

Buck lets Eddie wipe away his tears, leans into the comforting touch, and nods shakily, exhaling. “O-ok, I’m--I’m ready.”

**************

The baby is so very tiny in Eddie’s arms.

Olive Buckley-Diaz is born weighing exactly six pounds and two ounces.

Christopher, who’s curled up against Bucks side on the hospital bed after a very exhausting day, looks up at his Buck, his little brow still knitted in confusion. “So she was a surprise baby? And that’s how come you guys didn’t tell me about her?”

Buck tries not to laugh. “Yeah bud, it was a huge surprise to us, too.”

Eddie nods along, smiling fondly down at the bundle he’s holding. Her blotchy red face is slack in sleep and there’s already tufts of brown hair sticking up funnily on her head under her hat. “I still can’t believe you only gained like fifteen pounds during the whole pregnancy.” Eddie chuckles, “Or that you worked through the nine months, God Buck, when I think of the stunts you pulled during calls in the last few months alone I’m--” he shudders. “Actually I’d rather not think about it.” he sighs, “I’m just happy you’re both healthy at the end of the day.”

Really, it��s a miracle. The doctor had said as much after the delivery.

“To be fair I never got any of the other symptoms,” Buck shrugs. “I wasn’t nauseous, my feet never swelled, I don’t remember any weird cravings? And you said it yourself, I didn’t really gain all that much weight.”

Eddie leans down to kiss Buck’s forehead. “You should be on that show.” he grins.

Buck tilts his head.

“You know the one, the one Hen made us watch when work was slow that one time. ‘I didn’t know I was pregnant’.” he teases.

Buck groans. “I regret all the jokes I made at the time. I totally get those people now. Pregnancy is weird.”

Christopher rests his head more comfortably against Bucks chest and smiles softly. “Yeah, but now our family’s even bigger.”

#mpreg #911 fox #i didn't know i was pregnant #i love that show #lol #ask #ficlet #writing #buddie #established relationship #buck #eddie #christopher #family

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sirthisisa-wendys · 4 years ago

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The Regular (Part 1.5): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Geto is back for more, but innocence and sincerity isn’t something you’re used to.

word count: 2k

tw: none

a/n: This is just a brief interlude between part 1 and part 2! It will get steamier in part 2 for sure.

The squeal of the hinges alerts you to someone’s presence in the dressing room, and you look up from your phone and into the blue eyes of Mrs. Lampton. She’s wearing a shit-eating grin and holding out a wad of cash, obviously very excited to speak to you. “This is for you! VIP room tonight. You know the deal.” Before you can stretch out your hand to warily accept the cash, you raise a brow in question. “Oh, it’s the man from last night.” She answers quickly, a blush fanning across her fair cheeks.

Geto.

You stand to take the cash from the manager, noting the thickness of the stack and the way that the bills were pressed smooth - not crumpled like the ones thrown at you in haste. Someone had counted this money and stacked it with you in mind.

“This is--”

“It’s more than enough to cover the nightly operating fees for a week,” Mrs. Lampton waves away your observation, disappearing as soon as she finishes speaking. The hunter green two-piece you wore was no longer appropriate, and you take a look at the small offerings of clothing you had at your disposal. He had already seen the red lingerie, and that left you with the only other thing you had bothered to bring: a baby blue silk slip dress. Sliding the flimsy thing over your head, you think about his intentions tonight. Would Geto touch you? Would there be any sign of his arousal beyond the uncomfortable shifting? Or would he perform the “I’m going to save you from this place” act? You didn’t want to be saved from the club, that much you knew. The club had saved you. This environment provided you a well-needed distraction from the constant chaos that was your daytime life. Compared to that, the strip club was absolute heaven, and nothing would change that. Not even the wads of cash you were bound to receive from the mysterious man.

It’s the main reason why you empathize with your clients: escapism isn’t just a luxury they could afford. It’s one you desperately need, and they just bring the money for you to enjoy the feeling of being someone else for a change. On stage, you were someone everyone looked at with lust and desire. The attention on you there was rarely negative and if you could trade your daytimes for your night times, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Before you can slip back into your true self, you look at yourself in the mirror and fluff your natural hair. No wigs, that’s one of Geto’s rules. You take one more look at your reflection, decide it’s enough, and slide the thin black robe over yourself before exiting.

“Come here.” The request is met with immediate obedience, and you feel your legs magnetically pulled to the man sitting cross-legged on the couch, dressed in a dark blue shirt and black slacks. The top three buttons on his shirt are open, letting you catch a glimpse of the strong, pale chest beneath. “You look alluring, as always.”

Geto extends a hand out to you, and you tenderly take it, sliding your fingers into his large palm. Surprisingly, the pads of his fingertips and palm aren’t rough and calloused. That’s the sign of a man who doesn’t have to work hard for his money, your aunt would say. And you found that to be mostly true. Yuma never had calloused hands, not with his late father’s money cushioning him from any hard labor.

When Geto pulls you into his lap, you perch yourself on his right leg precariously, letting his right arm wrap around you and settle onto your hip. Instinctively, you lean into his frame, resting your head on his massive shoulder. His smell is different tonight. It’s earthen and full of some essential oil you can’t quite identify, but it suits him.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs over the soft music. He had the selections changed, you notice, the usual songs sexual and explicit. Now, you were surrounded by jazz, which changed the entire environment of the VIP room. You no longer felt like you would have to dance around sensually for him. Now, you felt like you were in a fancy, upper class yacht club, except in a robe and a night slip with no shoes on. Was he trying to save you? “Tell me about your day.”

“I’d rather not,” you whisper, thinking of the tension-filled morning and the afternoon you slept away. “Tell me about your day.” Geto rests his cheek against the crown of your head, inhaling deeply before exhaling; his chest rising and falling exaggeratedly.

“I’d rather not.” A moment of understanding passes between you, but he squeezes your hip suddenly, laughing a little. “Tell me, y/n… you seem well-adjusted. Did you choose this career path or did this career path choose you?”

“Well…” you think about the question deeply, and choose accordingly. “I chose this.”

“Do you enjoy what you do?”

“I do,” you breathe, remembering Yuma for a second. “I enjoy it here. Do you enjoy what you do?” When the man doesn’t answer, you lift your head off of his shoulder and look into his onyx eyes. There’s a certain stare in them - not a long stare, but enough to make you wonder - and it isn’t until he blinks that his lips part to answer.

“I do what I have to in order to survive.”

“You make it sound like you’re a mobster.” The laugh that resonates in his chest is deep and thoughtful, like he was just considering the prospect of it all. He reaches out a hand to touch your cheek, which you shy away from slightly. It isn’t unusual for a man to attempt to touch you in a more intimate way, but all of this coming from Geto feels too familiar. He clears his throat and drops his hand, looking away from you and at the lamps on the wall.

“If I said I was, what would you do?”

“Nothing,” you admit. “There’s not much I could do. Who would I tell?” The thought that this man could actually be a mobster just needing a break sticks a little harder than it should. It would explain the cash, the nice outfits, the need for privacy…

“No, I don’t associate with the underbelly of society. It’s not my game. Gojo, though…” You frown at the name, and he looks at you with a blank stare. “My bad; my friend from the night before.”

“Blue eyes?”

“Yeah,” he begins, looking away. “He brought me here to ease my nerves… I thought a few drinks would do the trick. But here I am.” He gives you a half-shrug, lips turning back up into a smile. That’s when the question you’ve been dying to ask falls out of your mouth without caution.

“Why do you pay more than you have to for... this room?” For me, you want to add, but decide that’s a step too far into personal details. Geto blinks, no doubt sensing your unspoken addition, and tilts his head to the side. “I mean, you could have an escort come to you every single night for the amount you pay for all of this…” You wave your hand around at the furnishings as if to prove your point. “And you could have sex with them.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for right now.” He replies, and you squint in disbelief, moving off of his leg.

“You’re telling me you don’t want to have sex.”

“Is that a question or a statement?” He asks, chuckling a little at your wary expression.

“Both.”

“Can’t I just get to know a beautiful woman in the privacy I can afford?”

“You could date a rich woman and take her out to fancy dinn-”

“That’s a lot of commitment.” Geto interrupts, holding a hand up to cut you off. “I don’t think that’s something I want splashed across every gossip rag.”

“And this is?”

“No one comes here to gossip. The focus is you and your co-workers, and they know what I come here for. It’s not as headline-inducing as taking out the heiress to a billion-dollar company to eat overpriced scallops in a five-star restaurant that pays its workers too little.” He hasn’t raised his voice a single octave, instead looking at you with a soft gaze and planting his hand on his now-abandoned leg. You take in all of the information he’s offered, uncrossing your arms and now standing akimbo, unsure of how to respond.

Gossip rags… Heiresses… Headlines…?

Geto wasn’t just rich. People had their eyes on him. Why hadn’t Mrs. Lampton warned her? Who else knew about his status in a world that she couldn’t truly occupy?

“Please,” he begins, stretching his hand out once more. “Sit with me. I enjoy your company.” You take his hand again, and this time he slides you in next to him, your bare leg touching his soft pants. “Now, tell me about the day you wish you had.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Your alarm goes off at exactly seven am. It isn’t ideal, but you know that in order to even get to your aunt’s flower shop on time, you had to give yourself an hour head start. Waking up was hard enough, and with the situation you were facing, it seemed like times would be getting even harder.

It isn’t until you get into the shower that you recount the details of the last night.

“I’m going to be away for a few days, but here’s a little something that might warm your hands while I’m gone.”

The impossible had happened yet again, and the thick stack of twenty dollars bills Geto handed you sat in your safe - untouched, uncirculated, and the seal around them remained unbroken. You had tried to look him up and find out what exactly he did during his day life, but the search results turned up absolutely nothing but an article from four years ago proclaiming the winner of a chess tournament in India named Geto. When you clicked on the article, you couldn’t read it, but the thirteen-year-old champion was absolutely not the man that had lavished you with cash.

You tried looking up his white-haired friend, Gojo, but found nothing on him as well. Whoever they were, there was not a single gossip rag that published a photo, quote, or mentioned them.

Because they paid them off, stupid.

You nod to yourself at the realization, and wash yourself completely before toweling off in the steamy bathroom. You’re in the middle of wondering what kind of people actually paid to have their names taken out of magazines when the door shudders violently under someone’s fist.

“Fucking hurry up,” one of your housemates yells from the other side, and you gather your things before rushing past the man in the doorway, ducking your head so he couldn’t accost you. But you’re roughly yanked to the side, making you drop your dirty clothes to the floor. Rough, calloused fingers bite into your arm, and you gasp, staring at the unfriendly face of the only male in the house. “Stop using all of the damn hot water in this house, y/n. I’ve told you that you get only three minutes of hot water, or else you’re paying the entire water bill, got it?”

“Sorry, Ryo…” you shrink away from the man’s harsh gaze, and he lets go of your arm silently, storming into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. This. This is what you needed saving from.

Ryo’s girlfriend, Hasia, timidly shuffles into the room and gives you an apologetic look. She always did that, coming behind Ryo to apologize with her face and never her words. But it was almost over. Soon, you’d have enough to move out and be on your own - and if Geto was going to stay, then all of his money would trickle into your savings for rent, utilities, and new furniture. As it stood, you had enough to purchase something halfway decent, and with the rest of the incoming money, you would be able to fix it up to appear quite nice. You just had to time everything right, and keep your new regular coming back for more.

#geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen getou #jjk geto #geto suguru #getou x reader #getou suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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avengershumanresources · 4 years ago

Text

blood 7 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 6 - part 8 (coming April 13th)

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

CHAPTER WARNING: Yee-har, thar be smut afoot in this here chapter. 18+

7- a king

Anthony Stark hadn’t expected all of this to come of his death. He foresaw of some of it.

Of Obadiah’s imminent betrayal and Brock’s general ambition, but when Wanda had approached him with her vision all those years ago, he couldn’t have understood what it all meant.

Now, however, he realized the violence that was soon to arrive at his kingdom’s doorstep. It was an uneasy feeling; the responsibility bestowed upon him to put men’s lives at risk. To make widows and orphans because of inter family squabbles.

But Tony knew that Obadiah and Brock both presented far larger threats in the long term.

A king who is hungry for power will never stop to consider the least fortunate in his rule.

It was a mantra Tony had created for himself after his father had let entire villages fall to win back some petty golden toy during the War of the Giants. In the end, the lives lost had been worthless and the giants returned to their mountains with more spoils than they’d started.

It had made him sick.

That was the moment Tony decided to be a better man. A better king. He took pride in his unselfish rule and lack of war among those who shared the boundary with his kingdom. By a miracle he’d gotten Brock into line, but Obadiah had gotten a taste of power from his position in the Giant’s War and wanted more.

Rumors turned to plots, and all at once Tony knew his family and legacy was in danger. He had a troubled relationship with the Wakandans after one of his own barons killed their king in a quest for vengeance after the Giant’s War. Steve had volunteered as ambassador with the shadowy James Barnes (who’d long had a positive relationship with T’Challa) and they’d managed to broker a deal benefiting both nations.

And Asgard.

That was a whole other bag of complications.

Odin had long been distrustful of Tony’s first wife, the late Queen Alexandra due to her Vanir lineage. The Asgardians had fought for centuries trying to eradicate what they’d seen as a dangerous race of uncontrollable magic users.

Odin had been a step in the right direction, after replacing his late father, but the prejudices still remained and Tony’s marriage to one of the few remaining Vanir royals had soured what little relations they’d had.

Still, in the end, they’d protected you when he so desperately needed help the Asgardians could only provide. To that, he’d offered her hand to the princes, and Odin took the offer into consideration, only backing off when an agreement was made between the two boys and yourself that affections lay elsewhere.

Which brought him to his latest challenge. Your engagement to the monster king, Brock Rumlow.

The popular story was that he’d had his late wife killed when she hadn’t produced a male heir. Every female baby prior had been fed to the dogs and at last, when her fifth pregnancy had yielded yet another female, she fell mysteriously ill and died a few nights later. Some say a villager found the baby’s water logged corpse shortly after.

From a strategic perspective, it made sense. You hadn’t been called upon by any serious suitors, often running around the kingdom with a begrudging Stephen on your coattails, and you were still young enough to bare a child or two.

Brock needed a means of securing trust in the kingdom, and marrying one of its beloved daughters was the way to do it. Not to mention, Obadiah got his army, Peter would be overthrown when he attempted to take his birthright, and both men would share in the mutual benefits of being involved in one of the strongest economies in history.

It was a clear cut plan for control of the kingdom, and it would have been more than enough for Tony to take action.

Except for one small caveat.

You.

You’d been born of the same Vanir blood as your mother and even as a days old infant, you had shown the Master Sorceress at the time an insurmountable measure of power.

It was an old and finicky magic, the woman had warned before your mother’s body had even cooled in bed. You would need trining, but there was no one left to provide.

The Asgardians had been thorough in destroying the ancient texts and any remaining Vanir had long fallen into hiding, often using enchanted amulets and trinkets to conceal their seidr from those with wicked intentions.

Your mother had been a victim of such vicious greed. She’d been open with her abilities, sharing a close bond with Orin’s own wife and his young son, Loki. The pair had conspired to learn all the forbidden secrets of the Vanir, and she’d begun to accumulate quite the library of resources from old temples and Asgardian burial tombs.

Frigga helped her translate and in turn, the relationship with the royal families had warmed considerably until a few days before your birth.

Things had fallen apart so quickly. The Northern Kree empire had infiltrated the castle after hearing rumors of the queen’s power. Someone had once written that a single drop of Vanir blood was worth thousands in gold pieces. A bandit had gotten through the gates while she labored, he had ambushed her in the birthing chambers and despite putting up an admirable fight- died with a dagger stabbed through her heart.

The beast had tried to cut it free in front of the midwives.

The Master Sorceress had only stepped from the room a moment to freshen up her herbal remedies. By the time anyone had made it to her side, she had died, and you’d been cut free of her with that same knife.

“Your majesty?” Wanda inquired, approaching where he sat by the fire of the rebellion campsite.

“Yes?” He blinked up, returning to the present at hand. The men who were preparing for battle around him. The women sharpening weapons and sewing leather.

The people he had asked to rise up for the betterment of the kingdom. The people who were prepared to die by his side for a secure future.

“Master Strange is to meet at my cottage in the hour,” she explained.

“And what would you advise Master Sorceress?” he asked, an amused expression on his face. “Shall we let him in on our secret?”

“With less than seven days to the wedding, it might be wise,” she reasoned sardonically. “Natalia has her own mission in securing the support from within. Master Strange is working with Peter and Loki on securing the vulnerable.”

“Do you think he told him?” Tony looked down at the fire pensively.

“Who?”

“Loki,” he clarified. “He and Master Mordo were among the few who knew. They had to have mentioned something to him. He’s- well- I’m not entirely sure what he is to her now, but he’s certainly one of the closest lines of protection to her.”

“Assuming the rune hasn’t already faded, I would think he either told him or Stephen found out for himself, my liege,” Wanda sat down on the log next to time, her gaze following his into the flames. “Her power is what Amora desires. It needs to be concealed until the princess is in safe hands.”

“Then he knows,” Tony decided, nodding to himself. “Amora would have done something stupid if the seidr had broken through completely. Someone is keeping it under control.”

“I’ll find out,” Wanda promised. “Would you like to speak to him?”

Tony made a disgruntled noise at the thought of approaching the sorcerer. House Strange had long served under the Stark banner, proudly riding at the front of the line when called upon for battle. When they sent their oldest to train at Kamar-Taj, Tony had been surprised.

The boy had a knack for strategy and was sharp as a needle point. Tony could have seen the young man easily rise in leadership in the house, ruling his own militiamen and managing the family affairs.

But apparently he had no interest in it, and in an unorthodox fashion, the assets had been passed to their eldest daughter.

Granted, in the end, none of that mattered- as the entire family estate had been stricken by a particularly nasty plague. The sole survivor was Stephen, who’d been away at Kamar-Taj when he’d gotten the news.

He’d rushed home, and in the process gotten sick himself, but with the help of his fellow sorcerers, recovered with the only remnants of the illness remaining in his hands. He often told others it had been a riding accident. Only a select few knew the truth and devastation of his loss.

Tony had met with the young man on his sickbed, assuring him the assets would remain in the family. That the castle would maintain the property while he fulfilled his obligations to Kamar-Taj. After all, there was no greater calling than to a life of service and compassion. It was the least Tony could do.

Well, until you had scared off every Master to cross the castle threshold and he’d gotten desperate and asked the boy for a favor.

He should have known better. You were close in age. Equally as ambitious and cunning. For years you’d been sneaking through passages and around the villages at night, often with Natalia at your side.

Stephen just made it easier, and helped Tony rest a little easier knowing the man would give his life for you, if need be.

Tony wasn’t dumb. He’d seen it the first night the you had met.

The sneaking smiles, the conspiratorial whispers in the corners of the ballroom, and when Peter’s cat turned into a lion almost identical to the Stark sigil, Tony knew that one day he might allow that young man to break the oaths he’d made for a single exception.

“Your highness?” Wanda pried gently for a clearer answer.

“Yes, I’ll speak to him,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. About a great many things.

(—)

“I somehow don’t believe you just found out about this,” you stated, sitting cross legged on one of the strewn about cushions, a teapot floating delicately from the palm of your hand.

“I’ve learned a number of thing recently,” he replied dryly. “Like Mordo is alive, and Brock wants to kill Obadiah once you’re wed.”

You lost your focus and the cup shattered on the ground.

“He what?” you gaped at Stephen while he repaired the ceramic cup with a wave of his hand.

“It ties into the whole secret magic thing, but it really isn’t an ideal situation,” he explained, setting the cup aside and dropping to the cushion across from you.

“I guess it’s good I’ve pestered you for your books over the years,” you mused, flexing your fingers in the air in front of you.

“It isn’t the same,” he sighed, watching while you lifted a few other stray objects and paused them between the two of you. “Seidr is... there isn’t documentation. The books were destroyed. Kamar-Taj had a few tomes but the Vanir language is nearly impossible to translate at this point.”

“What about Loki? Or Frigga?” you asked, moving both your hands at once and dropping a feather into his lap with a grin.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been focused on other issues,” he muttered dryly. “We’re going to have to seal this before you leave.”

“But you said it’s what preventing Amora from taking over my head,” you reminded him pointedly, summoning a small flame from an incantation you’d studied the day before. Extinguishing it between your palms, you looked up at him for a better excuse.

“But it is also the reason Brock is forcing you into a marriage and so she can control you, and in turn, your power better than you can,” he explained tersely. “She can’t know you’ve gotten partial control over it. Let her underestimate you, but until you can learn to conceal the energy yourself, you can’t risk exposure.”

“So am I being sealed or not?” you asked impatiently, floating a candle from you to him. He took it with an amused half-smile, extinguishing the light with a quick puff of air. “Can you do a... half seal? Hide the energy, keep some of the good parts?”

“Gods, I don’t know,” he groaned, shaking his head while he seat the canclde aside. “This is entirely new territory that I was not trained for.”

“That must mean you’re a terrible Sorcerer Supreme. What fool put you in charge?” you teased, reaching forward and tapping the top of his nose playfully.

“It’s not my fault you’re a freakish anomaly that’s supposed to be extinct,” he mumbled, pulling a frown while you laughed. “Give me your wrist.”

“Fine, but when this over I demand you help me train properly,” you stated and though he continued grumbling under his breath about being too old for your games, he agreed. “And Loki helps too.”

“Not part of the deal,” Stephen scowled.

“Fine, I’ll marry him then,” you smirked back at him. “You still haven’t asked, so I guess when my wedding tragically falls through, I’ll have to find respite with him.”

He pulled you forward, a glint in his eyes that sent a shiver through your entire body.

“I’m not going to chase after a betrothed woman, it’s bad taste,” he hummed, fingers crawling up your wrist and intertwining with your fingers. “I have a reputation to uphold, even if you feel comfortable hiding away with strange men in dark places.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” you whispered, sitting up on your knees and tilting your head.

“Do you not think I’m funny?” he murmured, reaching with his free head and tilting back your chin. A smile played on the corners of your mouth, both of you sizing the other up and daring the other to make the first move.

“I can think of many things you are,” you lifted his hand and pressed a tender kiss to his palm. “But funny?”

“You laugh at all of my clever wit, don’t try to deceive me princess, I know the truth,” Stephen sharply pulled your hand forward, forcing you to fall into his chest. He held your lower back, gazing down at you adoringly. “You’re trying to hide it, but I see it in your eyes.”

“Do you know what I see in your eyes?” your voice cracked ever so slightly, your hand cradling his cheek, your thumb lightly tracing the sharp features.

“What do you see?”

“Strength,” you murmured, transfixed by his opalescent gaze. All at once, it was like you were seeing him for the first time. You could feel the energy radiating off of him, seeing the waves of magic as they ripples through his body. “Devotion to... Stephen you’re beautiful.”

“Or so the stars whisper to the earth below,” his voice was soft, gentle, while his hand guided itself up your arm to your cheek. “But, what the stars do not see is their own radiance, their own ethereal light shimmering across the velvet heavens above. The stars do not know how the Earth worships the very flicker of their existence, tells stories of their magnificence and beauty. The do not know how the Earth finds its meaning in what little time it steals away to them in the night.”

It all happened very quickly after that.

You peeled at his robes, he worked at your corset, a frenzy of hands and mouths tasting one another in a way neither had ever imagined.

Discarding the corset, he worked his hands up your blouse, fingers lightly teasing the tip of your nipple until you let out a satisfied moan. Robes loose, you pushed him back against a nearby pile of cushions, climbing between his legs and peppering hungry kisses up and down his neck until he growled, clawing at your hips.

“If you’re-,” he tired protesting while you pulled away more clothing, pressing his leg between yours and letting out a whimper of pleasure when he shifted in just the right way.

That seemed to set something off in him.

He was over you, flipping you to the ground and pulling what little clothing remained between you, your naked bodies now flush. Stephen moved down to your breast, drawing a nipple between his teeth and watching you squirm under him at the incredible sensation.

“Please,” you mewed, an absolute wreck under him.

He took his time, moving to the other nipple and repeating his actions until you were begging for any kind of release.

“Needy are we?” he murmured in your ear, his voice low and so controlled, you couldn’t understand how he could stand it. Goosebumps erupted over your body, and he just smirked, continuing his exploration.

Teasing a finger at your entrance, he looked to you for final approval before easing the digit into you.

“Gods,” he hissed, moving the finger at an agonizingly slow speed. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”

He caught you in a kiss, speeding up his hand below, his thumb searching for the sensitive nub of nerves. When he grazed over the tender area, you nearly shot out of yourself, the sensation feeling downright sinful.

Pulling his finger out, you let out another whimper, this one of protest at the emptiness inside of you.

“Are you certain-?” he asked again, eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” you replied honestly. It wasn’t an exaggeration. You’d been a make up to this point, untouched and with no interest in engaging in such outrageous behavior.

Yet with him, you wished you could give more. Your body. Your soul. Your love. What did it matter anymore? He was yours, sitting before you and showing you through his loving car assess and sensations you’d never known before this moment.

He eased himself in, giving you time to adjust to his length, the member much larger than his single finger. But Gods, did he feel incredible.

You’d never thought so much emotion and pleasure could occur in a single moment. For this tiny hidden corner of the universe, you felt like your souls had collided and merged.

It was a far cry from how Nat had told you it was.

This was- you anticipated each of his movements, raising your hips to meet his as he crashed inside of you. Your brain couldn’t form coherent thoughts and when he started to coax something feral from within your core, you let him lead you through it.

Pumping in time with strokes to your clit, you clenched your walls around him, pulling a hissed curse from the sorcerer.

A few more pumps and a final circle around the sensitive area and you felt your orgasm crash over you.

At first, you thought you’d done something wrong. Did you break something? How did this feel so incredible and overwhelming all at once?

While you rode out your bliss, you felt his hips tighten, finishing with a final grunt.

You both stated at one another, eyes wide, trying to catch your breath.

“Have you-,” you started but paused. “Like that before-?”

It was no secret Stephen wasn’t exactly a virgin. He had his vows but they were against attachment, not sex, and sometimes, as he put it, the spirit needed to be revitalized.

You’d called him a creep and moved on, but Gods did you understand now.

“I don’t know what happened,” he blinked, looking thoroughly bewildered. “That’s... I’ve never- my gods, you’re incredible.”

He pulled out, dropping to the ground next to you with a huff.

“I have a potion,” he muttered, pointing to the table above them. “Prevents pregnancy.”

“And here I thought you were devoted to me,” you poked him in the rib and he just laughed.

“I am,” he insisted. “However, I’m not devoted enough to end up in the gallows for deflowering a princess who is betrothed to a ruthless king. My apologies, my grace.”

“Hm, I’m sure I can find someone willing to make that sacrifice for me,” you hummed.

“And a fool he will be,” he leaned up on his elbow. “I still win the day. He would be hanged and I still get my princess.”

“Your princess?”

“Has it been any other way?” he asked, quirking a brow. “Truly, if I’m mistaken, tell me. I don’t want to sound too over ambitious.”

You considered it briefly. Had it?

No, you knew from the moment you spied those eyes at the ball welcoming him to the castle that he was your future. You just hadn’t realized what that meant at the time.

There was no world, no life, where you could live without him by your side.

The thought sobered you quickly, your upcoming nuptials springing to mind, the spell locking you in your private world, now lifted.

“Would you have asked my father?” you asked.

“In another life, we would have been married by now,” he answered earnestly. “I’m a fool for having hesitated and nearly missed my chance at an eternity by your side.”

“And Brock?” you asked, the name leaving a sour taste in your mouth. Stephen’s expression darkened at mention of the man.

“I’ll kill him before he touches you,” he vowed. “I will not yield your heart to such a monster, and I will stop this. I cannot risk you leaving my side. Not again, my love.”

You leaned forward and kissed him, soft, intimate, and gentle. Stephen wasn’t a fighter.

Certainly he could fight, but you knew him well enough to know that violence was a last option after all other options had been tried. And here he was preparing to declare a one man war on your betrothed.

Truly, the heavens were smiling upon you in this life.

(—)

Later that evening, when Stephen had returned you safely to your quarters, he met with Wanda at her cottage at the edge of the woods to discuss the next steps in the plan.

When she caught sight of him, her expression shifted from confused to elated to-

“What is it?” he asked, knowing she’d gotten a read of what he’d been up to previously.

“Do well to conceal your thoughts,” she warned, leading him inside.

“Conceal what-?” he asked after her, stopping in his tracks when he saw Anthony sitting at her table, sipping at a large horn of water.

Tony stood up, giving the man a once over, brows raised as he took him in.

“You couldn’t wait until the wedding night?” he grumbled, dropping back down in his chair with a long sigh.

(—)

8- a secret

TAG LIST (message to be added!):

@ayamenimthiriel @ladynothing

@im-a-bi-disaster-help @idkwhatthisislol

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witchygagirlwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Second Chance

After a rough split is a second chance possible (tiny smidge of steamy)

You chanced a look at the clock and groaned when you saw it was a little before two. You’d been tossing and turning for hours chasing sleep that was sure to elude you yet another night. Antonio would be by in the morning with strong coffee in tow and no questions. Sometimes it benefited you with having your best friend’s brother as a partner. He’d learned not to ask once the date that was supposed to mark your wedding had passed.

Months had passed since you and Kelly split. It was hard to try to be civil with each other so on jobs where fifty one and intelligence ended up working together you’d navigate towards Casey and Gabby for any questions you needed answered and Antonio would talk to Kelly if need be.

If you were being honest with yourself you still loved him just as much as the day you’d thrown the ring at him and told him to get out of your apartment and your life. The two of you had gotten engaged before Shay died but her death combined with you burying a partner right before your transfer to intelligence had put too much of a strain on your relationship.

Both of you wrapped your pain around yourselves like armor refusing to let anyone in. You stopped talking, stopped touching and you ended up moving completely back into your place not leaving so much as a change of clothes at Kelly’s. The night that everything blew up was actually your anniversary. You’d gotten wrapped up in a case that had left bodies from Chicago to New York and ended up completely forgetting what the day was.

He showed up to the district to ask why you hadn’t answered any of his calls or texts but you hadn’t even checked your phone because for one your attention was on the case and for two he hadn’t been attentive in weeks you hadn’t thought some switch would flip to make him open back up to you. When you told him you weren’t talking about it at work he made plans to come by your place that night.

By the time you made it home you were exhausted and sore from catching a few rounds in the vest. Luckily it hadn’t went through and nothing was broke but it still hurt like hell. You had just collapsed onto the couch when Kelly used his spare key to let himself in.

You glanced up to see he looked as exhausted as you felt and started to suggest putting off talking until you both felt more like it but when he sat down on the couch next to you the dam of emotions you’d spent so long building up broke free and your mouth started moving of it’s own accord “Kelly I love you but I can’t keep doing this. We barely talk. When we do spend the night together it’s not like it used to be. I’m tired. I can only keep up one fight at a time and my job is hard enough without this resting on my head. I can’t go into a firefight and be thinking about our next argument. I want to be with you but we’ve got to meet each other halfway. I’m at fault too but something has got to change”

Kelly’s face had fallen into the hard mask like he wore before walking into a burning building. It was devoid of emotion so no one would know what was really going on in his head as he nodded and stood up “Good you saved me the words. This hasn’t worked for a while and I didn’t know how to say it” your heart had fallen to your feet. He wasn’t even willing to try to meet you halfway. He laid your key down on the coffee table and you stared at it for a few seconds feeling your tears dry on your cheeks as the warmth of anger started to sink into your veins.

You stood up and pulled the ring off your left hand “If this isn’t even worth trying to you. If years of our lives mean nothing take this damn ring and get the hell out my apartment and forget you ever knew me” you threw it at his face and spun around quickly crossing the floor and slamming the bedroom door behind you. You waited until you heard the front door slam before sliding down to the floor staring at your bed where so many nights you’d spent in Kelly’s arms.

——————–

The next time you’d seen Kelly had been weeks later one friday night at Molly’s. You were sitting with Antonio, Sylvie and Gabby when he walked in with Matt. You knew from the glare Gabby shot Matt he hadn’t told her Kelly would be there.

You turned your attention to Sylvie silently begging her to keep the conversation flowing so she started talking about a call her and Gabby had went on a few days before. You could feel Kelly’s eyes on you when he walked up with Matt so you raised your eyes slowly and weren’t surprised to see him staring at you “Hey Kelly” you said quietly and he nodded “Y/N. You look good”

You half smiled feelings tears start to form in your eyes and blinked a few times while you stared at your drink to clear them away. Here he was within arm’s reach and didn’t even seemed effected by you at least not the way you were by him. You half listened to the conversation around you, trying to think of a graceful way to run out of Molly’s and away from your ex fiance before Antonio looked between you and Sylvie “Well ladies how about I drive you both home?” You shot him a small grateful smile “Thanks Toni” you kissed Gabby on the cheek then followed Sylvie out trying to ignore the way Kelly’s eyes tracked your movement.

You were silent in Antonio’s back seat the whole way to your apartment until Sylvie turned halfway around to look at you “Are you going to be ok? I can stay if you want?” “Me too partner you know I’ve got your back” Antonio added but you shook your head “No I’m ok. I’ve got to get used to seeing him. Fire and PD works too close and we run in the same circles. I can handle it”

——————-

You were pulled out your thoughts by the phone on your nightstand dinging with a message. Who the hell was texting you at this time of night?

You reached out for it expecting it to be an alert from possibly Hank or Antonio telling you a case had come up but your heart nearly stopped when you recognized the number even if you’d deleted it out your phone to avoid the temptation of texting it once alcohol hit your system. You clicked the alert and closed your eyes against the flood of emotion after you read those three simple words “I miss you”

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes hitting the call button above his text. You had to know if he was sober, if he meant it because it was the only thought that ever rang through your head at since the last night you’d spent with him.Thoughts of that night filled your head as the phone rang.

——————–

Intelligence had been after an arsonist who only sat fires to habited buildings. There was two bodies on the ground and numerous injured with the chances of that number growing higher the long he was on the street. You and Antonio had responded to a call from one of his c.i.s and found the guy. Unfortunately he’d already lit up the building. Antonio managed to get the kill shot on him but the two of you were stuck in a building that was basically a tinder box. There was no way out.

The two of you tried to pick your way out the building but a beam fell blocking your path. You knew Hank would get there and call CFD but the question was if they could make it in enough time. You and Antonio stayed crouched low holding jacket over your faces and trying to stay calm to control your breathing enough that smoke inhalation would at least be delayed.

When your chest started getting tight and breathing was a labor you reached out and grabbed Antonio’s hand. Something to try to anchor yourself. Just when you were praying that if this was the end that you’d die before the flames reached you a loud crack was heard just to your left and you heard Kelly “FIRE DEPARTMENT CALL OUT"

Next thing you knew Gabby was telling you to breath and you were laying on a stretcher. You pushed yourself up to a sitting position and saw Antonio sitting next to you with an oxygen mask on as well. "What the hell happened?” You asked pushing yours off despite Gabby’s objections.

“Well my best friend and my brother nearly died in a fucking fire for one!” When you saw the horror of what could have happened pass over her face you leaned back and let her put the mask back on and heard Antonio mumble “Good girl”

To appease Hank and Chief Boden you went along with the run to med. Luckily it didn’t take long to determine that while you both would be sore for a few days and have a lingering cough you were free to go home.

After Gabby dropped you off at the precinct to pick up your car you weren’t sure what came over you. Matt, Otis, Herrman, Cruz hell damn near all of fifty one had ended up checking on you except for Kelly. Maybe it was the left over adrenaline from the brush with death or maybe it was so much that hadn’t been said that lead you to drive to his apartment instead of your own.

You parked next to his mustang and made your way up to his place. It wasn’t until you were knocking that you thought about what you would actually say when he opened the door.

When he opened the door the look of relief in his eyes at seeing you stirred a completely different emotion in you. You launched yourself into his arms and crashed your lips against his in a hungry kiss that held everything you couldn’t put into words. You’d nearly died and you were pissed he hadn’t come to check on you yet being in his arms just felt right.

He pulled back after a moment clearly struggling as he met your eyes “Y/N seeing you like that” you could see the unshed tears in his eyes as he trailed off so you quieted him with another kiss “Kelly I don’t want to talk” he nodded and pulled you back to him as he backed into the apartment and shut the door behind the two of you.

Once the door was shut your back was pressed up against it with Kelly’s lips leaving a trail of open mouth kisses down your neck “Baby I..” He tried but you shook your head and pulled back far enough to pull your shirt over your head then reach for his own “No talking” you repeated before his hands went down to your lower back and he picked you up into his arms leaving you no option but to wrap your legs around his waist.

You moaned loudly when his lips found the spot on your neck he knew made you weak and he gave a sharp thrust of his hips letting you feel the way his body still reacted to yours. “Bed now” you managed to get out between gasps as his lips moved lower to nip gently at your breasts through the thin material of your bra.

He turned to head towards his bedroom never letting his lips leave your skin. When he dropped you onto the bed you met his eyes as he glanced down at your jeans asking for consent. You didn’t break eye contact as you pulled your bra off then unbuckled your jeans and started to wiggle them off your hips smiling when he reached to help you pull them off.

“Well Severide gonna do something or stare at me?” You taunted remembering the words from the very first time the two of you had slept together. The smile he gave you said he remembered as well. “Oh I’m gonna do a lot more than stare” he said before dipping his head down to your thighs leaving kisses along the left one trailing up just short of where you needed him before doing the same to the right. “Kelly please” you finally begged and that was all it took as he finally connected his mouth to your core licking a solid line up it and groaned against you when you moaned his name.

He slid one finger in curling it up inside of you barely brushing that certain spot he knew would make you come undone before sliding a second one in while his tongue worked against your swollen clit savoring every whimper and sigh he managed to pull out of you. “Kelly” you moaned tugging on his hair pleading for him to show attention to that one spot and he more than willingly obliged pumping his fingers inside of you in faster every movement hitting that spot that made you see stars. “Oh god yes. Right there Kel. Please don’t stop” you begged as he moved back up to catch your lips with his letting you taste yourself on him,fingers never slowing as he fucked into you feeling you get closer. When you finally came hips bucking up off the bed with the force of your orgasm he finally slowed his motions easing you through the high.

You reached for his shoulders and pulled him back fully on top of you and nearly growled “get your jeans off and get inside me” “I thought you said no talking” he threw back at you before pushing his jeans off to the floor and climbing back up your body leaving a trail of kisses from your hip all the way up to your collarbone finally ended with a teasingly slow kiss to your lips. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you asked “Condom?” And he was already reaching for a box out the night stand.

“Are you sure?” He asked once he was lined up with your entrance so you hooked your leg around his hip pulling him down to you and felt him chuckle as he slowly slid into you giving you time to adjust to him. Once he was bottomed out you reached up to give him an open mouthed kiss rolling your tongue against his when he finally started to move. He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you.

“Fuck baby. You feel so amazing. I missed this” he groaned as he fucked into you. Your nails dug into his back as you felt your second orgasm approaching “Kelly…Oh my god yes” you moaned out before the pleasure washed you under a loud moan of his name falling from your lips as you came and felt his thrusts go erratic before he gave a final hard thrust followed by small twitches of his body as he came while moaning your name.

After a second he pulled out of you and smiled when you whined lightly “Sorry baby” he apologized and left a gentle kiss on your lips before stepping out the bed to dispose of the condom. When he came back he pulled you to his chest and you let him. The familiarity of the action was too strong to ignore.

You fell asleep in that position and woke up a few hours later with his chest pressed firmly against your back. All the insecurities started raining down on you at once. He hadn’t wanted to fight for your relationship. He hadn’t come to the hospital to check on you and when you’d seen him out he hadn’t seemed that effected by the split..not to mention he still had condoms in his side table?

You managed to slip out the bed without waking him and quickly slipped your clothes on not even bothering to put your shoes on until you were in the elevator heading down out his apartment.

The next morning you’d had coffee with Gabby and told her what happened then begged for help on running interference until you could be sure you wouldn’t fall back into Kelly’s bed. You had to protect your heart from him even if it meant breaking it yourself.

——————-

Since that night you’d avoided him. He’d called and texted. Hell he even called Antonio but after Antonio told him you were ok just needed space he’d back off so why was he texting you at two in the morning?

When he finally answered the first words out his mouth were “I’m sober” as if he could read your mind. “Then why aren’t you asleep at two in the morning Kel?” You asked with a humorless laugh because why weren’t you asleep at two in the morning?

“I was thinking about the first halloween we were together. We went to that costume party then you and Shay piled up in her room to watch horror movies. I found the two of you at like four in the morning wrapped around each other because you’d managed to freak yourselves out and didn’t want to wake me and admit it” Shay had teased Kelly for a week that a few more horror movie marathons and she could steal you away.

“Yea she told everyone at fifty one she’d made me scream louder than you but it was because she’d insisted on that Austrian movie which was the scariest shit I’ve ever seen” you said with a laugh and you could almost see the smile on his face when he sighed and said “God I’ve missed hearing your laugh”

“Kelly. Why did you really call?” You asked not wanting to snap at him but not having it in you to keep up casual conversation with a man who owned so much of your heart to this day. “I finally got Gabby to tell me why you left the morning after that fire and haven’t talked to me since” he admitted and you covered your eyes with your hand trying to stow off the embarrassment you felt.

“I know it was just sex to you Kelly…” You were cut off at that point by him calling your name almost harshly. You were stunned for a moment before he repeated gently this time “Y/N baby please just listen to what I have to say then if you want to never speak to me again so be it” you nodded then realized he couldn’t see you so you said “Go ahead”

“So much has gone wrong between us. Shay and Michelson dying so close together. Both of us refusing to break, to let each other in. If I could go back and change it I would. She’d kick my ass if she knew I let you slip through my fingers. That day when we busted that wall down and found you and Antonio… I couldn’t think straight. I got into a fight with Matt and Boden sent me home. I had tried for hours to think of what to say to you so I could call then you ended up at my door.”

He hesitated for a moment and you weren’t sure if you should say anything so you remained quiet until he continued “There has never been a single time between us that was just sex. I love you Y/N. I still want to somehow get back to the point of being able to spend the rest of my life with you. That night I honestly thought either it would be a chance for us to start over but then I woke up and you were gone. I begged Gabby and Antonio both to tell me what I’d done but the Dawsons are both firmly in your corner but tonight I guessed Gabby just finally lit that fuse of hers and decided to tear into me”

This time you finally spoke to ask “What do you mean?” Thinking over what all you’d said to Gabby since that night. He chuckled before saying “oh like how the break up didn’t effect me. How I would look at you like we’d never been in love. How I didn’t come to the hospital when you were being checked out. How there was still condoms in my nightstand so I had to be sleeping around"

"Oh” you breathed and heard him scoff “Yea oh. Y/N honestly all my cards on the table because I don’t have a damn thing left to lose. Every time I saw you and weren’t able to touch you or kiss you was like a knife to the gut. When I’d see you working a scene and you’d head straight for anyone who wasn’t me..baby you could’ve shot me and it would have hurt less. I had to force myself to be cold to keep from breaking down. While we’re on the subject those condoms are the last box I bought when we were together. Where you scribbled only for Y/N and Kelly’s use is still on the box. I haven’t so much as looked at another woman and I’d give anything to get a second chance at us”

Your head was spinning as you tried to process what all he’d just said. You vaguely registered him calling your name more than once before you finally said “I’m here” he made a noise in response then said “I’ll let you go” “No Kel wait” you said hurriedly and heard him make a questioning noise so you decided to lay your cards on the table as well “I still love you too Kelly. I don’t want anyone else. It will take time but I want to try us again too. Can you come over? I just want you to hold me then come morning we can talk more” you could hear the smile in his voice when he said “give me ten minutes top and I’ll be at your door”

#kelly severide x you #kelly severide x reader #kelly severide fanfiction #chicago fire fanfic #chicago fire drabble #one chicago fanfic

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five-rivers · 3 years ago

Text

Long Night in the Valley chapter 14

“It’s Bakugo.”

“Old Bakugo,” said Todoroki.

“I don’t know,” said Uraraka. “He hasn’t sworn at us yet.”

“Wish fulfillment old Bakugo,” corrected Todoroki.

First contact, said two voices. Aizawa could recognize one as belonging to Two.

“Stop comparing me to the exploding brat,” snapped Two. He returned his attention to Midoriya. “I don’t agree with your philosophy,” he said. “But this isn’t the time or the place.”

Midoriya nodded even as he swayed in place, the edges of his body fuzzy.

“Your idea will work. Eight can take him.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Aizawa.

“Nine here just ran into that fire user.”

“Dabi,” supplied Midoriya, voice thin. “Thank you for letting me use your quirk, sensei.”

“Anytime,” said Aizawa.

“Is there anything we can do?” asked Uraraka.

“Stay back and don’t distract him,” said Two. “I’d send you on ahead to One, but I need to give him my power if he wants his ridiculous escape plan to work.” He crossed his arms. “Focus, Nine.”

The thing was, Dabi relied on his quirk to the exclusion of everything else. Which was fine. It was a powerful quirk, and his body really wasn’t up to quirkless fighting, seeing as it was literally stapled together.

But there was a reason he had not faced Aizawa himself in the training camp, but instead had delegated that task to one of Twice’s duplicates. No matter how much his quirk hurt him, no matter how much it reminded him of that man and that time, he did not fare well in fights without it.

Toshinori and Izuku had picked up on this, and, thanks to the joys of partial telepathy and haunted quirks, had managed to come up with a plan.

It was, if Izuku was being honest, a sort of terrible plan, but Izuku and Toshinori were both injured and exhausted, and it was the best they could come up with.

Izuku would hang back and cancel Dabi’s quirk, while Toshinori beat him to a pulp.

This division of labor was decided upon through the observation that Toshinori had much greater experience in beating people to pulp and that Izuku probably wouldn’t be able to focus on using Aizawa’s quirk and fighting at the same time. But Izuku worried. Toshinori had been under so much strain today. His body was in just as bad a shape as Dabi’s. If Izuku blinked.

So don’t blink.

What a comforting consensus from the peanut gallery in the back of his head.

Nana chuckled, but she sounded strained. Not much else we can do for you right now, kid.

Toshinori was prepared to fight dirty.

As a hero and Symbol of Peace, he was often faced with the expectation that his fights be clean, straightforward affairs. Usually, he complied with the expectation. Few people could match his strength. Few enemies stood up again or kept fighting after he knocked them back, once. For those enemies who could match him, relatively clean fights were often still the best option to defeat them.

But there had always been exceptions, All for One being chief among them.

Toshinori could fight dirty. It was a skill he knew better than to let lapse.

He knew how much old injuries could hurt, and he had no scruple against going after them. Any weak point was fair game.

(This wasn’t even beginning to mention the others, still whispering in the back of his mind, who had maintained the thin line between the light of hope and the darkness of despair for so many years.)

His fist impacted the line of Dabi’s medical staples. Toshinori felt them bite into his knuckles, felt Dabi’s skin tear around them.

The man – the boy, really, he couldn’t be more than a handful of years older than Izuku – reeled back, shaking his hands as if he couldn’t quite believe his quirk was gone. Then he looked up, at Izuku, and Toshinori could give him this, at least: He caught on fast.

He snapped an arm out, clotheslining Dabi before he could pass him and attack Izuku. Dabi hit the ground, and Toshinori tried to follow up his advantage with a sharp kick to the head.

But, even with as much experience as Toshinori had, Dabi was younger and sprier. He recovered quickly, retaliating with comparatively clumsy but strong fists.

Toshinori was very aware of the time limit he was on. How long had Izuku kept his eyes open already? Aizawa could only keep his version of the quirk going for a few minutes.

He knew when Izuku started to waver, the concern of the past users going clear and sharp in the back of his head.

Dabi’s hands burst into flame.

“Touya!”shouted Izuku.

The man whipped his head around, apparently forgetting that Toshinori was even there.

“We saw your hair dye, you drama queen!”

Toshinori grabbed the sides of Dabi’s head, and tried to slam it into his knee, but Dabi pulled free. They were both breathing heavily, now, but Izuku had his eyes back open and fixed on Dabi.

Toshinori doubted they’d be so lucky to distract Dabi again. The others slid into place in his mind, their experience neatly complimenting his own. They needed to finish it before Izuku had to blink again.

They raised their fists.

“Visit your mom, you loser!”

They closed in.

“At least tell the police what happened to you, so they can get your siblings out!”

So, it turned out Izuku did have something else to contribute to the fight.

“Please repeat what you told me earlier,” ordered the HPSC president.

The hapless liaison with the DNA testing center flinched, then hid the flinch behind a cough. “Well,” he said, “our technicians ran Midoriya’s DNA through a number of databases, and Midoriya is related to the Scourge of Kamino, but, uh, I think it best if I let her explain the rest.” He stepped out of view of the camera, the coward.

The technician waved at the camera. “Hi, uh. So, I guess the first weird thing about the sample you gave me was how contaminated it was. There were, like, almost a dozen different people’s worth of DNA in the sample you gave me, which… usually Hawks is better than that? But then I remembered the nomu DNA, and the Scourge’s DNA, so in retrospect… Anyway, I sort of ran them all through our databases—”

“Which databases?” interrupted Mr. Brave. “The commission ones, the police ones, the public ancestry ones?”

“All of them,” said the technician. “I ran them through the old ones, too, because the Scourge of Kamino is supposed to be over a hundred years old, isn’t he? I’m kind of surprised he wasn’t run through the old databases himself earlier. You could have closed dozens of cases.”

“Get on with it,” hissed the offscreen commission liaison.

“But I ran them through, and, uh, one was All Might.”

A whisper ran through the room. “He stole All Might’s quirk?” asked one hero, traumatized.

“I don’t know,” said the technician, nervously. “I mean, All Might was there, so it could have just been contaminated in the normal way, but… No, I’ll come back to All Might’s DNA in a bit. Then there were three other heroes’ DNA, Skyrunner, Fidelity, and Lariat.”

“We’ll have to assume he has their quirks, too,” said the commission president grimly, for the benefit of the assembled heroes. “Continue.”

“Another matched to the vigilante Forewarning. Then one matched to what was labeled as a 99% surety DNA sequence from Tempest.”

“My god,” said Mr. Brave.

“Then there were some sequences that matched to samples taken from the scenes of various crimes and terrorist actions but are otherwise unknown. That left two DNA samples that could be Midoriya’s assuming he isn’t over a hundred years old. They both matched as relatives to the Scourge of Kamino.”

“What kind of relatives?”

“Uh, one was rather distant, and was actually had the least DNA present out of all the other strands… The closest possible relation would be half-brother, although cousins might be possible… The other was a parent-child relationship, and the most present DNA sequence, so I would assume that one belonged to Midoriya. The thing is…” She trailed off.

“We don’t have all day.”

“The thing is, all of the different people I’ve mentioned also are related to the Scourge of Kamino.”

Silence.

“Excuse me,” said Mt. Lady, raising a hand. “Did you say all of them? Like, including—”

“Including All Might, yes, though he’s probably more like a great-grandson or something along those lines,” said the technician. “Once you get more than a generation or two, it’s hard to tell, because the ratios of what you get from grandparents aren’t even…”

“Do you have anything more to add?”

“Yeah. After running them through the databases… Well, there are dozens of active heroes that are at least loosely related to either them or the Scourge of Kamino, not to mention villains, common criminals, and civilians who had to register their DNA for one reason or another. And the ShiHi cell line? The one that replaced the HeLa line in almost every drug trial after the quirked population got majority status? That’s a perfect match.” She laughed, clearly on the edge of hysteria. “I mean, I don’t know what we expected. He’s over a century old, of course he’s going to have kids and family members. And he’s – And he’s clearly into shady medical research. Wouldn’t put it past him to have donated to sperm banks, the sick—”

The commission president muted the technician. “You see,” he told the heroes, “why we must act to contain and neutralize Midoriya Izuku as a threat as soon as possible. So many heroes being related to an archvillain like the Scourge of Kamino would damage confidence in the hero system, perhaps irreparably.”

“Are any of us-?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant right now, do you?” asked the commission president, smoothly. “What is relevant is ensuring that Midoriya’s DNA family tree never gets into public hands.” He fell quiet, scanning the heroes with dark eyes. “Regardless of whether or not any of you could find yourselves in it, the fact of the matter is that the ensuing investigations would lay bare other things you may not wish to come to light.” He cleared his throat. “Now, Hawks is putting together a team to track down the League of Villains. In light of recent revelations, we believe they have been working closely with Midoriya…”

“Maybe you can use my quirk,” said Shouto. “If you’re fighting Dabi, ice would be the perfect counter.”

Midoriya shook his head. “You’re not related. Can’t.”

“What?”

Two sighed. “The trick he did with your teacher’s quirk only works on people related to him.”

Shouto blinked, then turned to look at Aizawa. “Sensei—”

“Absolutely not,” said Iida, loudly.

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” protested Shouto.

“You can’t ask people if they have secret love children! It’s improper! Let us simply wait quietly like, ah, I’m not sure we caught your name earlier, sir.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Two.

“In any case, let us wait quietly,” said Iida, not one to be easily put out.

“I’m related to Midoriya?” asked Aizawa in tones approaching despair.

“You are,” said Two. “I think you’re related to one of my younger siblings, like Six is. Possibly to the Shimuras, as well, given the secondary portion of your quirk.”

“So,” said Shouto, the gears in his brain turning, “Midoriya is related to all of you?”

“Some more distantly than others, but, yes.”

“So, he based you off relatives and people he knew in real life.”

Two sighed heavily. “Look. That was obviously a lie. Six only bothered with it because of that government bastard that’s crawling around.”

Midoriya had been right. Shouto’s conspiracy theories could be used as an interrogation technique.

“Then what’s the truth?” asked Shouto. “Or are you just embarrassed, like Midoriya is about how All Might is clearly his father?”

Midoriya made a very distressed sound, and Shouto realized that maybe this wasn’t the time.

“You have no room to talk when the pyromaniac currently trying to roast Eight is your older brother, you peppermint styled weirdo.”

“You really are like Bakugo.”

“Do you have some sort of death wish?”

“C-can you guys not? This is hard…” said Midoriya. Then, he gasped and fell to his knees. “He got him. Oh, gosh.” He took a deep breath. “My eyes.”

“Luckily, you won’t need them for this,” said Two, kneeling in front of Midoriya. “In the movement, I was called Shadow Dragon. One came up with the name. He named my quirk, too. Perception Filter. Wanted to name it Chameleon Circuit for a while, but that made no sense. He was such a nerd. He’s still a nerd.”

“Yeah?” panted Midoriya. “Guess that… isn’t a surprise. He used old manga to support his arguments with—No, it doesn’t make it better that you only used that argument once. I mean, sure, I’d probably have made the same—”

“Focus, Nine,” said Two, snapping his fingers in front of Midoriya’s face.

Shouto stepped forward.

“It’s okay, Todoroki,” said Midoriya. “I’m just… How did it work? The Perception Filter?”

“No idea. We didn’t have fancy tests and doctors on hand to figure out the mechanics. But I can tell you what it did. When it first came in—” Midoriya nodded at this, as if he heard something in the sentence that Shouto was missing, “—I could disappear from the senses of one targeted person, along with anything I was carrying. Sight, hearing, smell – that last will be the important one for you.”

“Gigantomachia,” said Midoriya, nodding again.

“Exactly. Later, I was able to affect more people at a time, and my range grew. The fewer people I was hiding from, the farther I could reach, up to about a mile. Sometimes, I could draw attention towards myself, too, although I could never keep it up for long.”

“Activation?” asked Midoriya.

“Don’t think too hard about being hidden. You’re blending in. Part of the scenery. No ripples on the surface of the pond. A shadow inside a shadow.”

“Okay,” said Midoriya. “I think I’ve got it. Were you… were you ever able to hide other people with you? Otherwise…”

“Sometimes I thought I did. When Three and I worked together, we were always way luckier than we should have been, and there were some incidents with cars… But it never happened in a way I could test. Your best bet is just carrying Eight.”

“R-right. Okay. I’ll try that.”

“Izuku, you can barely open your eyes. Or stand up. You aren’t going to carry me.”

“But Two said—”

Toshinori frowned deeply and hoped Two got the message. “Just focus on yourself, right now, alright? Gigantomachia will be looking for you, first, not me.”

We’ve always been thankful Gigantomachia isn’t the brightest of All for One’s minions.

Even if he is one of the most annoying.

I don’t know if annoying is the word I’d use…

Toshinori blinked and shook his head. “You’re shaking,” he said.

“I’m okay,” said Izuku, trying to get up. “T’many quirks at once.”

Toshinori put his hands on Izuku’s shoulders, silently telling him to stay down. What a time to forget where he had packed the blankets… Although…

He looked back at where he’d propped Dabi, unconscious, up against a tree.

Dabi seemed to have a cold resistance vestigial mutation… although how Toshinori knew that was a mystery for another day (one probably connected with how One for All manifested in Izuku) and he was a fire quirk user. He didn’t really need that jacket. Besides, Toshinori was a villain now. Sort of. As he and Izuku had discussed earlier, villains were veritable bastions of pettiness.

He stole Dabi’s coat and wrapped it around Izuku’s shoulders.

Miles away, trying to coordinate heroes over a video call, Hawks lost contact with one of his feathers. Specifically, the one he’d hidden in Dabi’s coat. He did not frown, twitch, stutter, or otherwise falter. He did, however, curse internally, using words he suspected the hero commission would have like him to never have learned.

Dabi must have found the feather and destroyed it. Hawks had thought he’d hidden it better than that.

This was going to be a pain to explain.

Giagantomachia paused for a second, then, with a howl, redoubled his attacks.

“Can anyone tell what he’s screaming about?” demanded Tomura.

“No idea!” said Toga, her cheerfulness more than a little ragged.

“Hey, boss!” said Twice. “If I made a double of this guy, do you think they’d fight each other, or – Dear god, who in their right mind would want two of these things running around?”

“LITTLE LORD,” wailed Machia, “WHERE DID YOU GO?”

“Say, Shigaraki,” said Mr. Compress, narrowly dodging a boulder, “you don’t – ha – think he’s referring to the little green haired – er, white haired – oh, you know what I mean.”

Yeah, Tomura did, actually, which meant the brat (who might be Sensei’s brat – don’t think about it) was around here somewhere, and they’d missed him.

(Like everything else about this situation, Tomura had mixed feelings about this.)

“So, maybe, if the boy and the giant are acquainted, the mother—”

“Do all of you idiots have a death wish? You don’t fight two bosses at once unless you want to be pancaked.”

“I was thinking she could perhaps calm the giant—”

“Yeah, right before they team up to kill us. What part of this are you not getti-?”

Mr. Compress didn’t quite make the dodge and was catapulted into one of the few nearby trees that were still standing. As he lost consciousness, all of the various marbles in his pockets ballooned and broke, disgorging their contents. This meant that Tomura had to rescue Midoriya Inko from being crushed between an entire bus stop shelter (why, Compress, why?) and several logs, because if there was even a chance that she was Sensei’s wife, Tomura didn’t fancy his chances at staying alive if she was unalived in his general vicinity.

As Tomura was in no way a goody-two-shoes hero student, had never trained himself to safely save people, and had a quirk that literally destroyed everything his touched, this went far from perfectly.

At least Midoriya seemed unharmed.

“Ah,” she said. “My shirt.” She shifted slightly. “And my bra…”

There was a shout of utter rage from Gigantomachia, and Tomura contemplated just letting Machia kill him. Surely, being stomped flat by a man taller than most five story buildings would be less painful than whatever Sensei would come up with.

“Oh, my, Machia, is that you?” asked Midoriya Inko, quite calmly, as if she weren’t standing half naked in the middle of a battlefield in winter. “It’s been forever.”

“MRS. LORD!” shouted Machia, his eyes tearing up. “I AM SO SORRY! I LOST LITTLE LORD!”

“Oh, really? He was here, then?” Her eyes were glittering. “I’m sure he couldn’t have gone too far. If we walk around a bit, I’m sure he’ll hear us calling. In the meantime… perhaps you can explain to me what, exactly, you do for my husband? Your role in his business seems to have been downplayed.”

“Is that better?” asked Toshinori.

Izuku nodded tiredly. Despite Two’s instructions, he couldn’t keep up Perception Filter and, well, do anything else, really. Toshinori wasn’t much better. Izuku could tell, through One for All, that he was also on his last legs.

“Alright. Let’s keep going the way we were before,” said Toshinori, pulling Izuku up. “Got to get out of Gigantomachia’s range, so you can sleep.”

He did not say that reaching the Wild Wild Pussycats’ camp was now out of the question, with how beaten up they were. They’d be sleeping outside tonight. Hopefully they had enough clothes and blankets…

Izuku shuddered as the pounding sensation in his head increased.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” said Toshinori, guiding Izuku with a hand on his back. “Good, you have the briefcase, good.” Toshinori kept muttering encouragement. Izuku really wasn’t paying attention, which made him feel terrible, but he had to keep Perception Filter going. He had to keep going. Just a little bit more… Aizawa-sensei and his friends were almost to One. One would get them out before he broke through.

He just had to hold on until then.

Midoriya’s form flickered and then faded. Two sighed.

“Is he alright?” asked Aizawa. “Is he safe?”

“As safe as he and Eight can be, wandering through a forest filled with All for One’s minions while the government tries to track him down in the middle of winter,” replied Two. “Which isn’t very safe, speaking from experience. Come on, let’s go.” Two walked out the hole in the wall, not waiting to see if Aizawa or any of the kids followed.

“You’re calling Yagi Eight, now?” asked Aizawa.

“That’s his number, yeah. Hurry up.”

“Yagi, not Yagi’s… impression, his copy in Midoriya’s mind.” Two didn’t answer. “You aren’t impressions or copies at all, are you? You’re real people, somewhere, that Midoriya is connected to. Why pretend otherwise?”

“Some of the others thought Nine could fix things with the government, if they didn’t know what was really going on. Thought it would be ‘worth it.’ So stupid, after everything…” They walked through the compound gate and into a living room.

“It seems awfully contrived, though. Why try to be dead heroes? Why pick people like Skyrunner and Fidelity to impersonate?”

Two snorted. “They weren’t impersonating anyone. They really are Skyrunner and Fidelity. Except for Eight and Nine, we’re all dead, otherwise we would have finished this by now. Eight almost did, all on his own.”

They turned a corner. Two young children played in a bedroom while a teen watched on. One child was obviously a younger version of Two. That hair was distinctive. The other child had a short curtain of white hair. They had action figures they were playing with, although Aizawa didn’t recognize who they were of.

First contact, said a single, young voice.

The face of the teen leaning against the wall was scribbled out, as if with a marker.

“Don’t look too closely at that one,” said Two.

“Who is that?” asked Uraraka.

“All for One. I suppose you’d call him the Scourge of Kamino.”

“He’s your older brother?” asked Todoroki, his eyebrows raised into his hairline.

“Don’t be disgusting. Biologically speaking, he was my cousin.”

Oh, no, thought Aizawa, don’t tell me... “Is he the one you have locked away? The one you don’t count as being ‘among your number?’”

Two sighed again.

“Are you doing that instead of swearing?” asked Todoroki. “The sighing, I mean.”

“I told you to stop comparing me to the explosion brat! I—” Two tsked, then frowned. “Something’s not right.”

“What is it?”

“This isn’t a safe memory, just a quick one. One should have been here to pick you up by now.”

“What do you mean, it isn’t safe?” asked Iida, before Aizawa could. “No matter how immersed we are here, it is only a memory, isn’t it?”

“You did hear the part where he’s breaking in, didn’t you? And the part where we’re all real people? Are those glasses just for show?”

“The real All for One is trying to break into Midoriya’s mind,” said Aizawa.

“W-wait,” said Uraraka, “but… Izuku… That wouldn’t mean that the commission was right…”

“Of course not. Nine would probably cut off all his limbs before betraying his friends. Even if I don’t agree with him, and think he shouldn’t… I can still see that. But where is One?”

“Why are you telling us this?” asked Aizawa. “You’ve told us why the others didn’t. But you have no reason to say anything, yourself, do you?”

Two turned slightly, to gaze at Aizawa out of the corner of his eye.

“As long as we’re waiting, I might as well collect as much information as possible, right?”

“It’s insurance,” said Two, finally. “It’s hard to see how this will turn out. Eight wants to take Nine out of the country, but even if that works, All for One will still be here. Someone else needs at least part of the story.” He turned more fully to face Aizawa, lips pressed tight against his teeth. “You have to understand. I want Nine to… do well. I don’t want this on him. He’s a kid. So are you.” He looked at the students, then back at Aizawa. “You’re all kids. If I can get someone else to take care of this for him, while he and Eight are somewhere safe…”

“All for One is in Tartarus,” said Aizawa.

“You think something like that’s going to stop him? I’m not entirely sure death would stop him. It didn’t stop us, and he’s at least as stubborn.”

Well, wasn’t this an impossibly heavy weight to set on Aizawa’s shoulders.

“I have no sympathy, you lazy caterpillar lookalike. You’re an adult, aren’t you? Get help if you can’t do it yourself. If I find out you pushed it onto children, I’ll kill you.”

“Wow, he’s secretly soft, too, just like Bakugo,” said Todoroki. “Are you sure you’re not related.”

“There is legitimately something wrong with you. Do you—”

The hinges of the vault snapped, and the door crumpled outward. Another well-placed kick sent the door tumbling outward with a crash.

Shaking his hand, All for One stepped into the mindscape and smiled.

“Well,” he said, dragging his gaze over the assembled One for All users, his sworn enemies and the closest thing he had to family, “isn’t this a lovely little reunion?”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #fic #fanfic #long night in the valley

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

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Hey Kacey! I was reading though you dad witcher stuff for the 1000th time because oh my GOD it makes me happy, and I was curious: how do you think the wolves would react told holding their newborn for the first time? I'm not asking for a fic (unless you wanna😜) cause I know thats a HUGE undertaking, but just wondering your kinda headcanons on it. Would they be afraid to hold it, be kinda shocked numb like 'omg I made a tiny human can't compute', be super excited and never want to put it down, etc. And again, even headcanons is just if you want to. You write all of them so damn well and their emotional reactions to things are always 100% in character when you write them.

Thank you for putting out your amazing works, allot of them have honestly helped me plug along through 2020 and beginning 2021. I hope you have a wonderful day!

A/N: I’m so sorry this took forever to finish babe! I have no idea how the post baby being born thing goes? I don’t know how long it is until the dad holds the baby? But I did research and I did change some things up because I didn’t want to do each story the same. So sorry for anything that isn’t correct or accurate. I kept Geralt’s sort of short because I have done one similar to this before except with Lana (Smitten) so this time I did Bram!

Warnings: it’s implied that the reader went through birth before this but it isn’t mentioned, fluffy with a hint of witcher angst, does breastfeeding count as a warning? if so, there is breastfeeding in this but only briefly

***

Lambert

“What’s she going?”

“She’s eating, Lambert.”

“Why is she making that noise?”

“She’s breathing while she’s eating.”

“Is she supposed to be breathing like that?”

“Yes, love.”

“Bug, why do her eyes look so wide? She looks scared.”

“Probably because you’re staring at her and hovering so close.” You giggled softly. He was towering over you two and leaning over you and Eva as she nursed. You didn’t mind, but everything was new to Eva, who was born just a little bit ago.

Lambert moved away from Eva, choosing instead to sit near your knees so he wasn’t too close to make Eva uncomfortable or scare her, but so that he was close enough to watch her.

“How long until she’s done?”

“Oh, love.” You tore your eyes away from Eva to look up at your husband. “You’re so impatient.”

“It’s been hours.” He frowned. “I read somewhere that if I don’t hold her soon, she won’t know I’m her dad.”

“I can assure you that isn’t true.” You shook your head with a little chuckle. “And it hasn’t been hours. It’s been maybe a half of an hour. Once she’s finished eating, she’ll stop nursing and then I promise you that I will let you hold her.”

He nodded his head, yellow eyes flickering down to Eva.

“Is she gonna start teething and still be nursing like that?”

“It just depends on when her teeth start coming in.”

Lambert winced and brought his hand up to his chest as if the thought brought him pain.

He settled with quietly watching her, fascinated by every little noise that came from her and every little move she made.

When Eva was finished nursing, Lambert rubbed his hands along the tops of his thighs and shifted in his spot.

“Can I….?” He trailed off, eyes flickered up to you.

“Yes, my love.” You nodded, moving Eva around so you could safely hand her off to her father. “Come up here and sit next to me. My legs are hurting and I can’t move too well right now.”

Lambert moved to sit by you at the head of the bed. He became as still as a statue as you moved Eva into his arms. His brows drew together softly and his lips parted.

“She’s…. Fuck, Y/N. She’s so tiny.” His voice cracked.

“I know.” You put your hand on his shoulder, smiling at the sight of him holding her. You kissed his shoulder. “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Looks just like you, bug.”

“I think she’s got your nose.”

“Gods, don’t say that.” He shook his head, sniffling.

You reached over to wipe his cheeks. “She’s too perfect to look like me.”

“Well she’s ours. So she’s gotta have a little of both of us.”

Lambert nodded. His eyes were still focused on her.

“Just wait until Vesemir gets a load of her…. I hope she gives him hell in her toddler years.

Eskel

Your eyes followed Triss as she checked over the baby, ensuring that the tiny newborn was healthy and well. The baby was crying and that worried you, but Triss assured you that it was okay.

“You did amazing.” Eskel murmured, leaning over to kiss your temple. He was sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. Your fingers were still intertwined on the bed by your side. Your skin was clammy and damp with sweat and you were exhausted, but you wanted to hold her, to hold your baby.

“Did you get a good look at her?” You asked. Your voice was raspy. You turned your head to look up at him.

“She looks beautiful.” He nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“She has got a nice set of lungs on her.” Triss moved towards the bed with the baby in your hands. “Have you guys decided on a name yet?”

“Mhm.” Eskel watched you take the baby from Triss. “Nadia.”

“What a stunning name. Very fitting for the little girl.”

You fixed the way you held Nadia, situating your hold on her so that she rested against your bare skin. Her cries died down and she curiously looked up at you.

“I’ll leave you two be for a bit.” Triss took a few steps towards the door. “If you need anything, I’ll be out in the other room.”

Eskel thanked her since you were too caught up in gazing at the beautiful little baby on your chest.

“Eskel.” You reached out with the hand that wasn’t providing her support. Blindly, you found his arm. “She’s…. She’s….”

“She’s beautiful.” He leaned down to kiss your messy hair. “And looks to be a bit hungry.” He chuckled softly as Nadia made a motion with her mouth like she was trying to suck on your skin.

“After she eats, you can hold her.” You told him, moving her so that she could latch onto a nipple.

“Oh I….” Eskel trailed off, shaking his head.

You shifted at the foreign feeling of her latching on, but she seemed to get the hang of it.

“You what?” You looked up at him.

He shifted around to sit with his back more towards you. He looked down at his hands, rubbing them together.

“I think I should wait a little while. Maybe until she’s older at least.” His words were quiet and hushed, but you could hear them just fine now that Nadia was no longer crying.

“What? Eskel, what makes you think that?” You furrowed your brows.

“I just…. I don’t think it’s a good idea to have me hold her when she’s that tiny.”

You watched him for a few moments, unsure that you were even hearing him right. How could he say that? He had been so excited and so eager to hold her throughout your pregnancy and even through labor.

“Eskel, look at me.” You murmured. You wanted to reach out and hold his hand, to touch him and comfort him, but you were busy holding Nadia.

He didn’t turn towards you at first, but then he let out a small breath and turned around so that he could look at you.

“Eskel, you’re her father. There is no reason in the world you should put off holding her.”

His eyes flickered down to watch her, to watch his newborn. She seemed to already be drifting off to sleep.

“What if I hurt her?” He asked, his voice low and timid. “On-On accident, of course. My hands- I-I’m just…. They’re big and the things I’ve done-,”

“You are more than just a witcher, Eskel.” You reminded him, though your words did little to comfort him. The furrow in his brow was still prominent.

You made sure you had one arm securely holding Nadia in place, and slowly pulled your other arm away, making sure she was still comfortable and safe.

You reached over to take Eskel’s hand, placing it on her back. You placed your hand over top of his, gently brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

“You would never hurt her, Eskel. You’ve been so excited since we found out I was pregnant. Please, don’t let those bad thoughts in your head ruin these precious moments you’ll never be able to get back.” You whispered, eyes staying on his face.

He was focused intently on Nadia, golden eyes stuck to her face.

A few silent minutes passed. He kept his hand on her back where you were holding it. He could feel her breathing, hear her little heart beating in her fragile ribcage. It was so different to hear her outside of your stomach, but it was just as comforting.

“Okay.” He nodded.

You smiled, taking your hand away from his so you could reach over and cup his cheek.

Once Nadia was finished nursing, Eskel got comfortable on the bed and you carefully placed Nadia in his arms.

“She’s so light.” He chuckled softly, making sure to keep his voice quiet so as to not scare her. “I can’t believe we…. That she’s…. She’s ours, doll.”

“She is.” You nodded, reaching over to brush your fingers through his dark hair.

Geralt

“Fuck me, Geralt! Look at that little fella!” Jaskier exclaimed, shaking Geralt’s broad shoulder.

“Jaskier!” Geralt hissed his name, not wanting to raise his voice.

“It’s a damn shame he inherited that furrow you’ve got between your brows. Hope he doesn’t have your same bad attitude–,”

“Jaskier, please keep your voice down.” Geralt cut him off, almost speaking through clenched teeth to the bard.

“He’s alright, Geralt.” You smiled. Briefly, you looked up to your husband but then your eyes fell back to the newborn you held in your arms. “He’s a quiet baby, isn’t he?”

“Got that from Geralt too.” Jaskier commented, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was eager to get closer and see his little nephew. “I see he’s got Y/N’s nose though. Thank the gods.”

Geralt glared at Jaskier.

“I know you’d like to hold him, Jaskier. You’re nearly jumping out of your skin, but–,” You were cut off my Jaskier’s excitement.

“I would love to! That is true. However I do think Geralt should hold the little bugger first.” Jaskier put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

“I agree.” You smiled at Jaskier. Your eyes flickered over to Geralt. “Come have a seat, love.”

The witcher move to your bedside, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.

“He’s so small.” Geralt commented. “Is he healthy?”

“He is.” You nodded. “He’ll grow.”

You directed your husband on how to hold his arms and then you placed Bram in his arms.

Geralt looked down at Bram, a little smile tugging at his lips. Bram was fast asleep with his mouth slightly open.

“What’s his name?” Jaskier asked, sitting down next to Geralt.

Geralt over to you, silently asking if you wanted to tell him.

“Go ahead.” You encouraged, reaching out to place your hand on his arm.

“Julian Bram, but we’re just calling him Bram.”

Jaskier repeated the name under his breath, testing out the flow of it and how well it sounded together.

“Julian? As in…. As in my name?”

You nodded while Geralt kept his eyes on Bram.

“That’s so sweet of you, Geralt.” Jaskier put one arm around Geralt’s shoulders, pulling him in for a tight hug.

Geralt groaned.

Taglists: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @you-fxcking-wish-bish @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442 @thegaydeath @creatingstuffinpeace @andyrazzledazzle @ameliasmistake @winterwolf @caraqas @bluscryn @thefirelordm @y-napotat @henrycavillbesty @crazybutconfidentaf @runawayolives @she-wolfoftheinquisition @onlygeraltofrivia @henrythickcavill @lharrietg @wellthisstinks

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

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annabethy · 4 years ago

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under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 19: tragedy

Character A’s first Christmas since a tragedy,, repost because it wasn’t showing up on people’s dashes, rip to the three reblogs I did get

One year.

It feels a lot longer than one year.

It feels like it’s been a lifetime since Percy lost his wife. He really doesn’t know how he’s made it this far. He supposes the only reason he did was because of his daughter.

He has to admit that it hurt a lot more than he expected. She was only a few months old when his wife got sick, so he couldn’t explain to her what happened, or why her mom wasn’t coming back. She would cry for her mom, and Percy would cry alongside her because she just didn’t understand, and somehow that hurt worse than knowing what happened.

He hasn’t really made it this far, really. He’s survived because for the past year, that’s all he had the strength to do. He raised his daughter alone, one day at a time. Just breathing, and just living.

Now though, it’s Christmas. It’s also been one year. He knows he can’t live like this forever. Time does not stop just because he does, and so he knows he has to pull himself out of this hole. It’s now or never.

He chooses now.

That’s how Percy finds himself in a small diner on Christmas Eve. His daughter is in a highchair, and he’s feeding her bits and pieces of his pasta. His mom just left after spending a couple of hours with him, so he feels a bit alone, but he pushes it aside.

“Yum,” Percy says, handing her a chopped-up meatball. He smiles as she shoves it into her mouth, just a little bit too much. Her cheeks pop out like a chipmunk storing food for the winter, and he’s able to laugh for just one second. “Don’t choke, baby.”

He doesn’t actually get a sophisticated response, and he doesn’t expect to.

There are not many people around the diner, only a few of the tables occupied, so it’s incredibly loud when his daughter shrieks and flips a plate onto the ground. Percy ducks his head, embarrassed, as he immediately moves to clean it up. His eyes brim with tears, and he thinks this is the first time he’s began to cry today, because if his wife was here, none of it would’ve happened, and the entire restaurant wouldn’t be looking at him.

As he’s scooping the food back onto a napkin, someone squats down next to him. He can’t do anything except mutter a quiet, “Thank you,” as they start to help him clean, terrified that they’ll see his eyes and know something was wrong. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see an infant being balanced on their hip with one arm.

Still, he has to stand up once they’re done, and he also knows he can’t let them leave without giving a proper thanks. He looks at them for the first time and is met with someone that appears to be around his age. She looks kind enough, and incredibly soft with the way her curls fall into smooth ringlets and the long felt coat that falls to around her knees. There’s a baby in her arms that can’t be any older than seven months, and she’s curled into what Percy can only assume to be his mother’s chest.

“Thank you again,” he says, setting the food-soiled napkin down on the table. “I appreciate it.”

She tilts her head. “It’s no problem. I know how kids can be.”

Percy tries to smile, but it’s something in the words that hits a sore spot. She sounds just like his wife had. It’s not her voice, but the way she spoke that reminds him of her, and suddenly, he can’t stop the tears from forming.

He tries to turn away, but she spots them before he gets the chance.

“Are you okay?”

Percy laughs wetly, wiping his face desperately. “I’m fine. It’s just a long day. Long year, really.”

She looks at him sympathetically. “Do you need to talk about it?”

It’s so kind, and it’s strange at the same time. He’s never seen her in his entire life, and she has no obligations to him, yet here she is, offering to listen to him. It’s the nicest thing a stranger has ever done for him, and it just makes him cry harder.

“I’m okay,” he reassures, because he doesn’t want to ruin her Christmas with his own. “I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t be bothering me. I’ve had my fair share of meltdowns recently, and it always helped to have someone to listen to.”

Usually, Percy would say no. A week ago, he would’ve said no too. But it’s been a year since his wife’s death, and something has to change. So he says, “Actually, I could really use someone to talk to if you really don’t mind.”

“I have nowhere else to be,” is what she says, and then she’s sliding into the empty side of the booth. Percy sits across from her, and he can feel himself suffocating in awkwardness. She stays looking at him kindly, adjusting the baby in her arms to be cradling her, and when he doesn’t say anything, she prompts, “Let’s start with your name.”

Percy smiles through his watering eyes. “I’m Percy.”

“I’m Annabeth,” she says. “And this is my daughter, Sophia.”

Percy nods as his hand goes to caress his own daughter’s head as she happily begins munching on a meatball that hadn’t gone tumbling to the ground. “This is my daughter. Her name’s Riley.”

“It’s nice to meet you both.”

“You too.”

She tilts her head. “What’s going on, Percy? You look like you’re about ready to drop to the ground and just cry yourself to sleep.”

“That’s about how I feel, too.”

“You said it’s been a difficult year?”

“Something like that. I just – one year ago today, my wife passed away. I’ll be the first to admit I have no idea what I’m doing, and one year… it’s a long time, and I can’t keep using the excuse that my wife died for being a lousy person, but I don’t know what else to do.”

She doesn’t say anything, continuing to let him talk. He almost thinks he’s dreaming because it feels too calming and too out of the ordinary for someone like her to just appear, but he’s started talking and can’t stop.

“First Christmas since a tragedy, you could say,” he chokes out wetly. “It doesn’t help that it’s the one-year anniversary too.”

“I get it,” she says. “Not quite in the same sense. I was never married, but I was with someone. They died before I could even tell them I was pregnant. The first Christmas was hard, so I get it.”

Percy can’t quite look her in the eyes. He’s sitting here complaining when she has it so much worse. At least his wife got to meet their child and love their child, even if it wasn’t for as long as they’d both wished.

Her head ducks down a bit beneath his so he has no choice but to meet her eyes. “You don’t have to hide crying, Percy.”

“You have your own problems. It’s wrong of me to lay mine on you.”

“You’re not laying them on me,” she promises. “I said you could talk to me, and I mean it.”

He stays silent, unsure of what to say, so she continues.

“When I first lost my boyfriend, I was wrecked. I had a baby on the way and no one to help me through it. I wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t have any family to help because they’d all practically disowned me the second I turned eighteen. I just moved to a new city with my boyfriend too, so I had no friends. I had no one. The only reason I think I made it through was because someone did for me what I’m trying to do for you.” She smiles at him, and he feels comfort. “I met my best friend at a diner just like this, believe it or not. I was actually still six months pregnant, and she sat down with me, a complete stranger, and just let me cry on her shoulder. She ended up being the one there with me to hold my hand when I went into labor, and she helped me get back on my feet. I love her, and I needed her more than anything. When I saw you on the floor, I — I couldn’t see your face, but I just knew. My friend said the same thing about me too.”

Percy breathes deeply in an attempt to dislodge the lump that’s formed in his throat. “It just felt right?”

“If that’s how you want to see it, then sure.” Annabeth leans back, bouncing the baby that’s began to fuss in her arms. “Why don’t you tell me about her?” He smiles. “She was everything to me. I loved her so much, and I still do. Her name was Rachel. We met in college because we were both on the swim team. I remember she had vibrant red hair and green eyes, and I thought that it had to be dyed, so I asked her. She looked insulted but also amused, and I think that was when I fell in love with her. We got married two years later, and a year after that, we had Riley, and then… she got really sick when Riley was only six months old.”

“You really loved her,” Annabeth says. “I think it’s awful what happened, but it helps to think of the times that you had. She’s gone now, but she wasn’t. You got married, and you had a baby, and you felt what true love was. It wasn’t nearly enough time, and it never is, but when you feel like you’re at your lowest, remember that moment when you first met.”

“You should be a psychologist,” Percy says as he wipes at his eyes, mildly playful. “You’d be good at it.”

“I can promise you that no one would want me to be their psychologist,” she says. “I’m still trying to figure a lot of things out too.”

“Anything I can help with? At least try to return the favor?”

“There’s not much that can be done. I just have to keep breathing and keep walking and see where life takes me.” The baby in her arms begins to fuss again, sharp whines working from behind the pacifier, and she lifts the baby back against her chest. “I should probably get this one to sleep.”

Percy lets her stand up, but his mind is still on her words.

Keep breathing and keep walking and see where life takes me.

“You said it helps to have something by your side,” Percy says. “I – I could use someone by my side, and I can stay by yours too,” he offers. “I’d like that,” she says. She pulls a phone out of her coat pocket, unlocking it and sliding it across the table. Percy quickly puts his number in her phone, contact saved as Percy, before handing it back to her. When he does, she asks, “Are you doing anything for Christmas?”

“I was planning on being home all day. I got Riley a few toys that I was just going to help her open.”

“I’m going to be alone all day too. Friend went home for Christmas this year, so it’s just Sophia and I. You’re welcome to come over and we can continue this conversation then.”

“I’d love to,” he says, hopeful. Rachel’s face is still imprinted in the back of his eyes, and she will be for the rest of his life, but this also feels alarmingly like a new beginning. One where he can smile without feeling guilty or look back at when they first met and feel a love for his past.

“I don’t usually do this,” he says. “Have philosophical conversations with strangers, I mean.”

“I don’t either, but there’s just something about you.”

He knows what she means.

“I’ll call you in the morning then,” she says. “Have a safe drive home, Percy.”

“You too, Annabeth.”

She waves once more, and a little wiggle of her fingers to his daughter, before she steps out of the diner. It feels surreal right now, to be sitting in a diner in the middle of an empty area of New York. Snow falls outside, the only light coming from the neon lights on the building or lampposts lining the streets.

He thinks that he rather likes Annabeth’s advice. If he keeps breathing and walking and seeing where life takes him, then just maybe everything will turn out alright.

For the first time in forever, he feels happy.

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #my writing

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puckluck28 · 4 years ago

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A Merry Upstead Christmas!

This one is for my lovely Chicago PD Secret Santa recipient @upsteadhc for the prompt: “any prompt from an angst or fluff list” so I figured what’s better than an Upstead pregnancy oneshot. A little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff, I hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas and a Happy Holiday Season!

*The prompts I’ve used are highlighted in bold.

For Better or For Worse, Even When Pregnant

Hailey glanced at their front from her spot on the couch in their dimly lit living room before checking the time on her phone for what felt like the hundredth time. At reading the numbers that read 1:28 AM plastered over her background that was a photo of her and Jay from their gender reveal party a few months ago, she sighed and took another sip from her now semi-cold tea. Fighting the urge to close her eyes with each passing moment, she’d been hoping for a voice mail, a quick text, something, anything that would give her enough relief so she could at least attempt to sleep, but there was nothing, and the wait was driving her crazy. Since their last call, there was an uncomfortable feeling eating at her insides, something in the pit of her stomach that had been growing for a few days, and she knew it wasn’t just her nerves growing from being only a week away from her due date. She’d gotten this same feeling a few times in the past few years, and she prayed to God that this time wasn’t like those other times.

Where the hell are you, Jay?

The unit had caught a big case a week ago: a dead pregnant girl that led the team to an international human and child trafficking ring smuggling young girls from all around the world into the States, forcing them to get pregnant, and selling the babies to God knows what kind of people. It was an understatement to say it was a rough case, even for Intelligence’s standards, and from the limited information Hailey knew about it from her lunch dates with Jay at the precinct, and the occasional calls and visits from Kim and Vanessa so Hailey wouldn’t actually lose her mind staying at home, it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park to solve.

On a regular night, Hailey wouldn’t worry about Jay staying late to go over evidence or to work on paperwork, especially while they were working a new case, but this time felt different. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something about the way Jay had been especially quiet at home the past few days, those days that he had actually made it home before Hailey went to bed. It was almost as if he had been trying to avoid her, and successfully so. Then there were his texts: one word answers after taking forever to respond, that was if he responded. It wasn’t like she was expecting immediate responses or constant texting either. She knew that whenever a big case, especially something this big hit, it was all hands on deck with no room for distraction, but she at least expected a response, any response, when she asked if he’d be coming home for dinner, or if he was okay.

Now, having been partners with Jay for seven years, dated for two of those and married for one, Hailey could tell when a case, or someone, was irking him. So when he had started acting a little off the first time, she had given it to the combination of the caseload and having to work with a new partner now that she was officially on maternity leave, and done with desk duty, as per Voight and Platt’s orders. Jay’d been looking to find something to complain about his new partner from the day Voight had brought in Detective Aiden Thomas, a freshly minted detective from narcotics, as Hailey’s temporary replacement. Whether it was the way the young detective tabbed evidence files or the way he sipped his coffee during stakeouts, Jay found an excuse to text her, whining about being stuck with the new kid. So when the texts got more staggered and eventually stopped, Hailey had started getting suspicious and when she hit absolute radio silence the entire day that day, with no luck during the night either, Hailey knew it was time to call in back-up.

Around 10:00pm or so, Will had been the first person on her call list, not wanting to alert anyone on the team just yet if the older Halstead could reassure her enough to get that sleep she oh so craved. It also helped that she knew that Will was on call that night, him having shared his work schedule with Hailey since she was so close to her due date and who knew where Jay would be if she went into labor. Unlike his younger brother, Will had picked up Hailey’s call in two short rings. “Hailey? What’s up? Are you okay? Is it the baby?” He had asked in doctor mode.

“Yea, we’re good. I was calling to see if you heard anything from Jay today?”

“Jay? He was here this morning to talk to an injured suspect but that’s about it.”

“Did you realize anything off with him?”

“Not that I could tell. He and his new partner were in and out. I didn’t even see them leaving.” Hailey sighed in defeat at her brother-in-law’s response. She had really hoped he would say something that would ease her growing nerves. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yea, yea things are fine.” Hailey took a deep breath. “I just haven’t heard from him the whole day and he hasn’t come home yet and…” Her voice trailed off as her words died.

“I can-”

“No, that’s alright.” She cut him off, turning down his offer. “I don’t want him to worry if they are working.”

“You sure?”

“Yea, knowing Jay, he’ll think I’m in labor or something and freak out.” She attempted at a joke to hide her worry.

“You know, it would teach him not to ignore his pregnant wife.” That even earned a soft chuckle from Hailey.

“Thanks, Will. It’s not even that late, I’m sure it’s just me being paranoid.” She tried brushing it off. “You know how much I love staying home all day.”

“Don’t I know it?” Will went along even though he knew that for Hailey to be calling him, she must have a good reason to worry. “You and Jay are the worst people at enjoying doing nothing.”

“Yea, I’m ready to go back to work once your niece finally graces us with her presence.” She told him, her hands instinctively rubbing her 38, almost 39, week along belly at the thought of finally getting to meet her baby.

“I’d be careful wishing on that this close to your due date, Hailey. It might happen any day now.” He jokingly warned her, hoping he was providing some comfort with this distraction.

“I think it’s safe to say when it happens, you’ll be one of the first ones to know. I guess the first one to know if it happens during this call.” Hailey responded, though the only thing she could think of as silence fell was what she’d do if she were to go into labor now and Jay was nowhere to be found.

“Regardless, you know I’m here if you need me.” Will broke the silence.

“Thanks, Will. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Alright, but seriously, call me if you need anything. I’ll be up all night.”

“I will. Thanks, again. Good luck with your shift.”

“Any time. Now stop worrying about that knucklehead and try to get some sleep.” Will jokingly ordered and with a mumble of agreement, Hailey hung up. Sleep… She really hoped she’d be able to get a little bit of it that night.

She’d given him about an hour after calling Will, called and texted a few times, but when those had gone unanswered once again, she’d moved to the next person on her list and called Kim, really hoping that they were really just working late and she wasn’t waking her up. “Hey, Hails, everything okay?” Like Will, Kim picked up the call in a few rings. It was almost as if everyone who knew Hailey was on call to answer her calls except for her husband.

“Hey, sorry I’m calling so late. Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, no, actually Kev just came back from a coffee run so I was taking a break.” Kim answered, followed by a yawn.

“Case wearing you down?”

“It’s a bad one. We found two of our suspects, who of course didn’t go down without a fight. One of them took a bullet to the knee so we are waiting for Med to release him into our custody when he’s done and the other’s downstairs.” Another yawn. “But looks like it’s gonna be a rough night. Well, I guess morning.”

“Everyone okay?” Hailey asked after hearing that their suspect had put up a fight. If he had gotten shot, it meant that he had started the shooting, and her heart started racing thinking all the worst case scenarios. Surely she would have been notified if something serious had happened to Jay, but with the way he had been so distant lately, maybe that had been it: he had gotten injured and was avoiding her calls.

“Everyone’s good, came out without a scratch.” Hailey released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Hey, is everything okay with you?” Kim asked upon hearing Hailey’s loud exhale of breath. “Oh my god are you in labor?”

“No, everything’s good here. No baby just yet.” She answered quickly, getting that out of the way. “I was calling to see if Jay’s around. I’ve tried calling him a few times but his phone kept going to voicemail, but I guess you guys are busy so I’ll let you go.”

“Ummm, Hails, Jay left a while ago.”

“Oh?” Kim’s answer took Hailey by surprise, an unpleasant one. She lost her train of thoughts and stuttered as she tried finding the words to ask her next question. “Did he- umm, did he say where he was going?”

“No, sorry. We all figured he was gonna go home and get some sleep. It’s been a rough day for him.”

“What happened? Is he okay?” It felt weird to not know that Jay’d had a rough day. It felt weird being the one to ask what was happening with him.

“One of the suspects we caught turned out to be ex-military. Someone Jay knew back in the day.” Kim told her. “I think Jay was hoping the lead would turn out to be bogus since his name came up a few days ago but…” The rest was obvious. Finding out an old buddy involved in such a disgusting case must have taken a toll on him, and understandably so. What Hailey couldn’t figure out was why he hadn’t talked to her about it, and the question hurt her more than she thought it would. “Jay must have gone on a drive or something. I’m sure he’s on his way home though.”

“Yea, yea, you’re right. I’ve probably just been losing my mind from having to stay home.” She tried laughing it off again, just like she had done it with Will, but this new found

“Oh, tell me about it! A few days is enough to drive you insane.” Kim commented, as bittersweet it was, remembering having to stay back during her short lived pregnancy so many years ago.

“Oh yea.” Hailey tried acting her usual chipper self but the fake smile plastered on her face failed to reach her voice. “Anyway, I should let you enjoy your break.”

“You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yea, yea, everything’s fine. I’m getting pretty tired anyway and you guys are busy.” She added a fake yawn to her sentence which made Kim yawn as well. “Thanks for the conversation.”

“You want one of us to drop by? I know Kevin’s about to head home for a quick nap and-”

“No, that’s fine.” Hailey cut her friend off before she could finish the sentence. “It’s pretty late.”

“Alright, well Adam, V and I are gonna be staying here tonight if you need anything. Just give us a call, alright?”

“Thanks, Kim. I really appreciate it. Enjoy your break and good luck!”

“Good night, Hails.” The line went dead, leaving Hailey to her thoughts, wondering where her husband was, worst case scenarios running through her head. The last time he had gone awol, he’d gotten kidnapped, shot and almost died. She couldn’t go through that again. Not now. Not when they were about to have it all. With tears in her eyes, Hailey swore he would never forgive Jay if he left them alone.

About another hour or so later, the clock almost hitting three in the morning, Hailey was just about ready to give up, go to bed. She was exhausted, achy, and really, all she wanted was to know that Jay was safe. They could deal with this, whatever it was, in the morning. Hell she didn't even care if it meant that he’d continue avoiding her, and she’d have to wobble to the precinct in her pajamas. That being said, she knew sleep was her enemy tonight and the moment she would decide to go to bed, the oh so tempting sleep that had been trying to pull her into dreamland would disappear the moment her head’d hit the pillow. Not that sleep was really an option with their daughter kicking up a storm in her belly either.

“It’s okay, munchkin.” Hailey rubbed the spot she kept feeling the kicks. “It’s all gonna be okay.” Realizing she had no tea left, she threw her blankets off and stood up to stretch. If she was going to stay up, she needed to keep herself otherwise occupied. “Let’s get mommy some tea and you some of those cookies you crave so much.”

Hailey was about to head to the kitchen to get herself another cup of tea and get a snack when the sound of the door opening startled her. Her head instinctively turned towards the source of the noise, and watched frozen as Jay’s silent silhouette moved in the foyer. She held her breath as her eyes followed his every move: The way he snuck into his own house, the way he took his jacket and shoes off as quietly as possible, thinking Hailey was already asleep, the way he tiptoed further into the dark house. Watching his arm reach for living room light switch, Hailey prepared herself to face their current situation, and when the lights turned on, bringing the couple face to face, a loud silence surrounded them. “Hails? Why are you awake? Everything okay? Is it the baby?” Jay listed his questions, alarmed.

“Yea, yea we are fine but I guess I should be the one asking you that.” Hailey shot back, needing him to know that what happened today was NOT okay. “What’s going on, Jay?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m fine.” He gave her his staple bullshit of an answer as he walked further in and towards her in the living room. “Just a long day at work.”

“Well, I know for a fact you’re not “fine”, so wanna try again?” Hailey crossed her arms over her chest, her words stopping him on his tracks to walk over to greet her.

“I-” He started but seemed to be at a loss of words.

“Jay, I’m worried about you.” She cut him off at the realization that he needed a push before he’d really open up. “You haven’t picked up your phone or answered any of my texts and I had to find out from Kim that you had a rough day. What’s going on?”

“Hails, I’m just really tired and just want to go to sleep.” He was hiding behind an excuse, but at least it was an honest one, and Hailey considered that a good start.

“Alright, if that’s what you want, we can go to bed. I’m glad you’re safely home.” She told him with a flat yet soft tone. She didn’t want to discourage him from opening up, but his actions had terrified and hurt her, and she couldn’t just pretend that it was all fine now that he was home. “But we are gonna talk about this, Jay.” She added, letting him know he wasn’t off the hook. “What happened today, the radio silence… The last time that happened, I almost lost you and the thought of losing you, especially while I can’t even be out there,” The memory of what Angela Nelson put them through hitting her straight in the pregnancy hormones and feelings, she could feel tears welling in her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry. She refused to. “It, it terrified me,” She looked down her body in an attempt to avoid his eyes and blink away the tears as she protectively put both her hands on her bulging belly. “It terrified us.” She sighed. “We, we have to talk about it.”

“I can’t do anything right, can I?” Jay muttered more to himself than Hailey, disappointed in himself. He knew he was in the wrong. He knew he shouldn’t have pushed Hailey away, but this case, these past few days, then what happened in the morning… It had brought up so many painful memories, so much rage, so much fear that he simply hadn’t known where to start. “You must hate me for what I put you through today, huh?”

“I don’t hate you, Jay. I will never hate you.” Hailey’s voice softened. “But I hate that after all this, you’re still trying to lie to me.”

“Hails…”

“Yes, Jay?”

“This case has been terrifying.” He started to confess. “When we found that pregnant girl, the way her body was left behind, all I could think of was you and what I would do if I found you like that.” He was finally opening up. “Then we found out that one of the suspects is an old army buddy of mine and when we interviewed him today…” He shook his head, the memory of the interrogation room replaying in his mind and he collapsed on the couch in defeat. “He looked me in the eyes and said “You’d make pretty babies. Should consider changing careers.” with the smuggest smile, and Hailey, the things I wanted to do to him for bringing our kid into it… And then all my anger turned into this fear of failing you and Aislyn and, God, Hailey, it paralyzed me. I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“Jay,” She got it. She really did, but the silence and distance had hurt. “Holding everything in doesn’t help you know.” She told him as she walked over to take a seat next to him and put a supportive hand on his back. “Why didn’t you tell me what was happening?”

“I know I should have.” He looked at her with tear sheathed eyes, his greens tired and broken. “I mean I know I could have come to you. I trust you more than I ever trust myself, but I didn’t want to worry you especially with how close you are to your due date. It felt like by burdening you with my worries, I’d be failing you two before we even became parents.”

“I understand, Jay, but not knowing what was going on with you and having to call our friends and family only to find out from Kim that you’ve been having a rough time with this case worried me so much. I felt like an outsider and not your wife and best friend.” She took a deep breath, giving Jay some time to process her words. “Your worries and fears and rage will never be a burden on me, Jay. We said for better or for worse when we said I do. Being pregnant doesn’t change that.”

“God, I love you and I’m so damn sorry.” Jay pulled Hailey into his body and apologized with a broken voice upon realizing how much he had hurt her. The last thing he wanted to do had been to hurt her, but he realized trying to not be a burden was more hurtful to their partnership than anything. “I promise I’ll do better.”

“I know you will.” Hailey snuggled into his embrace before turning in his arms to be able to look him in the eyes again. “I love you, Jay.” She cupped his cheek in her one hand, and grabbed and guided his hand to rest over her belly with her other. “We love you. Unconditionally. Just remember that the next time you feel overwhelmed and I’m not there.” Feeling their daughter’s kicks under their palms, Jay leaned down to press a kiss on her lips; a kiss meant to seal his promise, to show his love, to give them both hope that they were stronger for facing their challenges.

Their last few days had really taken a toll on both of them, but with everything out in the open now, and promises of love and hope had been made, they knew they could tackle anything as long as they trusted in each other, even when they didn’t trust themselves.

So when they finally got into bed, tightly holding one another close, their daughter’s soft movements between them, they finally got the relieved rest they had been needing that day.

- @puckluck28

#cpd!ss2020 #chicagopd #chicago pd #upstead #one chicago #hailey upton #jay halstead #haileyupton #jayhalstead #jayxhailey #haileyxjay

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massensterben-a · 3 years ago

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1. What does your muse smell like?

Bertholdt retains his own scent quite easily. He smells faintly of warm wood with a salt-sweet touch, somewhat musky. Due to his high body temperature his clothing also keeps his scent for quite a while after he takes it off. He prefers soaps with a herbal scent to them so that is also something by which to recognize him. (Fun fact: the official fragrance for Bertholdt includes vanilla, lemon, jasmine, lilac, sandalwood and musk.)

After his return from Paradis, Bertholdt takes up a severe smoking habit which effectively kills his body scent. He smells like cloves and stale smoke now. Nothing to be done about it except stop smoking, but that’s a conversation he won’t be having.

2. What do your muse’s hands feel like?

Bertholdt’s hands are very warm. His fingers are long and his hands quite large though utterly in keeping with his height. He has a soft touch when he wants to but is capable of a death grip that’ll break your wrist. They are strong and skilled hands, and surprisingly nimble. Over the course of his tenure on Paradis, especially after the work he did in the refugee settlement, his hands grew quite rough to the touch from constant use. However, after Shiganshina, he had to regrow his extremities a couple of times and the hands he has now would tell you nothing of the physical labor he’s endured in his life. Just another reason why you can’t judge a book by its cover, in his opinion.

3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?

Bertholdt will eat anything you set down in front of him. He is constantly hungry. Although he won’t go out of his way to do anything about it, he will also not pass up the chance to eat when it presents itself. He isn’t very interested in breakfast as he is a restless sleeper and has a hard time waking up in the morning. His appetite is not equal to his hunger at all, and he has a rather pragmatic opinion on food. He will eat to regain energy and care about specifics only when he has that luxury. As he grew up dirt poor, he has never had the opportunity to be picky about his food. Either he ate what was there, or he didn’t eat.

He will usually keep to five to six small meals as opposed to three large ones. He finds it more comfortable and it works better with his overall lifestyle. When given the choice, he will stick to vegetables and seafood as opposed to meat. Meat was a rarity in his childhood and he has never developed a great fondness for it. He enjoys fried food though.

4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?

Yes. I don’t keep to the Japanese VA for my overall voice headcanon for Bertholdt,but since the acting (which is wonderful, nothing but respect for Tomohisa) has little to do with the singing he does here, it counts. I really enjoy the smooth quality of his voice. It is, funnily enough, closer to what I imagine this way. Bertholdt is not likely to sing to anyone, though. He has no training and no practice. He used to sing to himself a little as a child when he found out about the concept of lullabies but felt very stupid about it and didn’t keep it up. He will quietly hum and mouth along when there is some alcohol-based singing going on during a get-together, but that is the most of it.

The level of intimacy and trust that would have to be established for Bertholdt to freely sing in front of another person has yet to be unearthed. If he were to do it, though, he’d also stick to soft simple melodies, again: lullabies most likely.

5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?

Bertholdt does have some mannerisms that could be called stress responses. For one, when he sits, he will draw his knees up to his chest and hug them, and make himself as small as possible. He does this so he won’t take up more space than necessary and also to feel “safer” in situations which make him uncomfortable. He will also turn non-verbal if he is dealing with emotional turmoil and keep all of it locked up until it explodes out of him in anger.

After his return from Paradis, his habits and tics get more pronounced. He still has trouble articulating himself in emotionally charged moments, but what is more prominent is his smoking habit. He does it to combat stress and insomnia and swears it works. Whether it does... Eh. He consistently smokes a pack a day but will go through them faster when he is more agitated.

He is also has taken up a nervous tic that involves him tapping his fingers (especially his nails) on flat surfaces around him. He is subconsciously tapping out the Paradisian equivalent for morse code that signals SOS. He picked this up during his time in the Underground and found some comfort in the repeating rhythm when he needed to calm himself. He is not aware that his tapping translates as a call for help.

6. What does your muse usually look like / wear?

When he isn’t wearing whatever uniform he is supposed to be wearing at the given time, he will usually opt for long-sleeved shirts and sweaters. He is fond of dark mute colors, especially blue tones. He prefers to dress conventionally but has a taste for clothing that suggests a higher social standing than he has. He will dress more maturely than his age as well, button-down shirts and cloth trousers especially. He was taught by his father that appearances are important and must be kept. Even when his father barely had the money to feed him, he’d still make sure Bertholdt was well-dressed when he sent him out to find money. Bertholdt kept that attitude and dresses accordingly.

Even after he leaves Paradis, he will usually look deceptively well put-together despite the terrible wreck the rest of his life is at any given point. He will usually wear the uniform provided him by Marley, however, and does not bother with civilian clothing all that much. The uniform serves its purpose. He will, however, wear long trenchcoats on colder days.

7. Is your muse affectionate? How much? How so?

Well, no. Bertholdt has never been reared to exhibit affectionate behavior and hasn’t been shown it from his father as a child. His first brush with it happens when he befriends the other warrior candidates and though he very much enjoys it, he has trouble reciprocating adequately. Bertholdt shows his affections through casual touches and shared activities (e.g. sparring, which to him feels like the one ‘appropriate’ way to be close to others excessively. The rituals are intricate, we know, we know.)

As he grows up, Bertholdt also grows more into himself. He must be coaxed into affection though he is not averse to it. He isn’t a great cuddler by nature and feels put on the spot when he tries to be affectionate with his words. His most honest displays of affection are still physical and will include light touches to shoulder or back, standing in close proximity or the like.

When he returns from Paradis, Bertholdt has fully grown touch-averse and wouldn’t be caught dead exhibiting signs of vulnerability, if he had his way, anyway. He reacts negatively to most displays of affection unless they are somehow covered up and disguised as indirect. He feels he is not deserving of affection and also has no impulse to be affectionate with others. But we’ll get him there eventually.

8. What position does your muse sleep in?

All of them, and a few you haven’t even heard of.

9. Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

Rarely. He doesn’t usually walk with a heavy step unless he is marching, and is not in the habit of making a lot of noise. If he is in conversation or the like it could be easier to overhear him, though, as he doesn’t usually regulate his volume when he is in private. Sometimes he just has things to say.

Tagged by: @oncejaw (<3)

Tagging: @gepanzrt @primasolaris (Jean or Meg) @gedrillt @leastregrets @hiisflame @worstheir

#;;headcanon — aber ansonsten geht's ihm gut.#oof. this was a thing and a half x.x

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birdsaesthetic · 4 years ago

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Daddy’s twin

Summary: This follows First impression and it’s just my headcanon for Jeller own kid, who is, like this: looks completely like his father from head to toe, and nothing like his mother—not even the slightest. It's like a phenomenon to other people when they see it...

___

Years full of ups and downs and sleepless nights went by. And by now, the infant, Peter, has turned into a toddler, a quiet and charming one with features that make everyone see him comment on how drastically he looks like his father from head to toe, and nothing like his mother—not even the slightest. Kurt smiles, feels honored, whenever he hears others say like that, and Jane simply agrees.

Both of them think that Peter is just a toddler, hasn't formed fully yet, and making such comments about his looks seems to be overdone. But, really, as the days pass, and as he grows up, the fact is more confirmed, hard to ignore.

Even their closest friends, to this modern day, make the same fuss about it over and over, as if it were a revelation. When in special occasions Jane and Kurt share exclusive family photos in the group chat with them, everyone pretends to freak out, and all the replies unite on how crazy Peter is basically his daddy's twin. Though everything is said in a funny manner—they all eventually laugh, including Jane—except for one rude reply that implies how Jane looks like a nanny between Kurt and Peter in the photos.

The comments regarding the matter increase in number and can be presumptuously said sometimes—new friends throw questions if Peter is actually Jane's biological son, others stick their noses and advise the parents to run a DNA test for Peter to investigate the matter.

Jane herself finds it hilarious, really, the way people think of it, surprised at their narrow mentality. And Kurt does too. But at one calm evening he spots Jane folding small pieces of Peter's clothes, and so he comes over and beings helping, though she doesn't need the help, he knows—but after how long they've been together, the instinct for them to do everything in collaboration never seems to fade away. And after they're done with folding, he asks her to be honest and tell him how does it really make her feel when hearing such comments from people, if she ever feels touchy because of it, the whole fact, given that she's been so incredibly passionate about this kid before he was in her womb yet, that she's been the one to have carried him for nine months, around forty weeks, spent half a day on labor and went through awful afterbirth pain for a period of time afterward, only so Kurt can get all the credit and she be teased about it?

She then looks up at him, blinks in surprise at each and every word he's said, and then chuckles lightly. "What, you think it makes me sad or something?"

"I don't know, you tell me, how does it make you feel, the whole fact not just what others say?"

"Of course it makes me happy! The whole fact makes me happy," she states for once and all, loud and clear.

"It does?"

Her face changes a little at the sight of him debate her statement. So she takes his hands in hers, locks her gaze with his, and continues, "Wanna know something, Kurt, huh? Every time I gaze at you, let's say in a moment of silence, I’m more convinced that this's exactly how Peter is gonna look like once he grows up, becomes an adult, like you now, and vice versa—every time I gaze at Peter I could easily see you in him when you were his age. It's the best feeling imaginable, I swear. I must say thank you, Kurt! You've left remarkable traces of you in him—effortlessly though but it's still something priceless. And God, who do I love more in this world than you two?"

The soft smile Jane wears at the end clears all of his worries that have been lingering. Sometimes—such as this time—Kurt wonders if how much Jane can make him feel has got something to do with magic, because it makes him go back in time and fall in love with her all over again in an instant.

"What would I do without you?" He keeps wondering, awash with affection for this woman who now reaches out for him in a delicate, seductive manner.

"Let's not think about it," she whispers, putting an end to the topic.

#no wonder who would be the one saying that Jane looks like a nanny #huh?#blindspot #jeller #my other fics #blindspotfic

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7deadlycinderellas · 4 years ago

Text

If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch 38 (Final)

Holy shit I made it

AO3 link

Oldtown

The air outside Oldtown is humid and warm. There are so many flowers that the whole town smells perfumed. Shireen almost squeals in delight, and Jojen’s never seen anything like it. Gilly and little Sam are delighted too, even the tiny handful of Baratheon men her mother had assigned to accompany and protect them seem enamored of the sunshine. It’s lovely enough that Shireen almost wishes that Brienne hadn’t left them to return briefly to Storm’s End, then perhaps to Tarth, or to Casterly Rock. She deserved it though, Shireen thought, she had more than upheld her vows and done her duty, both to Uncle Renly and herself.

“I never knew the sun could be this warm,” Sam whispers, turning his face to the glowing orb in the sky.

Jojen stares over the horizon, his face rendered almost blank by wonder.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this far from home, even when we went north.”

Gilly had smiled and nodded. When they reach the edge of the city, they park their horses outside an inn who says they have space for a small group of travelers. Shireen retrieves the pack with her writing, it’s bulging at it’s seams, and suddenly Gilly takes the lead.

“How do you know where you’re going?” Shireen asks, barely able to keep up.

“I just do,” Gilly insists. Shireen shrugs at Jojen, then takes his hand and tries to catch up.

They had stopped in Dragonstone, for just a few moons, to see her mother. Shireen couldn’t quite put to words where their relationship truly sat now, but she was grateful that her mother no longer looked at her as though she was a monster for existing. Maybe they would never be close, but now she would not be the one who told her how to follow her dream, to live the life she wanted.

And with the impending responsibility of Storm’s End in her future, Shireen is perfectly at ease with taking this time for herself.

The city sprouts up on both sides of the honeywine, winding cobblestone streets under their feet. And then, it appears in front of them. The collection of domes and towers that made up the Citadel.

Gilly’s steps stay fast, stay certain, and Shireen suspects that she knows exactly where they are going. Past the green sphinxes was easy enough, but Gilly seemed to know each and every turn to find the library.

The library does it’s best to take Shireen’s breath away. She gazes up at the tall stacks and the high ceiling. She feels Jojen go still beside her, and realizes he must be as enraptured at her. She overhears some of the acolytes in their robes talking, something about the seasons, and tires to listen.

One of the acolytes looks up and opens his mouth as if to tell them that they can’t be in here. Gilly doesn’t give him the chance, but walks briskly past, pulling little Sam by the hand, to the acolyte at the fourth table in line, a portly young man who hasn’t even raised his head at the noise yet.

“Spring lasted only a little more than a year, and the stars say everything’s still in motion and if this keeps changing….”

He looks up. Gilly smiles. The young man knocks over his ink well.

Shireen feels a smile on her face too, though she’s not quite sure why.

Winterfell

Ned tries to wipe the sweat from his face when his daughter enters his room. It’s too hard for him to move very much anymore, but he tries not to let her see. Wolkan, the new young maester sent from the Citadel, tells him it won’t be long. And while the days he has are getting harder and harder, he keeps finding himself wishing for just a few more.

Arya’s spending her evening sitting with him, on his left side. All of his children have spent the time they can by his side, but even though he would never admit it, Catelyn had always been right; Arya was always the child he was closest to.

“Tell me of Winterfell, daughter, “ Ned asks, and Arya puts down her book.

She smiles.

“Meera taught Arra to hold her bow this morning. Her hands are too chubby the draw the string yet though. Last I saw, Gendry was giving her a piggyback ride around the courtyard while the others were training.”

She smiles wider, briefly, at the thought of Gendry swinging the little girl around, making her laugh and squeal. She teased him horribly about how he was so grouchy around everyone, except, it seemed, for mouthy girls.

“The guards are training again, now that we have enough of them and enough laborers. They even let me join without complaint now.”

Ned coughs.

“I do wish I got to admire you in action with that blade again.”

Arya pats her thigh, where Dark Sister still has it’s place in her holster.

“Sansa’s working on her cloak, she’s embroidering it with a red wolf. Ygritte’s still working with Val to finalize their plans. “

Ned smiles at her stories.

“And what of Winterfell itself? Is it still healing well?”

Arya’s face is wistful.

“It’s going on. The crew sent from King’s Landing have been doing their labor as ordered, though the chains make it difficult. We’re not sure how to make it safe without it though. Summer’s come in like a cart racing downhill. It’s been warm and sunny nearly every day, not even any summer snows yet. All of the flowers and the strawberries too are in bloom, even that peach tree that Maester Wolkan rooted in the glass garden has fruited.”

Ned’s face is starting to look wane and tired, so Arya slows. He coughs once, and tells her,

“Keep going. I’ll listen as long as I can.”

“The word from the Citadel,” Arya continues. “Is that these seasons are pasing unusually fast. Word might be if the speed keeps up, a future season might not even last a year…”

Arya keeps talking and Ned falls asleep. She stays with him in the quiet, before standing to leave.

That night, with the images of a fruitful summer drifting in and out of his mind, Ned passes away into the night.

The memorial is held, Winterfell grieves, and another Lord Stark joins the hall of his ancestors in the crypt.

And in the summer afterwards, is when the departures begin.

Meera and Bran are the first. Arra can sit upright in a saddle by herself now, but Bran still rides behind her to save the use of a pony.

“It’s going to be so strange being here without you three,” Arya says, helping Arra put her hands on the front of the saddle and hold on correctly while her father takes the reins.

“It was going to happen sometime,” Meera admits, mounting her own horse. “It almost feels like I’ve been putting off my own responsibilities. I shouldn’t do it anymore.”

“And you’ll always be able to find us,” Bran tells his sister, tilting his head towards the summer sky, where his ravens fly free above Winterfell, ready to depart. “May be a bit of a trial keeping them from getting shot at first, but I think I can handle it.”

Summer is waiting patiently beside the road for the others. When Meera’s horse steps close, he raises himself up on his hind legs with enough gentleness that her horse doesn’t spook. She rubs his snout and his tail wags, eager to be back in the wild. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to live as close as he did in Winterfell, but perhaps a single wolf could find a home in a swamp. And even if he ended up fleeing for the forests near Moat Caillin, he would still be close enough. Bran would always be close enough.

“Wait,” Arya says, stepping forward to Meera. She removes a wrapped item from her pack.

Meera’s eyes go wide.

“You’re giving us the catspaw’s dagger?”

Arya nods. She gestures at herself, Dark Sister on her hip, and back to Jon, who’s standing back a bit and explaining to younger man in an overlarge guard’s uniform about Longclaw.

“There’s no reason for us to hog all the Valyrian steel left in the north, and we know you’ll keep it safe. Besides,” she twists and looks where Bran and Arra have pulled up on their horse beside them, “Your House played a role in the war, even if it’s not one most people will remember from history. You deserve an heirloom to commemorate.”

And also, she thinks, this dagger nearly killed Bran once. It makes sense for him to help keep watch over it.

Arra reaches out for her aunt’s hand, calling out “aya,” the closest approximation her baby voice can manage. Arya squeezes her chubby hand and kisses it, before standing back up beside her husband and the other Winterfell men to watch them go.

Catelyn had bid farewell to her second youngest son earlier that day, for it was time too to prepare to leave Winterfell with her daughter, and for them to depart for Casterly Rock.

“I almost feel like I’m superfluous to you,” Catelyn admits as Sansa finishes the stitching on her gown, “You’ve got everything so well handled.”

“Nonsense, Mother,” Sansa admonishes, “I had to get married twice without you. I may not be able to do it with my whole family- but I’d like at least you to be there. Besides, if you’re planning to return to Riverrun, this will cut your travel time in half. “

That had been a surprise to all of them, that after Ned’s passing and Robb being officially recognized as Lord Stark, that Catelyn had expressed desire to return to her childhood home.

“My brother is lord now, my father gone. My uncle has earned some rest in his older years, and I would like to ensure that my home will prosper. I think I’ve gone a good job here, and I’ve loved raising every last one of you, but I am not truly a Stark, and without Ned, I do not feel like I truly belong here.”

And to all of the Starks, it’s actually Jon who she admits this to first, a consequence of the strange sort of ceasefire their relationship has become. He did his best to be understanding, though he does tell her that he spent much of his life feeling the same way.

“Even if you continue feeling that way, I feel like the Starks will always welcome you.”

The day Sansa and Catelyn leave Winterfell is the sunniest of any of the summer days so far.

“Hail one of Bran’s ravens if you need us. Especially me, if I need to filet your husband. I didn’t get to the last one, so I want first dibs.”

Sansa snorts wildly while embracing Arya. She’s dressed in a practical traveling gown, her bow once again strapped to her back. At her feet, Lady sits, waiting.

Arya pats her shoulder, and adjusts her quiver.

“Remember to keep your string well waxed. Meera always told us that was the most important part of maintaining your bow. And don’t get rusty. Just because you’re going to be a Lady of a great house now is no reason to let your skill degrade.”

Arya’s taking her chance to lecture Sansa on propriety. Sansa already feels like crying so she lets her.

When the party departs, Catelyn doesn’t look back, but Sansa does. Lady yips beside the party, running along the green grass in great bounds. She leaves her childhood home with one eye in the past, but her whole mind turned to the future.

In the coming moons, Val and Ygritte work out the numbers.

“The farmers have begun to work upon the New Gift,” Ygritte tells Jon that night in his chambers, “But the sheep and goat herders prefer the land north of where the wall stood. The animals have adapted to the land there, the cold and wind, it’s necessary for their coats and appetites. And the hunting clans, they’re always going to prefer living in the wild land where the beasts they hunt aren’t in as much competition with men.”

And Jon knows that Ygritte too, would always prefer the wild land.

“We’ll help them then,” he tells her, “We’ll lead them and help them resettle. With Rowan and the trees, we won’t have to be as divided as we once were. All of this land can truly be the north.”

Ygritte nods, and cuddles into his chest, and that night, they both dream of snow and caves.

The plan has been set for a while, and some of the Free Folk have already left to stake out their futures. Robb had wanted to stop them, to do the resettling in a more orderly manner, but Val had shaken her head. While most of the Free Folk were willing to obey laws, they were not willing to wait for lords to tell them how and when to live.

Rickon had been among the first to forge his path north, along with Roland, the young warrior who had stolen him away.

The night before the next departure, Jon finds Arya with Gendry during supper.

“You two can still back out if you want,” he tells them, “I wouldn’t put the both of to hardship again, especially if you’re thinking of starting a family.”

Arya shakes her head, but it’s Gendry who answers.

“Come on Jon, you know the two of us aren’t meant to live our lives in a castle giving orders or being ordered around.”

“And if you’re so concerned about this mission being dangerous when it comes to our futures and starting a family, have you talked to Ygritte about it?” Arya interjects. “Wildlings have been having families in the wilds over the wall for centuries, and I’m sure she’ll have opinions.”

Jon looks abashed, and tells the both of them that they will be ready to leave at sunup.

It does become a topic conversation in Arya’s quarters that night.

“We haven’t really talked about it, since the battle,” Gendry admits, slipping into bed and curling behind her. “Is children something you want? And if you do, are you alright with raising them on the road or in a northern village instead of in a comfortable castle?”

Arya grins, and pushes back against him, nestling further into his arms.

“Considering the number of times we ended up like this after the battle, without my access to my tea...I’m surprised it’s not a question that we’ve been forced to deal with already. I...I always thought the instant we slipped up, I’d have one on me.”

Part of her wonders how Ygritte had avoided it too. Perhaps she knew the herbs, but Jon’s stories didn’t suggest a lifestyle conducive to regular brewing of tea.

“That is always what I thought too,” Gendry admits, playing with her hair “You get it pushed into your mind that it can happen any single time...and then you start to think you want it, and it doesn’t.”

Arya smiles, thinking of seeing Gendry with Arra, thinks of how happy she was with her as well. She feels her eyes falling closed at her husband’s touch, but forces herself to answer.

“I’d be perfectly happy to have a whole pack with you in the wilds of the north, live in a little village, teach them to hunt and make weapons and tend sheep...but we’d play it by ear. If they needed to grow up in a castle, we could always come back, find a place here willing to harbor an upjumped bastard and a wild, improper lady.”

They both laugh, because they know that neither of them are those people anymore.

“We could come back to Winterfell, or visit Shireen when she ends up in Storm’s End, or go finally meet Davos’s wife and sons…” Gendry mumbles as they drift off to sleep. Arya watches his face briefly, childlike in the ease of sleep, and wonders again how she got so lucky to find him again.

In the light of the sunrise, Jon gathers the party to leave Winterfell. Ygritte gathers the people they are guiding, and is preparing them while Jon bids Robb and Val farewell. Val moves to speak to the Free Folk with Ygritte when Robb tells Jon.

“You may think you have no place here Jon, but you will always be welcome.”

Robb embraces him as well as she can with his one arm, before pulling back.

“And-” he tilts his head towards where Arya and Gendry wait, “If there are any new Stark cubs… from either of you, you better bring them to Winterfell, at least to show them where they came from.”

Jon sniffs a bit when they separate. Robb had always treated him as a brother, and Jon feels like he might as well be sixteen again, leaving for the Night’s Watch.

“Rule as Father would have wanted you to,” Jon tells him, before turning to join the others.

There’s one more person who’s supposed to join them, but Jon’s not sure how she will. He enters the Godswood, looking about. It’s easy enough, Rowan has made herself a nest underneath one of the old oak trees, and right now is sitting, face serene in the summer sun.

“Are you still joining us Rowan?” he asks her. She nods without words at first.

“In time, I want to feel the sun a bit longer.”

When they cross through the gates, Ygritte admits to Jon,

“It was fine to get to see a castle...but I’m glad to be returning north.”

Arya upon her horse, turns at one point to her left. Her ear still bothers her, but out in the wild, it’s different. It’s both quieter, the buzzing especially isn’t as bad out here, and so much of the world here is alive. She remembers Bran talking about reaching out with his ravens in the Neck for the first time, how everything seemed to breathe and to speak. The unbalance feels different in the wild, with creeks babbling and birds chirping instead of people chattering. But she turns towards the buzzing, and one bit of her silent spot becomes a flash of gray.

Nymeria, guarding her human’s vulnerable side. Arya smiles, and in the distance, spots the flash of white fur showing Ghost also running alongside. They both stop in their tracks and turn to howl. And far behind them, Arya can just make out a howl in response. Their brother, calling out farewell from behind the castle walls.

The road is gentle at first. When they reach the land of the Gift, they pass a few small settlements that have begun to farm, and there is little conflict. With everything in bloom for summer, foraging and hunting is easy enough for the group, and at night, the sky is clear enough that all the stars can be seen with ease.

Some nights, Rowan comes through the camp and whispers with Ygritte all the secrets of the stars that the children of the forest held. For even while she had had her fill of the south, Ygritte was still prone to gazing at where man had never gone.

Jon tries not to ask too much of the weirwoods, as abundant as they are here in the north, because they’ve done so much for man already. But sometimes the whispers still speak to him, warn of danger, though they often don’t see it as much. When he tries again to thank them, they almost seem to laugh.

The wall still stands, though it is clearly weeping. Jon has no idea if it will ever truly fall, has no idea what would even happen if it did. Would it slowly shrink and disappear, or would it be diminished, piece by piece, until the whole structure collapsed under itself?

Castle Black is empty, a relic of only a few years. Arya leads scouts through the remains, Dark Sister at her side, to clear it out and find any survivors, or squatters as it may be. They find none, but they do find fallen. Thankfully, the residents of the north are well used to building funeral pyres now, and saying words for people they don't know.

Soon the structure become a quality shelter before it becomes time to move past the Wall. The old barracks are opened up, but in summer, most choose to sleep in the outbuildings and battlements, in the open air.

“This would be a good location for a trading post,” Ygritte comments, “Even an inn, if there’s an enterprising sort among us.”

“Eastwatch used to trade with wildlings, even though it was forbidden,” Jon tells her. Ygritte’s idea is a good one, he thinks. There’s structures already in place, it’s central and easy to find from both sides, and already built to be defended.

The crowd is in one of the training yards, and both Arya and Gendry are in the middle being dogged by children. There’s a pack among them, young children who were hidden away on Bear Island and who’s mothers want to raise them in the land they came from. Children who only saw a bit of the action, and are desperate for stories.

They both look oddly comfortable, Jon thinks, being surrounded by young ones. He’ll have to mention Ygritte’s suggestion to them if their adventuring ever needs to take a slower pace.

That night, the sky is initially clear, but eventually takes a dark turn and a summer snow dusts the structures of Castle Black while the traveler’s sleep. In the morning, they might regret not taking the black brother’s barracks, with their large hearths, but before the snow, they had wanted the freedom of sleeping in the summer night.

Jon is jostled awake in his bedroll once the sky changes by Ygritte returning from her night-time stargazing with Rowan. Snowflakes dust her fiery hair.

“It’s snowing,” she comments. Jon chuckles, turning on one side to face the open window, “I could tell,” he responds.

She’s curls up behind him, and Jon can practically feel her eyes on him, even though he can already feel the pull of sleep beckoning back to him.

“Rowan said something to me,” she admits, “about humans and our names.”

“What was that?” Jon asks, one eye open.

“How the have a way of coming to suit us-”

Jon lets out a long snore and Ygritte realizes she’s lost him. She rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling, blocking where the stars would be. The snow is so light, it will probably be gone by morning. Though she is alone, she continues her last thought.

“Jon, of the snow,” she whispers.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #breera #jongritte #time travel fix it #fic

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greatfay · 4 years ago

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since ur answering asks and shit can u explain what u meant by generational differences in communication

Damn it’s like 2015 tumblr when my inbox used to be WET. So if you’re talking about the controversial opinions post, YES, like I totally understand where people are coming from when they say that generational divides aren’t real (because they aren’t, they’re arbitrary) and distract us from real problems and yes they paint past generations as collectively bigoted when Civil Rights protestors in the 60s (who are in their 70s and 80s now) are mirrors to BLM protestors today, who could be of any age, but the most vocal and famous (at least online, especially irt to the founders, like Patrisse Cullors who is 37.

But how we communicate is sooooo different. I really point to the Internet and Social Media as a major influence in how younger millennials (more Tom Hollands and less Seth Rogans—see even there, I feel like there are two different types of Millennials) and Gen Zrs/Zoomers and even Generation Alpha behave and communicate. We live in a world where we grew up either knowing right out the gate or discovering the hard way that what we say and do has permanence, the kind of permanence that prior generations have never experienced until today. The dumb things kids have been saying since forever can now follow them... forever. We have an inherent understanding of how online spaces work. Compare that to, idk, let’s say you posted on your Facebook (for the first time in 18 months) “All these big and bad grown ass Senators going after actual child Greta Gerwig lol ok, you’re so brave for attacking a CHILD over climate change” and then your aunt, who’s turning “forty-fifteen” in May replies to your post with “So happy to see my passionate niece! Much love from us, hope you’re doing well. Paul is doing great, waiting on his screening results. Tell your mom I said we miss her, we need to get together, we forgive her for last Christmas.”

Like... ok there’s a lot going on there, but your hypothetical aunt is oversharing on a publicly accessible post. And even with the most strict of privacy settings, she’s oversharing where your other Facebook friends (which may include classmates, coworkers, etc.) can see. But she’s saying things that would only be appropriate in a 1-on-1 conversation. This Aunt doesn’t have an understanding of such boundaries, she’s not as technologically literate and hasn’t grown up in a world of Virtual Space, she still gets most of her news from TV, she trusts what a reporter on Channel 4 will read off a script more than what actual video footage of an incident might reveal on Twitter, and she has no clue that she’s been sharing her location data with every post she makes.

There’s such a huge difference. I think it even affects how we experience and express stress and frustration. I think growing up partially in online spaces has made me more accustomed to conflict and consequence-free arguing than someone who never had to worry about that. I’ve been exposed so much to harassment and bullying, triangulating and echo chambers in forums and threads, and vastly opposing point of views at such an early age that it’s had an effect on how I see the world. Compare this to a customer I helped two weeks ago who was looking for a specific type of supplement for children. I found it for her, I handed her exactly what she was looking for, even though her description of the product actually matched several different products; to make sure I’d done my job thoroughly and that she leaves happy and satisfied and doesn’t bother me again, I then show her more products that match her description so that she knows she has options. And she proceeds to freak out, saying “NO, NO, I’M LOOKING FOR [X] AND IT HAS TO BE [XYZ]” and when I say freak out, she looked stressed and PANICKED. And being a retail employee wears you down bit by bit, and add COVID on top of it and little shit like this makes you snap, sometimes. So I have to cut her off like “Why are you screaming and freaking out, jfc you’re holding what you said you wanted. It’s in your hands. I gave you what you wanted, I’m just showing you more things.”

That customer is not an exception, she’s not a unique case. She’s representative of a frightening percentage of her generation, the kids who watched Grease and The Breakfast Club and Ghost in theaters when they were originally released. This is how they communicate and process information. She could not, for some reason, register that her need had been fulfilled, and defaulted to an extreme emotional response when given new and different information.

I’ve yet to deal with someone younger than 35 act the same way, the exceptions being the kids of very wealthy people at my new job who reek of privilege I gag when they walk in—but even they are like *shrugs* “ok whatever” and understanding when there’s something I can’t do for them.

Me: “sorry, we are totally out of that one in your size, but I can order it for you, it’s 2-3 day shipping at no cost to you and we ship it straight to your house”

A rich, white, attractive 22-year-old who’s had access to organic food, a rigorous dermatologist, and financial security since she was born: “mmm... sure, I’ll order it”

A 47-year-old of any socioeconomic background, of any race, in the same situation: “AHHHHHHHHHHH”

I just think it’s crazy how three generations of kids and young adults raised in a world where everything moves so much faster, where knowledge and entertainment and communication can be gathered so much faster, are often so much more polite and patient and understanding. Yesterday I told an older man (mid-50s) whose native tongue is the same as mine, as clearly and succinct as possible, that what he’s looking for is “in aisle 4.” He proceeded to repeat back, “Aisle 7?” four time before I dropped everything to show him what he needed in aisle 4, despite his insistence that he didn’t need me to walk him there. 4 and 7 sound nothing alike in English. There’s just something going on up there 🧠 that’s different.

Oh, other generational divides!!! We have different approaches to labor and working. Totally different! I’m a “young” millennial where I’m almost Gen Z, and I’ve noticed an awful trend among my demographic where people actually brag about working 90 hour work weeks. Or brag about how they skip breaks and live on-call to get the job done for “the hustle” like this “hustle, become a millionaire by 30″ culture that’s dominated these kids, idk where tf that came from. Like why are you proud of being a wage slave, getting taken advantage of by your millionaire/billionaire overlords. Compare this to my mother’s generation (she’s a borderline Genius X’er, she and her best friend were a year too young to watch Grease when it came out and had a random older woman buy tickets for her; she went to Prince concerts, took photos of him, then sold the photos on buttons at school, that’s her culture and teenage experience), where she’s insistent on her rights and entitlements as an employee, and these things she instilled me: “whatchu mean they didn’t schedule a break for you and you’re working 12 hrs today? oh no, you’re off, don’t answer your phone cuz you are NOT available!” There are Gen X’ers who entered the workforce at a time that America was drifting toward this corporate world, with more strictly defined regulations, roles, and understandings of labor rights (and also, let’s talk about how the 80s there was so much more attention on workplace harassment, misogyny and gender divides in wage gaps, etc. etc... not that much has changed, but at least it was talked about!). There are young people today who are taken advantage of because they aren’t as informed or don’t feel as secure and valuable enough to claim what belongs to them.

At the same time, those generations (Gen X and older) have a different viewpoint of hierarchies in the workplace and respect irt our direct supervisors. That’s how you get this blurring of boundaries between Work Life and one’s Personal Life that leads to common tropes in media written by their generations, where oh no! I’m having my boss over for dinner and the roast beef is still defrosting :O is such a “relatable thing” for them... meanwhile us younger generations are like I don’t even like that you know where I live, and if I see your 2017 Honda Civic pass my place one day, we’re going to have a problem. I think older generations have a different relationship with the word “Respect” than we do. Like, my grandma, who’s turning 87 (?) this year, and the other seniors in my area, they have a different concept of honor and an expectation of professional boundaries that I, and my mom and her generation, just don’t see (so then there’s something in common with Gen X’ers and the rest of us.) My dad grew up in a world where talking and acting like George Bailey and knocking on someone’s door with a big smile could get you a job, a job that could pay for college and rent no problem. My mom grew up in a world that demanded more prestige, where cover letters and references could get you into some cushy jobs if you’re persistent and ballsy enough. And I grew up in a world where potential employers literally don’t see your face when you apply unless they lurk on any social media profiles you have publicly available and they hold all the cards, and you need all those CVs and reference letters just to make minimum wage... so I feel like I am powerless in the face of such employers.

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fancifulwhump · 5 years ago

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i'm LIVING for your jaskier fics omg!! would you be at all interested in writing a prompt where Jaskier is riding Roach because he's not feeling well, but Geralt doesn't realize how bad the fever really is until he falls off? (if that's not interesting or too specific, I can try again! no pressure to write this!)

anonymous asked: would LOVE to see a sick Jaskier with a cold while they’re traveling, and how Geralt would treat him being feverish and sniffly/how Jaskier would complain lol

AN: absolutely! so sorry this took a hot second, but here you guys go --- hope you enjoy! ;)

The language of Jaskier is above all a loud one... but just as subtle as any beast’s dialect, filled with intricacies and rhythms that Geralt cannot help taking note of the more he listens. It’s really not the same thing, of course. Non-speaking monsters really can’t use their words; they have no way to express how they feel, except by eating you. Jaskier hasn’t tried to do that. Yet. (Sometimes the way he eyes Geralt in the bath leaves him feeling the day’s not far off.)

To the contrary — if anything, Jaskier is too verbal. He doesn’t know how to shut up.

Getting used to this took longer than Geralt would have liked. It also demanded considerably more patience than he realized he had. Somehow, staking out a monster’s lair for days in complete silence is bearable... but Sitting through one of Jaskier’s endless rambles is asking too much. Even Witchers can only endure so much.

“Do you ever shut up?” Geralt demanded one day, cutting off the motor-mouthed fool in the middle of another tangent.

Jaskier blinked at him, as though seriously considering the question, then shrugged. “Not a talent of mine, really.”

Miraculously, he did, for a moment. Despite all his instincts screaming to the contrary, Geralt nearly allowed himself to believe his outburst had worked... until Jaskier steppes on a twig, just a bit too loudly, then said, “I was asked the very same thing in bed not too long ago, actually, by this glorious milkmaid — granted, her accent was too thick to make out a word, so she might have been asking me to pass her my ruddy lute, who knows. But she was very enthusiastic —“

And that started him up all over again. Damn the gods.

In spite of it all, Geralt would be lying if he claimed to hate Jaskier’s blathering too much. Sometimes it’s... unique, not being constantly surrounded by silence. He wouldn’t call it nice, not be a long shot, but... it isn’t altogether unpleasant. Jaskier can make for entertaining company in his better moods, and he does keep things interesting. A routine pack of wargs can turn into a colorful job, so long as Jaskier is along to elaborate on it later. Geralt doubts he cuts such a striking figure “swinging his sword to the leaping beast’s belly”, as Jaskier’s latest gig claims, but...

Sometimes, it is nice not to be surrounded by silence. Even if that means putting up with Jaskier’s mouth more than he would like.

Case in point:

“Geralt.” A whine, then a cough, then a passionate sniffle. “Can we slow down? Please? I’ve asked thrice already —“

Four times. Geralt’s been counting.

Gritting his teeth, he urges Roach a bit faster, conscious of the sound of struggling bard trailing a bit behind him. Jaskier makes no effort to be discreet when he moves, so Geralt can hear everything in perfect detail. The crunch of twigs beneath his heavy feet; the strain of his breaths, a bit more labored than they should be, a bit more congested; the way his chest rattles when he launches into another coughing fit. Even with a nasty cold, Jaskier’s loud.

“Just because I can’t catch it,” says Geralt once the latest fit has passed, “doesn't mean you need to cough on me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ll be sure to aim my dying gasps towards the wilderness next time.” Backtalk is a talent Jaskier can’t help himself honing, even sick as a dog. His brows, foreword with childish petulance, draw even tighter together as he wraps both arms around himself, hunching in. A shiver courses through him; Geralt distinctly hears the rattle of chattering teeth. The second Jaskier catches his eyes lingering, however, he plays up his misery for the perceived audience, pouting and wiping at his face. Geralt rolls his eyes, looking away.

Geralt understands the patterns of many beasts, but Jaskier’s language was one of the easiest to learn. The Law of Jaskier: as long as he’s talking, he’s fine.

And he hasn’t stopped talking since early this morning. No, not talking — complaining. Gods help him, Jaskier hasn’t stopped complaining.

He still stubbornly follows Geralt out on the road, however; in spite of his red nose and phelmgy cough, Jaskier refuses to be left behind. It wouldn’t be the first time he chose to linger in a particular village which Geralt went on ahead, but Jaskier insisted the last one one didn’t appeal to him — “Everyone looks half-starved there. No wonder, the food tastes like shit. At midnight I half-expect them all to gather into a mob, hunt down the nearest visiting bard, and fry him on a spit. I have just enough meat on my bones, Geralt, but I wouldn’t be tasty —“

That rant devolved into a coughing fit that left Jaskier doubled over on the side of the road for five minutes, gasping and heaving. Geralt actually had to stop and wait for him. By the time Jaskier recovered, raising himself shakily up from his knees on the dirt road, he looked a mess. His face was bright red, tears lingering at the corners of his eyes; his chest still heaved. That was the moment any sensible person would have turned back… but Jaskier simply steeled himself and carried on.

Fool of a bard, Geralt thinks now, listening to Jaskier’s heavy footsteps behind them. He’s lagging, slowing them both down. His scent has picked up something unfamiliar, an edge of sour sweetness that can only be a fever. At least he’s walking on his own… but he’s not walking fast, is the thing, and they have to walk fast if they want to reach the next town before nightfall. As it is, the prospect looks doubtful; Jaskier has slowed them enough already.

“As soon as we find a bed, I’m collapsing in it —“ Jaskier pauses to sniff again, and clear a hoarse throat. “Then not getting out for a year. A year, Geralt. You’ll have to — drag me by my feet or something.”

“Something,” Geralt agrees, his mind flashing to images of swords and steel. Oh, he’d get the damned bard out of bed.

The trail gets rougher as they make their way further into the mountains. Even Geralt stumbles in places, and he’s built for this sort of travel. He’s wearing the boots for it. Jaskier is distinctly neither of these things. As Geralt’s must focus more of his attention on their way forward, he almost misses what’s going on behind him — the harshness of his companion’s breaths growing more and more labored, the way Jaskier’s coughs pick up force and frequency, the times he must stop — physically stop — to sneeze or hack his lungs out. Geralt tries to ignore it. He really does. But the fact that he almost manages, for about fifteen minutes, is what alerts him to a much more alarming fact.

Jaskier has stopped complaining.

As soon as Geralt realizes this, he jerks to a halt on the trail. Roach follows his lead… but Jaskier, his head down, doesn’t notice. Instead, he walks straight into Roach’s backside, nearly toppling off his feet.

“Agh — damn it, Geralt.” Even his indignation sounds listless. “Give a man warning next time, will you?”

“How,” asks Geralt, through gritted teeth, “do you feel?”

Jaskier blinks, appearing to weigh the likelihood that his companion is genuinely concerned or just annoyed. Whatever he decides, he isn’t wrong. Instead of offering an answer, he makes an inarticulate ‘hmm-mmm’, shrugging his shoulders. Geralt’s hard gaze bores into him. Jaskier shrinks under it. After a moment, the pressure grows too much; he breaks. “My head is pounding, to be honest. Feels… dizzy. I don’t know. It’s cold out here.”

“You have a fever,” Geralt observes.

Jaskier raises his eyebrows, then laughs softly, like he’s not surprised. “Right, yep, that makes sense. Figures you know me better than I do…”

He breaks off into another fit of coughing, which leaves his entire body quaking. Geralt has to actually grab his shoulder to steady him, just in case Jaskier should tumble over. As soon as he’s regained some kind of composure, though, Jaskier pulls away.

“I’ll be fine.” This time, there isn’t a trace of whine in his voice; he isn’t scraping the barrel for pity, but being deadly serious. “Not too long to the next village anyways, is it? I can make it.”

Geralt eyes him for a long moment, weighing the likelihood of getting there in a reasonable amount of time with Jaskier lagging behind. It’s not good. They’ve been making poor time as it is, because he’s had to slow his pace for the damned bard, but Geralt would prefer not to camp along the road overnight. (Because he doesn’t feel like sleeping on hard ground; not because Jaskier in his current state needs a warm bath and bed. Absolutely not.)

He sighs through his teeth. “Get on the horse.”

“What?”

Either Jaskier’s fever is high enough that he can no longer comprehend the common tongue, or he really is an idiot. “The horse,” Geralt emphasizes, patting Roach’s hindquarters in preemptive apology. “If you ride her, we may make it to the nearest village before nightfall.”

This is the one and only time Geralt has ever offered his precious horse; Jaskier knows this, as well as he knows this chance will never come around again. Maybe he’s just an opportunist. Maybe the promise of a roof over his head is that tempting. Either way, Jaskier doesn’t weigh his options for long before doing the sensible thing and getting on the damn horse.

Roach whinnies, making her displeasure at the entire situation clear. Jaskier isn’t helping matters, a dead weight on her back. The horse stamps her hooves, shuffling in dismay, but a look from Geralt chastises her. For the moment, getting the bard out of the woods will have to be more important than her dignity.

No, Geralt doesn’t like it either. One look at Jaskier’s face, though — the hollow-eyed pallor, and the distance, as though he’s drifted out to sea already — reminds him why it is necessary.

This time around, they are able to set a much faster pace. Roach keeps up, just as Geralt knew she would, even carrying the burden that is Jaskier. The sick man doesn’t help his case; rather than ride, Jaskier has both arms braces against Roach’s neck, clearly focused on just keeping his balance. There’s a precarious list to his posture which Geralt keeps an eye on, but he doesn’t actually fall; every time it seems like he might, he rights himself, and a new dawn of clarity rises over his face. It lasts only a moment, of course, before fading away… but it’s something.

It isn’t long before the woods begin to thin out. Geralt tracks their location by the trees, and by the hues of purple and gold beginning to blend together on the horizon. They haven’t far to go, and enough time to do it. Unless they run into any roaming monsters on the way…

He takes his eyes off Jaskier, and there’s the mistake. He forgets. When Jaskier was complaining, at least he was present; by airing his grievances he ensured that he could not be ignored. This quiet Jaskier is a foreign one, and Geralt isn’t used to him. So, he makes a mistake. He looks away, and doesn’t look back… until a gruesome thud echoes from behind him.

Geralt stops dead in his tracks. Roach lets out a distressed whinny. Jaskier says nothing at all.

“Fuck!” Geralt hisses, rushing back to the bard’s crumpled body. Face-down in the dirt, Jaskier makes no attempt to pull himself up. When Geralt hauls him upright with both hands on his shoulders, Jaskier groans, head lolling against his own chest.

Mud stains his cheeks, and a bruise is sure to form where he hit the ground hard. Even when Geralt seizes his face, though — and damn it, he’s on fire, worse than Geralt thought — Jaskier proves incapable of focusing. An incoherent murmur passes through parted lips. It does exactly nothing to alleviate Geralt’s minor panic.

“Jaskier! Wake up!” Is he even asleep? Geralt can’t tell. “Say something!”

He means it, and the realization comes as an icy shock — never did he imagine he’d ever miss the bard’s incessant prattling. Yet in the sudden absence of Jaskier’s voice, silence rings louder than ever, and it’s smothering Geralt to death. He should have seen this, should have known, should have realized, damn it —

“Jaskier,” he hisses, hauling his companion to his feet. The full weight of Jaskier’s limp body melts against his own. When Jaskier’s burning forehead falls against Geralt’s shoulder, he shrugs, trying to rouse him… but nothing does the job. Even when Geralt, grumbling furiously, is forced to haul Jaskier back up onto Roach and leap up after him, the fever permits Jaskier to do little more than melt against him. His head lolls, eyes half-open and staring into nothing. Worse than it all, he is completely silent.

For once in his life, Geralt misses the damned bard’s complaining.

#the witcher #sickfic #jaskier #taylortut

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