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gojoho · 4 years ago

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MERCY

• pairing; toji fushiguro x reader [ nsfw ]

• premise; it’s the same dance with him, a shameless game of cat and mouse in which he always win but maybe losing is equally as rewarding.

• words; 2078

• note & warning; i’m back with some toji content, he’s just been in my mind a little to long for me not the write about him. some warnings for this one is public, unprotected ( wrap it and then tap it folks ) sex, with the usual grammatical errors—I swear I try to proof read ya’ll but they just manage to find a way to stay in there. i am slowly but surely getting my mojo back.

Old habits die hard; it's easier to hate each other that way. Labeling whatever that was manifesting between the two of you as that, a bad habit. A dirty secret only an onyx sky could appreciate enough to hide. Perhaps that's what kept it alive and kicking, midnight turmoil, where even the most terrible of bad ideas are more seductive.

Though it's debatable if the alcohol left you unhinged, mindless, and bold. What other excuse did you have for allowing the bastard to enter your domain? There was no shame from the thinking without a conscience, but with the pounding music and pulsing lights, you weren't sure there was even space to think. He held a brazen stare all evening, keen to every move you made.

A man's attention was never anything to sneeze at, but when it was a straggler like Toji Fushiguro, it was intoxicating. And more than the liquor, everything seemed to be within reach under his spotlight. He held his distance, clung to the darkness, yet with such an adamant gaze he could have been right there beside you. At least, that's how you imagined it but the game wasn't that easy.

He'd stay in his dark corner, not quite able to step closer until you were ready. Until the heat underneath your skin became unbearable, leaving you an aching mess. That made it easier to devour you. Whether it meant burying his head between your thighs or hooking his arms around your waist and keeping you open. Or bottomed out inside you, mouth feasting on your chest.

The club was full, Friday night packed but it would work in your favor. You knew none of the songs, not that it mattered, it was mere fuel to your movements. A nice accessory to the sway of your hips, to suggestive temptation behind them.

It wasn't worth looking in his direction; he was always watching. At that thought alone, your clothes become a nuisance. A means to an end, that would start with him. Toji was a patient man but knew that patience didn't extend to everyone, you in particular. He was a tease, and as your dress inclined it almost felt as if he'd been the one to hike it up.

A sensation too similar to his hands moving over your bare thighs, ready to pry them open. His smug chuckle was right there feeding your imagination, and as one song faded into the next, there wasn't a spot on your body that hadn't been kissed in theory. With one thought, you were drooling over a man less than ten feet away, fantasizing about all the ways he could take you. It was more of a headache than it seems, and as the pace of the songs picks up, the conscience returns. Whilst you make your way back to the bar. You'd need a little more liquid luck to get through the rest of the night.

“That was quite a show.”

“Didn’t know I had an audience.” What else could you have done but tell a bald-faced lie? Telling him the truth didn't do anyone any good. How you envision him fucking you in the middle of the dance floor.

“Could’ve fooled me." The bar was located farther away from the DJ and next to the restrooms. The quieter end of the venue, but you're sure you'd have heard his smirk regardless.

After all this time, it's only then that you turn to him.“What are you doing here Fushiguro?”

Big mistake, ten feet away he looked the same as when you last saw him, but up close and personal, some details that had escaped memory came back to haunt you.

“Would you believe me if I told you, I’m here to see you?”

Yeah right, “Not in the slightest.”

“It’s true for the most part, had a job in the area and thought I’d pop in do some sightseeing." He shifted his weight back to the counter, his elbows well-rested on either side.

“Well you came and you saw.”

“On the contrary,” he said. The double meaning has turned your cheeks crimson, and you're thankful for the red lights underneath the counter. “Cute dress.”

Images from moments before gloss over your eyes, heating every part of your body. They burned a path down your chest before settling below your hips. “Seriously Fushiguro what do you want? You made it pretty clear we both want different things the last time you popped in.”

“Things are different.” Sincere wasn't the word you or anyone else would use to describe the guy, but his demeanor defied all expectations. He seemed to be a completely different person.

“Yeah, they are,” you mumbled, tossing back a shot you managed to order before his interruption.

“Look," he started and turned to face you. Face inches from yours, his scent enveloping both of you. "I tried the settling down thing and it doesn’t work with my kind of lifestyle.”

It wasn't the words you wanted to hear, but you probably wouldn't have had them anyway. Wishful thinking, “Then that’s clears things up doesn’t it?” Toji Fushiguro didn’t do apologies, much like he didn’t do commitment, and even as he called after you, that would never change. Something you wish your body would recognize, no matter how much it longed for him.

The corridor to the restrooms was too quiet for him being that close to you...too intimate. In the quick second you had turned you back to him, ready to sober up and head home, he’d already been behind you. Pushing you up against the wall in the far corner, his arms barricading you in.

“You’re quite stubborn, you know that.” His voice was low, quiet all to maintain the secrecy veiled in the darkness.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to add it to my resume.” You witted, going to duck around him but he was quick and with a step forward his hips pushed yours in back place.

“Will you just listen,” he pleaded. Not that you had much of a choice, but he took your silence as obedience. “I won’t make excuses, I’m a shitty guy but it’s gotten me this far. You won’t get the white picket fence with me. That’s not who I am.”

It was true, he was a shitty person. One minute here and the next gone with the wind. All with impeccable timing, usually around when he’d finish fucking you senseless. Truthfully it wasn’t something too much of a problem, it was better if he had his life and you with your own. Though you supposed between the kisses, and that final thrust that brought you both over the edge left some vulnerability.

“If I’m stubborn, then you’re quite dense. I never asked for that Toji. I was fine with the wild sex but was a little conversation too much to ask? You’ve got baggage, newsflash so do I, but you’d think we’d handle it like two grown adults. You’ve always been on the move, please, slow down every once in a while.”

The silence is deafening, louder than the upbeat track in the distance. You were irritated, angry, and, to make it worse, aroused. What else did he expect from you but a meltdown? As he moved his head to your back, he lowered his arms, allowing them to ghost your waist. “I'm sorry,” he said softly, kissing it.

In retrospect, you should have jumped for joy, climbed to the top of the bar, and screamed at the top of your lungs like a lunatic, but you didn't. You didn't want to abandon his embrace at that moment; he had really changed.

The kiss in trial is slow and tender, responsive to not only the worries but any emotion in between. Everything you didn't think he was capable of and all rage bleeds into desire. Each of you starved and desperate to find a fill.

The stiffness of his pants condemned his hold, which found its power over your hips. You want to propose that he return the excitement to your place or whatever hotel he was staying in, but he broke the kiss to turn you around. His patience had reached its maximum for the night.

“Wait for a second,” you mumbled out. A slight moan slipped through feeling his erection firm and strong against your rear. The ends of your dress taunted by his fingertips liked how you pictured them too. “Sorry princess, no can do.”

It’s almost impressive how quickly he lifts your dress and slipping a finger past your thong. But should anyone know your body in grave detail it was him. There’s a ceremonial cheer from the crowd as the DJ lets the beat drop, Toji’s opportune moment of intrusion. Your own cry, not one in interest to the music but the long slender finger to part your folds.

“I’ve waited all night to get my hands on you,” he mumbled out, lips pressed to the back of your neck.

“Toji—”

“I’ll be quick, just the way you like it.”

It’s in your best interest to stop him there, keeping private matters just that, you should stop him...should.

“Fuck…quickly.” you cursed out in compliance. There’s a smirk on his face, you know it. Sure he’s different, but some things never change.

In the second he pulled his finger away, you whimper half expecting for it to slip back in, maybe even with a partner but a casual Friday night turns into Christmas.

“I'll take my time with you later, right now—” he started face pressed into the back of your shoulder. “I just need to be inside you.”

First was the tip of his cock, a feeble tickle before the rest of his inches followed. Stretching you full, slipping deep into your heat. Coaxing the ache that was for him, letting the world see just how easily your body welcomed his own. Yet, it was hard to care about the rest of the world when your own revolved around everything below your hips.

He gripped them tightly, anchoring you there at the hilt with a slow sure thrust before looping a hand to your front. Twisting the nerves in time with his sudden thrust. Quick like he said, but still slow enough to feel him move inside you. In and out, then over again. The excitement of having him there indulging with your body, and the anxiety of getting caught clashed. Making you even more aware of your walls around him, but in his muffled moans there are words of encouragement. Sweet nothings that make your arousal fierce, sexy, and less wrong.

“Don't stop, ” you say a little too loud for doing something taboo but you don't care, “Don't fucking stop.”

The million and one fantasy that flooded your mind on the dancefloor spirals, winding with the moment and coiled in an untamed void. Ready to snap at those trying to control it. And there, shrouded in the thin veil of privacy Toji picks up his pace, teasing it with each stroke until finally, it shudders through. Coming in waves, meeting your peek every time he pushed forward. Bolting down your legs the more sloppy and anxious his hips became.

“Fuck, ” he grunts hands shooting to your chest. Pulling you closer to him, eating up your moans with his.

Almost feral with the way he continued despite his cock’s twitches, he wasn't nearly satisfied but that was a mess neither of you was capable of cleaning up at the moment. Regrettably, you push back on his rhythm stopping it completely. Snapping him from the haze.

“We should go, ” you whisper out on his lips. Which he can only grunt back in response to, hesitant to slip from your warmth.

His hands are glued to your body, unable to null all contact as you tugged your dress back down or as he tucks himself back into his pants. You'd ask whether it was back to your place or his but the languid look on his face as the two of you shamelessly stepped into the light made it fruitful. It didn't matter where the two of you went, he'd have you crying for mercy.

#jjk #Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader smut #fushiguro toji x reader smut #gojoho

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fic-request-blog · 3 years ago

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Five Times Hanzo's Dragons Protect McCree and One Time They Didn’t Have To

This is a request by an anon here on Tumblr for a “Five Times Hanzo's Dragons Protect McCree and One Time They Didn’t Have To.” It really is what’s on the lid. Oh, and they fall in love while we’re at it.

Fluff, angst, humor, rated T for non-explicit violence and mentions of sexual content, ~3K.

Read it here on AO3 instead.

Five Times Hanzo's Dragons Protect McCree and One Time They Didn’t Have To

Chapter 1

Jesse places his hand on the payload, sighing in relief, “Alright folks, we’re at the-“

Something clicks on the payload, a trigger slipping into place as Jesse checks inside. It’s empty except for a small bundle in the center. A tiny, almost translucent wire settles against the inner side of the payload and Jesse closes his eyes. Maybe he can save them from some damage on the off chance he survives this.

He knows what comes next, of course. The whole mission had been suspiciously easy. He shoulda figured.

The blast is strong enough that he’s blown clear over the wall behind him and dropped thirty some feet into the roiling sea below. From there, Jesse loses track of what’s happening. It’s a damn shame his boots and gear are so heavy, he muses, or he’d maybe be able to float up, or even swim up.

But his head is fuzzy, his ears are ringing, and it’s not like he coulda figured out which way was up anyhow. The world turns to blue around him, deep and quiet. His mind swirls around in his head as much as the water around him.

Peaceful. The blue around him is nice, and he doesn’t feel cold or any of the pain that he’s sure he should. He’d always thought he’d go down fightin’ it to the end, but this…this ain’t a bad way to go.

The blue gets brighter and brighter as he continues to slide through the water, which don’t make much sense, but he ain’t really thinking well anyhow, so maybe that’s just how death works. He watches pretty, sparkling circles drift away in the light and finally closes his eyes.

Something wraps around him, warm and comfortable, and Jesse thinks death really ain’t as bad as people make it out to be. Feels a lot like flying.

Chapter 2

There’s another roar of laughter from the bar and Hanzo rolls his eyes, safe in the darkness of his corner booth. The cowboy has certainly recovered well, as is evident by the amount of whiskey he has managed to drink this evening. There was…uncertainty for a short time. The near drowning had been a non-issue, but the burns and injuries to his face, torso, and arms had been far more critical, though Baptiste assured them all he would make a full recovery. Being blown over the wall and into the water had apparently been a far better outcome than being blown into the wall.

Frowning, Hanzo drops his gaze to the sake in his cup. He is perturbed by his own strong reaction to witnessing McCree in peril. They have only been on perhaps four missions together; they have not known one another for long. As another boisterous laugh erupts from the bar, he cannot resist watching McCree again. He is honest enough with himself to admit that the cowboy’s easy and honest personality appeals to him, and the man’s appearance, though crude, is…well-built. Hanzo knows what he likes, and McCree would be, as the American says, a cool drink of water. It does not hurt either that McCree seems to enjoy complementing Hanzo, especially regarding Hanzo’s skill with a bow. It takes more honesty with himself than he has while sober to admit that McCree is partially getting to him through his ego, but with a bottle of sake to nurse, Hanzo can swallow that truth this evening. There are few things he likes more than someone appreciating his skills.

Yet, it is rare for him to become so instantly attached, especially at work. He is usually firm about separating his professional and private lives. It seems McCree has wormed his way into Hanzo’s good graces.

Flexing his fingers, Hanzo sighs. It is not only Hanzo who is intrigued either; the dragons had reacted both swiftly and violently at the danger to the cowboy. If they intend to react like that again, Hanzo may need to be more careful in the future.

By the time the other Overwatch agents begin to trickle out of the bar, it is late, and Hanzo decides he too should find rest. That he leaves shortly after McCree is but a coincidence, he is sure.

There is a pleasant buzz under his skin and the night air is cool as he walks back to the compound. He does not rush, but it takes only a minute or so to catch sight of a familiar hat bobbing through the streets. McCree has one arm across Baptiste’s shoulders, but the other man must be drunk as well because they both weave haphazardly through the streets.

Smile quirking at his lips, Hanzo slows to maintain distance between them. While he did not mind McCree paying for his drinks this evening in thanks for saving his life, nor any of the other words of praise McCree lavished upon him, he does not intend to deal to with two drunks. He will simply follow to make sure they reach the compound.

Later, Hanzo will blame the noise McCree and Baptiste are making for his lapse of concentration, though the sake likely did not help either. He certainly will not admit to watching McCree too closely, the way his hips sway pleasingly as he tries to walk upright down the street.

The first bullet catches McCree in the shoulder, only missing the back of his head because Baptiste had stumbled, dragging the cowboy to the left at just the right moment. Even drunk, though, the two can react swiftly, and the second bullet finds only cobblestones.

Hanzo does not know if the shooter is aware of his position nor does he wait long enough to see if McCree or Baptiste are hit by the third shot. He simply pivots, leaping against the wall to his right and ricochets off to the left, onto the roof the shooter is likely using. Tracing the trajectory of the shots is child’s play.

He has no bow, no weapon at all in fact, but that will make little difference. The silence of the night is interrupted only by a fourth shot. Hanzo’s quiet footfalls as he flits across the roof and his tattoos flaring to life make no noise at all.

He cannot see precisely where the shooter is, but the dragons can taste the gunpowder on the air. They arc across the roof, blue light blinding in the still of the night.

There is not a fifth shot.

Chapter 3

“Thanks Angel,” Jesse smiles as he dodges into an alcove, reloading, “glad ta have your eyes on me!”

Hanzo makes an affirmative noise over the comms and falls silent. Jesse’s not sure if the man minds him callin’ him angel. Hanzo’s hard to read. He’s more stoic than a brick wall. But the guy has saved Jesse’s life twice already, so he can’t hate Jesse too much. If Jesse thinks of Hanzo as his own personal guardian angel, well, Hanzo hasn’t stopped him callin’ him that yet. An’ Hanzo’s not exactly a shy guy. Jessie is sure he woulda spoken up if it bothered him.

So, the real question is, does Hanzo like him callin’ him angel? Because if he does… Jesse certainly would like to know about that.

It takes some focus to shift his attention from thinking about Hanzo’s form when the man is pulling back that bow of his to the battle at hand. The way those tattoos wrap around Hanzo’s biceps as he knocks an arrow, almost like they’re alive, is real…distracting.

The man’s prettier than just about anyone Jesse has ever seen.

Something explodes behind their position and Hanzo’s voice crackles over the line, even more terse than usual.

“Move! All of you!”

Jesse jumps from their position, breaking cover with the rest of the team as the building behind them rumbles ominously.

“They’ve destroyed the building’s supports!”

Cursing, Jesse breaks into a full sprint, watching as the building’s shadow continues to lengthen in front of the team, the ground shuddering beneath them. Things have gone from not great to shit real fast and Jesse’s not sure which direction will stop them all from getting squashed like bugs. There’s a lot of buildings all around them and the one they’d been sheltering behind was tall.

Probably no direction except up is safe.

And then there’s a bright blue light behind them, throwing the shadow of the building back, and Jesse is picked right up off the ground, something big rushing above him.

Gasping, Jesse wriggles, arms pinned to his sides, “What-!”

Similar noises of surprise over the comms from the rest of the team are drowned out as the building crashes into the ground, dust and the accompanying shockwave deafening and blinding Jesse to the ensuing chaos. Air continues to rush past him. He coughs but can’t hear it, can only feel the rattle of his lungs as he tries to clear the dust.

Jesse’s not sure how long they’re in the air. It coulda been seconds or minutes, he wasn’t keeping track. At some point, whatever’s got ahold of him slows down. He cracks an eye open, squinting in the sun as he continues to hack up a lung.

He’s dropped gently onto a roof, and there is, and Jesse ain’t a liar, two dragons dropping the rest of the team onto the roof as well. They are long and blue.

Jesse is freaking out a bit, trying to get a better look from where he lays on his stomach, but the coughing isn’t helping. With wide eyes, he watches Hanzo hop off the back of one of them, graceful as ever. The dragons begin to shrink, smaller and smaller, until they wrap around Hanzo’s arm, stilling as they bleed into his skin.

There ain’t a speck of dust on Hanzo as he turns towards Jesse and, as he walks over, Jesse’s not sure if it’s the dust’s fault that he can’t breathe right. The man is a sight to behold.

Lips quirking in amusement, Hanzo raises a brow, “you dropped this, cowboy,” he says, Jesse’s hat gripped lightly in in his hand.

If Jesse weren’t still winded and coughing, he’d swoon.

Chapter 4

Whatever Hanzo and he have between them is new but so sweet and it feels like it could be goin’ somewhere real good. His thoughts are a little muddy though, swinging from their current predicament to maudlin anger. Life ain’t fair, Jesse knows that. He’s lived a life most people would consider pretty shit, but he’s never begged like this.

“Dunno what I gotta say,” he rasps, arms tightening around Hanzo’s limp form draped across his chest and down his legs, “but please, ‘m beggin ya ta get him outta here.”

It’s only been a month since they started taking dinner together, sitting in quiet spots around base and drinking long into the night. Jesse’s never considered himself a gifted conversationalist, but with Hanzo, words just come easier.

The wall behind him is cold and the alcove he’s dragged them both into is barely big enough to cover them, but with a bust leg and Hanzo’s dead weight, he isn’t going to get anywhere else. Still, the tattoos on Hanzo’s arm remain just that, tattoos.

“Please, please, I know you’re in there, please.”

With one hand, he presses against the sticky mess of Hanzo’s temple, using his chest as a better headrest than the wall, while the other hand shakily holds his poncho to the wound seeping at Hanzo’s side. This thing they’ve got going between them is still so new and the bitter reality that he’s probably not going to see where it goes is pulling pleas from his lips better than any torture he’s faced.

“Please,” he whispers, breath puffing across the crown of Hanzo’s head, disturbing the hairs escaped from the man’s usually perfect bun, “please.”

Hell, they’ve only kissed a couple times. The first had been messy with nerves and drink, but the second. Oh, the second had been slow as molasses and curled his toes right in his boots. Hanzo had backed him up against a door with a hand gripping possessively along his jaw. Just the smolder Hanzo left him with as the man sauntered away, bidding him goodnight, had made Jesse so hot under the collar a cold shower hadn’t done much.

There’s no glow from Hanzo’ arm still, no shiver of electricity in the air, and Jesse starts to lose the little bit of hope still scrabbling at the back of his mind.

“C’mon, you can’t leave him to die like this, please,” his voice just loud enough to hear over the pounding of blood in his ears as the stomp of boots echo off the walls not too far down the corridor, “please, ‘m beggin’ ya, please.”

Tears well hot and heavy at the corner of his eyes as his pleas continue, quieter and quieter as whoever is drawing near gets closer and closer. Damn it all, he’d only gotten the balls to ask Hanzo out on a real date days ago. They’re not going to get a chance to see where this will go, and he’s never hated this shit hand in life more.

A gun cocks at the entrance to their little alcove. Jesse doesn’t look up. Not because he’s too chicken shit to stare down a barrel, god knows he’s done that enough in his life, but because there’s a familiar blue glow spilling from Hanzo’s arm and he can’t look away. Relief steals the very breath from his lungs.

Well, maybe that’s partly the rib giving him a nasty poke to the lung too.

Chapter 5

Someone makes a sound somewhere to his left, a whimper, and Hanzo struggles towards consciousness. His mind swirls. Time seems to waver. Eventually, or perhaps mere moments later, he cracks his eyes open. For long seconds, he is unable to place where he is, but slowly the shadows skulking about form into the familiar interior of the infirmary. He relaxes slightly. At least it is unlikely he is in danger here.

Again, a soft whimper draws his attention to the left. It takes far more energy to turn his head than Hanzo thinks it should, but he manages to nonetheless.

Tucked into the bed beside his own is McCree, fast asleep. The cowboy’s face is tight with pain, though perhaps in his dreams it is worry or fear. Hanzo breathes deep. It is good to see that McCree has survived, a miracle that they have both survived through their last mission. From what he can remember, it had not gone well.

McCree makes another pained sound and there is a tug, a pull from the dragons, against the skin of his arm.

This again. Tiredly, he tries to calm them, “He is not in danger, hush.”

They pull anyways, worried. It takes more energy to keep them there against his skin than to allow their thrashing, and Hanzo has precious little energy to spare.

“Fine,” he releases them, “but do not wake him. He must sleep.”

In the gloom, Hanzo watches them curl tentatively into the nooks of McCree’s body, nuzzling anywhere their little snouts can reach. As one of them snuggles into the rough bristles of McCree’s beard, the pinched expression on his face begins to smooth out.

With a deep warmth spreading through his chest, Hanzo lets sleep take him.

Chapter 6

Hanzo dispatches two more of the talon mercenaries in quick succession, using his momentum to vault to the top of the building. While there are far more talon members than their intel had suggested, the mission so far is going smoothly. Jesse, and now Hanzo, have already reached the objective with little trouble. The rest of their team is not far behind.

Cresting the final set of stairs brings Hanzo in line of sight with Jesse, and time seems to slow around him, his senses sharpening. He breathes in. The scent of smoke sits acrid on his tongue. The sunlight is harsh in his eyes.

Too close. The cowboy is too close to the edge of the building. He watches as though in slow motion, watches as Jesse struggles with a talon agent against the lip of the roof, watches as the ridge they fight against begins to give way, watches as they start to fall.

“Jesse!”

His heart stops within his chest, throat closing around the word.

He breaks into a sprint, calling out to the dragons, their anger singing in tune with his own. There is still a chance he may yet catch Jesse.

But as he reaches the edge, all but prepared to leap, he spots Jesse. The man is not freefalling, but instead has somehow managed to drop into one of the talon helicopters prowling the skies. The helicopter gains height swiftly, pulling up to hover over the roof. Hanzo cannot help the smile tugging at his lips. The talon agents on the roof have yet to realize the danger they are in.

Jesse opens fire, catching the talon agents entirely off guard, clearing the roof in seconds.

The rest of the team arrives as Jesse turns the helicopter, opening fire on the two other talon aircraft still nearby. Hanzo walks back to the stairs as Jesse comes in for a landing. He is…deeply impressed.

Lucio brings the package over, grinning at Jesse in the cockpit.

“Y’all need a ride?” Jesse greets them, the roll of the self-satisfied words around his already-lit cigar sending sparks down Hanzo’s spine. There are far too many of their teammates around them for the embers of arousal to be anything but inappropriate, but Hanzo cannot stop himself from meeting Jesse’s eyes. He knows Jesse can tell where his thoughts have shifted by the stutter in his breath, the clear surprise flitting across his handsome face, and the answering interest darkening his eyes.

If Jesse flies a little fast, Hanzo does not mind. Nor do their teammates question. They have all felt the adrenaline of victory.

If he and Jesse break from their team members at base slightly sooner than etiquette usually requires after such success, none of them question that either.

#mchanzo #hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #Fluff with angst #hurt/comfort #falling in love #the dragons just really like jesse #so does Hanzo lol

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nanyoky · 4 years ago

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@essayofthoughts asked for:

"Perc'ahlia babe and also Vaxleth and Pikelan"

Mwahahaha...

Perc'ahlia:

Who’s the messiest one: I mean it depends. Cuz Percy has a place for every little thing. But when he's mid project it tends to turn into organized chaos. Vex may occasionally leave things lying around if she's tired or distracted.

Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA: definitely Percy, but it's less uncomfortable and more "easily flustered." Like it's just something he's accepted. Vex gunna smooch. Percy gunna blush.

Who’s the funniest drunk: Percy. Cuz he has the same attitude, but he's struggling to take off his socks for bed like "what a- a- idiotic invenshuhh..... Fucking.... Stuplid..... Imma make em better... Make... Sock....better...." While Vex is equally drunk but still doing her four step skincare routine like "yes dear"

Who texts the most: probably Vex. Anything between conversational back and forth, long rambling but deep trains of thought and "LOOK AT THIS DOG I MET"

Who has the most embarrassing taste in music: hmm probably Percy but only in like a "parody of himself" kinda way. Nothing but a mix of chamber orchestra and emo music. Which aren't all that bad on their own, but he is a hashtag Byronic Posh Boi and so of COURSE that's all he listens to. Vex has cool(tm) tastes in music. Even if a song or artist wasn't cool (tm) before, it becomes cool(tm) once she likes it.

Who reads the most: I mean Percy. Not that Vex doesn't read, but he big nerd.

Who’s better with kids: ooo boy that's A QUESTION for some canonical parents, huh? I'm going to say Percy, just because I feel like Vex is a parent who can get overwhelmed sometimes and not know how to handle needy kids when she's running on empty (feel like I should say this does not make a person a bad parent- just that as a kid it's hard to understand that adults get tired). Meanwhile Percy has a natural tone that suggests what he's saying is fact, so if he's too tired for high energy toddlers he's just like "sitting by the fire drinking tea is a very fun game" and the bbs just climb into his lap like "you're right being quiet and snuggly is very fun" while Vex watches like "HOW."

Who’s the one that fixes things around the house: Percy's a good good tinker boi

Who’s got the weirdest hobby: listen one of them invented firearms and the other has a pet bear it's a toss up.

Who cooks and who cleans up: Both are what you might call... Functional cooks. Nothing to write home about, but they get the job done. But Percy excels more at baking (structured, exacting) and Vex is better at more loosely defined things like soups and sauces. Cleaning up is a duo activity and a nice part of their evening wind down.

Vaxleth:

Who’s the messiest one: deffo Keyleth. Houston we have a hoarder. She gets emotionally attached to everything, and saves up little bits and bobs of things for crafting and home diy projects all the time.

Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA: probably Keyleth, but it's in like- the most Social Anxiety way possible. It's not so much that she's uncomfortable, it's that she gets worried that being snuggly or kissing will make others uncomfortable.

Who’s the funniest drunk: oh that's a hard one. Cuz we've seen them both be high quality drunks, (ie day drinking queen and "heterosexuality is fake and magic is just the fucking best????????"). I'd say Vax because I feel like he's more likely to insist he's not that drunk and doesn't need anyone to look after him, and therefore will get into more shananigans/flirt more

Who texts the most: another toughie. Probably Vax, in a similar style to Vex.

Who has the most embarrassing taste in music: they both have the same issue as Percy, in that their tastes are just a parody of themselves. Vax has three categories of favorite music: sad emo boy, sexy alt boy, and rebellious 90s girl. And then Keyleth is just unironically into the softest cheesiest music you've ever heard on the soundtrack to a chick flick. We're talking Jewel here, folks. Also retro oldies cuz Homeschooled Vibes. I'm going to say Vax tho, cuz he's the one who gets emotional about it, while Keyleth is just a casual listener. And he listens to more of her music than she does his. She'll send him the Live at the Troubadour recording of Kelly Clarkson's Sober and he responds back like "??? Why would you send me this??? At 10am on a Tuesday??? When I have things to do??? Now I'm crying on the bus?????" And she's just "glad you liked it! :D"

Who reads the most: probably Vax. He gets deep into reading in attempts to find less self destructive ways of getting out of his head.

Who’s better with kids: hm I'm gunna say Vax on this one because Keyleth has a tendency to try too hard with everyone and was also an only child who was forced into very structured time while growing up cuz expectations. Vax has more clear memories of actually just being a kid when the twins were with their mom, so he can relate easier. That being said they're both pretty good, as we see with that kid Simon, a scene that will HAUNT ME FOREVER.

Who’s the one that fixes things around the house: def keyleth. DIY queen. Vax just gets frustrated and is like "let's just buy a new one"

Who’s got the weirdest hobby: hmmm. Keyleth has A LOT of hobbies, but Vax def will do parkour, just cuz. Like he may have started back when he was still kind of a criminal, but now he doesn't have a practical excuse and he doesn't even like- record it or anything so there's no point to it. He just sees urban environments and goes "gotta jump. Gotta climb. Just gotta."

Who cooks and who cleans up: Keyleth has got prep on lock. Gardening. Hunting and trapping. Gathering. Cleaning and dressing and chopping. She's got this. It's adding fire to things where she starts having trouble. Vax picks things up from there just fine though, and covers dishes and such on the back end.

Pikelan:

Who’s the messiest one: Pike. Pike. Pike. Having a perma-home at last means she gets comfy, which means you can usually not see the bedroom floor. Scanlan is scandalized.

Who’s the one that fixes things around the house: Scanlan tries. He likes the idea of being helpful with domestic stuff and not just a goofus who's just around for the fun parts of being together. Unfortunately he's never really lived anywhere long enough to get good at household repair, and it takes him way too long to do anything. Pike is pretty handy, but gets so busy that she'll just put up with something being broken for weeks. Best case scenario is Pike shows Scanlan how to do something so the next time he can do it himself and feel accomplished and she can come home to things being fixed and give him smooches and coo over him being a handyman.

Who's the funniest drunk? Pike. "I'M TRYING TO STEALTH."

Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA: it may shock people, but Scanlan has the same "once it's serious I get bashful" disease as Vax. Pike will absolutely give his bootie a tap in line at the grocery store and he just goes bright red. He tries to laugh it off like he's still the smarmy mess everyone knows, but she teases him endlessly about it.

Who texts the most: Scanlan is an absolute "good morning," "thinking of you," "how was your day," and "goodnight" text person before they live together. After they move in together it's just text versions of his cover songs about his love for her and dank memes.

Who has the most embarrassing taste in music: we know it's Scanlan. We've heard his cover tracks. Pike has similar cool(tm) tastes as Vex.

Who reads the most: Pike is probably someone who's always on the move, so she's more an audiobook person. But Scanlan is like fully ready for the dad life. Just loving any weekend where he does nothing but sit around in flannel pj pants reading a mystery paperback.

Who’s better with kids: It's a hard one. Scanlan second guesses himself quite a bit and worries every little thing he says or does is going to become Lasting Trauma. Pike acts more chill about it, but slowly gets more and more overwhelmed until she nearly has a nervous collapse. But their opposite styles work well together and they're able to be a pretty great team.

Who’s got the weirdest hobby: I feel like Pike is someone with a weird collection. It is either something a little spooky but cool and academic, like antique medical equipment, or something horrifyingly tacky, like a thong from every city she visits. Maybe both.

Who cooks and who cleans up: this is where Scanlan is a much quicker learner about domestic stuff. Pike is a good cook, but it's usually on the move so much she doesn't have the time for meal planning and prep. Scanlan absolutely throws himself into being a house husband and gets obsessed with cooking shows. Pike insists on helping with dishes tho.

#do it for the meme #I'm so bad at doing these in a timely manner #critical role #vox machina #perc'ahlia #vaxleth #pikelan #percival fredrickstein von musel de rolo iii #vex'ahlia #vax'ildan #keyleth #Pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt

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diamondcamefromhell · 4 years ago

Text

I wish I were her

geralt x fem!reader [as a gender-fluid person i swear i will try to write more gender neutral pairings in the future but writing ‘straight’ is easier for me as i spent most of my life dreaming strictly ‘straight’ when i idenfied as a girl and was in fucking narnia closet even from myself, sorry guys, gals and non-binary pals <3]

A/N: A LOT of shit is going on in my life, as is everyones, so I am not making a comeback yet babes, but i did get not sober and listen to heather just now and decided to write my first ever geralt fic, say whaaaaaaaaaaaat? i made him super soft and honeslty maybe a bit out of character but let a person dream okay either way

truly, i hope everyone is doing okay. the world sucks and i know people have personal problems to deal with. i hope youre okay. i hope this fic distracts you a little. I love you all. as much as a stranger can love a stranger which i believe is a lot, i fukcing love you.

Summary: Y/N has met both, Geralt and Jaskier before, but when they visit again things dont go as she expected

Warnings: violence, self-hate, blood, nsfw [but not explicit because hey hoe im a virgin]

Word Count: 2239

There was something about him she couldn’t quite place. She got lost in his eyes before and she would do it all over again. His touch left marks on her skin that seemed to burn whenever her mind wandered back to him. He changed her life forever and then he left. Only his songs were sung by other folk, pinging at her sides, reminder of those few nights he was hers. And she was his. Nothing else mattered then.

But he was a bard. A man with purpose, a man with goals. And she was just a farmgirl, no more special than any other person on the continent. She was sure that there was nothing this world had to offer her, and those moments of bliss were the best she will ever get.

Yet, when Jaskier and Geralt were passing by again, she jumped on her mare, going to the tavern in a heartbeat. Her anxiety was eating at her insides, making her shiver as she pushed the door open. Unpleasant smell of alcohol and sweat hit her, but when she saw him she got high on a different kind of drug.

But this one had no price.

His eyes were shining as he was smirking as his friend, who was brooding. Jaskier took a moment to look around, glazing over her as if she was nobody. Her heart banged in her ears as she took a few shaky steps towards the table. Loud noises coming from around her seemed to drown out when his eyes met hers. There was slight recognition, or she tried to tell herself that.

“Hello.” She managed. Geralt glanced at her, mumbling something under his breath, but her attention was elsewhere. Y/N eyes were drilling Jaskier, who furrowed his brows, smiling.

“Hello there.” He said cheerfully. His eyes looked somewhere behind her.

“Jaskier, right?” She asked, even though she knew. She knew exactly who he was and what his lips tasted on her and how they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Right. We’ve met before?” Y/N heart shattered a little, but she grabbed the broken bits, not letting them fall apart, holding it together.

“Awhile back, when you and Geralt stayed here. He was here on a contract for a wraith. You wrote a song for that one.” She rambled on, finally taking a breath in.

��Oh right!” His eyes were still glassy but he pointed at the seat. “Join us.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled, but still scooted over when she sat down. His yellow eyes seized her up. “Y/N.”

“You remember me?” The girl was taken back a little, the witcher was the one who hadn’t forgotten her. Not Jaskier. She blinked twice as Geralt didn’t respond, but rather looked at the bard.

“I remember you too, Y/N!” He argued battling Geralt’s gaze.

“How have you two been?” Underneath the table she clasped her hands together, only now realizing she’s sweating.

“Good, good. Lots of work to do around here, right Geralt?” There was nothing but silence coming from his companion. “He’s a bit shy, but you know that already.”

“Right.” Silence settled between them as Geralt downed his ale in one gulp, leaning back a little. He seemed to zone out, having a thousand-yard stare, his mind traveling elsewhere. Y/N looked away from him.

Jaskier was glancing around the tavern just as a server came up to them. Y/N seized her up, in her pretty dress and golden curls than bounced behind her back perfectly behind her back. Her smile was perfect, making Y/N fill with envy as she leaned over to Jaskier, exposing her cleavage to them all.

“Can I get you anything, sweetie?” She whispered as Y/N leaned back, swallowing hard.

She suddenly became aware of her tattered dress that had, what she hoped to be dirt, on it. Her hair was tied back but she haven’t brushed her hair today, so it most likely was a mess. She shifted, smelling pigs and sheep on herself. She became aware of all her flaws as if they were broadcasted to the world.

She wanted to burst into flames this very moment, becoming aware her cheeks are burning red. Suddenly the table became the most interesting thing in this tavern as she drowned out their conversation. She couldn’t listen. She couldn’t see. But when she lifted her eyes, the woman had sat down and Jaskier had one of his hands over her shoulder. He was laughing. The woman looked at Y/N.

“Hey, Y/N!” She, however, didn’t know the servers name, so all she could offer was a polite nod and a forced smile. “You look pretty tonight.”

“You do too, Amelie.” Jaskier said, before Y/N could respond. She dropped her gaze to the table as Amelie laughed. It sounded like bells in the wind, like a bird chirping. It was perfect. Y/N took a sharp breath in.

She zoned out again, not listening to Amelie and Jaskier again. She simply couldn’t. Geralt was looking at her, his eyebrows furrowed. He could tell Y/N was uncomfortable, he couldn’t understand why she simply didn’t leave. The girl chose to torture herself.

Amelia stood up, going back to her work, and only then did Y/N look up again, her expression different from before. Corners of her lips were turned down as she watched Jaskier look after Amelie, completely mesmerized.

“Jaskier.” Geralt called but Jaskier kept his eyes on the girl. Y/N shifted in her seat again, clasping her hands tighter.

Until she felt like she was going to burst. She stood up, muttering something under her breath. She tried not to run, but she couldn’t. She heard Amelie say something, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Her eyes burned as her mind kept replaying Jaskier wrapping his hands around other woman. He was not hers, and Y/N knew.

But her heart ached so much, she felt like her chest was about to rip apart. Her insides were burning and her head was spinning as she untied the horse, riding it into the moonlight. Y/N didn’t realize she just took Roach. She didn’t realize the rain had come down heavily on them. She didn’t realize she was crying.

She didn’t realize she was going right into the woods. Alone. At night.

Only when a wolf howled uncomfortably close, she stopped the horse in its tracks. It neighed uncomfortably as Y/N stared into the woods, until she heard a howl.

She ushered the horse just in time. A pack of giant wolves jumped out as they rushed forward. Her heart was beating for a different reason. The rain was making it impossible to see as she held on for dear life. A moment later she shifted in the saddle and her leg hit a sword that was mounted on the horse.

She realized the mare wasn’t hers. With adrenaline pumping inside of her she tried to unbuckle the sword with one hand, while keeping the other one on the reigns. She struggled and the wolves were catching up. Her life was flashing before her eyes and the dread was filling in, but she knew she hadn’t lived enough yet.

She remembered Jaskiers kiss as vivid as if it was happening now, finally freeing the sword. It was heavier than she expected, throwing her off balance. Roach turned right too, unexpectedly skiting off the hill. The horse took a sharp turn, standing on its hind legs and Y/H hand slipped off the reigns. With a painful thud, she hid the ground.

Roach neighed in fear, rushing off into the woods. Y/N had to blink hard before she could see again, and when she did, her heart dropped. The wolves had her surrounded, their angry growls making hairs on her body stand up. She saw the sword dropped to her right. Out of reach. She was done. There was nothing she could do anymore.

She closed her eyes, hoping her death would be quick.

She heard a thud first. Then, something heavy dropped on her. Her eyes shot open and she saw a decapitated beast on her. Warm blood was soaking through her dress, sending shivers down her spine. Y/N only then sae Geralts back, and his sword drawn, a few more wolves laying in front of him.

The rest of the pack was slayed quickly too, as Y/N stared blankly, too scared to move. All she could smell was blood. As she could feel was fear and relief mixing inside of her. She didn’t like they made together. Her vision became blurry again. And when Geralt finally turned to face her again, she covered her mouth with one of her hands, tears streaming down her face.

Unexpected kindness shined from the witcher as he leaned down, pushing the wolf corpse off of her. His hand landed on her shoulder heavily. In response, she rushed into his arms. He just held her as she sobbed into his shoulder.

He wasn’t bothered by the rain that was drowning them both or that she reeked of blood or that he had just cleaned these clothes. He just held the girl, who almost seemed like a child, shaking in his arms, gripping onto him like he was the last straw holding her together.

“I’m sorry.” She finally managed, not pulling away. His hands around her tightened.

“Not your fault.” He rubbed her back gently as she took a few shaky breaths in.

“I didn’t mean to take Roach.” She leans away, meeting Geralts yellow eyes. He smiles.

“I followed you because you did. You’d be dead otherwise.” Y/N swallowed hard again, blinking back a new wave of tears. Geralt kept his arms around the girl, which she appreciated.

“Thank you.” Her voice broke.

Silence settled between them as Roach seemed to come back to them. It neighed, shaking its head as Geralt and Y/N stayed on the ground, in the dirt. Gazing at each other.

She saw warmth in his cat eyes. There was something welcoming and inviting in them, something that made her feel safe. Like a fireplace on a cold winter night. She felt okay. Nothing could hurt her as long as she was in his arms. She was sure of it.

“I am sorry you had to follow me here.” She breaks the silence, relaxing her body.

“I’m sorry you had to leave like that.” Geralt grows serious again. “Jaskier didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.” Y/N closes her eyes now, feeling the rain roll down her back. “I just wish I was enough.”

“You are. For the right person.” Her lips shake a little as she leans forward, placing her forehead on his shoulder.

“I just want to be enough.” She whispers again, as Geralt gazes into the woods. His hands tighten around her. “Pretty enough. Nice enough. Just enough to be loved. Enough to be remembered.”

“I didn’t forget you.” Geralt reminds sending a electric wave through her body. She sniffles, opening her eyes, staring at her hands.

“You didn’t.” He now grabs her shoulders pushing her away. They lock eyes, as she is suddenly drawn to his honey.

“And I wont.” Her heart skips a beat as she thinks he might lean in for a kiss. She is ready. She wants him to do it, but instead, he stands up, dragging her up with him. “Let’s get you dried up.”

She remains silent as the witcher drops her on Roach, jumping behind her. He takes the reigns, and so does she, her hands still shaking. She leans back into his chest, feeling his breathing as he guides Roach back towards the tavern.

Y/N is sure she hears wolves howl in the distance but she closes her eyes and feels safe with Geralt sitting behind her, steady and unmovable like a wall. Unbreakable.

Once she opens her eyes, they are back. He helps her down the horse, holding onto her as they enter the tavern, but this time, he guides her up to stairs. The room they entered was a bedroom, but Geralt guided her to a bathroom where a warm bath seemed to be ready.

Y/N looked at Geralt who had taken his shirt off. He glanced at her.

“You’re going to bathe with your bloody dress?” She felt a rush go though her body. Her lips curled.

She dropped her, standing there uncovered in front of him. His lips curled as he dropped the remains of his clothes. They didn’t stare at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, but just enough for their eyes light up with hunger.

They stepped in the bath, warmth surrounding them as Geralt placed his hands on the sides of the bath, towering over Y/N, who was half underwater. His eyes were eating her up as his muscles tensed up.

“You’re pretty.” He said.

“Shut up.” She flushed, going underwater to avoid his gaze.

She didn’t expect him to follow, but he did, pressing her to the bottom. His lips found hers, breathing in the air her lungs craved. He wrapped his arms around her, dragging them both from underwater. The kiss didn’t split.

And there Y/N was, surrounded my candlelight, electricity running over her body again, drowning in honey and metal. She felt whole again, she felt safe. She felt loved and important, she felt seen when he locked eyes with her.

She wasn’t Amelia, no. But Y/N was herself.

And she was enough.

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

A/N [again]: i lost the plot at the end im sorry i had a whole ass bottle of wine and i got super saddo towards it so yikes, hope you still enjoy, requests are open ofc but it might take me two years to get to it and im not kidding okay luvs i love yall bue

#will tags work #witcher x reader #geralt x reader #tags never work for me #for fox sake #geralt fluff #soft geralt #jaskier an ass #i love jasky but idk #i felt a bit of geralt tonight #also like what #i am tired #this sucks might delete later #hahaha #okay #bye #tags pls work #thankx

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quitequietquitecute · 4 years ago

Text

NIGHTCALL

It had been a while yet since the last war ended and that its aftermath had cicatrized from Konoha's village face... Almost two years now that a new memorial had been erected in the cemetery, containing the -too numerous- names of those whose body had vanished and who had perished in that senseless massacre... As his father's one - like his teammate's and comrade's and a lot of the village's folks - that can be found carved on it.

He was barely twenty, yet his life entailed two tragedies, two major trauma. It took him a lot to recover from the first disaster : his sensei's death.

Unfortunately, he was endowed of a proficient brain, and that, not only to play shogi or to elaborate strategy, although it was what he was renowned for ; but also for everything what had appeal to overthinking : from self-loathing, to self flagellation or to questioning oneself or by redoing the past with all possible issues he could -have- come up with IF he had enough time, if he was fast enough, if he was ...enough... to every "if I had" that was tormenting him, even now, if less often, still vividly.

De facto, he had passed through every phases, beginning with the sorrow, then the wrath and from the denial to the guilt, in the pit of depression, sporadically coming back from a phase to fall back in another, and this, despite a duly consummated revenge.

Obviously, nobody knew _ except one particular person to whom he authorized himself to break _ timid has he had always been and of a lone and calm temper as he was :

It was the next day of his father's death anniversary. It was a dark night. Laying flat in his bed in the darkness, he could not sleep. It was worst than usual. He was not able to grab a scraps of slumber but in the morning, when he should wake up and go to work. It's been almost fifty straight waking hours...

The weariness was weakening his mental state, it was all the more grueling...

When one had heaped so much waking hour at once, they lose the common time track. It felt like yesterday was no more yesterday or there was no more morning, no more evening, no more night or things as day. Just the solar and moon revolution that seems to put you on the sideline bit by bit. It was a fact well established that peoples tend to refer to sleep to define the end and beginning of their day. Yesterday, for him, was like tree days ago for most people, then.

And while he was thinking about the human conception of the time, his mind was finding a bit of reprieve.

Yet the time was not an escape door but a one-way street, converging in a lonely vanishing point that failed him to save his loved ones... Everything was bringing him back ... at that... incurably. He wasn't able, long enough, to think about anything else.

Although exhausted, he woke up from bed, put on some clothes and exited his house for a walk :

Like the night before, whither his stroll brought him to the cemetery. Where he had met Hinata - as gloomy and drained as him - collected in front of the tall white stone.

Both of them then had faced each other and intently stared, lost and dazzled, puzzled to encounter another human being here, standing in the dark with the same goal : moping about the loss of the loved ones, disappeared "that day".

Then, they both took place ahead of the memorial in silence, the woman giving way to the newcomer.

Neither of them said a word. Side to side in a profound internal contemplation. But in the same time... There was like a feeling of communion floating around them from the incidental encounter. To be here. At hand...

He sensed something moist and tepid, a bit callous but still mostly soft, taking a grab of his hand. He then warmly let the small things slide in between his longer fingers which numbly locked on her strong tiny hand. It felt like these was at their entitled place.

The young woman had noticed he was shivering through their touch, she tightened the grip on his hand. Feeling the firm soft pressure, he took a look at her. She was sending his way a sight of sheer understanding. No smile, no wince, no pout ... just a deep, uncanny, almost inquisitive gaze, full of melancholy which she only let go to see by scarce chance to those able to catch it. That was a call to slack off, to come undone, to let off steam and relieve the pressure... and how he was craving for it... but his tight throat was not allowing anything out.

Reading such misery and distraught in her comrade's eyes, she knew it was locked, that it was not yet the time. Delicately, she had rested her head on his shoulder and hugged his nearest limb with her free arm.

They retired in a tacit agreement, seeing the first morning glimmers in the sky. Going back to their sham of pretending to have had a good night sleep.

But they were only leaving physically :

Hinata was concerned, felt pain not to worry and think about the peculiar state she sees her friend in ; that fact had thankfully eluded every of her very own concerns _ Actually. It was a good opportunity to flee her own issues that she was embracing cheerfully.

Shikamaru found himself unable not to think about the Hyuuga's heir ; her gestures toward him and her gaze ; his mind inhabited with everything he could have nor should have said her, frantically occupied to conceive in his mind all scenarii, coupled to the crave to see her again mingled with qualms.

At the end of the day, both of them tried to meet, actively seeking ... never finding each other... Lamblike, they came back home.

...

That was only at 3 a-m. when he can't bear to ruminate anymore that the Nara get out of his bed and excited his family compound. He knew -for he remarqued it during mission with her- that she usually get up around 3 a.m. and 4 a.m in the night. He passed by the memorial. Not here. Neither in the cemetery, would have been too easy. She was not on her training ground neither.

He was heading to the Hyuuga district then. He managed to not awaken attention, not to end with a grumpy byakugan possessor's platoon that would have fun blocking every of his tekketsu pursuing him. He stopped on a building's rooftop then watched around... That was quite extensive, it was like a small town full of little boxes, sober and beautiful but all the same... until he was spotting an opened area in the middle of the domain.

He swiftly jumped roof to roof in his black shirt and pants, looking like a shadow. When he was there he observed the place, finding what he thought would be : a classic but charming and harmonious garden, endued of a small, reeds bordered, nymphea constellated, pond.

On the porch from one of the adjoining house, he saw a black shape. It was the well made body of a woman in her training suit. While she lifted her eyes to the night sky to watch at the luminary, she caught under the light of the moon the crouched and very recognizable silhouetted form of the Nara clan's head. Undeterred, she had jumped and was joining him on the roof, about to say his name, he beat her to it.

"I ... I need to tell you how I feel" He grunted in a breath before he lost the nerve, his voice hoarse.

He took her hand and she followed his lead, whereas he drove her through the night, down the hills ... Nothing could bother them here.

She was here, silent and attentive. So he told her how he wasn't able to sleep, how many days had passed since the last time he was able to rest, how much he still suffered his mentors loss, that it was like he wasn't really here or like he was 'outside' everything, that he cannot make it out and how he was feeling helpless and how it gnawed at him.

At first it was pretty difficult and required a lot of efforts, then he had erratically let things get out in a throbbing rhythm, with no further form or thoughtfulness.

He finally slowly admitted, a bit ashamed, that he thought she was the only one he could talk about. To that, she responded mutely, approaching him and clasping her arm around him gently.

"I know..." She finally whispered with apathetic voice ... Only, understanding too well what he was feeling.

In fact, it was the only thing to do, there was nothing that could be said. There was no remedy but time and habit to that kind of wounds.

The only reason she still held on was because she was stultifying herself in training every single time she was beginning to think about things that was making feel her gloomy or guilty ... even with that, often she was breaking up, lone in the night.

They both knew it.

That's why he was here.

He needed to talk, pour out everything, breaking up a bit ; without fearing sarcasms, trials, harassing, bossing, nagging or being told not to crack, hearing platitudes about being strong and "being a 'man'", being forced to relativize. And he knew he could tell Hinata about his weaknesses, she won't use it against him, to mock him or give him a silly nickname because he divulged anything to her.

She was the ideal person, since she was in a similar status.

She was the understanding embodiment... Whose he needed.

He slowly slacked into her arms after a few time and flabbily gave the embrace back before crashing to his knees. Then his arms tightened around her thin waist while he layed his cheek on her stomach. She fondly caressed his hairs like she would have done to a sad Mirai, feeling yearning and happy to be there for him, living the present.

Half an hour later, she had noticed the tenseness had gradually disappeared from her exhausted comrade's body. Entirely. He was finally asleep... in this awful stance... In this state, no need to try and wake him up... Plus they was not far from his home, so she took him on her back and brought him back to his bed, before surreptitiously slipping away to her own room.

She had not trained until morning and, in place, she slept soundly.

...

When he woke up, in the middle of the afternoon, he asked himself if it was real or just a dream ; not remembering how he got back to... Though, actually he had something else to think about : he would have explanation to give to have missed a council meeting...

He sighed knowing he will not hear the end of it : "... what a drag ..."

He had bitterly learned his powerlessness at great emotional expense. Him whose intellect usually succeeded to resolve the slightest problem, him whose mind always wanted to find meaning in everything : two times, he found stronger than him in the death.

The second fateful date was like a "coup de grâce" and during a long time, it was, for him, as if nothing had logic anymore. And yet everything continued as if nothing ever happened.

So, he was doing the same, he had switched to auto-mode :

To wake up in the morning _ it was the most annoying and painful moment, everything else was a mechanic habit that required no efforts. To prepare for the day _ to wash up ; to have a breakfast without appetite, to dress up. To Leave home for the day : to walk from point A to B ; to work ; to try and listen - enough to give the right answer ; to go back from B to A ; to eat ; to start again ; to resume at the beginning ; to come back home. Sometimes. To cross someone knowing us ; to greet him ; to agree his words ; to smile a bit if required ; or ; to have a visit ; or ; to be invited from time to time, but less and less often and no longer knowing if we are alleviated or sad _ since it was always a bit uncomfortable to be in groups _ but still happy to see people we like seemingly having a good time ; to ignore the ill-at-ease feels and concentrate on present ... to finally come back home ; to lay in bed exhausted, but still being unable to sleep because as soon as we do nothing the brain starts working again ... just to works ... and it's the end of the respite ... insomnia :

Not to sink until daylight and to have to wake up for the "next day"...

And it was endless.

At last.

Except days off.

He often would decide to spend with the woman and the daughter of his regretted sensei, whose he had promised to protect. Eventually, a third variable was added to this equation. The only little eccentricity - although quite humdrum too - in his daily, that was making explode, even for an instant, the sort of bubble that he was trapped in most of the time.

And in those too brief moments ; as during picnics in company of the women of his life that they were arranging on sunny days in the Nara's domain woods. There, whereas he was laying in the shadow, after lunch, in the warm moist air of the afternoon, in a cute small clearing neatly maintained by his clan members, he seemed lazy.

In fact, he was falling from exhaustion and he was slumbering while Kurenai tidied her stuffs with Hinata's help and Mirai was performing roulades and running around sometimes stopping seeing something interesting on the ground, grabbing grass and sticks and mimicking "Auntie Hinata" -or "Auntinata"- knitting grass or just was crawling under their benevolent watchful gazes.

- That was one of those days.

The sun was starting to decrease when Kurenai decided it was time to go. Hinata had guessed when seeing her sensei getting up then start picking up her stuffs while saying Mirai they were about to go home to prepare the departure. The Hyuuga girl was watching the scene but was throwing glances every now and then to the inanimate form on the ground, a bit concerned.

"I am gonna leave you. I go back home with Mirai" The older woman finally said, to make know she was about to leave.

Hinata nodded smiling but furtively glanced to the sleeping beauty.

"Good evening Kurenai-sensei" She bowed.

"Wish Shikamaru a good night for me" She said amused.

"Yes, I will make sure he don't spend his night here." She replied, throwing the sleeper a slightly worried glance.

The toddler was eyeing the goodbyes with interest stamping a bit before letting loose her mother's hand.

"Kiss Auntinata !" She exclaimed before launching herself to the young woman.

Hinata crouched to be able to receive the child's embrace that was jumping on her to give her a big slimy kiss, laughing.

" See you tomorrow Mirai-chan" she said softly giving her a kiss back on her forehead.

" Auntinata make a kiss to uncle Shika for me ?" She asked with a big hopefull smile to the big girl, pulling on her baggy mauve vest.

Hinata was a bit surprised but smiled shaking her head : "Yes, for sure Mirai-chan, I will. When he wakes up."

"Yay ! Thanks auntinata !" then she gone back trotting to her mother, very happy under the tender gaze of the two brunettes.

Kurenai took back the small hand in hers and gave a small head sign to her former student before finally leaving. Hinata had watched them go as long as they were observable. When they were not, having disappeared behind tree trunks and bushes, the kunoichi then lifted her white eyes to the visible part of the sky.

It was adorned with autumnal warm colors but beginning to grow darker with purplish night shades. She sighed and slowly approached of the deadlike Shikamaru.

She had squatted down and then kneeled toward him before gently effloresce him, whispering : "Shikamaru-kun" ... Nothing... "Shikamaru-kun..." She shook him shyly. Few second later. Nothing.

She had lingered on his completely relaxed face, mouth ajar. She smiled a bit amused ; he had a leaf on his cheek, she took it off and gave a light caress to his cheekbone. She saw his mouth close and adorned a silly expression ; one she had never seen on his face before. It make her stop, surprised and flushed by the realization of her own act.

She redone timidly her tentative to wake him : "Shikamaru-kun?"

Still nothing.

He was still soundly asleep and proving it by straightening him up in a siting position, turning him a bit before placing herself under his torso and locking his arms around her neck. He was still passed out. She lifted him up on her back, leaning a bit forward to balance the weight then grabbed his tights to her waist, before running the straighter way to his home.

Being a full-fledged taijutsu practitioner kunoichi, it was not a big deal and they were done to his room few minutes later.

She had dropped him in his bed after taking her shoes off, on the porch. She tooks his sandals and puts them besides hers on his room's engawa.

She sighed and looked at him a moment a bit upset. She knew for a fact it was not that he was supposedly "lazy" that he was dozed off ...

She understood it because she neither had no full rest ; still not able to sleep well even with the passed years _ though she was never a long sleeper _ waking up with a jolt every night around 4 a.m. ... So she gets up and go to train until it's time, then have a shower and do as if she was just waking up... consequently to that continual lack of sleep, she felt worn all the time, mainly when she was not moving ; especially from midday until the end of the afternoon ; then around 7 p.m, the light decrease and she feels like a second breath. So, instead of going bed she go to train until she feels tired again a bit before midnight ; where she fall from exhaustion... only to be waked up with stupor again at 4 a.m, perspiratory and panting.

She had yawned, it was a bit startling since it was usually an hour of the day her mood shifted to its excitement phase in which she needed to unwind. She thought about going to bed herself while staring her sleeping friend. She leaned over him a bit, tenderly stroked his brow line while unconsciously munching on her bottom lip.

She remembered her promise to Mirai with a smile and whispered : "Good night Shikamaru" before tilting forward and planting a kiss on his forehead, very soft and slowly.

Actually, she was not sure she would have dared doing so if he was awakened.

She was about to retreat when without warning, two longs arms pop from each side and wraps around her, attracting her to the bust of the sleepy form. She had let a small 'eep' getting out of her lung in surprise, unable to breath for a moment. She construed the situation. She was awkwardly laying on his upper body, locked in his arms while he seemed to still be as asleep as ever

"A-ano.. shika-" she was cut off when he turned in the opposite direction, without letting her go, making her follow the move and leaving the ground ; before he buried his face in her bosom.

Hinata was flustered and paralyzed, reddening like hell, heart drumming, feeling weirdly thrilled. She relaxed a bit, breathing again. She sensed then the cold nose of his comrade melted with his hot breath on the tender skin of her neck ; she shuddered insanely, feeling ... strangely... vibrant.

She was blushing but quite liked that situation ; if it wasn't for the embarrassment and the lack of congruence of it, she certainly wouldn't mind staying here. Even if it was not morally ‘appropriate’ to... sleep with a men she's not married to ...at least as a Hyuuga member, she must behave a certain course of action.

While thinking to it, she stopped to exert a pressure against him and on the contrary to her morale wrapped her arms around him to hug him back.

She then heard him sighing with pleasure, groaning, almost vibrating, like a cat. She shivered. Heart jumping. Reading it as an awakening sign, she tried sheepishly : "Shi-shikamaru-kun" though ashamed by her own boldness leading to that circumstance, weird but quite pleasant.

He suddenly pressed her more firmly against him, almost possessively, breathing deeply her scents before exhaling a contented sigh.

...

Now the brunette's heart is thumping erratically in the chest, she feels dizzy and about to ... faint...

She opened her eyes : it was dark outside, although it wasn't unusual for her to wake in the midst of the night... the unusual thing was the room she was in and the body onto she was laying off. She lowly realized the situation and remembered.

When she regained consciousness, she displayed a bit her lambs on the surface she was laying on and then felt herself ... Waving ? ... up, down, up, down... She swayed. Then was the warmth below her. An arm around her back. Cuddles on her shoulder she felt through the multiple layers of her clothes.

Daringly, she lifted her reddening head to ascertain her assumptions : he was awake. He took his eyes off of his bedroom's ceiling, sensing her moving above him, guessing she was now looking at him.

The bedroom from who she was in, the body whose she was on ... Were Shikamaru's. Her head on his shoulder, her face beside his neck, her arm wrapped around him and her leg comfortably folded on his hips. She heard her friend's pounding heart resonating in her flesh, deep, but not as calm as it should be. Her own heart was beginning to pump harder too.

Actually, he felt comfortable to know his own pinkened features was concealed by the darkness ; enough to too rashly approach his hand from her face, took off a strand of her hairs from her cheek before he pushed it behind her ear, brushing it softly in the run -eliciting a faint shiver from the girl- then he granted himself the ultimate daring to look at the sleepy face of his partner. He knew she was blushing, guessing it, according to the doe's eyes she was giving him.

They stood there awhile, getting lost, eyes locked in each others, fixedly, closely, almost intimately ; not knowing what to say and not daring to put it to an end ; enjoying -although not willing to admit it- a unique moment, something unheard-of.

" ... I ... " It was Hinata's haggard voice that brought them back to the reality. " ... ano ... you... " Still not knowing what to say, but not allowed to stay there, on top of a man, forever ; even if she was not really bothered by it.

"... Yeah ... I know right. "

He tried a bit strangely, through his usual tired low voice, to help her out of the scabrous situation of wich he was not totally aware of neither, but neither bothered by.

" Just remember falling asleep in the wood " he commented, then, a bit embarrassed, added : " I guess you carried me there. " shifting his gaze away scratching his neck with his free hand, before looking back to her and ending to say a weirdly deep warm "thanks" in an almost... lecherous whisper.

At least, it's how Hinata had perceived it for it gave her body such a shudder, while she was again all captivated by his sight.

Always above his body, she was staring at his lips, awfully near ... Noticing it, she recoiled a bit, ashamed of her lascivious demeanor while on top of a good friend, getting perhaps a bit too 'friendly'. But still, a part of her was feeling like it was totally only "natural" to be so lax around him. Actually he was spurring it, with all his Slacked Might.

Now she thought, was it correct to be that close of her comrade, to feel that nice in his arms, to feel so good under his touches, while she was thinking being in love with Naruto ?

And him... he was more or less sentimentally engaged to that Suna's girl, according to what people was saying about. Surprisingly enough, her throat tightened to that thought ; was she jealous ? ... of Temari... She never felt that way even watching Sakura hugging Naruto. She was deeply confused.

Shaking her thoughts out of her mind, she mumbled :

"...it... it's no nothing... I ... I could not leave you to sleep on the wood's soil...and... and you did no-not wake up so... so... I..." she was hum and haw, it was an odd thing because the last time he had heard her stammer as much was almost seven years ago, in front of Naruto.

It was like ... for him.

A cranky idea dawned all of a sudden, but he did not dare admit it or to make the connection and accept it. No. It was not possible... Was it ?

He seemed in wonder : she read it as it was wrote on his face despite the twilight. Hinata had no idea how to take it, it was unsettling. She never had questionned herself so much over just a slight look... save Shikamaru... ; she finally sorted out.

However, she remembered that when she was hearing his name or something out off a snippet of conversation about him, or just sounding like it was about him _there was few keywords that triggered her concern_ she was instinctively pricking up her ear, her attention called. It begun in her clan and continued quite often.

"There is something inside you, it's hard to explain ... They are talking about you ... but you are still the same."

Oddly, she heard the elders offended, call to mind that young man said too youthful for his task and status ; but mostly extrapolated about him without a care of who he was, lending him ambitiousness and was accusing him of said inexperience and for his disrespect. Nothing legit, for who knew Shikamaru as well as she do.

...Well.

"There is something inside you, it's hard to explain ... They are talking about you ... but you are still the same."

Except perhaps about 'respect' ... when it comes to people that annoys him, he could be quite pungent, she must admit.

Unconsciously, staring at him, she was prettily smiling, remembering those events and almost laughing at her own conclusion.

No. She was the one who had changed. Her confusion was leaving room to some sort of confidence, she was welcoming that realization. She felt like she was smiling the largest smile she had ever made, while he was stunned by the sight. For once, his brain was at a stop.

Time too.

She was computing the hours she had fainted around and woke up and assessed, it was : "impossible" then came with a : " I-I slept at least ten hours ... at once ! " astonished.

Before she had noticed, it was more and more luminous in the bedroom, the faint cold morning light leaving room to pink and gold on the horizon. Taken aback she checked to find a clock and find the dial displaying the numbers " 6 : 53 " ... Her breath was cut from her lungs.

Shikamaru ogled her, smiling, a bit quizzical through her new commotion. He revealed himself playful :

" So. What does it do ? "

The brunette was staring at him awhile flabbergasted, before she get a kick of doing such a prowess and laughed at his teasing mood, hiding her face in his shirt. He didn't thought he was so funny but he just felt like joining her in the mirth listening to her small ringing laugh

"We should do that more often" she said in a jovial outburst, without a second thought.

Then rehashing her own words, she felt flush crawling to her face, realizing what was implied. Shikamaru was as dazed as her, but then it was a smirk that had climbed to his face. She tried to clear thing up and explain ; let's rather say : to sweep the shame-dust under her carpet-tong :

"I-I want to say... that ... we could get lai... ano ... we could lay together... I mean... we could do it... kami-sama... I-I-I mean ... sleep ...with me... hm”

Getting a bit stressed... She was (over) thinking all possible meanings that every words was endowed with and what it could imply trying not to use them and finished to stumble on every word she tried not to use since every one could imply something horny even "sleep" if you intend to... the worst part was she was the one to blame for thinking that way, not even her clumsiness or stuttering, just her own lewd mind.

Now she felt so awkward... and wanted to face-palm.

The Nara was looking at the at least distracting show that his poor shy friend was rendering while fighting with herself ; a war whose manifestation took the form of a revealing slip's chaplet, relentless and iterative.

He was feeling a jarring melt of emotions : he was amused yet bothered for her, compassionate to her trouble and tenderized to her attempts ...

But above all, unsettled to told himself that the only reason that explain it really was the thing he was thinking about : all those tries and seeming fails, was just because there was an optional meaning in her chosen word endowing sexual innuendo that stressed the one he thought so 'pure' and 'innocent'.

He was baffled by her endeavor to not be considered as a pervert, but making it worst. And she had put herself under so much stress that she even end up saying unambiguous sexual proposition involuntarily.

It was over for her. The timid kunoichi felt totally drained and ashamed by her pathetic display of clumsiness, tripping over every possible slip she could have made. She don't remember having such a terrible stuttering even in her youth... How is it even possible ?

" ... I mean ... I want t-yo...ano I-I ... I want to -to have..you ; she was wide-eyed when she heard what she intended to say crushed by a massive stutter, but she don't gave up : " ano...Sorry ... " she took a deep inhale " have a nap with you !" she finally sputtered succeeding to say something.

It was the coup de grace for Shikamaru equally. He cannot seriously listen to those words coming from the Hyuuga heiress, with her timid uncertain stuttering voice and her scarlet red face adorning those white doe-eyes of hers, before she surrendered and hid her flustered features in his black shirt after seeing the face of her genius friend so dumbfounded. He finally burst out of a warm sounding frank bubbling laugh that had her all shakened.

She lifted up to look at him, surprised by his mirth, but, weirdly, even being the cause of it, she suddenly felt a lot less stupid. No. It was not stupid if it allowed her to hear this wondrous sound. She felt light and good, happy and even ... loved ... for he was still holding her in his arm, so she took advantage of it to curl up against him.

With every new realization comes its batch of questions, but for the moment she was quite oblivious, she just lived the present ... but the morning was yet quite luminous and she has no more time ... and the day of the week, of the month, and of the year came back to her with her duties. She searched for the clock again and was appalled by its indication :

To this point, she understood. She had fell in love with her colleague. She knew not since nor when _ certainly quite some time _ but the realization just dawned on her ... just as the sunlight.

" ... almost 8 o'clock ! My ... I-i did not see the time pass. I sh-should go Shikamaru-kun. "

" ...hn... don't go. It's still early... " he grumbled reluctantly coming out of his torpor.

How was it that the time passed so quickly snuggled up against him?

Instinctively, Shikamaru had locked his arms around her, feeling her receding.

" Ano, Shikamaru-kun... I would like to .. but... " He rose a brow to that in spite of himself.

She was blushing bit by bit, together to the fact she noticed : he was now looking at her, he held her tightly, he restrained her departure and to the fact she admitted that she liked it... that he wanted her to stay there...

" ... but I have to attends meeting, it's my duties toward my clan as well as my festival preparation commitments ... "

" What a drag ... " he grumpily muttered loosening his embrace, then a little side-smile adorned his now mid-amused, mid-bored face

" ... I was looking for a good reason not to attend the monday morning meeting... these are the worst ... "

Hinata was giggling to that and he was quite pleased with the fact. It enlightened his mood so far it made him bolder than usual and almost foolhardy ... his face producing the expression one does when they are about to say bullshits. Although it was not is forte, he tried nonetheless :

" ... they could be understanding if they knew I fortuitly found a lovely kind of kami in my bed when I woke up " ... when he heard himself saying it he thought it sounded better in his mind and promptly regretted it, his ears was burning in shame.

No need to tell in what state did it put Hinata.

... to be continued ...

It’s an english translation of my french fanfic : https://originalpairingfiction.skyrock.com/3337900696-Nightcall-L-Appel-Nocturne.html

I update it a bit every 2-3 days. (I’ll reblog it when I do)

I actually tried my best, but it’s not my native language, let me know about my mistakes so I could get better.

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years ago

Text

Whether It Works Out Or Not Part One

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Eventual Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: You guys wanna' join me in yeehell? I don't know what's happened to me. I'm from New England. I shouldn't find this cowboy chicanery appealing, and yet here I am with eighty something hours in the game. So! I've only just gotten to Chapter Three and I have avoided spoilers thus far. Enjoy!

[Spoiler warning for the first three chapters of the game!]

Tag List: @huliabitch @cookiethewriter @pedrosbigdorkenergy @thirstworldproblemss @anonymouscosmos @culturalrebel @karmezii @teaofpeach @crookedmoonsaultpunk @zombiexbody @nelba @gabrielle1776 @toxiicpop @mstgsmy

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains gore/graphic depictions of violence, historical inaccuracies and general peril. Stay safe!]

Irene Craft had lived as a man for six months when she first met him.

Six glorious, difficult, yet somehow simultaneously carefree months.

The fateful night she had decided to leave her husband and make her own way in the world had been a long time coming. Every book, every treatise, every pamphlet she could get her hands on, she had devoured. She had no finances to speak of, everything was in her husband's name, so she knew that her struggle would be long and fraught with peril. But she refused to endure the abuse any longer, especially once he made an idle comment about pregnancy and how it would 'bind her to him forever.'

His bone-chilling chuckle afterwards had stiffened her resolve to steel. She left as the moon waned, her mount's saddlebags full of food and the mended clothes she would need for her new life.

In the city of Saint Denis, she sold her hair. Once her mother's pride and joy; when brushed out it reached the young woman's hips. The curls were unruly and dull russet in shade, but her mother had sworn up and down they bore auburn tones if the sun hit just right. Irene wondered briefly what her mother would say about her doing this, going to be shorn like a sheep, but she quickly put the thought out of her head. Her mother had been dead for nearly five years at that point, and her father in the ground for two. He had lived long enough to see her married off to the man he deemed a suitable match, and then the good Doctor Craft had passed on.

The barber, at the very least, was sober and much more kind than she had anticipated. He didn't begrudge her the few tears she did let fall, and he gave her a fair price for her locks.

With that business settled, Irene acquired supplies with her newfound wealth and headed up into the mountains. If her luck held, no one would come looking for such a delicate, fragile lady in the dangerous climes. She would take her chances, regardless.

…

The first few months were...challenging.

There was a massive difference between having the knowledge from books and having the experience that one could only garner out in the field. Bitter cold and hunger were excellent teachers though, and she had always been a quick study. Her mistakes were not often repeated.

Irene learned how to fletch her own arrows, learned how to snare small game and how to track large prey, how to build her shelters in the lee of bluffs to fend off the howling winds that whipped through the mountains. She made her living by hunting deer and other game to sell for their hides and meat in the nearby town of Valentine. No one would look for a woman if all they saw was a man, so she kept bundled up and pitched her voice into a low rasp when she needed to interact with other folks.

Irene had decided, in a fit of petulance, that she would call herself Frank. Franklin had been her father's name, and no doubt if he had been blessed with a son, the child would have been plagued by it as well. Doctor Craft loathed it when folk called him Frank, always correcting them with a belligerent harumph. Saints preserve them if they dared to call him Frankie.

So Frank Craft she became, the soft-spoken hunter who lived alone in the hills.

It was peaceful, but more importantly she was free.

Until the day she stumbled into a trap.

...

Again, she had been living in the mountains for around six months when this particular disaster struck. It had been a long day spent tracking a bull elk, which she had managed to fell just as night blanketed the landscape. Had it still been daylight out, she doubted she would have found herself in such a precarious position.

As it was, she had debated making camp right there, but ultimately decided to lash the hulking beast to her horse and forge her way back to her previous site.

She had been leading her horse through the fresh powder, not wanting to tax the weary animal, and didn't see the bear trap before her boot landed squarely in the middle of it. A mistake that would have cost her the whole leg, had she not been wearing these particular heavy furred boots. The trap also seemed worn, not crushing her foot outright as she had feared but simply gripping her ankle like a vise.

Though admittedly, it mattered very little. She was stuck. Her horse, a skittish, ghostly pale thing by the name of Bluster, immediately panicked at the sound of the trap snapping shut and fled. Irene swore at the damn animal until her voice threatened to give out, calling him every unkind name in the book while she tried to pry the jaws of the trap open to no avail.

She sat down awkwardly in the snow, bracing her free foot and then straining backwards in an attempt to unseat the tree that the trap's chain was secured to. Unfortunately for her, it held just fine. Then, she tried hobbling over to the tree and seeing if she could shim the chain off with a wedge, but that also proved futile.

Irene growled more obscenities under her breath, flopping onto her back and hammering her fists into the snow at her sides. "Shit." She sighed, the reality of her situation dawning slowly. She was trapped in a device that would no doubt cut off the circulation to her foot. There was a high probability of her losing the foot if that occurred. If, of course, she didn't perish from the cold or lack of food first.

Irene pressed her hands to her eyes, sucking in a lungful of the crisp, pine-scented air while she tried to assure herself that she would manage to escape this mess just like all the others. She wouldn't just give up, absolutely not!

As she sat there wracking her brain and trying to see whether she could muscle the trap apart enough for her to at least wiggle her foot out of her boot, she heard the distinct sound of a horse bumbling through the undergrowth. "Bluster!" She shouted, her voice a strange combination of husky and ragged. "You bastard, runnin' off at the first sign of trouble!"

But the horse that greeted her eyes first was not, in fact, Bluster. It was an appaloosa, still shaggy with its winter coat. On its back was a man in a heavy blue jacket, shearling peeking out at the collar. And in his hands were the reins for the sheepish-looking Bluster, who peered around the appaloosa and whinnied guiltily at her.

"Howdy mister." The man shook Bluster's reins. "I reckon this fine specimen is yours?"

Irene had never been more thankful to see a huge, imposing man in all her life. "Yessir, yes he is. I know we've only just met, but I don't suppose you'd be willing to offer me a helping hand?" She gruffed out, indicating her trapped foot with a grimace.

The man's face was in shadow from his hat, the moonlight overhead throwing everything into stark contrast. She caught a brief flash of teeth when he smiled. "Oh sure." He drawled, dismounting and securing Bluster to a nearby tree. His own horse he simply left the reins to trail, no doubt trusting the creature to behave itself. That done, he sauntered over to her, crouched down and with one low grunt, easily forced the jaws of the trap apart. "There. Simple enough. You weren't in there for very long, were you?" He asked, sounding a bit worried while she vigorously rubbed the circulation back into her leg. With any luck, she would escape with nothing but some bruising.

"My sincerest thanks." Irene said gratefully, "no, it's hardly been an hour." She cocked her head curiously. "May I know the name of my rescuer, sir?"

"Uh, Arthur." He replied, shaking her proffered hand. "You sound like you've got some learnin' under your belt there, Mister…?"

"Frank Craft, Mister Arthur, and I don't know what fate would have befallen me had you not stumbled across the," Irene paused, raising her voice pointedly at Bluster, "titanic coward that is my loyal steed. I'm in your debt, my friend." She waved a hand at Bluster, indicating his heavy burden. "As you can see, I had a relatively successful hunt before this misfortune befell me. Normally I'd head into town with it at daybreak, but seeing as you've saved my life and all, it's only fair that you should have it."

"Whoa now, I ain't helped you to get your hunt." Arthur protested, tipping his head to the side and permitting the moon's illumination to reach beneath the brim of his hat. Irene was momentarily struck dumb by just how blue his eyes were, nearly missing when he continued, "too many folk in this world only help other people on account of gettin' somethin' in return. If I was caught in a trap and I ain't had nothin' to give you for freein' me aside from gratitude, would you leave me?"

"What? No, that's barbaric." Irene almost forgot to adjust her voice, wincing when it cracked awkwardly.

Arthur chuckled, getting to his feet and offering her a hand up. She stumbled, her foot still numb, and the man kept a firm hand on her elbow until she regained her balance. "Now, that noble hogwash bein' said, I do got a lot of mouths to feed. So if the offer still stands, Mister Frank, I'd be mighty grateful."

"Absolutely! As long as you'll put it to use." And really, what was one day's worth of work to her? She could always find another creature to stalk and harvest. Bluster whickered nervously when she approached, the horse's ears flicking back and forth to catch the sound of her voice when she grumbled about his cowardice. "Kneel, Bluster." The horse clumsily obeyed and Irene untied the elk from his back, rolling it off onto the snow.

"Huh, that's a neat trick. I wouldn't have thought of that." Arthur remarked. "Teachin' a horse his dancin' steps and such."

"How else would I have gotten it up onto him?" Irene asked, grinning when Arthur chuckled again. "Of course, seeing as you muscled that trap open like it was nothing, I doubt you've ever had to worry about that sort of problem."

As if to prove her point, Arthur shouldered the elk up from the ground and neatly deposited it onto his own horse. The sturdy beast didn't so much as nicker, obviously used to this treatment. "You're more than welcome back at my camp, Mister Frank." He offered. "I reckon there's enough on this big bastard to warrant you gettin' a bowl of stew in the bargain."

Irene was already shaking her head before he could finish, politely declining his invitation. "I'm afraid I'm not suitable for most company, Mister Arthur. Been out here alone for too long. Maybe once the thaw hits, I'll suss out human companionship again."

Arthur chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then spat off to the side. "Well, I am mighty grateful all the same, Mister Frank. I know the others will appreciate this. Adios until we meet again, then?"

He touched the brim of his hat and Irene returned the gesture with a smile. "Adieu, Mister Arthur."

…

Two months went by before their paths crossed once more.

Irene had located a dense thicket of blackberry bushes down in the lowlands and spent almost two entire days stripping the branches of their fruit. A house was coming together just outside of Valentine, and that meant soon enough there would be a gathering for the last push of assembly. As she daydreamed about the most recent time she had been to a party (a dreary affair for her husband's birthday, full of ah the stately beauty and oh isn't she a catch despite her age), she failed to notice Bluster growing severely agitated about something.

Now granted, the horse's name was Bluster for a reason; he was always in a twist about one thing or another. So Irene paid him very little mind. By the time she noticed the problem, Bluster had snapped his tether line and taken off like a shot.

A bear, it was a bear, oh sweet Lord. Irene froze, a handful of berries halfway to her mouth while the beast scratched at the ground not fifteen feet away from her. It hasn't spotted me, she realized, trying desperately to recall what she had read about black bears. Was she supposed to run? Was she supposed to back away slowly? Wave her arms and yell?

Shit.

The bear grumbled, glancing around and sampling the air suspiciously. It appeared to notice her and reared up on its hind legs, unleashing a deafening roar. She was frozen, her knees shaking as the creature lumbered forward. She couldn't even open her mouth to scream. It rushed her with what seemed to be the devastating speed of a locomotive and she was knocked prone, her hand darting to her side, draw your knife idiot!

Her head flew back from the momentum of the assault and struck the ground hard when she landed, the blow sending sparking wheels of color across her vision and fading everything out for what felt like a lifetime. She had assumed she was dead, but someone shaking her shoulder roughly roused her back to consciousness. Irene groaned in pain, stirring.

"Alright, he lives! Wasn't sure for a little bit there." That voice. She knew that voice. "You comin' 'round, Mister Frank?"

Frank. Frank. Right, that was her. She was Frank. And that voice… "Arthur?" She rasped blearily.

He was on one knee over her, blocking out the sun with his large form. He inclined his head, drawling, "in the flesh, Mister Frank! Looks like you hit your head real hard when you landed. Put your own lights out."

Irene grimaced, moving to sit up. "Shit," she swore, touching the back of her head and feeling her fingers grow sticky with blood. The bear. She looked around frantically, spotting the creature slumped beside her with an arrow clean through its eye socket.

Arthur seemed to notice her distress, placing a well-meaning hand on her shoulder. "Easy now, boah. It's okay. You were lucky today, I s'pose." That hand traveled up the back of her neck, the man indelicately tipping her head forward and then whistling as he examined the wound on the back of it. "Damn, you'll have a hell of a scar. Looks like it's already stopped bleedin', though."

"How did you...where did you even come from?" Irene asked in confusion.

The man nodded in the direction of a large, grassy knoll to the west of their current location, adjusting himself absentmindedly in his pants when he settled back onto his haunches. Irene still had yet to maneuver that particular tic into her 'masculine' repertoire. She struggled enough with the spitting in public, and the last thing she wanted was to be labeled a pervert or a degenerate simply on account of her adjustments being 'less than organic'. "I didn't notice you was down here until the bear did, I'm pretty sure." He remarked. "Think you startled him as much as he startled you. You foragin' for berries?"

"Yes, I...I was thinking about treats and parties and I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention." Irene admitted, her face going a little red. Whether from the frank thoughts of adjusting or the shame of being caught unawares, she was uncertain.

"Blackberry pie, right?" Arthur hummed, obviously sympathizing with her distraction. "Means summer's really here. You bake things like that?" He rummaged in his satchel without waiting for a reply, pulling out a bandanna and two bottles. One bottle she recognized as whiskey, but the other was much smaller and made of a greenish glass. "You're gonna' want this to take the edge off." Arthur informed her calmly, pressing the bottle of whiskey into her hand and then uncorking the small bottle with his teeth.

"Edge?" She asked, wary now.

"Eeyup. Take a swig and I'll get started on this."

This was, apparently, cleaning and dressing the wound on the back of her head. Which, incidentally, the lone slug of whiskey she drank did nothing for. She didn't dare consume any more than that, however. Wine in the drawing room was one thing, but whiskey out in the berry patch was a horse of a different color. Arthur was at least capable, if a little more ruthless than the average physician. She had endured worse.

"You're a real lucky boah, Frank. Ain't deep enough to need stitchin'."

"I do feel immensely lucky today." Irene replied dryly, "a dead bear at my feet, a stomach full of fresh blackberries and a bottle of whiskey in my hand. Tell me, how could my life get any better than this?" She cringed in pain but the sensation quickly dulled in the wake of Arthur's gravelly chuckle.

"Gotta' say, you did a damn fine job of distractin' that bear. Let me get the easiest shot I've ever taken." He remarked conversationally after several minutes of silence.

"Mister Arthur, should I ask what it is that you're daubing all over the back of my head? Or is that a fool's errand?"

"What, this? Some uh…" he paused, flipping the bottle over and squinting at the label. "Ginseng and yarrow. Ol' Hosea swears by it and he's been alive longer n' most."

Irene relaxed slightly. The combination didn't sound too sinister, though she was unfamiliar with herbal medicine that wasn't refined tinctures. This was more of a paste than anything, Arthur constantly stopping to coax a bit more of it down the neck of the bottle. "Well, I'm very grateful, Mister Arthur. You don't have to-"

"I know." Arthur interrupted her. "You ain't beholden to me or anythin', don't fret. Though if you'd like to stick around an' help me butcher up that bear, I wouldn't say no."

"Are you still hunting for a small army?"

Arthur sounded rueful when he replied, "feels like there's more of 'em every damn day. I'll be takin' this kill into town. The women want the essentials, their flour and sugar and such." He grumbled, "dunno' why they need so damn much flour."

"Well, how else will they make pies?" Irene pointed out.

"Huh. S'pose you're right." Arthur said after a moment, seeming surprised. "Guess I never grew out the phase of thinkin' pies an' cakes just show up fresh on windowsills."

Cleanly skinning and butchering the good-sized bear was a long and arduous process, even with two sets of hands working on the task. Bluster had reemerged from the woods after a time and now grazed peacefully alongside Arthur's mare, that appaloosa from before who had since shed her winter coat.

Arthur finally sat back on his haunches, wiping the sweat off his forehead and accidentally leaving a rusty red trail of blood in its wake. "Welp, I dunno' about you, Mister Frank. But I could certainly do with a wash-up and a meal." He had taken his hat off while they worked, his tawny, sun-streaked hair curling around his ears and sticking out at odd angles from the sweat. "Join me for supper, won't you?" He requested, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the stream that flowed in a gully past the knoll. "Ain't nobody can chide me about takin' the best bits of the critter if nobody knows." He continued with a smirk. "Can I trust you not to rat me out, Frank?"

Irene hesitated. She was hungry and tired from the long day. Arthur didn't seem all that dangerous. Or rather, he obviously was, but in a way that was honest and blunt. "Absolutely." She replied firmly. "Your secret is safe with me, Mister Arthur."

"Now, I am gonna' ask for a handful or two of them berries you got." Arthur carried on as he got to his feet, extending a hand to help her up. "As rec...recompense and such."

Irene sighed dramatically. "Ah, I should have known no good deed goes unpunished. And here I thought that offering myself up as unwitting bait was more than enough to justify a mouthful or two of meat."

Arthur's laugh was raucous, the large man clapping her on the back hard enough to make her stumble. "You're a good man, Frank."

"Nowhere near as good as you, Arthur." She retorted with a grin, confused by the way his face darkened.

"'Fraid I'd never be able to claim that title, Frank." Arthur said quietly, the mirth gone from his expression. "Beardless youth like yourself ain't oughta' cast me in any sort of decent light. I ain't a good person."

"Hey, what was it you said when you freed me up from that trap? 'Too many folk in this world only help other people on account of gettin' somethin' in return', right?" Irene reminded him, trying to mimic his deep, honeyed drawl. She must have done a poor job, because Arthur cracked a reluctant smile. "You've helped me twice, now! Surely that warrants a smattering of decent light, wouldn't you agree?"

"Aw hell, Frank, I just don't want you developin' any lofty notions about my character is all! Don't want you gettin' your hopes dashed." Arthur protested. "I ain't no saint or role model or anythin' like that."

"Don't worry about my preconceptions, Mister Arthur. I don't view you as a role model at all." Irene wanted to laugh at how crestfallen he looked, despite his big talk. She splashed water on her hands, scrubbing at the blood on them with some of the sand from the riverbed. "I view you as a friend. A friend with flaws and drawbacks just like myself. Just like all human beings have." She elaborated, startled when Arthur crouched beside her on the riverbank and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you." The man said sincerely, his blue eyes warm and bright. "That means a whole lot to me, Mister Frank. I'd like to count you as a friend myself, if I could."

Irene forgot her tongue for a moment, ensnared by the blatantly hopeful look he was giving her. He must have any woman within fifty miles of here falling head over heels for him! "You'll have a remarkably difficult time trying to get rid of me, Mister Arthur. I'm very persistent." She finally managed to respond. "Like a mangy mutt once you feed it some table scraps."

"I reckon it's settled then." Arthur's smile had returned, and Irene found herself oddly pleased that she had been the one to bring it back.

...

They camped there under the stars that night.

Arthur planned to head into town the following day, where he would sell off the bear and then assist in the last few steps of the house building. But for now, he occupied himself with creating a roast fit for a king. Irene watched curiously as he studded the whole cut with herbs, finally daring to ask him a few questions about cooking. He obliged her with answers graciously and freely. Despite his opinionated stance on baking, he obviously had no such reservations when it came to cooking.

"I'm always afraid my ignorance of plants will get me into serious trouble. Lord only knows how many poisonous things I could consume if left to my own devices." Irene admitted, certain that he must think her foolish.

Arthur rummaged around in his satchel and pulled out a worn leather-bound journal. He tossed her the notebook, chuckling lowly when she nearly fumbled it. "I sketch a fair amount, look at the last pages. Check the margins for whether it's edible or not."

When she tugged loose the strap that held the journal closed and obediently cracked it open to the last few pages, Irene was flabbergasted. Sprawled across the pages were both detailed drawings and fleeting sketches of various plants and animals. "Arthur," she said, her voice breaking as she nearly forgot to pitch it lower. The older man glanced up at her, his brow furrowed. "These are incredible."

"What is?" Arthur asked in confusion. It abruptly seemed to dawn on him and he grinned sheepishly, shaking his head. "Oh, my l'il drawin's? They're just somethin' to pass the time, mostly. Done 'em ever since I was a kid."

"They're amazing!" Irene praised, making sure her hands were clean and free of grease before she even dared to hover her fingertips over the sketched snout of a border collie. "You actually capture the motion of the creature, which is a rare talent. I've seen a lot of art in my day, Mister Arthur, but few pieces have the same amount of life in them that your work displays."

"Aw shucks Frank, you're layin' it on pretty thick ain't ya'?" Arthur protested, and his face might not have been pink from just the heat of the fire. "It's nothin' special."

"Oh it absolutely is. These are...I mean all the plants are so detailed. Easily identifiable. Can you draw people and structures as well?"

Arthur took the journal back and carefully flipped through it to a few different pages, showing her that his skill extended to more than just plants and animals. An oil derrick sketched proud and tall against the blank-page sky, a blind man who he had come across in his travels, a two-page spread of a small camp titled Horseshoe Overlook... "Like I said, though, ain't nothin' special." He finished firmly, tucking the sketchbook back into his satchel.

"You ought to make a book!" Irene suggested. "For those of us ingrates that wouldn't know oregano from our elbow."

"Me? A book?" Arthur scoffed at the idea. "Last thing I want is more attention."

"Well...you could do it under a pseudonym!"

"A what? Listen here, Frank, I ain't no good Christian man, but I ain't about to pseudo...seedo...look, I ain't doin' nothin' to nobody's nims, alright?" Arthur sounded absolutely scandalised.

"Arthur, a pseudonym is just a fake name." Irene explained.

"Oh. Oh. Shit. Well I knew that." Arthur blustered at her, huffing out a breath. "Just...makin' sure you knew, is all!"

"Of course." Irene got to her feet, dusting herself off. "So. He can cook, he can draw, he can hunt…" she trailed off, doing her best to keep her tone light as Arthur continued to mumble in a flustered manner and fidget with the brim of his hat. "Is there anything you can't do, Mister Arthur?"

His laugh in reply was devoid of humor, a bitter noise. "Sure. Can't seem to stay out of trouble. More accurately though, can't seem to avoid gettin' dragged into trouble."

Irene squatted beside him next to the fire, debating giving his shoulder a rough shove of comradery. But the concern of accidentally knocking him over into the embers was enough to make her gentle her touch to a light pat. "I'm sorry to hear that, Arthur." She said quietly.

"Ah, don't pay me no mind, Frank. I'm just bellyachin'." Arthur placed his hand over hers absently, like it was an instinctive response. "You're a good kid. Don't get yourself tangled up in someone else's woes like I have, you understand me?" He admonished her sternly.

"I'm hardly a child, Mister Arthur." Irene protested. "I am nearly twenty-seven."

"What, without a lick of facial hair and your voice still shatterin'?" He teased, grazing her bare jaw with a large hand. "Naw, you ain't. But it's okay, your secret's safe with me."

"Arthur." Irene grabbed his hand, staring him down. She wasn't sure why this of all things was what she was caught up on. Maybe it was the notion that he believed she, or rather, Frank, was some fool stripling that had just been lucky so far. "I'm not a child."

Arthur stared at her, and for a split-second Irene was certain she had sold herself out. But then the older man abruptly guffawed, clapping her on the back. "No, I s'pose you ain't. You got old steel in them eyes of yours, Frank. Seen too much for your time on this earth, I imagine."

...

The final day had come at long last.

Irene hurried to help finish the last few clapboards for the outside of the house, nearly crushing her thumb with the hammer in her haste.

Various men and women from Valentine proper had already started to gather in the yard. Tables were being shuffled together, delicious smells coming from the freshly-christened firepit. Spirits were high and laughter was loud in the sunshine of midday, and Irene couldn't help her smile as she looked around.

It was truly a marvelous thing to be a part of a community that willingly accepted anyone who would help, regardless of their past transgressions. She felt utterly at peace here, even in the midst of such organized chaos.

A heavy arm landed around her shoulders and she felt a hand nearly shove the hat clean off her head. "There he is!" Arthur announced gladly, making her laugh. "It's finally time for the fun! You gonna' be stickin' around this evenin'?"

"Maybe." Irene allowed, letting him haul her into his side with his grip on her shoulders. Arthur didn't seem to actually know just how strong he was, which strangely enough made her feel safer around him. "And you, Arthur?"

"I wouldn't miss it!" The man replied, his voice bright with excitement. "Been too long since there was a reason to celebrate. Was a hard winter. Folks need this shit."

"Absolutely." Irene ducked out from beneath his arm and straightened her hat. "I'll see you later, Arthur. Gotta' go get washed up!"

Valentine was barely a five minute walk down the road, but impatience ate away at her and she broke into a jog. She'd hatched a plan for tonight. A foolhardy, stupid plan. She still had no clear idea why she was doing this, even as she sauntered up the steps to the Valentine hotel.

Irene slapped her money down on the counter, paying up front for a bath and a room for the night. Her spurs rattled loudly while she made her way up the stairs, nerves building in her throat like frantic bird wings beating away just beneath the skin.

It had been a short eternity since she had even seen herself in a looking glass, much less worn a dress.

The dress itself was nothing like the elaborate ones she had worn during her marriage. It was a plain fawn-brown color, lacking in lace trim or cumbersome whale bone buttons. A dress for this new life she had made, one that she could don and doff unaided.

Once she had scrubbed herself pink with the provided tub of hot bathwater and lye soap that threatened to be iris-scented, of all things, Irene stepped into the dress and slowly buttoned the tiny buttons that ran the length of the front. Thankfully, the cut was modest enough that she wouldn't need a fichu to cover up with.

She had been avoiding looking at herself in the mirror until she absolutely had to, and when she finally did gather her courage she was shocked by what met her gaze. She looked older, of course, a bit more weathered, but she looked alive. She had haunted her husband's house like a ghost, gaunt and battered and seen not heard. Now though, her eyes were clear and her cheeks were pink even without pinching, a byproduct of the fresh outdoor air. Her shoulders were freckled liberally as well, though the dress hid them well enough with its high neckline and long sleeves. Her mother had always tried to dull her freckles out with those blasted rose tea treatments and lemon, but the spots had stubbornly persisted.

Her hair though…

She grimaced, raking her fingers through the sun-lightened corkscrews that bounced and sprang back around her ears. It seemed that, as usual, her hair would be hopelessly unmanageable. Mercifully, since she always wore a hat, at least her hair wouldn't be the thing to give her away. Wonder of all wonders, it did appear that there was some auburn mixed in with the brown.

Irene emerged from her room, locking the door securely behind her and tucking the key into her pocket. She paused to straighten out her skirts, smiling a little dumbly downwards at the pleats while she swished back and forth in a brief moment of indulgence. However, no sooner had she stopped to do so than a large body in a hurry nearly toppled her over. She heard a startled grunt as the person managed to catch her, and then a familiar voice apologized, "sorry ma'am! 'Fraid I'm like a bull in a china shop sometimes."

Arthur, it was Arthur. Oh Lord. Irene stared at his boots in an effort to buy herself time to collect her thoughts, noticing dimly that he too had bathed and clearly attempted to tidy himself up. Did she come clean right now? Confess that she wasn't Frank at all, but Irene? Lord, this whole plan was stupid! What had she been thinking?! "Oh no sir, I should be the one apologizing. I was so excited for the festivities I appear to have forgotten my sensibilities." Her voice was soft and she looked up at him through her lashes, wondering whether he would even recognize her without a layer of grime on her face. "Forgive my inattention, won't you?"

Arthur, for some reason, swallowed hard. "Well, ain't you just as pleasant as punch! You must be from outta' town. My name's Arthur, ma'am, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He gave her a little half-bow and Irene barely contained her relief at his blatant unfamiliarity with her. Obviously she needn't have worried.

"My name is Irene, Mister Arthur, and trust me, the pleasure is all mine." She replied, automatically accepting the hand he offered. "Are you looking forward to the party as well?"

"Oh sure, Miss Irene." That drawl lingered sinfully on the syllables of her Christian name and Irene felt herself blush. "It's a rough life out here, only makes sense for folks to take what joy they can find where they can find it." Arthur glanced down at her, his smile a bit melancholy. "House raisin's hard work, but it's less tedious if we all know there's somethin' lighthearted waitin' at the end. Good food, good company…" He trailed off, clearing his throat.

"Of that, I'm certain!" Irene dared to continue holding his arm once they reached the street, and Arthur made no move to dislodge her. "Do you think there will be dancing, Mister Arthur?"

He chuckled at her obvious excitement. "I s'pose there might be. I'm not much one for dancin', though."

"Well," Irene said boldly, "I would be just delighted if I could steal a dance with you at some point this evening."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up to his golden-brown hairline. "You sure you got the right feller, ma'am?"

"Of course! Please Arthur, won't you save me a dance?" She implored sweetly.

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, which one of 'em put you up to this? It was Karen, weren't it. Woman won't stop interferin' in my personal affairs." He growled, "I ain't lookin' for pity, Miss Irene."

"What?" Irene asked in confusion. "No, I haven't been put up to anything. I...I simply wanted a dance. Have I offended you, Mister Arthur?" This could be an irreparable blunder! Her plan might be in shambles.

"Aw hell, now I feel like a fool." Arthur rubbed a hand over the back of his neck sheepishly. "Pardon my suspicion, Miss Irene. I'm used to bein' passed over is all." He mumbled.

"What?" Irene gasped theatrically, loving the way his laughter rumbled in his chest. "A fine man such as yourself, passed over? That's deplorable, Mister Arthur!"

"Shucks ma'am, I'm passable decent, but I don't know if I'd ever call myself fine." Arthur smiled, his face a bright, endearing pink. Oh, complimenting him elicited the sweetest results! Irene was enraptured.

"Would you accompany me along the path to the festivities, Mister Arthur? I'm afraid I have no chaperone this evening." She implored. It was so strange, sliding easily back into being able to make polite conversation or clinging to an arm with rapt attention while a man spoke. She supposed all those etiquette lessons had done her some good. At least with Arthur she didn't have to feign her attention.

He nodded, swallowing hard again. "Sure, I can do that, Miss Irene."

"Oh!" Irene said suddenly like a thought had just occurred to her, the young woman making a move to pull away. "I apologize, Mister Arthur. It is so presumptive of me to monopolize your time. Did I interrupt you on your way to the Mrs. Arthur? Or perhaps a tryst with your beloved? I'm afraid I've always been rather self-absorbed, do forgive me."

He chuckled sadly, shaking his head. "Ma'am, there's no need for all that." He said, patting her arm in a way that he probably believed was soothing. Irene barely refrained from laughing at the knowledge that he calmed people like he calmed his horse. "All I'm headin' for tonight is some merriment with the local folk." He paused, still patting her hand absently. "Y'know, I think you'd get on real well with a friend of mine by the name of Frank." Arthur remarked, appearing oblivious to the way she froze. "He's got some real hellfirin' opinions and a noble heart. Nothin' like me at all, a genuine, sweet boah. Outspoken, but kinda' shy 'round lots of folks. If we stumble across him, I'll introduce you."

"Oh I very much doubt that we'll see him tonight." Irene muttered under her breath to herself, a little puffed up by the praise Arthur had inadvertently lavished upon her.

…

There was indeed food and drink, and Irene found herself in the midst of conversation more often than not. It was incredibly amusing to know that all she needed to do was wash the dirt off her face and don a dress to make 'Frank' disappear into the ether. But again, that had been the whole point.

The musicians were tuning up when she noticed something odd. There was an unmanned violin (or fiddle, perhaps), sitting forlorn and silent on the front steps. Irene straightened out her dress and made her way carefully over to the stairs. "Pardon me, sirs," she called cheerfully. "but where is your violinist?"

"Ah, I'm sorry ma'am, but ol' Jefferson died durin' the winter." The guitarist informed her, looking a touch morose. "Figured we'd bring out his Hyde so it could at least listen to all the hubbub. Be a shame to leave it to gather dust."

"My deepest condolences." Irene murmured, going to turn away and then biting her lip as she paused. "Sirs, I...perhaps I could be of assistance? I have...some prior experience with violin." Nobody needed to know about the years spent learning, and the few bright moments in her marriage being her improvising quick, jaunty tunes alone in the drawing room. Leaving the instrument behind had been like leaving a piece of her heart, but it was so delicate and fragile…

"Well if you think you can keep up, you're more n' welcome to rosin the bow ma'am." The man smiled, gesturing at the fiddle. "It would do it some good to be played again, I'll wager."

Irene was scooping up the instrument almost before he had finished speaking, immensely pleased to find out that it was relatively in tune. The man that she assumed would be the step caller graciously handed her a handkerchief to pad her cheek when she tucked the violin into place, and Irene spent several minutes hurriedly tightening and rosining up the bow.

The first draw emitted a note that was clear, if a bit flat. Irene grinned sheepishly, fidgeting with the tuning pegs and then trying again. Ah, there it was. The instrument had a beautifully rich voice, no doubt facilitated by the stockier body it bore.

"Ladies and gentlemen, finish up your food! It's time for the real fun to begin!" The caller announced over the buzz of the populace. Tables began to move out of the way, clearing the front yard.

"I see you're the fiddler this evenin'?" Irene started at the sound of Arthur's voice. She had lost track of him shortly after arriving to the party, the man apologizing to her even while he was getting dragged off by a dark-haired woman in a beautiful green dress. Now, he reclined against the railing, his eyes troubled but smile firmly in place.

"Hopefully, if the good Lord is merciful. It has been quite a while." Irene admitted. "I'd still very much like that dance, Arthur, if your other beaus don't keep you occupied." She jibed. Perhaps it was a bit bold for a woman to comment on an older man's pursuits, but she did feel that she could get away with a touch of good-natured ribbing.

"Welp," Arthur drawled, doffing his hat. "I s'pose we'll just have to see how the night goes, Miss Irene. I wouldn't call 'em beaus though. Just folks that want somethin' from me."

Irene tilted her head to the side, but Arthur managed to avoid her gaze. Following his line of sight, she noticed he appeared to be watching the dark-haired woman from earlier. "Who is your friend? I must know her seamstress, Mister Arthur, because that dress is lovely."

"Mary." Arthur muttered, the name sounding like it was dragged out of him. "Uh, that is, the widow Linton."

"Oh no, the poor thing." Irene said sadly, meaning every word. There had been a time in her life where she had been utterly devoted to her fiance, believing that she had truly loved him. She could not begrudge anyone their own happiness, as wary as she had been made from her past experience. As the saying went, 'see how the bear behaves in its den before you decide to live with it.'

"Eeyup, real shame. Pneumonia got him." Arthur informed her curtly.

Irene was sure her sympathy was evident on her face, because Arthur's sharp blue eyes had softened slightly when he looked back at her. Pneumonia was so sinister in its onset, the way it settled into the chest and by the time most patients realized it wasn't a cold, they were too far gone to help. "You should ask her to dance! Get her mind off of things." She suggested.

Arthur chuffed out a breath in a manner that was so similar to his horse Irene had to chew her lower lip to stave off her laughter. "Nope." He said firmly. "Mary shall not dance with me, Miss Irene. Not if I have anythin' to say about it. I doubt I'll dance much at all, honestly."

…

Arthur appeared to be sticking to his word throughout the night. He was indeed not much for dancing, but as he drank he got progressively more mobile. It was like his body loosened up, he smiled more, laughed louder…

He seemed absolutely thrilled when she found him later that evening, saying plainly, "There she is! I figured you forgot about me!"

Irene shook her head, smiling up at him. She had politely declined her way across nearly the entire yard in order to reach him. "I don't think I ever could, Mister Arthur. May I ask for a dance?"

"Obliged to oblige, ma'am." Arthur extended a hand, drawing her in almost indecently close. "That was some fine music you played earlier." He drawled after a moment.

Irene simply let herself be swayed back and forth, one hand on his shoulder and the other still entwined with his own. "Thank you." She replied softly. "It has been a while since I was able to indulge myself."

"Fiddlin' ain't a vice, ma'am." Arthur protested.

Irene chuckled. "Some might disagree, Mister Arthur."

"Well, they're wrong. How the hell could music be bad for someone?" He removed his hand from her hip to wave over at the group of men who were still currently playing away. "Music's good for the soul. Makes everythin' lighter. What miserable fools have you had to deal with?" Arthur grumbled.

Irene rolled her eyes comically. "Lord, you don't know the half of it!"

Arthur pressed her even tighter to his body, his breath hot over her ear when he murmured, "well Irene, they're dead wrong."

"Mister Arthur…" Irene went bright red at his proximity, at the heat that flooded her. What a strange sensation! Even back when she had been newly betrothed, before she had known her then-fiancé's cruelty, she had never experienced such a fierce reaction from a simple close whisper. Was it only to be chalked up to the newness of the experience? Or was it because it was Arthur doing it?

"Irene, I hope I ain't bein' too forward when I...would you like to…" Arthur trailed off, clearing his throat. "I mean, I ain't got anythin' to offer you aside from a good time," he continued to hem and haw. "You seem like a genuine lady and I...someone like me ain't never really been allowed to touch that sort of person. I sleep under the stars and drink too much for anyone's good, never mind my own." His eyes met her own and a slow, almost forlorn smile played across his mouth.

Despite the ribald impropriety of his words he looked so utterly tender, his hat slightly tilted and his eyes drowsily gentle. Irene found herself nodding before he even managed to actually ask her. "I have a room for the night, Mister Arthur. I am…" she hesitated. "Not...very experienced, but not inexperienced."

"Thank God." Arthur replied, surprising her. "You wouldn't want someone like me for somethin' like your first time."

"Oh?" Clearly, they had careened past the point of polite or appropriate conversation. But now, she was curious. "Why is that, Mister Arthur?"

He coughed, fidgeting with the brim of his hat. "I'm just...I'm not...fit for that sorta' thing. Not worth it. Fine ladies deserve a proper gentleman an' I ain't that." He stated.

"Arthur…" Irene took his hands and tugged on them, leading him out of the yard and towards the roadside. "You're more of a gentleman than most, I can promise you that." She insisted.

"Miss Irene, wait!" The sound of her name being yelled made her pause, and Irene found herself abruptly confronted with the step caller as he thrust the fiddle's sturdy case at her. "Me and the boys, we got to talkin'. We figure you ought to keep the old Hyde, as a thank you of sorts." He said, sweeping his hat off his head. "Besides, if you leave it here it'll never be played. And there's nothin' worse than an unplayed fiddle. Believe me, I would know!"

"I…" Irene wanted to burst into tears. This was so unexpected and kind. The case settled into her arms, like an old friend already. "B-But I have no way to-"

"Not for money ma'am. Simply for liftin' folks' spirits tonight. You take that Hyde and you spread that gift of yours around."

"Thank you." Irene said sincerely, "I...you have no idea how much this means to me, sir."

"Mighty kind of you fellers." Arthur added, his grin a little sheepish when the caller turned his attention on him to express his thanks for Arthur's help in acquiring the remaining lumber for the house. He tried to wave off the praise to no avail, looking increasingly awkward the longer he was subjected to the step caller's enthusiasm.

The woman from earlier (Irene wracked her brain for a moment before remembering Mary, Mary) approached on Arthur's opposite side while he was preoccupied with the step caller. However, she didn't miss the way Arthur's posture went tight as he noticed Mary standing there expectantly. Arthur suddenly seized Irene's hand, muttered a curt, "obliged," to the step caller and set off at a brisk pace down the road.

"Don't forget that you promised, Arthur Morgan!" The widow Linton called after him, her voice sharp. Arthur just waved a dismissive hand in her general direction.

Irene struggled to keep up even after Arthur scooped the case out of her arms, the man's longer legs easily outstripping her own. "Arthur, can you slow down?" She implored, a little fearful now. He looked like he was stewing, his shoulders squared against some invisible adversary.

Arthur obliged her in silence. He maintained that silence until they reached the outskirts of town, where he clarified, "you had a room, right?"

"Yes, I...yes. For the night." Irene answered softly. Arthur just nodded in reply. "Arthur, you don't-"

"I ain't gonna' hurt you." He cut her off. "You have my word, Miss Irene. Ain't got nothin' to fear from me."

Irene was still more than a touch anxious as they ascended the stairs, and she almost dropped the key, fumbling to get it into the lock. Arthur hummed low in his throat, that comforting horse pat landing on her arm again and soothing her enough that she managed to get the door open.

Arthur carefully set the case against the wall, and then he was on her. He kissed hungrily, his whole body pressed to hers before the door was even fully shut behind them. His tongue plunged into her mouth without so much as a warning or a by your leave. Irene had only read about this kind of kissing and experiencing it firsthand was composure-shattering. She found herself weak at the knees, grateful for the weight of Arthur's large form to anchor herself as he boldly coaxed her tongue to reply.

Irene shyly licked into his mouth, making a soft noise that had Arthur shuddering and offering his own groan in response. He pulled away, slow, like he was being dragged, and struggled to bring her with him.

The man sat down hard on the bed, urging her close in between his spread legs. Then, Arthur grabbed two handfuls of the back of her dress and rested his forehead on the spot directly beneath her breasts.

Irene froze, confused until she felt his shoulders tremble.

He was crying, like his heart was fit to break. Deep, shuddering sobs that came from somewhere by the floorboards and ravaged his entire body on the way up. Hesitantly, Irene carded her fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head. She could feel the tears seeping into the fabric of her dress, slowly dampening the material.

"It's just never enough." Arthur finally said thickly. He stayed where he was, wearily slurring into her abdomen, "I give an' I give an' I do an' it's just...never enough to make folks happy."

"Arthur..." Irene whispered. She felt silly for not noticing sooner than something was very wrong, guilt rushing her as she realized that she had been so caught up in him giving her attention that she must have missed the signs.

"It's never enough that I'm just there, still alive, still willin', even though I'm a damn fool. Never enough." He mumbled, "God, I'm a fool."

"No you're not." Irene said firmly. Arthur looked up at her. "You're brave, you're loyal and you're kind, Arthur. It's not your fault that the people around you seem to have taken those traits for granted."

"We was plannin' to be married, y'know. Me an'...me an' Mary." He confessed abruptly, not that he needed to. "Or maybe it was just me plannin'. She...I just don't know."

"What happened? Did she call it off?"

"Her daddy, he didn't approve of me. I didn't have...enough," Arthur explained, his words stilted as he recounted probably more than he meant to. "I was orphaned pretty early on and I...well shit, I hung around with folks bad and good an' to Mr. Gillis, that was worth a condemnation. Forbade it. Said I was filthy, that I'd c'rupt...corrupt her. Ruin her. Break her with these turrible hands of mine." The hands in question gripped Irene's dress even tighter and he fought back a sob. "So I...I had to let her go. Watched her fall in love with some rich feller and it made me wonder, made me scared that she ain't never loved me at all. And then tonight..." He shook his head.

"What about tonight, Arthur?" Irene prompted him gently.

"She come to me askin' for a damn favor. After everythin' that's happened, she still had the damn gall to ask me for shit. Her little brother's gone off to shack up with some cult ." Arthur cleared his throat. "So I'm too rough to marry, but I'm sure as hell good enough to ask to rescue her precious baby brother. She said she thinks of me often and I just...dammit, it ain't right for her to tell me that!" He erupted, hiccupping out yet another sob. "It ain't right, I finally thought I was--I mean I was doin' okay, I was better, an' now…"

"It feels like you just hit a patch of shale and slid your way back down into the bottom of the gorge you were crawling out of."

Arthur sniffled. "Well, yeah. Kinda'. H-How'd you know?"

"You think you're the only person in the world to have troubles with people you were trying to recover from?" Irene's laugh was soft and sad. "My situation is a bit different, but no less weighty for it, Mister Arthur."

Arthur huffed out a breath, rubbing his forehead back and forth on her stomach. "I just hate myself. Can't hate her, all I can do is hate m'self." He sighed.

"Don't." Irene admonished him, trawling her fingers through his thick hair and dragging his head back with the motion. Arthur groaned again, this time lower, his eyes half-lidding as he appeared to enjoy being ministered to. "Don't hate yourself for being kind, Arthur, and don't let the world beat that kindness out of you. There are people, so many people who will love you for it. Hell, there's probably some that already do."

Blue eyes blinked open sluggishly, still glassy with tears as he looked up at her. Liquor-honest words tumbled from his lips, "why the hell are you bein' so nice to me? Led you up here for a reason an' now I'm all a mess about another woman." He shook his head, not waiting for a response before continuing, "I just wanna' sleep. Forget about all of this. I...lay down with me? I need...I need...somethin' to hang onto." He mumbled, tugging at the back of her skirt. "Clothes on is fine. Just need to hold you. Few minutes, even." He pleaded.

Irene bit her lip uncertainly. Laying down fully-clothed? It seemed a bit strange. But she didn't have on a corset, so at least she wouldn't be uncomfortable… "Alright." She agreed softly after a moment, reaching down to unlace her boots. Hopefully Arthur was too inebriated to notice that 'her' boots were also Frank's boots. He seemed more than a few sheets to the wind, if his weeping was anything to judge by.

Arthur clumsily kicked off his own boots and laid on his side, catching her arm to guide her down with her back to his chest. It was somewhat awkward at first; Irene had never actually been held in such a manner and the bed was incredibly small. She knew she was probably too stiff, and slowly urged her shoulders to loosen a bit. Arthur draped his arm over her hips, not even holding her so much as he was simply laying his hand on her stomach.

"Thank you." He mumbled into the back of her neck, still sniffling a little.

Irene tentatively placed her hand over his own, lacing her fingers through his. "Shh, sleep. You'll feel better in the morning, Arthur." She whispered. Then, so quiet she wasn't sure he would even hear her, "thank you, Arthur. For everything."

Part Two: Friends

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jamiedc-they-them · 4 years ago

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Sibling Duty Part 2.5 (Platonic)

Requested Imagine - “I know you're vibing with your Sibling Duty series but I've imprinted on Bobbi acting like a mother hen/big sister and would adore some more of that with the reader? Not sure when to set it besides before they left the show though, only if you're up to it, of course! Love your work a lot!”

AN/ Hope it’s ok that I made it tie into the series :) I apologise if it wasn’t what you wanted. But I hope you like it!

To be honest, maybe running away with no plan wasn’t the best plan. In fact, the issue was that there was no plan at all. You just ran as far as you could. You had let your sister down; you had let anyone down. You had burnt yourself up trying to save her and everyone.

As bittered as you were by the sadly sobering fact that you couldn’t do that, you also realised that you weren’t fully burnt out.

You were still here. That candle wasn’t fully burnt out yet.

The truth about not being able to save everyone was a hard pill to swallow. But drinking alcohol? That was piss easy, just sip, and swallow the devil’s drink that seemed to soothe your darkened soul.

You knew that you could easily solve the issue of the candle not fully being out yet, all you needed was a blade from your ability then you were done.

Yet, something was keeping you here. Threw the drunken nights, you would remember it; those words from your sister….which one, you couldn’t remember fully. But that didn’t matter, you remembered the words.

“You’re not expendable, Y/N. No one is, ever. No one has a life you can just throw away.” You drank from your bottle again, trying to go into a peaceful slumber once again.

To forget the lies those words held.

You had no idea where you sister was, you just hoped far away from what you were doing.

You weren’t dead, you weren’t SHIELD; but you weren’t fully done yet with the whole stopping evil thing. Although, now it was stopping evil by evil. You weren’t legally allowed to chase the Watchdogs and kill them.

Did that stop you though? Of course, it didn’t.

If you were going to go down as a drunk, you might as well doing something not completely shitty.

However, as you laid down, a knock at the door got your attention. You sat up, cautiously, grabbing the pistol that lay by your pillow at night. You cocked it as you picked it up.

You put your hand to the door, taking a tense breath, before opening it and putting the pistol to the chin of the newcomer without a second thought.

The sight of who it was, however, made you stop.

Bobbi-fucking-Morse was the woman whose chin was currently being pressed against with your pistol.

Your eyes widened, freezing for a second as you looked at your old friend that had sacrificed but her life for SHIELD. She was gone, pronounced….something, you forgot. You had forgot, or rather tried to forget all the details in the binge.

No thoughts of those you cared for, maybe it’d make it easier for you to disappear too from theirs when you were gone.

You immediately pulled the pistol back, trying to pretty much dive back into your van and – well, you didn’t really have a plan after that. The main one being to just get away and start again.

“I’ve already punctured your tire, Y/nn. You can’t get far.” She said. You sighed, of course she’d thought of that.

Continuing that sigh, you faced her, putting a confused smile on your face, “What the hell are you doing here Bobbi? Why did you find me? Why did you find me? – Wait, is Daisy ok?” You started off easy with the questions but became panicked near the end.

Bobbi smiled, shaking her head, “Got a tip that you might be I came here to see you; And I have no idea, sorry, kiddo.” She said, listing the answers to your questions.

You nodded, “Wait….who gave you the tip?” To that, Bobbi held out a coin.

“Flip it, I’ll tell you if you’re right or wrong.” She simply said.

You took the coin, doing just that. It landed on the heads, “Coulson?” You asked. Bobbi nodded her head.

Your gaze then turned more suspicious, “How the hell did Coulson get a hold of you and know what I was doing?”

She cocked her head to the side, “You really think that Phil Coulson, of all people will just give up on you or Daisy? Or anyone on that team? He sent me because if he went, it’d look suspicious. So, he sent someone whose off the grid.”

“But….you’re happy with Hunter, aren’t you?” You questioned, worried that you would be the cause of the death of a metaphorical thing this time.

“We are,” She assured, seemingly noticing your bubbling anxiety over it, “We agreed I should be the one to come see you, though. Both agreed I’d be better at handling this.”

“You mean the broken sister? Trust me, Bobbi, you don’t need to sugar-coat it.” Normally, that would be in a joking manner, but this time it was played completely straight.

Bobbi got into the passenger seat when you moved to the drivers side, “I’m not here to do that, I’m here to help you.” She sat in the seat, looking over at you as you only stared out the window.

You scoffed, “With what?”

“With this whole Watchdog thing. Your not as careful as you might think you are, Y/N. Noise is still noise.” She told you.

“You really aren’t going to leave, are you?” You asked.

“Y/N, Coulson may have asked me to come here, but I did of my own volition.” She softened her voice as she said that part.

You met her eyes, seeing nothing but warmth, love, and honest in them. She held you look with those emotions, only awaiting your reaction.

You bit your lip, bit it hard as you knew that she wouldn’t leave you. You knew she had too much of an instinct when it came to you younger folk.

“Here,” She said, handing you a button “It’s a beacon, just press it and I’ll come to you. Just in case we get split up.”

“Fine.” You said, turning on the engine and taking the beacon.

You did your best to ignore the grin she held as you did so.

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As said before, Bobbi seemed to have an instinct when it came to you guys (you, Simmons, Daisy and Fitz) she just had a way to know when something was wrong and whatnot. Granted, you had that as well, but Bobbi had more experience with it.

When you first met her, a part of you may have felt a bit threatened at the idea of her taking over the elder sisterly role. Despite Daisy’s assurances, it was Bobbi that had calmed your nerves.

“I’m not replacing you, Y/N. You were first, I’m just here as a kind of backup, to lighten the load a little. Make sure you take care of yourself, too.”

That load now seemed to be your own shit, not someone else’s. That, in Bobbi’s book, was a vague step in the direction known as, “good”.

Even if it meant driving to a local hangout of Watchdog members. You knew that they were going to be having a big meeting later, you just had to find out where.

So, Bobbi just looked out the window as you drove, it was a nice place you had chosen to bunker down it; remote but completely isolated from life. However, the Watchdogs had chosen it too for those same reasons.

Now, she didn’t really know this area, but you obviously did. That was shown by the way you got you both to where you apparently needed to go in pretty much no time at all.

“Here, this is where some of the sons of bitches are.” You told her as you cut the ignition and leant back in your seat as you looked at the place, a simple warehouse. Granted, it was simple on the outside, but on in the inside was people you were anything but good.

“Alright, let’s take this slow,” You rolled your eyes, “I mean it, Y/N. We go in through the back, get some sort of surprise one them.”

You debated it, knowing who you’d normally do it, a quick run and gun. But, thinking about it, you knew she had something in that plan.

“What if they’re gone by the time we get in?” You questioned.

“Well, better to miss and track them, then go in the front and they be the only ones to come out.” She fired back at you.

“Fair.”

You both went around the back, the van parked at the front to cut them off. You entered, crouching, and using the crates that were in there as cover as they had their meeting. God it was disgusting, about how Inhumans needed to be taken out.

You looked at Bobbi, the woman hidden a little ways away from you. She met your eyes; and, despite being the one who brought you around the back, from here she seemed to be open to whatever way you wanted to handle it.

You knew that they had been after Daisy for a while now, that she had been disrupting them, just like you. It wasn’t exactly a connection or similarity you had wanted with your sister. In an attempt to fix what you had broken by protecting her, it seemed she had only gone out of her way to make it worse for herself.

You sighed, knowing that you had failed even more in your role as the elder sister.

You looked over, seeing the dogs as they spoke, “So, we meet up with the others later, talk about Quake? Or the other one?” One of them asked.

Before they could even get an answer, a gunshot went off, his blood hitting his mask, but part of it spraying through the holes in it. You continued to fire your weapon, Bobbi moved from behind the crate, shooting one in the leg as you went for the kill shots.

They were all gone, all except for one. One who crawled on the floor was he went for his gun.

“That was reckless.” You forgot that about your friend, she was blunt when it came to you all and you scared her, or she was worried.

“I was not.” You defended.

“You went in without a plan.”

“You looked to me for one, look how that went.”

“We have one –” You both stopped when you – out of the corner of your eyes – saw him bring out a pistol and you both fired at him in sync, “—Had one to find out this meeting place from. We find that, we find them, and we stop them. They’re after Inhuman’s –”

“They’re after Daisy.” You said, firmly, bringing it back to your main reason of being after them. You knew what you did before wasn’t right, and it had caused a strain, but doing this could maybe help a little. It wasn’t what you were doing before, so you were aware of the damage you had caused. Besides, this time too you were well away from her, helping her with everything that was happening from afar by doing a little, not as much as you did last time.

Besides, they were after other people too, your sister just happened to be atop of the list. You didn’t know where you were on it, you didn’t care to be honest. You just cared those others that were on it didn’t die.

“They’re after Daisy, and others. We’ll find the fucking meeting place, this place isn’t exactly big, Bobbi.” You snapped, rooting around in a guy’s pocket for something, only to come up blank.

When you turned to announce it to Bobbi, you saw her holding up a broken phone with a cracked, but still readable screen. On it, was a text message.

“It’s coordinates, to a place not far from here. That’s probably the meeting place.” She told you.

You breathed a sigh of secret relief at the fact you had found it. That you had this moment of victory.

That soon changed to worry, at least in Bobbi’s parts as she held out a phone to show you what else was on it.

A name that you had hoped she would’ve missed.

Your own.

“Y/N….why the hell didn’t you tell me?” She asked, voice holding a slight bit of both worry and betrayal to it.

She then continued to scroll, finding something that made her eyes widen, “They’re planning a big attack on an Inhuman safe house.”

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Bobbi had been angry; she had been loving and caring. It all seemed to meld into one when it came to the four of you. However, this time, you were focus of that.

“When were you going to tell me?” Was what she had moved onto now as you both drove back to where you had started, there was shop nearby for you to get supplies from. It wasn’t exactly a ‘shop’ but more of a black-market kind of place.

Either way, it was the only place to get what you needed to take the bastards down.

“I wasn’t.” You were blunt, deciding to not beat around the bush and try and lie, seemed you both were just as bad as each other when it came to trying to lie to your loved ones.

“Why not?” She was being confrontational now. To be honest, so was your response.

“I never asked for you to come here, Bobbi. I never asked for you to help me. If you hadn’t, I’d have already gotten the information out of the guy by now and be on my way there.” It was harsh, and you saw the hurt that she was hiding behind her eyes.

“I’m not going to leave you, not like this –”

“God, you’re just like them.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” She asked.

“No, it’s worse. I don’t need this whole older sister talk, Bobbi. Worse comes to worse, I don’t make it out of there and stop them,” She hated that you shrugged, “I’ll just be a name on a list. They’ll get over it. Besides, if anyone needs this talk, it’ll be Daisy.”

You had parked up and left for the shop, this time Bobbi hadn’t stopped you. You both seemed to know that you needed a small break, as much as you were a younger sibling to her, she knew when to hold back a little.

It as an alleyway, one that changed every time, but still an alleyway none the less. You walked down the newest pick, finding your guy at the end of it with a van that he then opened. He had made a name for himself as a reliable weapons vender, he had quickly become one of your favourites.

“There she is.” He said, smiling at your approaching figure, “What’ll it be today.”

“Heavier shit than usual.” He nodded, but looked a tad impressed.

“Finally giving what’s what to them, huh?” He asked as hr brought out an assault rifle.

You chuckled as you took it, putting it in your bag, “Exactly, they’re planning something, so I’ve got to at least try and stop it.”

“Good luck to you sweetheart. But…be careful? Can’t have me losing my most loyal customer.” He laughed, but you could tell the words were sincere.

Either way, it didn’t sit right with you. You felt off at it, but knew he was mostly harmless (Despite the massive amount of weapons behind him).

You took the bag, swinging it over your shoulder and making your way back to the van. Just as you reached it, it erupted in a fireball. The blast knocked you back but didn’t drop the bag. In fact, it only made your fall more uncomfortable.

“Bobbi!” You cried out, remembering that she was in there. A black van appeared, parking with a skid as Watchdog members pilled out, firing at you as soon as their feet touched the floor. You pulled out one weapon, firing all the rounds to cover your escape. When you ran out, you grabbed a another, doing the same thing.

“Bobbi!” You called to the van you used to call home, but (obviously) didn’t get a response. Your power started to take hold and you felt it. More than that, you let it. You knew that this was most likely it, why not go own swinging?

Your power fully took control, darkness becoming you as you let it rip. Cars were flung and people thrown up only then to come back down.

Your power was darkness, you had plenty of that within you.

As it died, however, you felt a pain in your body. You looked down, seeing a blood stain on you that only grew more and more.

Your power made you almost unstoppable in terms of offense, not defence. Daisy’s power could do both, yours could only do one.

As you fell, you heard someone calling out your name. Hands then pressed against your wound. As you opened your eyes, you saw it to Bobbi.

“Hey, Y/N, stay with me. Stay with me. Come on. Comme on, kiddo, breath.” She begged you. You did your best to give her what she wanted, but you were fading.

You made your peace with the fact that this was it, that you would die here at your lowest point.

You let the dark take you, only this time in a different meaning of the term.

What surprised you, however, was that you woke up. You woke up and felt something where your wound once was. It was a bandage, one that had been put tightly onto said wound.

You tried to move, but footsteps immediately started to come towards you. A bottle of water was placed down in front of you, “Don’t rip your stiches. I worked hard on them.” Bobbi admonished, slapping your prying hands away from you body that was previously losing blood.

“You brought me here.” You immediately felt stupid for saying it like that.

“Of course, I did. I told you, people still need you. Plus, you’re my friend, I’m not just gonna leave you to bleed out.”

You sighed, putting your head against the wall, “Thank you.” You were quieter, but she still heard the words. It wasn’t like there was much else to hear, besides cars passing.

“You’re welcome.” She meant the words; she took a sip of her own water.

She then held up the button you hit, “Turns out it was useful after all huh?” She said in a, ‘I told you so’ kind of way. You smiled a little at her words.

“Turns out it did.” You agreed.

“They’ll be doing that attack, soon.” You said, slowly trying to stand. Bobbi made her way over to help with that, getting you to a table where she had laid a map, “We need to get to them before that happens.”

“Which way in, though? It’s a barn, so there’s a few.” She said, pointing to those entrances you could take.

“Not the front door, that’s for one.” She looked at you with a smile, glad that you were putting that off the table.

“There.” You said, pointing to one.

“Ready to go save some Inhumans and kick some ass?” You asked your older sister.

“You know it.” She answered, bright smile not leaving her face for a moment longer.

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Together, you entered the barn through the back, this time both on the same page with the plan. As you both crouched through it, you listened to them once again talk about it. This time, though, the big guy was there, the leader of this op was there.

You looked to Bobbi, seeing she had noticed the same thing. She thought about it, before shaking her head, knowing that it wouldn’t work in your favour. Still, she didn’t seem against trying to bring him down.

You both then fired at the same time, bringing the Watch Dogs down. They fell, others trying to escape. For once, their bravado and confidence had died, instead replaced with fear.

Seemed the Inhuman hater’s had flaws. They weren’t as big as the thought. Some tried to fight back, but you used cover instead of tried to get the shot off first. The shots hit the crate. Bobbi, seeing the Watchdog member shooting at you, she turned her pistol to him and took him down.

You shared a nod together, before something caught your eyes, “He’s getting away!” Bobbi called out, pointing to the leader escaping.

You knew you might be able to catch him, but you then saw the other Watchdog truck’s pull up. You looked to the leader and back to the truck. Old you would’ve gone for the man no mater what. However, you knew that you would be cut down if you tried.

“Hold them back!” You yelled to your sister. She looked and nodded, the two of you shooting at the new batch of Watchdog members.

However, another car pulled up. This one had the logo of the place you were tyring to run from big and centre on it. The SHIELD logo.

It was a group of SHIELD agents, all getting out to help you not be so outnumbered.

You fired, hitting one Watchdog member, before the SHIELD agent fired at the last one.

Finally, it was other. The plans of the Watchdogs was thwarted, at least for a moment. It was a start.

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The agents were getting ready to take you back, to take you home. As you got ready, Bobbi approached you, “So, end of the line.” She told you, the two of you sharing a timid smile.

“Yeah….That button wasn’t just for you, was it?” You asked her.

She tried to keep a straight face, before she smiled, “Told you some people need you.”

You smiled, sneaky bitch.

“Thank you.” Oh, you must’ve said that out loud.

“Yeah, that too.” She laughed, “I’m gonna miss you, Y/N. This was kind of fun.”

“In a fucked-up way.” She nodded, “Thank you….for taking some of that load off of me.”

“Of course, we’re family. It’s what we do.”

You smiled, hugging your older sister. She returned it, chuckling before pulling away, “Time to go home.” She told you.

“Yeah.” You agreed, going to the open door in the SUV. As you got ready to enter, you looked back at Bobbi. She gave you a smile and a nod, on your returned.

You had a long way to go, but this was a start.

#agents of shield imagine #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d imagine #bobbi morse imagine #Bobbi morse x reader

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apricitascosplay · 4 years ago

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Deputy Casey Reeves

Name: Casey Lawrence Reeves

Age: 27

DOB: May 27th

Gender: Cis Male

Height: 5′8″

Weight: 145lbs

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Eyes: Green

Hair: Dark Brown

Sexuality: Gay

Early Life

Casey was born and raised in Butte Montana to an extremely religious family.

He spent most of his earlier years rebelling against them and their ways, until he finally came out as gay and was ultimately disowned. This eventually led to him running away to live with an older slightly romantic partner. Somewhere down the line Casey became dependant on several vices, drugs, alcohol, sex, etc. After rock bottom and a near death overdose, Casey decided it was time to get his life back on track.

Edens Gate

Casey was not rescued by Dutch from the crash, instead he washed up the shore of the Henbane in Faith's region. This was his first encounter with bliss, it went horribly, as he has actively avoided most of his vices up until then. Faith did her best to console him, in her own way, as well as manipulate him into trusting her and the bliss. Eventually he woke up in the county jail, a few bumps and bruises, a heavy disdain for the bliss, distrust of the water, and a strong motivation to find and save Faith.

Home

Casey lives alone in a 2 bedroom apartment that is slightly too big and too lavish for one person. It's filled with the bare minimum. He owns one pet, a gold fish, named Fish. A pet was recommended by his therapist, though Casey didn't think himself capable of that kind of responsibility, so he settled on a goldfish, something simple that likely wouldn't live long. When the fish didn't immediately die, Casey eventually grew very attached, though having never given it a real name. He arguably takes better care of Fish than himself.

Relationships

Joseph: Casey is terrified of Joseph, deep down he fears that Joseph may be right. Though he struggled internally with being gay and what his family put on him religiously while growing up. He hasn't spent much time with Joseph and from what he has, he is greatly unnerved by him.

John: Unsurprisingly, Casey also dislikes John, greatly. Casey is quick to submit, surrendering without a fight, in exchange for not using bliss bullets on him. He is also quick to 'confess his sins' with John, as again, he has been raised under the belief that being gay is a bad thing. John finds they have some things in common, what with both their addiction addled pasts. Being even remotely compared to the man fills Casey with despair.

Jacob: Casey doesn't feel much for Jacob, of course he dislikes the man, but has had very little interaction with him. Jacob saw him as weak and useless. He did not go through any trials and was quickly assumes wolf/judge food.

Faith: After the initial arrest attempt, Faith was his first actual interaction with the family. He was blissed out of his mind, freaked out, lost, and she was somewhat comforting. He sees a lot of himself in Faith and desperately wants to save her. He's blinded to the poyysytuysibility that she may not actually be as innocent and brainwashed as he thinks.

Parker Cooper (My IRL partner's deputy): upon first meeting Parker, Casey had mild gay panic, which only grew over time. He finds him to be reckless and goofy, but also admires him greatly for being all around good. Parker is only Casey's second ever relationship and the only good one.

Ashe Bell (My IRL partner's deputy as well): Casey isn't particularly close with many women though Ashe is definitely his closest friend. She's hard on Casey and constantly poking fun at him, though they both know it comes from a good place. She is one of the only people he trusts unconditionally, he spends his bad days with her over anyone else.

Whitehorse: Casey see's Whitehorse as somewhat of father figure, especially since his relationship with his actual father is so bad. Whitehorse is a positive role model and influence on his life. He is also considerate of Casey's past.

Nick and Kim: at first Casey had a mild crush on Nick, but quickly moved past it in respect for him and his marriage. He holds both Nick and Kim in very high regards and would do just about anything for them, if needed. Absolutely cried upon meeting baby Carmina.

Sharky and Hurk: Casey doesn't dislike either of the two, though he moreso tolerates them due to their close friendship with Parker. That and he knows that despite the chaos and jackass-ery, they are both genuinely good men.

Grace: He holds a great amount of respect for Grace despite being intimidated by her. Though this doesn't stop him from enjoying her company, he finds they share a comfortable and compatible silence together and appreciates her efficiency with a gun.

Jess: Neither of them spend much time together, as Jess is far too brash for Casey, and he himself, is far too timid for her. There are no hard feelings between the two, they simply aren't compatible.

Adelaide: Adelaide makes Casey rather uncomfortable, what with always speaking her mind and oversharing. He likes to imagine she's what an overly supportive and nosey and somewhat embarrassing aunt would be like if he had one.

Love Life

Casey has been single and avoided intimacy with anyone since becoming sober for personal reasons. He's an expert at turning people down and not responding to advances or any attempts at flirting.

Since starting at the station, Casey quietly crushed on one of the other deputies, Parker Cooper (my irl partner's deputy). He never acted on it, until the events of fighting the cult. They get together shortly after and remain together throughout the events and the collapse.

Other Fun Stuff!

Casey does not cook, he lives mostly off of take out and leftovers. His fridge is very poorly stocked. He drinks entirely too much coffee for someone with permanent bags under their eyes. He sleeps on his couch more often than in his own bed. His apartment is scarcely furnished, having only the bare minimum. Most of his free time is spent binge watching anything and everything on netflix and other streaming sites and occasionally reading anything that looks interesting.

He is very sardonic and all around hard on himself, though he cares very little if others dislike him or mock him. He can come off as very disinterested and possibly even rude to those who don't know him. He's generally pretty easy to get along with once you get past that, though actually getting him to be social and spend time with friends outside of work is difficult.

Casey has one small, relatively crappy tattoo on his inner ankle, though he has long since stubbed many cigarettes out on it in a somewhat successful attempt at ruining it. He has a few other cigarette burn scars, some done on purpose, others from simply being careless (he's fallen asleep smoking multiples times before). He has the faded scars of track marks on both arms, though keeps his uniform sleeves rolled down enough to keep them covered.

If asked, Casey would describe his parents as somewhat akin to the American Gothic painting. He hasn't had communication with them or any other relatives since leaving home. Though he soon finds that his overly religious folks have joined Eden's Gate, seeking safety from the collapse.

Art by Myself, Minilev and Misclae!

#mine #my art #farcry #farcry 5 #far cry 5 #deputy OC #far cry deputy #OC #Original character

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stilesssolo · 5 years ago

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baby I’ll come back to you: coming soon

Well folks, since my current wip, where the wild things are, is winding down (there’s only one chapter left WHAT) and I’m taking off March/ early April from posting anything to focus on finishing up my remix fic(s) on time, I wanted to share a sneak peek of my next wip (mostly just so I could show off @dragonanddirewolf‘s BEAUTIFUL beautiful art.) So here it is: the long-awaited Jonas Brothers au (sorta), which I hope to start posting in late April. I am really excited to start working on this fic, and even more excited to share it with everyone! Hopefully this little preview intrigues you and gets you as excited to read it as I am to write it! And tides you over while y’all wait for my next update, since I am incapable of really working on more than one project at a time. WHOOPS. Anyways, here it is, so enjoy!!

It feels like it’s been a bloody age since he’s actually seen both Robb and Theon in the same room.

He spots them the moment he steps into the coffee shop, even though they’re tucked away in a back corner, away from prying eyes. Jon keeps his head down as he maneuvers through the crowded café, sunglasses still on even inside, just in case people are looking his way. It’s an old habit he has yet to break— out of the three of them, he certainly gets recognized the least nowadays, which is probably why all the tabloids claim he’s fallen off the face of the planet. Theon’s been doing movies, Robb was in a new band and is married to probably the most famous woman in the world, and Jon— well. He’s been living, best he can. Getting better, all of that bullshit. But truly, he hasn’t done anything like his brothers have in the past five years, so people don’t recognize him as much. Enough to squint at him in an I-know-you’re-famous way, but not enough to rush him like they do Robb whenever he steps foot outside his house. He outgrew his nineteen-year-old baby face and started tying his hair back, and all of a sudden it’s like he’s wearing a mask.

Jon’s not sure how much longer that will last, though, because he has a feeling he knows why Robb’s asked them to meet him here today.

“Jon,” he hears that familiar voice call, and he nods towards the two men at the back table, head still down. The last thing they need is the paps recognizing them, starting to spread rumors about the three of them all together again.

“Hi,” Jon says, slipping into the booth, finally taking off his sunglasses. Light from outside streams in through the large windows, the busy sprawl of King’s Landing right before them. Theon slaps him on the arm in greeting; Robb smiles at him in that way he does now. That way that looks like everything’s fine, but where the light doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Gods, he can’t remember the last time his brother actually looked truly happy to see him. Probably before their last tour.

He knows why, of course. Robb would never say it, but Jon knows that he blames him for the breakup. For everything.

“Bloody hells, Jon, it’s been an age,” Theon says, grinning at him. “Where’ve you been?”

“I’ve been here,” he responds, crossing his arms. “You’re the one who was off filming that movie for three months.”

“Aye, how did that go?” Robb asks, gaze turning to Theon, that guarded look disappearing. “I haven’t seen you since you got back. You missed Rose’s birthday party, you know.”

“I know,” Theon grumbles. “I’ll make it up to her, I promise. I have to maintain my favorite uncle status.”

They chat for a while— mundane things, catching up. Theon tells them about the movie he’d just wrapped on. Robb shows them both a million new photos of his children. Jon keeps quiet, just listening. It’s… nice, to be back with both of them, the warm sunlight spilling in through the window, making Robb’s eyes shine like they used to when he was younger. It makes him forget, for a moment. Wish for those days back, when the three of them would spend every moment of their time writing music, pouring their hearts and souls into their careers. It was something so fleeting and magical, he’s not really sure he’ll ever find anything like that again.

Jon realizes he’s lost track of the conversation when Theon clears his throat, looking at the two of them almost nervously, in a decidedly un-Theon-like way. “I’m glad we did this,” he says to them, “because I wanted to tell you both.” He pauses, looking at Robb, as if trying to gauge his best friend’s reaction before he even says anything. “I’m going to ask Sansa to marry me.”

Robb’s eyes get comically wide, so much that Jon chuckles, ducking his head. But it only takes his brother a moment to recover, before he’s grinning widely, eyes sparkling in a way Jon hasn’t seen them in a long time.

Or maybe that’s just because Jon seldom sees Robb anymore.

“Wow,” Robb says, almost speechless. “That’s— that’s brilliant, Theon. Congratulations!”

“Well, I haven’t asked her yet,” Theon says, giving Robb a look. “Don’t go cursing me or something now. She’ll go on and say no.”

“You think she would?” Jon asks. Theon shrugs.

“I don’t really, but— hells, I don’t know.” He gives Robb a look. “How did you know it was right when you asked Margaery?”

Robb huffs in laughter. “Oh gods, don’t take advice from me on that,” he says, raising his hands in surrender.

“What do you mean?” Theon demands. “You’re the only one of us who’s bloody married!”

Jon looks down as the sudden feeling of coldness creeps in, like an icy dagger to the heart. Memories flash before his eyes, and he’s trapped back in the past, glimpses of hair like moonlight and teasing smiles dragging him down, drowning him.

He still has that diamond ring somewhere— buried in the back of a drawer, probably, where he won’t stumble upon it. Seeing it is too painful, but getting rid of it— well. That’s painful in an entirely different way.

“Aye, but Margaery made it easy for me,” Robb says. “She wrote a whole bloody album that basically told me she was waiting for me to ask her.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Y’know I still get asked if I married her with paper rings.”

At that, Jon snorts, a little of the darkness lifting. He’s seen his goodsister’s engagement ring, and it is certainly not made of paper.

Jon tunes out as Robb continues on, reassuring Theon. He doesn’t realize he’s being addressed until both men are staring at him expectantly.

“Sorry, what?” he says, and Robb rolls his eyes amiably.

“I asked, what have you been doing, Jon?” Theon repeats, and Jon shifts uncomfortably. Nothing, is really the most honest answer. Working out. Walking Ghost. Trying to keep his mind occupied and himself sober.

It’s probably sad, to look at his life now, compared to what it used to be. When he was nineteen years old he was touring the world, singing for millions of fans, writing songs every single minute of every single day. Music was most of his life. And now he’s just— trying to get by, he supposes. It’s sad, but it’s what he’s become accustomed to. Just… making it through the day, one day at a time.

“Er, not much,” he admits. “Not like you two, anyways.”

Robb glances up at him, that guarded look back in his eyes. “Arya told me you’ve been writing again,” he says, quietly. Jon curses mentally— he never should have told her that.

“Fuckin’ tattletale,” Jon grumbles. But he can tell from Robb’s expression he’s not going to drop it. “Aye, I have been,” he admits, heaving a sigh. “Not anythin’ good. Just… I dunno. I missed it, I guess.”

“I miss it too,” Theon says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Acting is fine, but music… it’s something different, isn’t it?”

“Aye, it is,” Robb agrees. “Margaery’s been workin’ on her next album, and it makes me think back to then. When we’d just crowd around the table in Mum and Dad’s living room, and Jon would come up with a lyric, and Theon would just hear how it should sound, and we’d write a song in an afternoon.” He sighs, a little wistfully, looking down. “Watching Margaery at the piano, it just…”

“Feels like a part of you is missing,” Theon supplies.

Jon doesn’t answer, but he knows what they mean. Maybe that’s why he began songwriting again. Not because he wants to have a music career anymore— just because it’s so ingrained in him, he doesn't really know what to do with himself if he’s not making music. And if he’s being honest, writing down lyrics, coming up with a melody on the guitar or the piano that mainly just collects dust in his living room… there’s a comforting familiarity to it. Like maybe his sense of self hasn’t been completely destroyed. Maybe some of the old person he used to be is buried down deep.

“Do you ever think about it?” Theon asks, and Robb’s brow furrows. “Y’know. The possibility of… us. Getting back together.”

Robb exhales slowly. “More than I should,” he says. “I… it’s really hit me, in the past few years. How much I miss it. And doing things by myself, or with other people, it’s just not the same.”

“Aye,” Jon agrees, both Theon and Robb looking a little surprised at the fact that he’s participating in this conversation voluntarily. But he knows what Robb means. He did solo things after the breakup, just because he didn’t know how to do anything else. And it had been a lackluster replacement, nothing like he’d felt for the almost seven years he and Robb and Theon were together.

“What about you, Jon?” Robb asks, and as casual as his brother may be trying to appear, Jon knows him better than that. He can hear the apprehension in his voice. And the hope.

Jon exhales, trying to sort out his words in his head before he says something he regrets. “I… do miss it,” he says. “And sometimes I think about it. Gettin’ back together. But I always…” He hesitates. “Would it even be the same? Can we have that again, truly? Or was it just some miracle we stumbled upon we can’t get back?”

“I wonder that too,” Theon admits. “If we got back together— would anyone even care? Would anyone want to listen to our music in the first place?”

“I know what you mean,” Robb says, and his blue eyes flash with determination, desperation. Like he’s clinging onto this with all his might. “But I miss making music with you two. And I think if we truly did this, we couldn’t worry about the fans, or the people. We’d have to do it just for us.”

Just for us, Jon thinks, trying not to roll his eyes. That’s a novel thought in Hollywood. All he seemed to do when they were a band was give and give and give himself away. Nothing here was ever just for him.

Well… there was her. But now that’s gone as well.

“I would do it,” Theon says, with a conviction that surprises Jon. “It would be hard, and who bloody knows what would even come of it, but I would. If this is you asking, Robb, then I say yes.”

Robb blinks, a little taken aback, but then Theon’s words really seem to hit him, and he smiles. A laugh falls from his lips, eyes shining in a way that Jon rarely sees anymore.

“What about you, Jon?” Theon asks, and that’s when Robb’s eyes dim.

Jon sighs. “I dunno,” he says. “That’s… a big decision. I’d like to just say yes, but…”

“I know,” Robb says. “And I don’t want you to say yes unless you really mean it, Jon. If you just… do this for us, nothing will end well.”

His eyes drop down to the coffee table, heart heavy. Yes, he knows that’s true. Because isn’t that how it all blew up the first time? Jon couldn’t do it anymore, and instead of telling anyone, he soldiered on for Robb and Theon. For his brothers. And it all ended in fucking disaster.

“I’ll think about it,” he promises, and the sincerity in his voice takes him by surprise as much as it does Robb and Theon. “Truly, I will.”

Maybe it’s not a bad idea. He loved making music with Robb and Theon. It was his entire life for so long— some crazy dream they somehow made come true. The most surreal, incredible thing in the world, right there before them. And he does miss it. He misses having a purpose, an outlet, an… anything. He misses the time when his life wasn’t an endless void, a monotonous parade of going through the motions day-to-day, trying to learn to move on from something he never really thinks he’ll be over.

Robb’s smile is warm when it meets his, and Theon claps him on the shoulder, looking uncharacteristically hopeful. And for a moment, Jon’s heart feels light, not like it’s made of iron, still heavy in his chest after nearly seven years.

But then Robb’s expression shifts, and his stomach sinks once again.

“There’s somethin’ else,” his brother admits. “Sansa just told me. And I figured you’d rather hear it from us, than see it plastered across all the tabloids in King’s Landing.”

“What is it?” Jon asks, dread filling his stomach. He just knows, somehow, that this is it. This fragile peace he’s tried to build these past years is about to shatter, the rug pulled out from under him.

Robb exhales, like he has to physically force the words out, and Jon prepares himself for the fallout.

“Dany’s back in town.”

And with that, the world stops spinning.

#jonas brothers au #my writing #jonerys #jonerys modern au #jonerys fanfiction #baby i’ll come back to you #im so excited for this one guys #AND THE ART!!!#I CANT!!!!#martha did such a good job #really im posting this because I was too impatient to wait #to share her gorgeous gorgeous artwork with yall #HOPE YOU ENJOYED #coming soon to an ao3 near you

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oneweekoneband · 4 years ago

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To Leave Or Die In Long Island

Of course, BTMI! was just getting started. Less than a year after the release of the debut, Jeff came out with a second album (well, at 8 songs, it’s more of an EP, or mini-album, or, in Jeff’s words, a digital “10-inch”). Though To Leave Or Die In Long Island is shorter in length than Album Minus Band, that only seems to have helped to focus the sound and songwriting on it. In some ways, it’s more conceptually ambitious, too – the album begins and ends with the same melody in a kind of parallel structure. Almost everything that was great on Album Minus Band is honed to a finer point here. (Strangely, according to this interview, this is apparently Jeff’s least favourite BTMI! album; while I understand his reasoning why, it easily ranks as one of my favourites.) As on that album, for example, Jeff continues to criticize the state of the 2000s punk scene. But instead of simply lashing out at obnoxious trend-chasers, his targets get more specific and his lyrics more potent as a result: opener “Happy Anterrabae Day!!!” takes aim at the overly-violent culture that can still be observed at hardcore shows. Between the first verse to the second, Jeff moves from jeering at the guys who threaten “some fourteen-year-old” to suggesting ways to improve the situation: “If I kissed you on the nose or offered you a hug, / How could you possibly still wanna fight?” He ends with a reminder of the positive possibilities of punk rock: “Think about the reason you went to shows at twelve years old, / We all felt alone, it was not to kick my ass!”

Whether it’s the inside-joke about a bandmate’s ladder-climbing career offer to join a more successful band (that didn’t work out in the end) on “Congratulations, John, On Joining Every Time I Die!” or the under-a-minute hardcore punchline of “Showerbeers!!!”, the album really shines on the lyrical front even when it feels like Jeff isn’t trying (which he admits he wasn’t on “Showerbeers!!!”). Then there’s the more serious stuff: “Dude, Get With The Program” is one of Jeff’s best songs about the paper-thin quality of that bullshit facade upper-management types put on when trying to soothe class antagonisms in their workplaces. Inspired by an experience he had at a job in which a company’s managers started lecturing workers on being part of their “family” right before the paycuts and firings began, he vents his frustrations: “You’re working on your first million, / I’m on my first thousand, / And bills are due tomorrow.” There’s the emptiness of the rhetoric fed to those who get the short end of the stick under capitalism: “You didn’t get fired, you’re ‘laid off.’” The chorus clears it all up: “You could have figured out a way to help us out, / But you just said: / ‘Hey, go ahead and get fucked!’”

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By contrast, the less-oppositional “Stand There Until Your Sober” has been a long-running fan favourite possibly due to its confessional quality. It’s a song about drinking too much, feeling like you’ve fallen behind in life, like you’ve missed your chance to grow up, and being generally miserable with nothing to look forward to except the awesome party you have planned for your friends at your funeral (because “mourning is for suckers!”). Over a relatively sparse 3/4 groove with some nice musical flourishes (those backmasked acoustic guitar chords that open the song always get me), Jeff sings about the city’s ambient lights blocking out the stars, making out with a stranger on a boat, and earning only “a hundred and ten bucks for twenty hours” while watching his friends achieve a comfortable stability in life that always seems out of reach for him. It’s the ultimate loser’s anthem, and maybe some of the most poetic stuff to come out of BTMI! Even in the midst of the despair, a ray of positivity breaks through near the end of the song: “You’ll finally know that life’s okay, / Even when the bad things happen.”

The music, too, takes a giant step forward on To Leave Or Die. Though Album Minus Band already showed signs of breaking free from the confines of ska-punk, Jeff signals his ambitions to fuck with the formula as much as possible right off the bat with the cheesy fake-out synth-rock intro to “Happy Anterrabae Day!!!”, gradually revving up the tempo until it reaches the hardcore intensity that kicks off its first verse. Remember what I said about Jeff’s harmonies on Album Minus Band? Here’s the thing: he might not be a great singer (something he’d address directly on the band’s final album), but he sure knows how to layer his voice in his wall-of-sound production to trick you into thinking he is. Of course, he pulls back the curtain at the end and mutes all instruments for the final chorus’s last couple “na-na-na” sections, revealing a chorus of Jeffs screaming vague harmonies and polyphonies at the top of their lungs, barely staying in time with each other, let alone in tune. He knows exactly how absurd it sounds and works that to his advantage perfectly – it never fails to make me laugh out loud. I actually first got my sister into this band by showing her this part of the song, which she couldn’t believe would be left in an actual studio recording. It’s both incredibly funny and incredibly punk; what could be more so than a guy going “Yeah, I can’t sing, but how about I make a whole goddamn choral arrangement out of my voice anyway?”

The peak of the album’s musical ambition arrives at its climax and final song, “Syke! Life Is Awesome!” A tour-de-force of multi-section songwriting, Jeff describes it relatively accurately on Quote Unquote as being composed of “20-second blasts of different genres whether it be alt-country, post-punk, reggae or synth pop.” What that description doesn’t quite capture is the progression of the song, from an acoustic-strummed folk-punk intro into a kind of freak-folk chorus strung out on its own silliness, from there to a classic hardcore punk tempo interspersed with a couple bars of ska, building to an unstoppable outro with a horn section that sounds like a Motown track’s backing dialed up to light-speed. That excellent “na-na-na” vocal melody from “Happy Anterrabae Day!!!” is reprised here through the horns at the end of the song, a motif for the observant listener to enjoy. Lyrically, too, this might be one of my favourite BTMI! songs; Jeff says this one was about a time he got to talk with the lead singer of Squeeze and realized how cool it was that his life had turned out in a way that such a thing could happen. It’s the end of the song that really gets me: sprinting across the album’s final stretch, Jeff begins a long, uninterrupted phrase following an instrumental break that details all the weird things that happened in his life in the chain of events that got him to where he was at the time of writing that song. It evokes a sense of wonder at the simple mechanism of cause-and-effect: “And if I knew how to throw a football, / I would have never played any music, / And if never got my heart broken, / I would sing ‘blah blah fucking nothing.’” It’s a celebration of the uniqueness of the timeline that makes your life unequivocally yours, as it could never be any other way. In philosophy, we might call that a “haecceity.”

#Bomb The Music Industry!#BTMI!#Punk #Punk rock #To Leave Or Die In Long Island

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prettyoddfever · 4 years ago

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late 2008

here’s a tag for misc pictures from September – December 2008

RANDOM INFO

Ryan & Jon were the ones who ran Panic at the Disco’s blog.

PATD filmed the video for Northern Downpour in the Altadena Valley area near LA before starting the Rock Band Live tour. The video premiered on MTV on October 30th. Here’s the “beyond the video” segment.

Nine in the Afternoon was available to play on Rock Band 2 as one of the easiest levels. Spencer laughed that "It makes us look like we can't play our instruments at all. We're not that good, but we're better than that makes us look.”

I saved a note that the MADE episode with a guest appearance from PATD aired on December 6th, but idk if that was the first time.

some fans were still trying to claim that all four guys in the band were totally sober haha. they were definitely missing out on appreciating some cute Ryan moments then.

The band was asked about their best Halloween costumes and Spencer answered: “We were gonna be the Jonas Brothers, just as like a joke, but the problem is that none of us have curly hair, and they actually dress kinda like we do, so I don’t think anybody would get it.”

Brendon talked about recording on Folie a Deux: ”It was a lot of fun. I went into the studio and they showed me four or five of the tracks and I was really impressed with how they were recording them and the styles they had. I was able to throw some of my own little ideas into the piano parts and vocal things. I just hung out there for the afternoon and we had a lot of fun.”

Here’s an excerpt from The New Zealand Herald’s interview with Pete Wentz this fall: His cautious approach may be, in part, from seeing the adverse reaction to his friends' Panic at the Disco's sophomore album, released earlier this year. Signed to Wentz's Decaydance record label, Panic ditched the angst-fuelled punk rock of their first album, instead experimenting with baroque music and folk rhythms. It was a move that alienated a large part of the group's fan base, as witnessed at their Auckland concert in August, which failed to fill more than a third of Vector Arena's 12,000-seat capacity. Though Wentz admires the band's efforts, he says it's not a move Fall Out Boy will follow. “They're the type of guys who always do the opposite to everyone else. You say up, they say down. They don't like to play ball. [But] we'll play ball. Because it's nice to hit home runs.”

Brendon’s interview answers were evolving as he grew up. He used to say he would’ve been a cosmetologist or land surveyor if he wasn’t in the band, but now he was thinking he could have gone to college for music.

Spencer told Alt Press that “Sometimes we'll do an entire interview and nobody will ask about our music. It's really strange. Reading interviews about a lot of bands that we like, especially from 20 or 30 years ago, it seemed to be a lot more about the musicianship and the music. Sometimes it gets frustrating.”

Paul McCartney got some award at the 2008 MTV EMAs and Panic was included in a video montage where a bunch of bands talked about him.

The Pretty. Odd. deluxe edition was nominated for a 2009 Grammy (Best Boxed Or Special Limited Edition Package).

Spencer did an interview with Out.com where he said “people thought we were gay, especially Brendon -- which may be true. Undetermined at this point.”

Razia’s Shadow was released.

Jon talked about his parents in a LiveDaily interview in December: “They go to all the shows that they can. In Chicago, they haven't missed a show. They haven't been able to come to many others. They came to Vegas while we were recording. It was their first time there. It was a lot of fun.”

Ryan had been creating a new life for himself outside of the band this fall. He hung out with Alex Greenwald’s group of friends when PATD wasn’t touring.

Some drama surrounding Ryan got going in mid-December. A lot of fans swore they saw Ryan getting really close with a blond girl who wasn’t Keltie at the last Phantom Planet show (it was just Ryan’s old friend Kate, who even had to explain to some fans there that she was only friends with Ryan). It didn’t help that Keltie was making melodramatic blog posts about stuff like Ryan "leaving” her (it was just about him not living with her now that she was moving to Vegas). So this is where some of that drama fits in.

By fall 2008 Wikipedia had the individual pages for the PATD band members redirect to smaller bios on the main Panic at the Disco page instead... but fans still messed around with those haha.

Out Magazine published an interview with Spencer at the start of December where he said “It’s been about nine months since we had any time off, but it only takes a few days of having nothing to do to get really bored. Shane has written a script for a movie that we think is really great. I personally want to be a part of making it.” (that’s Brendon’s Shane... not Shane Drake).

Media coverage of the band had noticeably decreased by this fall. There were still interviews with big publications, but fall 2008 was a far cry from all of the publicity in fall 2006. The Fever era frenzy felt like it rose exponentially throughout 2005-2006 until it ended on a high note, whereas the hype for the Pretty. Odd. era started out really strong in early spring 2008 and then steadily declined.

The band seemed exhausted just like they did towards the end of the Fever era, but they didn’t feel like the same cohesive unit. It was harder for me to get a strong sense of the band this season. I could get a stronger sense of the Ryan/Jon and Brendon/Spencer halves, though.

here’s the band’s holiday greeting:

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THE LIVE IN CHICAGO CD/DVD

The Live in Chicago cd/dvd was released on December 2nd. The deluxe edition came in a book of polaroids that Shane took when he was on tour with the band. A “hey moon” bumper sticker was also included in the package. Only 4,000 copies of the book were made and it sold out less than 48 hours after it released.

Most of the content was from the Honda Civic Tour, but some pictures were from European shows that summer too. Ryan told Kerrang that “We shot a lot of Polaroid film over the [Honda Civic] tour so it's kinda like a tour diary in a hard-cover book for everyone. Now we'll be able to look at it a few years down the line and remember exactly where we were.”

Jon was asked if he was going to watch the dvd and he answered “Yeah, I usually am forced to whenever I go to my parents' house... I don't mind.”

SPIN shared the trailer in late November shortly before FBR did:

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THE “BEST/WORST OF 2008” LISTS

Entertainment Weekly named Pretty. Odd. one of the worst albums of 2008 and said "With their well-intentioned but feeble attempt to recast themselves as Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, these emo emeriti found out what lonely-heartedness really was, once the record hit store shelves."

Pretty. Odd. was #25 on Billboard’s list of the top rock albums of 2008 (Paramore’s Riot! was #21). It was also #8 in a Billboard poll for best albums.

Nine in the Afternoon was #44 on Rolling Stone’s list of the 100 best singles of 2008 and #91 on the list that iTunes made of the top 100 songs of 2008.

MTV named Panic at the Disco as #4 on their “Top Ten Turkeys of 2008″ list and said: “Really, these guys deserved better. And believe me, they'll get it when I write my ‘Best Albums of 2008′ column in a few weeks. But for right now, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out the colossal tanking of their Pretty. Odd. album, which debuted at #2 on the Billboard albums chart back in April but quickly disappeared from the public consciousness within a few months. Of course, all the warning signs were there: the writing sessions in a cabin, the subsequent scrapping of everything from those sessions, the dropping of the exclamation point from their name. But in the end, Panic fell victim to the same trap that befalls many a rock act with: A) a young fanbase, and B) something to prove — they changed the formula up too much, overshot just about everyone and are now crashing back to Earth. This is not to say ambition is a bad thing (it isn't) or that Pretty. Odd. isn't good (it is), but I'd be willing to bet that in five years, it'll also serve as the prime example of what happens to up-and-coming bands who get a little too big for their britches.”

MTV put Northern Downpour as #27 on their list of the best songs of 2008 and said: “If a tree-shaped bong falls in the woods surrounding a Nevada cabin, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? If it does, I bet it sounds like this song — somber and stony and genuinely pretty, not to mention probably the best thing Panic will ever do. The harmonizing between Ryan Ross and Brendon Urie is worth the price of admission alone; the fact that Ross spends the majority of the "Downpour" video dressed like an attendee at the Memphis Insurance Adjusters' 1973 Winter Conference is just icing on the cake.”

Pretty. Odd. was #19 on MTV’s list of the 25 best albums of 2008 (and they still wouldn’t let the cabin mentions go, even though the cabin era had very little to do with Pretty. Odd). MTV said “An album unfairly skipped by fans and critics alike, Pretty. Odd. is what happens when a bunch of kids in their early 20s get together in a cabin, get baked (or, for legality's sake, don't), listen to a ton of Beatles records and think, ‘Why don't we do that?!?’ because they don't know any better. In other words, it's exactly the kind of record I would've made when I was 21.”

Alt Press wrote: “Pretty. Odd. was described by at least one observer as ‘ignored by fans and critics alike,’ but it seemed to do all right, garnering positive reviews from AP and a few of those competing magazines that shall remain nameless. It also spent more than four months on the Billboard chart and is currently certified gold.”

I think it was also notable which lists & magazines Panic at the Disco wasn’t in. That’s tricker to convey in a post... the realization hit harder as I paged through a lot of magazines in late 2008 & early 2009 and often there was just no mention of the band whatsoever. Even some of the mean comments in 2006 were better than that because at least the band was still being talked about! They were still relevant. I think I had started to take it for granted there was previously enough interest in them to generate a lot of media content.

There was a reallllly noticeable difference between the break the band took in early 2007 to work on their next album vs the break the band took at the end of 2008 & early 2009 to (supposedly) work on their next album. The guys were still doing interviews in 2007... magazines & radio stations & MTV were eager to know every little update of what the Panic guys were thinking about doing next. That was not happening this time around.

THE MAIN POST

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8osbabe · 5 years ago

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HOW TO DISAPPEAR (2) :

A FAIRYTALE THE KIDS WILL LOVE

THERE are no stops from oklahoma to arizona, save for the occasional snack and bathroom breaks.

you managed to nap for the greater part of the sixteen hour trip, but two-bit’s eyelids start to sag at about 11:30 at night, leaving the task of convincing a determined, cranky keith mathews to turn in for the night, to you.

“two, there’s a motel up ahead— just pull over.”

“that’s...not a motel. the sign says ‘OTEL.’” keith mathews is damn near falling asleep.

“keith, i’ll be damned if i die in a stolen corvair in the middle of who-fucking-knows, arizona. pull.over.”

he turns sharply into the dark parking lot outside of the one story complex, lit only by a single flickering lamppost and the dying red glow of the sign.

you’re out of the car barely before its stopped moving, and you look back at two bit, still unmoving, expectantly.

two bit turns to you, his gaze slowly sobering and alert.

“well, here we are. ready to dig into our savings so you can die at a glorified haunted, cockroach-infested sex rendezvous? you’re right, it suits you better.”

you roll your eyes as he slowly steps out of the car, locking the door as he does. you can only think that if somebody did try to steal two-bit’s beat up junker, they probably needed it more.

the motel lobby smells of cigarettes and fry grease the moment two-bit opens the door. dust lies caked over the top of a barely-standing small wooden bookcase, and the room is truly topped off by the stain variety on couch.

all is quickly explained at the sight of the concierge. He’s an older man, the white hair on his head quickly vacating, and he looks like he could be in his mid-fifties if life as a skeevy motel attendant hadn’t aged him so much. he might be 5’8 and intimidating if his back wasn't so crooked and his shoulders not hung so loose.

two-bit remains unfazed as he approaches the counter, and you follow close behind.

“a room please,” he asks.

the man remains aloof as he licks the pad of his index finger to flip the page of an old magazine.

“double or single beds?”

you’re almost flattered that he didn’t automatically assume you were an escort, or here to fuck two-bit mathews. you chime in anyway.

“two singles.”

he sighs, still not making eye contact. “damn shame, i’ve only got doubles.”

he looks up for the first time, eyes shifting between the two of you.

“unless you’d like to bunk with some other folks,” he flashes his teeth in what looks to be a half-smile. “I know a couple tenants who wouldn’t mind…guests.” he wheezes when he laughs.

keith shoots you a side glance before doubling down.

“a double’s fine.”

the man turns his focus back onto the magazine, but still reaches a limp arm under his desk to grab a key.

“do make sure to pay tomorrow morning. i’m a greasy hick with a gun, and prison sounds like a nice vacation from the place i’ve got,” his smile is half threatening as he wheezes.

you both turn towards the door, gripping the handle when he speaks again.

“and young man,” he swallows hard, serious this time. “clean up after yourself….maid only comes once a week.”

it’s two-bit’s turn to roll his eyes as he holds the door for you, sharing in your disgusted look as you leave the lobby behind.

“you know what, two? i liked him.”

he chuckles half heartedly.

“you would, it’s that same taste in men that got your mixed up with dallas tucker winston.”

the thought of teasing dallas makes you smile and you nudge keith’s shoulder.

“you shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead.”

you know it’s a mistake as soon as you say it, and two-bit stops in his tracks, turning to you.

“he’s not dead. we’re gonna’ fucking find him, alright?”

he keeps on walking, frustrated, but his words pin you to the ground.

“keith, wait—,” you call out to him, and he turns toward you from a few feet away.

you glance at the motel two blocks down the road.

“you want to get a drink?”

he breathes deeply, burying his face in his hands. “we’ve got a long day tomorrow, we shouldn’t.”

you put on your best “kicked puppy, pity-me” expression, which most greasy girls never did, and most greasy guys never fell for, but it always worked on two-bit, when it came to you.

he bridges the gap between you two, caving.

“just one.”

———————

your vision is hazy, speech-slurred, as you and two mumble incoherently on the walk toward your shared room. his arm is fixed around your shoulders as you help keep his balance, the only thing stopping him from plunging to the asphalt.

the door is unlocked, and neither of you is sober enough to assess the dangerous implications of that fact. instead you only lock the door behind you and crash onto the double bed you’d booked, which had caused an uproar at the front desk earlier, but was now starting to look very promising.

you feel a heavy weight on your chest, but still manage to worm onto your side to look at two-bit.

even with his eyelids heavy and hair tousled from a late night of drinking, he wasn’t hard to look at by any means. he was at least six feet tall, his shoulders broad and sturdy. for most greasy girls you knew, he was a total catch.

but looking at him now, your head foggy and dream-like, you notice the way his features move softly with each of his expressions, not quite as angular as dallas’s were. are. the conflict between the two tenses is almost enough to make your eyes mist over.

when your vision refocuses, you notice he’s staring back at you, too. he’s your best friend. you begin to wonder what would happen if—

you come together slowly, his hand moving to cup your face, warm and supportive. his lips are on yours and the kiss is chaste and innocent. much different from what you’d prefer, perhaps in a different situation, with someone else.

you both stare at each other quizzically for a moment once you’ve released each other.

“no,” he says after a few seconds, shaking his head and turning back to face the ceiling.

“agreed.” you shift to sit cross-legged on the bed. “i think you need more practice.”

he looks up at you, nose scrunched in mock offense.

“i’ve had plenty of practice.”

“you kissed me, hotshot.” your eyes narrow as you stifle a laugh. “i don’t think we should sleep in the same bed, frankly.”

“agreed,” he retorts, and with a single pulse of strength, shoves you off the bed and onto the carpet. you land with a thump. “i think you should take the floor.”

“did you just knock a lady on her ass, keith mathews?”

his laugh is quiet and child-like as he apologetically moves over to make space for you on the mattress. “fine. but no funny business, got it?”

you just roll your eyes and crawl under the covers beside him, finally flicking off the lamp’s assaulting yellow light.

“you’re all of i’ve got,” he says after a pause, cutting through the silence.

‘i love you’ goes unsaid, but echoes throughout the room regardless.

———————

all sleep is uneasy when you’re dating a dead boy.

you pull the sheets off your body and swing your legs off of the bed, not too worried about waking two-bit. he was a deep sleeper.

you grab a lighter from two’s jean pocket, and take a few smokes from the pack lying on the vanity.

there are no signs of life in the motel parking lot in front of your room, save for the occasional wind chill.

your mind is never yours at four in the morning.

it always belongs to them.

when you close your eyes, leaning against the concrete wall, you can almost see johnny cade. you remember the way he smiled, his jacket loose on his shoulders, purple-black bruises on the high points of his cheeks.

sometimes you still found yourself looking over your shoulder, a habit from when you had to check to make sure johnny was still there, behind you.

the next gust of wind reminds you of dallas.

you feel the ghost of his long, pale fingers tracing the length of your spine, drumming on your shoulders when you’d lie on his chest, tugging at your hair.

you only open your eyes when the cigarette burns out, and it’s dim light is replaced by the burning gaze of two very familiar eyes, from the alley across the street.

ashing your cigarette on the wall, you turn back toward the room, your fingers only grazing the handle when a hand flies over your mouth, stifling the instinctual scream.

in the window, a harrowing reflection.

a pale-faced girl and her dead ex boyfriend.

#the outsiders #dallas winston #dallas winston x reader #work : how to disappear completely and never be found #two bit mathews #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #steve randle #johnny cade

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

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Kissing Dead Pearls (Final Part)

There are places where lives unfold and places where lives come to an end, more often than not these places are one and the same. Sometimes these places are quaint harbor towns where buildings are centuries older than any of the citizens currently hustling in and out of them. Sometimes these places are have cliffsides that are older than even the buildings, worked at and eroded by waves significantly more timeless than them. Often these cliffsides see thunderous clouds and tempestuous waves, lit by forks of lightning and filled by curtains of rain. And more often than folks like to admit, these towns have their ghosts; sails on the horizon during a storm, ladies in billowing white dresses that stand at the edge of cliffs, and speters that travel through arches of limestone. It might be that the towns folk get bored and invent legends, or perhaps it is a tourist thrill, still it could be that some of the inhabitants need a good ghost to keep them secure in the realm of the living.

In such a town, the rain could be pouring and lightning could be bursting in the sky. People might be rushing to pack in their picnic food and snatch up their umbrellas. Some of them are too late, like a boy named Jet and a girl named Jin. Their umbrella has lifted out of the sand and is riding the gales out towards the sea. It wasn’t his idea of what a date should look like, but at least it was a thrilling one.

Others have more luck on their side; more or less. A married couple could be safely tucked into their restaurant had they decided to take down their patio umbrellas and move their chairs inside sooner.

Inside of a restaurant called La-bsters there is a rather interesting cluster of people. Mostly there are tourists and people who have hustled into the building for shelter from the rain. But there are also two teens interviewing for their first jobs. A girl will venture out of the town for the first time to study marine biology and her friend, Toph will take her place waitressing for the restaurant. There is also a bald boy and his dog, the three are an inseparable duo and Aang swears that he will teach the dog to be a good employee too.

The restaurant is cozy. It is home. In a quaint harbor town that seems caught within a bygone era, anywhere is home really. It is no wonder that some people are hesitant to leave. When home is so warm and inviting, so safe and unchanging, why would a person ask to leave?

For some it is a need for change, a yearning for something new. A desire to see the world with a knowing that they can come back to their harbor town and see it nearly as it was when they had left. Nearly, but not quite. For everything evolves. Everything changes. And if you know a place well, then the most subtle of changes are extraordinarily profound.

The rain pummels the roof of La-bsters as Toph high fives Aang, “Congrats on your first summer job, Twinkle Toes!”

“Yeah, you too.” He smiles meekly.

“When do we start?” She asks.

“How about on the first day that we have some sunny weather?” Hakoda offers.

A table away sits a group of four, they split a platter of fries, onion rings, and hot wings. Azula douses the wings in an extremely generous amount of spicy dipping sauce. “Seriously, I can’t eat this!” Sokka exclaims, eyes watering. “My mouth is burning!”

Azula smirks. “Yes, that’s the point. Either you’re going to build up your spice tolerance or I am going to have all of the wings to myself.”

“Not if I can help it.” Zuko plucks one of the wings. He takes his first bite. After swallowing he clears his throat. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Katara.”

“Go ahead.”

“We’re still having a hard time building the lighthouse back up after how far behind we’ve fallen. I was planning on opening up a restaurant of my own. It’s going to be more like a bakery and I’ll run it from the lighthouse.”

“My idea.” Azula cuts in.

“I thought that it would be smart to…” He backtracks. “Azula thought that it would be smart to partner up with La-bsters. It’s going to be folklore and ghost story themed and stuff. Do you think that your parents would want that.”

“Ask them, Zuko.” Katara laughs. “They’ve never said no before!”

“Speaking of parents, how has your dad been?” Sokka asks, nostrils still flared from his second attempt to eat one of the wings. He fans his face.

“He’s a year sober now.” Azula replies.

“He and uncle are planning some kind of road trip to relive the glory days.”

“Why are you cringing?” Katara laughs.

“Do you know what their glory days looked like?” Zuko asks.

“Father just wants to make up for wasting so much of his time on drinks and grief.” Azula shrugs. Silently, she thinks that he just wants to enjoy one more summer before life moves on. Or maybe she is just projecting; for as much as she had fought Sokka on it, it would be nice to have one last summer where everything is as it was, simple and thrilling. Now that she has eliminated his hesitancy, she will indulge him in one more summer of old habits and nostalgia.

She will begin it with one final surf competition and end it with the annual beachview music festival. That will be nice, considering that they’d missed last year’s. She peers at her surfboard, which she has propped up against the corner. She is going to miss it, how could she not when she had spent so much time riding waves on it? But it is time to put it aside, the sea calls her in a different direction and she has already made the necessary arrangements to answer it. And besides, she thinks it would be kind to allow Chan and Ruon their time to shine. They have more passion for the sport than she. They have worked their whole lives for that competition.

They will be performing Port TuiLa’s first partner routine. ‘Brave and risky! Daring and fun!’ So the townspeople declare. She will do her own routine, but it will be more lax and mundane. Her father and uncle will be there with bouquets of hibiscus, lais, and smoothies, weather she wins it or not. There will be a party in their backyard, a BBQ that doubles as her birthday party and her victory celebration. She will slip an invite to Jet; if he makes an appearance it will be just like old times. If he steers clear...she supposes that, that is just the nature of things. People get hurt and people grow apart.

“Go and ask them, Zuzu.” She nudges as Hakoda enters the building completely drenched.

Zuko takes a deep breath, stands, and rolls his shoulders. Azula rolls her eyes. “So dramatic. How long have we known them?”

Katara laughs and gently pushes him forward.

“Have you decided what you are going to do yet?” Azula asks.

Sokka bites down gently on his cheek. “Khozen has been teaching me to sail again. I know that you wanted me to leave Port TuiLa but I don’t think I’m ready for a change that big and I don’t really like the idea of college anyways.” He rubs the back of his head. “I was thinking of learning to fish, that way I can help bring in some seafood for La-bsters and be around for mom and dad after Katara leaves.”

Azula blinks. “That actually sounds like a good plan.”

He chuckles, albeit, a little nervously. “Yeah. I figured that, that way I could start something new but also stick to the place that makes me happy.” He pauses. “It’s just gonna be weird not having you guys around.” He gestures to she and Katara.

“You’ll have Zuko.” Katara points out.

“We’re trying to make him feel better, Katara.”

“I can still hear you guys!” Zuko calls.

Sokka gives a snorting laugh. The kind that works its way around the table and reaches the door. From its frame a sopping wet Mai remarks, “well that’s my one laugh for today.”

“What are we talking about?” TyLee asks.

“Plans for the future.” Azula pulls up a chair. “Suki and I are going to beauty school! She wants to learn to do special effects makeup. I’m going to make everyone in Port TuiLa beautiful!”

“Good luck with Long Feng.” Mai mumbles and helps herself to a french fry. “I’m going to study mortuary science. It’ll give me something to talk about at dinner.”

“What about you, Azula?” TyLee asks. “You still going to pro-surf?”

It hadn’t really taken much thought to decide, not when the path had made itself so clear. She shakes her head, “no, I have something different in mind.”

“Does father know?” Zuko asks, taking his seat.

“He will.” Azula replies. That is her only hang up, the prospect of disappointing him. But she thinks that her desired career is admirable enough. Surely it is indisputably well suited to her. “I’m going to be a coast guard. I already have experience, more than I should.”

The sea has taken a lot from her but she has taken a lot back. And she will take more back, more and more until it doesn’t hurt. More and more until she knows that she can see her mother again with the ability to inform her that her death didn’t amount to nothing. The waves may have stolen her life but they haven’t stolen the energy she put forth.

The sea will take more lives, likely it will take them right out of Azula’s hands. But it will take less than it would have if she gets her way.

“Thanks to you,” she looks at Sokka, “and all the attention that your story got, I think that my chances are very good.”

“Hey, can we stop talking about the future now and start living in the moment!?” Toph calls. “I’ve got five dollars for the jukebox and twenty for the arcade.”

“How about we spend twenty on the jukebox and five on the arcade?” Sokka asks.

Azula elbows him. “Do you even know twenty dollars worth of good songs?”

“I know plenty of amazing tracks!”

She slings her arm around him. “Your music taste is still stuck on hits from ten years ago.”

And so they listen to twenty dollars worth of songs that she hasn’t heard since they were kids. Their summer starts with the past and plays out as it always has, right until when the leaves would start to change. And just as they always have, they close the summer with an all night music festival on the beach. Sparklers, smoke bombs, and melting ice cream cones. Fireworks and kisses and the same gaggle of friends. The same group plus one, not that Jin hadn’t been an amusing addition.

.oOo.

It only makes sense that she departs on a stormy night. Her car is loaded and the remaining tents and banners of her goodbye party flap in the wind. Sokka presses his head to her forehead and gives her a rather lengthy kiss. Long enough to have her father retreating back into the house to fetch her a parting gift. She won’t open it until she reaches boot camp. It is a simple photo album that her mother had made.

She pulls out of the kiss and Ozai hands her the giftbox. “Your mother would be proud.”

“And you?”

Ozai sighs. “I think that you already know the answer to that.” He ruffles her hair. He hasn’t done that in ages. “I best see you in a uniform when you visit for the holidays.”

“You will, father.” She smiles.

“Take care of father?” Azula requests quietly to Zuko. “Keep him on track, okay?”

“I’ll keep him busy.” Zuko promise with a gesture to the lighthouse and his brand new business. “Trust me, I will.”

She doesn’t doubt it in the slightest. “Alright, well I’m getting soaked so…”

“I’ll see you later, Azula.”

She nods and gives a little wave.

Sokka puts his arm around her and leads her to her car. She buckles herself in and turns her head for one final kiss. “Call me when you get there.” It isn’t a question. “Of course I will, Sokka.” She answers anyhow. He waves again and she rolls up her window. Windshield wipers throw drops off of the window as she steers her way down the winding lighthouse driveway.

The Sea Candle rests on the cliff shining her way as it always has. And it will be there to guide her home when the day comes. She casts one final look at the town in her rearview mirror. She can swear that, in the beam of the lighthouse she can see faint sails, bobbing haphazardly in the waves.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Zuko #Katara #Zutara #Toph #Aang #Suki #Mai #TyLee #Ozai #Iroh #Jet #Fanfiction

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