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sup-hoes-its-me · 4 years ago

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Happy (Naruto x Reader)

Request: "I was thinking of something that Naruto and Reader have been best friends for a long time, and one day she gets hurt on a mission, and he cries, but in the end everything ends well."

A/N: request for @writing-x-reader sorry it took so long, end of the semester has been very difficult. Also my first naruto fic. We will see how it goes. Hope I did your request justice! Not proof read at all, sorry about that.

Word count: 3000

_____

Jeez, how was it that someone like her managed to meet someone as perfect as him? It felt surreal.

She wanted to kiss him. She felt herself leaning forward just slightly, feeling her heart rate beat swiftly in her chest at the sight of his tired eyes laying beside her. He blew out steady breaths through his lips, and she thought they looked more kissable than ever before. He was such a sweet guy, so handsome and kind and brave, and everything in between. She wanted him to be completely hers, but that wasn’t happening.

So she laid back down beside him on the plush grass and sighed.

Could they ever be anything more than friends? It seemed impossible. He had that long time crush on Sakura, for one. But he was also so dumb when it came to love and all those things. He couldn’t get her hints, and she was too shy to just tell him outright. It just seemed like a hopeless dream to think they would ever date.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You got a piece of something stuck in your hair.” Her hands ran to touch the strands that hung around her head, and he just laughed with a shake of his head. “Let me get it,” he told her softly, reaching out to take a piece of leaf from her hair. She felt her cheeks begin to heat up at his touch, and his kindness, and the way he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"Thanks."

"You know, you should wear your hair down more often. It looks really nice on you. I like it," the blond commented, his head propped up in his hand, hair falling into his face and shading over his eyes. He had that kind smile across his face, whiskers and all just adding to the look she adored.

Her cheeks grew warmer at his words and she opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. Her nerves had silenced her. Instead, she simply shook her head and lowered her eyes, too bashful to maintain the eye contact.

"You- You're beautiful, you know? You really shouldn't be so shy."

Her heart raced at his words, and Y/N felt herself falling into a state of confusion and frustration. How could he say those things so casually, when to her it felt like he was playing with her entire heart in his hands? He was just so nice, and he always knew the right thing to say to make her like him even more, even deeper than she realized.

"Naruto..."

He laughed, leaning back against the grass and kicking one leg over the other. "What? Just being honest. Thought girls liked compliments?"

"No, no, I do. Thank you. I really should build confidence but it's not as easy as you think."

It was quiet for a moment, and she took that as her chance to get away, to clear her head and sort through all these conflicting thoughts.

Quickly, she gathered herself up and stood from the grass. She couldn’t be here anymore. She felt too many conflicting emotions running through her mind. She just wanted to be with him, but that was impossible. It made her stomach turn at the thought, and she just needed to get away, run as far as she could so she could be alone with her embarrassing crush on the hero of the leaf.

“I’ve got to go, Naruto.”

“Aw, really? It was so much fun just chilling here with you.”

He was having a good time? Of course he was, they were best friends. They wouldn't be friends if he didn't have a fun time when she was around. She shook her head softly to drown out her loud thoughts. “I’ll see you on our mission tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yep. See you.”

“Bye.”

She walked off with heat in her cheeks and heart resting upon her sleeve. She was just so stupid. Crushing on someone so unattainable. The next opportunity she got to confess to him, she would. Just get it done instead of obsessively thinking about it all the time. It was driving her insane, and she needed to fix the situation. Whatever happened, she just hoped they remained friends afterwards.

He was a sweet guy, he would most likely stay her friend and just forget about everything, right?

Just stop thinking about it all, she scolded herself. It wqould only make her more nervous, or even avoid confessing at all. What had to be done, would be done. Whether they stayed the same afterwards or not would be a different story, and she could only hope for the best.

_______

The blade came down upon Y/N with enough strength to pierce her skin and run all the way down her chest, tearing through the skin and some muscle as it did so. She cried out, so surprised by the attack that her eyes widened and she had to do a double take. That man was behind her just a second ago, how did he get so close so fast? She didn’t know. All she knew was that blood was soaking deep into her tunic.

If she had the strength left in her lungs, she would call out for her teammate, for Ino, to come and help her. She was a medical nin, right? But her chest ached, and the most she could get from her lips was a mere whisper.

Everything hurt. Her body burned like fire had touched it, and her skin was hot and sticky to the touch.

She laid back on the ground, without any hope. Someone would get to her when they finished whatever they were doing, she just had to wait. It couldn’t be long.

And it wasn’t.

Naruto stood above her in an instant, and he was quick to fall to his knees at her side. His hands anxiously hovered over the long cut from the knife, and if she were seeing correct, they were shaking fiercely. The strong and brave Naruto brought to a quivering state? She couldn’t believe it. Maybe if he had found Sakura lying here instead, she could understand, but not her. She wasn’t anything special.

“Y/N? Y/N? Are you alright?” he asked, leaning in closer to her face.

“I'll be okay,” she whispered, reaching her hand out to latch onto one of his. He grabbed up her hand the second he saw her struggle, and cradled it within his own, squeezing maybe a little too hard for comfort, but she could definitely manage. She could feel the heart radiating from his warm hands into her dripping cold ones. A small smile crossed her lips at the feeling, holding his hands. It was nice.

“Y/N, please. Ino- I don’t know where Ino went. Just keep trying for a little longer,” he pleaded,and at this point, she noticed the tears that were brimming his eyes, sliding down his cheeks so silently, she probably wouldn’t notice them any other time if she weren’t so entranced by his features through the hazy lens. “Please, don’t die.”

“I-I don’t know, Naruto.”

“Yes, you do know! Don’t just give up , please! Don’t give up for me, okay?” he exclaimed, and she winced at the height of his voice. Quickly, the boy hushed down, collapsing down at her side from all the sadness seeping into his body. “You just can’t die. I need you,” he whimpered, wiping away at his tears with his shoulder.

“Naruto-”

“I know you’re my best friend, and I know you don’t see me this way, but I love you, Y/N. I’ve felt that way for the longest time,” he confessed, and she felt her heart pick up in her chest, skipping a beat at the sudden confession. He loved her. Naruto Uzumaki, the boy of her dreams, was in love with her. She was high on the endorphins running through her body, and a soft smile lifted on her face. He only clutched at her hands harder, tears continuing to drip heavily down his cheeks. “You are just so perfect. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She knew she didn’t have much time left. She was slipping across the line of consciousness, and she just wanted to get in one more thought before drifting to sleep for a while.

“I-I love you, too, Naruto.”

“Okay, so live! You have to now. We have to go on dates and everything! Come on, Y/N, please!” he cried, more hysterical now than ever. She sighed, knowing that there was nothing she could do to mend away those painful tears. She was dying right here in front of him and there was nothing anyone could do. They just had to wait until Ino found them and hopefully heal her enough that she could live. It was worth a shot.

And if she died? So be it. She was content. In her last moments, she felt Naruto’s love completely fill her heart and mind. That was the most she could hope for in a situation like this, being surrounded by someone who cares about you so immensely it hurts. She squeezed his hands gently, as she felt her eyes closing. He pleaded with her once again, but to no avail, she was out like a light.

He kept on crying, harder now that she was gone and he couldn’t even see her eyes anymore, or hear another word leave her mouth. He felt like everything was coming crashing down on him at once. His poor friend was lying in front of his dying, and he couldn’t do anything to help her besides leaving the body alone to look for Ino, or just wait. He wasn’t too found of the thought of abandoning her body out here in the woods like that.

He clutched at her cold hand in his shaky ones, trying to feel some comfort in the skin to skin touch. Anything to bring her back to him and make him feel like things were okay again.

Ino rushed out of the forest as fast as she could after hearing Naruto call her name a couple times out in the open. Her eyes widened at the sight in front of her. Y/N looked dead. Her body was so covered in blood she couldn’t make out an inch of her shirt that wasn’t soaked in it.

“What happened to Y/N?”

“I don’t even know. One second she was fine and the next she looked like this!” Naruto cried as Ino crouched one the other side of her body. Immediately, she set to work healing, and thankfully, there was enough chakra flowing through the girl’s body to signal a swift recovery. Ino wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen Naruto a blubbering mess the way he was right now. He was crying and sobbing, and shaking like a poor little leaf. The blond rightfully felt terrible for not being there sooner.

“Naruto, what’s wrong? Y/N is going to be fine, I promise.”

“I couldn’t even protect her. I love her so much, and I let this happen to her. What sort of friend does that make me?” he cried, trying desperately to wipe the tears from his eyes so Ino couldn’t see anymore. Guess it doesn’t matter though, does it?

“You love her?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she definitely loves you, too,” Ino sighed, continuing her work. She could feel Y/N getting better with every second that passed by, and she hoped there wouldn’t be any permanent damage. There was no way to tell right now, so she would just wait.

Naruto’s brows perked, and he asked, “What? How do you know?”

“She’s told me. Like, a bunch of times.”

Naruto sat back, falling flat on his butt in surprise. Y/N loved him? For a while? She liked him enough to divulge in her crush to friends? How did he never notice? They were best friends, he was around her almost all the time. How could she keep something like that a secret? He thought he’d made it more than obvious that he had a crush on her, but he guessed she never noticed that either.

He was confused, rightfully so. Finding out your friend has a crush on is weird enough, but it being requited is a completely different thing. What would happen after this? Would they date? Was that even an option? Would she even want to? Maybe when she said I love you, she meant it as a friend. That could be it.

He really just couldn’t make up his mind.

He would just have to wait until they got home, when she was awake and sound of mind, before they could figure out what was going on between them. The waiting would kill him, he was sure of it. But it had to be done.

______

When they arrived back at the village, Y/N was taken to the infirmary immediately. She was hooked up to machines and laid down in a white, sterile room away from Naruto’s prying eyes. Rightfully so, he was anxious to see her. They had just confessed their love to each other, what else could be more pressing than that?

The boy walked around in spiraling circles through the waiting room awaiting the doctor to peek her head in and inform him of her condition. And she did, after a couple hours. She walked into the room and told him it was time to go and visit her, she would be waking up any time now.

She lay still in the bed, only soft breaths bringing her chest to rise and fall. He collapsed into the seat beside her bed and reached out, taking a hold of her hand and squeezing it. Maybe if he continued to squeeze her hand, she would wake up sooner, he thought. He needed to see her, to hear her voice, anything. Just seeing her laying in this bed was driving him insane. There was too much to talk about.

And when her eyes started to open, he found himself practically jumping up from his chair to be closer to her. She groaned, lifting her other hand to rub at her tired eyes.

“Y/N?”

“Naruto?” she asked in her sleepy state, confused as to why he would be there of all people. She turned her head to see the ball of sunshine sitting beside her, holding her hand even, and staring her right in the eyes. She felt heat begin to fill her cheeks. Was he that excited to make sure she was okay?

“I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried about you.”

“I-I’m sorry for making you worry so much,” she found herself mumbling the first thought that came to her mind, no matter how silly it may have been.

He clutched at her hand, shaking his head furiously at what she had just said. “Stop! Don’t say sorry! It’s my fault for not protecting a teammate out there.” It wasn’t his responsibility to make sure she was okay the entire time, he had other priorities of course. She sighed, shaking her head, but not arguing with him.

"You're right. But you did help me out when I was down and I appreciate that."

"Of course! It's what a good guy does," he chirped, but his mind was obviously on something else that they had avoided so far in their conversation. His eyes trailed to the table beside her, not wanting to look her in the eyes as he brought it up. "About what we said back there."

"Yeah, the confessions…"

He asked, doubt just now creeping up in the back of his mind, "You meant it, right?" She was in distress. It could have been a love confession out of desperation. He was definitely over thinking things, something he rarely did. He was so straightforward. Just calm down, he told himself.

"I meant what I said. I hope you meant everything you said too," she told him, still feeling that heat creeping up her neck and ears now. So embarrassing.

"You bet I did! I'm so happy you like me back! I've liked you for so long, Y/N."

"So that means we can go on dates like you said? Ramen dates, maybe?"

"Ooohh, Ichiraku dates. Sounds so good."

He was happier than he ever felt before, high off life and love and just so much emotion it was bubbling out. He smiled at his new found girlfriend, just watching as she went on about cute date ideas they could go on, her eyes lighting up and her lips curled up in a sweet smile he loved.

Times were good. So freaking good.

#naruto x reader #naruto uzumaki x reader #naruto imagine #naruto oneshot #naruto #naruto shippuden #request #writing #mine #one shot #x reader #if this isnt the best quality im sorry

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captainkurosolaire · 3 years ago

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Update ~ Return & The Swan Song 365 Challenge

365 Marks the number of days I will be challenging myself to and that voyage starts tomorrow. I will have this be my swan song. Yes it’s true no one hits harder than life, but what it’s really about is toughness, not power. Enduring is what makes us still stand, that's getting to the last round and that’s how you win. One hit and it’s just defense. And... that’s what I’m going to do! (I’m going raw in-depth beneath the cut.)

I’ve left pieces of my heart into the possession of many and I’ve watched them soon after throw and neglect it into the trash. Time and energy spent accosting my vitality. And it’s not on them strictly, it’s my own fault for being careless of the importance of where I devote myself too. I have left pieces of my body being torn and dissected to try fixing a disease and body that continues to decay and now is inoperable to fix from the holes carved into me. Hospital visits erased my opportunities and allowed me to stand side line oddly. I still recall being stuck there for a month, and I was bet against. Told I wasn’t strong enough. Watching my dreams shatter from Olympics, wrestling, everything gone, but one vital thing.

My mind is still intact. Although I deplete and have bitter limits. As long as I have that, I still have all I need. But expression is what I believe is the most important thing being’s bring; inside art you can prove that. In that atmosphere, you create worlds. And while you may get destroyed, you can convert that into something better. When things die like dreams, they can be recreated and transformed into a whole new positive landscape and impact.

I push myself to boundaries, challenge cause I need nothing ever wasted again. There is a way to do that. I can turn my entire life of years into memories good and bad, and bear it all on the table, in ONE full year... I can turn into stories, experiences, adventures. I can put it all into form and unleash it. Reveal my truth.

See although people have entrusted pieces of them to me. I have never lost it. And they are still important to me, to immortalize because every scar physically and mentally builds no matter how it’s constructed and molds you. I’ve always been second-rate in almost every regard, but I have never felt that way when sharing here and I continue to prosper and push because of the fondness and the out-pour of all the encouraging people who’ve tuned in, no matter the gaps in my appearances, or it almost seemingly like I’ve gone off to the seas and abandoned them on the shores.

I always return as one of the few constants.

Three months last year, I should just go for that alone as a benchmark, or go the normal idea and go for a consistent goal of Four, but I want more, more and more. In my heart of hearts.

One year. That’s where I want to go.

I will lay out every single emotion and I will turn it into some sort of screen set, writing, gif, comedic skits, poetry, lyrics, something to productively let out daily. Of course, I've had a handicap for one month and although that seems like a lot of distance to be ahead of me and easily achievable, I assure you all it takes is one bad day and that’s gone. A shifting wrong blow from life and it’s gone and I’m out.

Even if I don’t make the criteria of this challenge, I’ve set forth. I’ll still be happy with what I did and my opinion, alongside the love that I still can give myself daily, doesn’t change anything. 'Cause I did what makes me feel alive. Though I strongly believe, I can win this distance.

The reason is -- I’ve already succeeded in getting a month’s worth of work. Where my passion was perceived as a fire, thinking it dimmed, that the blaze couldn’t come back. I assure you, I’ve found it’s an explosive now.

It’s in my gratitude to all those who over the years have been on a life journey, being beside me, going through it all. Watching me adapt, evolve. I’m certain sometimes, there could’ve been questions if I was diminishing or regressing.

My duty is to hopefully aspire and inspire and I can take it that wasn’t easy. So that’s my apology if I’ve ever let your expectations down.

But now, if you stuck with me in this wild ride, I will deliver you the best that I’ve held in holding and couldn’t get too.

I owe it all to those who’ve come and slithered in whispers against me, targeted me with poison, aided in doubt. Thank you for allowing me to inject that into myself. It took a considerable amount of time to learn how to turn that poison into something useful, but I’ve found the antidote and gained beyond a tolerance to it, but immunity.

For those who’ve been my stars, who've been my guiding compass to return, who saw my spark, and encouraged me. Watching me leaping into turning my spark into a lightning strike here and there, I owe you a few worlds. Consider them created. I’ll go from lightning to thunder! And from there, I’ll become a whole thunderstorm of unbridled passion!

Even to those who often remain without even my presence, I have all my heart for you in this and it has given me my conviction to overcome. I’ll bring warmth into even the shadows themselves.

I’m out to develop a new writing style and form of art and trespass into it and ideally if it works, I’ll master it. If doable, I’ll be telling stories in this format. Not only easier to absorb but better for me too. But I haven’t given up, I attend to create all Captain’s stories, arcs, which I’ve hundreds remaining. Though this will allow me to ease it up and turn it into an alternative until I do so. I’m also going to be developing Captain’s final state and character arc, leading him up to being his pinnacle, prior to him going for his Last Voyage. This is a better idea instead, because it allows me to not only return to RP anywhere, but prevent partners from having to contend with any Story that is happening anymore. Now it’s strictly stories that are happening / stories that have happened. I'll be allowing them to be filled out / teased in my new style, and also one day, whenever not this challenge, I’m back to writing again, I can go at it.

Things haven’t changed though I’ll work on getting back to answering more stuff, being easier reachable for stuff. But most importantly, Build. Support. Hoist. Back to showcasing a lot of your inspiring tales, amazing works. You’ve kept all the engine running and that’s what matters. We’re all in this as a crew. Thank you for taking care of the helms and still never halting either in going through your tides. You’re what makes those seek fortune.

As always much love out to you hearties and glad to be on this vessel again, thanks for being embodiment's of treasure. But it’s land ho!

#Swan Song Challenge #<-----#Be the tag #Still use daily practice #Gonna be jumping all over the place again with creative stuff #Try new things out a lot #Posts around 1PM CST #Hopefully get that 365 #I'm excited for what I don't even know yet #OOC #Update #Status #We back #Hop into answering some asks from prior #Had some set-backs already #But I've got the grit

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themonotonysyndrome · 3 years ago

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REDACTED verse - Movie marathon? Hell yeah!

Prompt: Any Fandom | Any Pairing | "I got us matching shirts!"

Word Count: 1,027

Author/Team: LadyMonotone

Fandom/Original: Redacted ASMR (Asher/Babe)

Rating: G

Triggers: NA

Summary: After a busy work week, Babe suggests they do something fun on the weekend. Asher has just the idea.

ConCrit: Y

I realised that I’ve never wrote a oneshot for Asher & Babe. Let’s fix that!

"Hey, welcome home Babe. Are you - shit, is everything OK? You look pale!"

Asher stops himself when his Mate steps into their apartment, looking like they're seconds away from collapsing. So he hurries over to support them. Babe throws him a tired yet grateful smile and lets Asher takes their bag from their shoulders.

"I'm OK, Asher. I'm just... exhausted. It's been a long day." Babe reluctantly admits and allows Asher to gently pull them on the couch so they can rest their feet.

Asher's eyebrows furrow in distress at the state of his Mate. They're exhausted, probably starving (he doesn't know if Babe has eaten anything other than the breakfast they had together today. He silently cursed himself for not calling to check up on them) and emotionally drained. He hates it.

"You've been having a long week, Babe." Asher gently corrects them. When Babe rests their head on his shoulder, he hugs them tightly as if to shield them from the world. Babe snuggles deeper into his embrace. "You've been going out for work early morning and coming back late at night, every day. Sometimes even later than me. I'm just... I'm worried about you, Babe."

"I'm sorry, Ash." Babe sleepily reply. They yawn and continue with a weary sigh, "Work has been crazy lately, but today was our last deadline, so next week should be a bit calmer. Hopefully."

Asher beams and rubs their arm comfortingly. "Hell yeah, that's great to hear, Babe! Is there anything I can do to help you tonight? I made some avocado Caprese wraps, chickpea salad sandwiches and a cold chicken salad for dinner. Oh! We also have some lemonade in the fridge; squeeze 'em myself this morning too. You're up for it?"

Before Babe could say anything, the hunger that had been on the edges of their mind now made itself known with a vocal reminder - both Babe and Asher startle when they heard their stomach growl loudly.

Babe chuckles sheepishly. "Food sounds fantastic right now." They pause. "Hey, Ash?"

"Hmm?"

"We both have been working hard lately. How about we do something this weekend? I think we both badly need a break."

Asher's eyes lit up at his Mate's suggestion, mind already racing with ideas. "Oh, yes! We should totally do something fun tomorrow! But you also need to rest up, Babe."

Babe hums thoughtfully. "Well, I'm happy as long as we can do something together. It feels like I rarely get to see you nowadays..."

Heart twisted in pain at his Mate's quiet admission, Asher kisses the top of Babe's head. "Same here, Babe. It sucks being adults, eh?"

They snicker and remain on the couch to cuddle for a few more minutes before Babe's stomach growls again. While Babe excuses themselves for the bathroom, Asher makes himself busy by serving their dinner. He cheers when Babe re-appear wearing their pyjamas and with colours back in their complexion. It looks like the hot shower did them a world of good. "There's my, Babe! Come on, come on - let's eat! You're going to love the avocado Caprese wraps, I promise!" He declares after ushering Babe towards the chair beside his.

Babe glances at their meals with a knowing smirk as they help themselves with a plate of wraps and some salad. "Interesting spread, Asher. All the things that don't require the stove."

"You know it." Asher shoots his Mate a wink and grabs his own plate. Throughout their meal, Asher and Babe entertain one another about the possibilities of what they could do at the weekends. Babe offers to play Halo with Asher, which nearly makes him leap from his chair in joy but instead, something dawn on him.

"I got it! Wait here, Babe!" Asher suddenly shouts, eyes wide with glee. His body practically vibrates with excitement as he abandons his food and runs towards their bedroom.

Leaving Babe frozen in their seat with a fork halfway into their mouth. When they hear rummaging sounds coming from the room, Babe slowly resumes eating; their eyes glued to the bedroom door.

When Asher burst out of the room, he's proudly holding up two t-shirts. "Ta-da! What do you think, Babe!?"

Babe takes their time in chewing their food, swallow before replying, "Uh, think of what, Ash?" They ask sceptically.

Asher is more than happy to explain his plan. "OK, here me out, Babe. Since October is just around the corner, do you know what that means?"

"Uh, our bill for the heaters would increase?"

"OK, yeah, I guess you're right on that one - hey, are you teasing me?"

Babe laughs. "Only because it's so easy to do so." At Asher's puppy pout expression, Babe hurries to amend themselves while still supporting a fond smile on their face, "I'm sorry, Ash. What were you trying to say?"

Asher perks up once more and flaps the t-shirts. "October means Halloween, Babe! So that means we're having a movie marathon all weekend tomorrow; the Fear Street Trilogy, the classics like Hellraiser, and uh, I guess we can give Malignant a shot too."

A horror movie marathon? Well, Babe always wanted to watch Midsommar but work always get in the way. "We definitely have to give Malignant a try. But what's with the t-shirts?"

"I bought these last week. Check it out, Babe!" Asher unfolds one of the shirts to display the front side. It wrote 'He's my trick' with an arrow pointing to the right, which Asher then showed the other shirt that wrote, 'They're my treat' with an arrow pointing to the left. "I got us matching shirts! Don't they look cool!? We have to wear them for our movie marathon tomorrow!" Here, Asher suddenly realises something judging by his shit-eating grin. "We can wear them to David's place on Halloween and watch him try not to die inside."

Goofy matching shirts. That's so Asher that Babe can't help but fall helplessly in love with him all over again.

Babe also can't help laughing their guts out at his 'prank' against the Alpha. "I'm in favour of David staring at our shirts in utter disgust. Let's do it, Asher!"

#redacted asmr #fanfic #they/them pronouns #gender neutral s/o #asher #babe (listener)

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timelesslords · 4 years ago

Note

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” and/or “Is that blood?” “…..No?” for the prompts please

thank u💕

send me a sentence starter and I’ll fill it for Percabeth

Annabeth Chase was just about ready to murder her boyfriend.

Capture the Flag night had started innocuous enough. Athena and Poseidon cabins had allied themselves, as was usual these days, and Ares was their biggest opponent. Annabeth had a stellar plan, a foolproof plan, some might say, a plan that all but guaranteed them to win.

Except for the fact that her idiot boyfriend couldn’t resist abandoning his post the second the field looked clear. It was a trap, it was so obviously a trap that Annabeth had no idea how he hadn’t seen it.

She had to give Clarisse some credit. Using one of their captured players as bait while also exposing the flag just a tad— it was exactly the type of thing that would draw Percy away from his post, to get him to abandon the plan.

They’d still won. Trap or no, it would be hard not to. But as soon as Annabeth realized Percy had abandoned his post, a very distinct mixture of anger and fear starting building in her gut.

And watching him run back to the blue team’s side, flag in hand, flushed with success, had only caused it all to boil over. There’d barely been time for his stupid, excited grin to slide off his face at seeing her expression before she stormed off.

He followed her. She’d expected him to.

“You left your post,” Annabeth said, before he could even ask.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. We still won,” Percy said, jogging to keep up with her.

It’s not about winning. It wasn’t even his compulsive need to play hero either, though that would have been enough to make her mad too.

“You didn’t follow the plan,” Annabeth snapped, refusing to look over at him even as he caught up to her, matching her pace easily. Curse him for being taller than her.

“Look, I saw an opportunity—”

“You saw a trap that was tailor-made for you—”

“An opportunity,” Percy repeated, cutting her off, “An opportunity to save one of our players and get the flag, and I took it. And we won. So what’s the big deal?”

What was the big deal? Just that his stupid savior complex wouldn’t stop playing out over and over again, even in the smallest ways. He didn’t even realize he was doing it sometimes, like just now. It wasn’t about Capture The Flag, not really. It was about the fact that he felt the need to throw himself in the most dangerous situations so someone else didn’t have to, even when it was just a game.

And there were plenty of times in his life, plenty of opportunities past and future for him to do the exact same thing when it wasn’t a game, when the consequences were very real and very dire.

She hated how mad it made her, because what was she supposed to say? I’d rather you let some other sap take the fall so you can live into your twenties?

And how was she supposed to tell him any of that when he was looking at her all smug and expectant?

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole,” Annabeth spat, doubling her pace.

“‘Beth—” he started, but he should have known better than to call her that when she was pissed at him, because her glare alone was enough to shut him up.

“Annabeth,” he tried again, “Come on.”

Annabeth stopped, whirled around, just about ready to give him a piece of her mind when she noticed a small spot on his shoulder. Some of the anger building in her chest deflated.

“I— is that blood?”

Percy glanced down at his shoulder. The bit of his orange camp shirt that was peering out from the gap between his chest and shoulder armor was starting to get stained a sticky brown color.

“...No?” he said, glancing back up at her with guilt in his eyes. All in all a thoroughly unconvincing lie.

“Percy,” Annabeth sighed.

“Clarisse nicked me with Maimer, it's not a big deal.”

It wasn’t a big deal. It really wasn’t. He’d probably gotten Clarisse back easily and they’d both laugh about it tomorrow.

Only, Clarisse wouldn’t have had the chance to use Maimer on him at all if he’d stuck to the fucking plan instead of throwing himself into the line of fire. And the next time he did this, what if it wasn’t just a cut? What if it was something much worse?

“Don’t stop being mad at me just because I’m bleeding,” Percy said, noticing her shift in demeanor.

“You don’t want me to stop being mad at you?” Annabeth asked, one eyebrow raised.

“No—” Percy said, running an agitated hand through his hair, “I mean obviously I don’t want you to be mad at me, but I barely even know why you’re mad at me and unless you tell me now you’re just going to be more mad later once I’ve stopped bleeding.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Annabeth said, but she’d already stepped forward, loosening the strap of his armor with quick practiced fingers. He let her do it, standing statue still.

“I’m sorry your plan didn’t get the credit it deserves,” he said, finally, “It was a good plan.”

Maybe you should use it next time rolled through her head, but then he might think that that’s what she cared about when that wasn’t it at all.

“I don’t care about getting credit,” Annabeth said, moving on to the other side of his chestplate, undoing the left strap the same as she’d done the right. “I don’t even care that we won.”

She saw his eyebrows jump slightly in surprise, but he managed not to say anything stupid in the next few moments, which had probably taken a lot of self-control.

“What do you care about, then?” he asked, shrugging off his chestplate. Most of the bloodstain had been hiding itself beneath his armor, and now that it was off it looked much bigger.

“You got hurt,” Annabeth said, eyes refusing to leave the patch of blood on his shirt.

“You were mad before you realized I was hurt,” Percy pointed out, “More mad, actually.”

“You wouldn’t be hurt at all if you’d ignored that stupid kid that got himself caught and stayed at your post,” Annabeth said, folding her arms over her chest. She still wasn’t looking at his face, but she could see his expression shift in his periphery, understanding starting to roll over his features.

“Ah,” he said, and Annabeth knew he understood, or was starting to. She felt a lump forming in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

“Would it kill you to let someone else take the fall? Just once?” she asked.

“Annabeth…”

“It’s not just this, you do it all the damn time,” Annabeth said, well aware that she sounded like a whining brat and not caring at all, “I don’t want to get sucked into some other stupid prophecy or a stupid quest, and I don’t want you to think you have to just because you’ve got the best chance of making it out alive. I just want us to survive long enough to go to college, is that too much to ask?”

She finally looked up at him, still trying very hard not to cry. Any trace of humor had vanished from his face, leaving it uncharacteristically resigned and serious.

“No. It’s not,” he said.

“Really?” Annabeth asked, voice small, still not quite believing him.

“No, you’re right, I—” he sighed heavily, eyes dropping to the ground, “I guess I’m just used to doing that, I don’t even really think about it.”

“Maybe you should,” Annabeth said, digging the heel of her sneaker into the dirt, arms still crossed over her chest.

“I will,” he said, and it sounded like a promise, “We’ve both done enough, and I—I’m not saying I’ll be perfect at it, but I am saying I’ll try.”

Annabeth took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. Trying was good. She could work with trying.

“Nothing world-altering,” Annabeth said, glancing up at him again. He was already smiling softly.

“Nothing world-altering,” he agreed.

She was still a little mad at him, and they were both gross and sweaty and he was still a little bloody, but she stepped forward and hugged him anyways. He hugged her back easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“So really, Capture The Flag is still fair game,” he said, as soon as she was safely in his arms.

“I’m going to kill you,” Annabeth said, but it came out with more laughter than she’d intended it to.

“At least fix me up before you do?” Percy asked hopefully.

“Fine,” she said, wiggling out of his embrace and tucking herself into his side instead. He wrapped an arm around her waist easily.

“But I better not have to next time,” she warned. He just smiled, pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You won’t. I promise.”

#percabeth #ty for the prompt!#I was hoping someone would send in the blood one lol #percabeth fic #percy jackson #Annabeth chase #percy x annabeth #annabeth x percy #heroes of olympus #hoo fic #pjo fic #i imagine this sometime post BOO pre-apollo series #anon #prompt fill #hoo #pjo

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nooneelsecomesclose17 · 4 years ago

Text

Who says I want to go back

This contains spoilers for Friday's ep of Emmerdale, because it enraged me so much I had to write a fix-it. So have a Robert's the one helping with Liv fic. I've borrowed relevant bits of dialogue from the ep (watching that twice was not pleasant btw)

--------

"Well I need something to forget that I'm here with you. When you're in my face Aaron, I hate you." He can tell himself that she's just mouthing off, that she doesn't mean it but it still hurts, has every time she's said it.

"Yeah I know Liv, you keep telling me. What am I supposed to do, I'm terrified. I can't stop you hurting yourself."

"Please. I'm not in danger. You're just a control freak that can't stand me having fun." He can see Robert, standing just inside the door, trying not to intervene because just lately that makes everything worse, but he knows he's there, that's what's important. He should be on his way to see Seb, he's already late and he nods, tells him to go, he can manage.

"That's not true."

"You want everyone to be as miserable as you, don't ya. Oh poor Aaron. You wouldn't want to be happy if you knew how to. You just want to drag us down cos of what you've been through." He just shakes his head. Is it true, is she right, does he do that? Robert's always teasing him for being grumpy, but is it more than that, does he drag him down too. "What, no shouty comeback?"

"If that's what you think then there's nothing I can say is there." He doesn't wait for an answer, just grabs his coat and leaves. There's no point even trying to talk to her when she's like that.

He heads to the yard, maybe an hour or so of bashing the hell out of metal will help calm him down. He should've gone with Robert like he suggested, but he hadn't wanted to leave Liv alone all that time.

It doesn't work like it always had in the past, and Robert's not answering, even after enough time has passed for him not to be driving.

"You alright kiddo?" He throws the crowbar down as Cain approaches.

"What's she done now?"

"Who? Your demon of a sister? Nowt, but your Mum said you'd had words."

"Something like that." He collapses down on the steps, throwing his gloves on the ground.

"You alright? She said Sugden was off to Liverpool."

"Yeah, to see Seb. Not like we can have him at ours right now is it?"

"You know, it's not a failure to say you can't cope."

"There's no one else is there? Sandra's worse than useless and she doesn't have anyone else. I'll sort it Cain. You'd never leave Mum to fend for herself would ya?"

"I might if she didn't want my help. I'm just saying...it's alright to fail." He nods, because he can't. He's failed her once already, he left her behind. He won't do it again, no matter how hard she pushes him.

--------

She's not about when he gets home and after making himself a cuppa he tries Robert again, just wants to hear his voice.

"Robert, this is really not a good day for you to do that ignoring calls thing. Just, call me back, please. I need you."

"God that was pathetic. No wonder he's not answering. Maybe he's finally seen the light. He's gone off to Liverpool for a couple of days, who knows what he's getting up to there."

"Why would he Liv?" Her words don't even hurt anymore, he knows Robert better than that, trusts him properly now.

"Wouldn't be the first time with her would it? All he's got here is you leaving whiny messages on his phone."

"You don't have to pick a fight just to cover what you're really after. It's right there."

"Aw what's up, don't want to tell me what to do anymore cos hubby's off with the ex?"

"Enough! Do you know why he's gone there huh? It's cos we daren't have Seb here with you like this. Just go Liv, get out of my sight."

"You just can't face up to the truth can you? He's up there with her and you're here, alone. Face it Aaron, you're the fool."

"Oi! What the hell is going on?" Both of them turn round at the sound of Robert's voice. Aaron smiles when he sees he's got Seb in his arms, immediately reaching out for the little boy who he's sure has grown since the last time he saw him.

"Liv was just telling me what she thought you were getting up to in Liverpool." He can see when Robert realises what he means, and he takes Seb into the kitchen away from the pair of them. "Hey mate, it's alright, we're not mad at you. How about a biccy eh?"

"Oh was she. Why don't you enlighten me?" He sets Seb at the table with a colouring book they keep handy before watching the two of them.

"Well it wouldn't be the first time would it?"

"I think you're winning in the repeating mistakes game right now don't you? So what brought on this latest round of making everyone hate you? Run out of vodka?"

"Of course you're taking his side!"

"You've all but accused me of cheating so why would I take yours? How long are we doing this for Liv, because I'm tired. Aren't you?"

"Get off my back Robert!"

"Fine. Just get out."

"You can't throw me out. It's my house!"

"So you keep saying, except that's not actually true is it? It's half Aaron's and mine too." He stands his ground and Aaron stops himself from getting her to stay. He doesn't have the energy, just wants Robert and Seb, and some peace. Liv stares at him for minute before she grabs her bag and storms out.

"You know she's just going to drink all that at the pavilion don't you?"

"Yeah, probably. I'll go after her in a bit, when you tell me why I have thirty missed calls?"

"I should go. I'm her brother."

"Yeah well you married me. What's yours is mine and all that crap. I think you've taken enough off her for today don't you?" He runs a hand through Seb's hair before hugging Aaron, holding on until he relaxes properly. "Go on, what did she say?"

"Do I control people? Make them miserable?"

"What, no! Did she actually say that?" Aaron nods. "That's ridiculous."

"You're always saying I'm grumpy."

"Yeah cos you are, and I love you anyway don't I? You never make me miserable though, or anyone else. The only one doing that round here is Liv. I know she's suffering Aaron, but this can't go on."

"I don't know what to do anymore. She won't listen."

"Then we ask for help. As much as I love your Gran, her idea isn't going to work and your Mum's idea...well the less said the better. When I've found her, we're going to see Liam, or Manpreet."

"But..."

"No. We need proper advice Aaron. They'll know who to talk to, or how to talk to her. She doesn't have to know, not yet, but I'm not having you upset like this."

"Ok." He sniffs, pulling back from Robert's arms, feeling cold as soon as he does. "How come he's here?"

"When I got to Rebecca's I saw all your calls and guessed something had gone on so I asked if we could change the weekend to here. She didn't mind, her and Ross have some concert thing they want to go to anyway. Besides he missed ya. I don't do cuddles as well as Daddy Aaron apparently."

--------

"So this is where you're hiding." He sits down on the steps beside her. The bottles beside her are still mostly full so hopefully he can actually get through to her. "Make you feel good does it, hurting Aaron?"

"Does actually."

"Funny...I used to think I could manage all on my own, didn't need anyone else. Without the gallons of vodka obviously, but yeah, I pushed everyone away, said all the right things to make it happen even though inside I was begging someone to stay, to see how much I was hurting, how much I needed them."

"I don't need anyone."

"Except you do, if only to pay the bills so you can afford that." He points to the bottles. "So why don't you talk to me because if I come home again and find you've spoken to Aaron the way you have today you might just find yourself truly alone. Trust me, you don't want that to happen."

"Aaron would never do that."

"Maybe, maybe not. Everyone has their breaking point and I truly don't think he's far from his. So go ahead, if you want to lose your brother forever then I'll give you some tips from when Andy and I hated each other. Or," He picked up one of the bottles, unscrewing the cap and pouring it onto the grass. "You can come home with me now, apologise, and then tomorrow, we'll go to Manpreet or Liam and get some advice."

"And if I don't?"

"I reckon it'll take about an hour to pack the car and then Aaron and I would be gone."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me. I love you Liv, you know I think of you as my sister, but Aaron is my number one priority, him and Seb and I'm not having him putting up with your verbal abuse any longer." He gets up, brushing off the back of his jeans. "I'll leave you to think about it. We'll be at home."

The walk back to Mill calms him down, ready to tell Aaron what he'd said. Liv was likely right, he doesn't think Aaron would ever abandon her, anymore than Robert would Vic, but something had to happen, had to change.

"Do you think it'll work?" Aaron asks him as they watch Seb playing in the garden a while later. There's been no sign of Liv but Robert could only hope she'd listened.

"I don't know, but if it does, then it's a start."

#robron fic #emmerdale spoilers #early ed lb #ok so I don't know if his tactics are good or not #but i figure it's soapy enough #but aaron will always come first for robert #and he wouldn't do a ben of just being on her side against aaron or whatever that is #so anyway it didn't actually go as i thought #but i hope it fixes something

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winchesterandpie · 5 years ago

Text

Not Now, Not Ever (Geralt x reader)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader

Word Count: 1458

Warnings: a dash of angst, but a happy ending. TW for some abandonment issues, just in case.

A/N: So, my brain has been on an angst track lately, and I’ve been hesitant to post the fics that I’ve written because they all turned into really similar stories, but I figured I’d go ahead with this one. I still haven’t seen the witcher, so I’m really sorry if I’m totally off on Geralt’s characterization! I think I kept the reader gender neutral! Gif is not mine, nor is the Witcher! Hope you enjoy!

“What do you know about feelings, Witcher?”

I regretted the words the moment they fell from my lips, clapping my hand over my mouth as I stared in wide-eyed horror at the silver-haired man in front of me. His lack of reaction only added to my guilt.

Afraid of causing more damage with grief-cruel words, I fled the bar, fled back to the inn, back to my room. It didn’t matter that I was grieving and lost, that didn’t justify the sharp words I hadn’t meant in the slightest.

You’ve pushed too far… The dark part of my mind whispered. You’ve pushed too far and now he’ll leave… just like everyone always leaves you… you’ll be alone, just like you deserve to be.

Maybe that’s a good thing… There won’t be anybody I can hurt.

I cried then, the tears I’d been holding back all day finally freed. And they came violently, running hot rivulets down my cheeks, dropping off my chin. The sobs were no kinder. Those clawed their way up my throat, tearing at my lungs as my shoulders heaved with the force of them.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a knock sounded quietly on the door.

“Go away, Jaskier.” I tried to sound as sullen as possible. Sullen was better than broken.

Whoever was at the door definitely didn’t go away, only knocked against the wood again, so either it wasn’t Jaskier or he was ignoring my request. Either way, I was going to have to answer it. I forced a mask of composure on and wiped away the tear tracks as best as I could. Hopefully, it would be enough that they wouldn’t ask questions.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” I said when the knock sounded again. My legs wobbled a little beneath me as I moved across the room to the door, but they almost buckled completely when I saw that it was Geralt at my door.

“Geralt!” After my initial shock passed, I fixed my eyes on the floorboards. “You… you’re not... gone?”

“Why would I be gone?” The very notion seemed to confuse him.

“Because I said that horrible thing in the bar and… and how could you not hate me?” I didn’t dare look up now, continuing in a whisper. “I would hate me if I were you.”

“You’re not me,” was his simple reply. I almost looked at him then, but my composure was cracking, and I didn’t deserve to cry in front of the kind man who I had just stabbed emotionally where I knew it would hurt.

“O-oh.” Is that the best you can come up with? ‘Oh?’ Pathetic.

As I stood there, shame burning hotly across my cheeks, trying to find a way to excuse myself from the situation, his hand reached out to tentatively grasp my chin. Gently, he lifted my face, and as I met his honey gaze I saw nothing but worry and warmth in his eyes. There was none of the hate and the cold I’d expected.

The kindness was what broke me. The first tear leaked out on its own, and then it was like the bursting open of floodgates. I collapsed finally under the weight of everything - the grief at the loss of my parents, the shame and anger at myself for what I’d said to Geralt. It proved too much to bear. He caught me as I crumpled, strong arms pulling me into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I cried into his shirt. “I didn’t mean a word of it, I’m sorry.” I’m not sure how many times I repeated my apology, though I’m sure it was enough that he tired of hearing it.

For a long time, he said nothing, just holding me to his chest as I wept in his arms. His hand rubbing gentle circles across my back only made me sob more fiercely, and I was glad that he wasn’t speaking. I had enough guilt surging through me without kind words I didn’t deserve mixed into the fray.

It felt like ages passed that way before my tears were finally spent and I was left trembling and exhausted. And still Geralt didn’t let go. Instead, he lifted me in his arms and moved us both to sit on the bed, keeping me tucked against him.

I was afraid to move – afraid that if I did, he would come to his senses and leave. All the same, I knew that eventually the spell of this moment had to break. I sucked in a shaky breath, burning the scent and feel of Geralt into my memory. Steeling myself, I pulled back, rubbing the back of my hand across my face.

“I’ll… You can...” All hint of coherent thought fled, leaving me speechless as I stared determinedly at my knees. So much for keeping any of my dignity intact while giving him a graceful way to leave. My certainty that he would leave settled like a boulder in the pit of my stomach as I choked back a fresh sob. I made a valiant attempt to stand, to move away, to do literally anything that would make me feel less pathetic, but the instant I started to stand, the White Wolf gently pulled me back into his embrace.

“Hush now, it’s alright,” he murmured as he tucked my head under his chin.

“How can you even stand to look at me?” The question slipped out quietly, so quietly I wasn’t even sure he had heard. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to hear it.

“Pain is different for everyone. For some, like you and me, it means we try to push everyone away with words we don’t mean… We convince ourselves that we deserve to be alone.” He punctuated the words with kisses to the top of my head. “I’ve done it enough to recognize it in you now.”

“But that… that doesn’t… I still shouldn’t have said that. I’m--” I pulled away again, covering my face with my hands.

“No more apologies, dove.”

“Why not? How could I say that to you, no matter what I’m going through?”

Gentle hands circled around my wrists and tugged them away from my face before grasping my chin and starting to lift my gaze carefully to meet his.

“I don’t deserve your kindness, Geralt,” I said thickly, tearing my gaze from his once more. “I don’t deserve you.” All my life, everyone had, without fail, left eventually, and now I couldn’t believe - I didn’t dare hope - that he would stay. I suppose I thought my stubbornness a shield that would protect my heart when he left, even though bitter experience had taught me that nothing would. At best, it had kept others from seeing my pain.

“Oh, my sweetest love.” He all but whispered the words, leaning forward to press his lips to my temple tenderly. “Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that.” His nose traced down the side of my face, peppering kisses the whole way.

“I…” I opened and closed my mouth several times, not really sure what to say. Geralt’s warm hand slid to cup my cheek, turning my head so that his forehead could rest against mine.

“I don’t care what you said, Y/N.” His eyes were as warm as molten honey as he held me transfixed by his gaze. “I am not going to leave you. Not now, not ever.”

A couple of fresh tears leaked out, swept away by the lightest brush of his thumb. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to trust his hold at last and relaxed against him with a shuddering breath. His arm only tightened reassuringly around me.

“You might have to remind me every once in a while,” I let out a watery chuckle, relieved that I wasn’t going to lose someone else.

Geralt didn’t say anything - I figured his quota of words must’ve been filled for the day - he just held me a moment longer before helping me change for bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he joined me, his arm quickly going around me and tugging me close to him. His free hand found mine, drawing it up to rest over his heart with his fingers intertwined with my own.

“I’ll always be here, dove. For as long as you’ll have me,” he finally said, the words filtering over my ears as I realized how tired I was.

“Guess you’re stuck with me forever,” I hummed drowsily. For the first time that day, I had hope. Hope that tomorrow would be brighter, that everything would turn out alright in the end, as long as I had Geralt at my side.

“Forever it is, then.”

Thanks for reading!!

Forever tags:

@riddikulus-obsessions @addictionmarvel @peppermint--teas @mercedesbarnes @javapeach @thophil2941btw @legolaslovely

Tag list is OPEN, just shoot me a message or an ask if you’d like to be added! (Strikethrough means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!)

#Geralt x reader #Geralt of Rivia x reader #Geralt x you #the witcher x reader #the witcher #reader insert #geralt x reader fluff #geralt fluff

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thoughtsofanexcitedspacechild · 4 years ago

Text

The question is inevitable. I stop wiping down the ice cream equipment and look up. For the past two years, that’s all anyone’s ever asked me. Now as I sit here, I realize that by this time next year, I’ll be preparing to move. By this time next year, the question “what do you want to study?” will be answered. The thought of growing up and going to college has always been in the back of my mind, but it always seemed far off. Now as my boss asks me the same question I’ve been asked a million times, the answer doesn’t just feel real; it feels tangible.

“I want to hopefully study something in the arts,” I reply. “I’m hoping to study to then get a job as a concept artist for movies and TV shows.”

"Well, you know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m three years old. I’m sitting at the kitchen table with white printer paper spread out all over the place. Half of the sheets are filled and the other half to go. My tongue sticks out in determined concentration as I finish what feels like my fiftieth self portrait today. I’m still not happy with how the hair looks, but I’m getting better with every one I make.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m eight years old. I wait nervously outside the classroom in the aquatic and community center for my first ever real drawing class. I wait until the door opens and file in behind the rest of my peers into the classroom. I find a spot a little further away from everyone else. Once the teacher begins instructing us on how to draw the basic construction of a horse, I immerse myself into the lecture. Soon enough my anxiety melts away as I immerse myself in the drawing. By the end, I’m not quite satisfied with how my horse looks, but I look forward to the next day. There’s still three more days of camp, and I’m ready to get even better tomorrow.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m twelve years old. I’m sitting with what feels like my entire body sunken into an overly plush floral print couch. I watch as Mrs. Scalabrino, a family friend, teaches me how to make a magic loop with the yarn and crochet hook. “I’ve been doing it all wrong! Now I finally understand!” Deb hands me the yarn and hook and urges me to try myself.

This time, instead of having the hook slip through and make a tiny slip stitch, I loop the yarn though and then pull through a final time to create a stitch.

“I did it! I was doing it wrong!”

“It looks very good! Keep going and you’ll be making full projects in no time!” I smile at her compliment and keep practicing.

By the end of the afternoon, I have a long rectangle of clumsily made single and double crochet stitches, but I don’t mind. I’m proud of my lumpy, uneven, handmade rectangle.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m thirteen years old. It’s my first time at Blue Lake Fine Arts camp, and I’m taking my first pottery class. I’m carefully carrying my freshly reglazed pot to the back room of the pottery studio after fixing it for a second time. The first time it got damaged I had dropped it after molding the structure and the second time someone else bumped into me, messing up the glaze and sgraffito pattern and glazing in multiple places. I stayed after class during my recreation time and painstakingly remolded and fixed the intricate glazing pattern.

At the end of the session art show, I’m called to the front of the crowd of visiting parents and my fellow campers. I’ve just won the Outstanding camper scholarship. My cheeks flush furiously with embarrassment, but inside I’m also elated. Even though the pot wasn’t perfect. I was still proud of it. I worked hard to save and fix the pot twice broken, and for once, that work pays off. I look out and see the faces of everyone who was with me on the journey to complete the piece, and I know that that pot will always be more than a keepsake planter.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m fifteen years old. I lay in bed before my first day of high school. I should be worried about my academic classes, and I am. I can’t stop thinking about the homework for my double paced math class and honors biology, and the more advanced reading we’ll do in honors english this year.

I console myself by thinking about the art class that I’m going to take. By chance there was a scheduling conflict with my social studies credit, and there wasn’t a spot to fit it in. I’d have to test out of the class over the summer, but that meant that I could take Art 1 instead. I stay up and wonder what it will be like. Will it be like my art classes in middle school? Will I finally be able to try oil painting? What about ceramics?

I drift off to sleep anxious, but ready to try all new mediums and make more; to be able to create amongst all the chaos that comes with advanced academic studies.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m sixteen years old. I’m almost finished with what was supposed to be my sophomore year, but because of the pandemic, quarantine has made the past month of march even more grey and dreary than normal. The trees outside droop with the heaviness of the recent freezing rain and the sky is a somber grey. I stare absentmindedly at my computer screen waiting for my last zoom meeting of the day to end.

I return to my painting once I log off of our AP Art zoom. I glare at the canvas in front of me. I hate this piece. Even the dull grey color palette outside seems more appetizing than the same oranges and blues that I’ve stared at for the past three months. It’s the feeling in the pit of the stomach when you don’t feel particularly welcome and you know something is off. The dynamic is all wrong and you infuriatingly search the faces of the people there for an answer but to no avail.

I sigh and start to reach for my paints to force myself to push through to a solution, but set them down. “There has to be another way to get through this,” I say to myself as I open my sketchbook against my better judgement. After a quick image reference search, My pencil migrates from the jar to the page. I don’t worry about making it perfect. This piece is just for me.

I sketch out the figures of the boy and girl and boy in the photo, their arms intertwined in an embrace and their lips in a gentle kiss. I make sure her thumb just skims the length of his forearm and that his hand is placed just so on her waist. I step back. We’re getting somewhere.

Long since abandoned for my previous acrylic piece, my colored pencils feel slippery and foreign in my hand. I reach for the tan and brown colored pencils to start, but the bright fuschia red catches my eye. I cautiously begin to apply it to the girl’s face and neck area. Perfect. I don’t stop until the shadows crossing the girl’s face are all shades of pink and red and the boys silhouette is coated in deep blues. What next?

My watercolor palette sits just inches from my paints. I open it and observe my options. I water down a bright pink, an ocean blue, and my untouched cake of deep purple watercolor. I haphazardly splash the pink on one side and the blue on the other, applying purple to blend the area where the two seas of paint mix. I remember an old painters trick of using salt to make cool backgrounds, and apply a generous amount. The scissors come out next, and I delicately cut the form of the girl and boy out. I paste it right on the background and let it sit under a book overnight to press.

In the morning, I observe my work. It’s not perfect. The proportions on the girl’s arm are off and I never quite managed to capture the folds on the boy’s shirt, but I smile. I love it. This is my piece. No one told me to make this. I just did. It’s for me.

My abandoned assignment sits waiting on the other side of the table. I look at it again. This time I do see what’s missing. Like I did while I was working with the pencil, I need to add more depth. That’s why I hate it. That’s why it felt flat and boring. I set my new opus aside and reach for the beaten up acrylic brushes and paint tubes.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

The computer screen finally loads. I'm exhausted and have just returned from a missions trip to the Dominican Republic, but in my blissful sleep back in my own bed, I'd remembered that AP scores had come out while I was away. The three numbers I've waited for loom in front of me:

AP Spanish Language: 5

AP Language and Composition: 4

AP Studio Art: 4

A four.

I stare in disbelief at the screen. I'd expected a three at best. I rush to tell my parents.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

"Yeah, I know," I respond. "But it's so much more than that to me."

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your-miss-right · 5 years ago

Photo

Sonder

Summary: They’re both a little lost, but that’s okay because one day they’ll be found. After all, they say soulmates have the same hiding places.

Chapter 1: Wander

Jungkook doesn’t startle easily, if anything he’s quite fond of doing the big, impossible, and scary. He’s been bungie jumping, after all. If that doesn’t speak of his bravery, he’s not sure what will. Still, that doesn’t stop him from jumping when a tiny voice speaks to his left, making him almost drop his bag of honey butter chips and the six pack of beer in his hands.

“Your eyes are really big…”

He turns his head, eyes flitting from side to side for a minute before he drops his squinted gaze and realizes there’s a small child blinking up at him from underneath a worn bucket hat. His little hands are gripping a clunky transformer and he’s offering Jungkook a large grin. He looks to be five or so, definitely not old enough to be here alone in the alcohol section, where Jungkook is pondering a second beer purchase.

“Thanks? Yours..too?” He starts and lifts his head to look around, wondering who he belongs to. There aren’t any adults in sight and the kid shuffles his sneakers, making them squeak against the polished floor.

“So how’s your day going?” The kid asks and fumbles with a plastic arm, gaze laser focused on putting it back in place. Jungkook would normally be impressed, those things look harder than Rubik’s cubes, but he’s preoccupied tamping down his growing panic. Is this kid lost? Where are his parents? And why is he so chill about this?

“Um…well I’ve had better,” he answers tentatively and continues peering down the aisle of alcohol.

“Mine’s okay too, Y/n is making a snack run,” he replies and grins again, scrunching his button nose.

“At eleven? Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Jungkook quirks a brow and shakes his head, “Wait, Y/n? Is that your sister?”

“My nanny…she let’s me stay up sometimes and sneaks me snacks when mama isn’t looking,” he presses a chubby little finger to his lips and whispers, “But don’t tell..”

Jungkook nods gravely in understanding, “Kay, well I promise not to tell, but maybe we should go find her? She’s probably worried about you.”

“Ok!” The kid holds out one hand and looks at Jungkook expectantly and again it takes him a second to realize what’s happening.

“Oh right, sorry about that,” Jungkook shifts his snacks around to grab hold of his tiny hand and they begin to make their way down the aisle.

He’s caught between horror and amusement at how open this kid is. Jungkook’s a complete stranger and this kid has deemed him harmless enough to make acquaintances with. He’s either gullible or razor sharp. Jungkook hopes it’s the latter.

They shuffle into the next aisle over where there’s more alcohol, then the next where there’s soda and mineral water. The chip aisle is empty as well.

“Hey buddy, what’s you name?”

“Isaac, what’s yours?” He asks without missing a beat.

“Jungkook, it’s nice to meet you Isaac,” Jungkook grins a warm and hopefully comforting smile. Not that it does much, Isaac seems anything, but scared. Jungkook thinks back on his five year old self and knows he would’ve been in tears by now.

“Likewise,” he replies with his own small nod and Jungkook decides he really likes this kid, he’s not so sure about the nanny though. She doesn’t seem very good at her job if she lost her kid.

“What was your nanny wearing? Or do you know where you lost her? Or what snacks she was getting?” Jungkook peers into another aisle, but it’s empty.

A couple people pass them, but not one seems to be looking for a child. Jungkook is starting to feel panicked again. What if she abandoned him? Is he going to be a dad now? He’s barely getting by with his random jobs, he can’t afford a child.

Maybe I should call Jin or Namjoon? They’d know what to do.

“Well Y/n said she needed wine for her party tomorrow and she wanted something sweet because was sad…”

“Sad?”

“Her evil ex-boyfriend made her cry,” a deep set frown pulls his lips into a cute pout and Jungkook feels a bubble of affection in his chest. This kid clearly loves his nanny very much.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Jungkook frowns and he means it. He doesn’t know her, but he knows heartbreak and its woes. He feels a pang in his chest at the memory of his relationship’s heart shattering ending. It’d been years ago, but the memory still left a bittersweet taste in the back of his mouth.

Namjoon always said that’s how you know you’re growing up. When you can savor those feelings and embrace them without remorse.

“That’s why I want to find chocolates for her. Nana says chocolate mends broken hearts and makes you feel like you’re in love. Jungkook, where do they keep the chocolates?” Isaac peers up at him and shakes his hand with gentle verve and impatience.

“We just passed it though and it was empty, “Jungkook stops, accidentally jerking the child backwards. He feels like he should know the answer to this. He’s watched way too many romcoms to not know where people would seek comfort, besides alcohol.

“Jungkook?”

“Ice cream! She’s in the ice cream section!”

Isaac meets his eyes, mouth big in realization and he pulls harder on Jungkook’s arm, tugging him forward. They hurry past several aisles only to hear a girl’s panicked voice and the stamping of feet.

“Isaac! Isaac you little monster, I swear to go—d.” Whatever is about to leave her mouth dies as she skids to a halt, almost running head first into Jungkook. He clutches his chips and beer to him, effectively crushing a majority of the chips in his bag. She in turn is holding a pint of vanilla ice cream, flattened marshmallows, and a large bottle of wine.

Her mouth drops at the sight of Isaac and he flings himself at her legs and using his arms to hold her tight. Her eyes flicker between Jungkook and Isaac, no doubt questioning what happened. Jungkook feels his face heat underneath her wide eyed gaze and he can see a tinge of ferocity flashing in her eyes.

“Jungkook helped me find you! I’m sorry for leaving, I was trying to find you something sweet to fix your heartache. Please don’t tell mama, ” he looks up at her with big glittering eyes and Jungkook fights back a chuckle. If anyone knows what a finishing move is, it’s him. His nanny is as good as gone.

She visibly softens and sighs in defeat, “I’m not going to tell her, but you have to promise me you’ll never do that again. You got it? I was terrified.” She drops down to his level and gives him a tight one armed hug. It’s both tender and silly because Isaac is pressed up awkwardly against her bag of marshmallows.

When Y/n gets back up she pins Jungkook with a calculating stare. It’s then that Jungkook notes the faint red rimming her eyes, the slight puffiness of her lids, and the dusting of red at the tip of her nose. She must’ve been crying not long ago, it might’ve been due to the dreaded ex or having lost Isaac briefly, maybe both.

“Thank you for helping him.” Her attention flickers to Isaac when his small hand comes into view and he gives the marshmallows a gentle yank. Whether it’s because he wants to eat them or he’s trying to be helpful, Jungkook isn’t sure. Either way, Y/n hands them over and he tucks them under his arm with a look gleeful satisfaction.

“It’s no problem, I think I was more freaked out than he was,” Jungkook flushes and brings a hand up to the back of his neck. Ugh, he’s already sweating, gross.

“He’s sneakier than he looks and I was a bit distracted.” Her eyes are narrowed at the blissful boy who is once more enthralled with his toy.

“It happens,” Jungkook shrugs.

There’s an awkward second of silence in which they both eye each other, unsure of what to say. He can’t remember the last time he made small talk like this. He’d forgotten how flustered it could make him.

“Anyway, I’ve got to get this kid to bed or else my boss will throttle me. Say bye little man, we’re going home,” Y/n calls out to Isaac and waves him over.

“Bye Jungkook,” he beams and before Y/n can grab his hand, he takes off towards the check out at full speed.

“Hey, not again!”

Jungkook is about to say goodbye and offer his name, but she’s already lunging forward and dashing towards Isaac. He turns to watch them leave, hand still in the air when she stops and half turns on her heel, her hair flying around her face.

“See you around!” She gives a frantic wave and follows after Isaac who is giggling as she chases him down. His running is more playful than rebellious because as Y/n catches up to him, Jungkook can hear Y/n’s lilting laughter and a happy shriek.

Jungkook doesn’t stop smiling until he leaves the store.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Y/n doesn’t actually like kids. So to say she hasn’t a clue as to how she ended up being a nanny, is a gross understatement. Well, she knows how, it was Taehyung’s fault (he says ‘blessing’, she doubts it sometimes), but that’s beside the point. The point is she doesn’t understand how she pulled it off. There are days when she feels like she got away with a heist, other days she thinks someone pulled a fast one on her.

“How is life at the Hwang household treating you?” Taehyung asks, as he sets a Tom Collins on the napkin in front of her. He scrunches his nose when she sips it and kicks her feet happily.

Y/n doesn’t care that it tastes like an alcoholic lemonade. She refuses to drink like an old man. Also, whiskey tastes like gasoline, but she’ll keep that thought to herself. People in Los Angeles can be pretentious and you never know what hipster is eavesdropping, waiting to rub their obscure knowledge in your face.

“It’s cool, Isaac’s grown on me,” Y/n gives a half hearted shrug, that ironically looks forced and exaggerated to Taehyung’s sharp gaze.

He pins her with a knowing look.

“Okay fine, the kid’s like my best friend. Happy now?”

Taehyung’s smirk is enough of an answer and he continues rinsing his jigger out with an annoying air of smugness.

“Also I think his mom is getting suspicious, I might have to cut back on his cookies. I can’t keep pretending I’m eating all those oatmeal raisin cookies. I hate raisins,” Y/n stirs the ice with her straw before taking another long sip.

“I never understood how that was his favorite cookie. I swear he’s like an eighty year old in a five year old’s body. Does he still watch those science documentaries?”

“Tell me about it and yes. He showed me a video about how the world was going to end. It’s pretty neat,” Y/n waggles her brows and Taehyung doesn’t hide the grimace on his face.

“That’s bleak. He never showed me that stuff.”

Taehyung used to be Isaac’s nanny, but once Taehyung had decided to return to school and study fashion design, he realized he couldn’t continue nannying. Instead he took on a couple bartending jobs to keep himself afloat. Y/n doesn’t know how he finds any time for himself with his packed schedule. The Hwang’s had even offered to double his pay, but when he turned them down, insisting he couldn’t, they asked for a contact.

Taehyung, being the good friend he is, recommended Y/n for the job. Being completely honest he didn’t think Y/n would get the job and neither did she. But they both said, why not try anyway? There were people applying with degrees in children’s psychology. Y/n couldn’t compete with that and she wasn’t expecting a call. Yet, this is what made Y/n stand out to the Hwangs. She wasn’t well versed in various languages, science, or philosophy. She had gone to school for graphic design she knew many adults tended to raise an eyebrow at that.

Once a date had asked her, “Isn’t that a starving artist career?”

Y/n never called him back.

Simply put, the Hwangs had no business hiring her. However what they liked about her is the fact that she has three younger siblings and one parent who was always working, meaning she raised them. She grew up roughing it and she knew grit. In their eyes she could handle anything they would throw at her. Her siblings were proof of that.

They had gone to better schools than her (she encouraged them to chase their dreams), played sports (she was their loudest cheerleader), they’d graduated with honors (she tutored them), and they were aiming for conventional careers that paid way better. Meanwhile she was living the bohemian life, working freelance, living in her tiny studio with her pit bull, Daisy. She was unconventional and for some reason this made her fascinating to the Hwangs. It also made her feel like some rare accessory to flaunt around when their persnickety friends came over.

To be honest she should’ve known better, when Taehyung gave her the Brentwood address, that was all she really needed to know.

“Is Jimin coming later?” Y/n asks and makes note of the slowly filling bar, she knows she should get going soon. She has a line sheet to put together for a clothing brand and some photo editing to do, not to mention Taehyung won’t have time for idle chit chat.

“He said he would, we’ll see. If not I’ll stop by your place later with some cider and pizza. I’ve missed Daisy.”

Y/n grins, “I’m sure she misses your face too.”

“Speaking of missing, how’s the whole Ryan situation?” Taehyung’s eyes have gone soft and he focuses his attention on her. She silently curses and heaves a sigh.

“I’m getting over it, but he’s around…”

“Y/n…”

“I know, I know, it’s just hard to cut someone out like that. I thought I could take being friends, but this…”

Taehyung reaches across the bar and takes her smaller hand in his, squeezing gingerly. “You know how I felt about this situation and how I still feel about it. I can’t keep telling you not to do the things you do, but I’m here for you. Always.”

Y/n swallows down the lump forming in her throat and replies with a small, “Thank you Tae.”

She squeezes his hand in return before letting go and pushing back from the bar. Y/n gathers her things and throws her jacket over her shoulder.

“I’ll let you know if I can make it.”

“Definitely, call me if you decide to come over. If not, no worries, there’s always Sunday brunch. Say hi to Jimin for me!” Y/n sends a jaunty wave in his direction and he winks at her. She doesn’t miss the way several girls bring their heads together to whisper and shoot her looks. Y/n’s willing to bet they’re going to hit on Taehyung the minute she’s out the door.

She steps out onto the sidewalk, the bar’s neon sign shining bright like a beacon in the night. Y/n pulls up a rideshare app and waits, thinking of her dog and the work she can’t wait to busy herself with. Jimin says she’s workaholic, she’s not sure if she agrees. It’s a good distraction that keeps her mind from overthinking and her worries at bay.

Although it’s been inevitable these days. Y/n doesn’t mean to get melancholy; it seeps in like a fog, dreary and cold. It settles on her skin before invading her warmth and chilling her bones, weighing her down, down, down. People are arriving, coming in and out, dressed casually, some more scantily than others, and a couple of guys shoot her flirtatious looks. There’s screaming, chatter, and laughter. The city is alive and she can’t help, but feel colder and colder.

Y/n can’t fight the hollow feeling that takes over her heart, hardening and weighing heavy.

Do others feel like this? I can’t even tell.

It’s strange how being surrounded by people can make you feel even lonelier.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jungkook hasn’t a clue what he’s doing, he simply does. Maybe that’s why some things have worked out for him? For example he never pictured moving to Los Angeles, much less planned it. He just did. Namjoon and Yoongi had been here first. Both working for a music production company as interns first and then working their way up to actually producing music.

They had small hits here and there, but both were determined to come up with that all time chart topper. Jungkook? Well, he’d been in the middle of a break. He’d disappointed his parents when he decided not to attend University despite having the test scores for it. They couldn’t understand it, didn’t know how to. All they’ve ever pictured for him was business school and a prestigious job at a tech company.

Jungkook on the other hand had been drawn to other things, like art, film, and photography. He felt awful admitting to his parents that he didn’t know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. At the age of eighteen, what can you want, other than to be happy for the rest of your life?

A well paying job could help, but it wasn’t going to be everything. His parents, they didn’t quite understand that, they tried to, but that was going to take a minute. So after several months working at a clothing store, taking side jobs for photography, illustration, and whatever odd thing that could put money in his pocket, Namjoon called him.

The conversation started off as normal chatter, how they’d been (Jungkook was ok), how their families were doing (it was tense), who they were dating (Jungkook had been broken up with), and everything else in between. Then somewhere in the middle of the conversation Jungkook blurted out how lost he felt. The comment had sort of caught Namjoon off guard, but being the insightful hyung he’s always been, Namjoon replied with something simple and profound:

You often get lost before you’re found. So why not be lost, if only for a moment?

Jungkook had laughed at the ridiculousness of his comment. He laughed and laughed until he was in tears. It wasn’t until Namjoon called his name that he realized he was crying. He’d never felt so listless and scared, he always had a plan, his parents raised him to have a plan. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was struggling to grasp something, anything to hold onto. If he didn’t, he was certain he’d disappear come tomorrow.

Come here, to Los Angeles. You’ll figure it out. We’ll help.

And they did. Namjoon made a friend, Seokjin was his name, he was older and from Seoul too. He lived in Koreatown, in a two bedroom and he needed a roommate by the end of the year. Not only that, but Yoongi’s friend needed a personal assistant. The girl he’d hired had gotten pregnant and they wanted a replacement in a few months because she was quitting to be a stay at home mom.

So Jungkook spent the next few months saving up a little more for a flight and a new start. At nineteen he packed his bags, told his parents he loved them, promised to visit, and jumped right into the fray.

He’d been in Los Angeles for a few years now, he’d gone home to visit a handful of times. Each time his mom would ply him with food and his father would ask, ‘when is this adventure going to be over?’ Jungkook never knows what to say to them. He isn’t sure how long he plans on being here or if he plans to go back at all. Sometimes he thinks he’s waiting for a sign, a deciding factor that will point him in the right direction, like a north star to take him home.

For now, home is this city, his shared apartment with Seokjin and the tattoo parlor where he works. He’d been an apprentice for a couple years before they let him officially work. He wasn’t always busy, but he was getting his work out there. Slowly, but surely. Although sometimes his impatience and ambitious hunger put him on edge. On those days he wondered if he should take the next flight to Seoul, returning to his parents like a dog with his tail between his legs.

That thought doesn’t sit well with him either and makes him even edgier.

“Jungkookie, your friend is here to see you,” Lita, a petite half Japanese girl calls him and he looks up to find her hovering at the entrance of his work station. Her jet black hair is pulled into messy buns, some strands are covered in iridescent glitter, it’s a cute look. When he’d first met her, he’d harbored the biggest crush on her, until he realized she was happily taken. Her girlfriend Iggy is a pretty blonde, an influencer who on occasion paid him to photograph her and her product shots.

“Be there in a sec!” He drags a long line, finishing the tiger he’d been focused on and sets it aside. He plans on posting the artwork online, hoping someone will be interested in it.

He wonders if he can convince Yoongi to get it done. It’s oddly fitting for the slim male.

“Kookoo,” the voice singsongs and Jungkookie doesn’t fight the excited grin adorning his face.

“Hobi, what are you doing here?” Jungkook leans against the countertop.

Hoseok tilts his head making his light brown hair fall into his eyes, “Trying to kidnap you, are you closing the shop today?”

Jungkook nods, “Yeah, I had a late appointment and was prepping for some work tomorrow. Are you guys going out?”

Of all the people he’d met, Hoseok has been the most recent addition to his group of friends. He met him at a taco shop, both of them drunk and feeling overly friendly. Jungkook doesn’t know how, but he ended up with Hoseok’s number in his phone. A week later he ran into him at Yoongi and Namjoon’s workplace. Apparently he was a choreographer and he worked closely with one of their artists. It never fails to amaze him how large, but small the entertainment industry is.

“We’re going to the izakaya in the mall and then for karaoke, if you want to join when you get out? Yoongi says he’s treating, but we all know he and Jin will fight to pay.”

“Obviously,” Jungkook scrunches his nose and chuckles, “I’ll be out after 10, but I think I can make it for a late karaoke session? I’ll text you when I’m out and I can meet you guys wherever you are.”

Hoseok reaches a lithe hand out to ruffle Jungkook’s hair, “Sounds good. Namjoonie or I will text you! Don’t work too hard!” He tosses his hand in the air in a rushed wave and makes his way out the door, most likely hurrying to meet their friends for beer and food.

It’s nine and they close in an hour. Jungkook ponders rearranging his work station or continuing with some new sketches, but as he makes to move away someone catches his eye. They’re standing in front of the shop window, eyes wide and curious.

Jungkook squints his gaze trying to make out the face partially hidden behind the lettering of their business. He’s teetering so far on the side of the counter and stretching to follow this person. He nearly topples over, almost taking Lita with him.

“Watch it kid, you kill me with those muscles and don’t think Iggy won’t come for you!” She points a delicate finger at him and Jungkook winces, an abashed smile on his face.

“Sorry Lita, I was…”

“Distracted?” Lita’s brow arches sharply and she turns her gaze out the door where their unsuspecting victim is studying the shop’s front.

Jungkook isn’t sure if the smirk that graces her face is a good one, but after knowing her for a couple years and being her apprentice, he knows not to underestimate her.

“No, Lita, please!”

His protests fall on deaf ears as she marches out the door.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Y/n had meant to go home, she really did. Instead though, she asked her driver to drop her off in Little Tokyo. It wasn’t far from her studio, but she was going have to face the evening price surge when she requested another ride. It didn’t matter though, she wanted a moment to walk, maybe something sweet to comfort her.

God, I’m going to pay for this later if I keep snacking like this.

Y/n half hates herself, as she takes a bite out of ah-boong. Most of the ice cream is gone, leaving her with ice cream drenched pastry. She doesn’t hesitate to stuff the rest into her mouth as she walks along, careful not to bump the groups of people heading to bars, for late night sushi, or like her, taking long strolls.

She’s considers calling it a night when she sees the bright neon red sign of a tattoo parlor. On the store front window is a skull and rose, thick black lines that look to be hand drawn. The name of the tattoo parlor is written in swirling calligraphy, elegant, but legible.

Ink

The name is simple and straightforward, the artwork inside, is not. There’s frames of hand rendered tattoo art, some of it looks closer to Japanese tattoos with elements of swirling clouds, koi fish, and dragons. Some of it is close to traditional, Sailor Jerry type, the kind you see on soldiers. She sees mermaids with little faces and pouty lips, busty figures, anchors, sparrows and hearts.

Y/n is tempted to wander inside, but it’s not like she’d actually get a tattoo. She doesn’t even know what she’d want.

“Hi.”

A high pitched voice speaks loud and clear, making Y/n snap her gaze to the person speaking. She’s short, maybe barely five foot, slender, and wearing washed out black overalls. Her arms are littered with tattoos, and she can see one on the right side of her neck, but Y/n can’t make out what it is. She looks tough, but her eyes and full lipped smile are sweet, a stark contrast that fascinates Y/n.

“Hello,” Y/n smiles back.

“You want to come in and take a better look at the artwork?” She cocks her head and doesn’t wait. She disappears through the doorway knowing that Y/n will follow. Y/n wonders what it’s like to have that kind of charm and power.

When she steps in she’s mesmerized by the work on the walls. Behind the frames the paint is red, the floor is checkered tilt and she can hear the faint sound of buzzing, almost drowned out by a quiet playlist. At the counter with his arm crossed, is a familiar face. His dark hair is parted on the side, bangs pushed aside, exposing his forehead and dark brows.

He tilts his head and she catches the gleam of his silver hoops, three on each side. When she first saw him he was wearing a baggy pullover, today his arms exposed and she can see the inky black tattoos that decorate his right arm.

“It’s you!”

“I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” Jungkook reaches to rub his neck, already feeling the prickle of sweat against his skin.

“Me either, small world,” she nods, her gaze raking over his form. The girl in the overalls meanwhile is watching them carefully, smiling like she has secret.

“You thinking about getting a tattoo? Any particular style?” Jungkook blurts out, voice rushed and words mushed together. Y/n nearly misses it and holds back her laughter.

“I was wandering to be honest. I took a detour on my way home and I liked the artwork on the storefront.”

“The skull and rose?” The tiny girl asks, eyes glimmering, “Jungkookie did that.”

“Really?” Y/n’s brows raised and Jungkook flushes bright red.

“Lita…”

“You should be telling everyone, I’m proud of it for you! We all are.” Feeling like she’s made her point, Lita turns and heads into the back leaving Jungkook with Y/n.

“You should be proud, it’s very cool.”

“Thanks, I guess it’s hard to admit sometimes.” Jungkook kicks a foot back, leaning further and eyes fixed on her.

Another beat of silence settles between them, but this time it doesn’t feel strange and misplaced. It’s not a stumbling pause. It’s filled with tentative want and lingering. They’re both trying to draw this out as long as possible, but are unsure how.

Jungkook thinks back to high school, was he always this awkward? He remembers his first day of school, the opening ceremony, being too shy to join his classmates. He mostly outgrew that, having learned to navigate the city and practiced turning strangers into friends, but it’d been a while since he’d been this flustered around someone new.

He can’t pinpoint why she makes him hyper aware of his fumbling. It’s her, but he can’t place what exactly.

It could be the openness on her face, the red rimmed eyes and the tinge of sadness he first witnessed upon meeting her. He wondered about her days later, was she okay now? Was she hiding her heartbreak? How was Isaac? Did the marshmallows and ice cream make her feel better?

Has she cried again since then? Jungkook hopes not.

“This is so pretty,” Y/n’s voice cuts through his thoughts and Jungkook snaps his gaze to her. She’s pointing at a frame, it’s his artwork, a horizontal frame of looping hearts scrawled and connected through one line. It’s delicate and done in a rainbow of soft pastels.

“Do you want one of those tattooed on you?” Jungkook doesn’t know what possesses him to say this and for a minute he can’t believe he’s said it.

He’s even more surprised when she replies without hesitation.

“Yes.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A/n: Can’t say much other than I was inspired by a number of things and this just came out. Hope someone enjoyed this! Also, there’s a playlist I’ve been repeating as I’m writing this out, leaving it here in case people want to give it a listen :)

#networkbangtan #Jungkook scenario #jungkook x reader #bts scenario #bts fanfic

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redfoxwritesstuff · 5 years ago

Text

Of Dust and Ashes. Chapter 31

So, good and bad news. The good, you’re getting your update right on time. More good news? The next update should also be right on time! In exchange for two bits of bad news, my laptop died. RIP and my daughter has been Covid’ed out of daycare and is stuck home until her test result comes in which means I too am stuck at home. I may be around more... or less.

Chapter warnings: None? Some blood and talk of the aftermath of the snap. Series warnings: Dude, at this point- if it can be a warning, it’s probably either already in the story or planned. Please read responsibly. Series rating: M for mature themes, graphic violence, sexual content and death.

Wanna catch up? Masterlist is here. Wanna drop me a tip? Buy me a Ko-Fi.

Chapter 31: Stew

Dee paced the waiting room. Each lap across the wood floor took less time. When she realized she was near a jog, she forced herself to slow down. It wouldn't do to work herself up.

She should have been talking to Rachel. Now was a perfect time to explain the situation with Sasha in more detail. How else could Rachel ever feel comfortable enough to trust the new woman. If Rachel didn’t trust Sasha, how could they be sure that she would stay with her?

If Rachel left the Clinic and struck out on her own, it was very likely that her baby would die. If she got lucky, she herself would survive until the spring. Dee didn’t want to put much time, effort or resources into keeping the ungrateful woman alive but she also didn’t want her to die. There had already been more than enough death.

The fact that they’d already done too much already to keep her alive gnawed at her. They had left the safety of the farmhouse to keep her alive. They killed people to keep her alive. Trust got hurt because they decided to save her. She owed it to them to survive until the spring. If saving her resulted in Trust's death, she owed it to them to survive.

Swallowing her anxiety, Dee forced herself to sit next to Rachel. “Make yourself at home.”

“What?”

“This is where we’re going to be leaving you.” Dee didn’t want to be talking. She wanted to be trying to sneak up on the exam room again. She wanted to check on Trust. But she knew she would only be a distraction. Clint wanted her to work on setting Rachel at ease.

“I thought… I thought we would be going to a house… This isn’t somewhere people can live.”

Dee took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. Silence ticked on around them. She reminded herself that she had a different experience with the Decimation than Rachel. She had known many horrors during the last five months but she had traveled. She had seen the extent of it through a great portion of the country. She had seen what it did to cities, towns, people and most importantly, to families.

Rachel only knew what this small part of the country. She was a local to Kansas. She’d lived in the small town she had grown up in. Those who remained had banded together to protect themselves and their supplies. When King Jacob’s men had shown up and offered to absorb them at the cost of a minor tax, it was hard not to hear them out. It had seemed like a great way to gain more safety and support. The majority agreed to join with King Jacob, believing with all their hearts that they were doing what was best for the town.

They hadn’t expected that the minor tax would include most of their supplies. It had taken the King’s men looting the town for them to stand up and say enough. The result was only bloodshed and the kidnapping of most of the women and young boys.

Dee had listened to a bit of her story while they had walked through the city, on their way to the truck. If that was what had happened here, she could only imagine what happened to those living within the expanding territory of King Mason. There were so many other self named 'kings'. How were they running their territories?

Clint had mentioned that the reforming government was working with the self titled Kings on the East Coast. What were they like? How many people had they hurt? The idea made her sick.

“You can live anywhere, now. Zoning rules don’t apply.” It was a bad joke and Rachel didn’t laugh. “There’s a stove, generator, well water, rooms and beds.”

“Exam rooms and beds.” Rachel pointed out.

“True. But the walls are thick and solid. It’s out of the way and you’ll be living with a nurse.”

“But-”

“We won’t make you stay. But this is where we will bring supplies and this is where we will leave you. The rest is up to you. But if you come and go from here, come back to get supplies and leave again- you could lead others here. It’s up to you.”

Rachel was silent for a moment. Finally, she opened her mouth to say something as Clint rounded the corner. Dee shot to her feet and rushed across the room, heart beating wildly in her chest. Her stomach rolled. Blood was smeared on his hands. Though she tried, she couldn’t make her voice work.

“He’s okay.” Clint’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight hug. It was everything she needed. “He’s okay.”

“Really?” Tears slipped down her face. She told herself it was dumb to cry over a dog but couldn’t stop.

“Sasha was able to remove the bullet. Stitched him right up. He got lucky, it missed everything vital. He may always have a limp though, it nicked his shoulder blade but she doesn’t have a way to cast it.”

“He’s going to be okay?” She asked again, as if he hadn’t already said he would be.

“Yeah. Some pain meds for a few days. He’s going to be sore for a while.”

“He’ll be fine, assuming infection doesn’t set in.” Sasha added, rounding the corner. “I’d like to keep him in an exam room overnight to make sure he rests. We’ll offer food and water in a while when he’s fully awake.”

“Why can’t he stay with us?”

“I don’t want him ripping the sutures. If he’s alone in a small room, he won’t be doing much moving around. Just for tonight, maybe some of tomorrow.”

“Hopefully he leaves them alone.” Clint grumbled. “I don’t exactly have a cone of shame in the truck.”

“If you could get one, that’d be best.” Sasha offered.

“We’ll see.” Clint grumbled. His back was sore. His legs were sore. His head ached from lack of sleep and stress. “It’s not something that many would think to take and hoard at least. Shouldn’t be too hard to come by.”

“If you can, antibiotics and animal medications? Any literature they have as well- I’m a nurse, a people nurse. Not a vet. I’m playing a dangerous game of guesswork using what I’ve got on him.”

“Not likely on antibiotics. Most people know that they will need antibiotics if they get hurt. Most don’t know the names- they probably just shoved everything they could in a bag and called it a day. But a cone and maybe some books should be easy enough.” Clint didn’t want to go anywhere. He wanted to sleep. Still, Sasha was a valuable resource that was already paying for her keep. The least he could do was enable her to be a bigger resource. “I’ll go after we eat, swing by the farmhouse and load up supplies as well.”

“You will come back.” Sasha pressed. Though it wasn’t presented as an option or a question, it was. The way she twisted her hands and her eyebrows bunched together gave it away. She would have been a pretty young woman, before everything had happened. Clint would bet that as she came into her new life now, she would once again be a pretty young woman.

“I will. You’ll have Trust so I have to. Can’t leave the mutt behind, now can I? Dee’d be heartbroken.”

Sasha nodded and turned. “You’re all probably hungry. I’ll see what I can make.”

“Let me.” Dee insisted.

“I’ll build up the fire.” Clint offered, dragging himself to the wood stove.

“But-”

“I’d rather you give Lizzy a checkup and her shots. Rachel could use a once over as well. We can make food while you do what we can’t.”

Dee made her way over to Rachel who was still huddled in the chair. “Sasha here is going to give you and Lizzy a once over, okay? If Lizzy is strong enough, she’s going to give her her shots.”

“Why?”

“The shots? Because we want to protect her from as much as we can.”

“Herd immunity is questionable at best right now.” Clint added. It had been something that had been weighing on his mind. More than a few of Lauren’s mom friends had opted out of giving their snot goblins shots. They would give imaginary reasons full of made up science that only made sense on the most surface level. “Half the population is gone and antivax was gaining traction. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if there is a resurgence of most of the shit we gave shots for in the next decade. There may not be enough kids in some areas that had their shots, kids born now probably won’t get their shots for a while, if at all- large holes in a very thin herd.”

“I’ll give shots to any kid who needs them.” Sasha pointed out. “Other doctors, nurses still alive will too. We don’t want to see things like whooping cough and measles outbreaks becoming routine again.”

“You will. But others may only give it in exchange for food or supplies. Others still may hoard the vaccines, only giving them to members of their family or group. It’s a new world and you’ve got to stop thinking in terms of this being temporary.”

“But the Avengers, You’ll fix this.” Sasha pressed.

“No. We. Won’t.” Clint punctuated each word with the toss of a handful of twigs and kindling into the wood stove. “We- They tried. They failed. The grape that did this is dead. The stones are destroyed. It’s over and this is what’s left.”

“But-” This time it was Rachel that spoke up only to receive Clint’s glower.

“But what? The world will come back to something that looks normal? Fat chance.” Clint directed his attention wholly to his task when he noticed both Sasha and Rachel shrinking back from his glare. “The Avengers are working with the government to re-establish order and rule on the east coast, moving west. They’re filling the government and military ranks.”

“That’s good then?” Rachel offered. Sasha had abandoned the room to prepare for the exams.

“Is it?” Clint scoffed as he took a long stick lighter from Dee’s offered hand. Before long, Sasha would have to light her fires with matches and then, learn to strike a fire with flint. It was one of the many ways people were not prepared to live a life like this. “They are absorbing the self titled rulers, naming them governors and mayors. Do you think King Jacob would have made a good mayor? That’s what he would have become, if they came and he still held the city. Sure, they’d require him to raise the standard of treatment of the people, give them freedom but still.”

“They can’t be. They’re heroes. That’s not-”

“It is. Tony’s got crippling PTSD and has all but given up. Thor’s busy doing whatever to settle his people. Bruce has locked himself in a lab. Nat and Steve are working damn hard to bring the government back damn near on their own but they are only two people. They can’t be everywhere and they can’t fill every spot. The Avengers you hold so dear are down to one super soldier and one very tired assassin.”

“What about you?” Rachel asked. “You’re still alive.”

“Am I?” Clint snapped, regretting it instantly as Dee draped a calming arm across his shoulders.

“You are.” She whispered in his ear and he clung to that.

“I can’t support putting people like that in charge of other people's lives.” Clint said.

Both he and Dee knew there was more to it, though they rarely spoke of it. Clint was bitter. He was angry. He blamed them. They failed to save everyone. He blamed himself, too. He wasn't there to have the chance to help, to fail with them. Now, he wouldn’t- no, he couldn’t help them put people like the self named King Jacob in power.

He understood why they had to do it. He wouldn’t help but he wouldn’t stand in their way. Let the terrible king’s reign for now, someone would likely go through and kill them later. Someone like-

“Come on.” Sasha called out, ushering Rachel and the baby out of the waiting room with a clipboard in her hand and what looked like two charts. It was so normal that Dee couldn’t help but smile at the sight. If playing doctor made Sasha feel better, all the better.

The fire crackled as Clint stacked a few large logs on top of the pile of flaming kindling and thick sticks. He waited for the first to begin catching before adding the next.

“There are others like King Jacob.” Dee said.

Though it was not a question, Clint answered. “Yeah. I won’t let them hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Can you really promise that?” Dee asked. “Our own government, your friends are allowing them to keep power and giving them authority.”

“I won’t let them touch you.” Clint insisted.

“Back in California, there was a man calling himself King-”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, I never had a encounter with him. I’d hear him and his people on the radio, making announcements of their power or whatever. There were stations that resisted, TV and radio. One was taken over while on the air. People died. He isn’t a good man.”

“Bad people are going to rule the world, at least for a while.”

“They did before too, I think. It was just less obvious.”

Clint laughed, though the sound was bitter. “True enough. But there were others who kept them in check.”

“Like we did today?” Dee whispered. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She knew she was dancing around something but she couldn’t pinpoint what. It was something dark that didn’t want to be given voice. Perhaps it was evil. Perhaps it was madness.

“Yeah.” Clint whispered. “Just like today.”

“I’ll see what I can find for dinner.” Dee said.

With that, they turned away from the unnamed madness, leaving it hanging and powerless. If they didn’t look at it too long, maybe they could ignore the siren call. What would happen if they listened? What would happen if they gave it voice? What would happen if they took more power than they had now? What power could they have?

~~~~~<3

“Well, Lizzy seems to have gained a good bit of weight. She’s doing much better than that first day. Got her shots in. I’d like to keep her on the normal schedule for them, if possible.”

Sasha’s voice cut through the room as they entered. The heavy smell of stew greeted them. It smelled heavenly and drew a rumble from her stomach. How Clint and Dee could manage to make something that smelled that divine with the food she had, she couldn’t imagine. Somehow, they did though and she couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Everyone’s okay, then?” Dee called out, straightening her back. She’d been slumped over the stew, mixing the pot to keep it from burning. Clint was next to her, making something akin to flat bread on the stove top.

“For the most part.” Sasha wouldn’t call Rachel healthy but she would admit she could be in worse condition.

“There should be plenty to eat, at least.” Clint said, flipping the bread like disks when the first side was browned. “Grab bowls so we can eat up.”

The meal passed with soft words and long spells of silence. Sasha and Rachel both ate two bowls and many, many disks of bread. Clint wasn’t surprised. Sasha had looked to have been stretching her food. He couldn’t blame her. She had no real reason to trust that he would come back with supplies like he had promised.

While they had been waiting for Sasha and Rachel, Clint had taken his time to poke around her supplies. She had some canned meat and a almost empty freezer. He had every intention of filling her freezer with meat and ice. He’d see to it that they could last a month between supplying trips, if they ever were unable to make the trip.

Setting his empty bowl to the side, Clint stood up. “I’ll go grab supplies as promised before it gets too late.”

“You’re going to come back, right?” Sasha asked as if he had somewhere else to go with all the supplies.

“Yeah.” He directed his attention to Dee. “That stew will taste even better tonight. When the fire burns down, throw it back on the stove to simmer.”

She nodded her agreement, pulling herself to her feet as Clint gathered his keys, boots and coat. As he stood from tying his boots, she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. His arms crossed over her’s, his hands clasping around her’s.

“Be safe.” She pleaded.

“Always.”

“Come back to me.”

“Always.” He promised again. “I will always come back to you.”

“I love you.” She whispered, as if it was a sacred secret.

Turning, he placed his hand on the side of her face. Fingers slipped into the strands of her hair as he brought his lips to her’s. The kiss was soft, sweet and chaste yet it was somehow everything she needed from him. “I love you, too.”

After letting him go, she watched him slip into his coat. He checked his gun before pushing the furniture from in front of the door. As it closed behind him, she squeezed her eyes together. After taking two slow, deep breaths, she began pushing everything back in place.

She wondered if it would ever be easier to watch him leave.

~~~~~<3

Tag list: @usedtobegoodfriend96 @alcoholic-muffin @theoneanna @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @winterisakiller, @j-u-s-t-4. @bambamwolf87, @missaphrodite23, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox @queenoftheunderdark, @carissime72 @myoxisbroken @coyotesongwriting @wegingerangelica @tnystrk-exe @faemapfae, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123

#clint x oc #clint x ofc #clint barton x ofc #clint barton fanfiction #clint barton x oc

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fanfiction4thesoul · 6 years ago

Text

Late Night Ponderings

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word Count: ~2.7

Warnings: Slight angst, fluff (I think that’s it??)

Summary: Roger has been distant for some time now. It all comes to a head when he comes home late one night.

Hello everyone! I thought I’d take a stab at writing fanfiction for the first time. I had no idea where to start or what to do, but this came out as the end result. If you could please tell me what you think, it would be much appreciated!

You jolt awake at the sound of a loud bang coming from somewhere in your flat. Glancing at the clock, you see that it’s well past two in the morning and Roger is not beside you in bed. Roger hasn’t been coming home until late at night these past few weeks, but he’s never been this late.

You get up and almost make it to the door before you turn around and grab the baseball bat you keep next to the closet. Just to be safe.

“Why do we need to have a bat out in the open? Better yet, why do we need a bat at all?” you ask dryly.

“Well it’s just in case, love. You never know,” Roger says.

“Oh, yeah. Might be itching for a game one day.”

“No, this is so you can protect yourself in an emergency if I’m not home.”

“Hmm, I do have a wicked swing…”

You suspect it’s Roger making the loud bangs but you take the bat with you, hoping you won’t have to use it. Or maybe you will, but on your idiot boyfriend instead of an intruder.

Rounding the corner, you can see the blonde flowy hair of Roger’s highlighted in the light coming through the kitchen window. You sigh, quickly flicking on the light to the kitchen causing Roger to jump and spin around.

“(Y/N)! You nearly gave me a heart attack. And why are you carrying the bat?”

“Well, Roger, that’s kind of what you told me to do when I hear strange noises in the flat and I’m home alone.” You frown at him as he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“Sorry love, I didn’t mean to wake you. Was just trying to get somethin’ ta eat before heading to bed.”

Your frown deepens at his explanation. He wouldn’t need to be sneaking around the place for food if he just came home for dinner when he told you he would. He wouldn’t have woken you up, you wouldn’t have scared him and you’d both be peacefully asleep.

Instead of trying to start an argument in the middle of the night you just sigh again. You turn around and quietly murmur, “Fine, goodnight,” before heading back down the hall.

Roger watches you go a little apprehensively. He knows he’s home unusually late, but tonight was hopefully the last of his late nights. It didn’t stop him from feeling terrible about it though. He feels even worse when he opens the fridge and finds a plate of tonight’s dinner filled and waiting for him.

He can clearly imagine you letting your own food get cold while waiting for him to call or show up. Your frowning face and less than stellar hello made his insides flop uneasily. Not feeling that hungry anymore and knowing he needs to fix things with you before it gets out of hand, he abandons the kitchen and follows after you.

You threw the bat in the general direction of the closet once you got back to the room and snuggled back down into the bed. You turned your back to the door as you curled in on yourself.

Things with Roger have started to become complicated. He’s been staying out later with the boys, blowing off plans the two of you make, and drinking a lot more. You’re just glad he didn’t come home drunk tonight. You didn’t know what to do or how to bring up your concerns to him without sounding like a whiney, needy girlfriend.

While you were so focused on your thoughts, you didn’t hear Roger come into the room, evidently shedding his clothes, until you felt him press into your back. He pulled you back against his chest and curled his legs under yours.

“Shh, lovie,” he whispers, “why are you crying?” His fingers wipe along your cheeks taking away the tears you didn’t realize were trailing down towards the pillow.

With a sob building in your throat, you quickly turn around and bury your face in Roger’s neck, clutching onto him. His arms circle around you, one rubbing your back while the other moves your hair out of your face.

“It’s okay lovie, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly. “I know I fucked up. I’m gonna make it better, I promise. Shh.” He keeps whispering reassurances to you but they only make you cry harder.

After a few more minutes, you finally get your breathing under control and the tears stop flowing from your eyes, but you don’t pull away from where you’re nuzzled into Roger’s neck. It feels like this is the closest you’ve been to him in ages and you don’t want to break the calm that’s settled around you.

Roger attempts to pull you back a little, your name on his lips. But you just tighten your hold on him. “Tomorrow.” You breathe against his neck. “Just...just hold me for now? Please.”

You feel his breath catch. After a moment he whispers, “Alright. Get some sleep. I love you.”

You’re already going under, the exhaustion from crying pulling you to sleep. Hoping your mumbled “I love you too,” is clear enough for him to hear, you quickly fall asleep.

The next morning you wake up slowly. Without opening your eyes you feel around in bed but find that Roger is gone. You groan, finally prying your eyes open to look at your alarm clock.

It’s half past eight which means that Roger should be long gone and in the studio by now. Bringing back memories from last night only make you groan again. You feel completely terrible about your breakdown.

With all the distance Roger placed between the two of you, you’ve been so sure you’re heading for a break up. And now you’ve gone and cried all over him. He probably thinks you’re not worth the upkeep anymore.

That’s fine. That should be fine. You always silently marveled at how Roger chose you over all the other girls he could have picked. Even before Queen blew up, Roger always had the prettiest, albeit sometimes the most dimwitted, girls throwing themselves at him. So this should come as no surprise to you that he finally tired of monogamy, or even just you and was trying to find a way to break things off.

Before you could sink further into your depressive hole, you heard a muffled voice coming from down the hall.

Great. Now you have to get the blasted bat for the second time in less than 24 hours. Picking it up from where you threw it the night before, you tiptoe towards the living area.

Before you even get there, you recognize Roger’s voice as he’s yelling at someone. You suppose the only action this bat’ll see is false alarms.

Getting closer, you round the corner and find him perched on the sofa on the phone looking very annoyed. “For the last time Fred, I’m not coming in today and if you so much as think about showing up here, I’ll disappear for a week.”

He puts the phone down harshly on the receiver, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands over his face. He looks about as tired and worn out as you feel.

When he finally gets up and turns towards you completely, he jumps and gives a noise of surprise. “(Y/N)! You and that blasted bat are going to give me a heart attack one of these days!”

You just laugh a little at his antics. “You’re the one who insisted on the bat. I can’t help it if you’re going to be a pansy about me putting it to use.” You shrug your shoulders at him, which causes him to grin.

His response is to pull the bat out of your hand, tossing it on the sofa behind him before slowly starting to wrap his arms around your waist. The mirth from earlier quickly leaves you as you stop his hands in their path towards your back. As Roger’s smile slowly leaves his face, you take a moment to just look at him.

It had been weeks since you’ve even had the time to joke around with him like this. It was even longer since you could just stand by him and be content in his presence. If this was the end, if he was saying goodbye today, you just wanted one more moment like this with him.

“(Y/N)...”

“Not yet. Please.”

He frowns, “You said that last night too, love. If not now then when? I need to explain myself, love, or else we’ll fall apart.”

“Fall apart?” you repeat in disbelief. “Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t- Isn’t that why you’ve been pulling away from me? To break up?”

His eyes widen and his jaw drops just a little bit. It would have been comical if you weren’t anxiously waiting for him to answer. “(Y/N)... that- how could you think that? I don’t want to break up with you!” His hands grip you tighter and pull you slightly closer to him, almost to emphasize his point.

“Roger… how could I not? For weeks you’ve barely been home. I understand you’ve got long hours at the studio, but then you go out after and get piss drunk and don’t come home until the middle of the night. You’ve even blown off our plans to hang out with the boys! I don’t see you in the morning, I don’t see you at night, and the only time I do see you is right before you pass out from the alcohol! So forgive me for thinking, for just one second, that you don’t want to see me at all!”

You’re nearly breathless by the end of your speech, finally getting out all the frustrations that had been building up in you. You feel one treacherous tear escape down your cheek. Before it can reach your chin, Roger’s hand is there, fingers brushing it away.

He cups your face so delicately with both his hands, like he’s afraid he’ll break you if he uses too much pressure. “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry,” his voice cracks, “I never wanted you to think I loved you any less. Will you let me explain? As best I can at least?”

You take a moment to rate the sincerity of his words. He seems so genuinely upset over your reaction, he looks nearly in tears himself. You nod just slightly and he sighs.

He guides you to the sofa, pushing the bat out the way so you can sit down. Grabbing both of your hands in his, he brings them to his lap.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “Well to start, I most certainly don’t want to break up with you.” He opens his eyes to stare into yours. “You have to believe that, (Y/N).”

“Then why have you been pulling away Roger?” You are almost exasperated by his contradictory behavior.

“You’re going to think I’m a muppet but it’s because of just how much I love you.”

“What?” Your face twists in confusion. What is he trying to play?

“No really, hear me out!” He squeezes your hands a little bit tighter. “You know how I was before I met you. I was having one night stands all the time. I never wanted a girlfriend and I always believed that marriage was just another way for the government to control people’s lives.”

“Roger, you’re not making a very good case here,” you say, shaking your head at the incredulity.

“But that’s exactly why! Can’t you see (Y/N)? You’re the one who made me want to give up all those other girls. You’re the one who showed me that they’re nothing, not when they’re compared to you. I wanted monogamy for the first time in my life because I wanted to call you mine!”

He took one of his hands away from yours to gently caress your face, thumb rubbing soothingly across your cheek. “I’ve done all of these beautiful firsts with you. There’s only one thing left to do. And it fucking terrifies me, love.”

“Rog…” You were left dumbfounded by his speech. Of course you’d known his previous lifestyle but to have him put it so plainly that it was you to change his mind made your heart swell.

Softly, he says, “A little over a month ago, we were out at the shop, yeah? Just grabbing groceries for the next few days. Christ, you probably don’t even remember.”

You think back and remember the day. You only remember because Roger had gone out with you that day. You normally did the shopping alone, but he wanted to do something with you on his day off.

“It’s so stupid, but you picked up my favorite cereal and then I watched you try to decide what flavor ice cream to buy for dessert that we’d both like and I just- I knew. All I could think was, ‘why haven’t I asked this woman to marry me yet?’”

Your breath hitched as you brought one of your hands to hold onto the one on your cheek. “Roger… that… actually, that makes even less sense.”

He laughs, eyes glittering. He pulls your hand from your cheek, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles.

“Well I went out to buy a ring the next day. But before I even got into the shop I… well I got scared. I kept second guessing myself, I suppose. Kept asking myself if I was really ready for this or was it just a passing fancy? I don’t know if you’re aware, love, but you’re very distracting. Thought if I gave us some space, I’d be able to think clearly and make the right decision. Suppose I shoulda thought that one through more.” He gives you a bashful smile.

Your head is swimming with everything he told you. Not only does he not want to break up with you, but he was apparently going through an existential crisis about whether or not to marry you.

Hesitantly, you ask, “Did you find your answer?”

He smiles softly at you. “I most certainly did, love. That’s kind of why I was out so late last night.” His smile turns sheepish. “I told the boys and they wanted to go out to celebrate.”

“But you didn't ask me anything yet,” you reply, a smile of your own starting to make its way across your face.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. I was working out a way to do some grand gesture, to both apologize for being a bit of a git and to make it special for you.” He stands quickly, fishing a small box from his pocket before kneeling in front of you. “Our lives are already grand, though, with Queen taking off. We’re already extra-ordinary. But when it’s just you and me, I don’t have to be some celebrity on a pedestal. I’m just Roger. And you’re just (Y/N). We eat take out every Thursday and have movie nights in our crappiest, comfiest clothes on Sundays. I want to keep doing all the wonderfully mundane things with you in between our incredibly brilliant lives. So (Y/N), will you marry me?”

When he finishes his speech, he opens the box to show you the ring he bought, but you hardly spare it a glance. Instead, you’re beaming at his slightly nervous expression. You start to laugh and quickly throw yourself into his arms. He barely catches you as you both end up in a heap on the floor.

You lean over him as you stroke a hand down his cheek. “Silly boy. You always have to do things the hard way, don’t you?”

He just grins back up at you. “Am I going to get an answer or not?”

“Of course I’ll marry you Rog.” You lean down and capture his lips with yours, conveying all your love. Before he can deepen the kiss, you pull away abruptly and fix him with a stern glare. “But, this better be the end of these early mornings and late nights.”

Roger pulls you down to kiss you slowly. He barely pulls away, lips still touching as he whispers, “‘Course, darling. I’m never letting you leave my side,” before bringing you back together.

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #roger taylor imagine #queen #fanfiction #how do i tag

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mysweetestcreature · 5 years ago

Text

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 9: The Fool

(Banner by the wonderful noblewomankat!)

***

Masterlist

***

Friday, November 14, 2008

“Will you go to the winter formal with me?”

Her mouth remains agape, eyes staring intensely ahead. At her sides, her fingers pinch roughly at the hem of her apron, so much that the skin between her fingers turns an angry shade of red. She doesn’t think she has the brain power to comprehend the events as they’ve unfolded before her. It rings through her ears, and yet it’s like she can’t hear it, almost like she refuses to. If someone had told her that she’d be in this position earlier this morning, she would’ve argued the ridiculousness of such a thing.

“Y/n?” Jasper chuckles nervously, he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. Scanning the room, the rest of the students, much like himself, are awaiting her response. “Uh...” he stutters, inching just a little closer for a bit privacy. “Are you...are you okay? Do you need to sit down or...”

“No!” the voice within her shouts to its very limits. “Formal?” she finally chokes out. This is wrong, so very and woefully wrong. She could vomit just about now, the contents of her stomach threatening to claw their way up into her mouth. The burn of acidity is already prevalent on the back of her tongue and leaves a bitter taste in its wake.

Jasper offers a dubious nod, the stem of the rose see-sawing in his grasp. The usual sweet smell of its petals only makes her feel more nauseous. He pokes the inside of his cheek “What do you say?”

A part of her wishes Cici had never told her about Harry, at least she wouldn’t feel as sick as she does now. She knows that she shouldn’t feel this way, but it’s just one of those things that test her anxieties like no other. “I,” she starts, she becomes aware of the ridiculing eyes that surround them. Being the center of attention, at least in this way, has never been something she’s ever wanted for herself. It’s like she’s an attraction at a fair, and all they want is for her to pull some sort of trick or do something spectacular. Oh god. She can feel it rising up her esophagus. Her chest feels restricted as air bubbles begin to collect at the back of her throat. It escapes from her lips before she’s had time to think it over. “I need to pee.”

“You–” but Jasper thankfully chooses not to repeat the statement. “Oh, um...” he pulls his beanie further down his ears. “I’ll just wait for you here then.”

“Yeah. Alright.” Y/n squeaks. At first, she slowly backs away as she unties the back of her apron. It’s only until she’s successfully placed it on the counter that she breaks for the door.

***

All the worry that had consumed him earlier has now faded away, and in its place rests the jitters of excitement that boil in his blood and bounce in his leg. They had won the debate, and the high of their success has only driven his confidence further. Actually, he hadn’t even been there to receive news of their triumph firsthand. He’d momentarily escaped the auditorium to run across the street to a flower shop he’d immediately spotted when they’d arrived. Although he knows Y/n isn’t one to expect gifts, he didn’t want to turn up empty handed. He’s been waiting so long for this, and he’d be damned if he didn’t properly prepare.

As he holds the bouquet gently in his lap, he doesn’t try to hide the corny smile that dances across his lips. The person who had sold him the flowers had been this kind elderly lady whose eyes glimmered fondly as she spoke to her plants as though they could understand the world.

“They can read people, you know,” she says, cradling a New England aster at the sepal. “The best listeners, too. Won’t talk back to you but will give you any answer you need.”

Harry looks over his shoulder for anyone else but finds himself to be the only person within close proximity. She must be talking to him. “What kind of answers?” he dares to ask.

The elderly woman smirks to herself as she wanders through her store like a stranger without a destination. She runs the tips of her fingers through the aisles, brushing over the leaves and petals of various arrangements. “Ah,” she delights, stopping in her tracks and extending an ear out to listen. A moment of silence passes them, and slowly do the apples of her cheeks round. He watches her carefully, thinking she could potentially fade into mist if he were to look away. What kind of flower shop is this?

“This,” she says sternly. “This is the one you’re looking for.”

Of course, he’s completely perplexed but astounded all at once. He walks over, his mouth falling ajar as the pinkish-purple petals come into view.

“She’s a lucky girl,” she tells him, looking him directly in the eyes for the first time. “Love is such a beautiful thing, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry bites down on his tongue, hands slipping into the pockets of his cardigan. The topic has always brought out the shyness in him. “I mean, I’ve only just...” but he finds himself pausing to reflect. They haven’t known each other for long, but she’s already forged a solid position in his life, as dreadfully cheesy as it sounds, he’ll admit. Her image pops into his head, and just that makes him blush. “It is.”

“Purple lilacs,” she hums out like a melody. Plucking one from its pot and handing it to him. “Symbolize early love, young love, if you will.” He studies its character, twirling it between his pointer and thumb. “They’re beautiful. Really, they are...but I was thinking something along the lines of a ro–”

“No, no.” she shakes her head, already starting to gather a bunch together. “This is the one for her.”

“Honestly, it’s about time,” Maxxie huffs, slouching in his seat as their van merges onto the highway. “Not to be dramatic, but I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for this to happen.”

“I’ve only known you for two months,” Harry raises an eyebrow, but can’t help but laugh.

“Your point?” the blonde counters, running his hands through his long bangs and pushing them to the side. “Two months? Fifteen years? Time is but a number, my friend. And besides,” he gives Harry a knowing look, “there’s no way she’s going to be able to turn you down.”

Dimples dress his cheeks as he looks back down into his lap. “You really think so?”

***

“I’m freaking out!” Y/n screams in a harsh whisper into her phone. It’s been at least ten minutes since she’d sprinted out of the kitchen. She’d passed three restrooms until settling on one on the third floor of the building.

“Well, what did you say to him?” Cici presses from the other end. Currently, she’s sitting in in her history class, Mr. Bartolome (Harry’s unmotivated homeroom teacher) watching over the class while Mr. Noone is out sick (although, everyone knows he’s at his timeshare in Vegas).

Y/n bangs the back of her head against the stall door, hand covering her eyes as to shield herself from this unforgiving reality. “I didn’t say anything! I made up some excuse and ran out.”

“Hmm,” her friend tuts, “he probably thinks you have explosive diarrhea, but that’s probably for the best in this case. Hopefully he’ll think you’re contagious!”

“You’re a riot,” Y/n sighs. Pushing her sleeve up from her wrist, she squints at the time on her watch. Class ends in three minutes, which only means she has that much longer to figure everything out.

If she were to have it her way, she would go with Harry in a heartbeat. It’s all she’s been able to think about all day, and all she wants when the day comes. No questions asked. But the problem is that he hasn’t asked her yet, and now Jasper has. She hasn’t even seen him since last night! Had he changed his mind? The thought alone makes her queasy, especially considering how troubled she feels over everything. “What am I going to do?”

***

As soon as their van parks right outside the main doors, Harry all but darts out. While the trip had only been about half an hour, it felt far too long with how eager he is. Maxxie calls from behind him, wishing all the best of luck because finally actions are about to be taken.

The first thing he does is check the Home Economics room since he knows she can get wrapped up in whatever project she’s set her heart on. He loves that about her, how she pours so much passion into her baking and comes up with the innovative combinations of flavors and designs. Just last week he’d seen the designs for this Winter Wonderland-themed cake that she has planned for the holidays (which he thinks would bring Duff Goldman’s work to shame, but he’s quite bias when it comes to her).

When he peeks his head in the window on the door, he finds the entire room empty with only dirty cupcake pans left abandoned in the sink. He backs away, thinking to himself where he might be able to find her.

Before he can make another move, he’s hit square in the back with the door. “Oh my goodness! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there!”

As he rubs the base of his spine, he looks up to see a young woman with black hair pulled tightly in a bun, probably no more than thirty. He recognizes her from the all the times he’s spent watching Y/n bake. What’s her name again? “Miss Ginevra?” he tests out the name.

She smiles and nods back. “That’s me! Now what on earth are you doing standing here? Are you trying to crack a skull? I can’t imagine your coach being too pleased with that.”

“I was actually coming to look for Y/n,” he admits sheepishly, and he slightly raises the lilacs in his right hand for her to see. He doesn’t notice the way the corners of Miss Ginevra’s lips slightly tug down. “Do you have any idea where I can find her?”

***

“There you are!” he says slightly out of breath, but elation still evident in his tone. He fixes himself, adjusting his tie and pushing his hair away from his eyes. The bouquet remains hidden behind him, but he’s just itching to finally give it to her. She flickers him a gaze for just a moment before shuffling books from her backpack to her locker and vice versa. He pushes down the apprehension before it can bother him, coolly leaning on the locker beside hers as he waits to steal her attention. “I was just on my way to the cafeteria to look for you.”

“Well, you found me,” she says weakly.

“I’m so glad I did.”

She doesn’t look up, and now he starts to worry. Usually a line like that would earn him at least a giggle or a roll of the eyes, but it’s like she’s trying her best not to look at him. Had he done something? Nothing in the last day, surely! Last night things had gone so well (minus another interruption, complements of Jeremy), and he hadn’t seen her at all today until right now.

“Hey,” he says, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Everything alright?” And just like that she isn’t able to remain aloof any longer. “Harry, I–” but she cuts herself off when she sees the bottom of the stems sticking out from behind him. “Are those...are those for me?”

“Huh? Oh!” He holds the bouquet between them, encouraging her to take them. “They’re purple lilacs.”

“I know,” she smiles sadly as she accepts them, even though she feels like she shouldn’t. “They’re my favorite flower.”

He smiles widely. “That’s a relief,” Harry breathes out, rubbing the back of his neck. “They came highly recommended by the florist. Glad I listened her.” (Someone needs to remind him to visit that shop to say, ‘thank you’.) A light laugh sounds from his mouth, and it only makes Y/n feel worse because she wishes she could allow the butterflies in her stomach to flutter free. Instead, they’re caged up, and the key is being withheld.

“Y/n, I need to ask you–”

“Harry, there’s something you should–”

Both take a brief pause.

Just as Y/n is about try again and speak up, Harry beats her to it. “Wait! Me first, yeah? I’m scared if I don’t, I never will,” he asks of her. “I was going to do this last night, but then your dad came in and then I’m sure Mason did something at some point...but anyway,” he shakes his head, but continues to grin. “Y/n, will you be my date to the–”

“Jasper asked me this morning,” she blurts out. She watches with heartache as his expression falters. His eyes have always been so expressive, and now more than ever do they radiate such melancholy. “And I said yes.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, averting his eyes. The rest of his back hits the cool metal surface and he stuffs both hands in his pockets. He stares ahead without focus or intent. If he’d been feeling confident earlier, now it’s like he’s fallen hard from grace.

She chews on her bottom lip as he maintains a silence so deafening that she feels she could scream.

“Say something,” she pleads.

But there’s nothing he can say. Not without sounding like a complete arse, at least. He wants to act like a toddler and throw a tantrum because he’s just had enough of all this. The one time he’s able to follow through, it’s already too late. He’s angry at Jasper for being such a dick for existing.

He’s upset with her because they’re constantly out of step with one another. Most of all, he’s just frustrated with himself for not having done something sooner.

With much convincing from his brain, he faces her. He looks her in the eyes, smiles and nods. “I hope you like the flowers.” And with that, he turns and walks the other way.

***

Sometimes Y/n wishes things could be different.

There have been so many instances in the last few months where she would have liked to have been bolder. Or maybe she wishes she didn’t feel so deeply for someone that fate refuses to let her have. Because she’s almost certain that this has to be some sort of sign. How many times are they going to have to live this narrative before they get it right?

“These are so pretty! Are they yours?” She looks up to see her Liv standing at her bedroom door, the purple lilacs in her hands. When she’d arrived home from school, she had left them on the kitchen counter, not wanting to look at them and remember the way he had just turned his back on her. The sight of it causes a burn behind her eyes, but she’s already so tired from having been here before. He didn’t even allow her a chance to explain, and that’s probably what hurts the most.

“They’re from Harry,” she replies lifelessly, falling back into her pillows. She hugs one closely to her chest. “He asked me to formal.”

Suddenly, she feels a weight bounce onto her bed that lifts her body from the mattress for a split second. “Did he really?” her mother exclaims, shaking her by the hip. “Honey, that’s great! Does this mean we’re going to go dress shopping? You know, I was at Bloomingdales the other day, and I saw this beautiful white gown that I know would look perfect on you!”

“That’s great, Mom,” Y/n says. “I’ll let Jasper know to coordinate.”

“Jasper? I thought you said Harry asked you?”

She breathes out heavily. “I really don’t want to talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”

Liv moves and lays down next to her. Sliding her Blackberry out of her pocket, she holds it above her face. “When you’re ready, I’ll be right here. I’ve over a dozen emails that need responding, so take your time.”

Hearing the tapping of the keys as Liv types away only makes Y/n feel more anxious about everything.

Click.

Click. Click.

It’s like she’s ticking timebomb, and all that’s left is for something to trigger her to blow her top.

“Alright, fine. I’ll tell you.”

***

Monday, November 17, 2008

It feels a lot like the first day of school where he had sat in his mum’s SUV and watched as the students swarmed into the building like running water. He remembers it clearly, that warm September breeze had hit him just right as he had stepped out of the car. And of course, almost immediately after had this girl with a pink and grey scrunchie knocked into him, then ran up the stairs before he could even blink. Then first class of the year, who’s sat next to him? Yes, things had seemed much simpler that day. Harry more than wishes he could go back and do things differently every day after.

“Try not to think about it too much, yeah?” Anne tells him as she rubs his arm. “Don’t let this ruin your friendship.”

“Yeah,” he says curtly. He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.” He leaves it at that, not wanting to say anything more in fear that he’ll relive that heartbreak he’d felt that entire rest of the day. Because after he’d left her at their lockers, he’d gone about every motion with such numbness that he can’t even remember how he’d gotten home. He’d woken up Saturday morning feeling as unmotivated as Mr. Bartolome, and as a consequence had stayed up until the early hours of this morning trying to complete all of his assignments.

When his feet land on the concrete, a triad of honks sounds from behind him. He turns around to see Jeremy’s car pull up behind Anne’s.

“Harry!” the older man greets as he waves his hand out the window. Beside him, Y/n sits with her eyes lowered, not wanting to look up.

“Uh...hey, Mr. Y/l/n. How’re you doing?” he tries his best to make conversation.

Jeremy steps out of the car and goes to shake his hand. “Great, great!” he says happily. “I’m so glad I caught you,” he continues, then looks over Harry’s shoulder. “Is that your mom?” Not even waiting for a confirmation he strides past him.

It leaves Harry and Y/n with the misfortune of having to avoid the other’s gaze, only a windshield protecting them from further hurting the other.

***

#president!harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction preferences #writing

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bandrlodge · 5 years ago

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Just My Type

Bucky x Plus Size Original Female Character: Briar Hawthorne

Chapter Summary: Briar experiences 6° of separation

Chapter warnings: general buffoonery, recreational drug usage (marijuana)

Chapter One: Design Client Anonymous

Briar smirked, pulling her coffee cup from the cabinet. Another night, another Natasha one nighter. Of course, she'd hurried them out as she heard her roommate stirring. She pulled Nat's comically small mug from the cabinet as well and prepped both of their drinks. One sugar for Nat. Five sugars and a heavy splash of Coldstone's Sweet Cream Creamer, for her cup. Briar heard the patter of her footsteps down the steps as she was topping off her mug.

"Morning, Nat." She smiled, sliding the mug over. She grumbled, ruffling a hand through her thick, red hair. Briar settled back against the counter, adjusting the neck of her oversized Manson shirt before grabbing the coffee.

"So...how was last night?" Briar asked. She sipped the coffee, relishing the warm hug now rushing through her bones. Natasha chuckled and downed her mug full in one gulp.

"Let's leave it with, slimy yet...satisfying." Briar gagged.

"Fuck you, you nasty bitch."

Natasha laughed, "I've offered, several times."

Briar shook her head, "I don't fuck where I sleep."

"That doesn't make a whole lot of sense." They heard a voice call. Briar's head snapped over to our balcony door, which was now closing on a very disheveled Clint Barton. His hoodie hung off his frame, obviously torn in a fight. Clint, was a character; the only one of Natasha's group that was ever allowed to meet her. She loved him and couldn't count the number of times he'd shown up, carrying pizza and begging to rewatch Avatar. One time, he'd even brought a dog, Lucky. From that moment on, he'd had a permanent invitation and open door to their place. Other than him, no one had ever been allowed inside the apartment and in the four years she had known Natasha, she'd never met a single friend other than Clint.

For good reason though; living with a semi retired Avenger was dangerous. She never wanted to try and draw more attention to our friendship and home by bringing home extras. Well, high profile extras, according to her.

"No one asked you, bird brain." Brisr smiled. Clint perched himself beside me on the counter, snatching the half full coffee pot from its machine and taking a swig straight from it.

She rolled her eyes and simply took another drink of her own, having learned long ago any war involving coffee was a war that would never be won with Clint.

"Oh yeah, Nat, uhm...Boss wants to talk to you. Says you should probably call him, like...an hour ago."

"So, we arent gonna address the bloodied knuckles and tattered clothes?" Briar cocked an eyebrow and glanced between the two. Nat shook her head, "Probably not. I'm gonna go make this call." A moment later she was gone, leaving poor Briar at the mercy of the blonde coffee fiend.

Clint finished off the remainder of the coffee sitting in the pot and scooted closer to me, bumping his shoulder against my own.

"So, how's work going?" He wiggled his eyebrows, flashing his side cocked smile. laughed, raking a hand through my hair. Her finger snagged into a blue tendril and pulling at it absently while she answered,

"Honestly? It's fine. That's it. I expected a bit more from a high profile firm. I took two cases from the lead designer and one from a coworker at their behest, but, there isn't too much to go around." Briar had switched from a solo home design firm almost eight months before. While being her own boss was pretty much heaven, she needed health insurance and there was no way she could afford those payments on my own. So, she took the newest Senior Designer spot at Legendary Interiors and the rest was history. Even with the small work load currently, Briar was pretty lucky with them. The base pay was substantial and there was always a fifteen percent commission for Senior levels. She had her health insurance and not once had she been asked to remove her piercings, change her hair color, or cover her tattoos.

"But, I'm lucky. So, I don't wanna complain too much. Plus...you should see the room I'm working on now. The case came nameless to me, but, the space is amazing. From what I can tell, I actually have the space to do all of the projects I've come up with. The proposal is being sent in on Monday afternoon. Hopefully..." Briar took a large breath, "its accepted." Clint nudged her,

"You're fantastic, Briar. It will be" He hopped off the counter, putting the now empty pot back into it's holder and held out his hand.

"Show it to me, Smurfette."

Briar laughed at him and abandoned her coffee cup to drag Clint down the hall to the design room. She flipped the light switch and pulled him over to the light table. Rough sketches of a modern penthouse with multiple greenery patches throughout the floorplan lay upon the table, littered with various colored ink marks. Clint sat on the stool and studied them for a few moments, chiding the blue haired woman for biting on her nails whilst he was doing so.

"This is great, B. The greenery you've used is so...oddly placed but, it works."

She squealed, "That's what I was going for. The client is a war veteran with severe PTSD. I wanted him to have the modern space he requested, but...he originally just asked for a little spot in the house to retreat to. But, I put a bunch of spaces around the house. Triggers arent confined to one space. So, why should his self care depend on getting to one specific area?"

Clint nodded along with her rambling, something obviously ticking away in that big brain of his.

She smacked his shoulder softly to get his attention, "Whatcha thinking, bird brain?"

He turned to look at his friend, a shit eating smirk plastered on his face.

"I know whose space you're designing."

________<_________<________<________<_____

Bucky had sent the proposal for a new design over to Legendary six weeks ago. By now, he had hoped to see at least a rough sketch. Except for a few short email exchanges between himself and the Vice President of Design, he had no information on who had taken his project nor, what they were doing with it.

He pulled out his phone and shot a text to Tony,

'You said that design place was the best, right?'

Not a moment later: 'Yes, tin man. Who got your project? Katherine? Jonas?'

'I don't know, Tony. I haven't heard from anyone other than Camille. She didn't give my name to the designer like I asked, which I appreciate, but I don't know whose working on it.'

Bucky managed to fix himself a hot cup of lavender tea before Tony responded with a name and a phone number.

'Her name is Briar Hawthorne. She's been with them eight months and is their newest Senior Designer. Camille gave it to her specially. That's her cell phone number. I had to schmooze for that. Use it wisely, old man.'

Bucky laughed, Tony schmoozing on his behalf was still jarring. But, thankfully, the past decided to stay in the past after the Thanos affair. There was too much to rebuild and too much to cherish now, there wasn't time for wallowing in past mistakes. He sat on his bed, pulling a sleeping Alpine tightly to his side and shot a message over to Briar.

Hopefully, he could get some information on his damn apartment design.

______<________<________<_______<______<__

Briar sat on the balcony, weary eyed, and staring at the text message on her phone. She took another inhale of her joint and leaned her head back against the egg shaped hanging chair she was in. An exhale later she was typing her fifth attempt at a response to him.

She took another drag of the joint and recalled finding out the identity of her client.

Clint had laughed for a good five minutes. Chuckling at the absolute fucking serendipity he was watching unfold. Natasha had come in as he was dying down and as soon as he told her - in a hushed whisper between two very best friends - she had also spent a full five dying from laughter.

Turns out, the client was none other than Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. A.k.a. the Winter Soldier. Natasha had complemented the decision on the multiple greenery spaces for relaxtion and meditation, saying that the Sergeant would like that idea. Clint had teased Natasha about how she couldn't hog their Smurfette anymore, knowing that the team would likely attach themselves to Briar quickly.

She reread the text for the hundredth time.

'Hi, Ms. Hawthrone.

My name is James Barnes, and I am the client whose penthouse you are designing currently. I know originally I asked to remain anonymous but, I wanted to check the progress on the design. I've not recieved any sort of update.

Thank you, again. '

He seemed so formal. Briar was stuck on how to respond, wondering if she should mention Natasha or if she should just be professional.

'Mr. Barnes,

Thank you for reaching out. I apologize that you have not been provided with regular updates but, I can tell you that the draft proposal and cost summary will be available to you on your account dashboard on Monday. I submitted my idea to Camille yesterday afternoon. Please don't hesitate to reach out with any other questions or concerns.

- Briar Hawthorne'

Professional, succinct.

Boring.

She hit send and stuffed the phone down beside her thigh in hopes that the cushion on the chair would muffle the vibrations so she could ignore it should he respond. Briar finished out her joint and pulled another from her cigarette case and lit it up.

She felt the dooming buzz of an incoming message on her thigh and groaned.

It was James.

'Could we maybe meet tomorrow and go over the plans together? I would feel better going over the plans with the actual designer. Not her boss.

And call me Bucky. All my friends do.'

So, they were friends now? She chuckled and settled back into the chair again.

Meeting a client off the clock could go wrong, there was no telling if she'd face repercussions on Monday.

But, the opportunity to present her project on her terms in her words...

'Yeah, sure. I can do a full layout set up on my design wall here at the house. Just text Natasha for the address. She doesn't let me give it out. She's a weird roommate.

And call me, Briar.'

There. She threw it in.

The frustrated groan yell from inside the house a moment later meant that Bucky was quicker on the draw than she would have thought.

_______<_________<___________<_________<__

JMT tag: @sea040561 @heli0s-writes @suz-123

Thank you to you, reading this. Yeah, you. You're awesome.

#bucky x oc #bucky x ofc #marvel #fanfic #plus size character #bucky x plus size ofc #bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction

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vikingwitchling · 5 years ago

Text

Power Play

Freya woke with a violent gasp. It had been a nightmare. Just a nightmare, she thought, pressing a hand to her clammy chest, feeling her heart race. It had been so terrifying, and then...all gone at the moment of her awakening. She couldn't remember it. But she could still feel it, clinging to her.

Trembling, the witch slipped from her bed and crossed the floor, her white nightgown brushing against her bare feet. She poured herself a glass of water from the jug she had filled a few hours earlier, drinking tentatively, attempting to conjure the memories of her nightmare, but failed. Freya rarely experienced nightmares. Unless they were visions of the future to come.

The sound of her brother's voice passing outside her door caught her attention. He was not alone. Freya put her glass down and opened the door, peering outside to see what was going on. But the hallway was empty. They had just rounded the corner to Niklaus' study. Abandoning her bedroom, Freya followed, stopping just outside the open doorway to where Niklaus and his progeny, Marcel, were sitting. She kept to the shadows. Unseen. Unheard.

"Davina's informed me three witches have gone missing in the last two months," Marcel said.

"And?" Klaus raised an inquisitive eyebrow, his long fingers knitted together beneath his chin.

"And she's asking for help to find them. Apparently her usual locator spells ain't doin' it."

"What does she suppose I would do about it?"

"Not you," Marcel said, a wry smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "Your sister. She wants Freya."

Silence. Niklaus seemed to consider his friend's words. "Then why are you speaking with me? I'm not my sister's keeper."

"Really? 'Cause my experience tells me otherwise."

Another pause. A sneer making its way onto Niklaus's face. "Are you planning to shag her? To marry her? To steal her away?"

Freya didn't want to hear anymore. Her brother could be so crude. "That's enough, Niklaus," she said, stepping to through the open doorway and into the light. "Marcel, what can I do?"

Marcel rose from his chair, looking surprised by her presence. Niklaus didn't look surprised at all. Quite the contrary, he seemed to have known his older sister were there all along.

"Meet with Davina," Marcel said. "I'm sure she can give you the details better than I."

"Why didn't she come here herself?" Klaus asked in a casual tone, leaning back in his chair.

Marcel turned to look at him. "She ain't all that fond of you, Klaus. Any of you, really, after the stunt you pulled with her resurrection spell. But she's desperate." He turned his gaze back to Freya. "Will you come?"

Freya nodded. She didn't like the thought of witches going missing. Even if they were not her kin or responsibility. Hopefully, it would just turn out to be some misunderstanding. "I will. Tomorrow, at noon. Your place?"

Marcel nodded curtly, and Freya turned to leave again. She paused briefly in the doorway. "Oh, if I am to perform any kind of locator magic I will need a personal item from each of the missing. Tell your friend?"

---

The next day just before noon, Freya approached Marcel’s quarters as planned, her conversation with Niklaus earlier that morning still fresh in her mind.

“Why do you care about a few lost witches? They are nothing to you,” he had said whilst pouring her coffee.

Freya had to smile, a smile without humour. It was exactly the attitude she had come to expect from her younger brother. A thousand years of cruelty given and taken had made him a hard man, who rarely served anything but his own ambition and pleasure.

“I wish to help because it’s the right thing to do,” Freya told him, tearing a piece off her croissant and popped it in her mouth. She didn’t speak again until she had finished chewing. “What if it was Hope missing. Wouldn’t you want whatever help you could get to find her?”

“No,” Klaus said, his cold eyes narrowing. “I would find her myself. I wouldn’t fail.”

Such arrogance, yet Freya hoped she would never get to prove her brother wrong in this instance. She climbed the stairs to Marcel’s flat and knocked on the door, one hand clutching her bag of supplies that hung from her shoulder. Already before Marcel had opened the door, Freya could hear a cacophony of voices coming from inside. Clearly, this was not going to be a private session.

“Come in,” said Marcel once he swung the door open and stepped aside to allow her to enter. Freya did so with great caution, quickly growing uneasy under the dozen gazes that followed her every move from the moment she crossed the threshold. Most of them were women, ranging from the early forties to late eighties by the look of it. A few men remained in the background, looking sombre. Davina, their newly appointed leader, stood by the large windows, the beaming sunlight creating the illusion of a halo around her head.

“You came,” the young witch said, her dark eyes trailing over Freya’s form, from the top of her blonde head to the bottom of her boots.

“I said I would,” Freya replied, coming to a halt in the middle of the room, waiting for further instructions.

Davina didn’t smile, but her features softened a touch as she made for Marcel’s coffee table.“Three girls have gone missing,” she said. “Cecilia Monroe, Beatrice Jackson, and Elaine Cox. All young witches, all part of the Tremé Coven.”

Freya didn’t recognize the name of the said coven, but knew it had to be one of the nine covens of New Orleans that were now governed by Davina.

“Cecilia vanished last month while on her way home from band practice. Beatrice and Elaine both went missing this month, one week apart, also while leaving school-related activities.”

Freya put her bag down on the floor, frowning. The thought of children going missing made it all so much worse and explained why so many had shown up to see her work her magic. The distressed witches now surrounding her must be parents or grandparents. Maybe aunts and uncles.

“Have you talked to the police about this?” Freya asked. “They have the resources to help search, yes?”

A collective scoff rippled through the audience. “If Davina couldn’t find ‘em with her magic, no way the police is gonna manage,” one of the elderly women said, her grey eyes fixed on Freya with undeniable distrust. The others nodded and hummed in agreement.

Davina caught Freya’s arm, her voice lowered. “I’ve done all the spells and rituals I know that could help locate a missing person or object. And I’ve got the powers of the covens to help me, so I know it’s not a lack of strength. But none of them pans out. They don’t even give an indication. It’s as though I’m an ordinary human trying to make Harry Potter spells work.”

Freya didn’t understand that pop culture reference, but she could guess the meaning. Davina was not used to her spells going awry. She was a very powerful witch, especially taking her young age into consideration. However, power and knowledge were two very different things.

She turned her attention to the items laid out on the coffee table – a worn old teddy bear, a silver bracelet and a pink mobile phone. Each item had been put down with care, positioned in a neat line with a few inches space between them. Almost like something you’d find on an altar.

“Are these the girls’ belongings?” Freya asked Davina. It was an old woman who answered.

“Yes. That’s Cecilia’s bracelet, my granddaughter,” the old woman said. She had small, sharp eyes that despite her wrinkled face and hollow cheeks, flashed with life. Her long white hair was tied in a knot atop her head, giving her an extra inch of height. Her thin arms were covered in gold and silver bangles, most of them decorated by occult symbols or magical gemstones.

“I don’t much like your kin, girl,” she said, shuffling towards Freya. “But if you can find our girls, I’ll be forever in your debt. We all will.”

Freya was not looking for payment, or gratitude, really. But a small part of her enjoyed the thought of being welcomed into the warm embrace of a new coven. A group of peers who could understand her in ways her vampire siblings couldn’t.

“I will do what I can, ma’am,” Freya assured the old woman, managing a smile. “Can you tell me a little about Cecilia and the other girls? Are they friends? Do they attend the same school?” She picked up the bracelet from the table and held it in her hands, searching its energy for more information.

“Cecilia is a sophomore in high school. Bea and Elaine are still in middle school,” a new, younger woman piped up. “The girls don’t really interact much other than our monthly coven sabbaths. Sometimes we’re all together, but most of the time, especially on holidays – Samhain, Beltane, Yule…we split into three groups. The Maidens, that would be the children and teens, have their own celebrations separate from the Mothers and Crones. I think those are the only times these three girls spend time together.”

Several of the other men and women nodded their agreement to this theory.

“They wouldn’t have run off on their own,” someone called out. “They’re good girls.”

“We all know Bea was popular with the boys. Wouldn’t surprise me if she had run off with someone.”

“Watch your mouth!”

“How do we know Eva Sinclair ain’t behind all this. She’s done it before.”

Freya frowned but was otherwise unperturbed by the sudden chaos that erupted. Eva Sinclair was a former member of the Tremé Coven, who in a mad frenzy for power had kidnapped several young witches to leech of their magic. When captured, Eva had been sentenced to life in the Witch Asylum, a cottage in New Orleans were those who entered could never leave. Until Freya had broken the century-old spell upon awaking after her cursed slumber. These days, however, it was Freya’s younger sister, Rebekah, who inhabited Eva’s body. And Rebekah would not harm young children such as these three missing girls.

“Everyone be quiet!” Davina demanded, looking exasperated and a little out of her comfort zone. “Eva Sinclair is dead. Now, please…let Freya work.”

---

“I don’t understand,” Freya exclaimed as Niklaus handed her a drink later that evening. “My magic has never failed me before. Never! I must have cast at least eight spells, among them the one I used to find your daughter when she as protected by a hex only a hundred powerful witches could break.”

During her stay at Marcel’s earlier that afternoon, she had exhausted her collection of locator spells with absolutely no results, and this both irked and frightened her. Fixing her gaze on the lit fireplace in her brother’s parlour, Freya’s mind ascended to new levels of anger, something that earned her momentary loss of control and made the scotch in her hand boil. She gasped in pain and dropped the glass. Niklaus caught it before it could hit the floor and put it on the mantelpiece. He watched her with amusement written all over his smug features. Apparently, to him, it was funny to see his almighty sister fail.

“You approached those spells believing to find traces of magic,” he smirked, taking a sip of his own drink. “Because they are witches. But you forget, sister dear, that there are many other things in this world that can harm a witch. Since you last walked the earth, a new adversary has arrived.”

Freya frowned, unable to comprehend where Niklaus was leading her.

“Technology,” he whispered, draining what remained in his glass and left the room.

---

The abandoned power plant on Market Street appeared like a giant out of the fog as Freya's taxi neared. Created in the early twentieth century and closed down in the seventies, the plant now served as a meeting place for the youngest witches of the Treme Coven, and an occasional sleeping spot for the homeless of New Orleans. The building, despite its weathered looks, was still standing strong. Nevertheless, Freya felt uneasy about entering.

She got out of the car after paying the incredulous driver, and told him not to wait. He drove away, shaking his head.

The previous day's efforts had been disappointing, but after a good night's sleep and a big breakfast, Freya was once again ready to continue. She had chosen to come alone for the simple reason that having an audience had disrupted her focus. Perhaps that had been the reason for her failed spells. She liked to think so, that it was just a fluke, rather than a bigger problem concerning the state of her magic.

She entered the power plant through a rusty metal door, that refused to open wide or fully close. Despite the beaming sun outside, inside was showered in gloomy darkness. The large windows had been stained with what appeared to be paint. To keep curious onlookers from peering inside, maybe?

The floor was littered with machinery parts, leftover from the power plant’s active days, as well as cigarette butts and empty beer cans. Freya swept a thick layer of dust and grime off an old chair and sat down, observing her eerie surroundings. She couldn’t see the appeal of this place, especially not as a meeting place for a coven. Freya had always preferred locations in nature for her witchcraft-purposes. It kept her grounded and closer to the elements she would call upon to aid her. But these were different times, apparently. Witches were in hiding again, afraid to be mistaken for worshippers of the dark and evil.

Freya took a deep breath, closed her eyes and said: “Show me the memories of what happened here.”

She expected to be gifted with a short, cryptic vision. Something that would be annoyingly vague, yet containing a clue to unlock the next step in her search. So when she was met with the sound of thundering footsteps and girly laughter, Freya nearly fell off her chair in surprise.

As she opened her eyes, she saw three teenage girls burst through the door and into the room, wide smiles on their faces and clothes dripping wet from rain. Though they all looked perfectly lifelike, there was something about their colouring that helped Freya realize they were not really here. They were not ghosts either, but echoes.

The three girls dropped their bags and backpacks to the floor, shaking water out of their hair, chatting amongst themselves of how unlucky they had been to be caught in the sudden rainstorm. After a minute, they settled on the floor in a circle.

“Did you bring it?” The eldest girl asked one of the other two.

“Of course, Cece,” the girl in question replied, fishing a closed jar filled with water from her bag. She put it on the floor between them and unscrewed the lid. “I hope we can still do it. I mean, I’ve been practising, but it’s not easy with mom looking over my shoulder at all times. She even makes me journal every time I use magic. She says it’ll help me become responsible and take my powers seriously. So I won’t misuse them. Like she thinks I’m going to use my magic to go shoplifting or something.”

The other two giggled.

“I know, Bea” the girl named Cece said. “Their rules are getting out of hand. How do they expect us to learn if we’re not allowed to do spells without their supervision?”

“Well, that’s why we’re here,” the third girl chimed in, nodding her head at the jar. “Shall we?”

The three girls joined hands and set their sights on the jar, slowly chanting the same Latin command over and over until, finally, the water ignited and turned to flames. They squealed and cheered, breaking their link and holding out their hands towards the warming fire they had created.

This turned out to be the first of a handful of spells the girls would perform during their session. Freya watched in perfect silence as the three toyed and experimented with what little magic they had learned, floating pencils and feathers and changing each other’s eye colour.

Once they finished and started packing up, the chatter began again.

“So where did you tell your parents you were going?” Cece asked.

“My mom thinks I’m working on a science project with Elaine,” Bea said, winking at the third girl who turned out to be Elaine.

“Same,” said Elaine. “How about you, Cece?”

“Extra band practice,” Cece grinned mischievously. “They don’t even know I haven’t been in band for like six months.”

They laughed.

“You want to come with us back to my place, Cece?” Bea asked as she zipped up her bag. “We’re going to watch movies and eat marshmallows.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t,” Cece replied. “I have to make a diorama for history class tomorrow. Mr. Ainsley promised me extra credit if I did. And I need it, unless I want to tell the parental unit I’m close to failing. See you guys next week?”

The three girls left. Freya followed them to the door to observe further, but by then they were already gone.

Clearly, the missing girls knew each other a whole lot better than their parents realized. Was it not a coincidence then, that it was those three that had disappeared? Had they become more bold in their magical experimentation? Played with forces they could not handle? Had they summoned something dark?

At this point, it was impossible to tell. Freya decided to explore the power plant further before calling it a day. After all, if this place had been an accessory to a crime, there might still be clues lingering.

She crossed the room and started up some metal stairs leading to the second floor. They gave the illusion they were about to buckle at any moment, but they carried Freya all the way to the top where she was met by a closed door. She tried the handle and when it yielded to her advances, pushed the door open wide. Before her lay a small room equipped with broken-down computers and various other devices Freya knew nothing about. The control room?

As she stepped on through, something fell on her from above. It wasn’t all that heavy, yet it knocked Freya to the floor on her back. She had just registered that it was some kind of net before a thousand tiny fires were ignited along every inch of her skin, making her twitch violently, unable to control her movements, unable to summon enough focus for magic, unable to draw breath. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t. The pain was excruciating. All consuming. She was beyond saving, and her consciousness failed her shortly after.

---

When Freya next woke, her body ached as though she had been run over by a herd of wild horses. Her eyes screamed in protest once they opened and was met with a blinding light. Like standing in a snow-covered wasteland with the harsh light of the sun reflected everywhere you looked. Only this was not snow, nor sunlight. She was inside, laying on her back on a white tile floor. The lamps up above were merciless in their torment, and Freya forced herself to sit up simply to avert her eyes from their glare. On either side of her were the same white tiles, constructed to high walls, creating a decent sized cubicle with only one exit.

Three walls, one missing. Slowly, Freya got to her feet, trembling with every movement, her body occasionally twitching as though shocked. She stumbled towards the exit, growing more eager the closer she came, and just as she was about to step through, came crashing into a wall of glass, fuelled with electricity so strong it knocked her off her feet and back into the room. It was as though Thor himself had slammed her in the chest with his hammer. Groaning, tasting blood, Freya didn’t make a second attempt to break through the glass. She was trapped.

"Save your strength," a voice said, slightly muffled by the wall between her and the one talking. "You'll need it when they come for you. They do a lot of things that put that shock you got to shame until they figure out how your powers tick. And when they do... well, who knows if your life gets better once they do - no one from these cells ever returned. Go figure."

Freya dragged herself over to the wall, curiously examining each tile within her reach for signs of weakness. She found none.

"Who are they? What is this place?" she asked, her voice hoarse and with a slight tremor from the recent shock.

There was a burst of quiet laughter, a tired, worn sound.

"Well, they're human. Not witches, as far as I saw, and not vampires or whatever else... Maybe that's why we're here - because they're not, and we are the abominations on the face of their world."

A modern-day witch hunt? Freya briefly pondered this possibility, a bad taste rising in the back of her throat at the thought of puritans getting a second wind.

"Are there others here?" she asked, slumping against the wall in exhaustion. "Have you seen any children?"

If this was where Elaine, Cecilia and Beatrice had been taken, what were the chances they were still alive?

"Surely there are others here... somewhere. I don't know about children, I didn't see much - it's not like they take you on a tour. The only tour you get is to their torture chambers and back to your cell if you're still breathing when they're done with you for the day."

Freya swallowed thickly. The thought of those young girls being tortured was hard to bear. And she didn’t much care for the prospect of being tormented either. Of course, this only hardened her resolve to escape this place – alive and with the other prisoners in tow.

“What’s your name?” Freya asked eventually, eyeing the wall separating her from the male voice on the other side.

Before she could receive an answer, a figure approached her cell. It was man, tall and muscular, clad in a dark uniform. He looked at her for a brief moment before reaching for something by the cell door. The glass slid open with a soft hiss, and he stepped inside.

Freya had no intentions of allowing her visitor any further. She raised her hand, palm facing the man with the meaning to make his heart shrivel up and die within his chest. It was simple enough for a witch with her strength, and she had performed it many times before. But now, nothing happened.

A thrill of panic shot through her at this realization.

Freya had never utilized weapons before. She didn't have to, because she was the deadliest weapon of all. But now, her powers failing her, she wished for a sword, an axe, hell, even a penknife would do. Without any such advances, there was only one thing left to do. Freya got to her feet and as the uniformed man reached for her, lunged for him, driving her shoulder into his chest, catching him off guard and knocking him to the floor. Before she could escape through the open gate, however, another pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pinning her hands to her sides like a straitjacket. She had been caught by someone much larger and much stronger than her. No matter how much she writhed and struggled, the muscular arms kept their vice-like hold on her body.

"We've got a feisty one," Freya's captor declared. "Best get the needle out."

The needle? What did he mean by that? What did they intend to do with a needle?

The man Freya had previously assaulted was back on his feet. He looked mildly annoyed with the current events but did not voice a complaint. Instead, he reached for a syringe tucked away in the pocket of his cargo pants. Nearing Freya, he uncapped the syringe and swiftly drove it into the side of her throat.

Freya groaned sharply, the sensation very unpleasant, bordering on painful. Almost at once, she felt her limbs become heavy with exhaustion. Her vision became blurred, her surroundings spinning as her eyelids drooped. She couldn't fight anymore. She couldn't do anything but watch in horror as a padded stretcher was wheeled into her cell, and she was lifted and placed upon it, strapped down like a mental patient. Her head lolled to the side, and as she was wheeled out into the hallway she was just able to catch a glimpse at the dark-haired man in the cell next to her before she succumbed to sleep.

---

“I told you not to use the sedatives unless it was an emergency.”

“She was fightin’ us pretty hard, ma’am. We—“

“You, two soldiers of the US army, failed to restrain a 120lb girl? Pathetic. Get out of my sight.”

Unfamiliar voices were what welcomed Freya as she regained consciousness. For the second time that day, she was met with a blinding light that left her unable to open her eyes fully. It wasn’t until the female voice that had spoken earlier, sounded in her ear that she realized someone was shining a flashlight in her face.

“Pupils slightly dilated, but they should return to normal once the sedatives are out of the subject’s system.”

Freya groaned in objection, feeling a strong urge to swat the torch out of her line of sight, only to find her hands were tightly fastened at her sides.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” The female voice said. There was a click of a switch being flicked, and the bright light vanished.

Blinking furiously, Freya’s eyes finally adjusted. A pale redhead in her mid-forties was standing over her, smiling serenely as though she was greeting a loved one for a tea party. She wore a white coat upon which the name Marcia Caldwell, M.D. was embroidered just above her heart.

“I’m sure you’re scared and confused and wondering what is going on, but I assure you, as long as you co-operate, everything will be fine,” Dr Caldwell continued, brushing a stray lock of hair from Freya’s forehead.

Freya was indeed confused and a little frightened. She had a lot of questions that needed answering, but at the present moment she was unable to say much at all. Her mind was still foggy and unfocused from whatever substance had been injected into her veins earlier, and it was all she could do to remain awake and somewhat alert.

“Now you just relax while I take your vitals,” the doctor said, “And when you feel more awake we can have a chat.”

She lifted the stethoscope from around her neck and put it on, lowering the cleavage of Freya’s shirt to gain access to her chest. She listened intently for what seemed like almost a full minute before she finally withdrew.

“Heart rate is stable,” she muttered into a small device Freya recognized as a voice recorder. “No anomalies.”

The doctor shuffled about, and soon something was clamped down on Freya’s middle finger. It didn’t hurt, but it was unpleasant nonetheless. She tried to turn her head enough to see what Dr Caldwell was doing, but a strap wrapped tightly about her neck hindered her from moving too much.

After a few moments, the device was removed, and the doctor muttered into her recorder again.

“Pulse: 75. Lower than expected, considering…” she shot a look at Freya, seemed to think better of what she had intended to say and continued. “Oxygen levels: 98.”

She didn’t make a comment to explain whether those numbers were good or not. Freya, who had never been to a doctor before in her life, had no idea.

“Let’s take your blood pressure. You’re going to feel a tightening in your arm, but it will only last for a minute or so.”

Dr Caldwell wrapped a cuff about Freya’s upper arm. It was attached to a small pump she started squeezing as soon as she had pressed her stethoscope just above the crevice of Freya’s cuffed arm. The cuff filled with air and began to strain. Again, the procedure wasn’t painful, but it felt as though her arm was slowly losing circulation.

“BP 120/80. Excellent!” Dr Caldwell exclaimed after a while, looking down on Freya and positively beaming.

“Lastly, we’ll take some blood tests and then you can return to your room.”

Room? Cell was more like it. Prison of torment.

“What…What are you…going to do with it?” Freya managed to croak, unable to keep the concern out of her voice as the doctor disappeared across the room with three vials of her blood. She didn’t like this at all. Blood was power. Especially her blood. And she was reluctant to let it go.

“Oh, we’ll just analyze it. Make sure you’re healthy,” Dr Caldwell replied as she returned to Freya’s bed. “Of course, thanks to the two brutes who escorted you here, and their fondness for sedatives, we may have to redo the tests at a later time. It can compromise the results, you see. Personally, I don’t think they should be authorized to carry such strong medication, but the boss says otherwise.” She sighed heavily as if this was causing her an inordinate amount of trouble.

“Now, can you tell me your name, sweetheart?” she continued, a friendly smile Freya didn’t trust spreading on her face.

Freya didn’t reply. She simply stared back at the woman with increasing defiance.

“Don’t want to talk, huh? That’s okay,” the doctor said, making a note on a clipboard. “You’ll just be Subject 28 for now.”

Why 28, Freya wondered. Did that mean she was the 28th individual to have been captured? All the other cells she had seen were empty. Except for the one with the male witch. Had 26 witches before her, come here and died? It was a sickening thought.

As Freya was wheeled back to her cell, she made certain to keep her head turned, facing the row of empty cubicles until she caught another glimpse of her fellow prisoner. He was young, perhaps in his early twenties, and he was strikingly handsome. Though it seemed some of the mischief that may have once sparkled in his eyes was dulled. How many tests had he been through? What kind of tests? He had mentioned torture. Freya was certain she would find out for herself soon enough.

---

The guards dropped Freya on the cold floor of her cell, seemingly unconcerned when her head hit the hard surface. She winced and tried to sit up, determined to give her magic another try, but by the time she had managed to get herself in a somewhat upright position, the guards were gone. The man in the next cell appeared to have been sleeping when she passed. At least, he had been lying flat on his back with both arms tucked beneath his head. If this sedative-business is a daily routine here, Freya thought, then she could not blame him for resting despite the vulnerable position he was putting himself in. She could barely keep her eyes open herself.

“Hey. Are you awake?” Freya called softly when she was absolutely certain their cell block as empty. “What’s your name? And what has happened to my powers?”

A faint groan. "Now I am. Your powers are with you, just dormant. Sedated. When all you wanna do is sleep or die at last, magic can't do much. You need strength and emotions to make it work. Their shots take it away." There was a pause with a faint shuffle - he might be sitting up or changing position. "Name's Kai."

Freya reached for the side of her neck, fingertips searching for that sore spot of skin the needle had entered sometime earlier. It made sense, she supposed, that the substance that had knocked her out also dampened her powers. But to make them disappear completely? Even as her body recovered? It was worrying, especially if the effect was permanent.

“Kai...” Freya repeated softly. “I’m Freya.” She scooted along the floor until she neared that dreaded electrified window, careful not to make any contact yet attempting to peer down the corridor and around the corners.

“I was unconscious when they brought me in,” she said. “Do you know which direction the exit is located?”

"Direction wouldn't matter if we had our magic up and running. Or maybe you already have? That'd make you the first one lucky like that."

"I've got nothing," Freya admitted, moving back from the glass as a guard passed by. "But I don't plan on letting them subdue me another time."

He laughed. A rueful but hearty laugh. "Oh, honey, you wouldn't believe how many times I told myself the very same thing."

Freya’s heart sank. She wanted to tell him: “Well, I’m special”, but decided to put her arrogance away for now. Her magic had failed her for the first time ever, and this was no time for her usual self-assurance. “How long until you stopped trying?”

He gave a bitter chuckle. "Who said I did? I might as well lie down and die then, but oh wait, no, they won't let me die. Life's a bitch. Sometimes it makes you live."

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Freya muttered under her breath, having had her fair share of experience in that particular area. “How often do they come and take you to see Dr Caldwell?”

"Gee, I lost count," Kai said with a little bitter laugh. "And the funny part is, you can't tell time in here. So, who knows how often that happens? Then there's pain, heavy head, jumbled thoughts and no will to live, so there's absolutely no way to keep any systematic track of it." He went silent for a while, then added: "I guess it only stops when there's nothing else they can get out of you. If they find you don't work for them - you get a pass out of here. Probably in a box, 'cause," another laugh, "look around. No one else is here except for ghosts. Sometimes I think I'm one myself." A pause. "Maybe I am."

That was the last the two of them spoke for a very long time. How long exactly, Freya did not know. There were no windows or skylights to help her determine whether night had fallen or if the sun was still out, yet she found her own way of separating night from day. The stretches of time when the hallway outside her cell would be frequented by people in lab-coats and guards in pairs, that was daytime. It had to be. Night was quieter. She rarely saw anyone then, but she was certain there were guards close by. Just in case.

Freya’s determination to fight her captors dwindled away at the same time the hunger pains set in. She had experienced true starvation before while on the run from Dahlia, but at least then she had been free to move around. Not confined to the same square room of white tiles and bright lights that never went out. Those damn lights.

When a slot in the back wall finally opened, and a tray of food was pushed through, Freya could barely stop herself from pouncing. She already had the bowl of porridge cupped in her hands, when shuffling sounds from next door reminded her of Kai’s presence. He was eating, too. Greedily, judging from the sound. Freya couldn’t blame him. Who knew how long it had been since he last had a decent meal?

Still, the thought of him brought back the memory of his previous words.

“Sedatives. Their shots take your magic away.”

The warm, sweet porridge suddenly lost some of its appeal. What if the sedatives weren’t limited to injections? What it...?

In a flash of anger, Freya hurled the bowl at the glass pane keeping her prisoner. She immediately regretted it. The electric barrier did its job well. The scent of burned plastic quickly spread through the room, making her insides contract with nausea.

---

Someone was screaming. A scream that could chill anyone to the bone, giving the illusion invisible insects were crawling upon one’s skin. It was a terrible sound of agony, and desperation for relief. Freya did not realize until much later, that the cry produced was hers.

“So, you see, sir. The serum I have concocted – Serum 394 – is very effective. The subject was given her last dose yesterday, and it is still keeping her magic at bay. We have staged a number of various scenarios that will most often summon a witch’s need for self-defence: anger, sorrow, fear, and of course, as you’ve just witnessed, pain. The latter has proved most efficient. Through these tests, I have been able to modify the serum, strengthen it, so much so it could be days until its effects wear off.”

Freya was only able to identify Dr Caldwell by her flaming red hair. She floated in and out of Freya’s vision, along with a man in a suit she had never seen before. The room beyond them appeared only as a white wall, unable to capture her attention enough for details to emerge. She was back in the examination quarters, strapped to her gurney. Her entire body was shivering. A burning pain had taken hold of her left hand. Her head lolled to the side and after what seemed an eternity, Freya’s hazy vision settled on the source of her agony. She screamed once more. No one seemed to notice.

“I don’t pay you to suppress their magic!” The man in the suit was speaking now, angrily. “You are supposed to find a way to use their powers for our benefit, transfer it to our own agents.”

Freya’s hand was unrecognisable, pinned down by a thick leather strap away from her body, still attached to her arm by bone, sinew and muscle that were all visible through the deep wound. The skin that remained seemed to have bubbled like lava, angry and red and had now settled, cooled down in uneven rivulets. The pain continued to be excruciating, so badly she could barely register the people watching her like some sort of art project.

“And instead you’ve made yourself a little burrow, stolen close to three dozen US witches with the power we seek, and you waste them on stunts like this. Playing with acid and knives and needles.” Again it was the man speaking. “I don’t care what you do in your spare-time, Caldwell, but if this research of yours don’t yield results, you will be replaced.”

Freya tried to move her fingers, searching for the slightest of twitches. They remained still.

“Yes, sir,” Dr Caldwell’s voice replied, humble and frightened.

“I want to see what someone like her can do if forced,” the male continued slowly. His shadow fell onto Freya’s body as he moved closer. She ignored it. “Make her perform.”

Dr Caldwell hesitated. “But, sir, as I explained earlier...Serum 394 is still in this subject’s system. It would be impossible for her to practise magic right now.”

Freya’s eyes watered with tears as she continued to examine her deformed hand. To her audience, this may have appeared to be a reaction to the pain or the loss of a body part, and to a certain degree, it was. She didn’t like to consider herself a vain woman, but now, faced with the prospect of not being...whole...Freya found herself worrying.

And still, it was not these concerns that played the biggest part in her watery gaze, but rather a deep concentration that attempted to settle upon her hand. The doctor’s machines may not have been able to pick up on the subtle signs, but Freya knew better. No matter how deeply her magic was buried at the present moment, it was still there, and at the height of her agony some minutes ago, she had felt it stirring.

#freya mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #marcel gerard #davina claire #kai parker #fanfiction #writing #my writing #writers of tumblr #the originals #unfinished

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