#how do you choose the worst short of five | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hungermakesmonsters · 7 months ago

Text

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Fourteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Slight smuttiness and angst that might make you scream. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : I'm dialling the angst up to 11...

MASTER LIST

Chapter Fourteen

Everything changed.

It felt like it had when you’d first taken the job, like you were alone in the penthouse with no idea of where Billy was or if he’d even come home the night before. The only indicator was the blood you left for him; if it was gone, that meant he was home but some days it would collect until there were three or four days worth waiting for him.

Those days were the worst.

You hated not knowing where he was or if he was drinking someone else’s blood, wondering if you weren’t enough for him anymore, if your blood wasn’t enough. If he stopped taking your blood, you knew you’d have no purpose there.

Day after day, your thoughts spiralled, and you hated yourself for how much of your time was spent thinking about him.

Despite her promises, Karen hadn’t been to see you. Instead, when Thursday had rolled around you’d been greeted by a note from Billy, lacking all the charm and feeling of his previous notes.

Karen asked me to let you know that she can’t see you today because of work.

The next week there was a similar note. It made sense, you supposed; she’d missed work to look after you for a week, she probably had to make up for lost time. Or, maybe she just didn’t want to see you again. You wouldn’t have blamed her, not when you’d caused so much chaos in the lives of her and those around her. Either way, it meant you were stuck in the penthouse. Alone.

It wasn’t long before you fell back into old habits, following a little routine every day to try and keep yourself from losing your mind; exercise in the morning, followed by a shower, preparing and cooking dinner, and some reading and baking in between.

You still sat out in the penthouse during the day, in your favourite spot on the sofa, alternating between taking in the view and reading, but you didn’t dare linger until sunset anymore.

Every few minutes you found yourself looking at your watch, knowing exactly when to head to your room, knowing with almost pinpoint precision how to avoid him. By day the penthouse was yours and, once late afternoon started to give way to evening, it was Billy’s. As it always should have been. As per your contract.

So, when he chose to slip out of his room far earlier than expected, you weren’t sure whether to be shocked or annoyed.

It was the first time you’d seen him since he’d tried to pay you to leave, and being near him again was enough to remind you that that wound still hadn’t started to heal. You tried not to watch as he made his way to the kitchen.

For a moment you waited, expecting him to do whatever he was doing and then return to his room. Only he didn’t and that prompted you to start moving.

“What are you reading now?” He dared to ask, watching you as you closed your book and started to gather up your things.

The question caught you off-guard, it made you think of how things had been only a few short weeks before, it reminded you of all the times you’d sat and discussed literature, the way he’d always wanted to know your thoughts and feelings on whatever you were reading.

But things weren’t like that anymore, and the question felt weighted, like he was trying to draw you back in, even though he’d been the one to try and send you away.

“The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,” you answered, your words coming out sharper than intended, making it sound almost like an insult. And, a moment after you said it you realised how it might seem to him, how he might draw parallels between the book and his own situation.

Billy didn’t respond straight away and you took it as your cue to leave, tucking the book and the pack of Oreos under your bad arm. You heard him sigh as you turned away but didn’t think to look back.

“Hummingbird,” he called after you and, then, your name when that didn’t work, a hint of desperation in his tone.

It made your heart ache.

You kept walking, speeding up, wanting to reach your room and close the door on this uncomfortable experience. But Billy didn’t want to give you that.

Your breath caught and you flinched as his hand wrapped around your wrist, reminding you of the night he’d lost control. Billy noticed your panic immediately and let go of you before taking a step back, giving you a little bit of space but nowhere near what you wanted. It took a moment before you could bring yourself to turn and look at him and, when you did, you found that you hated the look of anguish on his face.

“What do you want, Billy?” You asked, barely holding back a sigh.

“This is unbearable,” he told you.

It was. Everything about the last couple of weeks had been so much worse than you ever could have imagined when you first decided that you were going to stay against his wishes.

You quickly found that you couldn’t look at him, that you didn’t want to see the torrent of emotions from behind his dark eyes.

“This is what you wanted,” you muttered.

“I didn’t want this.”

“No, that’s right, you wanted me gone completely,” you said, your voice betraying the pain you still felt at that fact.

The last thing you expected was for him to take your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. Seconds ticked by and he just stared, his gaze seeming to look right through you. His head shook.

“That’s not what I wanted,” he replied softly.

When you tried to look away, his hold remained firm.

“You didn’t want me anymore,” you told him. “You tried to send me away.”

“You think I don’t want you?”

“Of course you don’t.”

His head shook again and, before you realised what he was doing, he’d closed the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. He stepped closer, trying to eliminate the space between you, causing you to step back. Billy didn’t let you pull away from him, continuing to kiss you until you felt the door at your back.

“Billy -” you managed to pull your lips from his for a moment, but anything that followed was quickly muffled by another kiss.

It was easy to surrender to it. Far easier than you would have liked. For a moment you kissed him back, feeling his hand drop from your cheek to your neck, fingers over your racing pulse. He pressed closer, filling you with a longing that you’d been trying so hard to forget. Your lips parted, allowing him to deepen the kiss, allowing him to make you want.

You wanted to melt into him, to lose yourself in his embrace, in his kiss. In him.

For a few wonderful seconds, you forgot everything that wasn’t him, allowing yourself to believe that the moment would continue to escalate. Your thighs clenched at the familiar press of his erection against your hip, and you let your hand grip his shirt at his waist, not wanting it to end.

For a moment you felt wanted again, like you could really belong here, in his life. For a moment it almost felt real.

But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not now, not after everything that had happened.

Reluctantly, you placed your hand on his chest and pushed him back. Billy choked back a desperate noise, giving you only a fraction of the space you wanted. His hand remained on your neck, fingers curled against skin, as if wanted to hold onto you in any way that he could.

You watched as his tongue ran over his lower lip as he struggled to find the words.

“Please,” he muttered softly, his voice causing your stomach to knot, “let me...”

He leaned in again and you allowed his lips to ghost yours before turning your head. The shuddered sigh that left him was almost enough to break your heart completely. As much as you wanted to be strong, you wanted to give in just as much. You wanted to close your eyes and let him kiss you, you wanted to pretend that the last few weeks hadn’t happened.

His hands pulled away from you, though not by much. He placed each on the door on either side of your head, keeping you boxed in as he lowered his head in shame.

“I just...” He started and stopped just as quickly.

You weren’t sure you even wanted to know what he wanted to say or how he was feeling. It felt like too much to bear, like you couldn’t carry the weight of your own emotions along with his.

It took a few seconds for you to realise that your hand was still pressed against his chest, over a heart that barely gave a beat.

Finally you shook your head.

“This isn’t fair,” you muttered.

Billy finally dared to look up, the flicker of hope on his face quickly extinguished when his gaze met yours. You didn’t dare ask what he thought you’d meant by the comment but it was clear he now understood what you really meant; he wasn’t being fair.

“I can’t do this again,” you confessed, your voice little more than a whisper, and almost immediately regretted the words when you felt him tense beneath your hand. “It hurts too much when it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“Don’t say that,” he said as his chest lurched. “Of course it means something.”

“It means something now, because you want something now,” you said, trying so hard not to break down completely. “What about tomorrow, or next week, or the next time something bad happens? The next time you decide it’s better for me to not be here anymore?”

The change in him was visceral, his hands finally pulling away from the wall, the corner of his lips curling. When he pulled back, he stood at full height, making you feel impossibly small, practically looking down his nose at you. Gone was the pleading look of desperation and the flashes of shame, leaving a nothingness on his face as he looked at you a moment longer.

It was as if a mask had dropped and you were finally seeing him for the first time. Your hand dropped lifelessly to your side and you bristled, holding your breath and ready to move at a moment's notice.

But nothing happened.

“Fine,” was all he said before pulling away from you and heading towards the elevator.

You remained pressed back against the door, barely daring to draw breath as he left, running away instead of daring to admit that you were right. Even though you knew it was for the best and that you’d done the right thing, there was a pang of regret deep in your gut and a feeling of inconsolable loneliness that you weren’t sure you could handle.

The next few days, you watched as the blood in the fridge started to pile up, and there was no sign of him in the penthouse. Another Thursday came and, this time, there wasn’t even a note to tell you Karen wasn’t coming. You waited, daring to hope, but by mid afternoon you’d given up on ever seeing her again.

Another week passed and you continued on, refusing to give in and give him what he wanted. You kept drawing blood and leaving it for him, content to fill the whole damned fridge just to prove a point. You weren’t going to stop doing your job just because he’d rejected you. It became something of a passive aggressive statement, making sure you wrote the date on the jar in big, bold numbers, even going as far as to start doodling little smiley faces on them.

You didn’t allow yourself to think about him, to wonder where he was or what he was doing for blood. The thought of him having someone else’s blood still turned your stomach and caused a jealousy inside you that you couldn’t quite temper.

But, when your period hit, you found you couldn’t help but miss him. You missed his notes, his little gifts, and the way he’d always be waiting for you. Now you were alone, with nothing but the stupid bear and stuffed beagle for company. It didn’t stop you from drawing blood, didn’t stop you from doing your job, but it was definitely the closest you got to quitting.

Somehow, you made it through, refusing to feel anything when there were thirteen jars of blood in the fridge. It was just your job to provide blood, you told yourself, if Billy chose to waste it, that was on him.

The only problem, you realised, was the cast on your arm; it had been about six weeks, and you hadn’t seen a doctor since. You knew that, eventually, you’d have to use the intercom and ask Lissa about it if Billy didn’t return, otherwise you could be stuck in the cast for the rest of your year there.

At around ten on Friday evening, you finally heard the sound of the elevator and movement in the penthouse.

You pressed your ear to the door separating your rooms from the penthouse, trying to build up the courage to face him, practising what you were going to say while your hand gripped the door handle. But, then you heard something else; a laugh. A woman’s laugh. Your heart sank at all the possibilities, a thousand terrible scenarios playing out in your head.

Wasn’t this what you wanted? For Billy to give up on you and move on?

Yes.

No.

Your chest tightened and it got harder to breathe, your stomach threatening to turn itself inside out. You loved him, but he didn’t love you. That had been painfully clear for weeks now.

He’d found someone else and he’d brought her home. You didn’t know whether to be jealous or worried about what might happen. Would he fuck her? Would he hurt her?

There was only a slight sense of relief when, about twenty minutes later, you heard the elevator again and more voices. Music started playing, like there was a party going on out there - a party that you weren’t invited to.

You moved back to your room, settling on talking to Lissa about your arm and your need to see a doctor, resigning yourself to avoiding Billy for the foreseeable future. You got comfortable and tried to ignore the noise from the party that only seemed to be getting louder and louder as the minute passed.

Less than an hour later, a knock on your door startled you, and you were slow to go and see who it was. Your mind racing over what you might do if it was Billy standing out there, what you might say to him.

“Hey, there you are,” Karen smiled at you, “we were looking for you.”

Matt was at her side, his arm looped with hers, smiling.

“What?” You answered, obviously confused.

“At the party. We were looking for you,” Karen stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why are you hiding in here? Aren’t you feeling well?”

“No, that’s not -” you shook your head, more confused than ever, “- I wasn’t invited.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told you, not giving you a chance to protest as she grabbed your arm and started to pull you out of your room. “Of course you’re invited.”

“She dragged me here too,” Matt said, barely holding back a smirk. “It’s best not to fight it when she gets like this.”

“No, wait, you don’t understand -” you protested, voice threatening to break.

They both stopped, attention fully on you. For a moment you felt like you might burst into tears. It was overwhelming. You felt suffocated by the situation.

There were so many things you wanted to say, so many thoughts and feelings that had been bottled up inside you over the last few weeks, but when your mouth opened, all you were able to say was; “he doesn’t want me out there.”

“Yeah, well, fuck what Billy wants,” Karen said. “If he has anything to say about it, he can say it to me.”

You relented realising it was futile when she started to pull on you again, leading you out into the penthouse.

The party wasn’t quite what you expected. There was none of the style and propriety of his vampire night party and, instead, it looked more like you’d wandered into a frat party. You glanced around uncomfortably, easily finding Billy in the kitchen with two beautiful women hanging off him and a third looking at him like he was the only other person in the room.

It took a moment or two, but he eventually looked your way. You held his gaze for a split second before his attention returned to his guests, as if you didn’t even exist. As if you didn’t matter. And Karen didn’t miss the exchange.

“Okay, what’s going on?” She asked, finally seeming to understand that something was seriously amiss.

You glanced at Matt who seemed just as interested to hear your answer, even though he didn’t really know all of the details like Karen did. Your cheeks warmed and your gaze dropped.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid,” you answered with a forced shrug. “We had an argument a couple of weeks ago and I haven’t really seen him since.”

“He’s been avoiding you?” Matt offered.

“He hasn’t even been here,” you answered.

“Wait, what?” Suddenly it was Karen’s turn to act surprised. “If he hasn’t been here, how did he know you were still sick?”

“What? Still sick? I haven’t been sick...”

Karen looked like she’d been hit by a sudden realisation, the smile dropping from her face completely.

“That son of a bitch...”

Before you could even ask, Karen had let go of your arm and had started striding across the penthouse towards Billy, looking angrier than you’d ever seen her.

“I wouldn’t want to be Russo right now,” Matt muttered under his breath.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“He told Karen that you were sick from the stress of everything that’s happened lately, and that the doctor had recommended complete bed rest,” Matt explained. “We were all kinda worried, so when Karen heard he was throwing a party, she thought that meant you were finally feeling better.”

An awkward sound managed to claw its way from you, something so painful that it almost sounded like a sob. He’d deliberately lied to you. Again. He’d gone out of his way to isolate you, and left you feeling unwanted and alone.

When you took a step back, set on returning to your room, Matt’s hand took yours. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

“He made me think no one wanted to see me...” you muttered in little more than a whisper, not expecting Matt to even hear it over the loud music.

You watched from across the room as Karen stopped in front of Billy, quickly clearing away the women who’d been hanging on his every word. He looked annoyed, then just as angry as Karen. Her finger was jabbing at his chest and your heart nearly stopped when Billy took hold of her wrist to force away her hand. There was no telling where Frank had come from, but the moment Billy laid a hand on Karen, he was at her side making sure Billy didn’t repeat the mistake.

And, while you couldn’t hear what was being said, it was very clear that Karen was explaining what Billy had done to you when all eyes looked your way.

You took another step back and felt Matt’s hand squeeze yours, trying to reassure you.

“I should go, I should -”

“You have every right to be here,” he told you, “he has no right to keep you prisoner.”

It didn’t strike you until Matt said it that that was precisely what Billy had been doing. You’d been willing to agree to the idea of not going out alone, but by stopping anyone from taking you out, he was effectively making you a captive.

Billy’s gaze burned into you for a few moments before returning to Frank and Karen, obviously trying to respond and defend himself from whatever criticisms they were levelling at him.

“I need a drink,” you decided, moving towards the library and pulling Matt along with you.

Billy had a small liquor cabinet in there, no doubt for the rare occasion he worked from home and made use of the desk in the library. You picked the bottle that looked the most expensive, and the most full, before grabbing two glasses, filling one for Matt and then filling one for yourself. He took a drink the moment he had his glass and then let out a huff of laughter.

“I always suspected he was hiding the good stuff.”

His little joke almost managed to bring a smile to your lips.

Ordinarily you didn’t drink whiskey. Growing up it had been classified as a man’s drink, and it wasn’t proper for you to drink it. The moment you took your first sip and felt it burn down the back of your throat, you found yourself almost believing it.

“Oh god,” you muttered, “that’s awful.”

Matt laughed fondly before taking another drink, seemingly unaffected by the burn.

“You get used to it,” he shrugged.

“I’m not sure I want to.” Though that didn’t stop you from taking another large gulp from the glass, coughing as it set your throat ablaze.

Matt was quiet for a few moments before he finally asked; “do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and didn’t say a word.

“Did you shake your head?” He asked a few seconds later, and you realised your mistake.

“Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry,” you said, feeling your cheeks start to burn.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he told you, still smiling at you, like he was glad to just be around you. “I think it might help, though - talking about it, I mean. I think you’ve been in here on your own so long that maybe an outside perspective might help you figure things out.”

There was nothing forceful about his comment, nothing that seemed to suggest he’d keep pushing if you said no. And, after a moment of thought, you wondered if maybe he was right.

So, you started to explain.

You used broad strokes, not giving away any part of things that weren’t yours to tell; you told him how alone you’d felt when you’d first arrived, how you and Billy had bonded over literature, and how spending time together had developed into something more physical. You made sure to tell him that you’d always consented, that you’d wanted it and had even agreed to it being something purely physical. Leaving out mentions of his illness and times he’d lost control.

Once you were done, Matt was silent, thoughtfully sipping his drink.

“You fell for him,” he stated softly, and you didn’t have it in you to argue.

“We agreed it wouldn’t be like that,” you sighed. “He doesn’t know, I didn’t tell him. He doesn’t want me here anymore.”

Again, there was silence. You drained your glass and quickly refilled it, before topping up Matt’s glass for him.

“It’s not your fault, you know?” He offered. “Billy keeping you here, keeping you isolated - that’s on him. Especially since he already knows how it affects you.”

“He’s trying to make me quit...”

“Maybe it’s worth considering,” Matt said, shrugging. “Do you really want to keep doing this? Letting him play these mind games with you?”

“It’s... complicated,” you sighed, knowing better than to tell a lawyer about your predicament. “Anyway, it’s not like he could do anything worse...”

“That’s a terrible way of looking at things,” he said with a hint of a smile on his lips that almost had you laughing.

He was right, of course, but the ridiculousness of it all made it funny in an awful sort of way.

Grabbing the bottle again, you decided to take hold of Matt again, telling him that you were going to find Karen and have your own party in your room with Billy’s expensive whiskey, and seemed more than willing to oblige.

You took a deep breath before stepping out into the party. More people had arrived in the half an hour or so you’d been in the library with Matt, and the party seemed to be in full swing. Looking around, you tried to stop Karen, instead finding Billy, surrounded again by his trio of beautiful women.

As they spoke, one leaned into him, pressing her lip to his, and you felt your heart shatter in your chest.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, feeling your arm involuntarily tighten around his.

“Nothing,” you muttered, your eyes fixed on Billy and the woman kissing him, watching her fingers running through his hair and -

The kiss broke and Billy looked your way, an indiscernible look on his face, and you felt sick.

“Come on,” you told Matt, starting to lead him towards your rooms. “Karen can come find us.”

Matt agreed and you quickly pulled him through the door and closed it behind you, not daring to look back at Billy again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked once you were both settled on the sofa in your room.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied, betrayed by your own voice.

You knocked back another drink before refilling both of your glasses, content to sit silently. Matt didn’t try to push for conversation. He was just there. Silently supportive while you tried to rationalise what you’d seen.

Billy wasn’t yours. He didn’t want you. It shouldn’t have mattered that he was kissing someone else. But it did, it hurt so fucking much.

Soon enough your glass was empty again and you could feel the effect of the alcohol. It didn’t numb the pain like you’d hoped, in fact, it seemed to be making it worse. But that didn’t stop you from pouring yourself another.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Matt offered gently, placing his hand on your arm.

“Why did you ask me to go to dinner with you?” You asked abruptly, ignoring his suggestion.

“What?”

“The night we met, you asked me to go to dinner with you... or for coffee...”

He’d been so kind that night, keeping you company and making sure you felt included, and you - you’d be so caught up on thoughts of Billy that you’d barely noticed. Matt was alway so kind, so attentive, and all you did was think about Billy when you were around him.

“Because I wanted to take you out,” he shrugged.

“On a date?”

“Well, yeah -”

Before he could finish, you let go of your last scrap of common sense and leaned towards him, surprising him with a kiss. Despite being stunned for a moment, Matt didn’t push you away, instead he indulged the moment, letting you deepen the kiss. You quickly lost yourself to it, trying to hide from your pain by pressing yourself closer to him.

“Are you sure you want -” he said against your lips, only to be cut off by another kiss. And it seemed to be all the answer he needed.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but you soon found yourself on your back with Matt on top of you. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, fingers finding taut muscles as you pulled him closer.

He didn’t kiss like Billy and, when his hands started to explore the curves of your body, you realised that he didn’t touch like Billy either. He didn’t steal your breath away or make you feel like the world could end at any moment.

No matter what he did, or how you tried to lose yourself in the moment, Matt just wasn’t Billy.

Your hips moved, pressing up against his, moaning into the kiss when you felt his erection.

You weren’t being fair but you were too drunk and heartbroken to care. That is, until his hand slipped into your panties beneath your leggings. Your breath caught, threatening to choke you, but it wasn’t enough to make you stop, even though it was Billy’s fingers you were craving between your legs.

Matt wanted you. Billy didn’t. And that was all you wanted to think about.

You just wanted someone to want you.

His fingers circled your clit, drawing gasped breaths from you, while his other hand had slipped beneath your top to grope your breasts. Your body felt like it was on autopilot, responding because that was what it was supposed to do and not because it desperately needed his touch.

Pulling from the kiss, his lips moved to your neck, and even that made you think of Billy and the way his every touch seemed obsessed with any place he could feel your racing heart.

Your eyes closed tight, trying to think of all the reasons you should want this, why Matt was better for you than Billy, but you couldn’t. In theory, Matt was perfect and, more than that, Matt actually wanted you. But Billy, in all his fucked up glory, was the one you loved so desperately and painfully that you couldn’t even allow yourself to indulge in one moment of pleasure without him.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, no doubt noticing the sudden tension in your body.

“I -” you needed a second, suddenly feeling on the brink of tears at how awful you were being, “- I’m sorry, I-I can’t do this...”

Matt slowly pulled back, and you could feel the shame burning across your cheeks as you righted your clothes. You hated yourself, hated how disgusting the whole thing had made you feel; he’d been so nice and you’d taken advantage of him. You were no better than Billy.

“I’m sorry, I -”

“It’s okay,” he told you, sounding a little breathless but, surprisingly, not upset.

“I just -”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he said, “I get it, you’re going through a lot right now. We both just got caught up in the moment.”

“Why are you being so nice about this?” You asked in a choked up tone, struggling to keep your emotions in check.

“Because you’ve been through a lot lately and I know none of this has been easy for you.”

You didn’t know what you could say to that. There were no words to excuse what you’d done, but there was something you could say to at least explain it.

“He was kissing someone else.” The words tumbled out and, before you could stop yourself, the tears started to fall.

His arm pulled around you as you started to cry, hating yourself for being so weak, for still caring so much after everything Billy put you through. He muttered softly, trying to comfort you, but there was really nothing he could say or do to stop the tears once they started.

At some point Karen appeared, finding you drunk and sobbing in Matt’s arms, and decided to take control of the situation, ushering Matt from the room. She made sure to make you drink a glass of water before putting you to bed and trying to settle you. She sat on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair out of your face - an act that reminded you of your sister and the gaping hole that she had left in your life.

“You’re going to get through this,” she told you softly. “I promise I’m going to be around from now on. He’s not going to pull this shit again.”

As much as you wanted to believe her, you knew that Billy was going to keep trying to get you to leave. You just weren’t sure how much more you could take.

End Note : 😅 I promise that I have a plan, I just need you all to trust in the process. As always thank you so much for reading/commenting/liking/reblogging. Hope you all have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl @rachlovesactors @robertthehoover @ladyblacky

@goldenbeskar @mydarlingnana @strwbrrynd @cheshirecat484 @jvanilly

@ashy-kit @jazzclubprincess

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #billy russo fanfic #(ob)ts ff #billy russo imagine

145 notes · View notes

flowery-mess · 17 days ago

Text

in vino veritas

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / slight smut / drinking alcohol / let me know if anything else should be taged

Words: 2k

frat boy Noah masterlist

„So you can chose from this list of presentation topics or you can think of your own, but you need to discuss it with me in that case. Everything clear? Any questions?” your professor then ended the lesson and you turned to face Molly and Clara.

“How are we gonna do this? There’s three of us.” Clara said, pointing between the three of you. You were just assigned new team project, team meaning two people.

“Ella can be with Noah, they can work on their project after their sex sessions.” Molly said, teasing you with playful smirk.

“Molly, fuck off.” you said with nice smile, showing her your middle finger.

“That’s not a bad idea actually.” Clara nodded along as the two of them looked like they just found cure for deadly disease.

“He has his buddies in this class, he’s not interested in doing school project with me.”

“One, two, three, four aaand five! Perfect!” Molly scanned the area where Noah and his friends sat, pretty happy with the number of them.

“Just text him, or one of us will end up with Anna again.”

“And you don’t want that for any of us!”

Anna was your classmate, short girl with long hair. Clara was paired up with her for another project and she said she’s rather have a bath full of spider than work with Anna again. She didn’t give you details, only that her dorm smells like sweat and that she told Clara she doesn’t take shower more than twice a week to save the planet.

“You’re the worst friends ever.” you ironically said when you pulled your phone out of your bag to text Noah.

“Any chance your friends ditched you for the project like mine?” you hit send and then turned your body so you could see Noah reach for his phone.

He read your text and chuckled before answering you.

“No, but I could ditch them for you.”

Before you could write your response he sent another message.

“Unless you want Trevor to be your partner.”

You looked up to see Noah looking back at you, his face without any emotion so you didn’t know if that Trevor message was just a joke or if he was serious.

“I don’t want Trevor to be my partner.” you sent your reply and before you could see his reaction, you turned back around to face your friends who were patiently waiting for your answer.

“Okay I’ll do it with Noah, but next time one of you will make the sacrifice.”

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

“Do you like any topic from the list?” Noah started the conversation when you two found a free table at the coffee shop in the campus.

“I haven’t read them all yet, do you like any of them?”

“I don’t really care about the topic, you can choose.”

“You sound like a perfect partner, let me see.” you opened the document with different topics and Noah sipped on his coffee. “Workplace diversity, Urbanization and its social impacts, Religion in moder communities, everything’s boring.”

You scrolled some more before something finally caught your eye. “This! Sociology of first impressions: expressions through appearance.” you pointed your finger in the middle of your screen where topic was written.

“Why this one?” Noah asked.

“Because I hate when people judge others based on their looks. I might get angry while doing this project.” you warned Noah, but that only got a chuckle out of him.

“Okay, sign us up for that one.” so you did write Noah Sebastian and Ella Thompson next to that topic so no one could steal it from you.

“Let’s make an outline and we can start on our own parts separately.”

You wrote down ideas and topics you wanted to talk about and when you finished your coffees you were pretty satisfied with the work you’ve done so far.

“How about we work on in at my place on Saturday?” Noah proposed when started packing your things.

“Oh, okay.” you said, surprised by his question. First, it meant that he planned on taking you back to his place on Friday and second, he wanted you to stay and not leave in the morning. But it was because of the project, you reminded yourself.

“Okay. Bye Ella.” he gave you quick salute and left the coffee shop.

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

Sitting on Noah’s couch on Saturday with schoolwork in front of you felt weird. Unnatural.

“So the introduction is done, we can change it as we go on with the rest. I was thinking we could do interview for the practical part of the project?” you looked up from your notes only to find Noah sitting on the floor with his head on the couch and eyes closed. “Noah!” you groaned and threw your pencil at him.

“What? I want to sleep.”

“This was your idea.” you reminded him.

He opened one eye to give the annoyed look, but he knew you were right. He was also a good student and wanted the project to be good, but he was also tired from the party last night and then your bedroom fun that lasted until 3AM.

“Okay. What did you say about the practical part?” he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat straight. Sleepy Noah kinda looked cute, but you were sure he was gonna change into angry Noah after you’re gonna propose your ides to him.

“I was thinking about an interview with someone extraordinary.”

“Like?”

“Like, well, you.”

His eyebrows shot up at your proposition “Me? You think I’m extraordinary?”

You couldn’t name the look in his eyes, but it almost looked like it made him sad and surprised at the same time.

“I mean yeah, look at you. You’re what this project is about. Don’t tell me no one ever judged you based on your tattoos.”

He was quiet, confirming what you just said out loud. It was true, he was familiar with the judgement from others based solely on the tattoos that were covering most of his body.

“I don’t think that’s allowed when I’m working on the project.” His answer was short and firm.

He knew that if he’d agreed you’d ask questions like why he got this and that tattoo, the meaning behind them or at what age he started with them. And he didn’t want you to know that, his covered body meant all the obstacles he had to overcome and he didn’t like talking about his past. But you didn’t know that, so before you could shut your mouth the question slipped out.

“Why do you have desolate on your stomach Noah?”

“Stop asking questions Ella, I told you no.”

“It can be anonymous, no one has to know it’s about you.”

“I said no.”

“It can be just few questions, like 5 to 10?” you just couldn’t help yourself and stop your mouth.

“Leave.”

“What?” you looked at Noah, confused by his sudden reaction.

“I don’t feel like working on the project anymore. We can have coffee on Monday and continue.”

He looked hurt, and suddenly you felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

But he didn’t answer, instead he started packing your things to show you he was serious about wanting you leave.

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

You didn’t talk about his tattoos on Monday, you talked about the theoretical part of the project. Noah was giving you the cold shoulder, not talking more than he had to.

You couldn’t stop thinking about his reaction to your question about the desolate tattoo. You always wondered what his tattoos mean when you saw him naked, but you never asked. Or you just didn’t have a good excuse to do so.

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

The next Friday you were both more drunk that usual, blaming the beer pong competition for it. When you made it to Noah’s place and you started taking each other’s clothes off, your drunk mind couldn’t help itself.

You slid your hands down Noah’s naked chest and stopped at the desolate tattoo.

“What does it mean Noah?” you asked him in a whisper, your mouth on his.

“What?”

“Desolate. Why do you have it on your body?”

“Because I’m desolate.” he confessed, the lust from his eyes fading away.

“That’s not a nice thing to say about yourself.”

“It’s the truth tho.” he dipped his head in the crook of your neck and started kissing your sensitive skin.

And you pieced all the things you knew about Noah together. He was living alone, in this big ass apartment, he never mentioned visiting his family for the holidays or someone’s birthday. He doesn’t have any pictures of him and his family around the place and his mom never called him at 6 in the morning like yours did.

“What about your family?” he stopped his movements and you felt his muscles tense under your touch.

He pushed himself off of you and sat on his bed, his tatted back facing you. You heard him sigh and push his hair out of his face.

“Why do you care about my family?” he asked just above a whisper.

“I don’t know. You never talked about any family members, you live here alone and you just told me you are a desolate.”

“We said just sex, no feelings. I think that includes this too.”

“Well I’m too drunk so I probably won’t remember shit in the morning.” you lied. And you felt guilty about, but you wanted to get to know him better and the alcohol just gave you courage to continue.

The alcohol probably made him more emotional too, because he believed that you won’t remember what he said to you that night, but how could you.

“I don’t have any family. Parents left me with my grandparents when I was a kid. Haven’t seen my mom since then and I only see my father if he needs money from me. My grandparents died when I was 15 and since then it was just me. I was left with their house and money. I worked through high school so I could afford good college. Sold the house when I was 19 and bought this place. But I got no one Ella, I am desolate. Always have been.” his head was hanging low, his breath became uneven and he closed his eyes to picture his three year old self asking his grandmother when will mom come pick him up.

“Noah,” you didn’t know what to say to his story, you were feeling sorry for him, but you were sure that wasn’t something he wanted to hear. “You made something from yourself, your grandparents would be proud.”

When he didn’t answer you shifted on your knees and pressed yourself at his back.

Noah fell asleep in your arms that night and your view on him changed. He was the great example for your project, how the outside of someone doesn’t reflect his inside.

But in the morning you pretended like you didn’t remember anything he told you and couldn’t figure if he really did not remember sharing his secrets with you, or if he actually didn’t remember.

You finished the project and got almost full score from your professor.

Things between you and Noah stayed the same, neither of you going back to that night or hiss desolate tattoo.

But every time you got the chance, you made sure to kiss those letters on his body to silently tell him he’s not a desolate.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Tag list: @lacy1986 @chey-h

Click here to get on my tag list

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens imagine #noah sebastian band #noah sebastian headcanons #frat boy noah

53 notes · View notes

mollymauk-teafleak · 11 days ago

Text

no one mourns the wicked (chapter one)

I have listened to this song too much. Huge thanks to @minky-for-short for beta reading!

Please reblog and comment over on Ao3 if you enjoyed this!

-----

Jonathan Sims has been dead for five years and the world is better for it.

Well. Half of that is true.

Jon has spent those five years in exile, jumping from place to place, staying on the fringes of this post Change world. He has to, no one can know that he's alive or he won't stay that way for long, not when everyone knows him as the Archivist, servant of the Eye and the person who brought the Apocalypse.

But, more than that, they can't know about his family.

-----

Jon had always told himself he was happy to watch from a distance.

He observed, he cataloged, he listened from the other side of a broad wooden desk or a reel of magnetised tape then he filed it all away. Nothing on his hands but a few spots of ink or a smudge of graphite.

Jon had told himself that was safest. That detachment was the only way to stay alive. He wasn’t the hero, it wasn’t his story. He was the reader, able to close the book and walk away, and that was enough. It had to be.

Because look what had happened when he’d tried to play the hero. Not being in the story at all, watching from the sidelines, was better than being the villain.

Five years was plenty of time for people to forget his face. Especially when people never really knew much beyond the terrifying and implacable Archivist, servant of the Ceaseless Watcher, herald of the new world and presiding over it all from his throne in the looming, lidless Panopticon. Not exactly a title Jonathan Sims lived up to in person. Even before he’d let his hair grow long and his beard fill in and he lost weight he never had to lose in the first place.

Even knowing that, Jon couldn’t help the prickling anxiety when he was anywhere remotely public. There were only a handful of other people sharing the cafe with him right now, all of them absorbed in their own grey, rainy Tuesday afternoons, but it was enough to send his foot tapping restlessly under the table. He hunched his shoulders, pretending to be fascinated by the milk billowing and swirling through the cup of tea clutched in his hands, avoiding any eye contact. He knew that’s what would give him away if he wasn’t careful. How many people had seen those eyes, eagerly drinking in the worst moments of their lives?

Jon wouldn’t risk it, not usually. He was so careful with everything else, moving between short term rental places, having his shopping delivered, working several remote, mind numbing jobs where his employers and coworkers existed solely in emails and Excel spreadsheets. It was surprisingly easy to cut out all human contact these days, to be a kind of modern hermit in the middle of a crowded city. Sometimes it even felt encouraged, in this post Change world where people were still trying to get rid of the taste of fear lingering on their tongues.

Jon existed in isolation, his own kind of solitary confinement. Not to keep himself safe anymore, he’d stopped caring about that sometime around the moment he’d doomed the world. Now it was to protect everyone else.

But there was one reason to break his rule, one thing that was worth the gnawing anxiety and the gentle tremble in his hands as he stirred his tea. It tasted like bitter mud water when he took a sip, nothing even close to the memory he was trying to evoke but he didn’t choose this cafe for its quality.

His eyes flickered left every so often, out of the large front window he’d intentionally sat beside. It gave him an excellent view of the other side of the street, the building that was standing exactly opposite the cafe. It wasn’t anything special, it looked exactly like any other community center grimly clinging on from a time where councils actually had the money to do outreach. Squat and square with bricks worn dull by the city’s smog and a sign nearly illegible under the many graffiti tags. There was a noticeboard, the posters under its scratched plexiglass looking sun faded and out of date, adverts for a bed frame that would be rusted through by now, a flyer for a play that had been performed years ago, local health alerts urging people to get their eyes checked in words so faded they were invisible. But, somewhere under all that, was a sign saying ‘Ballet lessons for children ages 4-10. Tuesday afternoons, 4 to 5 pm.’ That was what brought Jon here, what brought him here as many weeks as he could allow himself without the guilt becoming something suffocating.

Finally, after countless nervous glances between the clock on the wall and the door to the community center, Jon saw them. It was like two swift punches to his stomach, one after another, no time to breathe between them and no chance of ever having braced enough.

Martin came first, holding the door open, dressed in his usual jeans and an oversized t-shirt, though the tiny green dinosaur backpack thrown over his shoulder was a little less familiar. Jon looked for anything other than exhaustion on his face, that bone deep, aching tiredness with teeth. He’d looked like that for five years, every moment Martin thought no one else was looking at him. Jon dreaded and hoped in equal measure to see it ease, even a little, but it never did.

The only thing that chased it back behind the clouds was Gertie. She came dashing after Martin, buzzing with her usual endless energy, even after an hour of ballet. She had a coat buttoned tight against the cold day, even though Martin had clearly forgotten his own, and a homemade knit hat pulled low over her ears. She was talking, she usually was, looking up at her father as she rambled and he nodded and smiled, knowing better than to interrupt. Even as she bounced and fidgeted and clumsily went through the new dance steps she’d learned, Gertie kept her little hand in Martin’s, hanging on tight, like she always wanted to know for certain that her papa was right there. Like the world was brighter just by having him close.

Jon understood. There were so many moments as they’d walked through the Change where he held on to Martin just like that. And so many moments after where he’d wished he could.

He was staring. He needed to be more careful, anyone who looked over would immediately wonder why he was so fixated on the man and his child across the street, an association between them so faint but still far more than he could allow. But Jon couldn’t take his eyes away, it would have been less painful to pull them out of his skull. He made sure he didn’t miss a single step Martin and Gertie took as they walked down the street, as Gertie waved to passing cars and Martin frowned up at the gathering clouds, Jon watched devotedly like he was pressing every instant against his brain hard enough to leave a bruised imprint. These few seconds were all he had.

And there was never enough of them. Too soon, far too soon, they turned the corner and disappeared, out of Jon’s sight for another week. Everything in him ached to follow, to run after them, to catch hold of Martin’s sleeve, throw himself down on the pavement and beg to be allowed into their beautiful, normal little life.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. All he could do was breathe, slow and steady, until the shaking stopped, wipe his eyes and leave money on the table beside his now cold cup of tea. Jon stood, making sure his hood was pulled up and his face was hidden, before stepping out into the cold and walking in the opposite direction to Martin and Gertie. He had to move quickly, he wanted to be back in the flat before the weight of it all paralysed him and left him unable to do anything but curl into a ball and stare into space.

He was doing the right thing. This was the only way, the only thing that would keep his boyfriend and their child safe. It had to be like this, he could never do anything more than watch from a distance.

Jon knew this, he’d always known this. But he could no longer convince himself that it made him happy.

People were calling it Post Change.

That’s how everything was becoming divided, linguistically, into the world before and the world after. That was the phrase they were using on the news, in the press conferences, on posters plastering the tube stations, directing people to the hastily cobbled together government services that claimed to deal with the quagmire of issues people faced as they tried to remember what normal life meant. Here’s how our company is growing in the Post Change world. Dating Post Change, how you can move forward with a new love in your life. Post Change Therapy Groups near you. Contact the Post Change Office for help getting in contact with missing loved ones.

See some suspicious activity? Contact the Avatar Alert Hotline. Help keep our Post Change society safe.

Jon supposed it was an attempt at optimism. Post Change implied it was over, that they’d all just snapped back to real life after a horrible collective dream, that they’d all pick up where they left off and keep chugging merrily along through late stage capitalism. Back to their much slower and less literal apocalypse, comfortably of mankind’s own making.

Of course it wasn’t an accurate term. The world wasn’t post change, it had been changed, permanently, irreversibly. It was scarred, in a way that wouldn’t fade in five years or five decades. Jon didn’t need a connection to an all seeing eye to know that.

It was in the quiet as he walked to the train station. London had never been this quiet before, not even out here in the city’s periphery. It was an absence, the sense that these streets should be full of people coming and going, lives should be running in their restless currents, but they simply weren’t, they’d stalled or been snuffed out completely. It was in the nearly empty Underground station, so many people were still unwilling to face that kind of claustrophobic closeness, the darkness, the loud noises that would make the vague memories they carried feel just over their shoulder. It was in the low chatter that hummed through the train carriage, complete strangers talking about nothing because they simply didn’t want to feel alone, they needed to know there was someone else there, someone real who would nod along with them about how the weather had been terrible lately.

Jon kept himself apart from it all, slumping against the window with his shoulders hunched, arms folded tightly across his chest. He lived for his glimpses of Martin and Gertie, those seconds where he could know they were safe and whole and so blessedly normal. Where he could see with his own eyes that he hadn’t ruined their lives completely.

Jon loved those moments, needed those moments, but they left him so drained. He leaned against the window of the train, too tired to even shift so the vibrations would stop rattling his skull. At least it kept him awake. He couldn’t afford to sleep, however much his body wanted to. He couldn’t leave himself so vulnerable and, more practically, he hadn’t lived in this newest flat long enough to get home on automatic, if he slipped under and missed his stop, god only knew how he’d get back.

That realization twisted the corner of his mouth, sending a bone deep feeling of wrongness jarring through his body, like he’d touched an exposed nerve. He couldn’t pretend his exhaustion was just grief over his family, he wasn’t allowed anything so normal anymore.

These fog came and went, they had since he first opened his eyes after closing them against the bright white glare of the Panopticon’s fall. Since he’d first seen the grey blue sky, heard the waves murmuring a few meters from his head, felt stones shift under his aching body. His first glimpse of the world Post Change, post Fear with a capital F, had been a beach in his home town of Bournemouth, one he’d played on as a child.

But the world wasn’t Post Change, not really. And neither was Jon.

It was impossible not to feel the frustration, as much as he hated it. When he wore the Watcher’s Crown, the information had been overwhelming, an ocean of knowledge that pushed out at the seams of him, ignorance was a blessed chance to take a gulp of air. But now it had evaporated, a barren desert in its place. The absence was so infuriating that simple things like realising he didn’t know how to get to his new address made him want to tear his hair or scratch his skin until it bled, the worst kind of withdrawal that didn’t seem to be fading.

Jon would wonder if the other Avatars felt like this but he knew there were so few of them left. Those that hadn’t been torn down by mobs, who’d survived long enough for the justice system to cobble itself together again had been hunted down just as ruthlessly, it just ended behind bars rather than at the end of a rope. The sentence was the same, in the end. Jon had a morbid fascination with the fates of his fellow Avatars, he’d followed them quite closely and nearly every one he’d been able to track had ended with a body being discovered by a guard during morning rounds, no one with any idea how it possibly could have happened though Jon had a few guesses. And it wasn’t just the Avatars who were pulled down, they were bombs that exploded and scorched the lives of those around them too, anyone who was close. Jobs lost, homes seized, backs turned, all for the crime of loving an Avatar.

Better to be dead already. Better to have a boyfriend who everyone, including him, believed had killed you to save the world. Better to have a daughter who didn’t know she’d ever had another father. Better, however much it hurt.

Jon did manage to make it to the right stop without falling asleep, trying to let the gust of cold air as he stepped out of the carriage wake him up a little. It did but the itch stirred too, becoming something with teeth that paced in his chest and gnawed at the ribs he had left. Jon sagged in defeat, resigned before he’d even made it through the ticket gates. He wouldn’t be allowed to lock himself away in the flat and collapse under his grief. Not until he’d dealt with this.

Finding a library wasn’t too difficult, he’d developed a bit of a nose for them over his life, like a floundering ship desperately surging towards a lighthouse.Though it did take a lot more walking than he’d expected, he was further in the mass of London then he’d ever lived before while on the run and most of the streets were given over to bars and shops. Finally he turned a corner to see a public library.

It was a squat, rather sparse building, like it was fully aware that no one in their right mind would visit it when the grand, sumptuous London Library and British Library were just a tube ride away. But it was exactly what Jon needed, it was close, it was quiet and it had books. He walked quickly through the revolving doors, past the front desk, scanning the sign by the stairs for the non fiction section, heading up them the instant he knew that was what he needed to do. All with quick, purposeful movements he’d practised over the last five years, the way an extra might move in the background of a movie.

The moment Jon inhaled the smell of old, well used books, he felt better, the itch cooling just at the edges. He started grabbing some off the shelves, not looking at the section he was in or even glancing at the titles, going off instinct. It didn’t matter what they were about, what he would find as he cracked the spine of the first one, which turned out to be about gardening. The only thing the itch cared about was the flow of knowledge, the sensation of facts about winter perennials pouring in through Jon’s eyes as they darted across the text.

It was a far cry from the all consuming, overwhelming tide of the Eye simmering in the back of his mind or the true omniscience of those terrible minutes he’d sat as the Pupil. But, as if his brain knew this was the closest he’d get in the Post Change world, it let this be enough.

Once the pile in his arms felt heavy enough, Jon took them to the nearest table, ready to tear through them and absorb enough things he didn’t know that the need would die down back to a low drone. It would flare again, it always did, but maybe he could even get some sleep if he fed it enough. Maybe he’d even see Martin and Gertie in his dreams, if he replayed those moments enough in his mind, like running a tape over and over until it scorched onto the TV screen.

Though Jon had to be careful what he wished for. There had been other dreams of Martin, of Gertie, ones he didn’t think he could handle seeing again. Ones with eyes, his own staring eyes, unable to even blink against the blood, the twisting pain, the sobbing. Just thinking about them, the briefest second of memory before he could roughly shove them away, had Jon screwing his eyes shut in physical pain.

But it wasn’t enough, he could still hear a soft, shuddering voice hitching with tears, a voice that was far too young to be filled with fear. He’d never gotten to hear her speak her first words, he’d never gotten to hear her say her first words, he’d never gotten to hear her call him daddy but he knew how his daughter sounded when she was terrified. The unfairness of it all, the bitterness of the ashes he was left with, was suddenly so overwhelming that he couldn’t take a breath, he could only put his hands over his ears and try to hold himself together.

But the sound of the crying still didn’t fade. Confusion was a shock of cold water, enough that Jon actually had a moment of silence, an eye to his storm, enough to take a breath and realise it wasn’t a dream or a memory. It was just a sound. A sound there with him in the otherwise silent stacks of the library.

Jon knew better. He did. He’d spent five years and a lifetime before that convincing himself that distance was the only option, that all he was allowed to do was watch from a distance. He had an apocalypse’s worth of proof that everything he touched turned to ruin and, if that didn’t convince him, he’d watched the entire world celebrate his supposed death, turn Martin into a hero for killing him.

He knew all of this. And still he didn’t hesitate.

Gertie was standing in the middle of the historical section, hands twisting anxiously, her round cheeks streaked with tears and lower lip wobbling. She was crying in the way toddlers did where the sobs took over their whole bodies, hitching her shoulders as she looked around helplessly.

It was all Jon could do not to take her in his arms, hold her tight, do anything he possibly could to stop those frightened tears. It took every fraction of his self control to walk slowly, to keep his hands shaking on his knees as he knelt down a yard or so away from his own daughter, to keep his voice from breaking as he murmured to her.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. Are you lost?”

There was a little wariness in Gertie’s eyes as she turned to face him, a slight tensing of her shoulders that deepened the fracture in Jon’s heart. He pulled down his hood quickly and pushed his hair out of his face, trying not to look quite so much like a vagrant.

God, she looked so much like Martin. She had from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, the moment he’d cried in relief to see so much of his boyfriend in their child, from her button nose to the perpetually messy auburn curls to the round cheeks with their slight dusting of freckles. He hated knowing she cried like him too, hated how close it was to the last time he’d seen Martin’s face before the Panopticon fell, burning with tears against the cold metal sliding between Jon’s shoulder blades.

It was only the eyes that were different. The same deep, mossy green as his own.

“Uh huh. I can’t find my papa,” saying it out loud seemed to make it more real for Gertie and she began to cry harder, words tumbling out between her shuddery sobs, “He was looking for books for school and I was supposed to stay in the kids books but I wanted to read some grown up books and be smart like him so I went to find some and now I can’t find my papa and I’m lost and…and…”

Jon blinked, absorbing that rush of information, realising that rambling was apparently as hereditary as freckles and hair that curled in defiance of any hairbrush.

“Oh…oh, it’s okay, we can fix that? I can help you get back to the children’s books and he’ll come find you there. Or maybe we can go to the front desk, they’ll put an announcement on the tannoy and he’ll come straight away,” Jon risked a few inches closer, smiling softly for her.

“He will?” Gertie gulped in air, looking at him with a new trust.

“I promise,” Jon felt his voice tremble ever so slightly, “Everything will be okay…what’s your name?”

“Gertrude Blackwood,” she pronounced it carefully, like she’d practised saying all of it, scrubbing a pudgy fist against her eyes, “My papa is…um…”

She paused, face clouding with the confusion of a small child who had to consider the fact that her parent had a life outside of actually being her parent.

“Martin! Martin Blackwood!”

“You have a very pretty name,” Jon chuckled, “I’m…I’m Jon.”

He supposed it was a common enough name. And he was already skirting far too close to lying to his daughter.

Gertie nodded, smiling at that, “I like your name too. Hello, Jon.”

She stuck her hand out to him, little fingers reaching from the sleeve of the coat she still wore. It took Jon a moment to realise she wanted to take his hand, that she trusted him enough to anchor herself to him. That her world had only ever been full of adults who meant what they said.

His hand shook as he reached across the distance and closed his fingers around hers. Five years. Five whole years since he’d held her in his arms, felt her warmth against his cold skin, felt as she shifted closer to his heartbeat like that sound made her feel safe.

It had been under the Panopticon, in the tunnels of the Institute. He’d taken her from the makeshift bassinet they’d cobbled together from a blanket and a box that once held Archive files, feeling bad for waking her but knowing he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. He’d whispered to her, keeping his voice low and soothing even as the tears had fallen from his eyes, promising that he didn’t want to leave but he had to. That this was the only way. That he would build her a better world, one she could live a full, safe, happy life. That he loved her so very much but he had to go.

That he would always be watching from a distance to make sure she was safe.

At least he’d been able to keep that promise. Up until this moment, anyway.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Gertie,” he murmured, “Thank you for letting me help.”

Establishing himself as Gertie’s rescuer apparently opened some kind of floodgate in her. She began to chatter, bright and cheerful like the tears from before were in another lifetime, stopping Jon at nearly every shelf to peer at the books and ask him questions about them, like she assumed he was an expert on everything.

Jon was nearly giddy, pressing every word to his heart like beautiful flowers preserved between the pages of a book. He knew he needed to be careful, a not insignificant part of his brain was babbling frantically about that. But he couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest as he watched her simple joy, the first break in the endless fog after so, so long.

It would be okay. He’d take this unexpected gift, treasure it while he could, then make sure he was out of sight before Martin came back to the children’s section to find her. No harm done and more gained than he’d ever dared home for.

“Have you read this one, Jon?” Gertie asked brightly, pointing up at a thick book that, according to the spine, was a history of the Roman Empire, “It has a horse on it!”

“Can’t say I have,” Jon chuckled, pulling out so she could see that there were, in fact, even more horses on the cover, “You really read books like this?”

Gertie nodded, her chest puffing out with pride, “Uh huh! I read big grown up books! Some of them aren’t as exciting as the little kid books but some are real good…papa says not to tell people at school though. He says just read the books my teacher says to.”

Jon stalled at that, his stomach turning, “He does?”

Gertie nodded, already careening off down the next aisle and trusting Jon to keep up, “He says they wouldn’t understand why. And they might get scared.”

Jon did understand why but he was definitely scared. Of course he’d worried about the effects of the Apocalypse on his daughter, after being carried across it, half inside him and half in his or Martin’s arms. Most other fathers asked how many fingers and toes their newborn had, Jon had only relaxed once Martin told him Gertie had just two eyes.

It had been slightly strange, a baby who didn’t cry, didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, who peered out at her surroundings with a curiosity much older than her features. But there hadn’t been any fear or pain, the only thing Jon had dared ask for back then. He’d told himself that, when he fixed everything, Gertie would be released. She’d go back to normal, she’d get to live the childhood being held in stasis. Like a butterfly, he’d told himself.

“Gertie…” he pulled out the book that had caught this second’s worth of attention, a book about- ah, of course- the structure of the eye, “Can you read some of this for me? Can you show me?”

He held it open to a random page, watching with a sinking feeling as her eyes fixed on the words, in the same way she’d watched the ruined landscape roll past them. Her voice flowed easily, without hesitation, almost rhythmic.

“The size of the pupil (often measured as diameter) can be a symptom of an underlying disease. Dilation of the pupil is known as mydriasis and contraction as miosis…”

“Thank you, Gertie,” Jon swallowed hard, pulling the book back, closing it firmly and pressing it against his chest like he was trying to contain it, protect her from its contents, “That…that is very, very cool.”

Gertie’s face lit up at the compliment, a delighted giggle escaping her. Jon smiled back, even as his heart clenched painfully. What other traces of the Eye were still clinging to his little girl? What clumsy smudges of ink had he left on her? And who else would notice? He slid the book back on the shelf with more force than was needed.

“I can read all the grown up books I like when I’m in the shop, though!” Gertie confided, taking Jon’s hand again and squeezing it in her excitement, “Papa takes me sometimes when he has to work.”

“Your papa works in a bookshop?” Jon tilted his head as he was pulled along, curiosity dulling his anxiety. He couldn’t deny his hunger to learn everything he could about Martin, to fill in some of the sparse sketch he could make from one glimpse across a street per week.

He almost wished for the early days, when Martin was on the newly restored television most mornings of the week, jumping from channel to channel, telling the same story as it was requested again and again. The story of how he’d killed the Archivist and saved the world. At least then he’d been able to see his face, hear his voice, as he’d tried to tune out the words.

That didn’t happen anymore. Jon selfishly hoped it was because Martin refused, that maybe those words had been as hard to say as they’d been to hear.

“Uh huh! It’s on Murray Street,” Gertie nods, “He doesn’t own it but the man who does isn’t around a lot so I can read all the big ones I want. They’re all real old and interesting.”

Jon smiled, imagining Martin behind the desk of a bookshop full of warm, dark woods and old leather spines with gold filigree titles. It felt right. Like seeing a penguin in Antarctica or an owl nestled in the bolt hole of a tree.

“Papa does his homework for school and I get to read,” Gertie continued, eyes bright, “And I can have one cup of tea cos papa says caffeine is bad for little girls but he drinks so many…”

“Your papa goes to school?”

Gertie nodded so hard her curls bounced, “Uh huh! University in his computer! He learns about people’s brains and next year we get to go to his graduation and he said I can throw his hat in the air like in the Simpsons.”

Jon gave a soft laugh, a rush of pride and relief easing the ache in his chest like he’d taken a swallow of warm tea himself, “That’s wonderful. He’s…I’m sure he’s always been a very smart man. I’m glad he’s happy.”

A cloud passed over the sunshine in Gertie’s expression, she halted in her flitting from book to book like there was a sudden weight on her shoulders. She tugged on Jon’s hand, pulling him down to her level and lowering her voice like she was telling him some secret. He knelt, leaning close, putting both of his hands around her small one almost reflexively, following fatherly instincts he’d thought he’d never gotten the chance to develop.

“Sometimes. When I’m there. But when I’m not, papa looks so sad…he thinks I don’t notice but I do…”

Jon swallowed hard, that momentary relief shattered though he scrambled to comfort her, to do anything to ease the worry on her face, “Ah. I see. I’m sure he doesn’t want you to worry, Gertie. After everything that happened, it’s normal to be sad sometimes?”

“That’s what Auntie Georgie said when I asked her,” Gertie worried her bottom lip, the same way Martin did, “She said he lost someone when the bad stuff happened and he misses them a lot.”

Jon blinked rapidly, having to feign a sudden interest in the laces of his battered trainers before she saw the tears that rushed so quickly to his eyes, “Oh…”

Gertie hesitated, that strange perceptiveness like a light in her gaze, a strange green lighthouse on a shore Jon thought he’d left behind. Her voice was soft, gentler than he remembered anything from that place being. But it pulled the truth from him all the same, powers or not.

“You look the same way he does. Did you lose someone too?”

Jon didn’t trust himself to speak straight away. He’d gone too far, he knew that. He needed to find that distance again, he needed to take a step back before he made things worse, before he ruined everything again. Martin had clearly worked so hard to build a real life for himself and Gertie, he needed to pull away before the sickening radiation that rolled off him sent it all crumbling down. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t hurt them anymore than he already had.

“I…I lost everything.”

He dropped her hand, pulling his away like he’d burn her if he held on another moment. He made to croak that he wanted to take her back to the children’s books, back to where Martin would be, that he wanted Gertie to forget she ever saw him. But, under that green gaze, he couldn’t say anything but the truth. So those words wouldn’t come.

“I’m sorry, Gertie…”

He turned to just walk away, seeing no other way out that didn’t end with Gertie hurt. He would tell the front desk there was a lost child in the non fiction stacks, they’d help her. Anyone would be better to help her than him. She’d find Martin and her soft, warm, safe life could continue, with him at a distance. Their story would go on and he’d be a ghost in the background of the illustrations, a bad ending they’d mercifully avoided, a dragon they’d slain to earn their freedom.

It was enough. It had to be.

Gertie was a five year old girl, her grasp wasn’t strong, but the moment she reached across the distance between them and grabbed his hand again, Jon froze in place, unable to move.

“Please don’t go.”

Jon knew what he should do. He knew what he needed to do. He knew what he couldn’t do.

But he didn’t know what he was going to do. And he would never have to.

“Gertie? Gertie, where are you? Oh god…”

There was no time to do anything but stand there as Martin turned the corner of the stacks. The face Jon had been doing all of this for, the face he saw twisted in pain, in fear, in hatred in his nightmares. He looked so much older, the streak of white had never left his hair, the exhausted lines in the corner of his eyes that the make up on TV had never really been able to cover.

But Jon knew that smile, that had never changed. He got to see it break across Martin’s face, pure relief as he saw his daughter standing there. He opened his mouth to thank this stranger, eyes warm and happy as they looked up and fixed on Jon, just like they used to be.

And he had to watch as that warmth froze and died. As he stepped back into Martin Blackwood’s story and broke it clean in two.

“...Jon?”

#the magnus archives #tma #jmart #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma jmart #please reblog and comment!

28 notes · View notes

clarisse0o · 6 months ago

Text

Camp Wiegman-Part 19

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words: 5k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Monday, November 23; 9:40 AM - Class.

It's been a week since I returned to camp. Bronze managed to get my leave denied even though I had gone a week without any infractions. The worst part is, I hardly saw her during the week and weekend, even though she stayed too. The only time I'm sure to see her is in the morning during checks and in the evening to catch up on my classes. I could have finished long ago, but the teachers overwhelm us with too much work. It's annoying because I can no longer stand Bronze's silence. Not only is she still mad at me, but she makes it clear. If she wanted to punish me in her way to make me remorseful, she succeeded! I can't even blame her because I'm in the wrong.

Now, with a new week just starting, I content myself with scribbling on my paper at the beginning of class. I don't plan to make as much effort as last week if it means I won't get a pass in the end. I occupy myself as best as I can since the classes don't interest me at all. I'm lost in half the classes because of my backlog and have no desire to catch up. Unlike me, Alexia is very attentive for once. I try to entertain myself without her. I almost regret not deliberately arriving late this morning. I refrained, remembering Bronze's behavior. She would have certainly taken the opportunity to get back at me. I sigh for the umpteenth time in almost two hours to show my displeasure. Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here.

- "Well, since I've finished my class and we still have some time... It's time to talk about your specialization for the second semester."

- "Our what?" I asked Alexia.

- "You don't know? We're supposed to choose an option for the second semester."

- "What? Is this a joke?"

- "It's always like this in the second semester. Wiegman Camp is a private school, so it's Wiegman who decides how it operates."

- "And what's the system?" I sighed.

- "I thought you knew. Well, we have general courses in the first semester and have to choose preferred specializations in the second. It's like this for three years. It operates this way so we can change specializations once if we think we chose the wrong path. It's good like this because if we join a new field, we have to catch up on everything ourselves."

- "Basically, I'd be screwed in any field since I wasn't here for the first two years..."

- "Yeah, pretty much," she chuckles.

A stack of papers arrives. I take two sheets before passing it back. I look at the form with curiosity after handing one to Alexia. It's an enrollment form with a list of options. I'm completely lost. I haven't been to classes for two years. How am I supposed to know what I want to do? I sigh, scratching my head. This is an unexpected problem. I would have preferred general courses until the end of the year.

- "You know the drill," starts our teacher. "Three choices are possible. You'll be accepted based on your first-semester report card and the number of available spots."

- "Will the classes be mixed then?" I asked Alexia. "Or will we only be separated for the options?"

- "No, the classes will be mixed," she grimaces at my dismayed expression.

Oh no... This means we risk being separated. Not to mention I'll have a new schedule and new teachers. My situation was fine as it was! Why do they always have to change everything?!

- "The enrollment form is due by the end of the week, with no extensions."

This whole thing already annoys me. End of the week? It's short notice for someone who wasn’t informed and doesn’t know what they want to do. I'm sure everyone already has an idea since they've had this before. I pack up my things as the bell signals the end of class. I'm the first to leave the room. I have five more hours of classes, including the lunch hour. Luckily for me, my morning passes quickly. To be honest, this options thing occupied all my thoughts during my last two hours before noon. I studied the sheet all morning. I reached the same conclusion: Nothing interests me. It's driving me crazy. Luckily, I can finally eat to clear my mind by seeing the others. This joy quickly fades when the main topic is about the specializations. I avoided the discussion until now, but Alba invites me to join by asking a question.

- "And you, Ona? Do you already have an idea where you're going?"

- "No, not really."

- "Join sports with me," she suggests. "It would be cool if we were together for once!"

I furrow my brow as the rest of the table bursts into uncontrollable laughter. A smile escapes my lips. I really like Alba, but she's very clumsy in her approaches. She should know that's not the kind of option that interests me, or she's really dumb. I find it almost adorable that she wants us to be together.

- "You're really dumb," Leah comments. "Ona, in sports?"

- "Everyone knows sports and Ona are like oil and water," her sister adds.

- "But you do jogs with Bronze!" Alba defends herself.

- "I haven't done them for a week. It was just to clear my head before classes. Your sister is right, I hate sports."

I smile at her adorable face. I almost feel bad for disappointing her like this. She's between the shame of proposing such a thing and the sadness of my refusal.

- "Come with Pina and me in engineering then," Patri suggests.

- "Engineering?" I repeat. "I'm good at practical stuff, but not in that field, sorry," I giggle. "I don't know what I'll do yet, I'll see."

- "You have a week to think about it, be careful, it's short," Leah tells me.

- "What are you taking?" I asked.

- "No idea," she shrugs. "Probably the same as the last two times..."

If I want reassurance, I just need to look at Leah. At least I know I'm not the only one lost. Sometimes I wonder why she's here. She doesn't care about anything and doesn't hide it. The proof is in all the infractions she commits. That's why I adore her and think it's mutual.

- "Too bad for you there's no art in the options," Alexia tells me.

- "I admit, I wouldn't have had to think if there was."

Since Bronze's gift, I haven't stopped drawing before bed if I'm not too tired. It's not a passion I would hide since even my supervisor knows about it. Alexia keeps asking to see my drawings. I find it hard to show her because I find my sketchbooks very personal. I tend to prefer sharing my paintings, which are more abstract, but I have no materials to make them. I finally gave in and showed her some because of her persistence. Alexia has a persuasion I underestimate every time. The topic didn't fall on deaf ears, given how the whole table reacted. I'm bombarded with a multitude of questions that I enjoy answering. It's always easier to talk about something you're passionate about. Now I hope my next classes will pass quickly, but it will be difficult given my racing thoughts.

Monday, November 23; 4:10 PM - Hallway.

My day is over. Or almost. Alexia suggested we work together at the library, but I had to decline, reminding her of my obligations with Bronze. So, here I am on my way to her office. Arriving, I'm surprised to find the door closed. It's the first time it has been. This stresses me out even more than I already am. Since my return, things haven't been the same with Bronze. I take a deep breath before knocking. I recognize her voice giving me permission to enter. She looks surprised to see me, given her expression. I quickly notice the empty desk opposite her. It's surprising that Engen is not at her post.

- "Ona," Bronze snaps me out of my thoughts. "What are you doing here? Did you do something I don't know about?"

- "No... Am I not supposed to come to catch up on my classes?"

- "Oh, right. I thought you were done. Well, sit down and leave the door open."

If I had known she would forget, I would have stayed with Alexia... I timidly enter the room while she clears space on her desk. I sit across from her, in my usual spot. She doesn't pay much attention to me and continues her work.

- "Engen isn't here?"

- "She has a day off."

- "Oh."

- "Do you still have a lot to catch up on?"

- "I don't think so. Do you mind if I prioritize my math? I have a test on Wednesday."

- "Not at all, manage as you see fit. It's you who'll stay here longer."

I would gladly do without this obligation, but it doesn't bother me much either. At least I'm at peace here. I'm not a diligent student, but I'm far from stupid. I just lack motivation, and my sigh expresses it well.

- "Bronze?"

- "Hmm? What do you want now?"

- "Never mind, forget it."

I was about to make a big mistake. Fortunately, her sharp response brings me back to reality. I dive into my math without adding anything. She sighs in turn.

- "Come on, talk, I can see you're troubled."

- "No, it's fine, don't worry. My request is ridiculous..."

- "No request is ridiculous if it's thought out. I have the right to judge it myself, don't I?"

I didn't expect her to insist. I know Bronze is naturally curious. The only time she doesn't insist is on taboo subjects related to my past. I nervously run my hand through my hair. I decide to show her instead of answering. I rummage in my bag and hand her a sheet. She takes it under my watchful eye. She quickly furrows her brow, looking up at me.

- "Why are you giving me this sheet? It's for choosing options, right?"

- "Uh...," I say, turning my head, embarrassed by the question I'm about to ask. "I was wondering if you could help me with my choices. I have no idea what I want to do."

- "Wouldn't you rather see this with your parents?"

I sigh, snatching the sheet from her hands. I knew it was a bad idea. I wonder why this idea crossed my mind. It was really stupid of me. I put the form away while answering her.

- "Forget it, I told you it was ridiculous."

- "Hey, don't take it like that," she smiles. "It was just a simple question. Why would you rather see this with me than with them?"

- "I'm not on good terms with my mother," I admit. "You're the only 'authority' I have," I added, miming quotation marks.

- "Why didn't you tell me? By the way, how did your return go? Tell me you still live with them at least?"

I can't help but smile at all her questions. Finally, my request is good. It feels like everything is back to normal, even though it's far from it. I take a deep breath. She has the right to know, after all. I just hope she won't ignore me anymore after our discussion. I couldn't bear it any longer.

- "I live with my mother, her boyfriend, and their son, Joan. So yes, I still live with one of my parents. Otherwise, my return went well until I saw my mother after work on Saturday. We had a violent argument about what happened, but well, it's not new," I shrug. "I cleared my mind by taking Joan to the ice rink and... And by going to a party," I admit, lowering my head.

Making the connection, I realize that Bronze scolded me for the same reasons as my mother. The difference is that Bronze has the right to be mad at me. Unlike my mother, Bronze gives me the chance to defend myself and understand me. She worries about me in a different way.

- You see, this is what I blame you for. Why didn't you come talk to me instead of forgetting your problems for the evening? I gave you my number for this reason. You could have avoided an argument between us too.

- I know, I'm sorry.

My throat is tight. I'm on the verge of crying, realizing my mistakes. Bronze forces me to lift my head, which makes things even harder to face.

- Everything is settled now, isn't it?

- Yes, I learned my lesson... I won't go to parties anymore, and I want to apologize again. I didn't mean to worry you.

She smiles at me in a strange way. I couldn't interpret her expression. All I want now is for her not to be mad at me anymore. I'm determined to listen to her for the rest of the year if necessary.

- If we go back to the first day you set foot here, you would never have said something like that. I'm proud of you Ona, you have evolved a lot since you arrived. I almost... I said almost, regret calling you immature.

I look at her with wide eyes. If she wants me to crack, she's close to succeeding. No one has said such words to me in a long time. I don't know how to feel after so much recognition.

- It's not perfect yet, but your behavior is redeemable, she says playfully.

- It's hard, you know... To get back up when you're at rock bottom.

I swallow hard, thinking back to everything I've been through since my teenage years. I haven't had an easy life. I feel like it's been rough on me, even though I'm partly responsible for some things. I try to convince myself that I'm happy, but that's far from the truth.

- I know, Ona. But you're making progress step by step, and that's very good.

- It's thanks to you, I whisper.

I think she heard my words, but I'm relieved she doesn't bring it up.

- Well, about your wishes, of course I'll help you if you want. You didn't have to be shy. You should know you can ask me anything. My answer was already yes just by hearing your question.

- Thank you...

- I'll finish my file first. It'll take me half an hour. You can continue your math, and we'll discuss it afterward, okay?

- OK, I replied, making her smile.

All my stress evaporated. Bronze has this influence on me, without me understanding how. I'm no longer used to asking for help. I feel embarrassed every time. It's the first time in a long while that I've made a request. Normally, I manage on my own, or Bronze always offers first. That was the case when she helped me during withdrawal. Everything was a proposition. This time it was different. I had to ask her. I tend to forget she's here now. Mapi is probably right. I should confide in her about my past. The only thing that blocks me is that there are so many things that are hard to say out loud. I've kept these topics deep inside, never having had the courage to talk to anyone about them. I push these thoughts away to concentrate actively on my math. I would like to get a good grade for once. It will be difficult given my level. Not only do I have a crappy teacher, but I'm also behind. These are chapters I've already studied in high school, but it's been too long to remember them. I feel like my teacher confuses me more than anything in my logic. I delve into my exercises without paying attention to the time. I started to think that half an hour should be long, so I looked up. It seems I was right. She must have been watching me for a while, given her amused look. I remove the back of my pen from my mouth with slightly red cheeks. I have the habit of nibbling it unconsciously when I'm deep in thought. I deduce that she finished her work because I no longer see a file on her desk. The show I was putting on must have been entertaining for her not to stop me in my work.

- Do you need help, perhaps?

- No, it's fine, thanks, I declined.

Without asking my permission, she takes the sheet full of scribbles. I must have restarted this exercise three times. She smiles before getting up. I don't immediately understand her intention until she sits on the empty chair next to me.

- Everything is wrong. Give me your pen.

I hand it to her without thinking. It's just a simple quadratic equation. I've always been good at math, even if it's not my favorite subject. However, nothing is working out for me this year. I feel like my teacher explains too much for nothing. I was forced to go back to basics because of him. That's what I was doing, but I realized that even I couldn't manage anymore. Bronze studies my sheet attentively. She must be looking for the mistake.

- If your formulas are wrong, you won't get far, she indicates.

She turns the sheet over to the blank back. She rewrites the new formulas as well as the equation before sliding the sheet back to me.

- Here, try again.

- You don't have to do this, we can-

- If I remember correctly, you have until the end of the week to submit your wishes, right?

- Yeah...

- So we have until Thursday evening to study them. The most important thing right now is your math test. We'll work on them together until dinner time.

I blush at the thought of her helping me with my homework. I think it's something that hasn't happened to me since primary school. She smiles at me and places the pen on the sheet. She leans back in the chair, crossing her arms.

- Come on, get to work, she orders. I want all the exercises you do tonight to be mastered when you leave my office.

- It's going to be hard to catch up on two years...

- Is it like this in all subjects?

- Not all, but most, yes...

- I don't understand why they put you in the final year if you haven't studied since high school, she murmurs, probably more to herself than to me.

- I was good in high school, I shrugged. My mother must have had something to do with it.

- Well, let's start by working on your math tonight. It would be a shame if you got a bad grade when you're trying so hard. For the other subjects, come see me if you have any problems.

- I don't want to bother you...

- If I offer my help, it's not a bother. The last thing we need is for you to fail your final exam.

- You really don't have to do this, Bronze...

- It makes me happy, I assure you. Don't hesitate to ask for help. I'm here for that too.

I don't know what to say to her. I doubt she's here to help me with my studies. But it's reassuring to know she'll be there if I have questions. I smile at her timidly before leaning over the sheet she points to. I start the equation again for the umpteenth time, with the correct formulas this time. Bronze watches me attentively while I work. It's strange to be under such supervision. It hasn't happened since I was old enough to do my homework alone. What delights me the most is that we're finally talking normally again after a week of silence. When I finish, I show her what I've done. She looks for a moment before smiling.

- See, when you want to! Give me that, she asks, pointing to my pen.

I see her write a new equation next. I don't complain. She's doing this to help me after all. I get back to work without a word. We continue this way for a good hour. She gave me simple equations at first to get me back on track, then she gradually increased the difficulty. On top of that, she varied the equations to cover all the chapters I've studied this year. If I got stuck on something, she took her time to explain my mistakes and gave me another one to do right after. I must be on my fifth rough draft sheet since we started. I admit I'm starting to get slightly fed up. While I don't mind continuing, it annoys me when I can't get it right. That's exactly what's happening with the sign tables. I think it's the tenth time she's explained the principle, but I still don't understand and I'm starting to lose patience. I hate when I don't get something right away. It often means I'll never understand.

- Make an effort, Ona. Focus, it's not that complicated!

- I can't do it! You can see I'm always getting it wrong! I grumble in frustration.

- Why did you put "plus" here? she asks me.

I remain silent in response to her question. I'm afraid of giving the wrong answer. Bronze sighs. She must be as annoyed with the situation as I am. She gets closer to the paper, and therefore to me as well.

- Did you listen when I explained it to you?

- Of course! I retorted.

- Then explain to me. Why did you put a "plus" here? she points to the table.

- Because it follows the sign of "a"? I say in the form of a question, not being sure.

-Are you sure?

She leans back in her chair again, crossing her arms when she realizes my hesitation. She just wants to destabilize me to see if I’m sure of myself, and she succeeds perfectly. She already did this earlier by asking me a question when my answer was correct. This time, I don't dare to respond immediately. I prefer to think it over to be sure, but I get nowhere. I groan in frustration, throwing the pen on the desk. I watch Bronze pick it up with an amused smile. I was about to make a remark, but we get interrupted by someone knocking on the door. We both instinctively turn to see Alexia at the door. I furrow my brows, not understanding why she’s here.

"Hello, Bronze."

"Hello, Alexia," she smiles.

"Were you looking for me?" I ask.

"Yeah, it's seven o'clock. We’d like to have dinner with the others, so I wanted to know if we should wait for you or go ahead?"

Is it already seven o'clock? I hadn't noticed the time passing. I first look at my unfinished exercise on my sheet before glancing at Bronze. I’d like to go, but I’m not sure she’ll let me before I finish.

"Don’t look at me like that. Of course, you can go. I’m hungry too. Just finish this exercise by tomorrow and think about the question I asked you."

"Are you serious? You’re giving me homework for tomorrow?" I ask, astonished.

"Remind me who we're doing this for?"

I roll my eyes, unable to argue. She’s taking time out of her day to help me, after all. I sigh but nod. I gather all my things that have invaded Bronze’s personal space and put them in my bag.

"Alright, for tomorrow. Always after my classes?"

"Always, you haven't finished catching up on your courses yet."

"At this rate, I’ll never make it," I laugh.

"Don’t say that, we made good progress tonight. We reviewed all your equation chapters in just two hours."

It's true that it's not bad for two hours. The best part is that I almost understood everything. I understand Bronze’s explanations so much better. She hands me my pen, and I put my things in my bag. I zip it up and stand to stretch my legs. I put my chair away and smile at Bronze, who has also stood up.

"Thanks for your help..."

"No problem. Don’t hesitate next time."

She walks around the desk to get her jacket after tidying up her desk.

"Well... Have a good dinner and a good evening."

"Thanks, you too. See you tomorrow."

We smile at each other before I join Alexia, who has been waiting at the door since the beginning. We leave, and she waits until we're far enough to talk without anyone eavesdropping.

"You kept your personal study sessions with Bronze a secret from me," she teases. "So, things are better with her now?"

I must have told Alexia about my weekend and how Bronze found out I was out partying. I would have preferred to avoid it, but Bronze’s behavior towards me hadn’t gone unnoticed. She inevitably asked questions that I had to answer. This earned me some remarks from her, agreeing with Bronze. I then had to reassure her that I didn’t intend to go back to drugs. My last withdrawal was more than enough.

"It’s not what you think. She just helped me when she saw I was struggling. Otherwise, I think things are better... We talked a bit and I’d say the tension has been relieved."

"Yeah! Anyway, I’m glad she’s talking to you again. It seemed like you were about to fall into a depression because of her ignoring you."

"Nonsense!" I retort, hitting her shoulder.

"Oh yes! You didn't even realize. How did you get her to listen? Because she didn't seem like she wanted to let you explain yourself."

"I asked her to help me with my preferences..."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"I have no idea what to do... I haven't been in school for two years because of my detox and all that. So, we talked about it, and I ended up apologizing for my mistake on Saturday night..."

"Well, at least it ended well. Did she say yes to help you with the preferences?"

"Yes, yes. We're going to discuss it before Friday."

"That's cool of her. I find her cooler since you’ve been here."

"Bronze cooler? Are you kidding me? She was mad at me for a whole week!"

"You asked for it," she giggles. "But seriously, it’s true. She rarely takes care of anyone else besides you now, and it seems like she's nicer to you than the other students."

"Oh no, she’s not nicer to me," I grimace. "She’s demanding. Should I remind you that she banned me from all parties during my free time and threatened to revoke all my outings from the camp if I come back in a state?"

"She banned you from parties?" she exclaims. "Because of your last weekend?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "I guess I asked for it according to her."

"Yeah, but still! You're right, it's exaggerated! It's normal to go out when we’re free. She shouldn’t have the right to forbid you from doing things outside the school grounds."

"Except she’s completely right."

"Yes, but still... She shouldn’t. She has no influence outside, normally. She doesn't even have a way to verify it."

"True, except I'm a terrible liar in front of her," I laugh. "I mean, she knows everything I do here down to the second, so I have this impression it's the same when I’m outside."

"I see," she giggles. "If you’re acting strange, it’s normal for her to notice something’s wrong."

"At the same time, she has that look that makes me talk, you know? She has so much influence over me now that just talking about it, I feel like I could feel bad at a party just thinking I'm disobeying her."

"Are you serious?" she bursts out laughing. "I didn’t know Bronze scared you that much! Everyone thinks you’re the one who isn’t impressed... You’re breaking my heart, shattering the legend," she says dramatically, putting her hands to her heart.

"Shut up," I laugh. "You’re really stupid, you know that!"

I gently hit her, joining her laughter. We change the subject when we reach the cafeteria. I like talking to her, but I don't really want to discuss this topic with or in front of the others. Alexia is the person I’m closest to here, and that's just fine with me. The others are already at the table waiting for us. So, Alexia and I quickly get our food to join them and finish my evening more calmly.

#woso #lucy bronze #woso community #barca femeni #ona batlle #woso soccer #lionesses #sefutbol fem #ona batlle x lucy bronze #leah williamson #alexia putellas

49 notes · View notes

sillie82 · 7 months ago

Text

Hurt Charles Rowland (Dead Boy Detectives) Rec list

Sooo, I've been obsessed with Dead Boy Detectives ever since it came out, and I especially love my boy Charles. I'm also a sucker for Hurt/Comfort, so of course I started searching for hurt Charles fic pretty soon. Here's a rec list of hurt!Charles fic that I've really loved.

Hurt!Charles (whump and angst)

Like Fool's Gold by RoseGanymede95

For half a second, Edwin’s vision was filled with a beautiful, ethereal sight. Charles had turned his face up in surprise, eyes wide and lips parted, and his brown eyes reflected the cloud of golden shimmers hovering above him. He was bathed in a gentle light, surrounded by a galaxy of tiny stars. Then the dust began to settle onto his skin, and Charles’ face contorted. He clapped his hands over his eyes, pressing hard, and drew in a harsh gasp through gritted teeth. “Charles?” Edwin shouted. Charles screamed.

10 more fic recs behind the read more.

Hold This by RoseGanymede95

“Alright, listen,” Charles said, after trying not to think at all for at least five minutes. “Hear me out.” “Any ideas?” Edwin asked, not looking up from his page. “It’s just. What would actually happen if you cut my hand off?” Edwin jerked his head up so fast, Charles wondered that he didn’t brain himself against the stone wall. He looked more offended than he had when he found out about the live snake in Charles’ bag. “What the hell kind of a question is that?” He hissed. “I’m not saying we should do it!” Charles backpedaled. “I’m just curious! These cuffs make us proper solid, don’t they? We could probably lop it off and get me out.” “No,” said Edwin emphatically. “We are not discussing this. I don’t want you getting any ideas and chewing your own arm off like a trapped weasel.” “Not my whole arm, just my hand.

Nothing Left to Hide by RoseGanymede95 for the_genderless_librarian

“You’re-” Charles has to stop before any more words can come through, because another round of sobbing overtakes him, forcefully enough Edwin thinks a living boy might break his ribs like this. “You’re. Scared.” Charles tries again, and the words sound like they’re being punched out of him, each one a broken, jagged thing, “Of. Spiders." Grief crashes down on Edwin like a physical weight. This is about Hell.

being unknown by The_IPRE

Edwin does know Charles, or at least he likes to think that he does. He knows that Charles is far better with the clients than he is, quick to offer a smile or extend sympathy while Edwin is far more interested in delving deeper into the details of the case. He knows that Charles has a wicked swing with his cricket bat, but prefers to leave that as a second resort when he believes there's a way for them to come to a compromise. He knows that Charles chooses to hope for the best from people, even after having seen the worst they have to offer–and in fact, having been killed by it. As Charles sits in front of him, the strain in his shoulders at odds with the easy grin on his face, Edwin wonders how much of his friend he is failing to see. -- 5 times Edwin didn't press the issue, and one time he did.

Try, Try Again by Asidian

Edwin lacks the aptitude for managing people; this he knows. He is clumsy at navigating stronger emotions, his own or those of others. But he has spent thirty long years side by side with Charles Rowland. He has spent them watching Charles console, and comfort, and offer support to those who need it. If his own fumbling attempt has fallen somewhat short, in this instance, he will have to ask himself what Charles would do, were their situations reversed.

The Case of the Memento Mori by Asidian

It takes Charles what seems an eternity to draw back enough to offer Edwin a wan sort a smile. His face is off-color, tight with the hurt. "Sorry, mate," he says. "Give me a tick. Don't know if I can get up just yet." A yawning pit of dread settles itself somewhere in the vicinity of Edwin's chest. He has thought of just this situation more times than he cares to count: Charles pressed against him, Charles' weight and warmth, Charles' arms around him. It feels a cruel twist of fate, all told, that this is how he finally gets it.

Heaven To No One Else But Me by coloursflyaway

We would like to offer you a gift, Edwin Payne, the entity says, and holds out its hand; Charles has to force himself to stay put and not step between it and Edwin, because it feels like danger, even if it shouldn’t. The entity wouldn’t hurt Edwin, he tells himself, and he knows it’s true, it’s just that it is so powerful that even the slightest touch is terrifying and Charles is terrified about losing Edwin all the time anyway. “Why me?”, Edwin asks, head raised high and the entity’s light reflecting off his skin in a way that makes it look like porcelain, fragile and translucent and beautiful, “Why not Charles?” There is nothing we could offer Charles Rowland to take his pain away, the entity says and its voice rings out in Charles’ head. But you, we could erase yours. If you wish us to.

Edwin gets the opportunity to go back in time and change his life so he will never have to go to Hell, but price of it is losing Charles; Charles can only stand next to him and wait for his decision. (Breaking Charles Rowland speed run.)

Cry With Joy At The Depth Of My Love by coloursflyaway

“Edwin?”, Crystal asks, and Edwin would say something snarky, maybe even something mean, but Charles is wrapped around him like he’ll never let go again, and there are more important matters at hand. “Crystal, what has happened here?”, he asks, and a few seconds later, their new psychic is standing in front of him, trousers splashed with the coffee she dropped, disbelief written across her face. “I was gone for a few hours and now Charles… and the whole building…” He’s not quite sure how to put it, most likely because he still doesn’t understand, and Crystal looks at him like he come back from the Cat King’s lair with an additional head. “Edwin”, she says, slowly, like she is still searching for the words, “what are you talking about? You’ve been gone for six weeks.” ____________ Edwin takes the Cat King up on his initial offer, so instead of a few hours, he is gone for six weeks. Charles isn't good at coping with it.

Reach Out And Touch Faith by coloursflyaway

And Charles doesn’t notice that Edwin doesn't touch him anymore, maybe for no other reason than that he doesn’t want to, because doing so hurts, but then there’s a night when Edwin walks past him and he raises his hand like he wants to brush it against Charles’ arm – his metaphorical heartbeat picks up at that, like Charles has been waiting for this even more than he realised – but then, a second before his hand connects, Edwin pulls it back like he’s been burnt. And that, well. That hurts too.

Edwin stops touching Charles; Charles doesn't deal well with it.

If I could hold you for a minute by HistoriaGloria

"For as vicious as it can be for ghosts, iron is not as common as you would think. It is rare, in Edwin’s experience, that the supernatural forces they are dealing with actually know that iron hurts as much as it does. Rare, but not rare enough." Charles is hurt on a case, leaving Edwin and Crystal to pick up the pieces.

Hold Me As The World Sets Ablaze by UneducatedAuthor

Charles thinks, dazedly, through the fog of it all, that the end of it must be a lot like the beginning of it. With Edwin, holding close to him, whispering words that don't quite reach, because he's the best person Charles knows, and he wants to comfort him. So he begs Edwin not to go as the world once again, turns black. Edwin, of course, stays. (Charles is familiar with omphalotis nidiformis. He's not familiar with having someone stay with him through the pain of it.)

#dead boy detectives #charles rowland #fic rec #fanfic recs #hurt charles rowland #hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort fic recs

25 notes · View notes

orangez3st · 2 months ago

Text

Dream Currents

Captain Rex × OFC Force Goddess

— Chapter 20: Identity

Tags: teen & up, f/m, gen, hurt/comfort, childhood friends, romantic friendship, fluff, pre-star wars: the clone wars, clone cadets (training in kamino), very rex-centric, rex whump, the worst is probably sw curse words (tell me if I should add more tags!)

Masterlist | Join Taglist

[Content] [Start] [Prev] [Next] [AO3] [Spotify]

Six-Seven decides he likes DC-17 better.

It’s lighter than the usual DC-15S he used when he ran in simulations. He can hold it with one hand instead of two. Gives him some excellent excuse to train his non-dominant hand. Gives him the chance to do something with said hand, which is firmly gripping another DC-17. If one of his arms comes injured, his other would still be able to defend and offend. He won’t lose grip – that is, if at least 3 of his fingers aren’t broken. He won’t have to clutch it every waking moment because there’s holster for it – a holster! – something that’s absent for the 15S, and it’s shorter in length, both blaster and holster a perfect accumulated weight on either of his hips. Oh and, if he’d register the blaster as his default sidearm, he’s mandated to have two.

So many reasons. So many advantages in his favor. Thus, for him, it’s perfect.

One of the reasons he’s happy to be transferred to command.

Come by the end of the year when they have to register their preferred weapon, which they’ve been given the independence to choose either the 15S and dual 17, Six-Seven wouldn’t even think twice to submit for the latter.

“Stars, he’s in love with a kriffing blaster,” Two-Four eyes Six-Seven admiring the pistol for, probably, the seventeenth time that week, and it’s only Taungsday. They have multiple blasters laid out for brief inspection in the target practice chamber at that moment.

“I understand his perspective,” Wolffe shrugs from beside him.

“Me too,” Fox mumbles across them.

“Me three,” Bly chimes in from his spot sandwiched between Wolffe and the blond himself.

Two-Four scowls. “It’s short-ranged. DC-15 carbine is long-ranged. Something you may need if you’re on the lookout from up top.”

“Then send your men instead, sir,” Six-Seven quips. Each Fox and Bly openly offers him a sharp high-five.

Two-Four stares at them in disbelief. He glances at Wolffe, who only shrugs.

“He’s right.”

“Sharp one, Six-Seven,” another command clone offers him a fist bump with a proud grin stretched across his face.

Two-Four huffs loudly among the amused chuckles of their other brothers. “You lot are ganking me now with you–“ he sharply points at Six-Seven “–as the instigator. I won’t let this go.”

The blond grins innocently. “I have no idea what you’re implying, sir.”

Six-Seven addresses him with sir so constantly that Two-Four realizes a bit too late that it’s never been a sign of respect at all – not with sarcasm behind the word. The others seem to catch on and snicker behind their hands, amused by either Six-Seven’s occasional antics or his grounded presence alone as the newest addition to their barracks. Every single person in the command batch is aware of how hardworking Six-Seven is to adjust – from the vocal inquiries in a whisper towards one of them to the slightest pull of both brows when the concept of command authority clashes with his submissive programming among the heavy swirls of his thoughts – and every bit of the effort to catch up is commendable, and seems worth the transfer decision.

Fox caught Two-Four sniffling one time they were all watching Six-Seven beat the shebs out of Thorn on the sparring mat, and Thorn himself has been the best out of his batch capable of doing takedowns – apparently Six-Seven gets absolutely sick about it no thanks to Two-Four that snatching himself out of a takedown before it even happens is hardly a sweat breaker. Two-Four visibly wiped his eyes when it actually happened. Fox had to pat his vod on the back in shared pride.

Not a moment later the alarm chime prompts them to fall in formation. Just as the last of them snaps into a perfect, straight-spine stance of attention, instructors and overseers trickle in from the corridor at the end of the chamber. And behind them, is a brother to their own.

Six-Seven has heard about the Alpha-class before. Absolute living legends they are, though not as much as the surviving Null-class that Kal Skirata took under his wing. Battle-hardened clones whose gait and cadence are laced with command and experience. It’s no secret that sometimes they’re deployed on several missions that call for skills strictly taught by Jango Fett himself, simply making them idols and role models for the enthusiastic younger cadets.

Murmurs of acknowledgment and praise are already floating among the cadets – who apparently no longer stiff from standing in attention – when Alpha-17 walks into the room and gains his place before all of them. Six-Seven knows better than to break his stance unlike the command batch, so he stares forward and keeps at it, sticking out like a sore thumb right in the front of their formation.

A shout of attention! from one of the instructors results the others snap back into place.

The brief introduction runs through as fast as a one hundred meter sprint. Alpha-17 is present in today’s target practice to oversee part of the command training. Simple as that, as if he’s walking in here on a whim, almost sounding like there’s absolutely nothing else behind such reason. Six-Seven knows better. He'll absolutely smash his track record today with the DC-17. More damage per second with dual blasters rather than one, it’ll be an easy sweep. He may as well consider smashing Two-Four who worships the DC-15S. Sounds unfair that it calls for another attempt at headlock and merciful half-assed punches before bed, but he’s already willing to toe the line to put the ori’vod into a headlock himself.

“How many of the ade got names?” Seventeen’s voice, despite intended to be low in volume, carries through the silence of the chamber, save for the low hum of lighting and the fact that it’s raining tookas and massifs outside.

“I can name several. Most of them are still numbers,” the instructor next to him hushes back.

Seventeen hums, and turns to face the formation. “They don’t have names. Imagine dying in battle, living your last breath, and your comrades only remember you by a string of numbers.”

If it isn’t the most poetic irony of the year, because his name is Alpha-17.

“I know it’s not of utmost importance to you at the moment,” Seventeen’s voice bellows in the chamber, “What’s important for you is the upcoming war. Fighting for the Republic, defending it to your last breath. Sacrifice, and honor. The very values you’ve grown up with.

“I don’t care we’re labeled as products that came out of this facility. The Kaminoans, the war, Jango Fett. They gave us life. Purpose. Regulations and protocols, all that we must abide by. The soldier within every single one of us. But behind the soldier, is an individual person. We are programmed to serve, obey, and follow orders, but we can’t forget things that we’ve learned about life itself. Your life. Ten years of your life. What you’ve learned, be it practical aspects or emotional – do not throw it away. What you’ve learned made who you are now.

“I’m in favor of Kal Skirata’s belief. We have every right to our Mandalorian heritage – it’s where we all come from. The resilience and loyalty that run in your veins are the ones that ran through your ancestors to the time of Mandalore the Great! Every single one of you is a Mandalorian. By flesh and blood. Fearless warriors. Relentless, independent sons of Mandalore! That, is what I want all of you to remember. That, is your identity.”

No matter how hard he tries to deflect it, the address burns holes into Six-Seven’s head. He can feel it – every thread and essence of his being strained and stretched thin to even affirm every word said. He could physically feel the blasted CT programming inside his head grappling against the audible encouragements to be independent that it took the form of a migraine making Two-Four look at him with concern when he clutched his head.

It feels like it gets worse.

But behind the soldier, is an individual person.

Six-Seven feels the urge to scoff, but swallows it down.

Are we even our own person?

Not when you’re not even regarded as sentients. Not even when you’re labeled as mass-produced property of the Galactic Republic. Not even when you’re expected to obey, obey, obeyobe–

A booming thunder cracks in the distance, startling Six-Seven out of his depths. He slows his breathing, ignoring the single drop of sweat running down his temple. Ignoring how his fists clench onto the blaster pistols his knuckles turn white. Ignoring how his heart threatens to beat the hell out of his chest and how the blood thrumming in his ears is so kriffing loud they’re merely seconds away from exploding.

So. It does get worse.

During the rest of the address and even after he falls into the queue, he lets himself lull and drift away. In the muffled noise of harsh Kaminoan rain within the cages of the numbness of his mind – the resonating pain recedes and fades into the surrounding vast space. He shuts his eyes, hearing himself breathe, loosening his muscles. Discreetly, he seeks for the muffled rain sounds. How it crashes against the domed roof of the cloning facility and how calming it must feel to be soaked in nature’s water that he almost desperately seeks that comforting feeling…

Sea waves lapping at his feet and warm sun and mild breeze and luminous smile and the glorious joy in his chest when she held his hand…

Miss me already?

He gasps, eyes blown wide open, and immediately recollects himself as he tries so hard to not make his heart actually beat out of his chest in shock, and to water down his next-thing-I-know-is-being-sent-to-psych-eval reaction.

Great. Now I’m going insane. Hearing her voice in the middle of the day?

“You alright, vod’ika?” Two-Four asks beside him, queuing along. Somehow, it doesn’t startle him, as if he’s already expected this.

“M’alright,” Six-Seven murmurs and goes to ignore the concerned pinch between the other’s eyebrows. The last thing he needs right now is actually being sent to both psych eval and physical.

Ground yourself. I’m always here.

It’s faint, like wisps of intangible tendrils inside his fogged mind that waters down his burning embers of distress. It’s faint, barely there, escaping his reaching fingers like mist, but… it’s there. She makes sure she’s present – like she always does. Reluctantly and guiltily, he holds onto her comfort – though it only took form as a phrase or two but… comfort, all the same. Her comfort. Achingly familiar and full of warmth to the brim, even though it feels horrifyingly wrong to bask in them during his waking moments, much less during target practice. It takes a moment for him to realize that time has stretched and the line has moved forward, and that his heart no longer beats the kriff out of his chest and his head weighs nothing like his previously distressed episode.

She must’ve stretched her power out so far to even do…this.

He sighs, nudging himself out of his trance and back into the unmistakable noise of blaster fire and the quiet hum of the target practice chamber. And soon, he finds himself scanning the serial number on his wrist and standing in front of his target practice walled section. Timer resounds, and so does his blaster work, shooting into the plastoid target boards.

Why him?

Decanted CT. Trained CC.

Both a blessing and a curse.

“You’re the transfer CT-7567?”

Just in time as the timer chimes to end the first round – Six-Seven doesn’t need to turn to see Seventeen hovering over his shoulder just a few feet away, the break giving him the opportunity to salute. “Yes, sir! CT-7567, sir!”

Amused, Seventeen waves him off with at ease and rest followed by another mutter that sounds like carry on to Six-Seven’s ears. A little if not hesitated, Six-Seven lets his eyebrows twitch in confusion, anticipating questions but not getting one. Anyway, he starts another round – the moving plastoid boards once again falling one by one as he sets his eyes straight, just as how he aims his dual DC-17 hand blasters, firm and precise. The timer runs along, the targets shift and fall under blaster bolts, but Six-Seven takes notice of how the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, because Seventeen remains rooted where he is. The amber brown eyes shared among hundreds of thousands of brothers inspect the younger one with intrigue, and Six-Seven himself practically feels Seventeen’s eyes crawl and drag along his mutated blond hair and slimmer physique.

“You don’t have a name yet, brother?”

Seventeen’s voice is gruff as he carries the conversation under the impression of private small talk. Six-Seven falters for a second, and the latest of his blaster bolt lands slightly three inches from the center mark – a hit all the same, but not quite the satisfaction that throttles victoriously through his veins.

“No, sir.”

“Why?”

Six-Seven takes a breath through his nose as if just remembering that he lost his respiration rhythm to the perplexed nature of the question. A break in the target range as the targets shift and stand back up again, and he goes again. “I direct my focus primarily on my training, sir,” he answers firmly, blaster fire a brown noise to his ears.

“Do they treat you well?” Seventeen asks again.

Perfect timing, it seems, just as the timer in Six-Seven’s target range buzzes signaling the end of yet another round. Allowing himself a looser stance, Six-Seven carefully clicks the safety of the DC-17 back on and holsters them before turning to face the Alpha-class clone fully. “Sir?”

Seventeen is already scrutinizing him. Behind the sharp gaze, Six-Seven can still spot a subtle concern. “The rest of the command batch. You feel welcomed?”

“Yes, sir.”

Seventeen rolls his eyes, the concern drops altogether. “If I tell you to drop the ‘sir’ and quit the stoic CT façade so you may speak colloquially, would you do it?”

At the sterner tone, Six-Seven snaps back into a straight-spine position. “Sorry, sir, I wouldn’t. You outrank me. Addressing you formally is strictly protocol.”

“Do you call the others ‘sir’? They are to be your commanders,” Seventeen deflects rather smoothly that it catches Six-Seven off guard. The shared closeness between Two-Four, Wolffe, Fox, and Bly and a thought crosses Six-Seven’s mind, but Seventeen beats him to it, “But they’re also your brothers.” A beat of silence, before, “As I am, to you.”

Seventeen is quite literally, genetically, biologically, undeniably, undoubtedly his brother, yes. Not only in blood, but in purpose. Clones bred for harsh missions and war campaigns. Seventeen is older than Six-Seven and the rest of the cadets. His gallant and towering stature and bulkier armor easily affix a strong air of command that echoes resoluteness and call for reverence. Seventeen is a seasoned warrior who believes in kinship, believes in his brothers who need as much warmth and support to carry on through the war because as much as the Kaminoans want their cloning products to be carved into an empty shell of total submissiveness, they’re…

Hm.

The Kaminoans wouldn’t call them sentients.

In the sea of such subjugation, Seventeen may as well shine in his own role as a rebel slinking in the shadows.

A notion that strikes the slightest fear to most clones Six-Seven included, like an ember he always manages to put out before it spreads and takes form as a hot flaming threat that leads to reconditioning.

“Regarding colloquialism, sir, I wouldn’t dare to cross the line.” Six-Seven daringly meets Seventeen’s scrutiny. “Respectfully, sir, even the fact we are brothers, you’re older and in possession of much more experience. It’s only right I address you formally, a distinct treatment to my brothers in the command batch, who lack real experience as we are all cadets, still.”

“You’ll grow out of it eventually,” Seventeen dismisses, sounding almost bored. He sighs. “You walk and sound different. It’s your CT gait and cadence – the Kaminoan programming that hounds your shebs off to be in order and more submissive – I understand. But now you are with your command peers. You’re here because you’re exhibiting their traits.” Six-Seven stands still, obediently acknowledging that comes, as Seventeen runs yet another observation on his person. A smirk ghosts over the older clone’s lips. “I’ve read your reports. Top marks in every single drill and simulation. Excellent leadership. Bet it was an easy ticket to the command batch. Did you ever expect to be transferred?”

Six-Seven exhales.

“…To be honest, it had been my major aspiration, sir.”

Raised dark brows. “And why’s that?” Seventeen crosses his arms. The Alpha-class must’ve expected a curt answer out of him and goes to clearly show he wants none of that template of an answer Six-Seven gave during that one interview that he adds, hurriedly, “Elaborate.”

Six-Seven gulps, as appearing to lay out an eased and honest answer to his superior remains an unfamiliar concept to him. It's always been different with Two-Four and the coeval others, but Seventeen is a kriffing legitimate decanted Alpha-class.

“I stood out with the top marks,” starts Six-Seven, “and a clone from the command batch named CC-2224 said he saw my potential, sir. He introduced me to his batch and since then we’ve all grown close.” To spit it all out he may as well take a deep breath. “The reason is, it would be an absolute honor to be in battle with them one day. Though I wouldn’t dare to get my hopes up to achieve the rank Clone Commander since I am not a CC, as regulations state the rank to be permissibly granted upon a CT is no higher than a Captain, the most important thing to me is the honor to stand by their side.” Tail-end nervousness sneaks in, the same thing that settled within him during the first days he dared to open his mouth in tactical focus group discussions, and he quickly bats it away with a clear of his throat. “Sir.”

It's hard to tell what’s swimming in the mirrored eyes of the Alpha-class, nor what it is exactly in his thoughts. Hardened gaze of a decorated warrior. Faded lines on his face that indicate old scratches of wounds and age and experience. One of many things Six-Seven is certain he’d receive himself by the mercy of time and battle – if he survives long enough.

“As I said,” Seventeen’s gruff voice says with finality, “You’re now part of the CC’s. Act like it. Ignore your serial type. What matters is your skill,” he pats Six-Seven’s shoulder, “And you’re here because we know you’re capable of loosening your own screws…”

There’s something that flashes in Seventeen’s eyes, something that later Six-Seven registers as challenging.

“…but you just don’t wanna do it.”

A halt in the air where Six-Seven daringly meets the other clone’s scrutiny with the noise of blaster fire in the background, before, with another pat to his shoulder, Seventeen steps aside and pauses yet again, and Six-Seven follows his gaze where it’s set to an array of blasters laid out on the table. A glance at the holstered dual DC-17 on Six-Seven’s hips held by the standard utility belt, and onto the holoscreen in the younger clone’s section that displays his numeral track record of the hour. If it isn’t amusement that grazes Seventeen’s lips in a smirk, it’s satisfaction.

“And get yourself a name. I swear to Kad Ha’rangir, I won’t ever call you by your designation number. Pain in the shebs to memorize.”

Seventeen begins to walk away past the table with a strong stride, shoulders straight, eyes up, on his way to oversee others. Six-Seven can hear the humor in his tone as he grumbles that last part, and it sets him at the slightest ease as it reminds him of his brothers in the command batch. Before he can turn back to his target practice though, Seventeen glances back at him with a glint in his own amber brown eyes.

“If you haven’t come up with something the next time you and me see eye-to-eye, I’ll label that blond head of yours with something I come up with.”

[Content] [Start] [Prev] [Next] [AO3] [Spotify]

Word Count: 3,388

Taglist: @yoursrosie

#star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars au #star wars #star wars the clone wars #clone wars #captain rex #captain rex x oc #ct 7567 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #commander fox #commander cody #commander bly #commander wolffe #alpha 17 #sw the clone wars #z3st dream currents

12 notes · View notes

shadowgast-recs-weekly · 7 months ago

Text

Under 1,500 Words: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have under 1,500 words! Check under the cut for nine (nein!) fics that are wonderfully short and sweet, and don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!

i'll be good (for all of the time that I never could) by dearlybewitched (1298, General) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Essek makes a terrible sacrifice play to buy Caleb and the others more time.

Reccer says: Just a heartbreaking little fic featuring Trent Ikithon as The Worst. The fact that the others can't speak and Essek can only imagine what they would say is... it's really good. A+ devastation.

Smoke You Out by SaltCore (1437, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Caleb acts as bait. Essek is part of the rescue party.

Reccer says: Great 'Essek murders people who hurt Caleb' whump fic

a romantic, of all things by alullabytoleaveby (1006, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

“Don’t look now,” Caleb says, voice soft and amused. “But we’re being watched.”

Reccer says: It's sweet

Double Dip by Defiler_Wyrm (622, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek has things to say about Calebs table manners.

Reccer says: It's sweet and funny, always makes me smile.

r/wizardhusbandry by aplusjaybirdie (1475, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

u/mattholomewmercer "My solitary Wizard (120, M, NE) might be falling in love with another Wizard (33, M, CG). What should I do?" (Or: the Wizard Husbandry subreddit fic)

Reccer says: absolute comedy gold. I genuinely have no words to describe this, other than to say it has brought me an endless amount of joy ever since I first read it.

sun coming up on a dream come around by anonymous (868, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

There is so much you have to say. But you have drawn on more magic than usual today, and you cannot think of emptying your last arcane reserves, not even for the sake of sentiment. Twenty-five words it is, then.

Reccer says: It's a lovely use of second person, and there's so much emotion written in every line

let me in the walls by hanap (693, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

The wizards have a talk about labels

Reccer says: Great wizard communication, and sweet

The Two-Body Problem by CatgirlTheCrazy (1133, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

One quiet evening in the library, a little eyefucking escalates to showboating to possibly something more—at least until things go sideways. Literally.

Reccer says: It's funny, playful and sexy!

lover, you were made for this by aplusjaybirdie (989, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb and Essek having public sex, almost getting recognized by one of Caleb's coworkers, and the fantasies Essek weaves out of it

Reccer says: How they managed to pack so much hotness and affection and fantasizing (as well as establishing what their normal lives are like) into half a scene in <1000 words is baffling to me, but they really fucking did it. Magnificent! Amazing dirty talk, excellent tension, and the affection is just... it's all so so good

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be back with Highly Specific AUs

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #critical role #fan fiction rec list #aeor is for lovers #cr fic recs #cr fic #critical role fan fiction #cr fics

24 notes · View notes

bookshelf-in-progress · 9 months ago

Text

A Feast in the Lanternwood: A Short Story

The man entered just as the feast began. My grandfather’s Gathering Hall--ringing with the voices and laughter of every resident of our Lanternwood village--fell silent when he stepped through the great doors.

He was a stranger--everyone in the village had known each other all their lives.

He was a foreigner--tall and lithe, with skin pale as milk and hair like weak winter sunshine.

He was clad in a thick gray cloak--the unmistakable uniform of the enemy.

My grandfather, seated at the head of the high table, stood. "Stranger of Nordan, why do you invade a peaceful hall?"

The stranger stepped into the room with hands outstretched and empty. "I bring no war." His steps were slow, his face drawn. "I come as a weary traveler who has wandered this forest for five days without food. I beg only a mouthful of bread, so I may return to my homeland in peace."

He bent low beneath the weight of his pack. He had dark circles under sunken eyes. But he had a sword at his side.

Though I was only four years old, I knew enough of the war to fear the stranger. The Nordans were soldiers from a cold land who had come in war against our nation, even to the very edges of the Lanternwood. They were the monsters in my bedtime tales--heartless monsters who laughed while they killed, shadows who came into villages and stole away naughty little girls to eat for supper. Every family in the village had lost sons to Nordan blades; news of the war’s end had reached us barely two weeks before.

I hid beneath the table. Grandfather emerged from behind his.

"You are alone," Grandfather said, "and you dare to come into a hall of Lanternwood men and demand food?"

"I ask for mercy for a man who is weary after a war he did not choose."

Grandfather paced before him, his thick form looming over the stranger despite the fact that Grandfather was half a head shorter.

Grandfather stopped suddenly, his hand on his sword. "How did you get past the dogs?"

Our Great Hounds were the protectors of the village, beloved by all. If this man had slain them, there would be no mercy.

The stranger whistled two soft notes. All three of the Great Hounds, their heads looming far over his, appeared in the doorway behind him, wagging their tails like puppies.

The hall stood thunderstruck. For a stranger to have such power over the Great Hounds—it seemed almost mystical, both wondrous and terrifying.

Grandfather was the first to move, clasping the stranger's thin hands beneath his thick ones. "No man with ill intent could charm a woodland hound. Come and eat with welcome."

Grandfather led the man to a small table in a shadowed corner--which was immediately vacated by five terrified villagers. Grandfather ordered a plate be filled for him. Caught between respect for Grandfather's authority and terror at the stranger, the order was obeyed immediately.

The man started eating. At Grandfather's orders, every person turned their attention back to the feast and tried to forget that the stranger was there.

I crawled out from under my table and returned to my dinner, but found little joy in it. With a monster in the corner, my food had no taste.

Worst of all, while I'd hidden under the table, my cousins had eaten all of the rezzah--the delicate cookies filled with redberry jam that I had waited an entire year for.

Before long, this last horror overshadowed the first. I had been a good girl! I had waited endless months for this once-a-year treat. I had not taken so much as a nibble while Grandmother baked hundreds upon hundreds of them and told me to save them for the feast. Now I was to have not even a crumb!

Indignant, I searched the other tables, to no avail. I was not the only one who loved rezzah—they lasted mere minutes on the dessert platters. No one had saved me any.

At last, carried away by my search, I looked into the shadowed corner and saw the stranger’s table. In the very center of it, inches away from his lone plate, sat a plate piled high with rezzah. There must have been at least twenty. No, a million! And the Nordan would get to eat them all!

My sense of justice could not condone this. I deserved the cookies far more than that monster did, even if Grandfather and the dogs let him stay. It was my duty, as a daughter of the Lanternwood, to claim as many cookies as I could.

I feared the stranger, but desperation gave me courage. I was small for my age. I could sneak through the shadows and take a handful of cookies before the monster noticed me.

The first part of my plan went perfectly. I stepped silently up to the table, and the stranger didn’t even take his eyes from his plate.

I reached for the platter—and my plan fell apart. I was toosmall to reach the cookies. I stood on my tiptoes, stretched as far as I could, but my fingertips barely brushed the edge of the platter.

Suddenly, something grabbed me beneath the arms and lifted. In a flash, I was on the Nordan’s lap. I was too terrified to scream.

The Nordan smiled at me and held one arm around my waist while he offered me two rezzah with his other hand. “Hungry?”

Was he trying to fatten me up? While I stared at the cookies in his hand, I grabbed one from the platter and took a bite. I wouldn’t take anything from a Nordan, but I wasn’t going to lose my chance at rezzah.

The stranger chuckled. “I have a little girl like you at home.”

The cookie crumbled in my fist. The stories were true! He did steal children! I pictured this other little girl, my exact double, hidden away in some icy cavern waiting to be eaten for supper.

He flicked the end of my braid with his finger. “Of course, my daughter has yellow hair, not brown. But she’s about your age, and she loves sweets.”

His voice was soft—almost sweet. I looked into his face in surprise. His smile didn’t show any sharp teeth. His eyes were blue and seemed almost as kind as Grandfather’s. Maybe he was a father to some other little girl. Maybe he wasn’t going to eat me.

These new revelations didn’t change my priorities. I grabbed another cookie. “She can’t have these.”

He laughed. “No. They wouldn’t last. I’ve a long way to travel yet.”

“To the ice lands,” I said, showing off my knowledge.

“No ice this time of year,” the man said. “I hope to return home before the first snow. Spend a few days in the upper village before we move underground for the winter.”

I had seen plenty of animal dens in the Lanternwood. “Like bears.”

“A little,” he said with a laugh. “But we don’t sleep in caves. We’ve a whole city underground, lit by sunstones. We spend the winter wide awake—working, weaving, dancing, singing, storytelling.”

His voice became low and musical, enchanting me as it had charmed the hounds. He told me of his home, a far-northern land where the summers were short but beautiful, where winter froze waterfalls into pillars of light, where crops grew all winter beneath underground lights while people spent their time in an eternal festival, sharing music and poetry and planning great works for the new year.

I learned about his little girl, who had a white puppy who slept in a basket by her bed, and would one day grow into a Great Hound loyal only to her.

As he spoke of his daughter, the stranger showed me a small wooden flute, carved into a shape like a bird. “I made this for her,” he said. He played a liquid trill of notes that made the Hounds outside the great doors perk up their ears.

Unthinking, I reached for the flute. I had never been so enchanted by sound, and I wanted to keep it forever with me.

“Do you play?” he asked.

I did not, but wanted nothing more than to learn.

Seeing my enthusiasm, the stranger showed me how to hold the flute, and soon I could play a short sequence of notes.

Once I did, the stranger reached into his pack and pulled out a larger instrument—a beautiful pipe, all gleaming curves and shining levers. “Shall we have a duet?” he asked.

At that, Grandfather approached the table—he had never been far away, I learned. He came up to the stranger and said, “I’ve heard it said your people have music in your veins.”

“We enjoy a good tune.”

Grandfather gestured to the wider hall, which was already being cleared for a dance. “Would you play for us?”

The man’s eyes lit up with joy. He followed Grandfather to where the main table had been cleared away to make space for a stage, and then he began to play.

His song soared through the room, lively and bright. Keeping time with one foot, his song became a tune that no one could help but dance to. People were drawn from all corners of the room, set to stepping and spinning with joyful abandon.

The Lanternwood had not heard music like that before or since. The stranger played song after song—lively, bouncing, silly, sweet, slow. Other members of the village brought out their own instruments and joined in the songs—he quickly learned ours, and they learned some of his. His strange looks, the color of his cloak—all was forgotten in the glory of his music.

I danced and danced and danced that night, lost in ecstasy. I whirled with groups of children, was taken up into the arms of aunts and uncles who spun me around. I even learned a partner dance, standing on my grandfather’s feet. Yet my eyes were always drawn back to the stranger, whose joy in the music surpassed even my own.

As the night dragged on, the hall grew darker, and the songs became slow. I drifted away from the dance floor, sank to the floor, and fell asleep on the stranger’s gray cloak.

I woke up in the early light of dawn, tucked up in a bed with five other cousins. I could hear the sounds of the party being cleared away, and I rushed out of the room in a panic, afraid the stranger had left.

Tall as he was, I easily found him standing just outside the hall, his pack on his shoulder, speaking to Grandfather.

I sprinted to the stranger and threw my arms around his legs. “Don’t go!”

Grandfather apologized, “I’m sorry. Ever since her father’s death--”

The stranger stopped him by lifting me up and holding me on his hip. “I’m glad of your friendship, little one. But I must return home.”

“Can’t you stay longer?”

He shook his head. “I have a little girl waiting for me, remember?”

She had a daddy coming home, and I didn’t, because of the gray-cloaked soldiers. But this man, in my mind, had never been one of those monsters.

Tears dripped down my face. The stranger dried them with the edge of his cloak. “Now, little one, don’t cry. We have our own paths to travel, and perhaps they shall cross again someday.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out the little bird flute that had so enchanted me, that had won him a place in my heart. “Keep this to remember me by,” he said. “My little girl can have another, and you have your own songs to play.”

I took it in tears—so filled with joy and sorrow that I couldn’t tell one from the other. At last, I let myself be taken up in Grandfather’s arms, and the stranger—with a final farewell and thanks for the provisions Grandfather had given—walked away down the forest road. I watched and watched until the stranger—that monster turned friend—disappeared from sight.

I never saw him again.

I hope with all my heart he made it home.

#the bookshelf progresses #fantasy #not sure this really comes together as a story #but it's an image and idea i had to get out on paper in some form

39 notes · View notes

justinspoliticalcorner · 7 months ago

Text

Joan E Greve and Helen Sullivan at The Guardian:

Joe Biden addressed the nation Wednesday to explain his historic decision to withdraw from the presidential race, delivering a reflective and hopeful message about the need to begin a new chapter in America’s story.

“I believe my record as president, my leadership in the world, my vision for America’s future all merited a second term, but nothing – nothing – can come in the way of saving our democracy. That includes personal ambition,” Biden said in the Oval Office. “So I’ve decided the best way forward is to pass the torch to a new generation. It’s the best way to unite our nation. You know, there is a time and a place for long years of experience in public life. There’s also a time and a place for new voices, fresh voices – yes, younger voices. And that time and place is now.” The speech came three days after Biden stunned the country with the announcement he would abandon his presidential campaign less than four months before election day. As he contemplated the legacy of his five decades in public life, Biden pledged to keep working to better Americans’ lives as he concludes his first – and now only – term as president. Some Republican lawmakers have suggested Biden should resign rather than finish out his term, but the president firmly rejected those calls on Wednesday.

“Over the next six months, I’ll be focused on doing my job as president,” he said. “That means I’ll continue to lower costs for hard-working families [and] grow our economy. I’ll keep defending our personal freedoms and our civil rights – from the right to vote to the right to choose.” Biden specifically vowed to “keep working to end the war in Gaza, bring home all the hostages and bring peace and security to the Middle East”. Hours before Biden’s speech, Benjamin Netanyahu, the Israeli prime minister, delivered a divisive address to a rare joint session of Congress in which he called for “total victory” in the war. Biden cited his own leadership on foreign policy, including his staunch support for Ukraine amid its war against Russia, as one of his proudest accomplishments. He reminded voters about the legislation he has signed to tackle the climate crisis, reduce gun violence and expand healthcare access. Harkening back to the day of his inauguration in 2021, weeks after the January 6 attack on the Capitol and less than a year into the start of the coronavirus pandemic, Biden marveled at how far the country had come in such a short time.

“We were in the grip of the worst pandemic in the century, the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression, the worst attack on our democracy since the civil war,” Biden said. “We came together as Americans. We got through it. We emerged stronger, more prosperous and more secure.” After withdrawing from the race on Sunday, Biden endorsed his vice-president Kamala Harris, who has already consolidated the support of enough delegates to capture the Democratic nomination next month. In his speech, Biden reiterated his praise of Harris and underscored the immense choice facing voters this November. “I’d like to thank our great vice-president, Kamala Harris,” Biden said. “She’s experienced, she’s tough, she’s capable. She’s been an incredible partner to me and a leader for our country. Now the choice is up to you, the American people.”

[...] “America is an idea, an idea stronger than any army, bigger than any ocean, more powerful than any dictator or tyrant. It’s the most powerful idea in the history of the world,” Biden said. “That idea is that we hold these truths to be self-evident. We’re all created equal, endowed by our creator with certain inalienable rights: life, liberty, pursuit of happiness. We’ve never fully lived up to it, to this sacred idea, but we’ve never walked away from it either, and I do not believe the American people will walk away from it now.” It was a message that echoed Biden’s campaign slogan in 2020, which framed the election against Trump as a “battle for the soul of the nation”. That battle remains ongoing, Biden said, and it will now be up to the American people to decide how it will end. “The great thing about America is here, kings and dictators do not rule. The people do,” Biden said. “History is in your hands. The power is in your hands. The idea of America lies in your hands. You just have to keep faith – keep the faith – and remember who we are.”

President Joe Biden gave an excellent Oval Office address on the topic of ending his re-election bid and handing the baton to Vice President Kamala Harris. Biden has announced that he is staying to complete his term.

Let’s get some herstory made and elect a Momala to the White House! #Harris47 #Harris2024

See Also:

HuffPost: Joe Biden Urges Nation To Defend Democracy As He Passes Torch: ‘History Is In Your Hands’

Daily Kos: Watch: Biden addresses nation for first time since dropping reelection bid

#Joe Biden #Kamala Harris #2024 Dems #The White House #2024 Presidential Election #2024 Elections #Withdrawal of Joe Biden from the 2024 Presidential Election

26 notes · View notes

sunny44 · 1 year ago

Text

All these years (Part 1)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ex girlfriend! Reader

Warnings: anxiety attack, fights, brake ups and maybe other things.

Summary: Separated by a disagreement, Charles and Y/n meet again after years apart and all the feelings they had repressed come flooding back.

Next Chapter

Having to go back to Monaco was certainly not in my plans.

I had sworn to myself the day I left that I would never go back, but I had never actually kept that promise.

His family lives there and I've never been able to stop seeing them. Of course, I made them promise never tell him that I was still visiting them and they kept their promise.

I know this because I never received a call or an angry message.

Charles Marc Harvé Perceval Leclerc.

My first everything.

And I mean that in the literal sense of the word.

My first friend, my first kiss, my first boyfriend, the guy I had my first time with.

But most importantly.

My first and only true love.

When I moved to the house next to them, we connected as soon as we were introduced to each other.

We never had many friends because we knew we had everything we needed in each other.

He was the best boyfriend a girl could ask for.

But one thing about him was wrong.

His lack of understanding at times.

Charles was always a calm, fun guy who could make my shitty day 100% better.

But in March 10th, 2018.

That was the day everything we had went down the drain.

Charles was focused on getting his first year in Formula 1 off to a good start and I was focused on getting a job since I had just graduated from architecture school.

And I received the best offer a recent graduate could get.

It was an internship at an architecture firm.

The problem was that it was in Milan and Charles and I lived in Monaco and because of Formula 1 he wasn't going to leave.

I remember exactly the day I went to tell him excitedly that I'd got one of the best jobs I could ever want.

But Charles, contrary to what I thought, didn't have the best reaction, in fact he was very upset that the job wasn't in Monaco.

That's when our fights started, me because he didn't understand how important he was to me and an offer I couldn't refuse.

And him for saying that I'd ruined all our plans.

That day we'd had a bad fight, but the next day when I went to talk to him to try and sort it out, we fought again.

He said that I was the worst person he had ever met, that I would be a horrible wife and that our children would be ashamed to have a mother like me.

That day I cried so much that I had a horrible anxiety attack and had to go to hospital because of shortness of breath.

And he never showed up.

From that day on we never saw each other again, five years passed and here I was returning to Monaco for the wedding of Arthur, Charles' younger brother.

He and Carla were getting married after a year of being engaged and I remember how happy I was when he called to tell me that she had accepted and thanked me for helping him choose the ring.

I knew I would meet him there, I just didn't know if I was ready to see him.

Even more so in a situation like this.

"So, are you ready to see Charles?" Kika sits on the bed while I pack the last of my clothes.

"Certainly not, but what choice do I have?"

"You could have chosen not to go."

"I couldn't do that to Arthur, he was the only one who always supported me in everything, unlike his brother." I sighed, remembering him. "And I want to go, I want to see him marry the love of his life."

"I understand, and I know he'll love that you're going."

"But one day it would happen, we have so many things and people that keep us connected, so it took a while to happen."

"But you'll be fine."

"I know."

"Why are you getting so many clothes?"

"Because I don't know how long I'll have to stay there."

"What do you mean?" she asks confused.

"Because my father always convinces me to stay longer than I want to."

"I see."

"Well, I have to go soon, it's a long drive to get there."

We said goodbye and I got straight into the car and started driving there.

It was going to be a long trip.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“Road tripping to Monaco”

Who wants to be on the tag list of these new story? I've already got it all written so I plan to post a chapter a day until it's finished.

616 notes · View notes

queenofthekings · 2 years ago

Text

𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗, 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎 (𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊)

Summary: Hawkins, Indiana, 1986. A dead end town where nothing happens. One night, Eddie Munson goes missing without a trace. He turns up two weeks later on your doorstep, covered in blood and no memory of the last two weeks. When you notice him acting strangely, you follow Eddie into the woods and discover his terrifying secret. But the most terrifying part to you? You can't bring yourself to stay away from Eddie. Whether you've realised you're in love with him or you're under his spell, you don't want to be away from Eddie for a single second and a deadly love affair begins.

Author's note: I doubt anyone's read it but this is a revamped (no pun intended) version of the fic of the same name on AO3 I wrote last year. I love that fic so much and felt like people on here would miss out on it as I haven't posted it here. If you'd ever like to read the original version, you can find it here! If any of you do choose to read it in it's entirety, please don't spoil it for others!

CW: 18+, swearing, character death, sex references, potential smut in later chapters, vampire!Eddie, blood, scenes that people may find disturbing.

Word count: 4.3k

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

The alarm went off at 6:15 AM on the dot, its obnoxious and short beeping noise was the worst part of waking up, yet it was a necessary evil. You groaned as you reached out to turn off the beeping and hide back under the covers. You really weren’t in the mood to face the world or school.

You laid under the covers for another five minutes until you sighed, reluctantly pushing the covers out of the way, and sitting up. Rubbing your eyes, you groaned once more as you realized the glass next to you bed was empty. “Thirsty,” you frowned, climbing out of bed, and grabbing your glass to go downstairs and refill it.

Once you reached the kitchen, you stared out the window as your glass began to fill with water. You were completely lost in your own thoughts, distracted by a bird pecking at the grass. Suddenly, your felt a pair of hands on your shoulders, causing you to shriek and drop your glass.

Turning around to confront the culprit behind you, you punched your older brother in the arm. “Don’t fucking scare me like that!”

Stephen laughed loudly, giving you a quick hug. “I couldn’t help myself, I’m sorry. You’re so easy to scare.”

“You’re such an asshole.” You laughed, picking up your glass to drink what little water was left in it before turning off the tap. “How was work?”

Stephen sighed, filling the kettle, and setting it to boil. “Same old, same old. Jamie’s gonna take you to school if that's alright.”

You frowned as you put your glass down in the sink for washing. “Why can’t you take me?”

“Because, pipsqueak, I’m fuckin’ tired.” He poured himself some coffee before leaving the kitchen and disappearing upstairs.

It had just been the three of you for almost three years; your mom had died of cancer and dad was nowhere to be found. To keep food on the table, all three of you worked. Stephen worked nights at the powerplant, Jamie worked days at the general store, and you worked weekends and the odd evening at the diner.

It wasn't much, but you made it work.

“Y/N!” Jamie called out. “I am leaving in exactly seven minutes! If you’re not ready then, I’m leaving without you!”

“Shit!” You sprinted upstairs to hastily get ready for school. You frantically threw on an Evil Dead t-shirt, dark plaid mini-skirt, and old grey socks, forcing your feet into a pair of black boots. Additionally, you grabbed your denim jacket off the floor before picking up your backpack and hurtling yourself down the stairs.

Jamie stood at the front door, looking at his watch. “Only thirty seconds to spare, I’m impressed.”

You pushed past him to get out the front door, giving him a death glare before smiling. “Oh shut up, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“But for how long?” Jamie's expression went sinister as he opened the door for you before climbing into the car himself.

After climbing into the car, you punched his arm. “If you kill me on the way to school, you’d be doing me a kindness. Surely, you want me to suffer as much as possible.”

Turning the car on, Jamie pressed play on the stereo, Bronski Beat began playing throughout the car. “If I can't kill you, I'll just leave you with my terrible music.”

You groaned, sinking down into your seat. “You're too kind, sparing my life and giving me the gift of whatever this is.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “I am nothing but merciful.”

The rest of the car ride was silent as you tapped your thighs to the beat of the music, watching Hawkins fly past you. Yawning, you leaned your head against the window and tried not to fall back asleep. All the late nights were definitely catching up to you and it was probably time to sleep early for once, not that you’d ever actually do it though.

The car pulled into the Hawkins High parking lot and came to a halt, with you climbing out and grabbing your backpack.

“Stephen will pick you up tonight, as usual. I'll be home probably at about 6 with dinner, alright?” Jamie leaned over to make sure you could hear him.

You nodded, putting on your headphones and grabbing your Walkman out of your backpack. “I’ll see you at home.” You didn't bother waiting for a reply as you walked into school, pressing play on your music, Shout by Tears for Fears filling your ears.

Arriving at your locker, you ignored the “Hellfire’s Bitch” plastered all over it. You’d long since given up trying to rub it off as it would appear again the next day, you were used to it anyway. When it first started to happen, you’d always scream and cry about how much you hated it and how it wasn’t true, but now you wore the name like a badge of honour.

Better to be known as Hellfire’s Bitch than a slut, right?

While you weren’t an official member of the Hellfire Club, you were still pretty good friends with the members. After your mom died, they’d more or less taken you under their wing. They made you laugh again and remind you that you always had someone looking out for you, no matter what.

The only downside was being teased for being associated with “freaks” and having to deal with the constant fear of being beaten up by Jason and his band of loyal cultists. While you hadn’t been attacked yet, you knew it was coming at some point – you were 5’1”, you didn’t stand a chance against Jason’s 5’8” frame. You’d be toast in seconds.

You shrugged off those thoughts, grabbing the necessary books out of your locker and walked to your first class, not bothering to take off your headphones. You weren’t in any classes with any of your friends anyway, so there was no point in taking them off.

You breezed your way through the classes, never putting your hand up and taking notes if you needed to. Before your mom’s death, you’d always be engaged in classes and would always ask questions. But now? You didn’t see a point in doing anything but getting your work done so you could get out.

Once the lunch bell rang, you rushed into the cafeteria and looked around for your friends, only to have Eddie Munson stand on his table and stretch his arms out towards you. “But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

Blushing deeply, you laughed and made your way over to his table. “Alright, Romeo, you can stop with the theatrics now.” Placing your tray on the table, you flattened the back of your skirt and sat down closest to Eddie.

Eddie moved his chair slightly closer to you. “You’ll never guess who I’m gonna ask to prom.”

You looked at him and then at the rest of the table before back to Eddie, knowing that everyone except you knew who he was talking about. “I’ll guess Nancy Wheeler.”

Gareth almost choked on his food from laughing. “Close but not quite.”

You went silent for a few moments to think, the smile slowly growing on your lips as an idea came to your head. “Chrissy Cunningham? Fuck off, even I wanna sleep with her.”

The entire table sat up straighter at your comment, all of them instantly thinking of you and Chrissy making out in very little clothing. Several of the boys coughed awkwardly as they readjusted their jeans, causing you to roll your eyes and turn back to Eddie. “You’re such a bullshitter, Munson.”

Eddie put his hands up in surrender. “I’m not bullshitting, I swear.”

You laughed, opening your carton of juice. “I’ll believe you when I see it for myself.”

Eddie gave you a slight smirk, his eyes focused on your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes. “Don’t you worry, Juliet, I’ll prove it.”

You raised an eyebrow, licking your lips. “I’m betting on it.”

Gareth sighed, slamming his fist down on the table, causing you and Eddie to jump. “Either kiss and get it over with or stop eye-fucking each other, there’s kids around.”

You and Eddie moved slightly away from each other, coughing awkwardly as you took a sip of your juice. Talk at the table went to the usual next D&D session, you just sitting and listening to the excited boys, not knowing, or understanding anything that was being said. But listening to the excitement in their voices always made your smile.

The rest of the school day went by uneventfully and ended with you waiting outside the school for Stephen to pick you up. As usual, he was late. Everyone else had already gone home, leaving you to sit on the wall in front of the school with your headphones on, staring at the road and waiting for Stephen’s car.

A person stood in front of you, causing you to take your headphones off and look up at them. “Well well well, it looks like it’s just you and me, Juliet."

You sighed, folding your arms over your chest. “Why are you still here, Eddie? School’s over.”

Eddie almost frowned as he sat down beside you on the wall, ignoring your question. “Why are you still here?”

“Stephen’s supposed to pick me up. I guess he forgot,” you shrugged, grimacing.

“What’re you listening to?” Eddie took your headphones, pressing play on your Walkman before you could answer. You watched his face show little to no emotion as he listened to your music, his eyes focused on something in the distance, or probably nothing at all.

After a few minutes, he took the headphones off and handed the Walkman back to you. “Because you didn't give me a chance to answer before you listened, it’s Modern Talking.”

Eddie nodded slowly. “It's… different.”

You shook your head, laughing a little. “It’s okay, you can say you hate it.”

He narrowed his eyes, leaning his head in closer to yours. “Whoever said I hated it?”

“Oh please, I know you, Romeo. You don’t wanna be rude by saying my music is terrible, so you call it interesting, you’ve said that about anything you don’t like that I like.”

Eddie smirked. “So you think you know me?”

You raised an eyebrow, getting closer to him. “Of course I know you, we know each other very well.”

“Maybe we do, maybe we don’t.”

You moved away, brushing him off. “You never answered my earlier question, why are you still here?”

Eddie shrugged, fiddling with the ends of your hair. “I was about to leave when I saw you out here alone, I didn’t think you should be waiting for your bother alone... if he even turns up.”

You frowned. “He’ll turn up, he’s just running late.”

“I’ll tell you what; if he doesn’t turn up in the next 10 minutes, I will take you home.”

You thought about his offer for a moment before slowly nodding your head. “Okay, sure.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Eddie had offered to drive you home; he’d even done it a handful of times over the past few years. But you always felt guilty over him having to stay later after school to wait with you and then eventually drive you home.

While your brothers tolerated Eddie and accepted that he was a friend, they were still wary of him. Not because of any of the Hellfire “cult” nonsense, but because of Eddie’s reputation for dealing drugs and smoking almost constantly. It was the typical overprotective older brother routine that you’d had been forced to live with since your parents died.

Eddie lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke, being careful to not blow it in your face. You looked in his direction, taking the cigarette from him and taking a long drag, blowing out the smoke as you handed it back.

Almost hesitantly, Eddie took the cigarette back. “Okay, that was the hottest thing you've ever done, who knew Juliet could hold a smoke?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. “Surprised, Munson?”

He took another drag, processing everything he’d just witnessed. “I just pictured you as the good girl, never doing anything like this.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “We crash parties all the time, I’d hardly call myself the good girl.”

Eddie took one last long drag before throwing his cigarette away. “In that case, Juliet, the not good girl, I think it’s high time I take you home.”

You sighed, nodding as you picked up your backpack and jacket, making your way over to Eddie’s van with Eddie wrapping an arm around your shoulder. His arm dropped to open the passenger side door for you before disappearing to the other side of the van and climbing in.

You tossed your bag and jacket in before climbing in yourself, closing the door behind you. The van smelled of thousands of cigarettes, beer cans and cologne; while you wouldn’t call it horrible, it certainly took you by surprise every time you smelled it. You were sure the smell was strong enough to burn some hairs off your nose, not that you’d ever say anything to Eddie about it.

The car ride was silent between you two, the only sound was Eddie’s stereo playing Master of Puppets by Metallica, Eddie’s hands tapping against the steering wheel. You’d heard him play the song a thousand times since it was released, it was cute in a way.

People always saw Eddie have this tough and scary exterior but once people ripped the surface away and go deeper, they’d see that he was one of the softest and kindest people in the school. Fiercely protective and loyal to those closest to him, he’d take a bullet for them if he could.

All too soon, Eddie had parked his van outside of your house and was waiting for you to make a move. You awkwardly picked up your belongings, knowing you should say something… anything but nothing came to mind. “I’ll see you later?” You blurted out without fully thinking beforehand.

It came out more like a question than anything else, and if Eddie could hear your thoughts, he’d be bombarded with loud screaming and being told you were an idiot repeatedly. You couldn’t understand why today of all days, you couldn't act normal around him.

Just say goodbye like a normal person, you complete loser.

Eddie nodded, giving you a gentle smile, clearly not fazed by your strange reaction. “See you later, Juliet. And please don’t tell your brothers I let you smoke.”

You nodded, your insides melting at that damned smile. “Your secret is safe with me.” You nodded as you opened the door and climbed out. After closing the door, you gave him a salute before racing inside.

Once the door was closed, you instantly began banging your forehead against it repeatedly, cringing at every hit until you felt a hand on your forehead, moving your head away from the door. “If you wanted to crack your skull open, you’ll have to hit harder than that.”

You frowned, moving your head to see Stephen grinning beside you. Once you realised who it was, you instantly began punching his arm. “You were supposed to pick me up from school, asshole!”

Stephen raised his arms in defence before grabbing your fists to stop you from attacking him. “I know and I’m sorry, my alarm didn’t wake me up. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You stopped fighting, your eyes narrowing. “Make it up to me how?”

He let go of your hands. “You can have whatever you want for dinner all weekend, and Eddie Munson can take you to school and pick you up for the rest of the month.”

You thought about his offer for a moment before nodding. “You got yourself a deal, you’re lucky you get to live another day.” You held out your hand and Stephen shook it, sealing the deal.

He smiled as their hands shook before his smile dropped almost as quickly as it appeared. “Did you smoke?”

Your eyes went wide for a moment before you bolted for the stairs, Stephen hot on your heels. He grabbed your ankle, pulling you down as soon as you reached the top step. “I’m gonna kill Munson!” he yelled.

“You said he could be my ride for a month! We had a deal!” You yelled back, trying to hold in your laughter as you lay on the stairs.

“That was before I knew he got you to smoke!”

You were just about to kick him in the balls to get him off, but the front door opened, revealing Jamie had come home with burgers. Stephen looked down at you, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “This isn’t over, you’re grounded for the rest of the semester,” then he walked downstairs to greet his brother.

Rolling your eyes, you turned over and stood up, slowly making your way down the stairs. At first, you thought it was all a joke but hearing your brother’s voice sound so threatening made you realise that perhaps he wasn’t joking at all and maybe you were grounded after all.

Arriving in the kitchen, you grabbed your Styrofoam box of a burger and fries from the greasy bag and grabbed a Coke from the fridge before sitting down at the counter to eat.

The three of you ate in silence, until Jamie spoke up through a mouthful of fries. “How was school?”

You shrugged, finishing the rest of your burger before answering. “Same old, same old, Stephen forgot to pick me up, so Eddie brought me home.”

Stephen shook his head, clearly annoyed that you brought it up. “I didn’t forget, I overslept. Do I need to bring up how you’re grounded for the rest of the semester?”

You looked down, playing with a fry. Jamie frowned, turning to the eldest sibling. “Why’s she grounded?”

“Would you like to say why you’re grounded?” Stephen asked, you shook your head. “She’s grounded because she smoked.”

Jamie raised his eyebrow slightly, directing his next question towards you. “Was it drugs or just a cigarette?”

“Cigarette,” you almost whispered, hanging your head.

“What do you mean “just” a cigarette? She shouldn’t be smoking anything!” Stephen almost yelled.

“You were her age once! You did far worse than her! Do I need to remind you why all your girlfriends were banned from the house? Or why none of mom’s jewellery was left to us?” Jamie fired back.

“It’s because I did worse shit that I want to stop her from continuing!” Stephen towered over Jamie. “If she isn't careful, she’ll ruin her life!”

“OH MY GOD, STOP PRETENDING TO BE DAD!” You screamed, getting off your seat. “No matter how hard you put on the persona, you’ll never be him.”

Stephen moved around the counter to stand in front of you, looking like a giant compared to you. “I don’t know if you noticed, kiddo, since that deadbeat left, I have to be. My life ended the day mom died. Both of our lives did, we had to look after you.”

“So this is my fault?” You laughed bitterly. “If you didn’t want me, you should’ve just shipped me off to England when Aunt Clara fucking asked.”

His eyes narrowed, his voice getting quiet. “You know what? Maybe I should’ve. Maybe then I wouldn’t be stuck in this fucking shithole with a little brother who’s a pushover and a little sister who thinks the entire world revolves around her.”

Before another word could be said, Stephen stormed out of the house and sped away, leaving you and Jamie to stare at each other and wonder what in the world had just happened. Feeling tears well up in your eyes, you darted towards the door and shakily grabbed your coat and put it on.

“Where are you going?” Jamie asked, walking towards the door after you.

“Out.”

“You’re grounded, remember?”

“So stop me from going out then.” You waited for a few seconds before nodding your head. “I’ll be back later, I just wanna clear my head.”

Jamie pulled you in for a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re not a burden to me, okay? Stephen’s just got a lot resting on his shoulders and I know he shouldn’t take it out on you, but he just wants the best for you.”

You nodded, hugging him back before letting go. “I love you, Jamie, and I’m sorry for ruining dinner.”

Jamie brushed you off. “Nah you didn’t, don’t worry about it. I love you too and go see Eddie.”

“How did you know I’d go see Eddie?”

“I was eighteen once before, I know love when I see it.”

“I-I don’t-” you stuttered, completely taken aback by your brother’s comment.

“I’ll keep your secret, don’t worry. Now go before it gets too dark.”

You gave him a smile before walking out into the dusk. It wasn’t too far to walk to Eddie’s, but it still probably wasn’t a good idea to walk it at that hour and alone. You shivered a little and wished you’d put on tights or jeans before leaving but it was far too late for that now; you’d probably borrow a blanket from Eddie when you were there.

After almost an hour of walking, you arrived at Eddie’s trailer. With a shaky hand, you knocked on his door. As you waited, you could feel the anxiety rising within you, almost making you cry; not over seeing Eddie, but the weight of the argument and what Stephen had said had finally hit you and it hit like a tonne of bricks.

Eddie opened the door with a wide smile. “Well this is a surprise, Juliet.” His smile dropped once he noticed you were on the verge of a panic attack. “What happened? Who do I need to kill?”

You shook your head, hugging him tightly, burying your face in his chest. Eddie closed the door behind you and hugged you back, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before gently scratching the top of your head, soothing you. “You're okay, nothing will hurt you here.”

Keeping your head in his chest, you breathed in the smell of cigarettes and cologne, both smells and Eddie’s words helping you calm down. Slowly, you came out of the hug. “I got into an argument with Stephen.”

Eddie nodded, pressing another kiss to the side of your head. “You get the blankets; I’ll get the beer.”

You nodded, grabbing blankets from the sofa and Eddie’s room before making your way up to the roof of the trailer, arranging the blankets to be comfortable to sit on and resting one on your lap to warm your legs up.

The pair of you always sat on the roof whenever you came over, staring up at the sky, looking at clouds and smoking during the day and looking at constellations, talking about your dreams and drinking during the night.

Eddie brought up a box of beer, passing it up to you as he finished climbing up the ladder himself. He settled next to you, getting two cans out and opening one before handing it to you and opening his own. “You wanna tell me what actually happened?”

You sighed before taking a sip of your beer, reluctantly nodding. “There isn’t much to really say. Stephen grounded me for the rest of the semester because I was smoking with you. He also basically said that I ruined both his and Jamie’s lives when our mom died, and he wished he’d sent me off to England.”

Eddie took a massive chug of his beer, clearly trying to contain his anger. “Your brother is an asshole, I’m sorry but he is. If he doesn’t apologize for saying what he said and ungrounding you, I’ll get my uncle to beat his ass.”

You shook your head, taking a long drink. “Don’t worry about it, Jamie has my back.”

“The offer’s always open, Juliet.”

You smiled at each other as you both fell silent, drinking your beers and staring up at the stars, the silence of the trailer park occasionally broken by a couple arguing or a dog barking. To you, it was nothing short of heaven to be under the stars with Eddie and dreaming of being away from home.

“Let’s get out of here.” Eddie said, breaking the silence.

You looked at him before looking at your watch. “The diner should still be open.”

“I was thinking more somewhere overseas.”

“So my brother shouts at me, I should flee the country?”

“This place is a dead end; we’ve been saying it for years.”

“So what’re we gonna do about it?”

He shrugged slightly. “You know I’ll follow you wherever you wanna go.”

You downed the rest of your beer. “What if I wanna go to Antarctica?”

He laughed, shaking his head slightly as he opened another beer for you, handing it to you. “In that case, Juliet, I’d better get my winter coat.”

You took the beer from him and took a sip. “Did you mean it? When you said you’d take Chrissy to prom?” You asked quietly.

Realising your change in demeanour, Eddie stroked your cheek with his thumb. “There’s only one girl I’d take to prom, and it’ll never be Chrissy Cunningham.”

With watery eyes, you looked at him. “Who’s that?”

Eddie smiled gently, leaning into you, as if he was about to kiss you but he stopped just before you lips, his forehead resting against yours as his dark eyes bore into yours. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s you.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he placed a finger over your lips to stop you before continuing. “And since I do wanna take you to prom, there’s one very important question I must ask you. Y/N, my Juliet, may I take you out on a date tomorrow night?”

A tear fell down your cheek as you smiled, taking a few seconds to answer. “Edward Munson, my Romeo, you may take me out on a date tomorrow.”

#spilled ink #who wants to live forever #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #vampire!eddie #vampire!eddie x reader

201 notes · View notes

hungermakesmonsters · 1 year ago

Text

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Thirteen

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This chapter contains very vague mentions of an unhealthy relationship (Billy/Krista) and a sibling death. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : ~4.7k

A/N : This is set a week or so after the last chapter after the last chapter. Thanks to everyone still reading this, I'm honestly overwhelmed by how many of you are following this week after week. I've hit 83 subscribers now and I'm at such a loss for words. Thanks for being awesome.

Chapter Thirteen

To his credit, Billy left you alone, giving you the time that you had asked for. But the longer you went without hearing from him, the more you found yourself staring at your phone, longing for it to ring or light up with a message from him. Selfishly, you wanted him to fight for you, even though you’d asked him not to. You’d told him you needed time and he was giving it to you, so it wasn’t fair for you to feel disappointed. But you did and, the more time that passed, the more it felt like things were over.

And it hurt - it hurt more than you could describe. It was exactly what you’d been afraid of, the sort of pain that only Billy could cause. He hadn’t just become a part of your life, he’d taken over it, he’d become everything in such a short amount of time. You’d let yourself get too attached, too fast, and now you felt ridiculous. It had only been a few weeks. It shouldn’t hurt so much, but the longer you left it, the more certain you were that Billy had given up on you. And that thought hurt more than anything else.

It hurt because you didn’t know if he was hurting.

It hurt because some part of you wanted him to hurt, for him to feel what you were feeling.

(It hurt because you were worried that he was hurting and that he felt like you’d abandoned him.)

And, the worst part? You still hadn’t come to terms with anything that had happened, why you’d walked out in the first place. You didn’t want to come to terms with it, you didn’t even want to think about it. There was a reason you wanted to keep the past buried. You’d fought so hard against being with Billy because you’d known that there would be moments where you couldn’t keep your past separate without letting something slip. And, now, Billy had some idea of what you’d been through - and how were you supposed to even start to explain it to him?

After a week, you’d all but given up. It was done, over. Billy was out of your life and you were sure you’d both be better for it.

“So - you and Billy, that’s over now?” Karen asked with all the tact of a sledgehammer as she sat across from you, placing your drink in front of you.

She’d asked you out, told you it was to do with work, but you should have guessed that the topic of you and Billy was going to come up. At least she didn’t sound upset or surprised that you’d broken things off with her friend.

“I guess? I don’t know,” you shrugged awkwardly, gaze dropping to the drink in front of you. “Did he tell you that it was?”

“No, Frank put it together when Billy started turning up at Anvil hungover.”

You first thought was worry, but that quickly became something else the more you thought about it. Hangovers meant that he’d been spending his nights drinking, and Billy never struck you as the type to drink alone. And, if he wasn’t drinking alone, he probably wasn’t going home alone either.

You’d spent a week worrying and pining over him, and he’d probably had someone new in his bed only a few hours after you’d left him.

“What happened?” She asked, breaking the silence that you’d allowed to fall.

“It wasn’t going to work out,” you forced yourself to look at her and the look she shot you told you that she wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing, it’s not -” a heavy sigh slipped out and you reached for your beer, “- there was something I didn’t want to tell him and it kinda came out in an argument, and we both overreacted. And, now everything’s a mess and I just - I think he’ll be better off without me.”

“I don’t think Frank’d agree; he’s babysitting Billy tonight, says he’s never seen him like this before.” It wasn’t her intention to hurt you, but it did hurt.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of other women out there that’ll make him feel better,” you muttered, not even trying to cover the bitterness in your tone.

“I don’t think that’s what Billy wants anymore...” she answered back before taking a drink.

As much as you wanted to ask what she meant, as much as you wanted to indulge the little spark of hope that had lit itself in your chest, you knew that dragging things out would only lead to more pain.

“Look, I - I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to talk about it,” you finally told her as firmly, but politely as possible. “You said you wanted to talk about work?”

Karen took a moment, and you could tell there was more she wanted to say, but the discomfort on your face was enough to convince her not to.

“One of our photographers was supposed to be taking some maternity leave in a couple of months, but she decided that she doesn’t want to come back after. I just thought that, if you wanted, I could put your name forward for the job?”

“You mean I’d be working for The Bulletin full-time?”

“Yeah, it’d be a full salaried position.”

“I, uh -” despite everything else you were feeling, you felt your lips pull into an awkward sort of smile, though you tried not to get too excited about the idea, “- that would be amazing, thank you.”

Karen reiterated the fact that it wasn’t an actual offer of a job just yet, that she still needed to get her boss onboard with it, but she seemed hopeful that she’d be able to convince him - after all, you’d always done good work for them in the past.

The mood shifted after that; you had more drinks and played some pool with Karen and a couple of guys that she used to work with; Matt and Foggy, who’d turned up at the bar an hour or so after you and Karen. And it was fun, it was nice - and, after the week of misery that you’d been through, it felt good to stop thinking about Billy.

But every time you saw Karen looking at her phone, you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining that she was talking to Frank, and Frank was telling her about Billy. And, eventually, it became too much to bear. You didn’t want to keep pretending that he didn’t exist. So, you pulled your phone out and found yourself staring at one of the last messages he’d sent you.

I never knew I could miss someone so much.

Your heart ached and you knew that you couldn’t keep dragging things out, that your silence wasn’t fair to either of you.

I know it’s probably not worth anything now, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry how things turned out. I never meant to hurt you.

Less than a minute after you hit send, he started to type, as if he’d been staring at his phone just waiting for you to text. It started and then stopped over and over again, you held your breath, not sure you were going to like whatever it was that he had to say.

Don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong.

He finally answered and you kept staring at your phone, hoping, wanting more for him. But, after five minutes, there was still nothing besides that one little message. You waited another minute before replying;

Are you okay?

You weren’t sure whether or not you expected an answer - he was probably busy, probably having fun without you.

Fine.

It took less than twenty seconds for him to answer. Okay, so not too busy having fun, but his short responses made it seem like he wasn’t all that interested. It felt like you finally had your answer; it was over.

Okay.

Was all you sent in response because you still couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye. And, then, there was nothing. He read the message but he didn’t even try to reply. After fifteen minutes you couldn’t bear to look at your phone, you just wanted to go home and sleep but Karen and her friends wanted you to stay. It was sweet, really, the way they seemed to want to cheer you up, you just weren’t sure that it was going to help at all. But, still, you stayed and played a few more rounds of pool before Karen’s face dropped.

Following her gaze, you looked towards the door and found Frank and Billy standing there. Frank came closer, but Billy stayed where he was.

“What the hell, Frank?” Karen demanded.

“He wasn’t gonna take no for an answer,” Frank told her, sparing you a glance, “if he can talk to her maybe they can sort their shit out and I won’t have to carry him home again.”

Your stomach knotted, eyes finding Billy again - had he been that bad? He didn’t look great; he looked tired, dishevelled, and like he’d already had a little too much to drink. Not exactly the best conditions for having a serious conversation, but if it was all you were going to get then you were going to have to take it.

“You don’t have to,” Frank started again, this time addressing you, “just say the word and I’ll drag his ass outta here, but I really think you oughta put him out of his misery if you’re done with him.”

You looked at Billy for a second more, his dark eyes fixed on you until you gave a slight nod of your head, motioning towards an empty booth where you could talk. Billy gave the slightest nod in return before starting to move. You heard Karen mutter something but your attention was stuck on Billy who looked like a man walking to his own execution.

Grabbing your drink off the edge of the pool table you headed for the booth, sliding in opposite him.

“Hey,” you offered softly, managing the slightest of smiles. Up close he looked worse than you'd originally thought.

“Hey,”

Then came silence and you quickly realised that he could barely bring himself to even look at you. About thirty seconds passed before he said anything.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” his voice was soft, so quiet that it was almost lost in the noise around you. “When I said I had issues with impulse control, it’s not just sex, it’s - sometimes things just make me feel crazy...”

He trailed off into silence and it quickly became clear that he didn’t even know where to start. So much had happened all at once and you didn’t blame him for not knowing how to talk about it. You weren’t sure either, but you decided to try to help.

“It wasn’t that you scared me - I didn’t think that you’d -” you took an awkward breath, but you didn’t stop, “I know you’d never hurt me like that. But when you said it, I panicked. You were so upset and I couldn’t think, and I just needed some space. I didn’t tell you about the scar because - because I can’t talk about it. I feel like I can’t even breathe when I think about it...”

You weren’t even sure if he understood, or if you were even making sense. Without even realising it, you’d started to tug at the sleeve of your top. Your heart was pounding in your chest and all you wanted to do was run and hide from all the feelings that stirred inside you when you thought about that scar.

Silence fell again, and Billy continued to struggle to find the words he wanted to say. It made your stomach knot to see him that way when, usually, he had an answer for everything. But you didn’t push, didn’t look at him impatiently. You wanted to give him time to explain himself. If this was the last time you saw him, you wanted to make sure he got to say everything he felt he needed to say.

“I feel out of control when I’m with you,” he confessed, “and it scares me.”

“Why? How? I don’t -” you weren’t sure you wanted an answer. Billy always seemed so in control to you, so completely unflappable and ready to take over any situation, so you just couldn’t fathom him feeling any other way.

“You make me want things I can’t have,” he struggled to hold your gaze and you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him look so vulnerable, “I know how I am isn’t ever gonna be enough for you and there’s nothing I can do to fix it; I can’t buy you with nice things, you don’t want my money, and I dunno how long I’m gonna be enough for you...”

As much as you’d wanted honesty from him, you hated every awkward word that left his lips. Your chest ached and your stomach knotted, and it made you angry that he thought so little of himself - that other people had let him think so little of himself.

“You’re wrong,” you told him, barely managing to bite back your anger. “You are enough - for me or for anyone else.”

“If I was, you wouldn’t have left me.”

It kept coming back to that, like he couldn’t understand that your leaving that day was because of the argument, not because of him. It wasn’t because you stopped wanting him, and it certainly wasn’t because he wasn’t enough.

“I left because you wouldn’t listen to me, Billy,” you tried to explain, “I didn’t want to leave, I just can’t do this if you won’t listen to me, if you won’t trust me. I can’t do that again. I didn’t leave you, I left the situation.”

“You said you needed time,” he answered back, still sounding so defeated. “I gave you time and you didn’t call.”

He had you there. Sure, you could lie to him, tell him that it had always been your intention to text him tonight, but that just felt wrong. You didn’t want to lie.

“I was scared,” you admitted and the look he gave you almost broke your heart, so much that you had to quickly correct; “not of you - of this, of us. Being with you is amazing, it’s just... it’s a lot, Billy, you know?”

He managed a nod. “When I looked through your phone, all I could think was that you’d found someone else and I’d be on my own again. ‘cause it’s just us, I -”

“You don’t want to be exclusive in case I leave you? You want to fuck other women so you have something to fall back on if we break up?” His eyes found yours as your voice broke but, soon enough they dropped to your hand, watching as continued to tug at your sleeve. “You keep saying that but I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone else,” he tried to explain, stumbling over his words in a desperate attempt to make you understand. “That’s what fucks me up; it’s just us and that means, if I fuck up, I’ll be on my own again. But that doesn’t mean I want anyone else - I want whatever this is. I want us. I like being with you...”

“I -” you started then stopped, trying to wrap your head around everything that had been said, trying to decide what you really wanted, “- I like being with you, too.”

“I don’t know how to not fuck this up,” he sighed. “How can I fix this?”

Suddenly it didn’t feel like an ending, it felt like you could save whatever this was and, even though you were still scared that it’d go horribly wrong, you couldn’t deny that you still wanted him. Somewhere along the way, you’d started to care about him, and having gone through a week without him, you knew that you weren’t ready to let him go.

“I need you to talk to me - when things make you feel out of control, I need you to tell me, and I need you to try and listen to my side of things. And - and I’ll try not to hide so much.” Because being with him was worth that discomfort, it was worth letting him know some of the things that no one else knew.

“Does that mean we’re still -”

There still wasn’t a word for what you were, but you nodded regardless.

“If you promise you’ll talk to me and not -”

“I will,” he answered suddenly, like he was desperate for things to go back to how they had been. He reached across the table before you could respond, taking your hand in his, pulling your fingers away from your sleeve and holding tight. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” the slightest smile appearing on your lips for a few short seconds. “I was worried about you.”

Billy gave you a confused look but didn’t want to ask why. Instead his gaze dropped to your hands and his thumb started to rub gentle circles on the back of your hand. He seemed to have relaxed a little since he first showed up at the bar and, once some of the discomfort had dropped from his features, you could see just how exhausted he was.

“When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”

“The last time you stayed over.” Almost two weeks ago. No wonder he looked terrible. Still, he forced a smile and a shrug. “I’m fine.”

“Billy, you need sleep,” you told him softly.

“I -” he started and stopped awkwardly, “- I don’t sleep very well when I’m on my own.”

With any other man at any other time, you would have seen it as a ploy to get you into bed, but there was something about the way he said it, the way he looked in that moment.

“Do you want to -” you started before almost reconsidering, “- do you want to stay over tonight? Just to sleep, I - I don’t know when I’ll be ready for anything more than that.”

“I’d like that. I - we - can take things slow, whatever you need.” And, suddenly, there was hope on his face again.

“Okay, just - just stay here a minute while I tell Karen we're leaving.”

Karen, for obvious reasons, had her reservations about you taking Billy home. She tried to talk you out of it while Frank did his best to stay quiet on the matter, but the look on his face seemed to suggest he was glad that you'd sorted things out. You didn't dare ask how much Billy had told him, you didn't even want to think about it.

You ordered an Uber and headed back to the table to wait, this time sitting next to Billy, letting him take your hand in his again. He didn't say much, presumably because he was tired, and once the Uber was there he followed you outside, still clinging to your hand. You barely spoke the whole ride back to your apartment, save to tell him that Tammy wouldn’t be there because she’d been staying with her new boyfriend a lot.

He held your hand as you led him up the stairs and into the apartment, still so quiet. Once the door was shut behind you and you were finally alone, you found yourself holding your breath, expecting Billy to do - something, anything. Instead he did nothing; there were no awkward attempts to kiss you or hold you and, once you let go of his hand, he kept a respectable distance.

And you hated it.

Not because you hadn’t wanted it and not because you hadn’t agreed that you needed to take things slow, but because Billy seemed almost afraid of touching you or getting too close, and you knew exactly why. This was why you hadn’t wanted to tell him about your past or your scars, because you didn’t want him to see you as someone who’d been hurt in the past.

No, no - as much as you needed to take things slowly, you couldn’t stand this muted version of him.

Reaching for his hand, you pulled him through the apartment and into the bathroom. He gave you a confused look as you reached into the shower and started the water.

“You smell of whiskey,” was the only explanation you offered before slowly helping him out of his clothes. Unlike every other time you’d undressed him, there was nothing sexual about the act and Billy understood that.

Ushering him into the shower, you quickly shed your own clothes and followed after, earning a tired laugh from him when he saw your blue shower cap with rubber ducks printed on it. You helped him wash, lathering him in your vanilla scented body wash before letting him do the same for you. All the while, neither of you really spoke, but he seemed to relax a little and realise that, even if you were taking things slow, he didn’t have to keep his distance.

Done in the shower and both somewhat dressed again (you in your PJs and Billy in his boxers) you led him to your bedroom and told him to get into bed before disappearing to the kitchen. You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but a few minutes later you returned to the room with two mugs of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and marshmallows.

But you almost froze when you found him in your bed holding the framed photo that usually sat on your bedside table. He put it back the moment he realised you were there.

“Sorry, I was just -”

“It’s okay,” you shook your head as you handed him his drink and climbed into bed beside him. You put your mug down on the bedside table and reached for the frame, looking at the three children in the photograph, standing happily on a golden, sandy beach.

“Is that your brother?” He dared to ask.

“Yeah,” you smiled softly, looking at the gangly boy in the picture, “that’s Sam.”

“And the other girl?”

The smile faded almost entirely. “Lily, my little sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“Had. She - she died a year or two after this photo was taken.”

You heard the exhale but you didn't look at him, you didn't want to see the look on his face.

“I'm sorry,” he offered softly.

You didn't respond, you just put the photo back and grabbed for the TV remote. Soon enough you were sipping hot chocolate and watching Bob's Burgers. Billy, for the most part, stayed quiet, drinking his hot drink without comment and letting out little huffs of laughter any time he found something in the show amusing.

Billy looked half asleep by the time he’d finished his hot chocolate, his eyes closing for seconds at a time but he didn’t seem to want to give in to sleep.

“How was your hot chocolate?” You asked taking his empty mug and placing it beside yours on the nightstand, a little amused that he’d drunk the whole thing without commenting on it once

“It was nice. This is nice, it’s -” he started before stopping, an awkward sort of smile on his lips, “- no one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

In a way, it felt special to be able to give Billy any sort of first, but you couldn’t help the feeling of sadness that swelled inside you. How had he never had this before? How had no one else in his life ever offered him this simple sort of comfort?

“Hey,” he muttered softly, his hand finding your cheek, “don’t be sad.”

“I’m not, I just - how has no one ever taken care of you before?”

“I guess I never really let anyone. I never really wanted to.” His shoulder ticked in an awkward sort of half-shrug. “A lot of my relationships haven’t exactly been deep.”

You hesitated before asking; “what about Krista?”

A flicker of tension ran across his face, and you regretted asking, so much so that you almost wanted to take it back. Billy settled back a little, using getting himself comfortable as an excuse not to answer for a few seconds.

“Krista happened at a bad time in my life,” he finally sighed, “I'd been hurt, she was my therapist, I - I told her things I’ve never told anyone. She made me feel broken but told me I could be fixed, and that was all I wanted.”

You tried your best to school your expression, to not let him see the emotions that were warring inside of you; sadness for him, and a hatred of her that had you hoping you saw her again just so you could tell her what you thought of her.

“I stopped going to our sessions after a while - therapy just wasn’t for me,” he shrugged and it was no surprise why. “But when I ran into her again, it felt like there was a connection, it felt easy because she already knew me better than almost anyone. It started slow, she’d make little comments about things, then when I’d argue she’d tell me that I was upset because I don’t feel things the right way - that my trauma messed up the way I process emotions - and, sometimes, when I wanted to -” you were glad he decided not to go into any detail at all about sleeping with her, “- she’d act like I was being unreasonable for wanting it, like it was too much or I wanted too much...”

“She told you that you have poor impulse control.” You’d already assumed as much, but he confirmed it with a nod of his head.

“At the time, it felt like she was being completely reasonable and that, if I did what she wanted, I’d get better...”

“Billy...” you offered tenderly, finding his hand on top of the blankets and taking hold of it, “there’s nothing wrong with you and - and that bitch should never have told you there was. You know that, right? She shouldn’t’ve even been in a relationship with you; it’s so disgusting and unprofessional.”

He just shrugged at your anger, sinking down the bed a little more obviously too tired to carry on the conversation (or maybe he just didn’t want to because he didn’t want to argue). You followed suit until you were both laid beside each other, the tips of your noses almost touching.

“Why weren’t you answering your brother’s calls?” He asked after a minute or so of silence, and it was your turn to sigh.

“It’s complicated,” and you didn’t really want to say more than that, but given everything Billy had told you about Krista, it didn’t seem fair not to give him a real answer. “He can be... protective. He doesn’t think I can take care of myself and it feels suffocating. After we started seeing each other, I felt like I was in a good place and I didn’t want him making me feel bad about it.”

“Why would he make you feel bad?”

“Because haven’t always had the best taste in men and because he doesn’t realise that I’ve grown up.” You sighed again. If Billy could tell you were holding things back, he didn’t let on.

“You think he wouldn’t approve of me?”

“I think it doesn’t matter what he thinks,” you shrugged, “but, if he got to know you, I know he’d like you, he’d just - he’d find a way to make me feel like I shouldn’t be with you, like I can’t handle it.”

He nodded and decided not to say anything else on matter; it felt like a good middle ground; you’d both shared what needed to be shared, everything else could come later. His eyes closed again and you tried your best to stifle a yawn before awkwardly twisting to turn off the lamp, plunging you into darkness.

Without thinking, you reached for him, your fingers stroking his hair, trying to soothe him to sleep.

“I should be taking care of you,” he muttered softly, “I’m the one that fucked up.”

You shushed him, before whispering; “I’m proving a point.”

“What point?”

“That you are enough, Billy.”

He didn’t say another word before falling asleep.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

END NOTES : So this one got a bit talk-y and I hope people don't mind that. I just need Billy and reader to really get to know each other before I can get them to where they're going. Don't worry, they're not going to be able to keep their hands off each other for long.

As always, thank you so much for reading, I'm still completely blown away how many of you come back week after week to read this!!

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (I know some people are having issues with the tags? think you might need to enable tagging on your end of things? IDK tumblr is weird)

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @damagelove @danzer8705 @unlikelystarlightcowboy @schlotzshewrote @bisexualbith @uncontainedsmiles @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lilliesofmay @billyrussoslut

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher #cmiyc ff #billy russo imagine

146 notes · View notes