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yoursminehourss · 11 months ago

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AVA MY BLEEBINI EVER i wrote smth abt her n her brothers after they finally come home….also meohara crumbs. this has actually been sitting in my drafts for like 2 years and i finished it last night at 3 in the morning apparently so. here u go @zurxmxru

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It had been almost a month since they’d come home.

Tense didn’t cut it. It was more than tense. Vin exchanged a look with Vee— they were sitting at the dining room table drinking coffee, while Ava was in the kitchen. A month they’d been home, and they’d barely even spoken to their sister. It’s not like she was around a whole lot, to be fair. She was always out of the house, murmuring something about a job she had to do, even though most of the time she was taking nothing but her purse with her. Speaking of which, Vin thought, turning his head, Ava was leaving the house now— her purse tossed over her shoulder and an iced coffee in hand. As soon as the door lock clicked, Vin slapped his hand on the table.

“This is BAD. We have been home for a MONTH. And we’ve barely even talked to her! She’s never home; just making up excuses that she’s going to work!” he exclaimed. Vee nodded.

“If she was going to work, she’d take more than her purse. She’s lying to us, but I can’t say I blame her,” he replied.

“We should do something. Make a nice dinner. Get to know about her life. SOMETHING. This is not going to do.” Vin looked determined, and looking at Vee, he knew he felt the same. And so they got to work.

They knew Ava would be out nearly all day, so they had a while to plan and get everything set up. They cleaned the house, cleaned the kitchen- and just for fun they cleaned JuJu too (amidst this they found out they could dry her with a hair dryer. This resulted in the fluffiest JuJu had ever been which also looked pretty funny.) Finally, after hours of preparation, they had a dinner made and set up, and just in time— Vin thought, checking the clock. It was right around the time Ava got home. They put a candle on the dining room table and lit it.

And now they wait.

They didn’t have to wait long— just a couple minutes after they’d sat down, the door cracked open. What was different was that she was smiling, chattering happily on the phone. She looked around as she walked in and her face fell. “Hey love, I’ll call you back later. No, everything’s fine. I’ll tell you later. Love you,” she said rapidly into the phone, then shoved it in her pocket.

“The hell is this?” Ava asked. Not quite the response they were expecting, they thought, looking at each other.

“We made you dinner.”

“You know I might’ve eaten out, right? You could’ve wasted your time.”

“We wouldn’t know because you won’t talk to us,” Vee piped up. Ava went silent. “No matter how much you try to deny it or avoid us, we’re your brothers. Your family.”

“You stopped being my family the day you left. End of story. And I’m not eating your food, whatever you made. I’m not hungry.” She went to storm off to her room, but her stomach rumbled loud enough for even JuJu to perk her head up at Ava. She let out a sigh and, grimacing, sat down at the table.

Awkward wasn’t even close to sufficient. It was dead silent, other than the quiet sounds of forks scraping plates. The twins had intended to talk to her. Find out what they’d missed in the ten years they’d been gone. None of that happened. Ava’s face was filled with disdain, along with something deeply more complicated.

“Oh, hey. Who were you on the phone with when you came in earlier?” Vin asked.

“None of your business,” Ava grumbled in reply.

“Was it your girlfriend?” Vee asked, completely nonchalant.

Ava nearly choked. “I SAID it’s none of your—wait, did you just say girlfriend?” Confusion now overrode the previous disdain on her face.

“Are you not gay?” Vee replied in equal confusion. Ava’s face turned bright red as she raised a hand to shield part of it.

“God, if YOU figured it out that quick, then everyone else…”

“Are you closeted???” Vee was incredulous. “With the pink highlights and the heart motif? No way you think people in public think you’re straight.”

“Vee,” Vin warned. Ava was just quiet, staring down at her plate. For a moment, Vin was worried she was going to either cry or leave before she piped up again.

“Yeah. It was my girlfriend.”

Both the boys instantly perked up.

“Oh my goddd! Little Avie has a giiiirlfriend! What’s her name? What’s she like?” Vin laughed, leaning forward on the table.

“Don’t call me that!” Her face flushed again. “Her name’s Hibiki.”

Something about that sounded familiar to Vin. He turned to Vee, praying his better half remembered. It looked like it, because he was staring with narrowed eyes at their sister.

“Like the one you knew in kindergarten??”

Oh my god? Vin thought.

Equal shock passed over Ava’s face. “Yeah. From back in kindergarten. She goes to my school now.”

“I thought she moved,” Vee mused.

“She came back.” There was something in Ava’s voice that wasn’t there before. The hollow tone she took was replaced with something fond. Something warm.

The rest of dinner continued more pleasantly than it had began. The twins found out a lot of little details from Ava about her life (and a few details indirectly as well—she couldn’t cook, and besides, she didn’t want to be in the kitchen a whole lot.) Despite the tension lowering between the three, there was still an underlying feeling of something missing. Someone missing. Three empty seats at the table emphasized it. The respective heads of the table had been empty since Ava was six, so that much hadn’t changed. But the seat to Ava’s right, just across from Vin, sat empty. That was the most disturbing of it all. In the face of finally getting family back together, they felt the loss so much more.

After dinner, they all went back to doing their respective things. Vee got a drink, which was completely legal now (and still weird to Ava, because she remembered when it wasn’t and that still didn’t stop them), and Vin set up cleaning up dinner. Ava, however, went upstairs to the balcony outside one of the bedrooms. She didn’t want to think about whose bedroom it was. It didn’t help, because the sun blazed ahead of her in its painted glory. She remembered someone telling her a long time ago sunsets were one of the ways the dead visited the living. Who told her? Her memory blurred. Her dad? Vin? Her? Everything clashed, and before she even could process it, tears were running down her cheeks. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to halt the sobs rising in her chest.

“Ava?” Vin called from behind her. He’d followed her upstairs, she guessed, and since she could hear a second set of footsteps, she also guessed Vee had followed. They walked up to either side of her, hands on her back in an instant as cries overtook her. Through watery eyes, she stared up at the sunset.

“Do you see it?” she asked, her voice weak. “The sunset?”

Her brothers looked to the setting sun, then back to her. They understood. She could feel it.

“Maya looks so beautiful tonight,” she whispered through sobs.”

For the first time in ten years, the four of them were reunited at last.

#ghostwriting #ava meorida #dels oc garden ❣️#meohara

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lovextriangle · 3 years ago

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Imagine Thorin before The Unexpected Journey

a/n: early release draft, I’ll probably edit more later!

You were never one to fall for the brooding type, but there was no stopping for the inevitable.

The dwarves showed up out of nowhere. They were passing through Gondor on their way to Dunland where Thror, Thrain, and Thorin had decided that place was their best option. Many of their following had dwindled, most headed for the Blue Mountains or the Iron Hills. Dunland was a place of no importance, it was just a place for them to seek refuge. They had no plans of staying there, for the true goal was to take back their home, Erebor. Though a plan like that already had people grimacing for the bloodshed was still fresh and the loss was many. How could they overcome a beast that had defeated them so easily on their own home front.

They needed allies, they needed help, not from men, and definitely not from the elves, but from their own people, dwarves assisting other dwarves. That is what Thorin thought anyways. But with supplies running low and spirits at an all time downward spiral, they would have to start from the ground up.

About a month after the traveling dwarves had passed through Gondor and finally settled into the neighboring Dunland, Thorin seeked out work. The big city was the best place to look for it, though no one cared about the tragedies a person had been through, if you had no talent or skill, you wouldn’t find a job. Luckily dwarves were brimming with skills and their expertise was known for crafting weapons. The grandson of the King Under the Mountain, became a blacksmith of Gondor for the sake of putting food on the table. He had a perpetual frown on his face as if it was engraved there permanently.

He had all the reason to be, rumors spread fast in Gondor of what had happened to the dwarves and the almighty Smuag, the terror of their lifetime. Everyone was afraid of what the dragon would do next. Most thought that the dwarves would bring it with them somehow, as if they carried bad luck. So Thorin was well aware of how much the people of Gondor didn’t want him there. He wasn’t wanted anywhere. But the skills he possessed as a smith kept his employer from kicking him to the curb like others had done before.

“Another fine piece of weaponry Thorin. The next order is a pair of long swords,” grunted Izec the chief blacksmith of the establishment that Thorin worked for. Sweat ran down Thorin’s forehead as he leaned back to stretch out from the hammering position he had been in. His back ached, he had been finishing up the fine details of his last assignment, the entirety had taken three days, the last five hours he had just completed. He was tired and in need of a break. But Thorin liked pushing himself past that point nowadays. He didn’t really care much about his body at all, he was angry all the time, and it felt good to hammer down something that would bend to his will. If only other things in his life went that way…

“Take a lunch and be back before long, ya hear?”

Thorin only gave a nod as he wiped the sweat from his hands onto his pants as he took his leave from the shop. It was midday in Gondor and people were everywhere. The weather was hot and stuffy, no summer time breeze in the air, Thorin guessed it was just his luck. He had eaten at a couple of stands in the past, the food men served were at least better than elves but it was nothing like home. Weaving through the crowds, he ignored the glances he got, it wasn’t exactly rare to see a dwarf in Gondor but this was definitely the birthplace of men.

He hadn’t been to this particular meal stand before, he was complacent enough to try it since the others hadn’t left a lasting impression for him to seek them out. He just wanted a good, quick meal to regain his strength and head back to work.

“What’ll it be?” Thorin had to take a slight step back to take in the whole menu. “Roast will do.” His response was a curt reply, quick and ready to move on. “7 shillings,” you matched his reply, not really wanting to drag out the conversation either. This was only business after all. Out came a pouch from one of his pockets as he gathered the correct amount. You hadn’t exactly been looking directly into his eyes, just glancing over everything else about him.

He was dirty, a hard working dwarf. Long dark hair, that was thick but not matted. He took care of himself or at least his hair. His cheeks had what looked like dirt or maybe ash from a fire. Dwarves were usually blacksmiths around here so you took an educated guess. “You work with Izec?” you hadn’t intended to ask out loud but it seemed you couldn’t help yourself. There was a reason for asking after all.

Thorin met your gaze, ice cold irises told you one thing. That he wanted his meal and to be left alone. “Yes.” The one word reply, a clear warning to not ask anymore questions. “I’ve placed an order for a piece of metal myself..” it was a low response from you as you had gauged his reaction. He didn’t seem curious or to care about the details of what you had ordered at Izec’s. With that you gave him his meal and he gave you the shillings.

“Thanks.” He was gone, not stopping at any of the nearby tables set up to sit and eat. You watched as he parted ways, and wondered if he would come to your stand another day. Such cold eyes, you had the feeling he wouldn’t. Lunch hour was busy, and more customers took up your thoughts and as soon as the dwarf had came he disappeared from your mind.

A week passed before Thorin decided he had a particular craving. He had thoroughly enjoyed the roast from last time, and had wanted to stop by again. He had lasted a week only because he did not wish to be remembered, he simply wanted the good food and nothing more. Chitchat could wait until after he had reclaimed Erebor. But Thorin found that you simply couldn’t just hand him over the meal without at least one question being asked.

“How’s work?”

“What’s it like being a smith?”

“What do you think of Gondor?”

“You must really like roast, would you like to try our roasted chicken?”

No matter the angry stares or the frustrated sighs, Thorin would respond begrudgingly to each question. He liked the chicken now too, and from the four more times he had stopped by (on different days of course) it was quite apparent that this was his favorite food stand now. Because of the appetizing meals. Not because of your curious brown gaze. Our the sprinkle of freckles that were cast across your face. You had steady hands too, careful in passing and gentle in receiving. The few times your fingers had touched when he had exchanged his money had given him surprising chills. Your touch was quite cold and felt foreign from his hot temperatures.

It was getting a little easier to talk with one another. But Thorin didn’t make it to where it was ever a fluent conversation. He was only here for one thing after all. “Do you eat at Izec’s?” You decided to use up your one question on that this time. If you had counted right this would be your fifteen encounter and you still hadn’t caught his name, they just had so many other interesting things to know first, but you were getting pretty curious about that particular piece of info.

“Yes.” Thorin nodded, and the exchanged of meal for money transpired. You decided you weren’t satisfied, “Well isn’t it a bit stuffy to eat in there?” Thorin had taken one step away, “Sometimes” he agreed, not very happy that this was turning into more than the one usual question. “Well you could eat by the stand.. I give out complementary bread to my customers who do.” This was a lie, but maybe some enticing fresh bread would make him stay a little longer. “Maybe next time…” He wasn’t buying it, or maybe he wasn’t that hungry, or maybe he didn’t want to answer anymore questions. Whatever the reason, he was gone before you could talk him into it further.

Your sigh was obvious as it was loud.

“Maybe he’s just not into ya”

Your eyes immediately rolled, “Can it Howser.” The neighboring stand was a flower seller. He sold beautiful orchids when in season. But he was terribly nosy. “Well I’m just sayin, he’s only ever given you one-worded responses. Can’t get much dryer than that!” He laughed to himself at your misery. It was true you were getting nowhere in the sense of progress. Progress in what exactly? You weren’t entirely sure, maybe you could admit you had a crush on the recluse dwarf. “Any ideas then? I’ve tried to point out at least my interest,” you glumly stated, not wanting this to turn into some laughing stock at your failures.

“How about giving up?” Howser laughed, and the laughingstock it was. You glared at him as he tried to choke back his giggling. “Thanks.” You answered sarcastically and stopped paying attention to him, to which he tried to offer real advice but was left to be ignored.

Maybe giving up would become an option if the dwarf never came back. But he did come back, and it no longer took a week in between his visits. It was more frequent which had him occupying your thoughts more than the usual. The only thing that didn’t change was how uninterested he seemed in you. Which had Howser teasing you as soon as the dwarf departed. The game of chase felt like forever until that one fateful day.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, the sun taking its course to the west. It was unusual for the dwarf to come so late and even more unusual for him to be carrying a package. “What’s th-“ Your words were cut off with the thud of the item being placed on your counter. “Your order.” Thorin replied, already knowing the answer to the unfinished question. Izec was well acquainted with most in Gondor, which made him a good businessman. But once Thorin had told him about your stand and how good the food was, it was now tasked to him to deliver the finished product.

“Thank you for bringing them, you didn’t have to,” Thorin didn’t say anything as he had been told to do so it wasn’t like he was doing you a favor. With the silence, you decided to tear the parcel excited to see the results. Two beautifully slender long swords were revealed to you. Your breath was sucked in as you saw the fine lines and detailed swirls,

“Is it to your liking?”

This was the first question, he had ever asked to you. Just that had your heart rate accelerating. You assumed he had not only brought it to you, but had been the one to create such refinery. “It is, absolutely.” You beamed and he nodded, “To what name can I thank for such hard work?” You figured now was as good as anytime to finally ask the burning question. He was a mystery man, a stranger with no name, and you couldn’t continue to go on like such.

“Thorin.” He answered and had thought to himself that you had already known since most in Gondor knew from the rumors. “Thank you Thorin, I will treasure them.” He was never one for smiles, but somehow you knew he was at least proud of his work, and satisfied in knowing that you would be the one the wield them. You were positively optimistic in thinking that things would only get better with the two of you from here as he walked away. You let him go with no questions trailing him. With his back turned he held up his hand in departure, you couldn’t hold back your grin.

“Until next time,”

#the hobbit #jrr tolkien #there and back again #dwarves #dwarf #thorin imagine #thorin x you #thorin fic #thorin oakenshield #erebor #hobbit fanfiction #fan fic #imagine

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soldmysoultootomeboys · 3 years ago

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Hi! Can I request headcannons for the human brothers accidently summoning an angel mc instead of a demon and the angel mc insisting on sticking around and helping them?

The other brothers: :) Satan: >:)

This has been in the drafts for too long. I really love the absolute mood switch between Lucifers and Mammons. And just Satans in general ig.

Lucifer

After years of religious trauma at the hands of his father Lucifer finally thought he was free of any connection to the church. Summoning a flaming seraphim at 3 in the morning was not a pleasant way to find out that he was wrong.

As for you, being summoned for the first time in your long long life was an unwelcome surprise. You were a seraphim for heaven's sake. The cream of the crop, highest of the high, and that wasn’t pride speaking only facts. You were crucial to running the celestial realm.

But somehow you’re undeniably tied to his human. You could feel where his soul became intermeshed with your very essence. How wrong it felt to be tied to something so mortal, and delicate, and free.

Any attempts to leave would surely be met with disaster.

So you stay. Lucifer is cold. You can’t blame him. Being there reopens old wounds that he’d rather have remained closed. But just ignoring each other isn’t going to work.

He’s not interested in the celestial realm, and despises any blessing you try and give him, but a fresh cup of coffee during an all-nighter seems to make him brighter than any magic you could do and when you run your hands through his hair he looks at you with more fondness than you can comprehend.

You learn to be more human. He learns to let go of the past.

And one day you find that you don’t want to leave anymore.

For celestial sake that thought should as well be treason! But it’s true.

It’s a spring afternoon and Lucifer plays celestial lullabies on his piano and you want nothing more than for the beautiful night to come so you can sweep him in your arms and remind him how he glows.

You don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore, but you know that this human is yours and you are his. To rip off your wings would be to find solace in his arms. But you can not give him that. This he knows.

So you promise to protect him, in words he can’t hear but he understands. The spread of your wings shield him from the world and you press blessings to his skin in the shape of the crescents in his back and your lips on his neck. If nothing else you’ll keep him safe. When the world seems too big and the stress of his life gets him down you’ll always be here for him to crawl back to. You can give him that much.

Mammon

That was it

You had to have been assigned the stupidest human in the world

When you were promoted to guardian angel you kinda thought it would be more ‘protecting orphans’ and ‘guiding lost puppies back home’ NOT watching a grown man spend his last paycheck on his eighth Nigerian prince scam

Seriously mammon? Did the prophetic dreams you sent mean nothing? The visions of the future he coincidentally had after hitting his head on a light post, only simple illusions? What more could you try beyond simply marching down their and clocking him on the head yourself?

...unless

Raphael would have your wings if you went to the human world. But that would be a lot less painful that having to watch whatever Mammon was going to do with all the rubber cement he just bought.

The next morning you decide to sneak down. The city was amazing, all colored light and fun machines that whizzed by you on the streets

But you had to stay focused

You were an angel on a mission

You made your way towards central park. Mammon went there every morning to swindle tourists out of their wallets. If you were fast you’d get there before the first patrol office started chasing him.

Spotting the albino you marched straight towards him, readied yourself, and smacked him over the head.

Maybe not very angel-like but it worked.

One introduction later and you're officially a guardian angel

Mammon’s actually pretty nice once you get to know him. Sure he may be a bit too obsessed with lining his pockets but for all his talk he never hesitates to try and help you out.

Consistent affection and care is good for him. He never really knows how to react when you wrap your wings around him but even with his tsundere objections it's obvious he’s pleased.

He’ll take whatever scraps of affection you’ll give him and practically beams at every little gesture you do, no matter how small or insignificant.

You do have to be careful though.

At his request you had attempted to bless him with a bit of luck. An easy enough spell for an angel like you (even if you were 90% sure he planned to go gambling after). Whatever scheming he’s doing immediately stops the moment you cup his face. He seems to freeze when you lean in, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek

You were about to congratulate yourself on a spell well done when you noticed the condition he was in. He was like a living statue, a statue with a very very red face

Before you can ask what was wrong he flails pushing you away and darting off to his room

Any attempts to speak to him the rest of the day were met with incoherent shouting.

It might be best to withhold any magic until you can figure out how humans work

Levi

Once again Levi’s dedication to anime gets him into trouble

It started with his most recent obsession, a new anime that follows a group of angels, produced by the famous company, Dove. The plot, the animation, the soundtrack, all of it was amazing so when they came out with a new limited edition item featuring the very symbol that the main character wore he just had to have it

The moment it came he was setting it up on its own altar, a handmade replica just like in the show only for- Oh no

Before his eyes burst a shining visage of light and then you

You blink in surprise, whether it's from taking a human form for the first time in decades or the strange new room you were in, only you know

The scene may be foreign but the guy quivering on the floor was not

BE NOT AFRAID

Your booming voice echoes around the room

For some reason the guy begins to freak out even more

Didn’t he see your halo? You even told him to not be afraid. Were humans really so strange? :(

Oh well. You hum making your aura as comforting as possible and slowly the guy calms down enough for you to coax him into a seat as you begin to explain.

Which might not have been the best move.

The moment it sunk in he was bombarding you with questions

Yes you were an angel, no you didn’t know what anime was, yes you had wings, no you didn’t have any secret ultimate moves...whatever those were

He ranted and raved over this and that and you let him. He seemed like he needed someone to talk to. It also let you piece together what had happened.

He seemed to be a natural sorcerer, and a powerful one at that if he could someone an angel with no training or even knowledge that he could do magic

Just a few minutes in his presence made his self loathing obvious. Mix in a bit of anxiety and envy and you essentially have Levi in a nutshell

So you decide to stay

What kind of angel would you be if you just left him here? Michael would understand.

Or he wouldn't, it didn’t really matter because you already made up your mind.

Living with Levi is an experience for both of you.

He introduces you to so many new things. He had little boxes that could control light and screens containing actual people to talk to. It was all quite fanciful

In return you act as his friend, encouraging him to go out with you and attending cons with him, even if you still weren't exactly sure what cosplaying is

Slowly he begins to open up for you

He’s still nervous to go out in public, and a complete introvert at heart.

But that was fine. You could both figure out this new world together, at your own pace

Satan

Definitely was not trying to summon a demon to lay havoc on his enemies

Nope, not him he says all while trying to casually kick away vials of mysterious fluids

...Right

You’ve been down to the human world enough to know a demon summoner when you see one

Or in this case a failed summoner

He has no excuse for why he called you and instead seems more insistent that you leave

As much as you you might like to return to the celestial realm, you cannot in good conscience leave a man that you know is going to try and raise hell on earth the moment your gone

So you stay, and it's a good thing you do

This man has anger issues like no other

You thought Raphael was bad this guy is like a demon himself

However he seems willing to try and make the best of what he considers a bad situation

He asks you a lot of questions on the celestial realm

For a guy who knows so much about the devildom he seems to really be lacking on any knowledge on the other celestial beings

He mostly asks you questions on the celestial war, which is a touchy topic at best and downright upsetting at worst

He’s very interested in your opinions as your point of view is very different from his own, what with being a different species and everything

You learn things too, mostly about humans and cats but you suppose its a fair trade

Because of this you become close friends

You really win him over when he finds out your calming aura naturally attracts the stray kittens Satan's been trying to pet for the last few months

It’s not uncommon to head out to late night coffee shops and discuss the merits of different aspects of your lives

But maybe you’ve gotten a bit to close when he starts asking you to revise his summoning notes

Asmo

Apparently a lifetime of partying has prepared Asmo for some very weird discoveries

When you're sent down to the human world you have one job, find and keep an eye on the potentially dangerous summoner who's been in contact with multiple high level demons in the past few days.

Instead you end up meeting Asmo

You were prepared for a fight, not to be tackled into a hug the moment you revealed yourself

Asmo on the other hand is squealing with excitement

Sweetie, he's been waiting for this moment! This is his first time meeting an angel after all

He immediately begins talking about everything he wants to do

You quickly find out that he hasn’t made any pacts...yet, if only because he “couldn’t bear to damage his skin with such an ugly mark”

...Well you suppose that's a reason to not sell your soul

Even thoughts he's aware of the three realms it doesn’t make him any less enamoured with you

He’s never met an angel, he’s quick to mention. He’d love to get to know you, if you get what he means ;)

Are all humans so upfront?

If you decline he still wants to see your true form, even after you explain that no, if you transform you will not just be a beautiful angel with wings but instead a glowing mass of eyes and feathers and angelic light that will probably end up blinding him

Blinded because of your beauty ;) ;) ;)

That said he’s easily satisfied when you just bring out your wings.

He loves fussing with them and decorates them with jewelry and roses whenever you leave them out

He even starts an angel trend on insta after posting a photo as if they were coming from his back instead

Claims your glowing aura is great for his skin

You’re not sure if that’s a pick up line or if he’s serious but he definitely basks in your presence

Loves when you talk about the celestial realm, somewhere he desperately wants to go

I mean it's the only place that's fit for a beauty like him right? But of course he can’t die yet, his fans would be sooo upset

You agree to bring him up there one day, even if that sounds a little morbid

Of course he asks you to become his guardian angel

That may not be your actual job but you can’t resist his puppy dog eyes

You and him go pretty much everywhere together, bar some more xxx rated sites

He introduces you to parties and bars, and while you don’t indulge it's enjoyable to see humans in their natural element. They’re so fun and free spirited just like Asmo

Maybe that's what attracted you to him in the first place

He loves life for what it is, something so admirably human

But you don’t slack off either. You take your role as Official Guardian Angel seriously. You guard his drinks when he goes to the bathroom, and hum celestial lullabies when he’s sad and escort him down dark alleys when walking home. He has nothing to fear with you around.

You’ve become very fond of this human. Perhaps you’ll stick around a bit longer than you planned

Beel

It’s rare to be assigned to a human so...mundane

But that’s exactly what Beel is. He goes to the gym in the mornings, works a nine to five, and comes back home to his dog

He even has a good relationship with this family, do you know how hard that is to find in this day and age???

The only thing even slightly abnormal about this guy is his appetite

He could put a gluttony demon to shame with the way he eats

But the point is you really can’t figure out why you’ve been assigned to him or how your supposed to guide him

Eat a little less? Stop stealing your brother's lunch?

It’s the first time in a long while you’ve been so stumped

So you do what any sane angel would, go down to the human world to meet him yourself

He’s a likeable guy and it’s easy to get close to him, more so do to your angelic status

Although it’s surprising how well he takes the whole angel revelation

To be honest your pretty sure he forgets most of the time

He tends to follow you around, especially at night when he insists on walking you to wherever you need to be. It’s sweet even though there's little that can really harm you in the human realm

You quickly realize that he’s the type to have nightmares, usually calling out for one of his brothers or his sister

It’s become habit to wake up and head to his room

Just being there seems to calm him down

The first time he wakes up when your doing this he ends up asking you to stay

Isn’t shy about sharing the bed either.

He’s easy going so goes along with whatever idea you have

Especially when he starts finding snacks in his bag, each one blessed for a good day or to stay full or whatever little thing you thought of that day

Belphegor

Humans can’t see angels. Not unless they want to be seen, you remind yourself for what must be the tenth time.

But you’re almost certain that guy is looking right at you.

Step to the left, his head follows

To the right, his eyes narrow looking at you like your some puzzle he just hasn’t figured out yet

…this was fine

You turn around pretending to just not see him in hope that he’ll get distracted by something else

...you glance back. Why was he still looking at you? What is with this creep?

Enough is enough.

You march over there ready to ask what his problem is. Instead he beats you to it.

Eh? You’re an angel right? He asks before you can say anything.

???? Shouldn’t he sound more shocked.

The guy just sleepily blinks. He doesn’t look like a sorcerer or a witch, in fact you can’t feel any magic from him at all.

You go to ask only to realize he’s sound asleep. It’s not like you could just leave him here. And at the same time a human who can just see angels is an oddity of itself.

You decide to hang around for a while. Belphegor doesn't mind. He only says something about it being "too troublesome to drive you off," and "you'd look like you'd just come back anyways"

Belphie sticks to you like glue, if glue was absolutely insufferable and seemed to enjoy annoying you at every possible moment

You would think this would be easy. I mean he sleeps all day and when he’s not sleeping he’s napping. Simple enough right? Wrong

When he was awake he was committed to pushing every single button you have

If it seemed like it might inconvenience or annoy you he was already doing it. Trying to smack your halo, pounce on you, or even jump off the roof just to see you scramble to catch him. He was like some terrible terrible cat

Luckily he was never energetic for long. When he wore himself out he’d retreat to the roof of his crappy one bedroom and wait for you to join him

He liked to look at the stars and he’d point them out to you. Orion, Polaris, Sirius, he would mutter, bringing you back to the days when Michael, who was once so fond of you, would sneak you down to the human world just to show you the stars and darkness the celestial realm could not offer

When he finally got tired you would take over reciting Celestial names and marking the sky with your finger just to show him where they’d be.

Those times were pleasant. Even if they were brief.

“I’m gonna jump.”

“Do it.”

“You’re an angel. Aren’t you supposed to stop me before I do something stupid?”

“You won't.”

“Aight. Bet.” Belphie pitches forward and you just manage to catch him by the leg before he falls off the roof.

Brat.

Always ruining a good moment.

You can’t even be mad. The moment you pull him up he’s already resting his fluffy head in your lap waiting for you to pet him.

He may be the most troublesome human in the entire three realms, but he’s your human

#obey me #obey me hc #angel au #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me shall we date #obey me au #angels #obey me angels

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floralseokjin · 4 years ago

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⤑ made-up love song drabbles

First date: Seokjin’s POV

kim seokjin x reader warnings; none! words; 2,196 words

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here

Seokjin felt like a drink. It was nine o’clock in the morning, so absolutely out of the question, but it didn’t stop him from craving it. Whiskey. Definitely whiskey. Nana’s PA had just been to pick up Arin for the weekend – Thank God. Finally she would be able to spend time with her mom after a month, which he was over the moon about, and selfishly, that meant his date with you could go ahead. Even if he was so nervous he could throw up.

Work had been a great distraction for the past two days but once he’d woken up this morning the realisation had dawned on him. He was going on a date tonight. His first in a decade. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually gone through with it and asked you to dinner. He’d faced his fears, possibly made a fool of himself and shared too much about his personal life in the process, but you hadn’t seemed to mind at all. You were so easy to talk to, it was refreshing. He’d felt brave for the first time in months – years. But it still didn’t stop him from being on pins as soon as he’d opened his eyes this morning.

He’d showered early, just after Arin had woken up and then he’d helped her get ready for the day too, allowing her to eat her breakfast in front of the television as he tried to swallow down his bowl of porridge too. It tasted like cardboard – but then again, it might have been his cooking. Misook usually made the food around her, when he wasn’t dining out or ordering take out of course.

Arin had noticed his strange mood straight away. Obviously.

“Daddy, what’s wrong with you this morning?” She’d asked, looking over at him warily before hesitating. “I am spending the weekend with mom, right?”

“Of course you are, sweetie” he’d rushed, shaking away the surge of anger he’d felt. It pained him to know she was always expecting the worst lately. “Your mom just text me to say Jia is on her way.”

She’d smiled then, her face lighting up and he couldn’t help but match it, his nerves disappearing for a while. That was until he was left all alone, the house now empty and silent. He eyed the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter (where he’d left it after his small nightcap last night) and shook his head. He should drop you a text, just to check in and see if you were still on for tonight. He needed to find out what time to pick you up anyway. He probably should have messaged you the day before, he panicked suddenly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled his phone from his sweatpants pocket. Oh well, there was no time for regrets, that’s what his father always said.

It took him at least ten minutes to figure out what to say. His first draft sounded too cheerful, too false, he was trying way too hard and had added an examination point. His second was too formal, fifteen years of sending business emails back and forth obvious. He settled on something in the middle – he hoped.

Unknown (9:32am) Hi Y/N, It’s Kim Seokjin, Arin’s father. Just wondering if you still want to have dinner tonight? If so, please let me know and I will send through the restaurant details. We can decide on a time for me to pick you up. Regards, Seokjin

Only, reading it back after he hit send he began to second guess himself. Of course you knew who he was, his confidence might be lacking a little right now but he knew he wasn’t totally forgettable. What an idiot. Not that he could do much, there was no turning back. He’d committed.

He busied himself with a bit of Saturday morning cleaning while he waited for your reply, and by that he meant straightening up the pillows he and Arin had been sitting against earlier. When he returned to the kitchen, your message was waiting for him.

You (9:43am) Of course, send the details. I trust your taste!

See, exclamation points suited you. It was cute. He could just imagine you saying it in person, your dazzling smile, maybe that little giggle you’d made a few times on Wednesday. He felt something warm in his chest as he got lost in his thoughts, nerves easing once again. You were excited for tonight, he told himself. Maybe you were even just as nervous as him possibly…

He spent yet another few minutes composing his reply. A lot more casual this time, signing off with just his name. He didn’t always text like this, Namjoon could vouch for him, but he didn’t think you were both quite there yet. He wanted to show his best self after all. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to make you like him as much as he liked you.

Seokjin (9:50am) The sudden pressure… The restaurant’s name is KIM. I hope you like it. Is 7 alright to pick you up? I made reservations for 7:30. Seokjin

In truth, this restaurant was one he co-owned with his brother. Seokchul was the executive chef and they were both very proud of how successful their business venture had become. He knew taking you to such a place might seem like a cop-out – or worse, a brag – but that wasn’t the case at all. He wanted to treat you in a place that meant a lot to him. He could have chosen multiple restaurants, he was a regular at quite a few and could easily get a great table, but see, that did seem like he was showing off and he did not want to give you that impression at all. It was the complete opposite of his personality. KIM was a good choice, he was sure of it, and it helped that his brother didn’t work weekends, so there was no risk of bumping into him. Although, he had let him know about the date (and had begged him not to spill to their mother).

You (9:52am) I will. 7 sounds perfect. I’ll send through my address. See you later!

You followed up with a Google Maps link to your home, and he sent a quick thank you – sans his name this time. With a quick sigh he pocketed his phone again, it was time to get on with his day. He had some paperwork from yesterday to complete by Monday morning so he should probably make a start. He stopped to order a light lunch at midday, ate it as he scrolled through his very limited social media before getting back to it.

He called it a day around 3pm, a call from his mom interrupting his flow. He spent an hour talking, their weekend phone calls were habitual by now and he enjoyed them immensely. He loved his father of course, but their conversations mostly revolved around work. Despite stepping down as CEO three years ago, he was still a vital member of the company, and Seokjin continued to consult him at every opportunity and lean on him for support when things got stressful. With his mom, she was the woman he could still be a kid around. They could talk about anything and everything, but for her own benefit he left out his plans for tonight. He knew what she was like, she’d get way too excited and overwhelmed and before long she’d be sobbing down the line while simultaneously asking to meet you. She’d been wanting him to meet someone new for so long, much like Mrs. Shin. It was a surprise the two women weren’t conspiring behind his back.

No, he’d keep it a secret for now. If things went well tonight, then possibly his mother would get to find out. He wasn’t getting his hopes up though – or at least he was trying not to.

It was just after four when he got off the phone, too early to start getting ready just yet, so he sat in front of the television and tried to concentrate on a series he’d recently started. (It wasn’t going well. He was on about one episode a week out of a nine season TV show.) It was no use though, the nerves were rearing their ugly head again.

He decided to choose his outfit. Seokjin wasn’t much of a thinker when it came to fashion, he just grabbed whatever he saw first that morning, but tonight he wanted to at least put some effort in. After much deliberation he decided on a navy two piece paired with a white dress shirt. It wasn’t over the top, he thought, but nice enough to make that impression that was so very important to him. He kept his hair simple. He’d managed to squeeze in a haircut yesterday so it made things easier, but upon closer inspection in the mirror he noticed those pesky grey hairs of his glittering in the sunlight. He grimaced, worried now. He didn’t know your exact age yet, but it was obvious he was a few years older than you. He was no spring chicken, especially with those wrinkles around his eyes. He had been called handsome all his life, no stranger to it, but right now he was dubious.

He pushed his trivial concerns away and concentrated on the next decision. What car he would take. He didn’t want to go too flash – again with the showing off thing – so the Aston Martin was definitely off the cards. He hadn’t actually driven that one much, going through some sort of so-called midlife crisis when he’d bought it straight after his divorce, so he made a mental note to take it out next weekend. He decided on the Mercedes convertible (roof on, of course). It seemed like a suitable choice, not too flashy at all really. He didn’t want to run the risk of putting you off him or overwhelming you with showy displays. He was well aware of the differences between your lifestyles, not that he cared at all, but it didn’t stop him from understanding. The things that seemed slight to him could very well be enormous for you. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, shape or form.

Shit, on second thoughts maybe his restaurant was a bad idea…

Seokjin was always punctual, he prided himself on it, but tonight it made him nervous. He’d said 7 but it had only just gone quarter to. He couldn’t very well stay in the car for fifteen minutes, you’d spot him out the window, so ever so slowly he opened his car door and stepped out, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He was sure he noticed his hand shaking as he closed it behind him. He was such a mess it was embarrassing.

You lived in a nice little neighbourhood, it seemed quiet, and he admired your pots of flowers in the patch of garden you had as he made his way up the path that led to your front door. He took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, adjusting his suit jacket as he waited for you to open up. It’s fine, Seokjin, he told himself. It’s just dinner. You’ve done much scarier things in your life. Pull yourself together, man.

A few seconds later the door opened in front of him and you came into view, looking as beautiful as ever. I’m fucked, he thought immediately.

“Hi,“ he forced himself to say as he smiled. He was probably staring but he couldn’t help himself. You looked stunning, your dress deep red in colour and incredibly flattering. His throat felt dry and he swallowed quickly.

“Hey,” you greeted back.

“You look beautiful,“ he couldn’t help but awe, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of line with his compliment.

"Thank you,” you smiled almost shyly. It was adorable. “You look…really good.“

He couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, aware the sound was probably highly unfaltering, but he couldn’t help it. "I’ll take it. Thanks.” He tilted his head to the right then, composing himself. “Are you ready to go? I’m a bit early, I know. Sorry about that."

He really couldn’t tear himself away from your beauty, but luckily you didn’t seem to notice, busy nodding as you clutched your purse to your side. "I, uh… I would invite you in to kill time but my best friend’s embarrassing.” Your voice raised as you continued, your head turning slightly down the hallway.

He raised an eyebrow, a little confused, but he guessed said best friend was in the house somewhere? He smiled and shook his head. “It’s fine.”

As you stepped forward, a breath of a chuckle slipping from your throat, he moved to the side, outstretching his arm to let you lead the way. You accepted with a brief nod of your head, your gazes catching for a split second. God, you were gorgeous.

His nerves might have eased a tad, but his heart was still beating just as fast – if not more.

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

#seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #mls:drabbles #fic:mls #floralseokjin:writings

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k-s-morgan · 4 years ago

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What He Grows to Be: Snippet 5

Thank you to everyone who expressed their preference over what they’d prefer to see in the snippet! Tom watching Harry’s memories about the Chamber of Secrets got the most votes, so here is the draft version of it. Though since it’s almost 4K long, maybe calling it a snippet isn’t appropriate :D

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Talking through a diary was an interesting idea. Tom wasn’t sure what kind of magic this was, but now that he’d seen it, he could figure it out. He and Harry would be able to have immediate conversations instead of relying on letters or Patronuses.

Then again, considering what this diary had led to, perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. The last thing Tom wanted was to add himself into Harry’s collection of negative associations in one more way.

He didn’t see how Harry had managed to get into the Chamber of Secrets. One moment, he was staring at the bloody inscription on the wall; the next one, he was standing in an entirely new vast space. Tom still had no idea where it was located or how to access it.

His heart sank in disappointment, but when the full implications hit him, it stopped entirely.

Harry had excluded this memory on purpose. He didn’t trust Tom with the knowledge of where the Chamber was. He showed him the core events but not the details because his trust and his faith were already gone by that point.

And the ritual made it even worse.

An uncomfortable itchy heat began to radiate from Tom’s chest. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar, so he pressed his palm against it, confused and hoping to squash it down.

He couldn’t name it, but it felt a little like shame. He’d never experienced it to this extent before, and it was never mixed with this kind of almost desperate hurt.

He’d been trying. For years, he’d been trying to be someone Harry would approve of. The craving, the longing for his acceptance stayed his hand so many times that now Tom couldn’t count them all — he even allowed that scum Morfin to blackmail him, no matter how maddeningly outrageous the whole situation was, simply because he refused to risk Harry finding out.

He’d made mistakes, but they were minimal in comparison to what he would have done if he hadn’t been trying. And yet Harry still didn’t trust him.

The shame began to curl away, giving way to dejection. Loneliness suddenly felt sharp and uncompromising, and Tom wrapped his hands around himself, watching how Harry’s head snapped up.

“She won’t wake,” a voice said. It was soft but cold, so it took a moment for Tom to recognise it. His eyes quickly moved towards one of the pillars, and something in him shuddered from what he saw.

It was like watching his reflection in someone else’s dream. Something was wrong with the boy he was looking at, and it wasn’t just about the fact that his physical contours were blurred, as if he was being held together by magic alone.

No, he was simply different. He didn’t have the splendour Tom prided himself on. He was thinner and hollow-cheeked; his clothes, while neat, came from some cheap store Tom would have never stepped into. He was but a shadow with empty vicious eyes and greed that swarmed around him in a cloud — greed Tom wasn’t sure he could relate to.

He longed for things. He longed for Harry. But even from here, he could read the shallowness and the arrogance written all over his twin’s face, and he didn’t like it one bit.

This wasn’t him. This was Tom Riddle. Someone he could have been.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry asked. He was staring at Riddle with such earnestness, like he trusted him entirely and couldn’t see what a hollow shell he was. This was the first time Tom would disappoint him — the first in a long line of failures and betrayals.

“No,” Tom murmured to himself, shaking his head briefly. He couldn’t keep blurring himself and Riddle — that way madness lied. Despite some superficial similarities, they were completely different people. He might have let Harry down, too, but their story was different. This abomination was dead and could never touch it.

“A memory,” Riddle replied. His voice was quiet, but its sinister and bitter undertones were as loud as shouting. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Tom’s brows furrowed. What? A memory? That must have been some ritual. Why would he condemn himself to this kind of existence? To give Voldemort more power? Maybe Voldemort had managed to subdue his will and make him into a brainless soldier somehow. This was more plausible than any version of him feeling such loyalty to some monster that he would follow him blindly and sacrifice his life force for him.

How did one become a memory in the first place? Even Tom with his knowledge about all possible forms of dark arts couldn’t figure it out.

Riddle burst into an animated, mostly one-sided conversation, and several minutes later, Tom had to admit that listening to his own voice was surprisingly challenging. Riddle’s arrogance was distorting his words; his excitement over successfully breaking an 11-year-old girl was embarrassing — Tom had felt less enthusiastic when he killed Charlus, and that happened back when he was a child himself. His first impression had been accurate: Riddle was worlds away from him. He was stupid, and Tom would have never believed it if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes.

“I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here,” Riddle said pleasantly. His eyes were fixed on Harry in an intense, hungry way — and well, they did have something in common, after all. “I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” Harry spat angrily. He didn’t look intimidated in the slightest — his anger and righteousness made him appear taller, and his blazing eyes were furious enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

“How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?” Riddle wondered. The pleasant notes were disappearing again under the piles of bitterness and odd envy. “How did you escape with nothing but a scar while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

By the end of it, a red gleam entered his eyes. It looked unnatural enough for Tom to make an instinctive step towards Harry.

This was unnerving. Magic was one thing, but what would turn his eyes — Riddle’s eyes — red? Humans couldn’t do that, it went against all laws of nature. Unless… Unless Riddle wasn’t human.

If so, what was he?

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Harry asked slowly. His own gaze was narrowed in a dawning realisation that Tom couldn’t decipher. Did Harry have a theory? How could he — he was only twelve. “Voldemort was after your time.”

Riddle smirked at him, looking almost giddy, and Tom had to amend his opinion. This impostor wasn’t simply stupid, he was crazy. He grew excited over irrelevant things and reacted inappropriately to every logical question Harry asked.

“Voldemort,” he uttered, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter.”

Pulling a wand out of his pocket, he slashed the air with it, writing three rapid words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom studied them, his stare lingering on “Marvolo.” Something about it stood out. Something was strangely familiar.

Before he could follow the clues, Riddle waved the wand again, rearranging the letters. The syllables shifted and clung to each other briefly before assuming their designated places.

I Am Lord Voldemort

His mind went utterly blank. Time stopped. The existence of the world lost its meaning. Tom stared at these words, re-reading them again, and again, and again.

I Am Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

He was Voldemort.

He was Voldemort. All this time, he was watching himself, and he didn’t even realise this.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Tom recoiled from the damning words so violently that he lost his balance and collapsed onto the wet floor. His body didn’t feel the impact — it couldn’t, he didn’t even have it here, but it still burned, it still groaned and shuddered, as if the weight of his mind and his feelings was too much for it to bear.

“It can’t be,” he tried to speak. No words reached his ears, so he did it again. “It’s not possible. I’m not him.”

Still nothing.

Acid burned at the back of his throat. His stomach contorted in pained shock, and then the terrible screaming something filled his ears, crawling in them until it was the only sound they could perceive. It was violent and shredding — it echoed in his very bones.

He was Voldemort. All along, he was Voldemort. He’d killed Harry’s parents. He tried to kill Harry. He made so many Horcruxes that he had gone insane, losing his mind along with his powers, losing the respect of his followers, leaving only fear in its place.

He wasn’t the right hand of Harry’s nemesis. He was his nemesis. Harry had spent his entire first life hating and fearing him — he had single-handedly ruined Harry’s existence so thoroughly that Harry was forced to escape into the past. To accept guardianship over someone who tortured and destroyed him.

An icy fist closed around his lungs, clawing and squeezing the remains of air out of them. Tom gasped, his body jerking in odd abrupt movements that he had no control over. The next second, the contours of the Chamber of Secrets faded, melting back into Harry’s bedroom. The phantoms of the past were gone — they stayed trapped in the Pensieve, but their terrible echoes remained with Tom. They latched onto his mind with hungry vengeance, throwing an image after an image of the pictures he had seen when he was first watching Harry’s memories.

It didn’t matter then. Those pictures were just that — the images of a monster he didn’t know and had no direct relationship with. But recalling them now and putting his own face onto them…

His mind rebelled. Tom pressed his hands to his ears, trying to silence the screaming, but it kept getting louder. It hurled accusations and mockeries, painted every crime he committed, every time he hurt Harry and raised his wand against him.

There was no silencing something like this. The only thing Tom could do was outcry it, so he screamed, too.

He found that he couldn’t stop.

***

That night, he added just one sentence to his letter.

Why would you love me?

***

The sleep didn’t come. The desire to tear into his skin and shred it until physical pain remained the only sensation was strong, but every time Tom raised his wand or his hands, he stopped.

He wanted to hurt himself. He didn’t want to hurt Harry.

It was easier before. In Harry’s absence, for a long time, he’d been putting his own hurt above everything, even above Harry himself; he’d marred his skin without care, wanting, needing acknowledgement.

But he couldn’t do it now. The thought of leaving even a small scratch on Harry made him sick.

That cursed ritual.

Tom managed to stay physically intact throughout the night, yet he spent it curled into a tight ball, shaking under the pressure of ache and grief and emotions he couldn’t identify. There were so many of them — they were crowding his chest, interfering with his heart, making him feel like he was about to explode with them.

When the morning came and nothing changed, Tom made himself get up. He cooked breakfast, then stared at it silently, knowing that he could never eat it without vomiting it back.

He needed… something. Something comforting. Harry wouldn’t return; Harry’s blanket and things no longer produced the same soothing effect, so it had to be something new.

If he could capture Harry’s Patronus into some vial… if he could consume the letters Harry had written him…

The letters. He still had the letters. They were the last thing he’d gotten from Harry — they had his personality, his handwriting; they had a whole part of him because Tom could easily trace the story of their creation. From the pressure Harry had applied to a quill in different instances, it was evident where he hesitated, where he took a break, where he got anxious or passionate. It was the closest thing to him Tom had in his possession now.

Without thinking further, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed the last letter. His eyes immediately zeroed in on three specific half-lines.

…I’m going to keep explaining until you do.

…I’ve promised you’ll always be my priority.

…I might consider returning.

A promise of future communication.

The use of future tense.

Future possibility.

This was evidence. Whatever Tom was, Harry didn’t give up on him. Harry still loved him. He might still return.

Tom closed his eyes, nuzzling into the letter, and finally, for the first time in hours, the ache lessened. The sick feeling grew dimmer, too, and he felt solid and grounded again. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to another passage.

Watch those memories. Don’t contact me until you do.

Tom pressed his lips to these lines, trying to breathe them in, feeling how their rough surface scratched his mouth.

Permission to contact Harry. He still had it. He was simply supposed to meet Harry’s condition.

That meant that he had to return to the Pensieve. The sooner he was done, the closer to Harry he could feel again.

Carefully, Tom folded the letter and put it in his pocket. If things got bad again, he could always touch it and remind himself of the future.

The memories weren’t a punishment. They were a chance to improve things.

Tom couldn’t really be certain, but he preferred to cling to this notion.

This made things easier at least to a small degree.

***

He chose to return to the start of the memory. Silently, he watched his shadow speak with Harry, lingered on how it hissed the words of self-admiration and hung onto its useless pride.

“I fashioned myself a new name,” Riddle boasted breathlessly, “a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

“You are not,” Harry said quietly. Despite his age, his resolution was steely, and if Tom had to choose whom he admired more at this moment... it wouldn’t even be a competition.

“Not what?” Riddle snapped. Insecurity and rage were twisting his ghostly face — it was a pitiful display. If the words of a 12-year-old boy had the power to affect him, then he had not only failed at greatness, he was also a failure of a sorcerer.

“Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore,” Harry said hotly. “Everyone says so!”

The reasoning was… like that of a child. Even though his stomach was clenched into a tight knot, Tom smiled a little, suddenly overcome with a rush of gentleness and fondness for this particular version of Harry.

He was trusting. He was pure in a way that even his Harry wasn’t — he didn’t see death and destruction yet; he was not betrayed by Dumbledore.

He was not betrayed by Tom.

The smile disappeared, leaving Tom hollow.

When Dumbledore’s phoenix burst into the Chamber, carrying the Sorting Hat, Riddle laughed, and Tom laughed with him — only his laughter was hysterical because all pieces in his head suddenly clicked into one clear picture.

Dumbledore. Of course. Of course it was Dumbledore’s plan all along, how did he not see this from the start?

Harry hadn’t sneaked into the Chamber secretly — Dumbledore allowed him to. Dumbledore was likely watching him even now, invisible, waiting for the outcome.

Harry was a Horcrux, and Horcruxes could be destroyed with basilisk’s venom.

This was a test. Dumbledore wanted to see if he could get rid of the Horcrux inside Harry without necessarily killing him. The Hat was here to give Harry the Sword — with his mindless bravery, it was not a surprise that he could pull it out. The phoenix was here to decrease the chances of Harry dying and to heal him after he was stabbed.

Clever. And enraging. Because for Dumbledore, Harry was a game piece. For Tom, he was the world.

He would have let Voldemort live for a thousand of years. He would have allowed him to destroy this universe until nothing was left if it meant he could keep Harry safe. Dumbledore would never prioritise one over a billion, and for that, Tom hated him.

“Kill him,” Riddle hissed. The words sent a jolt of automatic panic through him, and Tom moved between Harry and the basilisk before he could think rationally about it.

The snake was magnificent, there was no denying it. Even the first time, when he’d been distracted to the point of ignorance, he stopped to watch it because it was breath-taking in every way.

There was only one drawback. It wanted to kill Harry, and it meant that Tom would see it destroyed.

Harry broke into a run with his eyes shut. He managed to half-cross the room when he tripped and crashed down, his chin colliding with the cold stone. The sound of it launched Tom into immediate action again before he could stop his stupid feet.

Feeling this protective for such an extended period of time was exhausting. His heart kept hammering relentlessly and his hands were itching with magic, needing to pour it somewhere to protect Harry and to make sure he never got hurt again. How could anyone live in such a state?

The basilisk roared from pain when Dumbledore’s phoenix attacked it. Its tail whipped across the floor, approaching Harry with deadly speed, and Tom’s heart stopped. It stumbled forwards again only when Harry ducked, crouching, dirty and bloodied but with determination still burning brightly on his face. He was beautiful and desperate, and Tom would have cradled him in his arms if he could touch him.

A gust of wind sent the Hat right in Harry’s face. He grabbed it, put it onto his head, and threw himself to the side when the basilisk’s tail snapped forward again, almost crushing him into nothingness.

This was all strategic. It wasn’t a coincidence that the phoenix appeared immediately after Harry pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore. This was training — training in blind devotion, in recklessness, in self-sacrifice. And Harry had no idea.

At least this Harry didn’t. The adult version knew everything yet he still seemed to hold deep respect for Dumbledore.

Perhaps some training was too ingrained to ever fade from one’s core. This explained… almost everything about Harry. If Tom got another chance to make things right, he would dedicate himself entirely to removing these suicidal ideas from his head once and for all.

Harry pulled out the Sword from the Hat. He spent only a second on contemplating it — the next one, he was already standing and pointing it at the basilisk.

Nothing about this picture was palatable. The sword was too heavy for a child his size: Harry was struggling with it, and the basilisk kept thrashing, hitting everything in sight. How he survived was a matter of miracle. If he had died… If he’d died, this would be it. Tom would never be the person he was now. He would be limited to a memory in his own diary, to a ruin incapable of human thought. He would never get his second chance, and the life as he knew it would never exist.

Terror that rolled through him could only be rivalled by the sheer horror of witnessing the basilisk’s fang separate itself from its mouth and plunge into Harry’s arm. Static electricity burned somewhere above his elbow in a phantom sensation of pain Harry had to be experiencing. It wasn’t real, but Tom’s breathing still quickened, and his fingers wrapped around his arm convulsively.

He couldn’t tell if the fang fell out because Harry had aimed his Sword there or if it was Dumbledore again. Either way, Harry was dying, and even though Tom knew he’d survive, watching this was no less excruciating.

“Fawkes,” Harry murmured hoarsely. His eyes were fluttering shut in an image that came straight from Tom’s worst nightmares. “You were fantastic, Fawkes.”

Giving praise to an impervious bird when life was bleeding out of him. Harry was insane. He was the Harry — his Harry. It was no wonder that an overwhelming longing for him had been and was going to be Tom’s undoing in every life he lived.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” Riddle crowed, and Tom turned to face him with a snarl.

He hated this version of himself. Hated him. It was just a shard of him, dull and shallow, and if this underwhelming thing was ever his future, he would have preferred death.

Riddle wasn’t a powerful wizard. Even now, when faced with a dying wandless boy, he was too wary of making his own move. He let the basilisk be his weapon; he was watching Harry die and not intervening because he was intimidated.

Though perhaps it made sense. Maybe even Riddle could see Harry’s brilliance despite his narrow-mindedness — maybe, beneath the hatred and the fear, he was fascinated. Tom knew he would be.

Harry might not have much power, and he certainly didn’t at the age of twelve, but he still managed something no other wizard had tried. He’d defeated a giant basilisk with a sword; his agility was almost otherworldly as he twisted, crouched, and ducked from the heavy blows.

This was worthy of admiration. Even Riddle couldn’t be that blind so as to miss it.

When the phoenix healed Harry, Riddle didn’t cry out in alarm or anger like Tom might have expected him to. Instead, his face shifted between different conflicting expressions, and his eyes regained the hungry glint Tom found intimately familiar.

“It makes no difference,” Riddle spoke confidently, with only the tiniest twitch of uncertainty underneath. “In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me.”

The surprising jealousy raised its ugly head, making Tom tense. He didn’t know in what way his shadow meant these words — he didn’t like to think about it either. It didn’t matter any way because there would never be such thing as Riddle and Harry, not until Harry came back to the past and gave the real Tom a chance at rebirth.

Without answering, Harry stabbed the diary with the fang, his eyes glistening with fevered hatred. Even Riddle’s piercing scream didn’t shake Tom the way this look had. He barely heard a sound through the sudden roaring in his ears, the sudden realisation that this was Harry’s first and last meeting with an actual Tom Riddle. Voldemort was a monstrosity with a face Tom refused to claim, but physically, Riddle was him.

How did Harry feel, watching him grow up? Had he ever looked at him and seen Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets? How could the feeling of love prevail over the feeling of hatred the 12-year-old Harry was currently wearing?

Tom turned away, unable to keep looking. His throat was dry, and as his knees started to shake, threatening to buckle right under him, he thrust his hand into his pocket, gripping the letter there.

In some other world, this moment had been Riddle’s end. But it wouldn’t be his.

He could do better. He would do better.

He’d finish watching these memories, he’d complete his letter to Harry, and then he’d start working. Harry would never look at him like he had at Riddle. In years, the memories of the Chamber of Secrets would fade; Riddle would become a shadow of a shadow, and Tom’s image would outshine him. It would take precedence in Harry’s mind.

This determination washed away the worms of doubts and self-hatred. When the new wave of memories swept him along, Tom felt prepared to face them.

#my fics #tomarry

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years ago

Text

That Time Tim Totally Terminated Ra's Al Ghuls Entire Empire Part 1

So. I wrote something very silly. The title says it all, except it doesn't because this bad boy spiraled out to being over 10k and deserving of 2 chapters. Anyway, here is the first chapter featuring all the times Ra's kidnapped Tim because he wanted to recruit him.

Summary:

"Let us not beat around the bush,” Ra’s started, after taking a sip from his tea, “I have brought you here to make you an offer.” Tim nodded, that was obvious enough. Ra's had no reason to kidnap him this time beyond something like this.

“As you know, I’m always on the lookout for enterprising young individuals with both leadership and fighting experience to join the League of Assassins. Right now I’ve been on the hunt for the perfect person to fill a brand new executive role in a new chapter of my organization.”

AO3 Link

Tim wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up in this situation. No really. One moment he’d been in Gotham, crouched behind an old BMW that had been in the same spot for a month, waiting on Batman’s signal, the next he’d woken up in some lavishly decorated room. Was that silk? Or maybe velvet? He had no idea what was hanging around the bed he was laying in, but Tim really didn’t care.

What he was concerned about was his own personal state. He raised his arms --that alone was a good sign-- and confirmed that his mask was in place. He pushed himself up on the ridiculously plush bed, -which was unreasonably plush by the standards of a kid who'd grown up rich, and then gone to live with a guy who had both more money and even better beds.

The point was, the bed was so soft Tim actually had a bit of trouble sitting up.

When he did manage to right himself, he finished taking stock of his own situation and his surroundings. His Robin uniform was intact aside from his belt, but he saw that set on a trunk that looked at least as old as Bruce, a few feet away. The room was, as he already determined, lavishly decorated.

Tim pushed himself out of the bed and onto a carpet so thick he kind of wanted to pull off his shoes and curl his toes in it, but seeing as he still had no idea where he was, who took him, or why, he figured that was probably out of the question. He did make a mental note to ask Bruce for some better carpet when he got home. As a kind of gift for surviving a very weird kidnapping.

Instead, he moved to walk carefully around the room. He found no obvious traps, no cameras or speakers or microphones that were either hidden or out in the open, and both doors were unlocked.

The first he opened revealed a bathroom. The second he cracked open to peer out of. His eyes locked on that of an honest to goodness ninja standing guard outside the door. The man locked eyes with him and Tim snapped the door shut with a click.

Welp, that answered the who and maybe even the where of Tim’s abduction. Ra’s Al Ghul. He was pretty sure if he gave the ninja ten minutes to go find Mr. al Ghul himself, he’d have the why too.

While he waited, Tim snapped his belt back around his waist, comfortable to have its weight back, even if being in a League stronghold meant all the tricks in his pockets were basically useless on his own. Still, it was nice to feel fully like Robin again.

After that it was a matter of waiting.

Tim paced an actual trench into the thick carpet as he waited. Batman was of course looking for him. That was a given, he just had to wait for the man to find him. Or for Ra’s to send him home? He really wasn’t sure why the Eco-terrorist would have taken him in the first place beyond a really weird obsession with Batman's various sidekicks.

How come all of Bruce’s baddies seemed to have a strange fixation on Robins? It was weird how many went out of their way to kidnap and attempt to recruit him, Dick, and if the stories were to be believed, Jason too.

Just as Tim was starting to turn that particular thought over in his head, the door to his room opened and Ra’s himself strolled in.

“Timothy.” the man drawled.

“Ra’s.” Tim replied, suddenly totally and completely unsure what to do with his hands, voice, feet, and general self. This wasn’t a fight after all.

He settled for crossing his arms and being terribly glad his domino hid his eyes.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you here.” Ra’s said.

Tim shrugged, “It doesn’t take the world’s greatest detective to guess that.”

The man frowned at him, and Tim started to wonder if maybe he should be watching his words a bit. He wasn’t in Gotham with Batman at his back after all. But then again, Ra’s must need something from him right? So a little sass was okay, what was Robin without a smart mouth after all?

“I mean--” Tim started, unable to stop himself now that he was thinking about it, “I can probably start to guess. You didn’t kill me and I’m not in a dungeon so you’ve got to want something from me right? I bet this is some blend of trying to win me over and also hold me above Batman because you--” he paused for a moment trying to remember if Bruce had been on Ra’s’ trail at all lately.

He dropped his arms and clapped, remembering, “You’ve been trying to break into energy and you want Wayne Enterprise to back you and legitimize your business. So you’re holding Tim over Bruce, but you probably want Robin because you and like half of Batman’s rogues have this weird obsession with teen heroes for some reason."

At some point he’d stopped looking at Ra’s and actually started pacing again. When he stopped talking his feet stilled and he looked back up at Ra's and grinned, ""So, am I hot or freezing cold?”

He expected Ra's to looked angry or irritated, instead he looked amused.

“You are quite warm. Though I would contend the assertion that I have a weird obsession with teen heroes. I am only interested in the exceptional, and you Timothy, are exceptional indeed.”

Tim gulped, “I mean--not really? But thanks.”

Ra’s waved him off, “We will speak more later. You are correct, I do intend to use you as a bargaining chip against your guardian--”

“Dad.” Tim interjected.

The man raised an eyebrow but continued, “However you are not a prisoner in the traditional sense. You may wander the compound with one of my men by your side to ensure you do not get into trouble. If all goes well you will be returned to Batman within a reasonable amount of time. Unless, of course, you do decide you would like to stay and learn from me.”

“I don’t really see that happening.” Tim said, “But I'll be sure and let you know if I make a sudden turn towards world domination.”

Again, Tim expected some kind of retaliation, but he was thankfully ignored. Ra’s left him with a warning not to cause undue trouble and soon Tim was alone in the room again.

He spent the next couple days wandering the compound somewhat aimlessly. He had a phone call with Bruce where he promised his dad that he was totally fine if a little bored, and spent the rest of his time trying to avoid Ra’s. The man was kind of relentless in his attempts at winning Tim over to his side and sought him out at meals, when Tim was trying to train a bit at one of the many gyms, and even once while Tim was wandering a rather fantastic garden. Each time, Tim did his best to wiggle out of the man's suggestions and just get back to wiling away the time between then and getting home.

Thankfully, it was all over in four days when Batman came crashing in with Nightwing and Batwoman to rescue him, and soon Tim was home and settling back into normal life.

He’d actually almost forgotten about the whole Ra’s kidnapping him until it happened again. Once had been a surprise, two times was starting to look deliberate.

This one lasted a week with Ra’s claiming it was because he still really wanted that energy deal and he just couldn’t understand why Bruce wasn’t willing to trade that for his ward (son Tim had ground out in irritation).

Tim almost believed him, until he woke one morning to find a pamphlet had been slipped under his door, it was literally a flyer promoting hiring in the League. Tim looked over it and had to laugh out loud. The text was done in a mix of papyrus and other fonts and whoever made it had used clip art. It looked like someone had typed it up in Microsoft word in like half an hour.

He spent the rest of his time there re-designing the flyer, with a ninja hanging over his shoulder as he used one of the League computers. The new one wasn’t the best flyer in the world, but Tim was pretty proud of it, and it was much better than the first draft.

When he was done, he pocketed the original, then pinned a note to the new one that said: Ha! Not until you get better designers.

Batman rescued him again, and Tim pushed the double kidnapping and Ra’s’ weird obsession to the back of his mind until the next time he was with Steph.

They were in the manor watching a Chopped marathon and Tim was telling her about both kidnappings.

“So he’s super into energy? How come he didn’t nab Dick? We all know he’s Bruce’s favorite.” Steph teased, popping a chip into her mouth.

“Setting aside that obvious lie, that’s the thing,” Tim continued, digging out the flyer he’d kept, “It has nothing to do with energy or Dick. I’m pretty sure Ra’s is trying to recruit me.”

He showed her the paper and Steph snorted, spraying chips out as she laughed, “No. Freaking. Way. I have to tell Cass. Let me show her this, please I’m begging you.”

Tim groaned, “Yeah, sure, but don’t you think it’s weird?”

She shrugged, taking the flyer to look it over, “Of course, but the B-man attracts weird like ice cream dropped on the ground attracts ants. Give him six months, and Ra’s will move onto a different way of trying to piss off Batman.”

“I hope so.” Tim said.

The third time Tim woke up in the elaborate room he was getting really sick of the decor and the headache that came with being knocked out and dragged halfway across the world.

“You know.” Tim started, the moment Ra's walked into his room (and it was actually Tim’s room he’d learned from one of the ninja guards), “You could have waited a month this time, to at least pretend this wasn’t all about your super weird plan to try and convince me into letting you adopt me.”

Ra’s opened his mouth to respond, but Tim wasn’t done.

“Which, by the way, I’m taken already. B did the whole adopting thing, so you missed that window. Though, I guess that probably doesn't really matter to you in the grand scheme of things since you keep kidnapping me. You are aware that kidnapping isn’t the best way to convince someone that your way is the right one, right?”

“Also, would it kill you to pick up some --I don’t know-- books on recruitment or something? I don’t understand how you’ve managed to get so many guys on your side it’s--” Tim started, but Ra’s had caught on to Tim’s mood at this point, conceded temporary defeat, and made a hasty retreat.

Tim didn't see him the whole rest of the day, and by the next morning Batman showed up, swinging in for another rescue and all was fine and good and normal for a while.

Until, of course, it wasn’t.

It was the fourth kidnapping that really set Tim off.

He woke up back in that stupid room with it’s stupid decor and those stupid posters ready to burn the place to the ground. But something stopped him, a premonition. Like if he was patient for just a little longer he’d find a good and proper form of revenge to take on Ra’s for his total inability to take a hint.

At some point two ninja came by to take Tim to meet with Ra’s. As they walked Tim couldn’t help but notice the posters literally lining the hallways they walked through.

They were of two wildly different styles, but both struck a thought of familiarity in his mind. One was obviously a play on the classic “I want you in the army” poster. The other ripped off old “pin up” recruitment posters. Both made him laugh, and Tim pulled a couple of each down to save to show the Titans. He had a feeling Bart and Kon would lose their minds over these.

He had just folded them up and shoved them in his back pocket when they reached an office. Inside, Ra’s sat in a chair and motioned Tim to sit in one across from him.

“Thank you for joining me, Timothy.”

Tim sat and shrugged, “Not like I had much of a choice.”

Ra’s waved him off. As he did, a different ninja from either of the ones who’d escorted Tim to the office came in with a tray of tea. He handed Ra’s a cup, then gave one to Tim, and left the set on a table between them.

The whole vibe was kind of awkward and strange. Tim felt very much like he had one time a year ago when he’d realized halfway through a date that things were not going to work out. He hadn’t been able to end the date then and there, and had spent another two hours awkwardly making small talk and trying to avoid promising a second date.

“Let us not beat around the bush,” Ra’s started, after taking a sip from his tea, “I have brought you here to make you an offer.”

Tim nodded, that was obvious enough. Ra's had no reason to kidnap him this time beyond something like this.

Tim took a sip of his tea in an attempt at avoiding having his mouth drop open in shock. Ra’s sounded like something out of a “Executive success seminar” that was just a veiled multilevel marketing scheme.

“To put it plainly, Timothy, I want you to become my apprentice. I know you and assume you might be hesitant to accept this lifestyle so I’ve prepared for you something of a presentation on what that might entail.”

Tim couldn’t stop a laugh from bursting out of him, but he did manage to turn it into a kind of cough.

“Wait--wait.” he said, almost choking on his tea, “Are you about to show me a powerpoint?”

Ra’s looked a bit put out at that suggestion, almost like he wanted to sigh, “Of course not, it’s more interactive than that.”

Tim held up his free hand, incredulous, “Is this--a job interview Ra’s? I thought you were pitching this to me.”

“No, no. It’s an interactive presentation designed to show you just what you have to gain from joining me.” Ra’s explained, as he did so Tim took another sip of his tea.

He lifted his cup and waved it lightly, “Oh yeah, so I’m just in one of those fairy tales then where you make me do three impossible tasks and at the end I get the happily ever after dip in the lazarus pit?”

“It’s only one trial--”

“So it is a task!” Tim declared, almost standing.

“Timothy.” Ra’s snapped, sounding a bit like Bruce whenever Tim and Steph’s antics pushed him a bit too far.

Tim crossed his legs and leaned back into the chair, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Irritating the man was a bad idea, Tim knew that, but this was just ridiculous. He wasn’t going to be sent on a wild quest that might end up with him dunked in a Lazarus Pit or whatever else Ra’s had in mind that would supposedly prove how great it would be to work for him.

“If you are not going to take this seriously, then there are other ways of showing you why joining me is a good idea that are not nearly as pleasant.” Ra’s growled.

Tim held up his free hand, “I’d rather not find out, give me your pitch or send me off with your best ninja or whatever you were planning.”

He figured playing along would work for now. He could put off giving Ra’s an answer until Bruce came in for a third rescue. When he was home, they were going to have a serious conversation about ninja proofing the manor. Ra’s could not keep kidnapping him like this, they had to have some kind of security measures in place.

“Wonderful. I’m sure after your tour you’ll have a better understanding of what I have to offer you.”

Tim ended up following someone Ra’s called his “best general” around the compound for an hour. The guy showed Tim the training rooms, the medical suite, sparring rings, a variety of ninja’s actually practicing, and at one point they even ended up in the library. The general had been given instructions to pause anywhere Tim wanted him to, and so they lingered in the library for a bit.

He had to admit, Ra’s had a fantastic library.

The general didn’t seem worried about Tim getting lost, or escaping, and waited by the door while he wandered the massive room.

And boy was it huge. It was bigger than the main floor of the cave, with stacks and stacks of books on two floors. Some of the volumes looked ancient, and there were even scrolls shelved on the second floor.

He gingerly pulled one out to examine.

“That is worth more than you could ever imagine.” a sharp, young voice, declared, behind him.

Startled, Tim dropped it back onto the shelf and spun. Before him stood a kid, probably 8 years old, with tousled dark hair, dark skin, and a face that almost echoed some of Bruce’s school photos. It was startling.

“Hi.” Tim said, dumbly, “I know, it’s Ancient Sumarian right?”

“Tt.” the boy crossed his arms, “You are not an idiot then.”

Tim shook his head, “Nah, apparently I’m smart enough to be selected for recruitment.”

The kid nodded, “So you are Grandfather’s young detective. He speaks highly of you.”

Grandfather? Tim’s brain spun. This kid was Ra’s al Ghul’s grandkid? He ran the numbers, the kid’s mom was either Talia or Nyssa. If he had to put money on it, Tim figured the boy before him looked more like Talia than her sister. And his other features--like Bruce’s?

No.

No. Freaking. Way.

“That is hardly language to use here.” The boy said, arching an eyebrow at him.

Tim hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud, but apparently his surprise had been so great he had. He cleared his throat, “Sorry, I just never expected Ra’s to have a grandkid.”

“It is not surprising to me, I am his heir. Born to inherit the League and rule the world one day.”

Okay, that was a lot to unpack. Just a totally wild amount, but Tim wasn’t super focused on the world domination thing just yet (maybe later when he had a chance to process all of--well, all of it), “Sorry to keep pressing but, doesn’t having an heir kind of--I don’t know, put his whole Eternal Ruler of the League thing in jeopardy?”

“Tt. It is not my place to question my Grandfather’s plans. I simply know what I have been told, that I will inherit the League one day in his stead.”

“Well,” Tim rocked back on his heels casually and grinned, “That might be a long loooong time.”

The kid’s brows furrowed as if he had not really considered that idea before. He opened his mouth to say something else, but seemed to decide against it, dropping his arms to his sides to shrug, “If that is his wish then so be it.”

“True.” Tim said, not really knowing what to say. Instead he settled on changing the subject, “You know, if your grandfather gets his way I’ll be spending more time here, so I guess introductions are in order. I’m Timothy Drake-Wayne, but most people just call me Tim.”

He held his hand out to the kid, smiling at him. If he really was Bruce’s then they’d be getting to know each other for sure. Just not here. Tim had zero intentions on letting Bruce’s child stay with the League. Did B he even know he had a kid? Tim thought he’d better figure that out first before kidnapping his little brother.

Little brother. Just that idea made something flutter in Tim’s chest. He’d always wanted a little brother.

The boy scowled at his hand, and did not take it, “You may be correct, even if I do not see what Grandfather seems to. I am Damian al Ghul, heir to the Demon’s Head.”

Tim bit back a grin at just how serious this kid was. He sounded like a little prince, all imperious and haughty. Damian, even his name fit him. He wondered how Damian would do around Dick? Or Stephanie. They’d figure out how to bring a smile out of him.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Damian.” Tim said, “I know we’ve really only just met, but I’m sure you’ll see what Ra’s does in time.”

Damian looked him over again, then gave a sharp nod, “I am interested in seeing what you have to offer.”

“Damian, I found it, where’d you go?” A voice sounded from deeper within the stacks.

Tim started at the sound of the voice. He knew it. Knew it from nights spent chasing shadows, from recording’s Bruce had watched a hundred times when he didn’t think Tim was watching. From Tim’s own desire to know and learn more about his predecessor. It was Jason Todd’s voice.

But that couldn’t be. Jason was dead.

“I am coming.” Damian returned, his tone more childlike than Tim had heard in their whole conversation. He turned back to Tim, “Do not ruin that scroll, I will see you later.”

Then he spun on his heel and walked away.

Tim stepped forward, reaching out for the kid, “Wai--”

“Master Tim, we really must be going.” Tim’s guide was back, stepping into his view as if from nowhere, and stopping Tim’s chase as short as it had been.

“Can we wait just one more second?” he asked, “I wanted to ask Damian something else.”

The man’s mouth turned down in a frown, “I do not have clearance to let you speak with Master Damian. Come, we have more to see.”

Frustration bubbled up in Tim, but unless he wanted to start a fight he wasn’t going to get a chance to talk to Damian right then. The kid had promised to see him later, so maybe he’d seek Tim out. If not, Tim would find a way.

As he followed the man out of the library, he kept searching the stacks of books for a sign of the others. It wasn’t until they’d left the room that Tim caught sight of Damian again, his small form waving animated at a taller, broader one. One that, while older, was unmistakably Jason.

Before Tim could say screw everything, the two turned around a corner, and someone else was clearing their throat. His guide seemed eager to move on, and so they did.

Tim tuned out most of the rest of the tour, and eventually found himself back in the office from before, once again seated across from Ra’s.

“Timothy, I hear you have met my grandson on your tour.” Ra’s started.

“I did.” Tim said, a bit hesitant to go into detail, his guide had seemed like talking to Damian was a pretty serious thing, and suddenly Tim was afraid he’d gotten the kid in trouble.

Ra’s smiled, “He is magnificent is he not? Already he is a skilled warrior, and well trained in his studies.”

“He said he was your heir?” Tim ventured.

The man waved a hand dismissively, “Of course he is, he is my grandson, but that does not mean he will inherit. The boy is valuable to me, for many reasons. He is an excellent tool to wield against my enemies already, and will only become more so as he grows.”

Anger bubbled up in Tim. There was something in Ra’s’ tone that made Tim sick, to call a kid a tool. To plan to just use him his whole life?

“And what, do you want to do that with me too? You said you wanted me to be your apprentice, but if your Heir is just a tool then--”

“No, as I said I want you to take over a branch of the League. You have talents and skills Damian will not. The boy is--” Ra’s shrugged, “Let us call him a vessel. A shell for me to wield in one way or another.”

Well, that just made Tim even more angry. Damian was his grandkid. What Tim wouldn't have given to still have his grandparents, and for Ra’s to just--If Tim wasn’t already dead set on getting Damian home, he would be after this conversation.

“You know what, Ra’s. Let me think on it a while. I’ll get back to you on my answer. I kind of want to see Damian in action a bit, learn what this training looks like in someone closer to my age.”

The man considered this for a moment before nodding, “I will let you watch his sparring session tomorrow. For now, I think we’re done. Have a good evening, Timothy.”

Tim nodded, and left. His mind was racing, he wanted another look at Jason. Wanted to tell Damian about his dad. Wanted to make sure both his brothers were okay.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he missed the black and blue clad arm that reached out from behind a curtain and yanked him back. Nightwing put a hand over Tim’s mouth to quiet him, and then pulled him out the window the curtain had been hiding. They dropped, into nothing--except it was solid?

Tim found himself inside the invisible jet. Inside, and flying away from his newly discovered siblings before he could even argue they needed to be rescued too.

One flight with Wonder Woman and Nightwing later, and Tim was home again, being told in stern tones by both Batman and Nightwing that he really needed to stop allowing himself to be kidnapped by ninjas (like he didn’t know that).

Then he was in his room, in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind whirring. He had learned two things on this trip. Two impossible things. Two things he was going to leverage as soon as he could.

It was late, and he should be sleeping, but instead he texted Steph and Cass in their little group chat.

Tim: Want to cause some chaos?

Immediately he received a response:

Steph: Always

Cass: Who are we going after?

Tim smiled, his fingers dancing over his phone:

Tim: Ra’s.

Cass: Time to teach him a lesson?

Steph: I've been waiting for this, I’ll get the kerosene

Tim: There’s more.

Cass: Tell.

The light flashed on out in the hallway, Tim could see it flicker to life under his door.

Tim: Tomorrow, lunch at that place with the sweet potato fries. Come ready to plan a kidnapping or two.

The next day Tim found both Steph and Cass waiting eagerly for him at the restaurant, a heaping plate of sweet potato fries between them.

“Spill, Bird Brain.” Stephanie said, as he sat down, pushing some fries towards him, “I want to hear everything about this crusade against Ra’s.”

Tim rolled his eyes, and snagged a fry, dipping it in one of the sauces they’d gotten to accompany it.

“As you’ve probably already guessed, I had another visit to the League compound yesterday.” Tim started, “It was more of a day trip this time, but Ra’s did his very best to sell me on signing up.”

“More posters?” Cass guessed, then shook her head seeing Tim’s expression, “What did he do?”

Tim snagged another fry, “Yes more posters, but more than that he gave me a speech right out of a How to Recruit for Dummies book, then sent me on a tour of the building.”

Steph snorted, “Please tell me you recorded it.”

“I did not, but you will never believe what I found on my tour, or to be precise who.”

Both girls paused their snacking, waiting on him to continue.

Tim dropped the first bomb, “Jason Todd, alive and breathing.”

“What, no way.” Steph said, “How’d he even get there? I thought He was buried here?”

He shrugged, “I don’t have any of the details, but they’ve got a Lazarus pit, and Ra’s is weirdly obsessed with recruiting Robin’s, so I’d say his resurrection tracks.”

“Who else was there?” Cass asked, brow furrowed.

Now this he knew neither of them would be expecting. Tim hadn’t expected it. He still couldn’t believe it.

“Ra’s al Ghul’s grandson, Damian.” Tim said, watched both girls look even more confused, then added, “The son of Bruce and Talia. At least, I’m pretty sure he’s their kid.”

The fry Stephanie was holding dropped out of her hand.

Tim watched Cass processing the information, saw her realization that there was another child being raised in the League, then saw the determination cross her face at her own personal decision.

“We are taking them both, correct?” Cass asked.

“We’re taking them both, and burning the place down.” Tim confirmed, “That should properly pay him back for all the time’s he’s kidnapped me this year.”

Steph’s lips turned up into a sharp grin, “The law of equivalent exchange.”

Tim laughed, “You’ve been watching too much tv.”

“It’s prepped me for this very moment.” she shot back, voice falsely grave.

“Batman prepared you for this very moment.” Cass elbowed her.

“No.” Tim said, “I’m going to prep you. And then we’re going to put everything in action.”

They talked, and planned, and debated the pros and cons of letting Tim get nabbed again over just going himself, and eventually after many many sweet potato fries and sodas they were ready.

It was to be infiltration first, fire and kerosene second. Obviously the place was going to go up, but only after they set the stage for rebellion and convinced Damian and Jason to go home with them. Tim didn’t think it’d be a hard sell for Jason, but the kid was another matter altogether. If Tim couldn’t convince him to come along, they may actually end up having to kidnap Damian.

A key to the plan was that only Tim, Steph, and Cass were in on it. There was no way Bruce was giving the green light for such a thing. Besides, Tim wanted to see his face when they presented him with not one, but two, rescued sons from the League.

Over the next week Tim made himself the most kidnappable he’d ever been. He wandered outside, kept to himself, and tried to look as wide eyed as possible. He lingered in parking lots, and took shortcuts down empty alleyways. Basically, he did everything he could to signal he was alone and vulnerable besides hanging a sign around his neck that said “Take me to your (ninja) leader”.

At one point he even stopped, dead center in the middle of an alley and declared, “Wow this sure is a dangerous place to be! I hope I don’t get attacked and kidnapped by ninjas!”

The only response he got that time was from an older woman who stopped at the edge of the alley and very seriously called out, “Careful, young man. Don’t you know there are killer clowns out? You best be on your way before you get hurt.”

Then, at long last, Tim caught sight of one of the League members ducking behind a shadow. He paused his walk, and leaned over as if fascinated by something on the sidewalk in front of him. By the time he’d stood, the ninja was in front of him.

Tim held up his hands in surrender, doing his best not to actually look excited. Then, he was successfully kidnapped for the fifth --and if Tim’s plan worked successfully-- final time.

#Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #Stephanie Brown #Cassandra Cain #Batfamily #fanfiction #crack #crack treated seriously #multimedia fic #humor #kidnapping attempts #revenge plots #Ra's tries to recruit tim #Spoilers it backfires #what is canon #precious posts #long post #chapter 1

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Four: Lies

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: brief mention of blood, allusions to an abusive household/family, mention of child custody battle, 80s typical misogyny, cursing.

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

I Believe In Love Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Four - Next

-—-—-—-

He'd lied. You read the name over and over again, the crumpled letter shaking in your hands. Lorenzano. Lorenzano. Lorenzano. He wasn't Max Lord, he was Maxwell Lorenzano and you had no idea how he could lie to you - or better yet, why he would lie to you? There was a reason for everything. You might’ve been new to the world of man, and you might not yet understand their conditions and way of life, but it didn’t change the fact that this hurt. He was your first friend - your first real friend who wasn’t a child. He accepted you into his home, and he even believed you when you told him who you are. You had opened up about being a literal goddess from the secret haven Themyscira, and he hadn’t even told you his real name.

And then, your visions of him… memories and dreams… they hit you one by one. Now you could finally put a face to the voice that had been haunting you. He was the child you saw when you had fallen asleep in Black Gold Cooperative, the child who was getting bullied for the clothes he wore, and his shoes. You felt foolish not realising it sooner. The image of ‘Little Lorenzano’ getting tormented perfectly paralleled the way Alistair had gotten cornered in the park earlier today. Your heart ached for them both.

Max Lord was clearly putting on a brave face in front of you. But now that you knew who he really was, you knew that he was deeply hurting, and he needed your help. He might not realise it, but this is why you were here. You’d come to the world of man to fulfil your duty as the Goddess of Home and Hearth for a reason and Zeus had deliberately connected you with Alistair and Maxwell. This was your purpose. They were your purpose.

You smoothed out the letter to the best of your ability, deciding that if you were to help him, you should probably read it. You had hope that it would help you understand things and allow you to piece together the puzzle. You glanced back at the speckles of his blood in the sink, and the smashed vase on the floor. Whatever was in this letter had clearly angered him.

I, Theodore Thomas IV, share a bond with Miss Grey and recognise that she is a caring and devoted mother. We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.

A bond. You were quickly able to identify that Julianna Grey was the mother of Alistiar, although the bond between she and Theodore Thomas IV had not yet become clear to you. Your heart would usually find warmth in the revelation that Julianna was, in fact a ‘caring and devoted’ mother, but instead it grew cold. As the goddess of home and hearth, you could sense the lie in his words. You wanted to believe that Julianna was a good mother, but your intuition said otherwise. These were your powers - and there was no way you were wrong about this. Despite the immediate concern you had for Allistair, you pushed the feeling to the back of your brain and forced yourself to continue reading the letter.

Mr Maxwell Lorenzano and Miss Julianna Grey divorced on the seventh month of 1980 after being married for two years. Miss Grey notes that their relationship was strained since the beginning, with Mr Lorenzano too preoccupied with his career to focus on his family.

Marriage - Max and Julianna were married. It was something you had read about back on Themyscira when you had spent time educating yourself on the ‘way of man’. Marriage was, supposedly, a sacred ritual that joined together the spirits of two people in the name of love. And love was the fundamental principle that would create a family. At the core of a family, was love, and that was the most important thing. Your eyes flicked back up the final sentence of the first paragraph; “We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.” You couldn’t help but shake your head profusely. These people wanted to take Alistair away from Max? There was no way. Theodore may think that Julianna deserves Alisitair, but it was never going to be about ‘deserve’. It could only be about love. And you knew for certain that Maxwell loved Alistair with his whole heart.

I have known Miss Grey since 1980, after working on her and Mr Lorenzano’s divorce case. As not only her partner, but also a trusted lawyer of our capitol’s legal enforcement, I can whole-heartedly ensure that sole custody of Alistair Lorenzano must be granted to Miss Julianna Grey.

Divorce was something you weren’t so familiar with, and you figured it should be something you ask Maxwell about at a later date. It was at this moment you learned that Theodore was Julianna’s partner, lover, even. No wonder he thought so highly of her. There was no question about it. You knew you had to pay Julianna and Theodore a visit to see for yourself. You had to see the truth.

Please find us at the District Columbia Court, D.C., in one week from the date stated on the letter. If you make no effort to show and fight your case, you will be banished from seeing Alistair until he turns eighteen years of age.

Banishment? The thought of splitting up Max and Alistair filled you with the most excruciating pain. You couldn’t let this happen. You wouldn’t let this happen.

Sincerely,

Ted

So Theodore was Ted and Maxwell was Max. If you had known that names in the world of man could fluctuate so much, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten mad so mad at Max for lying about his name. After catching the address on the envelope, you engrained it in your memory and carefully folded up the letter and placed it in the pocket of the Maxwell’s pinstripe shirt that he had given you to wear. Now you just had to figure out a way to get to the address on the letter.

You spent some time sweeping up the shattered glass on the floor, and cleaned up the sink before padding back into the living room and sliding your feet back into your gladiator sandals, buckling them up. You even picked up the lasso of truth and tied it around your waist so it acted like a makeshift belt on you. There was no way you were going to leave it behind. You took another look at the photo frame that was on the small table next to the couch and picked it up. You smiled as you felt the exact same love that Maxwell felt when he was in the photo, holding baby Alistair. Just looking at the family portrait filled you with so much joy. You knew that Max’s love for his son was genuine.

Turning the frame over, you opened it up and took the glossy polaroid out, placing it in the same pocket of your shirt. You loved the photo and you wanted to take it wherever you went.

It was cold outside, and the sky was a deep shade of blue. There was definitely a draft, and you wondered if you should’ve changed back into your Amazonian warrior gear. The oversized shirt that Maxwell had given you, as well as the gladiator sandals, didn’t really provide you with the greatest amount of warmth. You weren’t even wearing anything on your legs.

A small old lady with a zimmer frame was walking down the street. “Oh wow!” she exclaimed, looking you up and down, presumably judging your outfit of choice. “You have very nice legs, but aren’t you cold?”

You looked down at your legs, noticing the goose pimples, and nodded in confirmation. “Yes, but I’ll be okay. Do you think you could help me with something?” you asked curiously, watching as she raised her eyebrows.

“Me? Help you? What could little old me-”

You took the letter out of your pocket and pointed to the address. “How do I get here?”

She adjusted her glasses and squinted. “Thomas Family Lawyers,” she read out loud, before turning back to you. “Honey, this law firm is on the other side of Georgetown. You best call a cabbie, especially this late in the evening.”

“A cabbie?” you asked, shivering in the cold. “I’m sorry… I’m not from round here.” you shrugged helplessly.

“Let me help you.” the old lady said, reaching into her purse and bringing out an enormous 1984 brick-like cell phone. The contraption shocked you, and you even wondered how she had fit it in her bag. She pulled out the antenna and began to dial a number. “Hi, could I get a pre-paid taxi to Thomas Family Law Firm, Georgetown? Thank you,” She put the phone back in her purse and offered you a smile. “A cab won’t be long. I’m Mrs Stagg, by the way. Might I enquire… why are you going to a family law firm when you’re not even from the area?”

“To help a friend.” you returned the smile.

“Does your friend live in this neighbourhood?”

“He does. Um… his name is Max Lord?” you explained but the way it left your lips made it sound more like a question. Lord? Lorenzano? What difference did it make?

“Ah,” was the small sound that emitted from Mrs Stagg’s throat. “Max Lord, the oil guy. My son Simon is- was an investor for Maxwell’s company. From what I heard, the company is bust. A joke. Max Lord has been scamming the entire nation for years.”

“Scamming?” you asked, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Black Gold Cooperative have shares in oil fields all around the world, only, the oil fields have completely dried up, you know - with the Cold War and all. But he kept going… kept making those silly infomercials and selling his dream. ‘Anything you want, you can have it.’ or something like that.” Mrs Stagg scoffed, shaking her head incredulously. You recognised the quote from when you had seen him all suited up on the television.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. Why would he lie to the whole country?” you beckoned further, despite the conversation bringing you some uncomfort. Max had seemed like a genuinely good guy and a loving father up until this point.

“For money, I suppose. That’s all it’s ever about with folk like him. Money. I chastise my son for it too. He’s the CEO of Stagg Industries and the only reason I could live in such a beautiful neighbourhood like this one. He bought my home here,” she beamed proudly. “But, I don’t know much about Max Lord. Don’t really see him around on the streets either. He must be cooped up in his office most of the time. Hey, you’re his friend. Maybe you should ask him why he’s nothing but a low-life conman.”

Her words stung, and they weren’t even about you. You were completely lost for words, and surprised that she had so much hate in her heart for Max. Granted, if he was rivals with her son, it would make sense, but she did raise many questions that concerned you greatly. When the taxi pulled up, she paid the driver and helped you into the passenger seat. “I don’t know Max Lord,” she whispered from the other side of the car door. “But please darling, be careful.” She warned you before the cabbie whisked you away.

Your concept of time was slightly askew, but you figured the journey to the law firm lasted twice as long as the journey from Black Gold to Max’s home. You looked out the window taking in the stunning city at night. The buildings were all lit up and reflected against the windows, creating a glitter in your eye. There was nothing like this on Themyscira. No tall skyscrapers, no enormous shopping malls or company buildings. D.C. was booming, and it was beautiful. The journey allowed you to process Mrs Stagg’s words and think even more about Max. Clearly, both Julianna and Theodore had their reasons not to like Maxwell, and now, so did Mrs Stagg and her son Simon. You had to speak to Max and confront him. You knew there was more to him than what meets the eye.

Thomas Family Lawyer’s was a big building, not as big as Black Gold Cooperative, but it was still big. Just as you went through the revolving doors (which you had now grown accustomed to, due to your time spent and Max’s office) a group of girls began to file out. Whilst Raquel had been somewhat confused by your presence, these girls shot you the most evil of stares.

“Do you know what time it is? Office hours are closed. Why are you here?” One girl with sleek black hair spat coldly. You practically winced at the malice in her voice.

“Oh, I’m here to see Theodore Thomas?” you said slowly, nervously biting your lip.

“Who are you?” quizzed the same ebony haired girl.

“I’m a friend of Max Lord.” was the only thing you could come out with. Maxwell had warned you to refrain from identifying yourself as the ‘goddess of home and hearth’ in front of the public. He told you that people won’t believe him like he does, and that they’ll think you’re crazy. You had no choice but to believe him.

“Max Lord!” a red haired girl gasped, and a shorter blonde girl slapped her hand over the redhead’s mouth. “Sorry,” the redhead muffled as the blonde girl removed her hand. “He’s just so sexy.”

“But you know we’re not supposed to like him.” The blonde girl hissed.

“Huh?” you asked, knotting your eyebrows together. “Not supposed to?”

The ebony haired girl let out a longing groan. “Will the both of you just shut up?” she grimaced, glaring at the other two girls before looking back at you with that same mean stare. “Turn left, his office is the big one at the bottom of the corridor. You’re lucky he’s working late tonight.”

“Yeah, on his girlfriend’s case.” The redhead said weakly.

“Can you not keep your mouth shut?” Snapped the black haired girl. “Why would you say that in front of this hobo stranger when she’s just said she’s Max Lord’s friend. She doesn’t need to know that Mr Thomas is working on the custody case! It’s a wonder he hasn’t fired you yet for being so stupid.”

You had zoned out of the pointless conversation about mid-way through anyway. Those girls were nothing but rude to each other anyway. You slipped past them and down the corridor until you reached two double doors, not hesitating for a second to open them up.

There, with his head buried down into a pile of papers, was a dark haired man in a tight fitted suit. He abruptly looked up when you had entered his office, his mustache wavering in bewilderment as he took in the appearance of a girl who was wearing nothing but an oversized button up shirt and brown strapped gladiator sandals. “C-can I help you?” he gulped, relishing the sight of his body like it was the sweetest view he’d ever come across. You crossed your bare legs together awkwardly, feeling slightly vulnerable by the way he was staring at you.

“Are you Theodore Thomas IV?” you asked.

“I am.” the dark haired man confirmed, shuffling around in his leather seat.

You nodded, turning around to close the double doors behind you and walking over to his desk. You took out the crumpled up letter that had been addressed to Maxwell Lorenzano and slid it over the expensive oak wood. “What is this?” you questioned. Theodore took out his reading glasses before analysing it.

“Where did you get this letter?”

“Max Lord is my friend.” you gulped, folding your arms over your chest. “And this letter…”

“You mean Maxwell Lorenzano?” Theodore scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Listen, I’m not here to discuss that low-life loser, okay? I have more pressing matters to deal with.”

“So do I.” you persisted. “This letter…”

“Unless you’re his lawyer, and I doubt you are,” he snarled, looking at you up and down with the utmost disdain. “I will not be discussing the letter with you. Friend or not, it’s confidential.”

“I’m here to help him.” you gritted out, unable to believe the anger that dripped from your own tongue. It was true, you were angry. You were angry at the way everyone was so against Maxwell Lord, and you were angry at the fact the reason remained so unclear. Every new person you met didn’t like him, and you just wanted to know why.

Your words did pique the curiosity of Theodore, however. He raised an eyebrow and leaned over his desk, his gaze not breaking from you once. “Help him? You mean, you’ll be representing him in court?” You weren’t sure what that meant, but you nodded your head. If this was the only way you could get information out of Theodore Thomas IV, then so be it. “Do you even have any legal experience?”

“What? No. I told you, I’m just his friend.”

Theodore let out a boisterous laugh, the level of volume making you flinch. “Shit, he can’t even afford his own lawyer. I didn’t realise it was that bad,” he assumed. “Excuse me for one second.” he pointed a finger and dialled a number on the telephone.

Meanwhile, Maxwell was Julianna’s home. When Alistair heard his dad’s voice, he came running downstairs to greet him. “Daddy!” he called excitedly, running into his father’s arms. “You came back!” Maxwell picked up Alistair and spun him around, pressing a loving kiss to his son’s forehead.

“What do you want Maxwell?” Julianna sighed, tapping her foot impatiently against the marble floor of the lobby.

“To talk,” Max answered, placing Alistair back down on the floor. “Just us two. Uh- is Ted here?”

“Lucky for you he’s working late at the firm. Working on our damn case,” Julianna shook her head before turning to face her son. “Alistair, go to your room.” she commanded.

“But I want to see daddy!” Alistair cried, tears pricking his dark brown eyes.

“He can stay.” Maxwell negotiated but the comment was completely lost on Julianna.

“Go. To. Your. Room.” Julianna barked angrily, which sent a frightened Alistair running back to his bedroom.

“Shit Julianna, he’s just a kid. No need to talk to him like that.” Maxwell frowned, his ex-wife’s tone reminding him of his own father’s.

“Now Maxwell, I know you’re not giving me parenting advice, are you?” she asked sarcastically. Maxwell noted how bitter she had become, or perhaps, how bitter she always was. “I’m assuming you’re here to talk about the case. Try and change my mind. Well, you can’t.”

“Julianna, I know things have been rough between us since the divorce but I just want what’s best for Alistair. I love him so much.” Maxwell revealed.

“Bullshit!” Julianna scowled. “All you do, Max, is speak bullshit. You want what’s best for him? You’ll allow me and Ted to have full custody of Alistair. You’re a shit father and you know it.”

“I know- I know I’m messed up. I mean, I’ve messed up in the past but, something happened. Something inside me woke up and I’m ready to step up Julianna. I’ve changed, please just believe me. I love Ali-”

“You don’t deserve him,” Julianna growled. “You know what Maxwell? You’re nothing but a deadbeat. Just like your father was.”

Maxwell felt his face turn red with rage at his ex-wife's comment. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles had even turned white. “I am nothing like my father!” Maxwell yelled defensively as the anger bubbled within him. He wanted to cry. Every time a memory of his own abusive father came up, it made Max want to curl up into a whole and cry. It broke him.

Before Julianna could reply, the phone on the wall began to ring. Julianna answered it.

“Hey, Julie?” Theodore was on the line, still laughing from his talk with you. “Baby, you won’t believe this.”

“What is it?” Julianna asked hesitantly, twirling the wire of the phone around her finger.

“Some girl- some half naked girl is here- in my office claiming to be a friend of Maxwell,” Theodore spluttered. You frowned at his tone of voice as he talked about you, right in front of you. Julianna turned to Maxwell in bewilderment, who was just standing there and had no idea what was going on. “She’s saying she’s going to represent him during the custody trial.”

“What?” Julianna spat. “Who the fuck is she?”

“I don’t know! Never seen her in my life. Pretty little thing though, I guessed maybe he’s fucking her? Not sure. She says she’s living with him.”

“Living-” Julianna couldn’t help but repeat her boyfriend’s words. “Teddy, Maxwell is here. Right now. Can you come home and… bring her with you? I want to have words with her.”

“Got it. See you soon sweetie.” Theodore finished before hanging up the phone.

Julianna turned to Max. “That was Theodore. He says some half naked girl has shown up to his office claiming to be a friend of yours.”

Maxwell’s eyes went comically wide as his greatest fears became realised. “What? No, no- there’s no way. That’s impossible. I told her to stay at home- how the hell did she get to Thomas Family Lawyer’s?”

“You’re asking me?” Julianna gasped in disbelief. “Who the hell is she, Max?”

Max was so confused and shocked, he couldn’t even find words. If you had found your way to Theodore’s office, that meant you had read the letter. It also meant that you knew his name. And finally, it meant that you had completely invaded your privacy. Part of Maxwell was mad, but an even bigger part of him was confused as to how you ended up on the other side of Georgetown in the office of his ex-wife’s current boyfriend. You weren’t even from round here, hell, you’d only gotten into a car for the first time today. Julianna and Theodore weren’t the only ones who had a thousand questions. Maxwell did too.

When you arrived at the Thomas family home, you looked at it with complete adoration, just like how you looked at Maxwell’s home. It was extensive in size, with beautiful pillars and adorned with flowers on every corner. Maxwell and Julianna were waiting for you and Ted in the dining room. Ted hung up his suit jacket on the coat peg in the lobby and you slowly followed him into the dining room. Unlike Maxwell’s home, which was covered with photographs of Alistair, you couldn’t spot a single picture of the bright eyed child in any of the rooms you passed. You wondered why.

When you entered the room, Julianna’s and Maxwell’s jaws both dropped in unison. “She’s wearing your shirt!” Julianna screeched, pointing her finger accusingly at you.

“Yeah? So fucking what?” Maxwell shot back. “I didn’t realise you can police my wardrobe now!”

Your gaze flicked between Maxwell and Julianna who were already arguing with each other. "Can we settle down?" Theodore intervened, placing his briefcase down on the table.

Maxwell turned to you and took a deep breath. "Why- why didn't you put on some clothes before you left the house?" he sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to keep his composure.

"I- I didn't have any clothes and. I didn't know if it was normal to dress like this in the world of man." you admitted sheepishly, feeling embarrassed that you'd made a fool of yourself and seemingly Maxwell too.

"The world of what?" Julianna scrunched up her nose. "She has no clothes? Maxwell, where did you pick this whore up?"

You stiffened up at her harsh words and Maxwell's dark eyes snapped open. "Don't call her that," he warned. "She's… different. Look, I can't explain now but-"

Julianna turned to Theodore. "I want her out of my house. She's a fucking prostitute."

"She's not a prostitute," Maxwell sighed, running his fingers through his dark blonde hair as the stress engulfed him. "She's just a friend."

"I want her out." Julianna reiterated, her voice like venom.

"I- I can wait by the car," you told Maxwell timidly. He didn't reply, instead just putting his head in his hands. You turned to Julianna and Theodore. "I apologise for any intrusion I may have brought upon you both." you said before walking away.

Even before you got to the front door, you'd heard them start fighting again. Maxwell wasn't yelling, but Julianna was so loud and accusing. You couldn't help but feel like she brought around such a toxic environment.

As you leaned against Maxwell's car, you looked up at the upstairs window. It was illuminated, signifying that the light was on. It was so cold and you couldn't help but sigh as you waited for your friend to return and take you home— if he still liked you, that is. After everything that had gone on, you wouldn't be surprised if he just left you on a street corner to fend for yourself.

You were delighted when you saw Alistair in the illuminated window. He poked his head around the curtains, smiling and waving immediately when he saw you. You grinned back, thankful to see the sweet boy and to know that he was okay. The smile on his face dropped and although you couldn't hear what was going on back in the house, you could tell by his expression that there was something wrong. Alistair disappeared from the curtains and you began to untie the lasso of Hestia from your waist. Swinging the rope around in the air, you attached it to Alistair's balcony and swung yourself up to the third storey of the Thomas family home. You quietly tapped on his window. After only a few seconds Alistair returned and let you in.

You clambered back into the house, finding yourself in the little boys bedroom. "Hey Alistair, how you doing?" you smiled, kneeling down and giving your friend a hug.

"I'm good, I'm so glad to see you again!" Alistair confessed with a toothy grin. "How did you get up here?" Alistair asked curiously, stepping out onto the balcony and looking at the long way down from where you had been standing by his father's car.

You gulped. "Can you keep a secret?" you whispered. Alistair nodded enthusiastically. "Okay." you showed Alistair your lasso, and he watched it with bright eyes as it glowed gold. If you could trust Max, you knew for a fact you could certainly trust Alistair. After all, they were your purpose. They were the reason you had found yourself in the world of man.

"Whoa, what is it?" Alistair asked, pointing his finger hesitantly, as if he wanted to touch it but not sure if it would hurt him.

"It's magical," you revealed. "My mother Hestia gave me it. It lets people see the truth, and speak the truth. It knows when you're lying."

"...And it helps you climb up really tall buildings? Like Spiderman?" Alistair asked with wide eyes.

You giggled. "Yes."

"Can I try?" Alistair beckoned further.

"Maybe one day," you promised him. "It can be difficult to learn, but I'd love to teach you."

You and Alistair both gasped as you listened in on what was going downstairs. You heard footsteps, and it sounded like Max was leaving. You rose to your feet and approached the window again, unravelling your lasso. "Hey, I have to go now. Listen, you can't tell Julianna or Ted that I was up here, okay? I don't think they like me."

"Oh, they don't like anyone who's associated with daddy." Alistair frowned, but nodded understandingly. "Are you going home with daddy?"

"I hope so." you replied, because there was really no way of telling where you stood with Maxwell at this point in time.

"Good," Alistair beamed, and in that moment, you recognised his smile to be the spitting double of his father's. "Because I like it when you're around daddy. He's not as miserable."

You tilted your head but had no time to question Alistair because you heard the front door open. Swinging back on your lasso, you attached it to the branch of a tree and dropped back down to the front of the porch where Maxwell's car was parked. Wrapping your lasso back around your waist, you pretended like you hadn't moved from the car— like you had been waiting for him this entire time.

"Good night!" Maxwell called but earned no response, only the slam of the front door. He sighed deeply and slumped his shoulders in defeat before turning to face you. His lips were curled into a frown and he shook his head as he approached you, sliding past you and unlocking the car door. "Get in." he told you, to which you obliged and slipped into the passenger seat.

Maxwell dropped his head to the wheel of the car in frustration. He wanted to scream. Cry. Yell. Curse. He hated this. He hated having to fight for what was already his. He needed Alistair— his life would be empty without his son. There was no question about it. And unfortunately for Max, he was beginning to lose all hope.

"Are you okay?" You asked, feeling as though the question was a stupid one considering the disheveled look on Maxwell's face. You placed a hand on his back with full intention to be comforting. He didn't reply. After a few seconds of silence, you heard his sobs. You heard his whimpers and chokes. "Oh Max." you whispered quietly, rubbing his back.

"I can't— I can't fucking do this," Maxwell cried, tears dripping down his cheeks and falling onto the steering wheel. "They're right— what they say about me— they're all right. I'm a monster."

You winced, shaking your head at his comment. "You are not a monster." you assured him.

"You don't even know me," Maxwell huffed before glaring at you, the tears still falling. "You're just— you're just some random girl who came into my life at the wrong fucking time and— I don't even know why you're here. Why are you here?" He said your name like it was poison and the desperation in his voice was enough to make your heart ache.

You swallowed. "When I found out your name, your real name, I knew for certain… Zeus brought me to you and Alistair for a reason. Everything is so clear now. Max, I'm here to help you."

"I'm screwed— we’re screwed. It's pointless. There's nothing we can do. We can't go up against them. Julianna is a fucking psycho and Ted is one of the best family lawyers in the state—"

"And I'm the daughter of Zeus and Hestia. I'm the Goddess of Home and Hearth and I will not let them rip you away from Alistair." you promised with pure determination in your voice. The change of your tone was enough to make Maxwell stop crying and look up to you like you were his saviour. His angel. And despite everything that happened, despite the feeling of complete hopelessness, he believed you.

The war began now.

-—-—-—-

Taglists— let me know if you wish to be added!

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @cyarikamando @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan

I Believe In Love: @mrschiltoncat @thebloodrobin @greatvaluedazzler @bxxbxy @marydjarin @the-feckless-wonder @typicalnerd98 @biharryjames @thwiso @pedrolorian @julieteagk @starsandmando @kishie8 @supernaturalcat7 @depressedchillipepper @galaxypox @cocastyle @welcometothepedroverse @galactic-rhi @honestlystop @walkerchick007 @winchesterxxl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @why-cant-i-hold-all-my-husbands @criminalmind1927 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @lola-max-sugar @thesadvampire @wonder-jedi @eternallyvenus @way-too-addicted-to-anime @spacedaddydinn @mack4676 @terrormonster55 @vonschweetz @tanyaherondale @thisis-theway @savannah-elliott @drinkingwhileblogging @pxstelink

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #max lord x reader #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal smut

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chibsytelford · 4 years ago

Text

Queen of my Heart

* GIF CREDIT TO CREATOR *

word count - 2139

warnings - slight mention of strangulation, murder, swearing, angst - I think that’s it.

a/n - i haven’t described reader at all. I’m actually really nervous to post this for some reason. I am sure this is the longest thing I have written yet, and idk just nervous. Reblogs and comments are welcomed, and if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist just let me know!

P.s I didn’t mean for it to be this long, and it is kinda based on the song Queen of my Heart by Westlife (my guilty pleasure). Italics are flashbacks and the lyrics.

You knew from the start that getting into a relationship with Angel Reyes might not have been the best decision. Pasts will do that to you. You knew when you first laid eyes on him, that inside he was hiding his pain. The only reason you noticed it was because you were hiding the exact same pain as him. Normally, you avoided guys with baggage, because frankly you could barely deal with your own, never mind someone else’s, but something about him just kept you gravitating more towards him, as each day passed.

It started out in his father’s butcher shop, you had just finished work and you were in the mood for some steak, so you finally checked out la carniceria and you knew the second you walked in you were in trouble. All you wanted was a bit of steak, but you left with (not that you were complaining) Angel Reyes’ phone number. He gave you some standard cheesy pick up line, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, and you knew as soon as he opened his mouth that you were done for, your ‘I don’t do baggage rule’ going straight out the shop door.

It took you a few days to text him. You actually drafted up a ‘Why I should text Angel Reyes list’ and a ‘Why I shouldn’t text Angel Reyes list’ and funnily enough, the list that had more on it was the ‘Why I shouldn’t list’ but as it turns out, the lists were pointless, because you text him anyway.

Your first date you walked around the streets of Santo Padre, just chatting away about life in general, what you did for a job, what he did for a job (he didn’t tell you that much, just that he was in a club with some other men) and of course you didn’t want to pry, it was the first date and all. You spoke about pretty much everything, except the past. It was too early for that. At the end of it, he walked you home, and left you on your door step, wishing you had invited him in, wishing you had kissed him, wishing you had asked him on a second date. But you didn’t need to wait long for a second date.

2 days after your first date, you were on the back of Angel’s motorbike, both hands wrapped tightly around his torso. He had insisted on taking his bike, he wanted you to enjoy the thrill of it as much as he did, and if you were being honest, it was absolutely thrilling, as well as absolutely terrifying. He drove you both to a small forest, where you enjoyed a picnic and the scenery and the attention that Angel was giving you. It was then you decided to pry, just a little bit.

“Tell me Angel, what secret are you carrying?” You asked catching him off guard.

“What makes you think I’m carrying any?” He responded, popping a strawberry in his mouth, conveniently answering a question with another question.

“Honestly? The first time I saw you, when you gave me that hideous pick up line” you both laughed at the memory “the smile you gave me afterwards, it was genuine, but it wasn’t quite a full smile, you know?”

Angel took a moment to gather his thoughts. First he rubbed his beard, then he rubbed his neck, and then he fiddled with his fingers. You placed your hand over his, comforting him, silently telling him there was no rush to answer the question.

He sighed, and slightly shifted his body so he could look at you. “Well, uh, the thing is, I’m not good at this shit, feelings” you could see the pain etched on his face, the way his eyebrows twitched and the way he couldn’t meet your eyes for more than a second.

“Do you want me to go first?” you softly asked, brushing your fingers across his ringed hand, soothing him, and yourself. You knew if you expected him to open up so soon, you had to give him something back.

Angel swiftly nodded, and relaxed slightly, and it was his turn to rub circled on your hand, silently telling you he was listening.

“I came to Santo Padre to get away from my family, my step father specifically”. You took a deep breath and continued “he was horrible. But for some reason, my mother couldn’t bring herself to leave him, something about love. I don’t know” you hated telling this story, if you could call it that, but something about Angel just made you want to tell him everything. “One day, I got home and found him on top of my mother, his hands around her throat, and so I grabbed a kitchen knife, and I stabbed him until I knew he was dead.” Angel’s body tensed and he stopped caressing your hand for a split second, shocked at your revelation. You pulled your hand away instantly, wrapping them around your body.

“Shit Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry you had to go through that” Angel murmured, pulling you into him and placing a soft kiss on your temple, but you could tell his demeanour had changed slightly.

“My mother luckily vouched for my version of events, and so I got away with it, but that feeling of killing someone never leaves you, it takes over your mind and soul” you felt Angel nodding at your remark, like he was admitting he had killed someone too. “Anyway, I stayed there for another few years, in that godforsaken house, but I knew, deep down, as much as she tried to hide it, my mother looked at me differently, so I got out of there, and came here a few years ago, I’ve been laying low, still trying to wrap my head around what I done, that’s probably why you’ve never seen me before. It was fate that took me to your father’s shop” you nudged him in the shoulder, trying to lift the mood slightly.

“That it was” Angel replied back, “And I guess now it’s my turn huh” you nodded in agreement. “Well, I lost my mother, Marisol, years ago. She was murdered” As soon as Angel uttered those words, you knew why he had tensed earlier and you knew why he was just that little bit colder towards you. Because you had murdered someone, and his mother was murdered. “We found the guy, but we kept him alive. He was ordered to do it” You weren’t sure if Angel would want you to touch him, so you kept your hands to yourself, waiting for him to continue his story. “I carry the pain of her death with me every single day, I don’t think I’ll ever get over it” he admitted.

“Of course you won’t, it’s your family, your mother and that will always stick with you in your heart” you said, reassuring him that it was normal. “It seems we are both pretty fucked up, huh?” Angel commented, lifting the mood once again ever so slightly.

“Do you look at me differently now? Knowing that I murdered someone? I did to my stepfather what someone did to your beloved mother” you questioned.

Angel took a second to answer. “You had your reasons, reasons I agree with, so no, I don’t feel differently towards you” but as Angel said that, you were second guessing him, and you always would.

After your second date, when you got home, Angel asked you to officially be his girlfriend. You said yes, but there was still a small part of you that thought it was a bad idea, and that it could only end badly. You thought Angel only asked you to be his girl because you both shared stories of your past and you clicked together, and you said yes, because you really liked him, but also because you thought you deserved happiness, and he did too, even though you still carried the thought inside you that Angel looked at you a little different after your revelation. You knew you were being selfish, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

Recently Angel had been spending more time with the club, over time you had learned completely what they did, and you stood by Angel. Everyone had their reasons for doing things, and you knew that better than most people. You felt that he was avoiding you more than usual, staying out later, leaving earlier in the mornings, barely responding to texts, and something inside you, just didn’t really care anymore. You had had a wonderful couple years being by Angel’s side, but you always knew that something like this might happen.

You quickly fired a text to Angel telling him to meet you at your place. The forest where your second date took place.

He arrived on his bike 5 minutes after you, and you watched him walk towards you. It seemed to take an eternity until he was standing in front of you. It was the same place, but you felt like a completely different person standing here now, a few years on.

“Hey” you said, letting out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Thanks for coming”

“Of course I came” he answered back, rubbing the back of his neck. You wondered if he was feeling the same as you. It would make the whole thing a bit easier if he did.

“I just wanna-“ Angel cut you off, holding a hand up to stop you talking. “Can I go first?” You nodded at him, secretly glad he wanted to.

“I love you, I really do, but I think you know as well as me, we stopped working months ago, I’m not good at this shit, feelings” you both said together, causing a small smile from the man stood in front of you. “Exactly, I don’t know if you’ve noticed I’ve been distant lately, the shit with the club has taken over my life completely, but I think I’m just realising now, that we jumped into this too quickly” Angel revealed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You nodded, acknowledging what he said and taking a second to gather your thoughts.

“I mean, Angel, I love you too, but I have to admit, you’re right. I should be angry you’ve been coming home late, I should be angry that you barely reply to my texts, but honestly I haven’t been. I think we did rush into this like you said, after our second date, where we both revealed our pasts, I think we took comfort in knowing that our pasts were out there, and we weren’t being judged. I know that now”. You both visibly relaxed slightly, and the atmosphere shifted too. It was calm. Nice.

Angel made the first move, grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss on your palm. You closed your eyes for a second, engraving the memory of the kiss in your mind.

“Thank you Y/N, for trusting me with your secret, for listening to my pain and past, for just being you. I know we didn’t work out, but I just want you to know, I will always remember you.” Angel wiped a stray tear that had managed to escape his eyes. “Fuck, look at me” he laughed.

So here we stand in our secret place

Where the sound of the crowd is so far away

You take my hand, and it feels like home

We both understand, it where we belong

So do I say, do I say goodbye

We both have our dreams we both want to fly

So let’s take tonight, to carry us through the lonely times

“God Angel, you’ve got me crying now” you laughed back also wiping away your tears. “I’m glad we met. You accepted me for who I am, and for that I will always thank you, and cherish you. Who knows, maybe under different circumstances, we would have worked out, but I can honestly say I’m thankful for the years we have spent together, it just wasn’t meant to be”.

You and Angel gave each other one last hug, one last smile, one last look. “Take care, querida, I’ll always remember you” Angel whispered, placing your hand over his heart. He then let go and headed back to his bike. You watched him walk away, you watched him climb onto the bike and you watched him drive away from you. You were sad of course, but you knew that it was for the best.

@rebelwrites @mayans-sauce @everyhowlmarksthedead @encounterthepast @angelreyesgirl @starrynite7114 @jadesamhart @fangirlingaesthetics @trulysuccubus @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @multiyfandomgirl40 @queenbeered @lauraashley93 @deeandbobbymcgee @shelliechen @calif0rnia-lovers @yourwonkywriter @peaches007 @scuzmunkie @blessedboo @sheeshgivemeabreak @sadeyesgf @anangelwhodidntfall @gemini0410 @rocketqueen @destynelseclipsa @xx--day-dreamer--xx @talicat713 @i-love-scott-mccall

I'll always look back as I walk away

Memories will last for eternity

And all of our tears will be lost in the rain

When I found my way back to your arms again

But until that day, you know you are

The Queen of my heart

#angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes x reader #mayans mc #angel reyes

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real-fanta-sea · 3 years ago

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Prompt for the kiss no. 71

Prompt: "Not to be cringe or anything, but I really like the idea of the kiss 71 (height difference kisses where one person has to bend down, and the other is on their tippy-toes)...where Trevor is his true height. i.e. Ogg's height and Michael has to stand on his tiptoes to snog him."

I'm sorry, anon, but I saved the post as a draft and it just vanished into thin connection. So, I have to answer this way.

This work is more of a spur of the moment thing, but I kinda like the way it turned out, being it just my emotions spilt onto paper. If you'd like, you can read it on AO3 here, or under read more. I hope you'll like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

tw: kissing, child abuse memories

It's been three weeks already.

An unhealthy greenish glow of flickering light tubes and the icy breath of an industrial refrigerator made him shiver as Michael, gliding on the orbit touching stars in his mind, put yet another box of ready-made microwave hamburgers into his shopping cart. If he were not a regular in this particular shop, he would have got lost. It resembled an anthill with seemingly infinite shelves and aisles, bursting with the merchandise, even though the depressed lights covered everything in the same shade of decay green. The same life outlook was shared with most of the shadows roaming around whose name tags qualified them as proud employees of Flormart.

It's been three weeks, and he still stuck around, hanging on his every word.

Michael pushed his cart further from frozen goods, and the pictures swirling and smearing all around transitioned from photoshopped vegetables to flashy fireworks of chips and other guilty pleasures he planned on indulging in later on. Some people would find the height of the shelves menacing, but to Michael, it was just a memory that pulled him from the orbit back to earth and placed him in the middle of a football pitch. The smell of sweat building up underneath his helmet. The crunch of the crisp lawn under his feet. The spotlight following him whenever he scored. Cheering faceless crowds in time with busty faceless girls' pompoms. But most of all, he felt happy again - needed, cherished, innocent, and with a bright future awaiting his embrace. But then, just as he crossed from the snacks aisle to the alcohol quarter, the football stadium lights flickered and turned bright red. All the faceless girls turned around, their mouths gaping as if someone dislocated their jaws, and the cheering turned into a hellish cry of pain. Where their eyes were supposed to be, he saw a flair, screwing itself deeper into their skull, and a stream of scarlet goo drip down on their immaculate white dresses.

It's been three weeks, and somehow, his puppy-like behaviour didn't irk him yet. Quite the opposite if he were honest with himself - he felt strangely peaceful in his company.

Michael gulped in a desperate attempt to wash down the horror that invited itself under cover of a happy memory. Shaking his head only did so much and dispersed the spectators and cheerleaders alike, in the same way shaking a snowy paperweight would. Michael's chest constricted as he felt unable to breathe in properly, people splatting and exploding upon impact all around him in his mind. Suddenly, he felt a pull under both of his shoulders and found himself flying towards the pitch-black sky, where instead of one moon, two shone down on him. As he flew closer, they shrunk into two amber irises - and Michael immediately knew who pulled him out of the memory. As he crashed into a mass of pink candy cotton clouds, his vision blurred just to clear up when he felt a solid surface under his feet and someones hot hands in his. Somehow, he found himself looking at the tips of abused old pair of sneakers he was wearing, the same pair Michael knew he wore that faithful day at the airstrip. A moment later, a couple of dark blue, equally run-down ones stepped into his field of vision. He slowly let his sight slide up on crumpled jeans, the hem of a military jacket, a pair of dog tags hanging around a slender neck, a sharp jaw, a pair of full dark lips and finally, to the pair of amber eyes, eyes that radiated worry, care and, at the same time, something he could only read as love and utmost devotion.

It's been three weeks since the incident, and anytime he woke up from a nightmare that played in his mind over and over again, he was there to soothe him; he was there waiting for Michael's tears to dampen his naked shoulder. He didn't bitch about it and didn't tell a soul in the morning.

Michael let out a shaky breath. Stopping his feet from casually continuing in their stroll proved harder than he thought, and he leaned on the shopping cart handle, running fingers through his hair. He couldn't decide what mortified him more - the creativity his brain proved to possess when playing out the horrible things he has witnessed in just a few years of his fresh adulthood, or the way it put his acquaintance on some fucking pedestal and presented him as the alpha and omega of his thoughts and desires.

"Hey Michael, are you ok?"

Speaking of the devil... "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just.." Michael breathed in again and turned towards the source of the voice, trying to display a small smile by twitching his tired lips "I need a smoke, that's all."

It's been three weeks, and he got that tingling feeling in his guts already. He could barely tolerate touch or prolonged eye contact without getting goosebumps and that ticklish feeling solidifying and slicing right into his groin. Michael wanted to believe it was just his weird head showing gratitude for saving his ass, but anytime he found himself in the company of that amber-eyed twink, the longing grew worse.

"Hey, how about a bottle of something to wash the cig down?" said the guy and his oversized jeans jacket hanging from his shoulders cringed into weird shapes as he took one of his hands out of his pocket and pointed his thumb towards the shelves. He looked so adorably dishevelled in all jeans, and with his silky hair framing his hopeful face, Michael couldn't have said no to anything he would suggest. Instead of mustering the strength to say no, Michael threw another smile towards his companion and turned his back to him to choose the dream crusher he wanted to numb them with before they went to bed.

To someone who grew up in a functional family, all the labels and bottle shapes would seem the same. To Michael, however, to choose the right brand and size meant the same as selecting the bananas or avocados of the proper ripeness would for them. It was a work of art; he learned so much in the ten years of living with his stepfather. While scrutinizing the shelves, index finger and thumb scrubbing on the sides of his chin absent-mindedly, he remembered how they would come to the similar shop together, he and his mother's second husband, and how he slipped behind the shelves. At the same time, Frank chatted with the clerk, and he stuffed his lunch box with a large flat bottle of Chief's Heritage Fire Water whiskey. He had to carefully close it to avoid disturbing the aluminium foil that served as a guard from the primitive electronic protection device they had to pass through on their way out. Michael would then tuck his stepfather's sleeve, babble some cute nonsense to get candy from the unsuspicious clerk, and after they paid for the two packs of cigarettes and a beer, they would leave. Frank would let him chug on whiskey then, and if he were in an exceptionally good mood, he would let him sleep through the night without beating the shit out of him.

Finally, spotting the whiskey he knew so well on one of the top shelves, Michael attempted to grasp it but only managed to graze his fingertips against the bottom of one of the bottles that rocked gently upon touch but otherwise didn't move an inch. "Fuck", he uttered under his breath, cracked his neck and stretched onto the tips of his toes, steadying himself by holding onto one of the lower shelves. But, again, he could only touch the bottle but not get a good hold of it. He even contemplated climbing the shelves to get it, as if the shame of his disappointing height haven't already painted his cheeks bright red and didn't make him want to leave the shop right away. Just as he braced himself for the climb, eyes fixed on that damn bottle, a gentle touch of someone's hand squeezing his shoulder made him turn around. It was Trevor's hand, and even though Michael still had to look up to meet his eyes, the small sympathetic smile put him in ease in a blink of an eye.

"Chief's, huh? Good choice, Mike!" the praise in his voice made Michael shiver, and he desperately tried to ignore the warmth he was receiving through the palm still steady on his shoulder and which upset his heart into beating twice as fast as ever before. "My old man used to drink this. It tastes like cat piss but knocks you out good for the buck." Trevor's grin felt like a warm touch sunrise after countless years of freezing darkness. Michael couldn't help but soak in the warmth, allowing himself to lose himself in the feeling completely. "Let me get it for you, eh?" he heard Trevor say from somewhere near, and before he could object, most of the light was obstructed by a jeans-clad chest.

It was then when Michael closed his eyes and tried to get hold of the situation. Trevor, the guy he only knew for three weeks, pushing Michael's back onto the shelves as he leaned for the bottle but also pushing his chest almost to Michael's. If it weren't for a couple of inches of hot air and fabric between them, their bodies would brush against each other. Michael could only gulp when he opened his eyes again, and his mind provided him with the maddening picture of Trevor's naked lean chest, peppered with dark brown hair as if puberty marked its way down towards his groin with it. Michael's head was spinning when he looked up to see Trevor still busy fetching the bottle. Michael's racing imagination saw him grabbing the guy's head, crashing lips with his and dissolving into what he thought would be the best kiss he would ever receive. Michael gulped again. He had to have him.

He was anxious about the way it was too easy to raise both his hands and grab fists full of other man's jacket as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Michael didn't fight it when he felt his muscles pull on the fabric and only turned his gaze up to where he expected Trevor's eyes to look once he would feel the movement of his clothes. Michael didn't have to wait for it at all, actually; the puzzled expression was already waiting for him to drink it up. However, he couldn't maintain the contact for too long as his eyes focused on something completely different; the dark lips, deliciously parted in the unspoken question. The distance between his own and them unnerved him, and in the sparking silence, Michael again propped himself onto the tips of his toes, pressed harder on the fabric to steady himself and, closing eyes, pressed his lips to Trevor's.

For a delicious moment, the world fell apart as if some invisible force made the dimensions crash down. The trembling soft firmness against his lips sent shivers down his spine with each cautious move. Whenever Michael recalled the moment years later, he could always sense the faint smell of cigarettes, petrol and sun mixing between their bodies and the way the ground shook and cried under his feet when he felt Trevor's palms slide down his sides and pull him closer, effectively sweeping him off his feet.

Trevor seemed to be relishing at the moment as much as Michael was, but when he felt solid ground under his feet again, and the pair of arms letting go of him, Michael reluctantly broke the kiss with a coquettish wet pop and tried to catch his lost breath. Then, leaning against the shelves again, he only dared to peek up when his cheeks stopped burning from what felt like a mixture of acid and a marathon run. Trevor's face might as well have been a mirror, for he looked down on Michael with eyes wide, face red and lips wet and trembling as if he didn't get a grasp of reality yet. Michael couldn't help but let the anxiety scream right to his face in the voice of his stepfather - and there were thousands of things he might have ruined then and there, just because he didn't fight his stupid queer side, because he let himself kiss another man, because by the twisted chain of mistakes he fell from what could have been a good life to longing after a rabid smuggler in the middle of a liquor aisle.

Just as he was about to duck under Trevor's arm and run away from the voice and feelings of shame it brought about, he was stopped by a gentle, almost shy touch of a hot palm on his cheek. The slender fingers brushed against his face in such a delicate way Michael's heart skipped a beat, and closing his eyes, he leaned into the touch, seeking the soothing silence it brought with the warmth. The hand fit his cheek like a glove, Michael mused as he relaxed into slow movements of fingertips on his temples. Right there, at that moment, everything felt so right, so natural. Why has he deprived himself of the delicious heat for three weeks when somewhere deep inside, where the beating of his heart always gave away the truth, he knew he needed it from the start - well, Michael didn't know. Instead, he slid his arms around Trevor's waist and buried his face into his chest.

"Michael?"

The vibrating echo of his name, spoken in such a husky yet caring way, made Michael squeeze his arms around Trevor even tighter. He sought the last bits and pieces of it before he dared to speak up himself, afraid of spoiling the delicious contentment of the moment.

"Let's get out of here."

A gentle kiss on top of his head and long arms lacing his shoulders later, Michael found himself too far from Trevor for comfort. But even with the newly gained distance between them, a quick glance sideways has provided him with a sight of a beaming smile and a fire deep inside Trevor's eyes that made his own lips twitch into a happy upwards bow. As they rolled into the checkout, Michael has noticed the world has changed as well. The depressing shade of green has somehow transitioned into a welcoming warm white; the shadows that they passed by on their way in suddenly bloomed into happy faces. The various packings of goods exploded in all the colours of the rainbow. As Michael and Trevor emerged into the darkness of the parking lot, ready to relive their revelation in thousands of ways, Michael has felt at peace with himself for the first time in forever. The days of the inner night were over.

#michael de santa #trevor philips #trikey #kissing prompts #gta v fic #real_fanta_sea.txt

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onceuponaloonatic · 3 years ago

Text

i found this old misamo draft and just felt like sharing since it's so adorable. i edited it a bit to reflect my current writing style !! sorry i've been gone, classes started again and it's been a little overwhelming. i try to work on stuff when i can and have some stuff in the works, so i'll try to get them out soon !! also my inbox is empty again so if you have any lingering ideas i'm happy to listen to them. i may not post much but i do lurk around here a lot. love you guys !!

Mina didn’t know how long she had been there.

Sana and Momo were fast asleep behind her, both of them had passed out the minute they realized they finally had a little bit of time to sleep. Mina had tried to join them at first, but despite her exhaustion, she just couldn’t sleep. Not with the tiny little bundle that had recently taken up residence in their bedroom.

Being a parent was weird, Mina was coming to realize. Before, it had just been her, Sana, and Momo. They had created their own little world, their own perfect life in France. Their careers had been fun while they lasted, even if there were times Mina hated her job more than anything. There were days it was so hard, she was surprised she was able to convince people her smile was real. Days she was surprised she was able to get out of bed. Surprised she was able to keep going, keep performing. There was a period she couldn’t even remember any of her stages, she would just be in the dressing room one minute and suddenly she was in the van pushed up against Jeongyeon or Jihyo and everyone was telling her how good their performance was. Even with all of this though, Mina was happy with her job at the end of the day. She met Sana and Momo. She got to shine as bright as had desired when she was too young to even imagine the life she would have later. She got to see the world, she got to put smiles on people’s faces, and she got to be a role model for people all over the world.

Mina had thought she would be sadder when twice ended. But she didn’t really felt sad. She didn’t really feel anything. They had all known it was coming, and it felt right. They had a good run, but it was time for them all to move on with their lives. For Mina to move on, with the loves of her life.

All their friends were sad when they moved to France, but it felt right. East Asia would always remind them of their careers, retirement couldn’t erase ten years of being the nation’s girl group. They knew if they wanted to start this next chapter of their lives, they had to go somewhere far away. All three of them had moved to another country before, and honestly, France just felt like the right place for them to start their new lives as retired people. Sana laughed when she called them that, saying thirty-three was too young to be retired. But that’s what they were, retired.

It was nice living with just Sana and Momo. Life was a lot simpler now, but Mina loved it. She didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or wearing the wrong outfit or her face was bloated. All she had to worry about now was what day to go grocery shopping and if she had hung the laundry up yet. Yes, being an idol was great, but this was great too. In a completely different way.

Mina had been happy with just Sana and Momo, but she also didn’t hate the idea of having a kid. It seemed interesting, and she had always thought about what it would be like to be a mom. Sana and Momo were more outwardly excited, but Mina couldn’t help the mounting internal excitement when they found out they were going to be moms. And now that their baby was actually here, Mina couldn’t help herself from being obsessed with her.

When Momo and Sana fell asleep, Nico was fast asleep too. Sana had just fed her and Nico had fallen asleep on Momo’s chest while Momo swayed her gently. Mina knew from experience that was enough to put anyone to sleep, it was one of the comfiest places on earth. However, just like it had been in the past twenty-four hours since Nico came home, she was awake not long after falling asleep. Mina had been watching her when she woke up. Mina liked watching Nico. She liked memorizing her baby’s features. She always took notes on all the pieces of Sana she saw in Nico. All the pieces of Momo. It was weird, Nico wasn’t biologically related to Mina at all, but she also couldn’t help but see little pieces of herself in Nico too.

When Nico woke up, she didn’t cry. Maybe it’s because she knew Mina was right there, or maybe she just didn’t need anything, but she stayed quiet in her crib. She made eye contact with Mina before yawning and squirming a little. Mina expected her to cry, but she didn’t. Instead, she and Mina started a small staring contest. It wasn’t awkward though, it somehow felt right. Like Mina’s life had been leading up to this moment. It was weird, that something so simple made her feel so happy. Being a parent was weird.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like this, but eventually, her moment was interrupted by the annoying buzz of her phone in her pocket.

She didn’t want to leave Nico, so she picked her up as gently as possible and carried her to the living room. She made sure Nico was comfy against her chest before she answered her phone.

“I knew you would be awake.” Nayeon’s teasing voice came through the phone.

“I could have been asleep.” Mina nodded, drawing small shapes on the back of Nico’s back.

“You're not. You are with her, aren’t you?” Mina nodded, panning the camera down to show Nico on her chest.

“Want to meet her?” Mina smiled. They had been away from their phones all day, wanting to spend every spare second with Nico now that she was home. This meant their friends hadn’t been able to see Nico, in video chat or in photo form.

“I met her when she was born.” Nayeon giggled. “But, that was two months ago, so I’ll meet her again.”

“Okay.” Mina couldn’t wipe the smile from her face if she wanted to. She moved Nico so she was facing the camera, her body being supported by Min. “Nico-ya, this is Auntie Nayeon. She’s your godmother.” Nico made a little noise as she got some spit on her face. Mina laughed, grabbing a spit rag for Nico and kissing her hair. “I think that means she likes you.”

“Hi, sweetheart. I like you too.” Nayeon had tears in her eyes. She had always gotten emotional around babies, but especially any of the twice-member’s kids. Jeongyeon had always teased her relentlessly for it. “It’s nice to finally see you at home.”

“We are happy to have her here. Sana was going a little crazy and Momo has a talent for encouraging her. Everything is okay now though.” Mina took one of Nico’s hands and squeezed it.

“I’m sure it drove all of you crazy. You should have seen Jihyo with Eunmi. She only had a three-week stay and she drove her husband and me absolutely crazy. She vicariously lived through Hyemi to deal with her Eunmi issues. It was kind of nice at first to have someone to take care of her, but it got too much pretty fast.” Nayeon giggled. “Speaking of Hyo, she told me to tell you to text her. She and I were planning on coming out to see Nico soon.”

“Oh, it’s okay. We know you guys are busy.”

“Nah, we both need some time away, especially Hyo. Have you talked to Chae and Tzu yet?”

“They actually have some big trips coming up. But they said they do want to come to see Nico soon. They want to stay for a while.” Mina explained, adjusting Nico in her lap.

“They are both so in love with Nico. It’s sweet.” Nayeon laughed at the thought. “I know they are both pretty against having their own kids, so it’s cute they are latching onto Nico as hard as they have been.”

“Yeah, they’ve never really been like this before. But she got that from Sana, everyone loves her.” Mina had thought about this before. Sana was born to be loved. Her being an idol was like fate. Everyone loved her, and the people who didn’t were either jealous or spiteful. And even then, Sana even loved people like that back. Sana’s heart was so good, she always tried to love people before anything else. Mina had always adored that about her.

“I love her more than I love Sana.” Nayeon shrugged.

“I’ll be sure to tell her that when she wakes up.” Mina giggled. “I’m sure it will make her day.”

“Wait no please don’t do that. I used to live with Sana, I know she will leave me like ten voicemails complaining I don’t love her.” Mina couldn’t help but giggle at the whine in Nayeon’s voice.

“Nope, you said it. Can’t take it back now.” Mina continued laughing until she heard some shuffling around behind her. She turned and found Momo coming towards her with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her eyes half-closed. “Hello.”

“Mitang.” Momo whined as a response, plopping herself down next to Mina.

“Is that Momo?” Nayeon asked.

“Hi Nayeon-Unnie.” Momo greeted before pressing her face into Mina’s shoulder. “Mitang it’s sleepy time.”

“You were asleep, why did you wake up?” Mina giggled, brushing Momo’s hair out of her face.

“Sana kicked me.” Momo whined. “And it felt too cold.”

“You had Sana and two blankets.” Mina nodded.

“Sana is too warm,” Momo muttered. “Mitang is the perfect temperature.”

“So Sana is too warm, but I’m the perfect temperature?” Mina giggled. “Anyway, We’ll be up in a minute, so go ahead and go back to bed.”

“I’ll wait.” Momo nodded, kissing Mina’s shoulder and laying a hand onto Nico’s back.

“It’s like three am over there, if you guys are tired you really should go to bed. Nico’s awake but she’s quite and honestly with newborns that’s the best your going to get.” Nayeon looked at the two with a fond smile. One that could only come about from watching a romance blossom between some of her favorite people. ‘Besides, she can’t sleep if Mina is fussing over her too much.”

“She has a point.” Momo muttered into Mina’s shoulder.

“Okay.” Mina couldn’t help her heart from fluttering at the little kisses Momo left along her shoulder. When she was younger, they might have been hot, and definitely something she wouldn't let anyone else see. But now they just felt comforting. She knew Momo loved her.

“Have a good day Unnie.” Momo greeted from her spot on Mina's shoulder.

“Nico-ya be good. I’ll see you soon my love.” Nayeon blew kisses at the camera.

“None for us?” Momo whined.

“Nope. Bye Nico!” Nayeon waved as she hung up. Mina rolled her eyes and looked down at Nico, who was already half asleep.

“Looks like someone’s ready for bed.” Mina giggled.

“Can't blame me. I was fast asleep with my Mitang.” Momo pouted.

“Not you.” Mina giggled. “Our lives don't revolve around us anymore.”

No.” Mina felt Momo’s smile without having to look at her. “And are you okay with that?”

“I’m more than okay with it.” Mina nodded. “I love it.”

#twice #misamo #minatozaki sana #myoui mina #hirai momo

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anotherninjagoblog · 4 years ago

Text

LoveSick

Ehhhhh the title is iffy. :P

BUT

This fic has been in my drafts for a while, and I’m actually really proud of how it turned out! I really took my time, and I hope y’all like it just as much as I do <3. Special thanks to ellieloves2read, fizzysugarwater, and miraculous-ninjabird who commented their headcanons on my last post! It really helped me out with the last couple passages :)

Summary: Being sick and having new relationship anxiety towards your best-friend turned boyfriend sucks. (Bruiseshipping/Geodeshipping)

//////////

“You sure you don’t want us to give you a ride home?”

“Yeah,” he paused, pulling the scarf over his mouth and nose, suddenly getting the urge to sneeze again.

A second later and the feeling went away.

“Cole is going to drive me.” Jay said, finishing his sentence.

He pulled his scarf down again, his breath coming out in a small fog. It was a cold Friday night, and he and Nya had gone with Lloyd to watch the football game. Not only to support Nya’s brother Kai, but Jay’s boyfriend Cole.

Jay’s heart thumped in his chest. Boyfriend was such a nice word.

The game had ended ten minutes ago with Ninjago High securing a victory that night. With the football team yet to come out of the stadium’s locker room, and Lloyd having already being picked up by his father, it left Jay and Nya shivering as they stood over by the gate directly across from where Cole and Kai would exit. Everyone else was already leaving, undoubtedly to rush to their cars and blast their heaters on the way to their nice warm houses.

Nya gave him a skeptical look, narrowing her eyes. “Dude, come on, you look way worse than when you showed up.”

Well, she’s not wrong, Jay thought to himself.

He should have known he was going to end up sick. That foreboding feeling had been following him for a couple days now, the runny nose, the beginnings of a sore, scratchy throat.

Before he had left for school that day, he ended up taking cold syrup as a precaution. But now that he was standing there, sniffling and sneezing, he realized he should have taken more, or at least taken it with him. And to tell the truth, he was absolutely suffering. He hated everything having to do with being sick since forever.

Nya, who had steadily watched his condition worsen and the night become colder, had continually offered him the choice to leave together. But, the thought of not being there to support Cole when he could just suck it up (a little while longer, he repeated as an internal mantra) ate at him just a tiny bit more.

“It’s uh, not as bad as it looks?” He croaked, giving a weak smile. The pain in his throat seemed to resonate with every word he spoke. Jay fought the need to pull at his scarf again.

Nya rolled her eyes. She was not convinced.

“Nya! Jay!”

The duo turned around to the sound of Cole’s voice to see him and Kai jogging over to where they were standing.

Jay felt warm at the call. Smiling, he gave a wave as they got closer.

Kai jogged a bit faster, hooking his arms around Jay and Nya. Despite how cold it had gotten, Kai only seemed to radiate heat through his sweatshirt. “Did you see me out there? Other team didn’t know what hit em’.” He paused, looking around. “Greenie leave already?”

“Yeah,” Jay answered. “You guys-” Something in his chest tightened, and Jay immediately pulled away from Kai as he suddenly broke out into a coughing fit.

“-did great.” He finished, his voice coming out raspy. When he turned back around, Kai and Nya had taken their distance from his mini germ explosion, while Cole only kept moving towards him.

Before he could utter a hello, Cole placed a hand on his forehead, before repeatedly replacing it on his cheek and forehead once again.

He held Jay’s face in between his hands, a concerned look gracing his features.

“You’re running a fever.”

...So it wasn’t just the blushing from their reunion.

Ignoring the discomfort bubbling inside from the symptoms of his cold, Jay stepped back.

“I um, might be coming down with something.” He answered, pulling the edge of the scarf over his mouth.

“You literally sounded as if you were about to hack up a lung!” Interjected Kai, who was still, rightfully so, keeping his difference.

Nya left her spot next to her brother and walked up beside Cole. “I tried telling him. Even Lloyd offered. But you know, he was really compelled by the power of looooove,” she drawled.

Jay was about to make some sort of retort when Cole offered him his hand.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” He said gently.

Jay nodded. Now he was really about to melt.

They bid their goodbyes until Monday to Kai and Nya before they walked off in separate directions to their cars. The walk to Cole’s truck felt much longer than it was, and Jay kind of felt like he was beginning to space out, Cole’s hand and the sound of their footsteps on the pavement serving as his only tether.

They were about to approach his truck when another car had pulled up next to them. It was a couple of other guys from the football team Jay could just barely make out in the dark.

“Yo Cole! We’re going out to eat to celebrate - you coming?”

“Nah man, go without me!” Cole said, waving them off. The truck just steps away, Cole shifted his heavy bag onto one shoulder, before pulling the keys out of his pocket. The doors unlocked with a small click and a flash of the headlights. “Come on Bluebell.” he said, letting go of Jay’s hand.

Jay climbed into the passenger side without another word, closing the door and automatically putting on his seatbelt.

Cole climbed in right after, shoving his bag into the backseat before he shut the door behind him. He rubbed his hands together and turned on the truck, cranking up the heater full blast.

“Check in there will you?” Cole asked, pointing at the glovebox. “Or, I might have some cough drops around...somewhere....” he said, his voice trailing off as he opened the middle compartment between the seats.

Jay opened up the glovebox but could not find the cough drops. Cole had noticed.

“No? Okay, we’ll just get you some.” Cole said, before buckling his seatbelt.

“It’s worse than I thought. You’re completely quiet.” He looked over his shoulder, backing out of the parking space.

As they drove out of the lot, Jay finally spoke up.

“You should have gone with them. Don’t want to keep you from all the fun.”

Cole frowned, his eyes still focused on the road. “Jay. It’s not a problem. I promise you.”

“Okay.” Jay leaned back into the seat, watching the lights pass by outside his window. He felt so warm, so safe, and so tired, that maybe he could fall asleep...just for...a li...a little while.

He awoke to a gentle shake of the shoulder.

“Jay. Babe.”

Jay blinked slowly. Upon realizing he was not home in bed, and instead, still in Cole’s truck, he sat up, startled.

“W-what? ...What happened?” He mumbled quickly. “Why did we stop?”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Cole replied, leaning over, placing a hand on his cheek. Jay looked out the front window, the red neon lights of the pharmacy practically burning into his post-sleep vision. He turned back to look at Cole.

“I’m going to run inside, get you a couple things.” He turned around quickly, pulling the keys out of the ignition. “Hold onto these.”

Jay sat up as Cole shoved the keys into his hand. “Lock the door. I’ll be back.”

And in a split moment, he was already out the truck, Jay watching as he quickly made his way over to the entrance. As Cole disappeared inside, Jay pressed the door lock, before leaning into the seat again. He could feel a headache coming on.

Ugh, as if the sore throat wasn’t bad enough.

Maybe he should have gone home earlier.

Especially since his germs were bound to have spread all over the interior of Cole’s truck.

And now he was in there, spending money on him.

Jay shifted in his seat, the cold slowly beginning to seep in from outside.

Maybe this was a mistake.

But it didn’t feel like a mistake. His feelings were real, unapologetic in the way only one look at Cole made his heart flutter. And, maybe he imagined it, but he swore - he swore that he could see the love he felt in his heart in Cole’s eyes.

Jay absolutely loved that they were together. But, what if he was too whiny? Too self-conscious? What if everything he did secretly annoyed Cole? To the point where he would break up with him and stop being friends with him?

Jay tugged at his sleeve. They knew how to be friends, but this whole boyfriend thing is another level.

What if...

A sharp knock on the door abruptly cut him out of his thoughts, and effectively startled Jay in his seat.

He turned his head to look out the drivers’ side window to see Cole waiting, his hand on the door handle.

Taking a breath to settle the soul that had nearly leapt from his body, Jay then picked up the keys from their place on his lap, and pressed the button.

Cole opened the door and climbed in, the loud rustling of a plastic bag filling in the silence. He shut the door behind him, and smiled at Jay, raising the bag up beside his face.

“Let me turn on the heater again, it’s getting cold in here.” Jay handed Cole the keys, and he waited for the heat to blast in through the vents before turning in his seat to face Jay.

“For you.”

Jay gingerly received the bag from him, and peered in to view the contents. Cole reached up over his head, turning on the cabin light.

It was a bag full of goodies to any sick person if he ever saw one. Pulling it closer and setting it on his lap for proper inspection, he began to rummage through it.

At the top of the bag were tissues, and to his delight, there was a box of the special ones - the ones that didn’t make your nose red every time you had to blow - as well as many pocket-sized packs. As if that wasn’t great already, there were two medium sized bags of cough drops - mint and cherry. A bottle of cold medicine, and just peeking underneath-

“No way.” Jay said aloud in amused disbelief.

“For your throat.” Cole replied, smiling.

Jay pulled out the small pint of ice cream.

Birthday cake was his favorite.

He looked at it a moment longer before tears suddenly began to well up in his eyes.

“Jay?”

There it was again. The concern, the care in his voice-

Jay began to cry. He gently set the pint in the bag before using his sweater sleeve to wipe his eyes.

Cole leaned over, placing a hand on his knee. “Jay, what’s the matter? Are you feeling worse? What hurts?”

Jay sniffled, before hastily wiping at his eyes again.

He looked at Cole, giving him the best smile he could. “You’re so...amazing.”

Cole returned a small smile, brushing aside a stray tear on Jay’s face.

But the concern was still there. Jay could tell.

“Ready?”

Jay nodded, pulled out the box of tissues, and tore it open.

At the sound of the front door opening, Edna quickly set aside the book she had been reading. “Jay! I was just about to call when - oh honey you look awful!” She walked over from her spot at the couch, going up to the both of them.

“Gee, thanks Ma.” He replied sarcastically, then winced at the sting in his throat. He needed another cough drop. Or maybe he could open up the ice cream now.

“Oh hello Cole! Thank you for bringing Jay home.”

Cole smiled. “It’s really no problem, Mrs. Walker.”

“You’re such a nice young man, you know, I was really happy when Jay told us you were dating!”

“Ma!” Jay grimaced at the pain from the sudden strain in his voice. “Um, can you put this is the freezer for me?” He dug into the bag quickly, pulling out the pint of ice cream, and held it out to his mother. “Before it melts.”

“Oh, alright.” She said, chuckling.

As soon as she turned away, Jay headed to his room, Cole trailing behind him.

He pushed open the door and turned on the lights.

Jay walked over to the dresser, setting the bag on top, before shedding his sweater and scarf and placing it in the hamper.

Cole busied himself with looking at some of the old posters on Jay’s wall while he changed into a pair of sweatpants.

“Hey.”

Cole turned around, meeting his gaze.

“So, uh, see you Monday?”

Cole paused, thinking for a moment before replying.

“Did you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

Cole set the backpack down beside the door. “What happened, back in the truck.”

Jay reached for a tissue, and crumbled it in his hand. “I don’t know - I just feel sick and it’s screwing with me, I guess.” He sniffled, and stepped closer to his bed before plopping himself down on the edge. “I think I just need to sleep it off.” He said to himself, before falling backwards onto the mattress.

The light was too bright, so Jay placed his arm over his eyes. In seconds, he heard Cole moving around. He felt the bed indent as Cole sat next to him.

“Here.”

Jay moved his arm aside, and saw Cole offering him a dose of the medicine in the small plastic cup. Cole offered his free hand, and pulled him up.

He took the medicine from him, downing it in one bitter gulp. Yuck.

They sat in silence before Cole spoke up.

“You could tell me anything before, and you can still tell me anything now. That doesn’t have to change.”

“I know.” Jay pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just- I don’t think I’m all that great, you know? You? You’re amazing. Everybody wants to be your friend. You always know what to say, and you seem so good at this.” Jay said, making a gesture between the both of them. “But what about me? I’m not cool, and I know I can get on people’s nerves- sometimes I talk too much, and I just end up thinking about why you’re with me. I really care about you Cole, I really do, but what if doesn’t work? I just...I don’t want to lose you, ever.”

“Jay.” Cole said. “Deep breath in.”

Jay took a breath the best he could without coughing, before releasing it slowly out his mouth. “Deep breath out.” He murmured in response.

“See? Perfect.” Jay slumped against Cole’s side, and the latter wrapped an arm around him.

“Hear me out.” Cole began, his voice a beat softer. “I know we’re still new to this. But, that doesn’t mean it won’t work.” He paused a moment. “...Love takes work. And I’m willing to put all of that into us. If you let me. But I promise. We will never lose each other. So for now...let’s just take things one step at a time.”

“Together?” Jay asked.

Cole smiled. “Together.”

Oh no, Jay thought. He was giving him that smile - the handsome one. Without thinking, he moved closer, pressing a quick kiss upon his boyfriend’s lips.

It didn’t take longer than a second for Jay to realize what he did. “Oh my gosh! I forgot! Now I-”

Cole kissed him, cutting him off.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just come take care of me too when I’m sick, alright?”

“Deal.” Jay agreed, with a dopey smile on his face and his heart still beating.

Cole pulled his phone out of his pocket, and unlocked the screen. “It’s getting late. I should probably go, let you get some rest.”

“Wait.” He said, grabbing Cole’s hand. “Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“I probably stink.”

“Don’t care. Can’t really smell now anyways.” He retorted, with a sniffle at the end.

“Okay.” Cole said, giving in. “Let me get you a couple tissues first.”

“Feel better?” Cole whispered.

“....Yeah..” Jay responded sleepily.

The room was dark - only a small crack at the door allowed some of the light from the hallway to spill in

Cole was propped up against the headboard, both of Jay’s arms wrapped around his waist. He moved, making sure the blankets were snugly tucked around him. A touch to Jay’s forehead confirmed the fever was going down.

“You still listening?” He asked.

“..mm...yeah..”

Cole could tell he wasn’t really awake, so he went on to speak anyways.

“Sometimes I wish you saw yourself the way I do. You...everything you do makes me happy.” He said, brushing a curl behind Jay’s ear. “When you talk everyone’s ear off,” Cole chuckled, “I am more than willing to listen to every word that comes out of your mouth so long that I can see that sparkle in your eye. You’re passionate about everything you like, everything you do. I love seeing the excitement you have even for the simplest of things.”

He looked down at Jay again, who was already asleep.

“I would do anything to see you smile. I am so glad to be with you, to be your, best friend, to be your boyfriend. I want to remind you every single day.”

Cole waited a moment longer, before planting a kiss to Jay’s forehead. He grabbed a pillow, and helped position Jay in a way that would help him breathe easier throughout the night. He moved away, and his boyfriend barely stirred.

Cole got out of bed, and was about to walk into the hallway before he stopped at the doorway. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he quickly typed out a text before gently closing the door behind him.

Jay’s phone illuminated on the bedstand.

Love you. I’ll be back later.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #nikdrabbles #bruiseshipping #cole ninjago #jay walker #ninjago fic #ninjago fanfic #ninjago fanfiction #geodeshipping #ninjago jay

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softpine · 4 years ago

Note

Could we pretty please get a things we might have missed for these last couple of posts that covered the dance and things that happened after?

of course!! 💖 this is long so uhh grab a snack fjkjsd

the dance as a whole;

elaine got almost no speaking parts during the dance (and no full scene of her own), because she was so wrapped up in austin that she didn’t want to talk to anyone else. she only starts speaking normally again when austin is gone.

stevie is really confused about matt (and btw it’s not a sexuality thing – she already knows she’s bi) because she does like him (”I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”) but she also doesn’t want anything to change (”What about Matt?” // “What about him?”). she essentially wants the fun, spontaneous parts of getting to know someone, without all the pressure of dating. she thinks matt is on the same page because he gave her space after their first date, but... we’ll see.

i showed everything i wanted to show about jada, casper, and asa during the dance, but let me know if you want me to expand on something in particular!

finn’s flashback;

it scares finn how quickly asa forgives him whenever he yells and acts like an asshole. he feels especially guilty for grabbing asa’s hand with the specific purpose of hurting him (emotional hurt, but still hurt). it was really important for finn to acknowledge the things he learned from his dad while also making steps to overcome them, instead of just plugging his ears and claiming he’s nothing like his dad. he knows he needs to actually work on emotional control, because clearly it doesn’t come easy for him. but he so badly wants to try.

finn is really good at stealing. as a kid, he stole from the neighbors to bail his dad out of jail, he frequently conned people by collecting money for “school fundraisers”, he picked up wallets off drunk people... all of that was out of necessity, but even as a ghost, he likes to pretend he’s breaking into stores and “stealing” things because it makes him feel more “normal”. it’s unsurprising that griffin, the version of himself that survived, ended up making a living picking people’s pockets.

asa & finn on main street;

asa was underneath the bridge just minutes before the girls crossed it, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

“I’m worried they’ll have to amputate!” was a bit of foreshadowing 😬

as i said here, finn was originally supposed to respond to asa’s question differently, but i changed it in the final draft.

the song i linked is a story on its own, but i chose it because it’s about a guy who doesn’t think he deserves to be loved the way that he is, and it scares him, and he takes it for granted until it’s too late. by the end, he makes peace with the idea that he’s been given this really beautiful thing and he doesn’t want to waste it, even if he’ll never feel entitled to it. that reminded me a lot of finn, because he’s struggling to understand why asa “wastes his time” on him when finn can’t provide all the normal things a partner or even a friend would be able to, and he thinks asa deserves better. but he’s realizing that he can’t control asa, and he doesn’t want to take him for granted anymore.

the.. uh... swan dive;

jada never had a vision of this woman dying, so she genuinely thought she would survive this fall. that’s also why jada sprung into action so quickly and efficiently – she never considered the situation to be hopeless.

in the 4th picture, as the woman is jumping, you can see a white outline around her body. the girls couldn’t see it themselves, but it was meant to represent her soul being out of sync with her body.

i talked about the “sylvia” comment in this ask.

remember that the woman says, “I can’t remember what I was upset for.” – this will be relevant later!

#the first dance post was exactly a month ago... bruh moment #why am i the slowest storyteller on the planet #anonymous #asks #saviorhide #brandi answers #camellia ask #death tw #suicide tw #abuse tw #child abuse tw

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thompsborn · 2 years ago

Text

find the word tag!

thank you for the tag @sarah-sandwich !!

these are from all over the place. like, half finished one shots i haven’t touched in forever, projects i’ve been slowly and silently working on for months—all across the board. titles will be provided but might not be all that helpful.

leave, found, hurt, light, cup, bleak

leave

from an au that i actually originally wrote as a reddie fic back in like 2018 and recently rediscovered on my laptop and fell in love with all over again and decided to rewrite - this is a rough draft, not touched up at all. the idea behind the fic is completely different from canon, where harley and peter knew each other in high school and weren't friends at all but were like study partners basically because their academic weaknesses were the other persons strengths and they really needed to get scholarships for their own personal reasons that they never shared with one another and etc etc and eight years after graduating they run into each other at a party and shit Happens. that's all i'll say about that for now, but the original fic was called hot chocolate when i wrote it for reddie, so it might stay called that now!

oh, actually another thing about this fic: it’s a christmas themed fic! my hope is to have the rewrite finished by december to post it all then!

After graduation, Harley would occasionally wonder where Peter went, if he was successful, if he was doing well, but he never thought about it too long. There was no point in pondering over it, he always told himself. Now, however, as they maintain a somewhat awkward gaze and struggle to come up with something to say, he can’t help but think he had been wrong, because Peter looks like he’s aged more than ten years. He looks good, sure, but there’s an exhaustion in his features, bags beneath his eyes, small things that give the impression of mid-thirties rather than late twenties. Harley likes to think he isn’t a super nosy person, but he can’t help but be curious as to what could have transpired in the past eight years that could lead to him looking more tired than he should. Then again, Harley can remember looking about a hundred times worse a mere three and a half years ago, so he supposes he shouldn’t be too quick to assume. It’s not really his place to know, anyway, curiosity be damned.

Clearing his throat, Harley withdraws a hand from his pocket and gestures vaguely towards the other side of the room, saying, “I was just trying to find a way outside, if you… I mean, it’s really cool seeing you, and if you want to catch up or something then I’m so down, but I kind of hate parties like this and need to get some air, so…”

“Catching up would be really cool,” Peter agrees with a nod, glancing down at his now empty cup with the slightest of frowns, though he doesn’t actually seem very bothered by it. He looks back up at Harley, scans over the room briefly, then looks at Harley again to tell him, “But I actually need to find someone, so I can’t go outside to catch up right now. Later, maybe? We can swap numbers.”

“That sounds good to me, yeah,” Harley responds, already digging his phone out of his back pockets and quickly unlocking it, bringing up his contacts while Peter does the same. Trading devices, Harley quickly puts in his number, and he briefly considers saving himself under something a little funny or stupid, like he maybe would have before, like he's pretty sure he did when they were in high school, but he opts against it and simply types in Harley Keener before saving the contact and giving Peter his phone back. Peter also hands back Harley’s phone with a slight smile, and Harley gnaws on the inside of his cheek, feeling oddly out of place and unsure of what to do. “So, I can text you after I leave, if that’s okay?”

Peter nods again, glancing to the side, looking as though he’s searching for a specific person. He did say he had to find someone, so Harley isn’t too surprised by that. “Yeah,” he answers quickly. “Yeah, just text me whenever and we can arrange something.” Gaze flickering back to Harley, he widens his smile slightly, lifts a hand in some kind of wave, and adds, “I’ll talk to you then, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Harley agrees dumbly, and he stays rooted to the spot for a moment longer, watching as Peter spins around and pushes through the people surrounding them, disappearing into the crowd. He thinks it’s a little bit stupid, but seeing someone he hasn’t spoken to since high school makes him feel a little bit giddy, a little bit childish, and he still regrets agreeing to come to this party, but he can’t help but muse that at least something good came out of it as he shoulders past meandering people and makes his way to the exit.

found

from the infamous revolution fic that i swear to god i'm going to have finished one day! one day! i swear! it's going to be done eventually!

And then Tony is walking over to them, comes to a stop a few feet away and smiles crookedly, looks to Miles and tilts his head and asks him, “You’re a fan of Iron Man, I’m guessing?”

“I—I, uh—” Miles stammers, stumbles over his words and goes from grabbing at Peter’s shoulder to holding his hand, clutching onto him like a little kid who needs to reminder that they aren’t alone, and only when Peter gently nudges him with his elbow does Miles clear his throat and properly reply with a curt nod and a nervous, “Um, y—yes, sir, I—I am. You saved—New York. All of us.”

“Yeah, that’s a thing that I did,” Tony says, nodding. “Definitely don’t regret it, but I wouldn’t recommend it, either. Aliens, all over the place, and—nightmares. Not a fun time, kid.” He waves a hand through the air, the action almost dismissive, and changes the subject by asking, “So, who are you all? Names? Identities? Fun party tricks that I should know about?”

Peter finds his nose crinkling a bit, not intentional but just as prominent. “Are you seriously asking a nine year old girl about party tricks?”

Tony’s eyes flicker to Peter, then to Lunella, who is looking at Tony with wide eyes while she leans against Peter, and then looks at Peter again, clearly amused. “No,” he says. “I’m asking for names. You know, the thing that people call you, usually given to you at birth? Ringing any bells yet?”

“Uh.” Miles looks back at Peter, glances over to his parents—in that order—and then looks back to Tony. “I’m, um—I’m Miles, sir. Miles Morales. This is Lunella Lafayette, and—”

“Peter Parker,” Peter cuts in.

Tony squints at him, looking contemplative for a moment too long, making Peter shift uncomfortably in his seat, feeling as Miles nervously tightens his hold on his hand and May settles her own hand on his shoulder. Then, suddenly, Tony snaps his fingers together, points at Peter and exclaims, “The spider guy! That was you, right? With the—the, pajama’s or whatever, and the webs? Located in Queens?”

Peter blinks once, eyes going a bit wide. “I—I, uh—”

“It was definitely you,” Tony says, looking a bit smug as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I was in the middle of trying to recruit the guy when the government started working on those anti-enhanced bills and shit. I had it narrowed down to five potential people before I had to drop it, and you were number one on that list. I’m right, aren’t I? You were the spider guy?”

At the time, when Peter gained his abilities and decided to use them to help others—after Ben and realizing that he could have used them then—Peter had been determined to keep his identity away from it. After all, he knew May wouldn’t approve of her nephew swinging around the streets every night, and he knew that, if people knew he was enhanced, if they knew who he was, they could track him down, could find May, could hurt her, hurt his friends, just to get to him. He had only been able to be Spider-Man for a few months before the laws were put in place and he was taken to the containment facility, but during those months, that was rule number one—no one could know who he was. It just wasn’t an option.

However, things are different now. It’s no secret that he’s enhanced—everyone knows, all the people he went to school with, anyone who watched as he was dragged from his apartment and whisked away. May knows, everyone in this room knows, and there’s just no point in hiding it now, is there?

“Yeah,” Peter finally answers, after a long, tense sort of moment, clearing his throat and looking away. “That was—I was Spider-Man. That was me. I was… before I got taken, I mean, I was—yeah. Yeah.”

May squeezes his shoulder lightly, and he can’t tell if it’s a simple, comforting gesture, or a comforting gesture with the underlying message of we’ll talk about that later. Tony’s smug smile drops, a little bit, as if reminded that these aren’t just kids, but kids that had been rescued from a government containment facility four days prior. “Well,” he says, not as uplifted in his tone but not exactly heavy in his words, either. “I have some questions about the spider guy. Who manufactured your webs, kid?”

Peter looks back at Tony with a small frown. “I did.”

Tony’s brows shoot up, looking impressed. “Seriously? How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” Peter answers. “But I made the formula for those webs a couple weeks before my fifteenth birthday.” He shrugs. “Wasn’t really all that hard, honestly. Just some pretty basic chemistry.”

It looks like Tony is somewhat stunned by that response, looking over his shoulder, towards where Bruce is making some kind of tense small talk with an overly excited looking Teddy, before turning back to Peter with lips slightly pursed in thought. “Alright,” he says, nodding once, seemingly to himself. “I’m gonna want to nitpick that brain of yours at some point, Parker, but lab time is gonna have to wait. We’re in the middle of a movement, after all, but after all of this is over, I wanna see how smart you are. If—” he looks to May, brows raised, “—that’s alright with your mother, of course.”

“I’m his Aunt,” May corrects. She says it with a finality that makes it clear that there is no mother, that Tony will have to gain her permission, not that of a parent. Tony sets his jaw and nods his understanding.

Instead of offering a response to that—though, two years ago, he would have been jumping for joy at the thought of being around Tony Stark, let alone having lab time with him—Peter just frowns, turns away and wonders why the idea of it isn’t exciting to him like it should be. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel all that smart anymore—if he was, he would have found a way to escape the facility, after all. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t thought of Spider-Man or making those webs or anything like that in about a year and a half, when he had first thought to himself that they may never see the outside world again.

Maybe he stopped believing in heroes to be excited about.

hurt

from a prompt fill i have been slowly writing for like almost a year? i love team red and also mattdad <3

One night, he meets the Devil.

“This isn’t your neighborhood, kid,” he says, sitting heavily next to Peter on a rooftop overlooking a park, the sky pitch black but the city alight with street lamps and headlights from passing cars. “Thought you were all about sticking to Queens and Midtown.”

“New York is New York,” Peter says.

Daredevil huffs a laugh. “I guess that’s fair.”

Peter swings his feet over the ledge of the building. This is one of the harder nights, where being gone feels a lot like being not alive. “We’ve never met,” he says, because talking gives him something to do, and it’s so rare for him to have someone to talk to nowadays.

“No,” Daredevil agrees. “No, we haven’t. Because you’re usually in Queens and Midtown. And I’m usually here.”

“But now I’m here too,” Peter says. “So now we’re meeting. It’s nice to meet you.”

Daredevil waves a hand. “People seem to assume we’ve already met, with the red suits and all,” he states. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Ever come across Deadpool?”

Peter frowns. “I have not.”

“Good,” he says. “You sound young.”

“I’m in my twenties,” Peter defends.

“For how long?”

He doesn’t respond.

Daredevil sounds smug. “Thought so. Wade isn’t the worst, believe me—but he’s inappropriate, and he doesn’t have the no killing policy that you follow, and that I try to go by. He’d protect you, but maybe wait a few years to preserve your young ears. Still, you know—red suits. We all match.”

“How do you know I have a no killing policy?” Peter questions, curious more than anything.

“Everyone knows,” Daredevil tells him. “You know, there are a lot more of us out here than you think, kid—you don’t run around in a group, so you haven’t really met any of us, but there are plenty of small time vigilantes that are working in back alleys just like you do, and all of us hear a lot about you. About how good you are.”

Peter finds that hard to believe. “I’m not all that good,” he says warily. “I wish I was.”

“Then you are,” Daredevil tells him.

“But I’m not.”

Daredevil seems to be looking at him, but Peter can’t quite tell. “Why do you think that?”

And Peter tells him, “People I love have gotten hurt. People I love have died. I could have done something to stop it.” He shakes his head and shrugs. “When I look in the mirror, I want to look away. Or break it.”

“That sounds absolutely fucking tragic,” Daredevil tells him, solemn and shocked.

It’s stupid, but Peter laughs.

light

another one from the revolution fic! i love lunella and miles and peter as the sibling dynamic i have for them i will never get over it ok

He doesn’t notice when there’s light footsteps approaching the two of them, doesn’t remember that they’re in the middle of a cafeteria until another hand settles on his shoulder and Lunella softly asks, “Peter?”

“Nelly,” Miles says, tone gentle and patient, and Peter doesn’t know when either of them came closer but hearing them helps his heart settle in his chest, just a little bit. “Let’s give him a minute, okay?”

“No,” Peter rasps, sucking in another sharp breath that makes his lungs burn, but he pushes through it and lifts his head to meet Lunella’s eyes. She’s looking at him with clear worry, and he tries for a smile that he knows is, at best, wobbly and uneven. “It’s okay. I’m okay, Nel.”

Lunella frowns. “No, you’re not,” she says. “You don’t always have to be okay.”

There’s so much knowledge in her voice, and he knows it’s something he’s told her a hundred times, but hearing her say it makes a fresh wave of tears overwhelm him. “You’re right,” he tells her, wiping at his face with the back of his hands. “I’m not okay, but I’m gonna be, okay?”

Lunella’s frown only seem to deepen, just slightly, but she doesn’t push that subject any further, just looks at May and shuffles her feet and asks, “This is her?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, sitting up fully and looking at May himself, seeing the soft confusion in her eyes. “May, this is Lunella, and that—” he gestures to Miles, who is standing behind Lunella with his hand on her shoulder, looking wary and unsure, “—is Miles. Looney Tunes, Smiles, this is Aunt May.”

“You two know who I am?” May questions, brows rising, just a bit, in question.

Miles nods, shuffles just a tiny bit closer and looks over his shoulder, at where his parents are lingering just a few feet away, looking just as confused as May does. “Yeah,” he says, clears his throat and wraps his arm around Lunella’s shoulders to pull her into a gentle sort of side hug. “Us three were in a cell together, and he, um—Peter used to tell us a bunch of stories whenever we got really scared and couldn’t sleep. A lot of them were about you and—and Ben, and his friends, and stuff.”

May looks at Peter, her eyes watery and a smile pulling at trembling lips. “Honey...”

Peter shrugs. “It helped me, too,” he says. “Telling those stories, I mean. It—It made it easier, y’know?”

“Oh, I missed you so much,” May whispers, pulling Peter back into a warm hug that he melts into without even meaning to, one of her hands holding him while the other tangles in his hair.

cup + bleak

can you tell i love writing fics where harley works at coffee shops? also i'm a firm believer that peter's metabolism is super tricky with coffee and caffeine in general, so i always write him either getting coffee for the taste alone or getting hot chocolate because he'd have to chug like ten coffees to actually feel the effects of it. which is something i just put in chapter 9 of homeward bound actually!

The first time he sees Peter Parker is on a Tuesday evening.

He’s running on three hours of sleep, two energy drinks, and a ten minute nap that he managed to fit in before having to get ready for work. With his apron thrown on over his clothes and his textbooks already weighing down his backpack, he ducks into the coffee shop with two minutes to spare, and the first person he sees is him—a stranger, at the time, with brown curls falling across his forehead in ringlets and a busted lip that miraculously doesn’t split back open when the guy offers a forced, sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he says, stepping out of the way and holding his coffee cup against his chest, as if protecting it—which makes sense, considering Harley almost knocked it out of the poor guys hand. “I didn’t—”

“My fault,” Harley cuts in, shaking his head. “I’m running late, wasn’t paying attention. Sorry, man.”

The guy seems conflicted, but ducks his head in a nod and murmurs, “Thanks,” before ducking around Harley and making his way out of the café, head angled down, curls falling in front of his eyes.

Harley stares after him for a moment and tells himself not to dwell on it.

Of course, that means the stranger never leaves his mind.

Two days later, he sees the guy again.

It’s after midnight, and Harley is the only one working because they don’t get many customers after sunset, but it’s a college hotspot and it isn’t far fetched to have the occasional student hole up for an all nighter of studying and assignments, so they’re open twenty four hours, anyway. The only reason Harley even accepted the night shift is because the lack of customers gives him plenty of time to get his own shit done, and since it’s his last year at Empire State, there’s plenty of shit for him to, so. It’s a win-win, really.

The guy comes in—Harley doesn’t know his name just yet, won’t learn it until a couple weeks down the line—and it becomes a win-win-win, because Harley is infatuated with the way the ends of the guys lips twitch up, not really a smile, but something close enough to tease at just how attractive his grin would be. His split lip is completely gone, which shouldn’t be possible, but Harley doesn’t focus on that because the split lip has apparently been replaced by a black eye that’s dark purple and kind of green around the edges. “That’s quite a shiner,” Harley comments without thinking—and then thanks the universe for his manager not being here, because Melissa is nice, but she carries customer service like a badge of honor and refuses to let her employees slack off on being polite. “Walk into a lamp post or somethin’?”

The guy snorts, rubs at the bruise and winces at the ache. “Something,” he says, eyes averted towards the ground and his single shoulder shrug half assed at best. Harley kind of wants to press for more information (because he isn’t stupid and he isn’t going to dismiss the fact that this guy could be in a bad situation) but it’s nearing one in the morning and this guy doesn’t seem to be in the mood, already appears a little bit tired, a little bit on the bleak side, and honestly, Harley isn’t in the mood for that kind of questioning, either, so he lets it slide for now and waits for the guy to order. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, he does, eyes squinting up at the menu before asking, “Can I just, uh—a large hot chocolate, please? With extra whipped cream and some caramel, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Harley says. “’Course. That’ll be three seventy five.”

A handful of quarters are plopped onto the counter and pushed over. “Sorry,” the guy murmurs, looking embarrassed. “I was gonna go to the bank, but… didn’t have time, so I only have change right now.”

“I’ve had to fill the tank of my car with nothin’ but nickels and dimes,” Harley reassures, waving a hand through the air dismissively before picking up the quarters to start counting them. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” The guy still looks sheepishly guilty, but ducks his head in some kind of nod. “Anything else I can get for ya’? Maybe an ice pack, to make sure your eye isn’t gonna fuckin’ fall out, somethin’ like that?”

The twitch of the lips happens—Harley really wants to see this guy smile—but he just shakes his head.

Harley makes the hot chocolate and doesn’t gain the courage to ask for his name.

tags: anyone who wants to do this! your words are:

steal, four, pillow, over, giant, destiny

#my writing #parkner #irondad #revolution fic #the time is now

6 notes · View notes

willow-salix · 3 years ago

Text

Ok, so, here's the next chapter.

It's a wee bit weird, so feel free to skip most of it, it won't affect the story at all. It's just there, doing it's thing.

Here's the first part, you can follow the link to read the rest of dip out here if you don't want to read a full ritual.

---

“What do you mean Lin is in the hospital?” Selene gasped, unable to believe her ears. “I just saw him no more than...” she glanced at her phone, “four hours ago.”

“Yeah, well, that was before the arrow hit him,” Vera snorted, tugging at Selene’s dress as she unzipped it and yanked it down.

“Arrow? What arrow?” Selene asked, her voice muffled as a new dress was slung over her head.

“The one that hit him in the leg,” Alegra answered as she bustled past with an armful of candles, clearly heading outside to the circle clearing.

“What the hell was he doing to get shot in the leg?”

“Teaching an archery class, it appears someone had very bad aim. One legged Linden strikes again,” Alegra replied.

“That name is because he is the master of Tree pose, not because he only has one working leg!" Selene argued, starting to feel more than a little stressed. “Who the hell is going to be my Priest if Linden is out of action? There’s no one else I’ve worked with enough to even have a connection with let alone one enough to raise the power needed for the circle.”

“Don’t you worry your head about it,” Vera snapped, tugging violently on Selene’s arm, yanking her down in a chair where she sat as still as a statue, allowing the old lady to attack her hair. “Tanzi said she had a plan, so give her some time to see what she can pull out of her arse before you start your panic flapping.”

“But there isn’t anyone here,” Selene argued. “Why don’t we let Tanzi take my place, she’s worked with far more people than I have, she'd know how to work their energy better than me.”

“Because it’s your role, that’s why.”

“But I- OW!”

Vera pulled the brush back like she might donk Selene on the head again.

“We’ll have none of that negativity, my girl, I taught you better than that. You know negativity before a circle is a no no. Just trust the Gods, trust they have a plan and a reason.”

“Linden won’t like that he was part of whatever plan they supposedly had,” Selene grumbled but stayed still as Vera slapped a flower crown on her head and set to work curling her hair around it.

"Well, it's not like he has a say in it now, is it?"

-x-

“I feel ridiculous,” John complained as Tanzi straightened his tunic, giving him the once over.

“Oh hush, you look gorgeous, she’s gonna shit a brick when she sees you.”

“I swear, if anyone even dares to take a picture I’ll make sure that they never get an internet connection again for the rest of their lives,” John threatened, wincing as Tanzi grabbed a comb and a pair of scissors to start attacking his hair. "Are you sure this is completely necessary?"

"Oh yes, very necessary, you have to dress the part, besides, it'll be worth it, you'll thank me later," Tanzi grinned admiring her handiwork. "That bitch is gonna send me a gift basket for making you look so good."

"And there's really no one else to do it?"

"No, I already told you. Linden is out of action and it's been years since she's worked with anyone close enough to lead a ritual with them. You're bonded to her, you're basically her familiar, you're the perfect solution. Don't worry, it'll be fine, believe it or not she does know what she's doing, she won't let you mess up."

"I never thought for a moment that she wouldn't be completely capable and in control, she always is. She may seem flighty but-"

"You don't have to tell me," Tanzi interrupted, patting his shoulder. "I've known her since she entered the craft, in fact I think tonight will be quite eye opening for you. You've never seen her in a ritual before, have you?"

John shook his head.

"Then you're in for a treat, she's a natural performer as well as a talented witch."

"My wife with a penchant for dramatic performance? Never."

Tanzi sniggered under her breath but declined to comment, focusing her attention on the back of his head as she worked.

"Are you sure this is all I have to do?" John asked, unfolding the instructions he'd been given and reading them through again. They seemed simple enough, follow Selene, stand where he was told, do as she directed and only speak when she spoke to him first or asked him a question, it sounded like a standard social event to him.

"Yep. You've got your part of the performance there too, just make sure you give Sel her part."

"Tell me again why we aren't warning her about this?"

"Because I want to see the look on her face," Tanzi shrugged. "I'm old, I have to get my kicks somewhere."

John snorted out a laugh. "Don't let my Grandma hear you complaining about being old, she gets very defensive when anyone under sixty even dares to mention they have a wrinkle."

"Good job I'm over 60 then," Tanzi answered distractedly, tugging at the side of his head as she tried to wrestle his hair into submission. He resisted the urge to flinch and instead focused on her words.

"Sure you are, and I'm planning a career change to become a game show host." The woman didn't look any older than he did, let alone old enough to appease his Grandma.

Tanzi grinned evilly. "Look me up if you don't believe me, but sit still while you do it."

For want of anything better to do John pulled out his phone and did as he was told. It took him less than two minutes and a tiny bit of government file delving to find the truth.

"There's only one Tanzanite Summerland, who is apparently seventy-eight years old."

Tanzi hummed a little sound of acknowledgement as she worked on his parting, trying to force his hair to lay in a way that didn't come naturally to it. "Why won't your bloody hair stay where I put it?"

"Selene asks the same thing, I gave up trying to change it years ago and just work with it, but don't think I don't know you're trying to change the subject," he retorted, on to her game.

She huffed, giving up on the parting, deciding to work with what she had, smoothing it back into place instead. "I'm mated to a full bloodied Shifter, Nikos is 297."

"He's what?" John spluttered, turning to look at her. "That's impossible."

"Dude, you turn into a cat, nothing should be impossible to you," she drawled, her tone implying she thought he was being particularly dense as she grabbed his head and turned it to face forward. "Avery is 413."

"Avery too? What does he turn into?"

"Nothing, though I'm sure he'd love to embrace the bat cliché if he could."

"Bat? Why would h-"

Tanzi raised her curved fingers to her mouth in a crude depiction of fangs and hissed.

John's eyes widened.

Tanzi nodded. "Yeah, and he's still not matured into a fully functioning adult, he'd be lost without my sister, I swear. Now, you've got your words, I've done the best I can with your hair, I think you're good to go."

"What? No! I've got questions, you can't just dump this kind of information on me and expect me to just accept it. I need answers."

"No time my friend, chop chop, it's getting dark, move your arse, your wife's waiting."

-x-

"Seriously?"

Selene couldn't have been more shocked if Tanzi had produced a monkey from her pocket to slap her around the face.

"You think John is the solution to our problem? How? Why? He hates people!"

"Oh hush," Tanzi soothed, brushing away her concerns. "He'll be fine, it's only a little ritual-"

"Little? There's a hundred and fifty people out there joining in!"

"In at the deep end," Tanzi shrugged, "he married a witch, he's gotta learn sometime. He said he'd do it."

"But why him? Is there really no one else?" Selene fretted, more worried about her husband's social anxiety than the ritual itself. "Can't you do it?"

"Nope, you're our poster child, you're the one they came to see, we can't let them down. He's the only person here with a connection to you that won't dull your energy. You know a Priest is supposed to enhance it, not drain it."

Selene wanted to argue, but her friend did make a good point, not that she wanted to admit it. She had worked with John in little ways before, working on his intuition and raising his personal power quicker and easier before each shift he attempted; it really wouldn’t be that much different for him, you know, apart from all the people staring at him.

“Fuck it, we’ll make it work,” Selene huffed. “Did you at least prepare him, even a little? Gods, he’s never going to leave my side again after this. I walked away for an hour and he was drafted.”

“Of course I prepared him, I gave him a script and everything,” Tanzi promised her, crossing her heart.

“Which script?” Selene asked suspiciously.

“This one,” Tanzi grinned, handing Selene a book of Shadows already opened on a page.

Selene quickly scanned through the pages, recognising the revised ritual instantly.

“I’m going to make a few adjustments,” she stated in a tone that allowed no arguments.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Tanzi assured her, knowing that she had won that round.

“Fine,” Selene sighed, checking the time. “Then I guess I'm ready.”

“Good, let’s go,” Tanzi said, draping a cloak around Selene’s shoulders.

“Hang on, where’s my chapstick?”

“Do you really need it?” Tanzi asked, desperate to get the other woman moving.

“Yes, I do, especially as I have a lot of foreheads to kiss out there,” Selene answered, already scrabbling through her bag looking for the elusive little tube.

“Where the hell is the bloody...Oh, thanks, babe,” she said in response to the chapstick that appeared in her line of sight, recognising the ring on the hand that held it. She took the stick and slicked on a generous amount, making fish out of water noises at her reflection in the mirror before turning around. She stumbled, reaching blindly behind her for something to hold on to, because praise be to every single deity for the God that was her husband.

“Holy shitballs Batman!”

“See, I look stupid!” John huffed, his cheeks burning. He should never have let himself be talked into it.

“Rubbish,” Tanzi scoffed.

“Wow,” Selene breathed, seemingly unable to form any full sentences.

“Told you she’d like it,” Tanzi grinned.

“What...I mean...how the...my Gods,” she breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from the pure gorgeousness she was seeing. Her eyes kept darting to a new part of him, there was simply too much beauty to take in in one go. “Wow.”

“Yes, I am a miracle worker, I know this,” Tanzi preened, brushing a non-existent speck of dirt off his shoulder.

“Is that a wig?”

“Clip in extensions.”

“My Gods,” Selene whispered again. John’s hair was now brushing his shoulders, falling in shimmering red waves that perfectly matched his own colour. His usual side parting had been maintained, the extensions having obviously been trimmed to blend in with his forelock, which somehow made it look less alien on him. Her fingers itched to run through all that silky looking hair and she actually reached out a hand but Tanzi slapped it down.

He was dressed in a black shirt with loose fitted sleeves that laced up across his chest under a dark forest green tunic. His legs were encased in black leggings and dark brown lace up boots that came up to just below his knees. He had a black cloak over one arm and a metal headpiece that encircled his head looking rather like a crown. But it was the pointed ears that peeked out from his hair that really pulled the whole look together.

“Fuck...me,” Selene was absolutely stunned, taking a few steps towards him, wanting to be close, to touch, to kiss...

“Later,” Tanzi ordered. “You two have to get moving, I can hear the drums already.”

Snapping out of her dazzling husband induced daze, Selene grabbed a sword that had been laying on a table in one hand and reached for his hand with the other.

If John felt nervous dressed in his ridiculous costume, it was nothing compared to how Selene seemed to be feeling. He could feel her hand shaking in his and hear the way she kept sucking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

He wanted to say something to make it better, but knew that in times like these words made very little difference to her. Instead he repositioned her hand in his, linking their fingers and giving it a comforting squeeze. She looked different tonight, he’d seen her in ritual robes before, but this time she had replaced the dramatic makeup she had been wearing earlier with something much more subtle. She looked younger, less sure of herself, with pale golden eyeshadow, pink blushed cheeks and no lipstick, maybe that was part of the reason that she looked a little less confident than normal.

They waited just outside the perimeter that had been marked out for the circle, around which a ring of people stood, others seated in little huddles on blankets, obviously not part of the actual ritual but wishing to observe. The whole clearing was lit up by the crackling flames of a large bonfire, which warmed the chill air to a more pleasant temperature now that the sun had gone down, taking its heat with it.

The drumming that had been growing louder with each passing moment reached its crescendo and abruptly stopped. He felt her stiffen and heard her inhale deeply once more, holding it for the count of five before letting it out slowly.

“Show time,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Just follow my lead, babe, I won’t let you down.”

“I know,” he assured her, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

Link to Ao3

#john tracy #selene tempest #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #witch #thunderbirds fanfiction #paranormalromance #thunderbirdsarego

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