#i have. a draft that is miles longer but i can’t be bothered to finish it … | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wttcsms · 1 year ago

Text

— excerpts of upcoming works;

i have nearly 90k words total in my google docs drafts, lol. i figured i would share some of my progress towards specific fics + to gauge overall interest in my projects. enjoy!

right now, it's just two atsumu fics + 1 kiyoomi fic because i'm still steadily looking through my drafts for anything halfway decent enough to show publicly lol

angel of the morning, atsumu miya x f!reader

soldier!au, nonspecific/fictional war, early 1900s setting * features first love, "you never answered my letters" "you sent letters?", breeding kink, lots of hurt, lots of comfort, happy ending * 3k words written, est. ~15k when finished

It’s been a rough day.

A rough week.

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know?

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize.

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily.

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan.

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople.

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom.

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own.

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying.

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target.

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body.

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him.

But if you a die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard.

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this.

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next.

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin.

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that.

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help.

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then.

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope.

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

no more keepin' score (now i just keep you warm), kiyoomi sakusa x f!reader

womanizer/playboy!sakusa x maneater!reader, celebrity reader * features meeting your match, the girl plays the game better, banter, sexual tension, * 2k written, est. ~25k when finished

Three mimosas in, and you haven’t flirted with a single volleyball player yet, even though Sober You thinks they’re totally hot, and Tipsy You thinks they’re just the hottest.

Bokuto and Mai are lost in their own conversation, leaving you to talk with the infamous teammates that Mai was so certain you would want to make your flavor of the week. There’s the faux blond sitting on your left, the ginger sitting diagonally from you, and next to the ginger — Shoyo — is probably the reason why Mai begged you to be good for once. Curly black hair, the most intense set of dark eyes, and the jawline of a god — he’s the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. You’re kind of already regretting your promise not to play with Bokuto’s teammates. Almost.

Atsumu, the blond, is funny. Shoyo has a fun energy that’s easy to reciprocate. And Sakusa…

Sakusa hasn’t spoken to you once, and you’re nearing forty minutes into this lunch. You’re wondering how long this vow of silence is going to last before turning your attention to Atsumu.

“—haven’t been to a volleyball game before?” He’s staring at you, mouth turning up into a boyish grin that’s surprisingly cuter than you expect it to be. During the whole entire introduction stage at the beginning of lunch, you played dumb, as if you couldn’t identify some of the most famous professional athletes in Japan. You don’t like letting people know that you’re aware of their existence; it gives them too much of an ego boost.

You know what he’s about to offer — the best seats in the house, probably to the upcoming game next week. He’s probably the type to send you a jersey — one brandishing his name and court number, of course.

“Nope.” Then, tilting your head curiously, you ask him, “Why? Am I missing out on anything?”

His grin only grows wider.

“Ya know, we have a game next week.” Well, you do know, but since you’re playing the role of ‘ditz to all things volleyball’, you let him continue his little sales pitch. “Each player gets to invite whoever they want.”

How cute. He wants you to make the next move.

“Oh, that’s great! Y’know, Mai mentioned something like that to me earlier today. I think she says I can be her plus-one, so I’m really excited to be able to finally experience a match.” You smile at him, acting as if you’re oblivious to the fact that he is readying himself to offer a ticket to you.

“I heard ticket processing for a guest’s plus-one is kinda tricky. I’d feel really bad for ya if you couldn’t catch the entire game because you got held up trying to get in.” The excuse is obviously flimsy, but you find it a bit cute the lengths he’ll go to beat around the bush.

But you can’t score if you never shoot, and if Atsumu isn’t going to directly invite you, you’re not taking his ticket.

“Hm, well, I’ll probably just sit this one out then. I think there’s a charity baseball game happening the same night, and a couple of the players are pretty good friends. I’ll just watch that if you’re sure it’s going to be an issue for Mai and me to get in.” You give Atsumu your bright mega-watt smile, the one you’re used to giving for ad campaigns.

“I mean, you could always use my ticket.”

Your smile only grows wider, and this time, just the slightest bit genuine.

Mai asked you a while back why you do it; flirt and have your fun with guys but refuse to commit to anything serious. At first, you told her it was because you wanted to focus on your modeling career and couldn’t afford a constant distraction. Now, at the height of your career, you can admit the other half.

You like being wanted.

Because right now, Atsumu is staring at you like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear, and he won’t know what to do with himself if you did. Bokuto stares at Mai like that too, and for her sake, you hope it lasts.

(It never does for you, and you’re tired of hoping the next boy will be the one to break the pattern.)

“I might take you up on that offer.” You tell him, knowing that you won’t. “Baseball’s been my go-to sport for years. Don’t wanna break that tradition just yet.”

“Why baseball?” Shoyo asks, between forkfuls of extremely overpriced Eggs Benedict.

“Mm, probably because I’m rumored to be dating about half the league’s roster and fucking the other half.” You laugh at Atsumu and Shoyo’s wide-eyed expressions. You discreetly glance at Sakusa, only to find him more interested in the food on his plate than your admission. “Emphasis on rumored.”

And then, just because you’re now sipping on your fourth mimosa of the afternoon, you find the confidence to give them a cheeky grin. “Besides, I took a vow of celibacy.”

Now Sakusa’s staring right at you.

“You? Celibate?” Eyebrow raised, tone not quite incredulous but not entirely flat, either. It doesn’t take a psychologist to detect Sakusa’s obvious disbelief.

“Yeah, me, celibate.” You say it slowly. “You seem surprised to hear that.”

“Since when?”

“Hmm…” You pick up your phone, pretending to check the time. “Let’s see… Since twelve hours ago, give or take.”

“Wow, I’m surprised E!News hasn’t reported this breaking news.”

Is it just you, or did he sound a little bit rude when he made that comment?“Probably ‘cause their reporters are too busy writin’ about your little — what d’you call ‘em? — indiscretions.” Atsumu jumps to your defense almost immediately, and while you’re perfectly capable of biting back at Sakusa and making a jab about his headlines, you’re glad Atsumu’s here. Sakusa seems smart, and if you reveal that you’re aware of his “indiscretions”, he’ll certainly call you out on pretending to not know of him.

atsumu miya's guide to escaping from the friend zone, atsumu miya x f!reader

third year au, enemies to lovers, shoujo manga vibes * features romcom elements, knowing each other since childhood, he falls first AND he falls the absolute hardest, getting together, miscommunication as a means to be comedic not for poorly manufactured drama/angst, lighthearted with a happy ending, no angst 1k written, est. ~10k when completed

STEP ONE: ACTUALLY GET TO THE FRIEND ZONE FIRST

You’re in love with Atsumu Miya — you just don’t know it yet.

At least, that’s what Atsumu claims as he speaks with his mouth full, bits of rice flying out of his mouth, leaving everyone in his immediate vicinity disgusted.

“She doesn’t even know you exist, idiot.” Osamu doesn’t look amused as he pulls his bento box closer to himself, trying to avoid the hailstorm that is Atsumu’s half chewed grains of rice.

“She does!” He’s awfully indignant when he replies, looking like he’s about to make a move to slap his brother but thinks better of it. As captain of the Inarizaki Boys’ Volleyball team, he has to learn to behave lest he lose the title altogether.

“Wanting you dead isn’t the same thing as loving you,” Rintarou is quick to chime in, and the first and second years on the team snicker.

“It’s a work in progress.” Atsumu snaps, failing to mention that you loving him has been a ‘work in progress’ for the past decade and counting.

(Not like he’s, you know, obsessively keeping track. Definitely not.)

The two of you have been attending the same school since your elementary days. On the first day of class, your teacher made everyone hold hands with the person next to them, and a five year old Atsumu just so happened to be the person seated next to a five year old you.

“This person is going to be your buddy for the rest of the school year!” Your teacher exclaimed, clapping her hands together and smiling too cheerfully for so early in the morning.

Then, someone had exclaimed that boys had cooties, and every girl buddied with a boy immediately took back their hand, either on the brink of tears and dramatically turning up their nose in disgust.

Atsumu likes to claim that this is where things went wrong (never minding the fact that you had been the only girl not to drop a boy’s hand), but what really started your dislike for him (that has since spiraled into his closest friends thinking you want their captain dead) happened in middle school.

As fate would have it, you were seated in front of Atsumu for math. He had (still does) a bad habit of chewing gum as loudly and obnoxiously as possible (from your perspective, anyway; truthfully, Atsumu just lacks self-awareness). He made it hard to concentrate during lectures and tests, and midway through the year, you complained to your teacher.

(“Why do you not want to be seated close to Mr. Miya, hmm?” Your teacher smiled at you, his tone light and teasing. “Is it because of a crush?”

“Gross! No! I do not have a crush on Miya!” Your eyes were wide, and you were shaking your head. “He just gets on my nerves. He’s always stealing my pencils and smacking on him and hiding my textbook-“

“You know, Miss [Surname], middle school boys are mean to girls they like. I’m afraid that my seating charts are always permanent, but even if they weren’t, I think I would make Mr. Miya very upset if I moved you.”

“Who cares about that? He’s so annoying. Let him bother someone else!”

“Ah, [Surname], class is only in session for a few more months. If it gets worse, then we’ll see to adjusting the seating arrangements. For now, let’s get you back to your desk and focused on these fractions.” Your math teacher doesn’t bother hiding a smile as he jokes with you. “You better be careful; he might yank your hair and think it’s a proper declaration of love.”

Your math teacher never tells you that Atsumu spent two weeks of summer break cleaning this classroom to get seated next to you.)

The complaining didn’t work, and you were still stuck in the same seat in front of Atsumu. Then, one day, while he was ignoring the teacher’s lecture and giving his attention to something more worthwhile (such as the back of your head), Atsumu noticed a spider crawling from your back and aiming upwards, towards your hair. He watched in morbid fascination as the spider made its way into your strands of hair, and he reacted quickly, not quite thinking things through.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled, forcing you to tilt back with a yelp, which then caused the entire class to turn and stare at the two of you.

The spider was nowhere to be found, at least, but your teacher had to stop his lesson, shaking his head while he walked to the classroom phone.

“Honestly, Mr. Miya, what goes on in your head?” The teacher sounded like he was holding back laughter as he dialed the principal’s office.

Meanwhile, you straightened yourself out and turned to glare at Atsumu, who could only give you a sheepish grin in return.

“Sorry,” he told you, not sounding the least bit sorry. “Ya should be thankin’ me—“

“Thanking you?” You practically yelled it out. “I should be beating you. What is your problem with me, Miya?”

And that was the moment when Atsumu Miya realized that getting you to fall in love with him might be a bit of a struggle.

But that was then, and this is how. Now, you’re both in your third year of high school. Now, Atsumu is the captain of a team that’s an absolute powerhouse. Now, Atsumu is a box blond and despite his harsh attitude, girls are still vying for his attention.

He figures it’s only a matter of time before you come to your senses and join them.

You never do, though, and now he’s stuck rethinking his master plan. His friends are no help whatsoever, and the school year is going to fly by if he’s not careful. He knows you’ve been accepted to Tokyo U, and he knows that he’s probably not heading to college — not when professional scouts are watching his games and have the power to sign him right after graduation. He’ll never have a chance to be this close to you ever again, and he has to act now.

“Work in progress, my ass.” Rin snorts. “You’ll be lucky to even be her friend at this point.”

Now, Atsumu doesn’t like to consider other people as geniuses, but he’ll settle for considering Rintarou his muse. All this time, Atsumu’s been trying to get you to love him, completely disregarding the fact that you have to like someone before that can happen.

And people like their friends. For the most part.

“Ya know what, Rin? You might actually have a point.”

“There was no point. I was making fun of you. Whatever you’re thinking about doing, here’s actual advice: don’t.” No one on the team is particularly surprised when Atsumu doesn’t take that advice.

#LMAO THESE ARE FROM LAST YEAR #u can tell bc I was knees deep in my hq phase #sloooowly returning to it #these are very old to me and my writing has changed a bit so rewriting it will take additional time rather than just continuing where I lef

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samstree · 3 years ago

Note

36 for kiss prompts and/or 23 from touch prompts?? i'm so happy for your dynamic return!! 😌

Lean on Me

36. “kissing away tears” + 23. “carrying the other one in their arms” from the touch asks. Thanks for the prompt, my dear! <3

In which Jaskier is a stubborn idiot. Geralt is there for him.

(1.4k, aftermath of torture, mentions of blood and injury, panic attacks, vomiting, read on AO3)

---

“Oh, finally!” Jaskier lets out a sigh, his ribs aching at the exhale. “My dear, you don’t know how I’ve longed to see your beautiful face! These two gentlemen—on top of being the rudest persons in the entirety of the Nilfgaardian empire—have the most hideous complexions I’ve seen! Seriously, does being a royal torturer suck away your soul along with your good looks?”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

Geralt fumbles with the shackles around Jaskier’s wrists, refusing to look up. The motion pulls at the flayed skin a little. Jaskier gasps when one of the restraints falls to the floor. He uses the air to resume his rambling.

“Dull as fuck, they are. It’s always ‘tell me where they are, or we’ll beat you to death’ as if I didn’t infer from their mean faces on the first day. Urgh! So unimaginative! You’d think an army that swept through the continent could hire someone more competent. Professionals, maybe—”

The other wrist comes out and Jaskier abruptly tips forward, his knees giving way. Luckily, strong arms catch him around the waist without a moment of doubt, and Jaskier finds himself face to face with the prettiest amber eyes in the world.

“Hey,” Jaskier says, realizing that he’s bitten his lower lip in a panic. The old wound reopens and he tastes blood. “Did I ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are?”

A gentle hand comes up to push back the hair in Jaskier’s eyes, revealing his forehead and, undoubtfully, the gash there and all the dried blood. He feels exposed like this.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes, the whisper too careful for Jaskier to handle after all these days. “You are in shock.”

“What? No, I’m not!”

Jaskier frowns, and struggles on his feet to prove the point. If only his legs would cooperate and stop feeling like jelly. Geralt trails his fingers down to cup Jaskier’s jaw, a thumb hovering over what must be a patch of bruises by his lips. He presses down with the barest touch and Jaskier hisses, which tugs at his ribs again.

Geralt’s brows are knitted together with worry. “I need to get you out of here fast.”

“There’s no need to look so constipated, Geralt dear. I told you I’m fine. This—” he gestures to the tiny torture chamber. “—is nothing!”

With that, Jaskier takes a step towards the door—well, what’s left of it after Geralt smashed through the poor thing. Each step feels like he’s walking on a cloud. His arm rests on Geralt’s shoulder but refuses to lean into his witcher’s solid strength. Geralt doesn’t seem convinced, with a hand still at Jaskier’s waist, just shy of touching his throbbing side.

“Let me tell you, they couldn’t even follow through on most promises. Apparently, the emperor himself gave orders to keep me alive. I’m a valuable asset! So, you see, all the talks of opening me up with those colorful gadgets were nothing but empty threats. I could laugh at those idiots!”

As they stumble out of the room, Jaskier can’t help but get another glimpse of the table full of devices—pliers, knives, a chainsaw, and something that looks like a stack of thick needles, except every five of them are attached to make the perfect shape to go into someone’s fingers.

A shudder runs down his back—not from fear, of course. It’s a draft in the hallway.

“Hmm. And they are the idiots.”

��For messing with me and not finishing the job—Oh, there they are.” Two mangled bodies are barely visible in the dark corner, with blood seeping into the floor. “Did you give them hell? I bet you did. The White Wolf’s wrath is no joke, not when his bard is taken. Not that it was too much of a bother for me, mind you. I’m fine.”

The urge to repeat the word is overwhelming despite the crack in his voice. Jaskier licks at the cut on his lip just like he’s done in the past few days. It was the only soothing motion he could manage while being bound in metal. The warmth of Geralt’s body is miles better, so much so that a disorienting fog is forming before Jaskier’s eyes, darkening the edges of his vision.

“Sure you are. Just…hang on, just a little longer,” Geralt pleads, a bit desperately. For what, Jaskier isn’t sure.

Geralt takes Jaskier’s elbow with his other hand, guiding him forward toward the exit. He’s acting like that again, like he’s around a spooked horse or scared children. Jaskier turns in confusion and rests his temple against Geralt’s cheek, but he’s rudely dislodged quickly.

“Portal,” Geralt warns.

Before Jaskier has time to react, cold wind is cutting into his cheeks and his bare feet sink into thick snow. Kaer Morhen stands tall as always, and Jaskier wants to sag with relief—

Before a spell of nausea hits him in full force, turning his insides into a swirling mess. Jaskier can barely push Geralt away before crumbling onto the icy ground and heaves out whatever little content in his stomach. There’s not much. It’s not like a prisoner’s diet is on top of Nilfgaard’s priorities.

“Portals… Can’t complain when we are in a hurry, right?”

Jaskier chokes out a laugh while trying to wipe away the bile at his lips. The coldness is creeping up on him, making him tremble like a leaf. He hugs the hollow of his stomach, but the involuntary spasms jostle his sensitive ribs again, drawing out a whimper. Everything hurts. His mouth is filled with cotton, his head pounding like fireworks exploding inside his skull.

The next attempt to stand fails, and he ends up in a heap of misery with nothing but the raggedy shirt on his back. Jaskier takes in gulps of air but can’t find any release. His lungs are burning with the aftershock of panic.

It’s like a dam breaking. The reality sinks in, of what could have happened. Of what did happen.

Jaskier knows he’s crying. Tears are rolling down his cheeks with abandon and freezing in the cold air. He can’t hide them, not when he doesn’t even have the strength to lift a hand.

A coat wraps around his shoulders, and Jaskier shudders into the contact. Geralt lowers into his vision, his head tilted so their gazes can meet. Amber eyes are flowing with patience, so much patience.

“All right,” Jaskier finally croaks, “perhaps…there’s a chance that I’m, um, I’m not quite fine.”

Geralt’s palm finds Jaskier’s cheek again, careful not to aggravate the bruises and the broken skin. Their foreheads rest together, and the only thing left in the snowy world is the sound of Geralt’s breathing. The grip on Jaskier’s airway loosens, allowing him to match the achingly unhurried rise and fall of Geralt’s chest. The familiar scent of leather and sweat is in the background, the best soothing balm for his frayed nerves, always.

Slowly, the storm calms.

“That’s it. Breathe with me, just like this. You are safe. I have you now. I have you.” Geralt murmurs into his ear, repeating the last sentence like a mantra. “I have you, Jask…”

There are more tears, but soft lips catch them in a lover’s caress. Jaskier lets himself melt into his witcher’s presence, lets his tears be kissed away.

“What should—” His teeth chatters. The snow is numbing his toes, the tingling bordering on pain. “What should I do?”

The world spins again, but this time upward. Geralt’s arms are so steady as he lifts Jaskier in one swift motion and carries him toward the keep.

“Lean on me. For now.” The corners of Geralt’s lips quirk up into something akin to a smile, but not yet. It looks physically impossible for Geralt to smile right now. “Lean on me, and don’t worry a thing.”

And Jaskier does. He leans into Geralt’s neck and rubs his damp cheek into the scent there. The sniffles don’t go away for a long time. His breaths are still shuddering, but for the first time, there’s nothing Jaskier wants to say.

For the first time, Jaskier only wants to bury himself into Geralt’s coat, into the quiet safety of his favorite witcher, and ease his mind into oblivion.

---

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nhlandotherimagines · 4 years ago

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Since When? -Matthew Tkachuk X Fem!Reader

This is approximately 11.2k words of a friends-to-lovers rollercoaster of emotions! I hope you all enjoy! I hope you all enjoy it! @anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya @jonnytoews19 @puckbitchesgetmoney @glassdanse @suzukick

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of nudity, implied sexual acts, angst, negative self talk, “unrequited” love, drinking, also some fluff as well. Please let me know if I missed anything!

In case you don’t know: Y/n: your name, Y/l/n: your last name, and Y/n/n: your nickname (can be replaced with your name if you do not have a nickname of course)

flashbacks are in italics :)

———

“Y/n, this is Macy. Macy, this is Y/n.” Matthew introduces you to the blonde girl he’s been talking about for weeks. She is so much prettier than you could have ever imagined. Beautiful blonde hair, flawless tanned skin, and her legs went on for miles. You shake the thoughts from your head a large grin taking over your own face.

“Oh how formal of you Matthew,” you say mockingly. “Please call me Y/n/n, and despite how Matty here is acting you have no reasons to be nervous. He talks about you all the time, I like you already!” You beam with a wink. Matt’s ears and neck burn red in embarrassment, as you and Macy giggle.

“I could say the same about you y/n/n!” Your stomach twists a little at that, what could Matthew possibly have told her? You and him have been friends for years. Best friends. You live across the hall from him now. When you moved to Calgary he insisted you moved into his apartment, but you know he would never take a girl home with you around all the time. If you are being truly honest with yourself, it has more to do with the fact that you don’t want to think about Matthew with other girls.

Yet here you are, standing in front of his new girlfriend, who could be supermodel. “Would you like to get a drink Macy? Let Matthew go talk boring old sports stuff with his jock friends.” Macy giggles at your request, but agrees quickly placing a kiss on Matthew’s cheek.

————

“Thank you for this. Matt’s been really weird about me meeting you, and I was worried you were going to hate me.” Macy’s smile falters a little when she says this, causing you to choke a little on your drink.

“Wow! He must have made me seem like a total bitch! Sounds like him really. I guess he knows I want whoever he’s with to be perfect for him, but he doesn’t understand that as long as he’s happy and that girl isn’t just a gold digger than I’m happy too.” You knock her shoulder playfully with yours, “He seems very happy with you, and for the record I think you’re really cool.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, before Macy speaks again. “So how did you and Matt become friends?”

“It’s a long story, are you sure you want to hear it?” You chuckle, as she nods excitedly.

“Y/n l/n?” The teacher reads out your name.

“Present!” You beam from your spot at the front of the class hand in the air. You hear a few chuckles from behind you, and lower your hand slowly slumping into your chair.

“Matthew Tkachuk?” The teacher continues, after giving you a sympathetic smile.

“That would be me!” His voice causes your eyes to snap to the door. He’s beautiful and chaotic. Bright blue eyes, messy curls, a little smirk, and a cute little dimple to tie it all together.

“Mr. Tkachuk, being late on the first day isn’t the best first impression. Please don’t make a habit of it.” The teacher scolds lightly.

“Sorry, I won’t.” He smiles sheepishly, as he places his backpack on the chair beside yours. “Okay if I sit here?” He looks at you expectantly.

Unable to find your words you nod. He sits down, and smiles at you. “I’m Matthew.” He adds sticking his hand out for you. You take it, face burning red.

“Uh- I’m y/n.” You stutter out. More snickers coming from the seats behind you. Immediately you pull your hand away and stare down at your lap, tears burning your eyes. It was your first day of highschool, and already you weren’t fitting in.

“Well y/n, can I call you y/n/n?” He asks quickly, but doesn’t bother to wait for a response, “Want to eat lunch with me? It being the first day and all I’m trying to make friends. What do you say?”

“Okay.” You reply, and smile up at him. No longer feeling as shy.

So you did eat lunch together that day. And every day after that. You became best friends almost immediately. After a couple weeks, you met his family and fit in well with all of them. Matthew fit just as perfectly in your life. You studied together, you went and watched his games, you did everything together.

It was so easy to be with Matthew, so when he got drafted to the Flames your decision was easy. You immediately applied to the University of Calgary.

“And we’ve been friends forever it feels like.” You smile at her.

“So you guys dated in highschool?” She asks, but it sounds more like a statement than a question. Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull at that.

“No way! Matt and I are only friends, that’s all we’ve ever been, and we are both VERY okay with that.” You cringe to yourself at how awkward you sound, trying to convince her what you were saying was true. And it mostly was, aside from the fact that part of you wanted more, and still do.

“Seriously? Not even like one date?” You shake your head, “not one awkward game of spin the bottle?” Again you shake your head, “not even a drunk hookup?” At that you laugh, and take another swig of your drink.

“I’m being honest Macy. The closest to any of that Matt and I ever had was my seventeenth birthday.” You shudder at the memory, “Neither of us enjoyed that.”

Macy’s face lit up at that. “Well now you have to tell me!”

You are standing in front of your bedroom mirror getting ready for your birthday party. People would be showing up in about an hour, your mom is in the kitchen finishing the cake, your dad cleaning the barbecue, your siblings at friends houses, and here you are standing mostly naked in front of the mirror. Admiring the brand new navy blue lingerie set you just bought, your very first set. You feel really sexy, for the first time ever, which at seventeen is a big deal.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been standing there, when the door opens, but you are too zoned out to even notice as you run your fingers along the lace resting on your hips. “Oh fuck!”

As soon as you hear his voice you turn towards the door and do your best to cover your exposed body.

“MATTHEW JESUS CHRIST GET OUT!” You scream at him, tears blurring your vision. He mutters an apology as he quickly exits your room.

You cry for awhile, the embarrassment making you not want to get off your floor. However, you do eventually, and change into the dress your mother bought specifically for your party. It was black, and much more mature than your mother would have ever let you wear before, or maybe it’s because you yourself look more mature. Who knows? All you know is that you don’t want to face Matthew.

It turns out that you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t show up for the party. Brady does though, telling you he isn’t sure what happened, but Matthew isn’t feeling well. You know why though. He was repulsed.

You cry yourself to sleep after everyone leaves. Even going as far as throwing out the set of lingerie, unable to look at it anymore.

You thought you lost him that day. Thankfully though, the following Monday it was like nothing happened. Neither of you bring it up again.

“Wow! He never mentioned it?” She laughs in astonishment.

“Not once! I think he’s forgotten really. It’s not like there was really much to see anyway.” You go back and forth like that all night, sharing stories, buying each other drinks, dancing together. It is perfect.

Across the bar Matthew smiles to himself, watching the two of you getting along so well.

“Dude I told you they’d get along!” Noah Hanifin says slapping a hand over Matthew’s shoulder. He doesn’t hear him come over to where he stood leaning against the bar watching you and Macy dancing together, so it startled him at first.

“I knew they probably would, it’s just if they didn’t,” Matthew stops for a moment staring down at his drink. “I wouldn’t be able to choose.”

“Why would you have to choose?” Noah doesn’t get it, and Matthew isn’t sure the answer really.

“Every time I’ve been seeing a girl they always get weird once they finally meet y/n. Most of them just can’t handle the fact I’m so close to a girl.” He shrugs, and Noah sends him a knowing smile.

“So you’ve never told me, were the two of you ever a thing?” Noah asks, taking a drink of the beer in his hand.

Matthew throws his head back laughing loudly. “Seriously Hanifin? You’ve met the two of us right? We have been friends forever. Nothing else.”

“You’ve never even just hooked up? I don’t know, you two just fit so well together I assumed you would have tried it out at least once.” Noah shrugs.

“No way!” Matthew chuckles awkwardly, wanting the conversation to end.

As the two friends lean against the bar in silence, his eyes fall on you. You’re wearing a cute little black dress similar to the one you’d worn the day he thought he’d lost you.

It is your birthday, and Matthew can’t wait to give you the present he bought you weeks ago. It is a miracle he kept it a secret this long. Sure your party isn’t for another hour or so, but he can at least help everyone get ready. That way he can give you your present sooner, and without the prying eyes of your mutual friends.

So here he was walking up to your front door, the little velvet box tucked inside his backpack. Inside it a beautiful gold necklace, the pendant a simple letter ‘M’. Sure, maybe it was cheesy, but you love cheesy. As for Matthew he loves seeing you happy, and he loves you.

“Hey Matthew honey! Y/n is in her room.” Your mother greets him as he comes through the front door. He exchanges a quick hello and starts up the stairs to your room.

Matthew takes a shaky breath, trying to steady his breathing. His heart is racing, why is he so nervous? He tries to convince himself it is just because he wants you to like the gift and not because he has feelings for you. When he finally pushes open your door though, all of the air he had just tried to hold onto, leaves his body immediately. There you are. Standing in front of your mirror, back to him. Your hair curled loosely, and wearing nothing but a set of navy blue lingerie. Matthew is frozen, unable to speak. His eyes rake over your body, even though he knows it is wrong. You look good. So good in fact, Matthew’s pants have tightened considerably since he stepped through your door.

“Oh fuck!” He groans, eyes widening as he finally realizes the gravity of the situation. He watches you spin around, horror and embarrassment clear on your face.

“MATTHEW JESUS CHRIST GET OUT!” You yell, you sound so angry to Matthew. He is immediately embarrassed. Embarrassed to be caught, but mostly embarrassed by the affect you have on him.

Matthew runs home. He pleads with Brady to just put his name on the gift he is bringing, and to let you know he isn’t feeling well. The truth is, he doesn’t feel well. He is scared. Scared everything has to change. The two of you don’t talk all weekend, but maybe Matthew stalks your Instagram to make sure you have a good birthday.

However, the following Monday the two of you fall back into your normal routine. The incident is never brought up again, aside from in Matthew’s dreams that is.

Matthew shakes his head, trying to physically rid it of the memory. He smiles sadly down at his drink knowing that the necklace he bought you that year now sits safely in a box on the top shelf of his closet. He never got to give it to you.

“What ‘cha thinkin’ ‘bout space cadet?” You grin up at him. He smiles back at you, and throws his arm around your shoulder. Subconsciously he scans the room for Macy. “Chill out Matty she’s in the bathroom. You looking to dip on me already? I mean how can I blame you? If I got to go home with someone THAT hot I’d be leaving as soon as I could.”

“I’m not trying to dip!” He shoots back in defence.

“Okay! Okay! Cool it Chucky! I’m just teasing. I like her a lot! Why were you so worried?” You wrap an arm around his waist as he pulls you tighter into his side.

“Dunno. I guess your opinion is kind of important to me. Wouldn’t wanna displease my sidekick.” He smirks down at you.

“Oh please! If anyone is the sidekick here it’s you Tkachuk! Know your place.” You tease, as Macy finds her way over to the two of you. “He’s getting on my nerves! He’s your problem now. Have fun lovebirds!” You wink at them as you slip away. You need another drink, something hard. You also need someone to take home tonight. So you wouldn’t have to think about Matthew and Macy.

You like her. She is perfect for him, and she makes him happy. That’s what you want. It doesn’t mean you don’t wish it was you.

————

The next morning Matthew makes his way back to his own apartment. He had spent the night at Macy’s, but decides to get home early as his parents and siblings are going to be in town later in the day. When he turns down the hall, he notices the guy leaning against your doorframe. He can’t see you, but he can hear your laugh. “I’ll see you later yeah?” Nathan says leaning in to press a kiss to your lips.

“Um sure. Yeah.” You immediately start beating yourself up internally for how awkward that sounded. Sure Nathan is sweet, and last night was great! He just doesn’t feel right.

You say your final goodbyes, and promise to text him later before you close your door. Little do you know, your best friend is waiting in the hallway to greet your new friend. “Fun night fella?” Matthew smirks at him.

His eyes go wide as he realized who exactly it is standing in front of him. Matthew’s ego inflates significantly at how terrified this guy seems. “Uh yeah it was alright.” Nathan manages to stammer out.

“She’s something isn’t she? I’m Matthew.” Matt sticks his hand out for the stranger.

“Nathan, and uh yeah she’s great.” The two continue awkward small talk for a couple seconds longer before Matthew lets himself into your apartment.

“So Michael huh?” Matthew grins over at you. You roll your eyes, taking a long drink of your coffee from where you stand leaning against the counter.

“It’s Nathan, but you knew that smart ass. What about him?” You challenge, slightly annoyed that he had to show up and give you a hard time. Matthew just shrugs walking over to you, pushing himself up onto the counter beside you.

“He just doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Matty, how the hell would you even know what my type is?” You cross your arms glaring at him.

“He’s skinny, and he is definitely vanilla as all hell. Sure those aren’t bad things, but you and I both know you want a strong man to be in control. Only in the bedroom of course.” He adds with a wink. Your cheeks flame in response, shoving him. He’s exactly right. Nathan was a little scrawny, and not overly confident in the bedroom. Sure he was great, but he wasn’t Matthew. You curse yourself for even thinking about your friend that way. Your best friend that’s all he is.

“Matthew, get out of my apartment. Your family will be here soon, and I need to get ready to see my favourite Tkachuk.” You tease back. He rolls his eyes, but says nothing as he slips from the counter making his way out of your apartment.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the door shuts behind him. You need to start distancing yourself from him before things get out of hand.

————

“Y/N!!!” Brady gathers you up in a hug before you even have the chance to close Matthew’s door.

“Hey Brady” you giggle into his hair. He sets you down after giving you a quick spin, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

“How’ve you been bug?” He asks, throwing an arm over your shoulder after you finally shut the door. Him and Matthew have called you the dumb nickname for a long time, and at this point it hardly bothers you. You and Brady were always really close, but it was never the same as you and Matthew. He was more like a brother for you, one you annoy, share all your secrets with (especially if they involved boys), and also gave him a hard time. With Matthew, sure you annoy each other, and share secrets, but you and Matthew were a team. Inseparable. It doesn’t make sense, even to you, but you did love them both.

“Not too bad, trying to keep Mr. Hotshot in check. The usual. Though I’ve had some help recently, so honestly I’ve been a little bored.” You quip loud enough for Matthew to hear. Judging by the look on Matthews face though, he hadn’t missed any of the interaction.

“Oh get a room already would you!” He grumbles rolling his eyes and walking away. You and Brady share a look, and he shrugs to signal he’s just as confused as you.

Brady leads you to the couch, and you sit down. The two of you already deep in conversation, catching up on your lives. Taryn finds her way to the couch soon after joining in on your conversation. “So what’s she like?” Taryn asks after awhile.

“Macy?” You ask, and the two siblings nod at you expectantly. “She’s really great! She’s kind, smart, and not to mention a total bombshell! She is perfect for Matthew, I’m happy for them.” Brady just looks at you with a sad smile.

You want to tell him that it’s the truth, that you actually love her to death. Something stops you though, you’re not sure why, but you stay quiet.

Soon after Macy knocks on the door. Matthew runs to answer it before either of his siblings can even react. When you see her, your heart nearly stops. Once again you are in awe of just how beautiful she is. You stay rooted in your spot on the couch as the Tkachuk family takes turns fawning over her. For the first time ever, you felt out of place. You’ve spent the better part of a decade being that girl, the one the whole family raves about. The family chirping Matthew about what a miracle it was you stuck around. Sure it got old fast, but you loved it. Now you can’t help the jealousy that spreads it’s roots through your heart.

After the dinner, if you could even call delivered Chinese food that, you pull Matthew aside after the others make their way to the living room. “Hey Matt, I’m gonna head home I’m kinda tired.”

“String bean do that much damage Y/n/n?” He smirks down at you, and your face twists a little unable to find the humour in his friendly chirp. Matthew’s smirk quickly falls from his face. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah ‘m fine Matty. I’m just gonna go okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow yeah? Tell everyone I’m glad I got to see them.” You muster a small smile as you turn towards the door. “You’re not gonna say bye yourself?”

“They’re having fun Matt.” You send him a better smile at that, trying to let him know everything is okay. You feel far from okay though, and you can’t even explain why. “And you should be too! Now get in there before Brady talks Macy into finding someone better!” You give him a playful shove towards the chatter in the living room. Thankfully Matthew chuckles at that, and let’s you go.

He watches you closely as you leave, and he feels guilty. Running through his mind everything that might have made you want to leave. Was it Brady? Was it him?

God it was killing him, and that was evident on his face as he walks into the living room. Brady catching his eye as soon as he did, noticing the frown that Matthew quickly covers with a smile. “Y/n told me to let you know she was heading home for the night, and she was so happy to see you all. Except Brady of course.”

“Awe well I wish you let us know before she left Matt, we hardly see that girl anymore.” Chantal spoke, but Matthew barely heard her. All he could focus on was the glare Brady was sending him. Matthew just shrugs at his brother, his form of silent communication to let Brady know he doesn’t know what he was upset about. Brady responded with his own silent gesture, a head nod in the direction of the kitchen.

As he peels himself from the chair he was seated in, Brady makes his way silently to the kitchen. Matthew follows, hand rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly once the two brothers are finally alone. “Why did she really leave? What did you say to her?” Brady was quick to jump on Matthew with questions, that if he were honest, Matthew was not expecting.

“What the fuck are you talking about? She was tired so she went home.” Matthew throws back, already angry his brother assumes it was his fault.

“It’s Y/n we are talking about! That girl has been around for years, I’ve seen her pass out at our kitchen table on family game night. She’d sooner fall asleep on the couch and spend as much time with us as she could than to just leave. And without saying good bye? Seriously dude what the hell did you say?” Brady was trying to keep his voice down, but he was upset. You were his friend too.

“Nothing! And how could I? She spent all night talking to you! She’s probably just going home to sleep with that idiot Nathan anyway.” Matthew grumbles. Brady freezes at his brothers statement. “Nathan?”

“Yeah some guy she took home from the bar last night.” Matthew explains like it was common knowledge, “he seems like an idiot.”

“Matt are you jealous?” Brady asks, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Matthew rolls his eyes and groans out loud. “Brady are you stupid? No wait don’t answer that, you are. Y/n is my best friend. She can sleep with whoever she wants whenever she wants. I have a girlfriend.” Matthew’s fists clench at his sides, and Brady’s eyes flicker down to them briefly.

“Well the two of you need to figure your shit out.” Brady adds, turning on his heels and heading back to his spot in the living room. Matthew unclenches his fists, and takes a deep breath before joining the rest of his family again.

———

You sit on your bed, legs tucked under you, leaning back against the headboard. You press Brady’s contact, and watch as the phone rings. You didn’t FaceTime Brady often, but this was necessary. “What’s up bug?” Brady’s smile immediately makes you feel less anxious.

“Well it’s kind of a long story, I’ve been seeing this guy for a couple months now. He’s great, but I don’t really know how to introduce him to Matt without him being weird about it.” You chew your bottom lip anxiously, cheeks warm with embarrassment. It sounds so stupid to say it out loud. Brady’s laughing pulls you out of your spiral. “What’s so funny? Brady I’m serious Matthew makes everything so awkward!”

Finally Brady manages to catch his breath. “Y/n I had basically this exact same conversation about four months ago with Matt. You two are literally impossible! You’re best friends, you just want each other to be happy. As for Nathan-“

“How do you know his name? I never told you that?” Your dumbfounded expression has Brady in hysterics once again. “Matthew.” You groan, finally having pieced it all together. You mumble something about having to go before you end the conversation with Brady. You pull on an old hoodie of Matthew’s that’s slightly too big for you, and quickly make your way to Matthew’s apartment.

You let yourself in, like you always have. Instead of being met by Matt playing video games like you expected, you’re met with a much more horrifying image. Matt has Macy pinned to the couch, and let’s just say they aren’t having a wrestling match. The noise of shock that escapes you alerts the couple of your presence. “Y/n!” Matthew exclaimes quickly crawling off of Macy. He grabs the nearest throw pillow covering his junk with it awkwardly.

After far too long of gaping at the couple you manage to snap out of it, turning back to head for the door again. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I didn’t- oh Jesus! Pretend I was never here I’m sorry!” You’re out of his apartment in record time. Collapsing just inside your apartment door, tears stinging your eyes. The embarrassment was overwhelming, how were you supposed to face either of them ever again?

———

“Well fuck!” Matthew groans after the door slams shut behind you. Macy starts giggling from her place on the couch, and Matthew sends her a glare.

“Oh loosen up tough guy! At least you’re even now!” She shoots back wiggling her eyebrows at him. Matthew stands frozen in his place. “What are you talking about?”

“Her 17th birthday Matthew, do you actually not remember that?” Macy let’s out an awkward laugh, as she watches the pain on Matt’s face. “She told you that?” Matthew is angry, and he knows he shouldn’t be. Why would you tell his girlfriend about that when you have never even talked to him about it? He’s your best friend.

Macy just nods, slightly scared to actually admit it out loud. Matthew lets out a small ‘oh.’ before leaving the room. He emerges a few minutes later fully clothed to find Macy gathering her things to leave.

“I’m sorry you don’t have to leave.” Matthew mumbles, but he only half means it. Sure he doesn’t want her to leave, but he needs to talk to you. Needs to make this right.

“Go talk to her Matty, seriously. Figure it out, I’m not sure why it made you so upset that she just walked in here. What did you expect? She always does. Set some boundaries maybe? You’re a grown man Matthew, it’s not my job to play the parent and fix whatever is happening here.” Macy huffs, slamming the door just as hard as you had not long before. Why was everyone so upset with him? First Brady, then you, now Macy too? What was he doing wrong? And why did the get so upset about Macy bringing up your 17th birthday?

Matthew tries not to get caught up in his mind too long. Instead he roots through his closet shelves looking for your birthday present. Sure maybe it was 6 years late, but how else could he make up for the awkward night?

———

You are laying on your living room floor when Matthew lets himself into your apartment. “What are you doing on the floor?” Matthew chuckles, leaning against the wall closest to you.

“‘M not sure.” You mumble, unable to look at him. Instead you study a paint chip directly above you. You hear Matthew set something down before he pushes your coffee table a few feet away. He then drops himself next to you rather ungracefully, tucking an arm behind his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t knock.” You say quietly, so quietly in fact Matthew almost doesn’t hear it. He does though and he turns his head to face you.

You turn towards him, taking in his features for the first time since he entered your apartment. The sad smile on his face knocks the wind out of you for a moment, as you get lost in his blue eyes. “When have you and I ever knocked? I should’ve put a sock on the door handle.” He chirps back, sealing it with a wink. You laugh lightly at his comment, and turn your gaze back to the paint chip.

The two of you stay like that for awhile. Staring at a paint chip, in total silence. Your thoughts consuming you, as the tension seems to grow thicker by the second. You’re not sure how long passed before Matthew breaks the silence, but it was long enough that it startled you when he does. “At least we are even now. Though I’m pretty sure you got to see a lot more than I did.”

Lifting yourself up onto your forearms you turn to him again, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I thought you’d forgotten. Or maybe you just didn’t want to talk about it with me because you were so angry. I just can’t believe you talked about it with Macy and not me.” He rambles on, but now it was him refusing to look at you. He looks hurt, and your mind races trying to put the pieces together. Then it hits you.

“My birthday.” You say, more to yourself than Matthew, but he nods finally meeting your gaze. “I’m sorry Matt, I just thought if I told her that story it would ease her mind about us. I was too scared to bring it up to you, and then so much time had passed it felt wrong to even talk about it.” Your confession causes Matthew to look even more confused. “Ease her mind? How would that story ease her mind?”

So you tell him. You tell him about how, like everyone else who has met the two of you, Macy assumed something had happened between you. A kiss. A relationship. A hookup. Something. “So I told her the story so she’d understand that even at 17 you were appalled by the sight of me, and how embarrassed I had been. And I told her that was our one and only ‘intimate’ experience.” You make sure to throw air quotes around the term intimate. Your explanation however, did not seem to make Matthew feel better.

“Are you serious? Not once in my life have I ever been ‘appalled’ by your appearance.” He looks extremely offended as he uses air quotes in the most mocking way possible. “Why would you even think that?” You laugh at that, though there is very little humour behind it.

“Matthew, we were 17. I’m not much to look at now, and back then?” You wince at the mere thought of your 17 year old body. “I certainly never had anything like the girls you were into Matty. I’m not stupid it’s okay.” He stares at you now. Mouth open slightly, eyes scanning your face. Waiting, hoping you’d say you were joking. Admit you didn’t see yourself as less than any girl Matthew had ever been with, but you don’t. Instead you stare right back at him, an emotion swimming in your eyes Matthew can’t quite place.

“You really think I ran away because I was grossed out by that whole encounter?” He askes, and you nod. Your eyes dropping to the floor. Matthew lets out a deep laugh, and falls back against the floor again. “Y/n. That is so incredibly far from the truth! I was embarrassed, so embarrassed that I ran the whole way home and locked myself in my room. I then pleaded with Brady to just go without me, and put my name on his gift because I thought you were mad at me. I thought you looked incredible, in fact I don’t think I’ve ever sprung a boner so fast in my life.” Your stomach flutters at his confession. The thought of Matthew thinking about you like that made the want you’d been pushing down for years start to bubble up again. You can’t bring yourself to respond, instead you pick absentmindedly at a loose thread on your shorts. Matthew lets out a loud groan, pulling himself up off the floor entirely.

“Sorry if that made this weird. I hope you understand that you shouldn’t ever compare yourself to any girl. You’re amazing y/n.” You smile up at him and mumble a thank you. It takes everything in you to will away the tears that begin to form in your eyes. “If you don’t believe my story,” Matthew nods to a small box sitting on the coffee table he’d moved earlier. “that is the birthday present I planned to give you that day. It’s the whole reason I walked into your room that day, I wanted you to have it before everyone else showed up.”

With that, Matthew is gone again. A single tear rolls down your cheek as you take in the small box, wrapped in pink wrapping paper. Poorly wrapped you might add. You stand up grabbing the box and a blanket. Wrapping yourself tightly in the blanket, you fall back against the couch examining the package closely.

After twenty minutes of staring at it, you peel away the pink paper with trembling fingers. The dark velvet box, has a sticky note stuck to the top. As you read it, the tears start to fall steadily.

Happy Birthday! I hope you know just how much you mean to me. Hopefully this gift will mean that you never forget me. Love you bug xx-Matty

The little heart he drew at the end pulls a sob out of you. Contrary to the sobs now wracking your body, a smile forms on your face. Slowly, you flip open the small box. Gasping loudly, the box slips from your grasp as both hands come to your face. Although moments ago you wouldn’t have thought it possible, you cry harder now. The necklace is simply beautiful. The small golden ‘M’ makes your heart soar, and break simultaneously.

Your mind runs in circles now. Had you received the gift on the day you were intended to, would things be different? The gift seems more than platonic. You need to confide in someone. You had no idea who to call. You can’t call Brady, he wouldn’t understand. You most definitely can’t call Macy.

Without even thinking you pick up your phone and press on one contact. The phone rings as you press it to your ear. “Hello?”

“It’s beautiful Matt, but it’s too much I can’t take this.” Your voice is shaking and you hope he can’t hear it. Your heart is racing, mind spinning, and nausea swirls through you.

“Y/n/n, keep it please. I bought it years ago, I can’t return it. You’re still my best friend and I want you to have it. We are still friends...” Matthew pauses for a moment, “right?”

“Of course!” You say trying to fight off the urge to tell him you aren’t. You of course would always be friends, but you don’t want that anymore. You can’t continue being a third wheel. “Actually that’s why I went over earlier. I wanted to invite you and Macy out to dinner. Tomorrow night. With me and my boyfriend. If you’re free of course!”

You couldn’t sound more awkward if you tried, but Matthew agrees. You make plans to meet at your favourite diner the following evening, and then say goodnight.

Matthew doesn’t need to know that you slipped the gold chain on after hanging up. Just like you don’t need to know Matthew was currently canceling plans he had previously made with Macy.

———

“Matthew this is-“ You start to introduce the two men standing in front of you, but Matthew quickly interrupts.

“Nathan I know. Nice to uh- see you again I guess?” Nathan let’s out an awkward chuckle as he shakes Matthews hand. “Anyways!” You say breaking the awkward silence that fills the space around you. “Where is Macy anyway?” You ask, taking your seat at the table. Both guys follow suit, and Matthews gaze finally falls to you.

“She sends her apologies, something came up with work. You’re stuck with just me tonight.” He says, sending a wink in Nathan’s direction.

“Tkachuk I swear to god. Be a pest on the ice all you want, but can we for once have a civil meal?” You glare at him across the table, and Nathan sets a hand gently on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry babe, he’s just having some fun.” Nathan says reassuringly. You smile at him, but the smile quickly fades when Matthew speaks up again. “Yeah babe, we’re just having fun.” He laughs mockingly.

Dinner continues a lot like that. Back and forth, both men trying to prove something. Nathan trying to prove to Matthew that he isn’t temporary. Matthew trying to prove to Nathan, that Matthew is a constant in your life and can end this in a second if he wanted. Whatever this was. The pair even argue over who would pay the bill. You end up paying it yourself, as you leave the testosterone at the table to battle it out.

Nathan has to get home, as he has work early tomorrow. So of course Matthew takes it upon himself the drive you back home. The ride is silent, and you fiddle with the chain around your neck the whole way. No words are spoken until Matthew puts the car in park. “String bean know you’re wearing my initial?” He smirks, eyes falling to where your hands still tug at the chain.

“What’s your issue with him?” You spit, anger getting the better of you. “I was nothing but accepting of Macy. I befriended her for you Matthew! Why can you not for once just be nice and do this one thing for me?” You don’t wait for his response, instead you throw yourself out of the vehicle. You forego the elevator, choosing instead to take the stairs to get to your apartment as fast as you can. Once there you slam your door, and bang your forehead against the back of the door.

After a moment of just leaning against the inside of the door a small knock sounds from the other side. “Go away.” You grumble, knowing exactly who is on the other side.

“Bug. Please just listen.” He pauses for a moment and you just let out a shaky breath. “I’m scared you’re settling. I want you to be happy, but I get the feeling he’s not it. I’m sorry I was rude, that was a dick move. I just really care about you, and just because I know I could totally take string bean in a fight, doesn’t mean I want to. I know you’re lonely, and you’re feeling like a third wheel. You’re allowed to date Bug, but I want you to be happy and loved. If it’s really string be- Nathan.” He corrects himself, “If it’s really Nathan you want, then great! I’ll apologize to him, and we can move on. But Y/n, I think you and I both know he’s not. Find what you want and go get it. You deserve it.” Tears are flowing silently down your cheeks. Matt is right. Nathan is not what you want, he never will be. It’s Matt, it’s always been Matt.

After a minute or two of trying to compose yourself, you really think about Matthew’s words. Find what you want and go get it. He’s right, how can you ever be happy if you don’t at least try to chase what you want? So with that you fling open your door, ready to run into Matthew’s arms. To tell him how you feel, to tell him that it’s him you want.

As if the world was trying to play a cruel trick on you, it’s not Matt’s arms you’re greeted with. Instead of being held tightly in his warm embrace, you find yourself surrounded by a cold and empty hallway. It’s so quiet, you can practically hear the sound of your heart breaking all over again. You laugh humourlessly at how stupid you feel. You had hoped Matt’s words of encouragement were a sign. A sign that he could see your harboured feelings, and wanted nothing more than for you to act on them.

Matt watches you through the peephole in his apartment door, heart shattering as you shrink back into your apartment. Nothing was fixed. Macy had told him to fix this, but he’d only manage to make it worse.

———

“Why’d you call her that?” Macy presses, moments after her and Matt walk into his apartment. Matthew shrugs, which is not helping the situation. He could just be honest, and tell Macy that he and Brady had always called you bug.

It all started one summer afternoon when you had thrown a total fit after Brady had pointed out a bug had landed in your hair. For months Brady and Matthew would randomly yell ‘BUG!’ while pointing at you to get a reaction. At some point they just started calling you bug. It was stupid and platonic. At least it was for Brady. The way Matthew said it was always different. It gave you butterflies, and Matthew would be lying if he said he didn’t love the pet name.

“It’s just a nickname.” He defends, walking to the kitchen. She follows closely behind him, watching closely as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. He leans against the counter taking a long drink, as Macy stands with her arms crossed waiting for more. Matthew was getting frustrated with the whole situation. “Are you seriously upset about me calling her bug?” He asks in disbelief.

Macy shakes her head, laughing humourlessly with a roll of her eyes. “No Matthew. I’m not. It’s a cute little nickname and that’s absolutely fine. It’s the fact that when she’s around you’re different. It’s like you’re scared to stand too close to me, like she might be upset about it. You tiptoe around her, you didn’t even want to tell her about me Matt. Are you ashamed of me?” The emotion evident in Macy’s eyes, is something Matt hasn’t seen from her before. Something he wasn’t expecting.

“Macy, I am not ashamed of you at all. I-it’s just that Y/n has no one in Calgary, and I’ve always been her bestfriend. When I started seeing you I was scared she’d cling to whoever she felt could fill the spot I had to step back from. And she did, and she isn’t happy with him. I’m sorry that you suffered because of it.” He tries to explain, walking to the girl standing in front of him. He grabs her hips and places a kiss to her temple as tears threate to slip down her cheeks.

“I’m your girlfriend Matt. Start acting like it.”

———

“How did it go?” Brady asks, his goofy smile way too close to the screen. He FaceTimed you a few times a month usually. Checking in, on you and Matt both. He knows you had gone to dinner with Matt and Nathan two nights ago now. You know he called looking to say ‘I told you so’, but you know he won’t be able to. This was one time you truly wish he could.

“Uh it. Well, it wasn’t great.” You frown, and Brady’s smile quickly falls as well. “Nathan and I broke up.”

“WHAT!? Do I have to fight a man, because I have done it before and I’ll do it again?” He jokes to lighten the mood that quickly shifted.

“I actually broke up with him...” Brady’s face twists in confusion. Trying to piece together what he’s missing. A week ago you were so stressed out about Matthew not liking this guy, that you didn’t even want them to meet. Now you had broken up with him? Needless to say Brady was baffled. “He wasn’t what I wanted, I was settling.” You mumble a little embarrassed, as you fiddle with the chain that hasn’t left your neck.

“Y/n... you have to move on.” Brady says gently. Certainly not the reaction you were expecting.

“Brady, I’m fine. I broke up with him. I’m over Nathan, honestly there was nothing to get over.” You shake your head, bringing a smile to your face to emphasize the fact you are okay.

“Not Nathan.” Brady sighs shaking his head. It doesn’t make sense, but judging by the serious tone of his voice and the gentle smile. You aren’t going to like where this was going. “You need to get over Matthew.”

The minute the words leave his mouth you want to scream and cry. Tell him he’s wrong, and an asshole for even assuming that. You want to tell him he’s right. To ask him for help. You want to ask him why you have to get over him, and explain that you can’t. You want to ask him so many questions, but only one comes out; “Why have I never been good enough for him Brady?” You’re crying now. No actually, you’re sobbing. You’re inconsolable, and Brady is in Ottawa.

“Y/n it’s not like that.” He doesn’t know how to let you down easy. How can he explain that Matthew loves everything about you, but would never love you the way you love him? How can someone explain that you were exactly what Matthew wants, and that’s why you’ll never be his. Matthew can’t lose you. He can’t wreck what you have. Brady doesn’t know that Matthew used to want you that way. All he knows is that anytime he, Chantal, Taryn, or Keith brought it up Matthew would laugh and say he could never date you. You are his bestfriend. The truth is, Matthew knows he isn’t good enough. Not for you. No one ever will be. You are perfect to him.

“Forget it.” You bark, more aggressively than Brady deserves, but you are hurt. You have never talked to anyone about how you feel about Matthew. Having Brady call you out like that terrifies you. Who else knows? Taryn? Chantal? Does Matthew know? Just the thought of it makes your stomach churn. You immediately end the FaceTime call, not allowing Brady to say anything else.

He tries calling back. You ignore him, just like you ignore the constant stream of texts. He even has Taryn trying to get ahold of you. Of course he does. You shut off your phone, and curl up on your couch. The bad reality tv show playing softly in the background can’t even keep your attention. You instead, stare at the coffee table. It’s still pushed farther to one side of your living room, right where Matt left it. You continue to stare at it, your whole body feeling numb, until finally sleep takes over.

———

Matthew knows something is up as soon as Brady calls him. “What happened Brady?” Matthew asks, concern for you beating out any rational thoughts. He knows how pathetic he sounds, and prays his brother doesn’t pick up on it. As soon as Brady mentions your name, Matthew demands more information, but Brady won’t tell him what happened.

“I’m sure she’s fine Matt, I just upset her and now she won’t answer my calls. Please just check on her and tell her I’m sorry.” Brady says, before abruptly being hung up on. Again.

Matthew quickly makes his way to your door, and lets himself in. Sure he should knock, but he knows if you are upset you likely won’t answer anyway. The sight that meets Matthew when he enters your apartment makes his heart burst. There you are, curled up in a blanket fast asleep, hand clutching the pendant around your neck. He tries his best to stop the feeling in his gut as he realizes how domestic this moment feels.

Matthew gathers you in his arms as gently as he can, and carries you to your bedroom. As he lays you down, you adjust yourself slightly, but it is clear you are out like a light. “You’ll find him bug.” Matt whispers as he places a gentle kiss to your hairline. “The perfect guy is going to come along and sweep you off your feet. You’ll have that big wedding you’ve always wanted, a couple beautiful little babies, and I’ll be there cheering you on. You’re perfect bug, never settle.” Matthew fights back the lump that forms in his throat, as he pushes the hair gently from your face. “I wish it could’ve been me.” He says it so quietly that if you had been awake you still may not have heard him. So he leaves, pushing all those thoughts away and trying to remember that you’ll always be his best friend. Just his best friend.

———

“Well if it isn’t Matthew’s better half!” Mark greets you as you find your way into the backyard. You somehow got an invite to the teams’ end of the season BBQ, and now here you are already getting chirped by the captain.

“Easy there Gio, Matt has a girlfriend now remember?” You joke back with a wink, but you feel a twinge of sadness. You don’t have much time to think about it though, as the captain throws his arm over your shoulder and leans down to whisper in your ear. “I’ve always liked you better though, not sure why he’d pass up on you.” The blush that floods your cheeks makes your whole body feel hot with embarrassment. You know he’s joking, but it does feel good to hear it.

Mark leads you deeper into the yard, as you say hi to everyone. “There she is!” Your head snaps around quickly as you hear Matt’s voice. As soon as your eyes land on him, you notice his are already on you. “Hey Matty!” You greet with a smile as he wraps you in his arms. He smells like sweat and beer, and he refuses to let you out of his grasp. That is until you hear someone clear their throat, and he pulls away awkwardly.

“Macy! How’ve you been?” You greet her with a big smile and pull her into a hug. She responds quietly, and soon after excuses herself to get a drink. You send Matt a questioning look, but he only shrugs and drags you to the beer pong table announcing you are his partner.

That’s how your afternoon goes, beating everyone in beer pong with Matt as your partner. You’re slowly getting tipsy, and subsequently warmer. Peeling your top off, Johnny Gaudreau whistles loudly from across the table. You are wearing a pretty revealing red bikini top, but given the fact you are slightly intoxicated Johnny’s reaction doesn’t bother you. In fact it is welcomed as you send him a wink.

“Hey Gaudreau! How about you stop staring at my friends chest and throw the damn ball?” Matt growls beside you. You bump your hip with his, and furrow your brows at him silently asking if he’s okay. He shakes his head gently in dismissal as he smiles at you.

Macy sits quietly to your left, watching you all play. She watches the way Matt places his hands on your hips to help you get in position. Watches as he lifts you into the air spinning you around after you win a round. Watches as Matthew tries to advert his gaze as you peel your shirt off, his neck turning red, and not because of the hot sun. The straw for Macy was when she seew the emotions on Matt’s face as Johnny hits on you. His entire body tensing, as he grips the edge of the table. Why was he so protective of you? Would Matthew not be happy if two of his best friends dated? It is in that moment that it becomes clear to her. It has nothing to do with him not wanting you to be with Johnny. He wants you to be with him.

———

“Everything okay? You’ve barely said a thing to me all day.” Matt asks when he and Macy finally make it back to his apartment. She sighs loudly, starting to gather anything of hers laying around the apartment.

“You were busy having fun Matt, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that. Or anything for that matter.” She responds, though her words only confuse him more. She just sends a soft smile in his direction as she shoves more things into her bag.

“Aren’t you staying?” He asks, a small pout forming on his face. Macy shakes her head, turning toward Matt. Her face is apologetic, but mostly unreadable to Matthew.

“You know you’re in love with her right?” Macy blurts out, and quickly clarifies. “Y/n, you love her.”

“Since when?” Matthew shoots back, way too defensively.

“Since pretty much always. That’s why I’m breaking up with you.” She smiles sadly closing the distance between the two. Placing a small kiss to his cheek, she whispers a small apology.

Matthew opens his mouth to protest, ask her to stay. Tell her she’s wrong, and that he loves her, not you. He can’t though, because it would be a lie. She knows it, and so does he. So he watches as she leaves, an uneasy feeling in his stomach as a single tear falls down his face. What has he done?

———

You decide to take a few summer classes to help make your work load for the upcoming school year a little more manageable. Choosing to stay in Calgary for the summer, instead of traveling back to St. Louis with Matthew to see your family. Matthew tries to convince you to go, but you tell him you can’t. You need some distance from him anyway.

———

It was distance you got. You barely talk to him all summer, and tonight will be the first time you’ve seen him since that night at the BBQ.

“How is Matthew doing?” Elias’ girlfriend Annica asks you, as the two of you take your seats at the home opener. You shrug and sigh taking a sip of your drink. “I don’t know, I’ve barely spoken to him since the BBQ at Gio’s.” You admit, a small frown on your face.

“Wait? Did he not tell you!?” She practically shrieks in your ear. You just give her a confused look, a wide smile stretching across her face. “About him and Macy!”

Immediately your stomach drops. You brace yourself for the announcement. Maybe they’ve moved in together? Got engaged? Having a baby? All of the thoughts make you feel sick, but you smile over at Annica trying to hide your emotions. “No I haven’t spoken to either of them really. What are they finally tying the knot?” You try and joke, but really you’re terrified of the answer. Annica’s face falls slightly. Confusion written all over her face.

“They broke up.” Annica explains in a light tone. Almost as if she was explaining it to a child. “Oh.” Was all you manage to choke out, as Annica watches you. She’s waiting for more of a reaction, but you can only sit in shock. What happened? Why didn’t he tell you? Why did no one tell you?

You can barely sit still through the game, you’re mind is running wild. Why had Matt not talked to you about this? Why had he barely spoken to you at all? Was he okay? Who broke up with who? Why do you care so much? Soon enough though all of your questions will be answered. You are standing next to Annica outside the locker rooms, tapping your foot nervously. She asks if you are okay, and all you can do is nod. Elias makes his way out of the dressing room and over to you. He gives you both a quick hug and you congratulate him on their win. “Matt will be out in a few minutes.” He smiles at you, and you tell the couple to have a good night as they leave. Gio and Johnny both stop to talk to you on their way out.

Johnny hangs back and waits with you. “How was your summer? Finally got a break from the pest I hear.” He teases, leaning against the wall beside you. You smirk up at him, “My summer was great! Significantly quieter than I’m used to, but I enjoyed it. It’s nice to see you again though, how was your summer?” He smiles brightly down at you as he launches into some long story about how crazy his training was. You try to listen, and seem interested, but that becomes significantly harder as Matthew finally comes out of the dressing room.

He is wearing a navy blue suit with a white dress shirt. The top three buttons undone, and his tie just draping loosely around his neck. His hair is damp and falls across his forehead, he is staring at his phone still not having noticed you. He almost walks right past you, but you speak up grabbing his attention. “Any time for your biggest fan hotshot?” His eyes snap up from his phone, a grin replacing his previously shocked expression.

“My biggest fan huh?” He smirks pulling you into a tight hug. You grip onto his suit jacket tightly not wanting to let go as you hum into his chest. “That why you’re wearing that necklace?” He teases and you blush trying to hide your face even further in his chest. “Shut up,” You mumble, “I missed you.” He kisses the top of your head mumbling about missing you too. Johnny clears his throat awkwardly, as you quickly pull away from Matthew.

“Well I’m going to head out now, goodnight you two.” Johnny winks at you as he walks away. You turn back towards Matthew to see him smiling down at you, and your stomach drops. A small frown makes its way onto your face as you remember exactly what you came to talk to Matthew about. “Matt, we need to talk.” His face falls a little bit, but he nods and grabs your hand in his. He starts walking further into the building, and you follow. Eyes trained on your hand in his, heart beating rapidly in your chest. You’re so nervous, that you hardly even realize Matthew is leading you up the steps and into two seats in the top row of the arena. As the two of you sit down, you don’t look at him. Instead you stare down at the ice, now only lit by the emergency lights causing a strange glow. You’ve never seen the arena like this, so quiet and lifeless. Your internal thoughts seem amplified in the silence, but you can’t seem to find the words to say what you’re thinking.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit in silence before Matthew let’s out a sigh, turning towards you. “St. Louis isn’t the same without you.” He says quietly, a sad smile on his face as you finally meet his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Macy?” You blurt out, face heating up in embarrassment once again. Matt stares at you for a moment, before dropping his eyes to his hands that are now fidgeting in his lap.

“I didn’t know what to say.” He mumbles out, playing with his fingers. You shake your head and sigh, pulling your eyes away from the distracting movements of his hands. You decide to examine the ice once again, wrapping your arms across your chest. You’re trying to brace yourself for how badly this might end.

“You didn’t know how to tell your best friend you broke up with your first really serious girlfriend?” Your voice is probably too accusatory, but you’re hurt. How can he keep so much of his life from you? Your mind is running in circles as you wait for a response, attempting to hold yourself tighter.

“Yeah like it’s that easy!” Matthew’s voice is significantly more angry than you are expecting, and your heart rate increases immediately. “I say ‘We broke up.’ And then you ask a million questions about what happened and why, I didn’t know how to say it!”

You look at him now. His eyes are glossy, and his face is red. In anger or embarrassment? Who knows, maybe both. “Matty, I know you really cared about her. It’s not easy to talk about, but if you’re going to move on you have to talk to someone.” You make sure to keep your voice gentle as you speak, “I want to be that person for you Matt, but if I’m not that’s okay. Just please talk to someone, you can’t stay broken forever.”

Matthew laughs at you, but it doesn’t make you feel better. The laugh is humourless, and you can hear the lack of emotion behind it. “That’s the part I can’t explain Y/n, you don’t get it! I’m not broken about it, and I should be! I was in love!” He’s frustrated now, as he runs his hands over his face and through his hair.

“Matthew, it’s okay. People fall out of love all the time!” You place a hand on his bicep to try and sooth him. It seems to work as you feel his muscles relax under your touch. He sighs softly beside you, as he lifts his eyes to meet yours once again.

“I didn’t fall out of love, I’m still in love.” Your brows furrow in confusion, as you search his eyes for any clue about what could be going on inside his head. “Just not with Macy.”

“T-there’s someone else?” You are taken aback, and now your mind is spinning. Did he cheat on Macy? Who is she? Matthew just nods in response. “Have I met her? Oh my god please don’t tell me it’s like one of the WAGs or something!” You are rambling uncontrollably, unable to comprehend what Matthew is trying to say. “Matthew did you cheat on Mac-“ Thankfully he was quick to cut you off.

“It’s you.”

You freeze. Eyes practically popping out of your skull, you open and close your mouth repeatedly. Sure you might look like a fish out of water, but that’s exactly how you feel. You must have misheard what he is saying. Right? The ‘you’ had to be someone else. The look Matthew is giving you right now though, a look of total honesty, a look that is teetering on the edge of disappointment. That look tells you all you need to know. He means you. He is in love with you.

“Since when?” You croak out. Your entire body is trembling with nerves, still terrified he will take it back. Maybe you’re being punked.

Matthew leans closer to you, uncrossing your arms that were still wrapped tightly across your chest. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat as he takes your trembling hands in his. His hands feel different now, softer. They are so much bigger than your own, and you’ve never noticed until now just how right they felt wrapped around your own.

Matthew releases on of your hands, as he brings one to your chin. He tilts your head so you’re looking into his eyes again. “Since always.” He smiles, pressing his forehead to yours. You subconsciously lick your lips, and Matthew takes that as a sign to lean in. His lips hover just above yours, but he doesn’t close the gap.

“Matty-“ you whine quietly, and he smirks in response.

“What’s wrong bug?” He’s teasing you now, and he knows it.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment since the tenth grade, please just kiss me!” Your pleads are finally answered as Matthew finally presses his lips to yours. It’s firm and certain, and intoxicating. Gripping his suit jacket, you pull him closer deepening the kiss even more. Matthew groans against your lips, one hand cradling your neck, the other gripping your hip tightly.

The kiss starts getting more intense, the years of built up tension and pining being shared in this one kiss. Matthew, despite not wanting to stop, pulls away first. Your lips chase his, not wanting the moment to end. Scared that when it does, you’ll wake up. Like this is all a dream. Or even worse, it’ll end, and Matthew tells you he was wrong.

“Easy tiger!” He chuckles, tucking some hair behind your ear. Matthew is positive you’ve never looked so beautiful. You’re lips are pink and swollen, face flushed lightly, and your eyes are big and bright as they look into his.

“Did you mean it?” You ask quietly, “When you said that you loved me, because Matty I can’t do this if you aren’t in. I can’t lose you.” Tears are stinging your eyes now, as your voice cracks with emotion. You can’t lose your best friend, and that has become more clear to you after not being with him all summer.

“I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you want.” He looks at you hopefully. Your heart is beating so loudly in your chest, you’re almost positive he can hear it.

“Matthew of course this is what I want. I’ve always wanted you.” You pause momentarily, as you see a small smile spread across his face. His dimples now on full display. “I love you Tkachuk. I always have.”

He wastes no time kissing you again. Your hands tangle in his hair that’s still slightly damp, and his hands cup both of your cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles against your lips. You push him back, so you can look at him.

“Why are you apologizing?” You’re confused now, as you immediately begin building your walls back up. You’re waiting now, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know this felt too perfect.

“Because,” he sighs, shoulders slumping under your gaze. “I should have done that so long ago. Instead I let you think you weren’t good enough. I let you go on believing that I didn’t love you. Brady told me about what you said, about not being good enough. I hope you know now that it was never like that. You are, if anything, too good for me. I was scared, and stupid, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Your heart breaks a little for him. You can see the remorse and guilt written all over his face. “Well Matthew. I can accept that apology under one condition.” You say teasingly, running your hand over his shoulder giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You take me out on a date.”

Matthew smiles brightly down at you, and places a soft kiss to your forehead. “On one condition.” He whispers, lips still pressed against your skin. “You let me take you out as my girlfriend.”

“Anyone ever told you that you’re just a big sap Tkachuk?” You smirk. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so happy.

“Actually my girlfriend has, just now. She’s kinda cute.” You slap his chest playfully and roll your eyes.

“Take me home Tkachuk.” You announce, pushing yourself to your feet. Matthew copies your actions, adding a little salute to make you laugh. It does the job, and Matthew has you laughing the whole way to his car. As he opens the door for you, you lean into his chest pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“You’re perfect.” Matthew says after the two of you are finally settled in to your respective seats in his car.

“Since when?” You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Always.”

#Since When?#matthew tkachuk #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #hockey imagines #hockey fanfiction #hockey writing #Matthew Tkachuk imagines #Matthew Tkachuk fanfiction #Matthew Tkachuk writing #Matthew Tkachuk x Reader

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jean-kayak · 4 years ago

Text

Falling Back Into Your Bed

Summary: One night was enough to have you crawling back to him

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x black!fem!reader

Warnings: college!au, (smut 18+!!), fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, degradation, Eren's a little shit, little bit of ass smacking, mentions of sex under the influence (consensual), enemies to lovers sort of?

Word Count: 3120

A/N: This is has been in the drafts for a while, and it wasn't supposed to take the turn it was supposed to but I'm happy with it lmaoo. Completely unrelated, but I like making headers lol

It happened one time. To say you weren't really in the straightest mindset, but it happened once and now you're hooked. Your brain only filled with those images from that night. You groan as you pull at your hair, no matter how hard you try, you can't focus on studying. Your brain completely occupied.

"You seem troubled? Need some help?" The snarky comment comes from your right, and you scoff as you rub your forehead.

"Shut the fuck up," you spit with a little more aggression than you intended as you try to focus on anything but that amazing night.

"You thinking about that night? It could always happen again." The words whispered against your skin makes the images flash fully in your head, and you push him away from you, which only gets a chuckle in return.

"Fuck off, Jaeger," you groan as you close your textbook.

"You alright?" Sasha asks you, and you sigh as you nod.

"Yeah, it's just been a long day. I think I'm gonna head back to my dorm." You end your study session with your friends, stuffing your books in your bag, giving them a wave of goodbye as you walk out of the library, sighing in content when the sun rays hit your skin.

You slept with Eren. The only person who can get on your nerves to the nth degree. You woke up in horror realizing what you did, but the horror was that you liked it. It was amazing, the best sex you've ever had. Of course, it has to come from the person you despise the most.

It was a party that Jean wanted you to go to, and he happened to be there, annoying you to no end as he usually is, and then he was kissing you, and then you're walking up to his room and the rest is history. The memories of that night flood your head again.

The way his hands felt hot against your skin, branding a path all over your body. The way his lips brushed all over your skin, stopping to show some parts of your body some love by sucking dark marks onto the skin that took you forever to cover up.

The way his d--

Wait, stop! What am I doing?

You shake your head as you take another deep breath. This is not how you thought your week was going to go.

"I don't know if you have mind-blowing sex what's the big deal? I'm failing to see the problem," Hitch says, and you roll your eyes as you fall back on your bed.

"The problem is that I don't like him. He gets on my last nerve. Why can't I have amazing sex with a guy that I don't wanna stab on a daily basis?" you argue, and Hitch scoffs as she rolls her eyes.

"Well, maybe it's the fact that you don't like each other that's making the sex great."

"I just wanna stop thinking about it," you admit.

"Well, it doesn't seem to be bothering him as much as it is you," she responds, and that part is what makes you the most irritated and confused.

You were sure you weren't that bad, ��but it's like he isn't even fazed by it, only teasing you about it in the best way possible. You groan as you roll over, burying your face in your pillow.

The only reason why you're forced to interact with him is that you're friends with Armin who's best friends with Eren. If that wasn't the case, you probably would never see him again, let alone be in the same room as him where he can annoy you.

"Whatever. Maybe I just need to get laid again, get him off my mind," you mumble into the pillow, and you know Hitch is giving you a look without even turning your head.

"Yeah, okay. Whatever you say," she muses. "Speaking of getting laid, there's another party tonight if you want to go."

You turn your head to the side to face her. "Weren't you just a party last weekend?" you comment, and she shrugs.

"You only live once." You raise your eyebrows at her answer but shrug anyway.

"If I don't have anything to do, then I'll go."

You should've stayed the fuck home because this party is not it. You don't know if it's because you really don't want to be here or the fact that you're sober, but you can't help but sigh in annoyance as you walk through the crowd until you find a corner where anyone isn't making out.

You nurse your drink, but the taste of the beer is slowly making you sick after two sips, so you just hold it to give you something to do. "You look like you're having fun."

You roll your eyes at the familiar voice, tilting your head to the side as you look at him. "I should've known you'd be here." You knew that you should've listened to that weird feeling in the back of your head the moment you stepped into the room. "I'm not really feeling it," you say, and he steps closer to you.

"Well, we could always go somewhere else, and I can make you scream while I split you open on my dick again." You clench your jaw as you find something else to look at, trying and failing to ignore the way his words make your body hot all over.

You scoff. "Yeah, in your dreams."

"Really? You don't miss this?" he asks, pulling you into him, and you can't help when your mouth falls open slightly your breath hitching. "Cause I sure miss the way your tight pussy clamped around me."

Your thighs squeeze together subconsciously as you let out a small moan, luckily it's muffled by the music, but he doesn't miss your reaction. "Yeah, I'll pass," you muster, and he smirks as he chuckles.

"Fine, have it your way. The offer still stands," he says before he walks away, and you sigh heavily as you drink from your cup. You have to get out of here.

Eren can't take his eyes off of you as you walk around the room. You've filled your cup back up, but you haven't drank from it, the only thing on your face is that you want to get out of here. Even as you talk to some blond guy, Reiner he thinks his name is, your face is very evident in showing that you're tired of this conversation, but you're too nice to leave.

He walked over to talk to you just to tease you but ended up doing the same thing to himself. He finds it funny that you seem to deny what happened between you two even though you reacted the way you did. If he could take you in front of all these people, he would.

Well, he can, but he's better than that.

He doesn't tell you this, he doesn't think he will, but you're the only thing that's been on his mind, but he's just better at hiding it. He can't count how many times he's thought about your body, the noises you made, how fucked out you looked as you took his dick. Every time he touches himself, those are the only things he thinks about.

And every single time he finishes, he declares that he's going to get you back into his bed.

Which is why he decided to come to this party even though he didn't want to. He knew Hitch would drag you out here, and he knew that there was no way he was letting you go.

He almost feels bad for the guy. Even though he can't hear the conversation, he knows Reiner is trying and failing to woo you with his awful flirting tactics. He can recognize your fake laugh from a mile away.

He decides that he can't stand to watch this horror show any longer, and he moves over to where you are, rolling his eyes at a lame pick-up line he hears come from him. "Hey, I need to talk to you," he buds in, and you give him a look.

"I'm in the middle of a conversation." You state the obvious, and he gives you a lazy look.

"Yeah, not really," he responds, and you squint at him. "Come on, it'll take a second."

You sigh, giving in before turning to the buff guy next to you. "I'll be right back," you tell him, and only Eren knows that that's not true.

He eyes Eren before giving you a smile and a nod, and you follow Eren as you walk the too familiar walk to his room. He closes the door behind him when you walk in, and you cross your arms. "What was so important that you had to pull me from my conversation?" you question, annoyed, and he smiles at you.

"Yeah, it totally looked like you were enjoying that little chat." You roll your eyes as he takes your cup out of your hand, setting it on his dresser. "How much have you had?"

You frown at him. "To drink? Not enough because it's difficult to have a conversation with you sober."

He chuckles lightly as he walks closer to you until your knees hit the bed. "Can I say something?" he asks, and you try to act like his close proximity isn't bothering you.

"If it'll make this end sooner."

"All I've thought about is that night," he tells you, and he moves closer, making you fall down onto the bed as you look up at him with wide eyes. He hovers over you, one hand on the mattress next to you, the other trailing down your body, making goosebumps break out over your skin.

"How good you felt, how loud you were, how fucking soaked you were." His lips brush against yours as he runs a hand down your tube top, biting your lip when he rolls his finger over your nipple.

"What does this have to do with me being sober?" you ask breathlessly, and he smirks as his hand moves down to your shorts, and he doesn't miss the way your thighs tense like you don't know whether to close them or not.

"Because I want to see if I can make you scream just as loud." He crashes his lips down on yours, making you squeak in surprise before you finally let him in, moaning when his tongue rubs over the roof of your mouth.

You thought your thoughts about Eren would change if you were sober, but he's just as addicting as he was that night, and you find it difficult to object to anything he's doing.

He crawls with you as you move up further on the bed, your body flushing hot all over. He works your shirt off, throwing it somewhere off to the side before trailing hot, wet kisses down your neck before moving to your chest.

Your hand makes its way into his hair, messing up the bun that it was in as he mouths at your nipples, pulling the taut bud with his teeth and his fingers before switching. "Did I ever tell you that you have nice tits?" he tells you with a playful smile on his face as he fondles them, and you scoff at his childish comment as you shift on the bed, the rough abrasion of your shorts against your crotch becoming extremely uncomfortable.

He works his shirt off as he slides down your body, his lips just grazing your skin to be teasing, and he unbuttons your shorts, peeling them off your legs, letting out a huff when his eyes land on your panties.

"You're so fucking wet," he mumbles, and you hiss at the cool air hitting your sensitive core when he pulls the fabric down and off your legs. You start to say something when he doesn't move, but you let out a low moan in surprise when he licks a broad stripe up your folds.

Your back arches off the bed at the sudden stimulation, and he lays an arm over your hips to keep you still, his other hand digging into the flesh of your thighs as he keeps you spread open. "And you taste so fucking good," he groans as he moves from licking between your folds to flicking at your clit.

"Fuck, Eren," you whine, pulling at the roots when his tongue prods at your hole.

"Come on, baby, I know you can be louder than that," he challenges, pushing one of your legs over to give him more room. His tongue prods at your hole before he replaces it with his fingers, his mouth going back to focus on your clit.

He's already curling two fingers inside of you as he sucks on the bundles of nerves, pulling it into his mouth, before circling his tongue around the bud. What you definitely didn't forget was how amazing his head game was. Your toes curl as the grip on his hair tightens, and it takes a few more pumps on his fingers hitting that sensitive spot inside of you to make you cum, moaning loudly as your orgasm hits.

"There we go. That's better," Eren says before moving his tongue to your hole to lap up your release. You're panting as he moves back up towards your face, his covered in your release. "But I still think you can be louder."

"You sound like you're all talk," you challenge even though you're still breathless.

He chuckles darkly before getting rid of the rest of his clothes, putting himself right back over you. "Sounds like you're undermining my skills," he jabs back as he lines himself up.

"Sounds like you're overestimating yourself," you counter, but you trail off before you can finish the last word as he pushes himself in, and you both moan at the feeling.

"Shit, I'll never get over how amazing you feel," he breathes once he bottoms out, and you're urging him to move, which he quickly obliges, your mouth falling open at the feeling of being stretched out with every stroke.

He moves himself so that he's on his knees, your hips angled upwards as he thrusts into you way too slowly for your liking. "Come on, Eren," you whine, knowing he can make you feel way better than he is right now. "Fuck me harder," you plead, and he coos at you.

"Aww, but I'm trying to make love to you, princess," he drawls, and you groan in frustration as you try to move, but he holds you down, making sure he's the only one moving.

"I don't want you to make love to me," you whine, desperate to have him fuck you until you see stars.

"But I like seeing you beg for me, seeing you so desperate, it's cute, keep going," he says, and you roll your eyes.

"Fuck--" He cuts you off with a sharp thrust, nailing your g-spot with ease.

"Me? Well, you're already doing that, sweetheart." You scrunch your nose at the stupid pet name, and you scoff before you smirk at him.

"As I said, you're all talk," you taunt. "Pretty sure Reiner could make me scream louder than you ever could." The playful demeanor in his face drops and his eyes are going dark, and suddenly he's pulling out of you, and rolling you onto your stomach.

He pulls you up to your knees, and he slams into you, making you cry out at the sudden intrusion as your eyes roll back. "You think you're funny, huh?" he spits before pulling you to his chest by your shoulder. "You wanted to get a rise out of me so that I could fuck you like a filthy whore."

You can barely respond, your body feeling like it's being shocked every time he rams that spot, and you jolt when he pushes on your clit. "Already going stupid? I haven't even done anything yet."

He pushes you back down, pushing your back until your chest is flush against his bed. "You're such a needy slut, aren't you?" A smack to your ass, the sting snapping you out of your daze. "Answer me."

"Fuck yes!" You can barely get it out, your knuckles starting to hurt from how hard you're gripping the sheets.

"Who's fucking you this good?" You don't answer quick enough, it's not like you can, but that only makes him fuck you harder. "Who?!"

"You! God, Eren, you," you moan, and you release your grip on the sheets as you feel yourself starting to drool.

"Who owns this fucking cunt? Fuck." His head falls back on his shoulders as you clamp around him, and he pushes on your clit again when you don't respond.

"You, oh fuck, 's all yours." You buck your hips back, meeting his, and he smacks your ass again.

"Come on, baby, you can say my name." He sounds just as wrecked as you, and his name is the only thing you're coherent enough to say, and you know that you're loud and that anyone walking past the door or on the other side of the walls can hear you.

"Shit, your pussy is so," he cuts himself off with a groan, his body curling as he feels his high building up as you suck him back in.

"Eren, I'm--" You try to tell him that you're close, so close, but you can't, tears running down your face from the constant stimulation on that spot inside of you.

He responds with a groan, and you know he's close too, and the next thing you know, you're cumming hard, your body going rigid. Your orgasm triggers his, and he cums with a moan of your name, his climax hitting him so hard, he falls on top of you.

Both of you fall down on the bed, his ragged breathing fanning against your neck, and he rolls the both of you over before rubbing up and down your top half softly. "You okay?" he asks against your neck, and you can feel the smirk on your skin.

You respond with a content whine, and his grip on your waist tightens when you try to move. "Stop moving. I'm trying to cuddle you."

You scoff before chuckling lightly. "Since when you do cuddle?"

"Since now. Now, shut up, I'm trying to go to sleep."

You roll your eyes at the words, but there's no heat behind them, and you feel sleep catching up to you as well.

Eren Jaeger might annoy to no end, but maybe this isn't so bad.

#eren jaeger #eren yaeger #eren jaeger smut #eren yaeger smut #eren jaeger x you #eren yaeger x you #eren jaeger x black!reader #eren yaeger x black!reader #aot smut #snk smut #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #🛶.hoarny

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miki-snake · 4 years ago

Text

Officer or Kitten?

📖: just some small thirst drabble/half-fic (?) on stripper!kuroo

⭕️: Smut, 18+!, stripper!Kuroo, unprotected sex (warp it before you tap it)

🔍: 1.7k+

A/N: I hate tumblr for deleting the draft i already finished😾. Nonetheless I tried to write it again but it’s not as satisfying as the first one😿. Also you can thank Ana (@mrs-kuroojinguji )for this bc she was the one who broke my thirst meter for stripper!kuroo;; Also thank you tetsu anon from Ana who suggested the stripper name kitten but i decided to turn that kitten into something else😼

━━━━━━━━━━ ༻✧༺ ━━━━━━━━━━━

When your friends told you that you were gonna go out and party as a celebration for acing the exams, you thought of a nice get together at your local bar or a karaoke night with broken voices and some kbbq beforehand. What you didn’t expect was a night in a strip club with a hot ass "police officer" grinding his dick against you.

Well, here you were, sitting in a rather large red velvet seat, while a tall, strong built, handsome man looming over you. He wore a blue police uniform that stuck to his body like a second skin, you saw a light outline of his broad chest, already teasing what was hiding underneath the fabric.

"Oi chibi-chan, cat got your tongue?", he taunted you, his sugar sweet breath fanning over your face as you felt how he traced his fingers up your arms. His touch left a trail of goosebumps, your body already anticipating what he would do to you. The throbbing in your cunt became more apparent as you watched how he leaned back up, hands moving up to the buttons of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning one after another. He smirked at you, what you could only describe as a cat-like grin, like a predator playing with his prey. Your eyes followed the continuous reveal of his glistening skin, the button up now fully open to present his scandalously defined abs. You wanted to feel his skin, feel the heat radiating off of him, feeling if his heart beats just as fast as yours. Your gaze fell down to the impressive bulge in his pants and suddenly the air felt even hotter than before, nearly suffocating, the blazing heat prickling against your skin. Just the sight of his covered bulge made your pussy clench, more slick dripping out of your cunt, wetting the already ruined panties. The dimmed lights fitted perfectly, accentuating his dangerous aura. But it was the kind of danger, kind of risk you wanted to jump into. You wanted him to pounce on you, devour you with his mouth like he did with his eyes.

You caught him fixating his gaze on your mouth and unconsciously your tongue slipped out, licking over your lips. A deep chuckle echoed through the room and he moved over to the side, pressing something on the touchscreen mounted at the wall. A light, rhythmical music filled the room and as he turned around, hips swaying to the beat, his hand moved down to his pants, opening them and you could already see that he didn’t wear anything underneath it. Throwing his shirt to the ground he turned around, slowly pulling his pants down and teasing you with the shake of his hips. He didn’t fully pull them down, they hung low in his hips and the urge to just stand up and rip those damn pants from his body overcame you. Looking at you, he must have sensed what you thought, that teasing smirk adorning his lips again, as he walked back to you.

“Do you wanna touch me, chibi-chan? Well, I hate to say it but that would cost you something, chiiibi- chan.”, your thighs clenched at the sound of his deep voice, vibrating through your whole body. Looking into his dark auburn eyes you could clearly see the teasing glint, a burning fire that just waited to set your body aflame. Not that your body didn’t already feel like it was on fire, the sexual tension between you guys like thick gasoline pouring into your burning desires. Your heart was beating a hundred miles per minute, the thought of just throwing all inhibitions into the wind crossing your mind. “You know, just for you little rebel, I could make a special deal. How about the only price you’ll have to pay would be something like four to five of your orgasms? I’ll promise you, we’ll get you there pretty fast.”, his breath fanned over your ear, lips slightly grazing your skin and a shiver ran down your spine.

The smell of his cologne invaded your senses, sandalwood and dark chocolate clouding your mind and you wanted nothing more than to bury your nose in his neck, while scraping your nails down his back. His hands moved up to graze against your arms, mouth trailing down to your neck as his breath caressed your heated skin. Kneeling on the cushion of the seat, both of his knees on either side of your right legs, he started to grind his raging boner against you. That was it, that was the moment you snapped and your right hand reached up to grab him by his neck, while the other one went inside his open pants, taking his burning cock into your fist. A strangled moan escaped him as you pulled him closer until your foreheads touched each other. “That sounds very generous of you, officer. Wait, no, I see no real officer, all I can see is a little kitten. So, behave my kitty cat, alright?”, you told him in a sultry voice, the grip on him tightening as you started to move your hand along his cock.

Eyes half-lidded, you saw how the glint flared up into an inferno, ready to burn everything that was touching it. “Oho chibi-chan, you think you can make the rules here? Think you can handle someone like me?”, he tried to sound composed but his breathless voice and the throbbing cock in your fist told you otherwise. Without another word you flipped the two of you around, his back crashing against the seat, while you straddled his lap, grip never wavering. Diving into a searing kiss, it was clear that he wouldn’t back down so easily, a battle of dominance occurring between the clashing tongues. Rubbing your fingers against the tip of his leaking cock elicited a guttural groan out of him, his lips temporarily leaving yours just for you to follow him and suck his tongue into your mouth. You couldn’t wait any longer, the lust consuming your mind, so you pulled your soaked panties to the side, not bothering to take them off and rubbed his twitching tip against your dripping cunt.

“Whoa chibi-chan, you work fast huh? I can’t let you run me over like that.”, he panted as he tried to regain his breath from the sloppy kiss. It wasn’t the first time a woman tried to take control over him but you somehow got him to stay put, making his knees feel weak from all the intoxicating pleasure. His tip moved along your folds, gathering all the pussy juice you had to offer and circled around your throbbing clit. He felt heavy and thick in your hands, your slick slowly covering his velvet skin. “I thought I told you to behave, kitten? How about you stop talking and use your mouth for something actually useful.” You grabbed him by his hair and shoved his face into your chest, his mouth automatically finding its way to your nipple, lips closing around it and sucking the hardened bud into his mouth. “Yeah, good kitten, I knew you could learn to listen AH-.”, you teased him but it was cut off by his teeth biting onto your nipple, the sharp sting shooting down to your pussy, making it clench around nothing, more of your sweet arousal flowing out.

You glared down at him just to find him with a smug face looking back up at you, mouth still working on your bud. “You think you’re that clever huh?” Without another word you slammed yourself down onto his cock, both of you letting out a deep moan. Throwing your head back from all the stimulation you slightly regretted the decision to try and put everything in at once. Your pussy was burning from the stretch but it was a good ache, his cock snuggly fitting into your tight cunny and the veins rubbing against your walls. You both panted like animals in heat, driven by nothing but your carnal desire. Lifting your hips up until only his head was inside of you, you dropped yourself again, his cock bottoming out in your pussy. The sight in front of you nearly made you moan out, he looked at you with half-lidded eyes, lips slightly apart and a small trail of drool slipped out of his mouth.

Both your breathings were ragged as you sped up the pace, the sound of skin slapping filling the room along with your cries and his stifled groans. The need to hear him scream for you made you rip his hand away from his mouth and pin his wrists against the wall behind him. “Come on, be a good kitten and mewl for me.”, you told him in a wavering voice, his cock hitting the right spot deep inside of you. The moment you said it he let out a string of curses, moaning like the mess he was. You two moved in sync, his hips starting to thrust back up into you and no matter how often he went inside of you, a light burn from the stretch still prickled in your cunt.

The build up wasn’t slow, it all came crashing down. His cock thrusted deeper and deeper into your pussy, shaping it into his own fuckhole as your pussy clamped down on him. Your walls closed down on him, while his cock started to swell up, both of you nearing the high the two of you desperately chased. He was wildly twitching inside of you and you felt even fuller than before. A particular hard thrust against your g-spot made you see stars, the sight of yours spotting as you tumbled over the edge. Your pussy clenched down on him in a vice grip, unabling him from moving as you milked every single drop out of him. Spurt after spurt bursted out into your pussy, painting your walls white as your slick gushed out of your cunt, flowing down his cock. His lap was drenched with both of your juices, a mess made by the moaning mess you two were. He had his eyes closed, head thrown back as his groans slowly faded, hips still twitching from the aftershock. Your walls were also still fluttering from the fading high, slowly coming back down to earth. Exhausted you fell face first into his chest and he caught you in his arms, a small chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“The name is Kuroo by the way but I’m okay with you calling me kitten.”

#haikyuu smut #kuroo x reader #haikyuu #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader smut #haikyuu!!#hq #Itadakimasu 🍴

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cicada-bones · 4 years ago

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The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 13: Letters

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Rowan lived up to his word and forced the princess to pull double duty in the kitchens. So she worked both the breakfast and the dinner shifts that week, leaving her exhausted and aching and irritable. But she took to the work well, not seeming to feel the punishment as it had been intended. Which irritated him.

Though he had a much better understanding of the girl, he still hadn’t figured out a way to turn that knowledge into anything useful. Therefore, every afternoon they sat for hours in the pouring rain while the princess tried and failed to find a way around those iron bars in her mind.

The girl was still infuriating, still arrogant and impudent and wild, but he didn’t hate her as much as he had before. If he had cared to think about it, he would have probably characterized his feelings as an antagonistic dislike.

She still aggravated him, and he still goaded her right back. But he understood her better now, and found that he couldn’t hate her.

No more dead demi-Fae turned up, but Rowan still spent every morning searching the woodlands and digging through papers for leads. He didn’t make any progress. The maps and missives just stared back at him, blank and unhelpful, while the forests remained infuriatingly empty.

But one morning, Rowan received news through the fortress courier.

Fenrys was back in Doranelle, having finished his assignment in Varese. And apparently, he missed irritating Rowan to death.

Rowan –

I arrived in Doranelle just this week. I didn’t realize you would still be at Mistward, or I might have stopped there on my way back. Not that I miss your pretty face – I just need to collect on the favor I did for you in Varese. You owe me.

Connall and I are the only ones currently in the capital, so there won’t be much help coming your way (we drew straws, and I received the absolutely wonderful pleasure of responding to your very thoughtful and not-at-all-grouchy message).

Lorcan is now with fleet along the southern coast, pushing east towards the rebel camps. As you know, it’ll be unlikely that he responds in time to actually be helpful – if at all. Vaughan is still on the other side of the world, doing whatever the hell Maeve asked him to do there, so there’s almost no chance of you reaching him. But I’m sure you knew that.

Gavriel on the other hand, we just got word from – he will be returning within the month, back from the outpost on the northern edge of the Cambrian Mountains. The soldiers he was stationed with were all killed – slaughtered by a band of rogues sometime after midwinter. He tracked the killers to their base, and executed their leader. But still, those were soldiers Gavriel had known for decades, some even longer. You actually probably knew some of their names, but I don’t, so I can’t relay them to you.

In his message, Gavriel said that he was looking for you, and had visited Lord Siarill’s court in the east where he thought you were still stationed. But of course, you weren’t there, and after checking with Lorcan in the south, he said he would be returning. I tried to send a letter his way, but we’ll see if he gets it.

Neither me, nor my brother, know anything – there have been no reports here of any strange bodies, missing people, or of whatever that dark creature was.

Are you sure that the bodies aren’t just from normal crime? Fae gone bad? And about that creature – you never actually saw anything, right? Just a weird darkness?

Maybe another Fae has been blessed by Hellas and is raging across the countryside. Though it’s hard to imagine anyone more unstable than Lorcan. Perhaps he’s just in a mood and decided to take it out on his demi-Fae cousins. I certainly wouldn’t put it past him. Lorcan could probably dry someone up into a husk if he wanted to.

I refrained from asking our dear mistress, assuming that if you got that desperate, you could very well ask her yourself. Good luck with that.

I will, however, search through the library for you, but I doubt I’ll find anything helpful. What you had to say was too vague, and far too reliant on your own experience with the creature, rather than its identity, characteristics, or history – and you know what it’s like in there. Impossible to find anything you’re looking for even under the best of circumstances.

Let me know if anything interesting happens, its dead boring here – as per usual. Could use an evil demon creature to spice things up. Perhaps I could even set it on Connall – he certainly could use a good sharp shock. Brooding bastard.

Hope you’re enjoying training that pretty princess, because if you aren’t, I’d be glad to take your place. I’ve heard she’s fiery. Sounds like fun if I’ve ever heard of it.

Let me know of any developments, I will do the same –

Fenrys

Rowan’s jaw was clenched the whole time he read the letter.

Even so, he knew that the boastful male did actually care about the lives of the demi-Fae, and would help him if he could.

Not that it meant that he was excited to repay the favor the male thought he was owed – the last time Fenrys had called in a favor, the pair of them had woken up in an abandoned cottage nearly ten miles away from where they’d been staying, soaking wet, short two purses full of gold coin, and absolutely no memory of the night before.

Fenrys still told the story at every possible opportunity.

Rowan growled at the paper in his hands, forcing his thoughts away from the infuriating male. Instead they fell on Gavriel. Which honestly wasn’t that much better.

Rowan had known many of the soldiers in Gavriel’s company. Many of them had families, had mates that would now be mourning them. The emptiness in his chest twisted.

Rowan drafted a quick reply, relaying the information he had gathered on the appearance of the new bodies, as well as the inferences he had been able to make about the dark creature. It wasn’t much.

A few days later, another surprise. Lorcan had also received his letter, and bothered to respond.

Whitethorn –

So you ended up training the girl. My condolences.

I’ve never heard of anything remotely similar to whatever this creature is. It doesn’t sound like anything blessed by Hellas, or by any other of the gods. Are you sure that it isn’t just the skinwalkers?

I am still in the southeast, the rebels are proving harder to put down that originally thought. Don’t bother me again for anything unimportant.

– Lorcan Salvaterre

Rowan’s face twisted into a frown. Well, at least he’d responded at all.

Each evening he listened to Emrys’ stories, usually hidden beneath the stairs just out of sight. The girl's black eye and split lip had begun to fade, while her limbs had strengthened, her skin regained some color, and in general, she began to look healthier. More human.

Perhaps because of that fact, he didn’t overhear any more worried conversations between Emrys or Malakai, nor did he catch any strange looks from them. Though the girl still kept away from others in the fortress, it seemed that she was settling in to life at Mistward.

Nightmares still plagued Rowan, and every morning he was jerked from sleep well before dawn, sweat coating his limbs and images flashing behind his eyes. But occasionally, something different flickered through his mind. A set of lips, the taste of jasmine, a flicker of flame –

Whenever that happened, Rowan threw himself into the misty wind, coating himself in its icy touch and locking those thoughts away where he didn’t have to deal with them.

A week after the incident with the skinwalkers, Rowan collected the girl from the kitchens at noon as usual, and they made their daily trek up the mountain to the temple ruins, the girl’s mortal pace somehow having become even more irritating with time.

It was unusually sunny that day, and the echo of the power within the temple stones felt stronger, richer than usual. As did the girl’s. Not that it seemed to make any difference with her shifting.

They sat for just over two hours, mostly silent among the glowing stones, before the girl stood, groaning. She paced for moment, her hands on her hips, studying the stones.

She looked around as if she could feel the effect of Mala’s touch as well, could hear the whispered prayers of long-dead worshippers, begging the goddess for her blessing.

She broke through the heavy silence. “What was this place, anyway?”

Rowan dogged her steps, leashing his irritation at the impertinent question. “The Sun Goddess’s temple.”

She cocked her head. “You’ve been bringing me here because you think it might help with mastering my powers – my shifting?”

He nodded faintly.

The girl turned and placed her hand on the stones, soaking up their warmth, lost in thought. Only the vague outline of the temple remained, the barest imprint of a brick path, crumbling pillars strewn about like abandoned toys.

For some reason, its loss saddened him. An ancient place of fire and worship, destroyed and forsaken by time.

The princess broke through his reverie unexpectedly, “Mab was immortalized into godhood thanks to Maeve,” she ran a hand down the jagged block, musing aloud. “But that was over five hundred years ago. Mala had a sister in the moon long before Mab took her place.”

Deanna and Mala, sisters and eternal rivals, keepers of the sun and the moon. “Deanna was the original sister’s name. But you humans gave her some of Mab’s traits. The hunting, the hounds.”

“Perhaps Deanna and Mala weren’t always rivals.”

Rowan cocked his head. “What are you getting at?”

She just shrugged, running her pale fingers over the white granite. “Did you ever know Mab?”

He was quiet for a long moment, considering.

“No,” he said at last. “I am old, but not that old.”

“Do you feel old?”

The question was pointed, but not aggressive. She wasn’t asking as a challenge, or a taunt. For some reason, she wanted to know. It was a question to seek understanding, not dominance.

So he answered. “I am still considered young by the standards of my kind.”

She did not relent. “You said that you once campaigned in a kingdom that no longer exists. You’ve been off to war several times, it seems, and seen the world. That would leave its mark. Age you on the inside.”

Curiosity broke though him, threading its way through his ice like roots pushing into the earth. He turned his gaze towards her, “Do you feel old?”

She met his gaze calmly, measured and quiet as she considered the question. “These days, I am very glad to be a mortal, and to only have to endure this life once. These days, I don’t envy you at all.”

Her words were heavy things laid at his feet. But still, that curiosity did not let up. “And before?”

She turned away, looking at the distant horizon. “I used to wish I had a chance to see it all – and hated that I never would.”

The burden of royalty – of an heir. A burden he had never felt, though he was a prince. Before Lyria, he had passed his life attempting to escape just such a trap as the princess had been born into. But after her death, he had sold himself into his own gilded cage. It was strange - in a way, they were almost similar, both trapped.

Rowan formed another question, but before he could ask it, the girl spoke again, sidetracking him. “Is this where the stags were kept – before this place was destroyed?”

Just last night, Emrys had told the story of the sun stags, ancient beings who held an immortal flame between their massive antlers, so similar to their cousins in the west. The stags of Terrasen. They had once been stolen from a temple in this land, never to be seen again.

“I don’t know. This temple wasn’t destroyed; it was abandoned when the Fae moved to Doranelle, and then ruined by time and weather.”

“Emrys’ stories said destroyed, not abandoned.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Again, what are you getting at?”

She paused. Then shook her head at the ground and said, “The Fae on my continent—in Terrasen … they weren’t like you. At least, I don’t remember them being that way. There weren’t many, but …” She swallowed hard. “The King of Adarlan hunted and killed them, so easily. Yet when I look at you, I don’t understand how he did it.”

His mouth twisted into a frown. All those lives, snuffed out, because of one man’s cruelty. For the first time, he was angry at his queen for her pettiness, for her refusal to send aid. It wasn’t only this girl’s fault that Terrasen had fallen – he should have been there. Should have helped.

“I’ve never been to your continent, but I heard that the Fae there were gentler – less aggressive, very few trained in combat – and they relied heavily on magic. Once magic was gone from your lands, many of them might not have known what to do against trained soldiers.”

“And yet Maeve wouldn’t send aid.” Her jaw was clenched, her brow furrowed.

“The Fae of your continent long ago severed ties with Maeve.” He paused again, unsure why he was justifying, but still unwilling to admit to this foreign princess that his queen had been wrong, and needlessly cruel. “But there were some in Doranelle who argued in favor of helping. My queen wound up offering sanctuary to any who could make it here.”

She seemed to sigh, closing her eyes for only a moment as she stepped away from the ancient carvings and back to her usual spot, the scent of her boundless grief and guilt and ache wafting from her like a perfume.

They sat in silence until twilight descended and they returned to the keep, night blanketing them in its heavy folds.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

#WatE repost

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vaelynez · 4 years ago

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Sooo, I started writing this in June of 2019. It was an idea for a story called ‘Heroing is Funny Like That’. I was drafting the idea, but I never finished it. Maybe one day I will, I make no promises. I decided to share it, because why not?

It’s quite old so the characterzation might be a bit off because I was really new to the fandom. But, no harm no foul. Improvement amIright? Also, this story is outlined or planned I was toying with the idea, so the summary is kinda eh.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this.

Summary: Before Cosmo died, Tails trusted Sonic he would save her, but he didn’t. Ever since there’s been a divide in the two brothers' relationship that got worse over the years. But when Tails is injured in an ambush by Eggman, Sonic has to learn to trust himself. For the sake of the city, and the relationship with his brother.

Words: ≈1830

“Sonic!” he cried. He took a few steps towards him, and he backed up, placing his hands up protecting him. “Sonic, ummm.” He stopped talking as he grabbed his arm placing something in his gloved hand.

“Tails, this was all that was left.” He shut his eyes trying to block out his small cries. He clutched the seed slowly walking towards him. He rested his head on his stomach, and he felt his tears run down his leg.

“It’s not true!” he cried. “Cosmo was just here! I heard her voice!” He pounded softly on his chest, but he didn’t say anything, letting the kit process what had just happened.

“Sonic! I had faith that you would save her! I believed in you! I believed in you!” He stopped hitting his chest as he slid onto the ground, his cries turned into screams of disbelief. But he didn’t say anything.

Those words. As soon as he said them, a ping shot through his chest. He wanted to cradle the young fox and apologize, but he didn’t. He let him blame him because he knew how much it hurt to lose someone. Sonic knew he couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

He thought it would be better to let him use him as a reason for what had just happened because he longed to make it easier on the young kit. But death wasn’t easy, loss was one of the hardest things to go through. But what he didn’t know was what was going on in his head, and what had happened to him in the past.

This wasn’t his first loss.

But he didn’t know this, so he tried to let himself be the reason. But little did he know it would just make it worse. Tails didn't just lose Cosmo that day, he lost his trust in Sonic, and Sonic didn’t just lose a friend, he lost trust in himself to be the hero he was proclaimed to be. But one thing was for sure, their relationship would never be the same, and neither would either of them.

4 Years Later

Sonic

He felt the wind in his quills. The pounding of the dirt road under his feet and heard it crunch under his feet. A feeling he’d never get over, running. He had always loved to run for as long as he could remember. He ran when he just needed a pass-time, or when he was bored, and when things got stressful all he wanted to do was run.

That was today, he just needed to clear his head. Needed something to take his mind off things. Despite what people would think, after a while, he did get tired, like now. He had been running since the sun had barely lit up the sky now it was noon.

His legs burned, his throat was dry, and his chest was tight from trying to breathe. But he pushed past it because if he stopped he wouldn’t start for a while, then he’d have to face his thoughts which he didn’t want to do just yet. So he carried on, the bright summer sun beating down on his deep blue quills. The bottom of his feet burned, friction caught up in his shoes- which never seemed to be able to keep up with him- but he didn’t care.

He didn’t stop, he just kept going. He knew he should have stopped, normally he didn’t push himself so far, but today- God he just needed to think about something else. For everyone else, this day was a good thing, and it should have been, but he couldn’t find joy in it. He clenched his fists in speed up, despite telling himself not to, he didn’t listen. He couldn’t sleep all night and left the house at 4 in the morning.

He should have stopped at some point, but he didn’t.

He kept going, faster, then when he thought about it again, he went faster. He knew he had seen a few of his friends a number of his times, just to show how many times he had been around the trail that barely made it through the clearing of where Amy’s house was, a small little get-together celebration to celebrate. The trail he was taking was around 17 miles long, but he deterred from it many times, making the- to most people- daring trail 93 miles.

The past few times he passed Amy’s house he heard her yell to him, and it was coming up, he saw it in the clearing. This time, there were a group of people out there. Amy, Cream, Vanilla, Knuckles even, but he didn’t slow down.

“Hey! Sonic!” Amy called. He ignored her, and tried to speed up, but found it too hard.

“Mr. Sonic, can you stop for a minute? We’re-”

“You heard her stop for a minute!” Knuckles snapped.

He almost did. For once, he wanted to stop, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. So he kept going. The 19-year-old had never been good with emotions, so he tried to run away from them. Especially on days like today. The speedster kept on, ignoring the callings of his friends. He didn’t hear someone come up behind him, he didn’t expect anyone to even try and catch up with him despite not going full speed. But he was knocked out of his thoughts when he was tackled to the ground.

Sonic looked up in shock as he held him down. He pushed him off, standing up letting the rubbery feeling of his legs set in. He struggled to stand but didn’t dare show weakness to who was standing in front of him.

“Shadow, what the hell?” Shadow stood in front of him, his arms crossed staring down the younger hedgehog. Sonic had no clue he was even at Amy’s, he wouldn’t have expected it of him.

“You know it’s rude to ignore people, you made Cream cry,” he said nonchalantly. Sonic clenched his fists and looked away.

“Shut up, Shadow.”

“You always do this! Every year!” Sonic put a hand up to silence him, he flashed a small- fake- smile.

“Now, Shadow. You should know I’m not much of a partier-”

“Bullshit. I’ve been following you for a while now, something's bothering you. How long have you been out here?”

“Depends, what time is it?” he asked.

“Quarter to 2,” Shadow replied raising an eyebrow.

“So about 10 hours,” Sonic replied shrugging. It was longer than he had thought, but at this point, he really didn’t care.

“Are you stupid?” Shadow yelled. He shrugged again. He would have run away if his legs weren’t killing him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. The next thing he knew, he was hit to the ground, Shadow’s hand balled into a fist. “What was that for?” he retorted.

“Just trying to knock you out, you’re exhausted.”

“You can tell?” Sonic asked looking at the ground.

“One, can you hear yourself? Two, you can barely stand.” Sonic sighed. He knew he sounded like a dying anything. He had just hoped Shadow didn’t notice, even if it was wicked noticeable.

“I’m fine,” Sonic replied rolling his eyes trying to look amused

“No, you’re not. And don’t think I’m trying to let you vent on me, because I’m not. I’m just making sure you don’t kill yourself. Go home.” He bit his lip. He didn’t think he could handle being home, not today. He couldn’t stand the memories of what happened.

“Sorry, no can do, Shads.” He tried to sound uppity, but the fact he had to blink away tears said otherwise.

“Go before I drag you there,” Shadow grumbled. Sonic sighed, surprised. Either Shadow was really irritated or worried, normally he’d try and kill him for calling him that. He went for irritated, it wasn’t like Shadow cared about him or anything, right?

“Fine. But only to get you off my case!” he snapped standing up brushing some of the dirt out of his quills getting ready to run ‘home’. Why? Because he had no other choice, and truth be told he just wanted to take a shower and sleep. But he knew he couldn’t.

“And get some rest, you need it.” Sonic smiled sadly.

“Didn’t you hear me before. I can’t sleep, not today.” And with that, he speeds off, arriving at his once shared home. Now, the entire thing was empty until he stepped in. All it reminded him of was that day he came home. The day he found out what he was hiding from him. There was so much guilt and the worry that it never stopped. He wasn’t even sure if he counted as a sidekick anymore, not like this.

Most people considered him to be. Nobody noticed how far they had grown apart. Everyone thought they were fine and moved on. But they hadn’t spoken in months. One of them could be dead and they wouldn’t even know. It was a sad reality, but the last time they spoke was on a mission when Tails had to warn Sonic that the roof was collapsing and had to leave.

He never even thanked him.

The last time they talked outside of a mission? He didn’t know. Sonic covered his head with his hand and slid down the wall. It was this day their relationship went to hell. The anniversary of the defeat of the Matrex 4 years ago.

The day Tails moved out, 3 years ago.

A day he always spent alone.

Sonic threw the towel to the side basket in the bathroom. He grabbed his shoes and threw them on as well as his gloves. Although he wasn’t a sweaty mess anymore, his shower hadn’t made him feel much better. He sluggishly made his way to the couch flopping on top of it sighing.

“Never again.”

He winced. His aching legs agreed as he sat them on the arm of the couch, ignoring- or at least trying to ignore the voices in his head that played through.

“Sonic! I told you to stop doing that!”

“Not today you didn’t.”

“You get the point,” he chuckled.

“I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this.”

“You’ll get dirt all over the couch!”

“I’m sorry you never took a step outside, Tails,” he playfully taunted.

“Oh, shut up!”

Sonic let out a small whine from his throat turning his head blocking out the memories. He covered his head with his hands and tried to fall asleep but he couldn’t. He never could, despite how exhausted he was. He just laid there not really sure what to do. He was bored out of his mind but didn’t have the energy to do anything.

It wasn’t like he had much better to do. Everyone else would probably be together celebrating. But he wasn’t in the mood, it wasn’t like him, but he’d end up just playing it off as he was sick. He sighed. It was going to be a long day…

Aaand that’s the end I never finished the first chapter but I do have a folder of brainstorming for this story. 💕

#sonic the hedgehog #fanfic #tails the fox #sonic x #i’m still learning how to tag #drafts #old work #sonic and tails #brothers #IsaStories

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retvenkos · 4 years ago

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9 years

Tuck Everlasting - Miles Tuck x Rose and Thomas and Anna, angst

tuck everlasting month 2020, day 16

A/N: so, first of all, i changed miles' canon age for when rose leaves. also, in the books miles has 2 kids - a boy, and a girl named anna. i, of course, decided to include her because miles with a daughter would have been perfect - exactly what he needed. the emphasis, however, lies in the word would...

Summary: But time has a way of changing things. Her mother had told her once, when she was young enough to wonder what the world had planned for her, that what’s hidden wants to be found. The more you tried to hide something, the more it would work to show itself in small but meaningful ways.

9 years.

Rose had known the Tucks for 9, long years.

She first met them when the family came into town, having just settled nearby, looking for men to help build their would be home. Even then, Angus Tuck was a self-made man. He knew how to build houses (after all, he had made their first home, before it burned down) and was only looking for help on account of his age. He was nearing fifty and wasn’t as spry as he used to be, so he decided he could use the help of another man - someone young, who could follow directions efficiently. Rose’s brother had fit the description perfectly, and a deal was struck: he would help the Tuck’s with building their home, and they would let him use their horse for farm work.

Rose had met Miles Tuck that day and believed they were kindred spirits, of sorts. He was just as bookish and quiet as she, and while he was blunt and occasionally harsh with his words, his heart was well-meaning and made up for his shortcomings. He was 2 years older than her, at the time, and when the Tuck’s departed, her brother teased her relentlessly.

The next morning, she joined her brother in going over to the Tuck’s homestead, helping Mae unpack her things and cook a large dinner for the men on an open fire. They bonded, speaking of literature and culture, technology and faith. Those days were simple and happy, spent bonding with a family she adored and learning about the world they had come from. There was quite a lot of world, beyond Treegap, New Hampshire, and to hear about it was fascinating.

After a long day’s work, the four men would eat as though they hadn’t seen food in years. They would thank Mae and Rose, praising their cooking, and would have a smoke afterward. Jesse would sneak off sometime before the pipes were pulled out, and Miles would drift away from Angus and Roses’ brother, not caring for conversations of hunting or fishing. Rose would sit beside him, quietly, and start up a conversation with Miles, the two smiling and laughing in the firelight.

When the cottage was finished, Rose helped Mae move the last of her valuables indoors and sighed. “I suppose I no longer have an excuse to come and bake with you.”

Mae had smiled, and there was something in her eyes that sparkled as though she knew a secret. “As long as Miles lives here, I’m sure you’ll find a reason or two.”

Rose had stuttered, thoroughly embarrassed by the older woman’s words, and Mae said nothing further on the matter. When she said goodbye to the Tuck’s, Rose couldn’t look Miles in the eye.

As they walked home, her brother looked at her with raised eyebrows. Rose shoved him and told him to shut up.

Miles had called on her a few weeks afterward, asking her if she’d like to take a stroll through town. She had smiled, then, admiring the redness in his cheeks and the sincerity in his tone. They courted for a year, and on a beautiful autumn day, they had gotten married.

They had vowed to love each other. They promised to stand by one another and let nothing come between them. They had sworn to be honest with one another, no matter what.

That had been 7 years ago. Rose was 22 and naive to the ways of the world.

Now, staring at her mother, a six year-old Thomas playing on the ground beneath her, and another baby kicking in her stomach, Rose had seen much more of the vast, unexplainable world. Her mother handed her a cup of tea and she sipped at it politely, trying to wonder how to begin.

Her mother had told her once, when she was young enough to not believe her, that what’s hidden wants to be found. The more you tried to hide something, the more it would conspire against you to show itself in small but meaningful ways.

Rose had thought her mother to be too faithful, then - too reliant on the universe working in her favor. Then she had met the Tucks, and throughout the years, she learned bits of their secret.

“Nothing could make me love him less.”

“Of course, not.” Rose’s mother sat across from her at the table, her hair streaked with silver, her eyes heavy with wisdom. “You are his wife, after all.”

Rose nodded. She had never questioned her vows. She loved him and had no secrets. But something ate at the back of her mind, gnawing at her, asking her if perhaps Miles had broken his.

“But you are a mother and every mother loves her child more than anything else.”

Rose looked at her boy - his dark curls falling into wide eyes, his cheeky smiles and soft hands. “I would do anything to keep Thomas safe.” Her hand went to her stomach, and the baby inside moved. “Anna, too.”

“Then you know what you must do.”

At first, there wasn’t much to question. The Tucks had come from out of town to settle, and no one knew their prior family. They joked that youth ran in the family. Jesse looked as though he hadn’t aged a day from when he met Rose, but that was because he was a boy and excitement held onto adolescence tightly. Mae was no younger than her own mother, and yet her hair maintained the same vibrant red of her younger years. Not a single hair turned silver to match the few she had when they first came to Treegap. Rose only ever seemed to get older with time, but motherhood was exhausting and easily deepended wrinkled and added crows feet to smooth skin. If she ever mentioned it, Miles would kiss her, saying she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever met, and Rose would get lost in his love.

After a while, it was their health that Rose found peculiar. Angus and Mae were well into their fifties, approaching that heavy age where the world pulled them closer to the ground in which they would one day lay, leaving aches and pains in the morning, and tiredness in the evening. However, the couple never seemed to be bothered by time, and in the winter, when aches were at their worst and illness swept through the town like a breeze, the family stayed unaffected by the damp that set into their home or the draft that came under the doors.

What had frightened Rose the most, though were not trivial wrinkles or impeccable health. What had caused her to draw away from the family she had always loved and shook Rose to her core was Jesse’s fall.

When she thought about it later, she remembered how the sunlight seemed to bend around him like a halo, the branches falling with him like wings on his back - like an angel, her mother had said. Or, she said, in a quiet tone, like Icarus. A Greek tragedy - too reckless for this life, too young for his experiences.

Jesse should have died upon hitting the ground; a fall from that high, with his body hitting branches as he fell, his head bloody and his limbs lying at odd angles when he landed on the ground should have killed him. He was Icarus, after all, plummeting towards his grave. When he did not, the Tucks were relieved and Rose was, too. But she also had a mind that told her of mortal wounds - those injuries that people do not survive.

Something was broken that day, and it was not Jesse’s body.

Thomas had been four, then, still a toddler that needed a father to show him the way. Rose was still uncertain, in those days, believing in Miles and those vows she had made more than anything else in the world.

That was 2 years ago. She was 27 and growing fast.

Was she grown, now?

“What do I do?” She looked at her mother for guidance but already knew she did not want to hear her reply.

Amongst the Tucks was a fallen angel. They were no longer in God’s grace.

“You already know what must be done.”

“But I cannot.” Tears were welling into Rose’s eyes and she pushed them back, not allowing them to fall. Thomas had stilled in her games on the floor and stared at his mother, eyes wide and full of wonder. “I can’t leave Miles… I can’t leave my husband.”

“You’re not leaving Miles.” Her mother put her hands on top of Roses’. “You’re leaving The Adversary.”

“No...” Rose fell to the ground and wept. Thomas grabbed her skirts, rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger. “They’re good people.”

“They’ve been claimed by evil.” Rose shook her head, but her eyes were filled with fear. “You have your children to think of. You must leave.”

“Where will I go?” Rose asked, her voice cracking, her head bowed.

Her mother leaned down to pick Rose off of the ground. Rose was sobbing still, her body shaking with effort, her breathing laboured and broken. Her mother smoothed her hair and let Rose cry on her shoulder. Thomas hugged his mother’s legs and patted her pregnant belly.

“Go to the Lord, Rose, and pray. It’s all you can do.”

…

Rose stared at the empty page beneath her and willed herself to write something down. She had loved Miles for 9, long years. She had been by his side all the while, never once believing him to be something dark and sinister.

When Jesse had fallen, Miles had been right there, calling out his brother’s name, holding the boy’s body to his chest. When Jesse’s eyes opened and he coughed up blood, the deep red dripping down his chin and staining his shirt, Miles had carried him to their home with tears of relief in his eyes. He had borne the burden of almost losing his brother, determined to not let anyone else suffer.

Rose had borne the burden of knowing that he shouldn’t have survived.

To the Tucks, Jesse’s prolonged life was a miracle. But Jesse’s life was heavy on Rose’s conscience - like a curse.

It was only fair, now, that Miles shared in her burden. A letter was the only way he could ever know the reasons for why she would do what she intended. Miles knowing why would explain her actions and the guilt of what she was to do would be his, as well.

She was going to explain herself - like a good, honest woman should. Honesty was one of her vows to him. Miles may have kept secrets and cast her in shadow, but she would shed light on her action and give him the honestly she promised one last time.

Rose was 29, now, and time was stealing away her life, one day at a time.

She could not wait any longer for another explanation to arrive. The rumors in town were insidious. The Tucks were an unnatural family. There was no other way - no other path she could take.

Rose looked at the grandfather clock that she had been given as a wedding gift. In only a few more hours, light would start to fill the house. She had to go, now. There was no time for explanations or apologies.

Rose stood and crept to where they kept their money box. She took what little they had, and prayed that the Lord would provide the rest. She turned, one last time, to look at her husband, pain in her eyes.

He was still 22, the same as they day they met, no changes made to his mortal body. He did not look like the evil he was supposed to be, but evil was a master at deception.

Her baby kicked and Rose held back a sob.

Stealing into Thomas’ room, Rose prayed to the Lord. She prayed for guidance, for strength, for something to make the bile in her throat lessen, something to make her actions feel like less of a betrayal.

Thomas woke at his mother’s touch, and she told him they were leaving. He asked her if papa was coming and a tear slipped down her cheek. She bent down to look him in the eye, and when she spoke, her words were thick with sorrow, but clear and low. “Not now, Thomas. We will see him again, one day, but not now.”

He didn’t understand, but followed where his mother led. Their footfalls were quiet, with the grace of God guiding them outside and into the night.

Rose had a destination in mind - somewhere Miles would never find them, somewhere where she would not see him at every street corner and in the aisles of a store. She thought of her life with him; her mind combed through those 9 years in a moment's hesitation and lingered on her mother’s words, spoken with gravity.

You already know what must be done.

Rose held Thomas’ hand in hers, the other resting on her pregnant stomach. Inside, the baby put her foot to where her mother held her. She knew what must be done for her children - there was nothing that was too difficult, nothing too unthinkable when done in their name. She prayed that one day, when she told Thomas of all that had been done, that he would not hate her for her actions, done in his name.

She did not look back at the farmhouse as she left. She had to leave Miles behind her. Still, she closed her eyes as she traveled into the night, the wind stinging her cheeks, damp with tears, and thought of the man she had met in Treegap, 9 years ago.

“Forgive me.”

#tuck everlasting #tuck everlasting musical #tuck everlasting broadway #tuck everlasting month #tuck month 2020 #miles tuck #thomas tuck #rose tuck #miles tuck x rose tuck #angst #imagine #one shot #fic #milestuckoneshot #thomastuckoneshot #rosetuckoneshot

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wetwellie · 5 years ago

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Your Name AU

(because i’ve seen this movie a bajillion times and it makes me feel things and i am FEELING THINGS about zimbits rn) (It probably won’t work, but i’m gonna make it work)

��Bitty is a guy who is trying to peacefully spend his last summer before heading off to college in peace.

He spends his days working his part time job at his Aunt’s produce stand.

and Baking

and playing club hockey twice a week

Fairly peaceful

and...boring as hell

Until the dreams start

Jack has just started his third year at Samwell university

he’s still broken

still anxious

still the “golden boy” --even if he doesn’t feel like hes polished and shining

but he’s making do

and making friends

just a year or two left until

until what?

graduation? getting signed?

wasting away?

Jack doesn’t know. But he’s resigned to focus on hockey and let the rest of the world pass him by

Until the dreams start

Jack wakes up and it’s too hot

He shifts to get out of bed and finds that the covers he is tearing away from his body

are not his

or Shitty’s

or any of his roommates’

also. uh

those skinny legs and short shorts are not his

his hands look different too

and his face feels different

and the voice that calls to him from downstairs is not one he knows

huh

well

weird dream

hope it’s over soon

Bitty goes downstairs to eat the next day

His parents are both fairly silent

“I see you got over whatever mood you were in yesterday, young man”

“mood?”

“it doesn’t matter.”

That’s all he gets out of them

When he drives to the produce stand his cousins run up to him smiling

“I see that you actually remembered how to drive that thing”

“What?” says Bitty

“yesterday you were all over the place. almost knocked over the stand. if you were anyone else I’d think you were drunk”

“Aunt Judy figures you might have been possessed” the other cousin says

“With a fit of stupidity”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about” Bitty says

“It doesn’t matter. Just don’t ‘get lost’ or forget ‘how to drive stick’ again, Dicky” she says using finger quotes

Later in the day, Suzanne asks Bitty if he’s really feeling ok.

She was really worried about yesterday’s behavior

Bitty replies that , despite evidence on the contrary, he feels normal

They finish up some jars of jam and Bitty returns to his room for the night

There is where he finds it

Tucked under his pillow there is a note in scratchy handwriting

“Who are you?”

Bitty wakes up cold, in a bed that is too big for him

an alarm he doesn’t remember setting, or ever having, is blaring next to him

he looks to see the time

4:30 am

oh.

hell no

bitty gets up to unplug the dream alarm clock, and returns to sleep

Bitty wakes up 6 hours later with another man coming into bed with him

This man is naked

and moustached

one of those dreams? huh

never would he dream about this kind of guy though

because this guy doesn’t crawl into bed, like he thought

he wraps bitty in a burrito made out of comforters and yanks him onto the floor

“I know you needed to a break, but let the coaches know before you sleep through morning practice like that”

“practice?”

“yeah. and you’re lucky that I’m waking you up in time to go to your 11am.”

“but it’s summer”

naked moustache man just looks at him and rolls his eyes

“we’ll grab lunch after class”

“Wait!”

“What”

“...where is my class?”

Jack wakes up the next day

and is dragged to the doctor to test for a possible concussion

“the things you were saying and doing yesterday were crazy”

“you skipped morning practice”

“After class you threw down your notes and said you’d never major in History”

“You baked seven as an apology for skipping morning practice”

“And then you dropped into fetal position in afternoon practice when Ollie was about to check you”

“And you took, i don’t know, 7000 selfies of yourself and called yourself handsome”

“have you ever taken a selfie before in your life?”

jack just shakes his head

“yeah. like i said you’re getting checked for a concussion”

Did I hit my head? , Jack asks

“no. but it can’t be” Shitty pauses “It wouldn’t be your other thing would it?”

I don’t think so he says.

Jack has never really had memory problems. and his anxiety and panic never particularly affected him in the way described

faintly, he recalls a young boy at one of his games right before the draft, voice broken as he says “Jack, don’t you remember me?”

it leaves his mind as quickly as it entered

because he had bigger problems to figure out

namely how he had new entries on the journal on his phone

it was a summary of all of the things that “Jack” did the previous day

“Thanks for a long day of being a Big Shot on campus, handsome!”

signed Eric

Eric??

Who the hell is Eric?

it happens again

Jack spends a day as bitty

and Bitty spends a day as Jack

and they wake up not remembering too much about what happens

the only thing that cements that it’s not just a weird dream is that

well...real life consequences

Jack becomes a lot more...spinny and less up for contact when he plays hockey

and ends up enjoying time with his teammates a lot more

and has a huge country dialect now

and one time someone came up to him speaking french and jack had no idea what was going on???

and he smiles sometimes???

and at the end of the day he’s almost always on his phone typing away

Bitty is able to kick ass into gear with hockey

but can’t bake worth shit

honestly, suzanne hasn’t seen anything of that quality since bitty was seven

AND he had to check a recipe

also, he’s started to bike to work

driving stick is impossible

he’s very serious on some days

he spends his evenings watching history documentaries and writing in a journal

Well. It seems like this is just gonna be life for a while, they both figure

best set up some rules

Bitty, as Jack, is NOT ALLOWED TO DITCH CLASSES

no use of the word y’all

no beyonce

no short shorts

don’t drop like a brick when someone comes to check you

seriously Eric it’s fine

Eric it’s my body that would get hurt don’t worry

also please don’t drink or use drugs in my body

it’s a long story but again

it’s my body

Jack-as-Bitty is asked to be polite to his friends and customers

and please never bake anything ever

don’t leave the house dressed like some weird clothing outlet exploded

if you yell at my teammates i swear to god, mr. zimmermann.

don’t disrespect senor bun

or anyone

stop frowning so much, even Coach has asked me about it and i don’t know what to say

don’t watch stuff on my netflix account. your history documentaries are messing up my recommendations

Despite the rules

They find ways to keep bothering each other

But also trying to make each other better

As captains of each others teams, both teams are able to benefit from their guidance

Bitty’s team gets a lot stronger technically

but kind of hate how much of a hardass Bitty is 3 times a week

The SMH is more in synch with each other than ever

and Bitty is able to help out a lot more

But Jack ends up having to put a lot of money in the sin bin for

‘acting off’

Jack is very upset to find a picture of himself in the swallow, sitting on the roof of the Haus shirtless and wearing short shorts chilling

what the fuck Eric

But they get a little routine down, and nothing changes except for minor nuisances

so whatever

It all works good until one day, while Jack and Suzanne are bonding over making jam, Suzanne looks Jack right in the eyes and says

“oh...you’re not my dicky. you’re dreaming aren’t you?”

Jack snaps awake in his bed

not Eric’s bed. His bed

Huh. weird.

He goes to check his phone and of course, there is a long journal entry left over from the day he didn’t get

It’s all mostly ok until he gets to the end

“It looks like your first big hockey game is tomorrow night! Be sure to have fun. Enjoy it!”

“There’s a comet tonight for me. I’ll take lots of pictures so that you can see it next time we ...do whatever we do”

Jack and the SMH win the game. and he actually tries to have fun. but the only person he wants to celebrate with is

well

he’s in georgia

bUT

Jack has a phone

He dials bitty’s cellphone number that has been saved in his contact

his heart is beating quite fast.

and then he hears

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service”

Jack stops switching after that

He should be relieved. overjoyed

but he’s not

he doesn’t miss the humidity

or the dirt roads

or the bugs

but he does miss something

and he’s forgetting all about it

so he tries searching online for the town

the town he can’t remember the name of

he doesn’t want to forget, so he starts drawing sketches of what he remembers

they’re not bad

pretty darn good, even

Not as good as Lardo’s, but she’s still abroad

He tries to call Eric’s number a couple more times. He gets the same results

Jack can’t take it anymore

During the winter break, Jack flies down to Georgia for a weekend, rents a car, and drives himself in the general area he remembers the town

he stops locals and shows them sketches

“is there any town nearby that looks like this?”

they all respond in the negative

he does this for hours

the sun is starting to set when he resigns to give up

he pulls into a diner in the town he’s in, orders, and looks at his sketches again

maybe it’s possible that the town isn’t...even real?

it really could have just been his dreams

that is what he thinks when the server returns with some water

“Hey. that’s a pretty good picture of Godfrey”

“Godfrey?”

“Yeah. I grew up there.” he says looking a bit sad

“Can you tell me how to get there?”

The server pauses and gives Jack a mourned, but puzzled look “ it was about a 15 minute drive from here but-”

“it was?”

“you didn’t hear about what happened?”

Jack shakes his head.

“If you don’t mind,I’ll take you to it after you finish your dinner”

It’s all gone.

Oh God.

Everything from the small ice cream shop to the old creek where Bitty’s cousins would hang around

It’s all rubble

and mounds of dirt

Literal miles

Jack can’t breathe

he can’t

breathe

just breathe

just

breat--

#au #a shitty au #omgcp #check please #it's really nothing like the story except for the couple of major plot points #because honestly how could i bring in ancient forgotten japanese concepts into an american context #fic #wipitgood

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wilccard · 4 years ago

Note

☺ ♣ ♥ !! ☼ ?? ► ↕

( modern au ) ::: accepting.

☺ for a loving/affectionate text

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] when did we turn into the third floor gays that buy flowers and leave them on the window sill for ages? 🙄

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] several poets would be disappointed in us. i won’t bother listing them here.😒 just buy new flowers THE ONES THAT DON’T DIE.

♣ for a drunk text

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] [ SPEECH TO TEXT ] hello babe why is your family cruella de vil. ville. veel? how do you spell

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] i’m getting grilled for no fuckjng sreason. Reason. why do they know my motherss name??? something abt? her not finishing college? fucking ell

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] HOW AM I AT UR FAMILY PARTY BEFROE YOU...! GET HERE 🤡

♥ for a sexual/naughty text

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] oh my god, august, the things that does to me.

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] [ VIDEO 03:38 ]

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] okay, longer than usual, but. what’s the point in having a bathroom mirror if not this. ALSO, USE HEADPHONES. EXPLICIT DESCRIPTIONS AHEAD.

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] if you use this to destroy my nonexistent political career (since my life is an appendage to yours at this point, no jk) at least take it to the finish line

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] [ IMAGE ] yea btw we need to clean the bathroom mirror.

!! for a threatening text

[[ sutherlandslide. ]] [ 2018 ] [ drafted ] i cannot believe you’d pull this stunt. what’s the point in bringing him to the dorm room, you absolute idiot, you have a condo in the city. yOU LEFT THE DOOR OPEN. OF COURSE I’D WALK IN ON YOU TWO. you’d think i?? what, wouldn’t catch on? wouldn’t see through the paperthinfuckingveil of it? I AM NOT BLOODY TWELVE. I’M A POLI SCI MAJOR THIS IS LIKE... COLD WAR TACTICS 101. i cannot believe you’d use up and break the heart of some random bloke just to prove a point - people are people you absolute fucking brat. you spoiled, silverspoon asshole. shit like this, august? it’s exactly the reason i need to go. i just... need some time away. a world that doesn’t revolve around this will-they-wont-they we keep doing.

☼ for a morning text

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] it’s like i woke up and i no longer know who i am

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] or as if i just found out. yea, definitely the latter

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] cannot believe it took us this long to do this. mostly me, but shush. i’m losing it in the fucking subway i cannot wait to get back home.

?? for a strange/vague text

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] the polls close in at 10, go go go go !!! you can make it to the first interview if you drop everything right now. ed should be there.

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] i’m omw, just trying to GET A FUCKING RIDe. if central lon traffic isn’t your priority for the first quarter i’m quitting.

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] also, if this works out.... and i’m saying IF. if. we should probably get new phones for these messages??? i’m not freaking out. just... I just want to hold you right now. to be there for whatever they announce.

► for a text not meant for you

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] jonathan i have no idea what they teach you in med school but. That thing you suggested? Christ i saw stars. i’m p sure august can’t walk straight 👌

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] wait

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] SMHhhhhh no way 🙃🙃🙃. they show shit like this on twitter and i always said it’s utterly fake tosh. well GUESS WHAT? I’M BEING PUNISHED FOR MY SKEPTICISM. FOR MY HUBRIS.

[[ willem 🍑💕 ]] i am so sorry lol.

↕ for a scared/worried text

[[ sutherlandslide. ]] [ 2019 ] this is a temp phone so i’m not sure if it’ll get through. thank God the contacts saved. S. Jobs looking out for me from beyond the grave i guess haha.

[[ sutherlandslide. ]] [ 2019 ] okay, okay. here’s to cutting the crap in the new year: your mom texted. actually, she didn’t, she phoned MY mom, who was already riled up for not being able to reach me, so I assume that just amped her up. cue their collective paranoia that we’re somehow both gonna die at 5000 miles from one another but in perfect sync. cue my mom phoning the EMBASSY. she cried for like an hour but i managed to get from her that you’re?? in a bad way?? on some stuff?? it still wasn’t clear. you’re using?

[[ sutherlandslide. ]] [ 2019 ] one, what, and two, what the fuck? you never did that shit. we never did that shit. i took like two bumps in fresher’s week and you had to hold my hair back as i was throwing up in someone’s garden. and then you stayed up with me literally all through the night while i kept saying i can hear my teeth speak, which, Yeah. so how

[[ sutherlandslide. ]] [ 2019 ] God this PHONE. how did you get from that to just doing lines on the reg? and what else? there better not be an else. there better not is all i’m saying. and no i don’t mean the swedish/danish/whatever boyfriend, you can go through the GQ catalogue for all i care & as long as you’re safe. i mean an ILLEGAL sort of else. God, August, what happened to you? you had plans. we had plans? just because David Cameron can be caught on camera dicking a pig or something doesn’t mean it’s a free for all in world politics. one footage of the wrong angle, the right angle, and it just. it all goes to shit.

[[ sutherlandslide. ]] [ 2019 ] I don’t even know if I’m giving you this ole slap on the wrist as your future PR or manager or... or just as me. I think it’s just as me. I cannot cope with the thought of you snorting shit off someone’s hand in a glitzy loo somewhere. I cannot cope with the fact that? This is who you are when I’m not there? Was this who you’ve always been? Where the fuck was I during it? What did I not see? It sends me bloody raving. It sends me just... somewhere so dark and so off the edge of the world.

[[ sutherlandslide. ]] [ 2019 ] I’m coming home.

#drug use tw #drugs tw #* ╰ [ holystone. ] ⏤ memes.#* ╰ [ 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙣. ] ⏤ ⁽ odnolyub. ⁾

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myheroaizawashota · 6 years ago

Text

[okay sorry these have taken me SO long to get into the grove of again, but have no fear! Why? Because I AM HERE! Also my tumblr draft box has taken a minor crap on its self and is for some reason coding things in HTML code when I go to write the request, so cute. We love that here! @gal-with-pastels Sorry it took so long but better late then never 😅😅]

Growing up with a quirk like yours was one of the most challenging things in the world. Aside from the fear you held for your own power, there was the constant torment and anguish that came along with your peers words as they taunted you for the villainous nature of you’re quirk. You never understood how a group of children could be so cruel, you never hurt anyone, nor did you plan to use this quirk for ill intent. You feared the power you held just as much as they did, and what people fear and don’t understand they tend to beat and exile. Growing up was hard, you learned a valuable lesson, it was easier to claim you were quirkless than to allow anyone else to ever know the power you held. While you always wanted to be a hero, you never accomplished the goal, who would want a hero like yourself anyway.

By the time you reached adulthood, the memories of your past seemed less familiar. Hardly anyone knew about the quirk you held, which played in your favor tremendously. While you never did become the hero you craved to be, you found other ways to help, and other ways to be close to that world. Taking a more behind the scenes route allowed you to mingle and meet all the hero’s you admired all through your younger years, and as chance had it, the love of your life. Never had you expected to meet such big league heros, though working at the top of the best hero agency in japan certainly helped with that. You could still remember the first time you were lucky enough to meet All Might. He was....everything the world pictured him to be and then some. He was charming and devilishly handsome with words that could make the muscles in your legs turn weak and gelatinous. That ever present smile of his could send your heart pounding a mile a minute whenever he casted it your way, blessing your day with it’s mere existence. It smacked you like a bag of bricks to the face when the number one pro hero admitted his feelings for you later down the road. Eventually the two of you dove head first in love, sharing little secrets and loving moments as your relationship progressed along. You’d even come to know the truth behind the muscles, the polar opposite of the well known symbol of peace. Though, through all the truths the two of you shared, you were never able to bring yourself to tell your lover about the curse that was your quirk. It was the only secret you kept from him, and it ate away at you.

As you walked along the dull lit streets of you’re neighborhood, arms threaded around one of Yagi’s, you couldn’t help but feel an ominous presence near by. Clinging yourself closer to your love, he couldn’t help but tilt his head, the proud smile he paraded around in fading to a look of confusion. “Abnormally clingy tonight darling?” He chuckled, the sound of his laughter spinning your fear into nothing but pleasant emotions.

You couldn’t help the smile that twitched across your lips, your eyes casted down as you tried to fight and ignore it. “I’m sorry Yagi, I’m just a little cold is all.” You couldn’t help the sigh that passed your lips. Truthfully, you were sighing at your own inability to be honest with the man. While he told you nothing but the truth throughout the years, all you ever did was with hold the truth from him and tell an endless series of white lies.

You were pulled from the self scolding lecture you’d been having with yourself in your head when you felt Toshinori’s thick muscular arm slither out from between both of yours. Confused, you watched as the overly inflated man you called you’re significant other began to unzip the jacket that hung tightly around his body, he draping the fabric around your shoulders. Leaning in he pressed a small kiss to the tip of your nose, his hallowesd eyes shining as they met with yours. “Well, were a few blocks from home, so hopefully this will help until we get there.”

You couldn’t help the guilt that riddled its way across your features as your hands tugged the jacket closer around your body. “A-actually it’s not just the chilly air bothering me Toshinori....I...can’t shake the feeling we’re being followed.” You whisper softly, moving closer to his side once more.

The edges of his lips twinged as he struggled to maintain his famous smile. He didn’t want to mention anything and freak you out, but he did as well sense the same dark presence that you did. Often nights he chose to walk the streets with you in his true form, but he was thankful when something inside his body told him to walk you home as All Might tonight. His massive palm moved to wrap around your hand, “everything will be fine, because I am her-“

Before he could finish the sentence however, a pair of unfamiliar arms wrapped tightly around your neck and head. You felt your chest tighten, as the dirt stained hands of the villain clasped over your mouth, his lips right at your ear as his eyes made contact with your lover. “Because what? You are here? Ha don’t make me laugh.” Forcefully, the villain tugged your body back, his eyes menacingly rolling your body over, tightening his hold on your neck as he grinned watching the smile began to fade off the pro hero’s face. “I almost didn’t recognize you walking around with such a pretty pet glued to your arm. I’ve got to admit All Might, i didn’t take you as the romantic type of guy.” The monster of a man laughed, he shaking you in his arms, causing your breathing to hitch for a moment. “Why don’t you and I play a little bit and maybe if you win I’ll let your little play thing go”

Toshinori was furious with how low this man would stoop just to get in some cheap shots as a way to boost his ego. Lips curling in disgust the pro hero agreed to the villains terms. “Let her go, and I will fight you.”

Your eyes shot with fear and panic watching as the horror before you unfolded. No, no! He couldn’t fight this villain, with your blood quirk you could feel the power the man restraining you held. Admittedly he was stronger than yagi was these days. Fighting with this man would certainly end his career if not his life! You frantically squirmed in the mans arms trying to warm the love of your life to disengage, but to your dismay all you got in return was a brave smile.

The man restraining your movements gave a low laugh, he uncovering your mouth to grab st your face, he squeezing your cheeks in on hand as he inspected you. “I think I’ll keep her for myself, nothing sounds better than kicking your ass and taking something away from you.” The villain purred moving to let his hands run over your body.

In defiance you let your leg extend out, meeting with your perpetrators shin, your snorting the snot from the back of your throat to lob into the others face. “Over my dead body!” You snapped back.

Growling the villain let his hands drop to your throat, constricting your air way furiously, his free hand moving to wipe your spit from his eyes. “I can arrange that!”

Struggling to breath you moved to pry his fingers off your throat, gasping as you failed. Your only relief was when Yagis fist collided with the mans face, causing him to drop your body to the pavement. You didn’t remember much else after that. The lack of oxygen to your brain was just enough to render you unconscious for the moment.

When you finally came to you, your brain felt hazy. You would have thought you were dreaming if it hadn’t been for the sight your eyes met with. You struggled to push yourself up on your elbows, eyes burning with tears when you saw your lovers body weakly struggling to hold himself upright. Clouds of smoke and steam began to rise from his shoulders, you knowing that he’d reached his limits. Horrified, you watched as the villain lunged to place the final blow onto yagi’s chin. You tried to scream out to stop the action, but your voice was to horse to scream. Doing the only thing you could do, for the first time in years you activated your quirk.

The pro hero had flinched in preparation to take the mans final blow, his heart pounding in his chest when the assailants body suddenly stopped in front of him. What was this about? The villain stood gasping as his body twisted in pain, he falling to his knees. With shaking hands, you clenched your first, causing the man under your hold to scream out in agony. “S-stop.....” you pushed out, earning the look of the bruised and bloodied hero.

You couldn’t tell if the look he was giving you was one of horror or one of disappointment, but regardless you couldn’t stand to make eye contact with him. Once the authorities arrived and the disaster was handled, you and toshinori continued your walk home in an awkward silence. You knew a lecture would be coming from the other, but you didn’t know when. Unable to hold his form any longer, the two of you made a detour into a nearby alley way. His muscles vanished and his body shriveled, a series of coughs ripples through his body. Those normally bright blue eyes that gazed at you with nothing but admiration suddenly staring back coldly. “I think you have some explaining to do Y/N....”

With a quivering lip, you looked down at the ground, moving to wrap an arm around your significant others torso, supporting his weight effortlessly. “I know....let’s get you home and cleaned up first. Then I promise I’ll tell you the truth. The whole truth....”

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #my hero academia #toshinori x reader #toshinori yagi #hizashi x reader #yamada hizashi #bnha requests #eraserhead #bnha aizawa #all might x reader

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legobiwan · 5 years ago

Text

Whumptober #14 (tear-stained)

TW: none

Fandom: Good Omens (Crowley, Gabriel)

Notes: so this is probably what I would call a second draft of an introduction to a much-longer story I would like to write at some point. So, some of this would make more sense in the larger scheme of things. I am super interested in exploring Crowley’s demon side, and world-building Hell in general. And yes, I am behind I know it’s been busy busy in lego land. Will try to get #15 up tonight as it’s one of my favorites so far.

----

The bastards actually went through with it.

Not that it was any surprise to Crowley. He knew they would come. Hell, he had waited for them, glued to the throne in his flat, eye trained on the dark stain on his floor that was once Ligur. Three days he had sat there, unmoving before they finally showed up on his doorstep, all righteous indignation as the front door blew off its hinges and Crowley was hauled away by strong hands and stronger chains.

His landlady was not going to be pleased.

But that was all a million miles away in an overpriced flat in London’s Mayfair, the echo of a memory, of a life no longer real. Crowley craned his neck upwards, as much as his bindings would allow. Feet, several pairs of them, milled restlessly on the perimeter of the illuminated circle, a drought-plagued forest of tan, beige and brown leather.

All kinds of feet, long and narrow, wide and thick, Oxfords and Derbys and Monks who knew what else. (He knew exactly what else, exactly how many patent brown leather oxfords patrolled the room, how many black Derbys gave orders, and how the dark grey monks chuckled each time they came to stand at the edge of the circle. He knew, as he had been here for hours, maybe days on his knees, waiting.)

No Brogues. At least, not those Brogues, tan and beige and scuffed, worn a bit more on the inner heels, the consequence of uneven gait and fist curled round Crowley’s chest grabbed at his heart and squeezed.

The demon threw his head back, unhinged his jaw, and laughed.

All at once, the room stilled.

“He’s gone insane,” dark grey Monks said, drawing closer the to the circle.

“Take note, siblings,” one of the Oxfords added, “this is the enemy in its true form.”

“Why are we even participating in this charade, the outcome is inevitable!”

The uneasy buzz of the room crescendoed, feet shuffling, rearranging themselves, a pair of Derbys clapping across the floor in a quick staccato, a huddle of Oxfords - grey, and white, and tan - edging closer together, toes nearly touching. Just as the din threatened to break open, a pair of patent leather wingtips stepped forward.

The man cleared his throat, a veritable thunderclap, heralding the storm that was to come.

The room grew silent.

“Management,” Throat-Clearer pronounced every syllable, the last “t” bit off with crisp violence. “Management made some changes. But I assure you sister, you will not be disappointed. You - we - will receive what is due to us.”

Crowley hummed soflty. Fucking management always butting in at the last minute - add this, do that, can you tack on another seventeen pages to that PowerPoint?

They didn’t even have PowerPoint in Hell.

“Well, get on with it, then,” the unhappy Oxfords challenged. “We’ve been denied once this week. No one in this room would welcome a second time.”

The patent leather wingtips - all too familiar to Crowley, pivoted to the right, toes pointing, a compass directed at the circle holding the demon.

Here we gooooo, Crowley sang to himself, shifting under the heavy weight on the manacles encircling his wrists and wings. The chains clattered with the movement, pulling at his ankles, where the opposite sides were attached.

Every toe, every show pointed towards him.

Well, then. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Crowley snapped his fingers behind his back. He closed his eyes and let go, cutting the last of the strings tethering his human form to his metaphysical one, bones cracking, joints extending long with a sickening pop as his epidermal layer floated away like a wandering balloon on a breezy autumn afternoon.

Let them see.

If angels were being of pure light, demons were the absence of that light, a heatless fire feeding on the engine of universal entropy, leaving being the ashes of chaos and disorder. Crowley’s own flames rose higher and higher, searing white-blue or a helium star and dark rust of the almost-dead surrounded by the deep black on the universe. Black ichor fell from his own broken sun, his once-halo, trailing down an elongated, reptilian face, pooling in the crevices of eye sockets that were oblong, elliptical orbits before tracing a wobbling path to the blood-stained orifice that was his mouth.

Let them see.

Crowley jolted, heaving forward with a violent spasm, chains pulling taut, digging into his very human wrists as his occult form was jammed back into his corporeality, a sensation suitcases might experience at the end of a long vacation, when nothing fits quite the way it did before.

Sweat trickled down the back his neck and Crowley panted, running his tongue over teeth still too-sharp and long the be fully human.

Bloody sadistic bastards.

“Now, now,” Gabriel tutted. Crowley squinted at the patent leather wingtips bathed in celestial light. “We can’t be having any of that.”

Crowley coughed, the aftertaste of his own damned blood, his dark demonic ichor, viscous and rancid and rancid on his tongue. A wide grin split the demon’s face, amber irises brightening with a rapacity that yearned to hoard every feeling of ill will, disdain, of utter revulsion filling the room, like a dragon - bloated on its own riches, scales nearly bursting. He lorded over - Sataned over - Fuck it, it’s mine, he breathed in fire. His treasure. His kingdom come.

No more than what Crowley deserved, what he craved.

“Although,” Gabriel continued, paying no heed to Crowley’s sharp stare, heels tapping closer to the edge of the enchanted circle. “We expected no less from your kind.” Crowley didn’t need his sight to recognize the twisted sneer in the word kind. His kind. The Fallen. The Damned.

The Enemy chained, at the mercy of the agents of Heaven.

There was no mistaking why he was here. That event is seared into his memory, and he can only hope the angels will finish he cannot (a promise made, and damn everything he cannot break his word). Perhaps he would be saddened by the turn of events, but Crowley can only taste his own bloody anticipation, giddy at the prospect of finally receiving what he has deserved all along.

Gabriel draws himself tall, producing an arcane-looking beige scroll, the kind one might find in a dusty wing of the British Museum. Crowley doesn’t bother to look, he’s seen this show already, has been brought to trial at the apex of the celestial moon ten times in succession. He knows the script, has pleaded his case, but it is this charge, this crime, which he hopes will be the one to seal his fate.

“Demon Crowley,” Gabriel announces, “you are brought here under Parlay with Hell, to stand trial for your crimes against Heaven, Hell, and the Grand Objective. You have been proven guilty of nine out of ten of your offenses in the presence of the Celestial Tribunal and the Representatives of the Almighty. Today, you are bound to Heaven’s will and Judgement for the last time, your punishment to be dispensed upon the outcome of this trial.”

“Demon Crowley, you are charged with the murder and extinction of the ex-Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and Angel of Heaven, Aziraphale.” Gabriel brought the scroll down, violet eyes boring into Crowley’s own.

“How do you plead?”

Finally.

Crowley hung his head, long hair hiding his sharp smile, broken spasms masquerading as laughter only audible to himself, as if he was sharing a sick, private joke with the cosmos, or with Her.

“Why,” Crowley croaked, his voice too small, too thin for the expansive chambers of Heaven’s offices, as if pressed down from all sides by invisible weights. “I’m a demon. How the fuck do you think I’ll plead?”

Crowley looked up, biting his lip as he met Gabriel’s penetrating stare.

“Guilty,” he stated simply, cheeks damp with the shadows of his metaphysical tears. “I murdered Aziraphale.”

legobiwan does whumptober

#whumptober #whumptober 14 #crowley #gabriel #good omens #good omens spam #writing #the eternal struggle #i feel like i have some kind of block right now with writing anything with coherency #but this is why whumptober is good for me #just gotta plow on #plow plow plow #i know nothing about farming #siiiiggghhhhhh

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apparitionism · 6 years ago

Text

Helicobacter 15

I have very little idea who even sees what I post anymore, given Tumblr and its unparseable algorithms. Once again, in the interest of possibly appearing in search results, I’m going to eschew links to the other fourteen (!) parts of this story here in this post... but they exist and can be found! This piece mostly boils down to callbacks, so the previous parts are indeed important, in an inside-joke sense. Anyhow, with housekeeping out of the way, where were we? Previously on Helicobacter, Myka was happy, Helena was too, and I myself couldn’t be bothered to stitch some dialogue exchanges into a full scene. Did a little better this time, but it’s still sort of Frankenstein’s-monster-ish.

Helicobacter 15

Helena knew that what she beheld wasn’t real. She knew it, because this was a plan, because everything thus far seemed to be going to plan. But when she entered the hospital room and saw Myka in that bed—that hospital bed, which was so very much not the bed they had so recently shared—all of what she knew left her mind: the “you’re up!” text she’d just received in the parking garage where she and Steve and Liam had been waiting for their cue, the fact that Steve and Liam were indeed right behind her, the crush of people in the room itself. The full complement... Abigail, extravagantly “blood”-soaked; Rick and Varsha, exuding white-coated competence; Jeannie, wearing a stricken expression that proved she either was an extremely good actor or did not enjoy having to see her daughter this way any more than Helena did; and, finally, Jane Lattimer, with whom Helena had interacted in only the most functional of ways but who had maintained a commanding, severe aspect at all times. She now looked a bit like Helena herself most likely had, in that original, first hospital immediacy, her face a mix of “something is happening to which I do not have full access” and “how can I persuade my actual day to resume.”

These things left Helena’s mind, and what remained was Myka, in a hospital bed.

“It was you all along,” Myka said, and her voice was sweet, not weak. “It really was you.”

Helena had been working on a dramatic statement in the “yes, it was I!” genre in response to whatever she encountered, here in this little hospital-room playhouse. But “I’m sorry” she said instead. An inadequate apology for everything from the original sin of the textbook through to Myka’s having to lie here in a hospital bed again.

Myka said, “I’m not.” She smiled. “But we really need to stop meeting like this.”

Enough of Helena’s wits returned for her to observe, “Abigail seems to have got the worst of it this time.”

“Impressive, right?” Abigail said. “When she gets sick, she gets sick. Overachiever.”

Now Helena did try to “act”: “You told her,” she said to Rick, who nodded. “So you know everything?” Helena asked Myka.

“I hope so,” said Myka. “I want to.”

“I want you not to be sick again,” Helena said, and that was no act.

“I can see that. Come here. If I am going to be sick again, it’s where you belong.” Myka looked up at Rick. “Now I’m the one who’s sorry. I did think it was you. Before. That it was supposed to be.” Rick said a soft “me too,” and Helena saw that Myka’s words, and his, were indeed about before: before Helena. Months ago, she would have found such an acknowledgement exclusionary and enraging. Now it raised further gratitude in her. She found she could not quite remember how it felt to hate Rick.

She did remember, however, how it felt to go to Myka’s bedside and take her hand. “I didn’t think I’d be allowed to do this,” she said.

“Technically,” Myka said, now with a glance at Jane Lattimer, “you’re not. But isn’t there an initiative about to be rolled out? That might make it okay?”

Everyone else was now conspicuously silent. Helena was not at all sorry to have missed whatever histrionics had preceded her entrance, but poor Liam was likely to regret finding so little to work with, improvisationally.

“Initiative?” Jane asked, with an edge, and Helena began to worry.

“Sunshine?” Myka asked back.

Jane frowned, and Helena, her worry intensifying, said, “I don’t want to cause trouble. But at the same time, I’d be happier if I didn’t have to skulk in someone else’s emails. Even if he was kind about it. Thank you, Rick.” She meant it.

“You’re welcome,” Rick said, and he seemed to mean it as well. “Happier’s a good goal. For you and for Myka. I think we all agree on that.”

“We certainly do,” Jeannie said.

Her words made Helena remember that, given the situation, she wouldn’t know who this was. “Have we met?” she asked.

In lieu of a real answer, Jeannie ruminated, “Myka told me about you, the first time this happened. Of course she told me after the fact. About all of it. ‘Hi, Mom, hope bridge club was fun, and by the way, cancer.’ And even then she seemed more concerned about having decorated you with so much of her AB-positive... that was a little confusing, in terms of priorities, but the most confusing part is why nobody insisted on calling her next of kin!”

“Mom,” Myka said. “First, I wasn’t dying. And second, storyline, okay?”

“Fine,” Jeannie said. “Am I allowed to sigh and say words about destiny?”

“Like I could stop you,” Myka said.

Helena tried to walk a middle way with, “I wish the circumstances were better, but I’m pleased to meet you.”

“We’ll see if it’s likewise,” said Jeannie, with a bit of her familiar twinkle.

“I’ll try to make it so. If Myka will let me, now that she knows that my feelings belong to me, not Rick. And now that she knows that her feelings are for me, not Rick. That is, if she still has those feelings, given the revelation that they may be for me, not Rick.” Well, that had been a terrible improvisation. Helena wished some language-use fail-safe mechanism could have cut her off after the first “me, not Rick.”

“I have them,” Myka said, with admirable simplicity. To Jane, she said, “So could we?”

“Could you what?” Jane asked. She still wore a frown, but was that was from “when will my day resume” annoyance, or because Myka was on an extremely wrong track?

“Hold hands, now that we know who feels what for whom. Could we just do this, and not worry about our jobs? Given the sunshine, I really think we—”

“But Myka,” Jane said, her expression changing from severe to gently serious, “that isn’t how it’s intended to work. It’s intended, once we announce, to flush people out: ultimately, to be an even greater deterrent. To show that we can find problems and dispatch them. One of you would still have to go—the only thing the initiative does is provide for some negotiating and grace period. A softer landing, with associated publicity. For example, Helena’s firm could finish the library, but she’d be barred from city work after that. Or you could wrap up your projects, and then you’d exit with some sort of severance package.”

Myka’s small smile had vanished, and her hold on Helena’s hand had become progressively tighter through Jane’s explanation. “What? No... no, no, no! Blameless adorable girls!”

“What?” Jane said.

Myka turned to Helena and said, in a voice as tense as her grip, “I didn’t know.”

Helena said a quiet, “That’s your just deserts for reading things you shouldn’t. Draft memos... marked-up city planning textbooks...”

“I thought it was going to be perfect,” Myka said. Her eyes dampened, and she blinked fast.

“It is perfect, as far as the initiative goes,” Jane told her, “but it doesn’t get you the outcome you seem to want.”

Myka hates how red... they really could not move to Maine and refuse to fish for lobsters, so Helena was going to have to come up with something else, and she was going to have to do it quickly. “But not the outcome you want, either,” she said to Jane, buying time.

“How do you mean?” Jane asked.

“Do you want me to be barred from city work?”

“Of course not. I wish I could say there were plenty of firms in the sea that can bring work in on time and on budget, but.”

Helena continued, slowly, “And you can’t possibly want to send Myka off into the sunset with a severance package, because she’s exceptional at her job.” An even more salient through struck her: “And because you most likely won’t be allowed to replace her, will you? Given budgetary concerns.”

“That’s most likely correct,” Jane said.

And now Helena had to throw that last reasonable save-us-all possibility out the window as well. Not on impulse, but as an imperative: because it was no longer a reasonable possibility. She said, “I would swear to fall out of love with her, but I don’t believe I can do that. And you would have your suspicions, wouldn’t you? Regardless of what either of us swore.”

“‘Suspicions’ is far too mild a word for what I would have, if you tried to sell me that story,” Jane said. “That story.”

It was a clear request: sell me the right story. What was the right story? The current circumstance was once a different circumstance, Helena reminded herself, and then she began to remind Jane of it: “Let’s consider a hypothetical situation. What would have happened if she and I had been together before I bid on the neighborhood?”

Jane said, promptly, “You would never have been allowed within ten miles of that bid.”

“But remember, the process began before the current mayor took office. And Myka wasn’t involved, not initially. Under the previous administration, that was the functional equivalent of being ten miles apart, wouldn’t you say? Under the previous administration, our integrity would have been the stuff of legend. Perhaps even epic poetry, composed in Greek.” She glanced at Myka, who was not at all ready to smile. I will never, ever let this face be red again. Maine, lobsters, red. Everything connected. Fix it.

Jane said, “I have my doubts about the poetry, but in a general sense, yes.”

“And neither Myka nor I could have known that after my unfortunate incident with her now-former coworker, you would assign her to the project. Could we? She certainly didn’t volunteer for it.”

“No...” Now Jane Lattimer had a tilt to her head and a glint to her eye that suggested she was beginning to see Helena’s point: blameless adorable girls...

Myka was still blinking, and she was breathing hard through her nose: she wasn’t there yet.

“The timeline,” Helena said. “The timeline. You assign Myka to the project, having no idea that she and I are together in some way; we don’t say anything about it, because why would we have done, under the previous regime? A short time later, the new mayor takes office; new rules go into effect. Myka and I are now stuck: what can we do? If we reveal ourselves, either she loses her job, or my firm is dropped from consideration. We don’t want either of those outcomes, so for a brief while, we bide our time. Perhaps we’re trying to figure out a plan.” She looked at Myka again, and now Myka blinked again, but slow, an I trust you blink, an I still don’t quite see but I trust you movement of lids and lashes.

Helena, encouraged, continued, “We fail to figure out a plan before Myka falls ill, and we have our day in hospital. She conveys to you the basic facts of what happened—that she did fall ill, that I was there with her—because she could hardly conceal those facts. And you, following the guidelines, remove her from the project and install Abigail instead. We breathe something of a sigh of relief, but we also find ourselves consigned to secrecy. We’re trapped. We remain trapped, all this time... but, notably, I don’t attempt to influence any of Myka’s work, and she exerts no influence to benefit me. That is objectively the case.”

“The mayor wouldn’t bother to follow that story,” Jane said. “She’s busy; it’s lengthy. And I’m not persuaded it’s true.”

“It could have been true. Just as this story of emails and a relapse could have been true,” Helena told her—but having done so, she realized that she had fully confessed to the fictional nature of the current situation. Monumental error?

Apparently not; Jane’s posture relaxed, and she said, “So Myka’s all right?”

Myka squeezed Helena’s hand. “I’m all right,” she said, and Helena was so relieved to hear her sound like herself again that she sat down next to her on the bed, heedless, now, of all appearances, even of making it clear that she had indeed been with Myka, lately, in a better bed than this one. She noted that she was on the correct side of this bed. They had been in better beds, but at least she was in this one correctly.

“All right then,” Jane said. “Several things could have been true. What actually is true?”

The words “First there was a fountain” made their way out of Myka’s mouth before Helena managed to interrupt, “I don’t believe anyone’s life will be improved if we try to explain. Speaking of stories no one would bother to follow.” Myka’s theory regarding public shaming was all very well, but now they needed to offer something that made sense.

“All right then, “ Jane said. “We’ll save the truth for a less instrumental time. But what would you like me to sell to the mayor?”

Helena said, “Sell her this: a city employee and a contractor have a personal relationship that predates the current administration, but that relationship has never been allowed to influence their work. I think that says a great deal about how this mayor has managed to bring integrity back to governance, don’t you?” Jane began to nod, if still with bit of skepticism, so Helena went on, “If the mayor is indeed concerned about having nothing to disclose, then here is something that may be disclosed. If everything looks too perfect, here is a story in which everyone’s behavior, while not perfect, is undamaging to the work at hand. In fact the work at hand is being done rather well, and our conduct has been, all things considered, very nearly exemplary.”

No one else in the room had said anything for quite some time—poor Liam, Helena thought again. Everyone’s eyes were on Jane, who said, “It’s a shame you weren’t secretly married. I’d have a better case for having this new initiative somehow grandfather you in, given your ‘exemplary’ conduct.” Helena heard the quote marks.

“Hm,” Rick said. “How about if they were engaged?”

Jane tilted her head one way, then the other. “It couldn’t hurt.”

Rick turned to Myka and Helena and shrugged as if to say “well then.”

“There are several people who work at this hospital who would attest to that as fact,” Helena said.

Myka smiled up at Helena. “Plus it would help explain why you dropped everything to be here today—I mean, here, today, when I’m having this relapse—regardless of appearances.”

Jane said, “And I suppose it would explain why, here today, you were both unable to hide the ‘real’ situation from me. Given what a terrible actor Helena is.” She said this last with a “go ahead, challenge me” air.

“Terrible,” Helena agreed, not rising to the bait, if indeed it was bait. “Jane, I believe you’re the hero in this scenario, are you not? You offer the mayor an easy way to show a tinge of relatively harmless imperfection, and you keep all your personnel in place. No other department head could possibly have the opportunity—and ability!—to thread such a needle.”

“Don’t push,” Jane warned.

“I can’t help but push,” Helena said, because it was true. “Look at her.” She herself looked at Myka... and was struck by the fact of her. No more impulses; only imperatives.

“It’s fortunate you’ve given up asking me to believe that this romance is purely epistolary,” Jane said. “We do still have one problem, however, speaking of looking: going forward, there’s that pesky appearance of a conflict of interest. I’m not sure how I can talk the mayor down from that.”

Varsha said, “I have an idea. You see, I’m using this wallpaper”—she gestured at Rick—“to help my career.”

“Who are you again?” Jane asked.

“I am Doctor Varsha Parekh, but that is unfortunately neither here nor there in the present circumstance. The point is that the wallpaper is fine with it. He would most likely not be fine with it, however, if I hadn’t told him. If for example I told someone else and that news made its way back to him.”

“Full disclosure!” Liam said, with a florid melodrama that the current circumstance certainly didn’t warrant... then again, Helena did see that it was likely to be one of his only lines, so of course he would want to make the most of it.

His making the most of it startled Jane. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I thought,” Liam began, just as extravagantly—then Steve elbowed him and he calmed down—“well, I thought I might get to play a doctor too, but instead I’m ‘Assistant’s Boyfriend.’ Which is fine.” He elbowed Steve.

Jeannie sighed. “I’m still just ‘Mom.’”

Myka burst out with, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

“I know you did,” Jeannie told her, “and it’s fine, just as Liam said, but—”

“No, Mom,” Myka said, “I’m talking about disclosure. If I warn them, no one can say I didn’t warn them.”

Abigail mused, “It is a conflict of interest. Say it loud and proud, over and over, and eventually nobody’ll think twice about it; they’ll bake it into every single good word you might say about her. And every single bad word you might say about anybody else.”

“You will have to say it over and over,” Jane told Myka, “or everyone will think you’re joking.”

“I will be so happy to say it over and over,” Myka said. Her hand, still gripping Helena’s, was warm.

Jane said, “You’ve always been above reproach... are you ready to take that reputational hit?”

At that, Myka did lose a bit of her shine. Helena looked at Abigail, who shrugged and said, “She’s the one who keeps saying she’s tougher than she looks.”

“Think of it as a metaphorical pie in the face,” Helena suggested to Myka.

“I guess you did pre-apologize,” Myka said. “First thing when you walked in here.”

“And I felt I really did have to throw it. Well, to set you up for it to be thrown, I suppose. Unfortunately I don’t think anyone will bother hiding it in a bouquet.”

“Helena, I had no idea you were this strange,” Jane remarked.

“I’m not the one who—never mind. Yes, I am this strange. Now. I occasion the throwing of metaphorical pies. I personify the lessons of a koan that inexplicably involves a lobster. And everywhere I go, I find myself there under false false pretenses.”

“Not everywhere,” Myka said. “But speaking of false false pretenses, and why she goes places, I should make clear that regardless of when anything did or didn’t happen, I did all the pursuing, I swear. If she’s been trying to get me to wield influence on her behalf, she’s doing a terrible job. Gave me no incentive at all.” Myka accompanied this with an irresistible nestle against Helena’s side... a reminder that Myka herself had provided near-constant incentive for Helena to give up and give in. As she was now once again doing.

“Maybe she’s spectacular at reverse psychology,” Abigail said.

“Whose side are you on?” Myka demanded.

With a glance at Jane, Abigail said, “Good governance. I’m on the side of good governance.” She glanced down at the “gore” that decorated her. “I’m also on the side of clean clothes.”

Steve said, “She is not spectacular at reverse psychology. She’s not even very good at straightforward psychology.”

Helena sat there and took it, because really, what were her options? Her martyrdom was mitigated by the fact that she was still sitting next to Myka, holding her hand. With a modicum of hope.

Jane said, “Honestly, psychology aside, I wish you’d just come to me in the first place. My heart isn’t made of stone.” She shook her head in an exasperated chide.

In response to which, Helena had no choice but to muse, “How ironic it would be if someone had, prior to all this, suggested doing precisely that.”

Myka un-nestled herself and poked Helena in the side. “How even more ironic it would be if, after all this, someone else were to decide she’d changed her mind about wanting to be with someone.”

“I am having a sign made that says ‘point taken.’”

“Good investment.” Myka then re-nestled herself, as if it were a relief to have that settled.

And with that, Helena capitulated. Entirely: no part of her soul was divided. She would sell the firm to Steve if she had to; she would move to Maine; she would confront lobsters or any other monster from her childhood, from her subconscious, or from reality. She would maintain.

Jane said, “I need to make one more very important point, one that each and every one of you needs to take to heart: You’re all terrible actors—“

“Now, wait,” Jeannie said, and Liam added, “You should have seen me as Biff Loman three seasons ago at the Civic Theater.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “But since you’re willing to put on this ridiculous show to ‘help’ them, can I count on you to maintain the equally ridiculous position that they’ve been involved for as long as they have to have been, for this story to be plausible? A year? More?”

Helena, suddenly giddy at the idea of victory within their grasp, said, “We have known each other for more than a year and have been madly in love for twice that long. Wait, was that backwards?”

“Liar,” Myka accused. “Three times that long.”

Rick offered, “I am pretty sure Myka cheated on me with her.”

Myka raised a threatening hand to him. “Hey. Actually too soon on that.”

“Sorry,” he said.

Helena remembered how it felt to resent him. She glared.

“Very sorry,” he amended.

“Some secret engagement that you were trying to tell me some fake story about,” Steve said, contemplatively.

Helena recognized the phrasing. “You did say that. At the time.”

“I was all set to believe it then... so now I do.” His breathing was steady. Helena reflected that if she did have to sell the firm to him, everyone there would most likely breathe far more steadily, far more of the time.

“Wonderful,” said Jane. “And when I say ‘wonderful,’ I mean that if I hear one whisper of trouble about this, everyone in this room over whom I have any authority whatsoever is fired, removed, or otherwise penalized. Do I make myself clear?” She received decisive nods from everyone, even those over whom she technically had no power at all. “All right. Here is the ‘real’ story: you’ve been engaged since before the current administration came into office. I had no knowledge of this engagement. As far as I knew, you met on the day of Myka’s hospital stay—during which, I’m gathering, Helena represented herself as Myka’s fiancée.”

“I did,” Helena said.

“That representation of the situation was, if anyone asks from this point forward, true,” Jane told her.

Helena said, “It felt true.”

“It did,” Myka agreed.

“True enough,” Rick harrumphed.

Helena remembered yet more resentment.

Jane went on, “And I removed Myka from the project with absolutely no knowledge of this previously existing relationship. And the two of you spent a great deal of time fearing for your lives and livelihoods.”

“Also true,” Helena affirmed.

“Very,” Myka intensified.

“Because you didn’t know how magnanimous I would be in attempting to work out this grandfathering situation,” Jane concluded.

“I bet I suspected,” Myka said, with a bit of a wily smile, and she knew Jane better than Helena did, so she would know if that was all right, but Helena still had to resist a strong urge to shush her and tell her not to tempt fate.

Fortunately, Jane seemed not to take it amiss. “I haven’t survived as many administrations as I have by being unwilling or unable to do what’s necessary to get to my preferred outcome. You’re not wrong about the politics of the situation, Helena. I think this will let the mayor send a particular signal... I think it could, strangely, work. And work well.”

“So many of Myka’s ideas seem to,” Helena said. “Work strangely, I mean. And well. Although rarely as she intends.”

Jeannie said, “You probably wouldn’t be surprised to hear that that’s been true since she was five and decided that she wanted a pet. Her father wouldn’t get her a dog, so she used Pop-Tarts to train a raccoon to sit at the backyard picnic table with her.”

“And against its better judgment, it agreed to continue to pose as her fiancée,” Helena said, and she felt Myka’s body move. Laughter, accompanied by a mumble of “should’ve tried Pop-Tarts with you.”

Abigail asked, with enthusiasm, “Did it bite her and give her rabies? Ooh, Rick, is that why you decided to become a doctor? Seeing your little best friend foaming at the mouth?”

“Seeing Myka foaming at the mouth would’ve made me want to become an exorcist, not a doctor. Also, I thought Myka did have a dog.”

“Can you not tell dogs and raccoons apart?” Varsha asked, giving him a look. “That is so sad.”

“You are a fine one,” Helena told her.

“I know which one you are. If my grandma were standing here with a bowl of her famous lapsi, she would without doubt refuse to serve it to you. She’d train a raccoon with it instead.” She really was very matter-of-fact about it. Helena believed her.

Jeannie continued her story: “That well-fed raccoon spread the news about the Pop-Tarts far and wide. Myka’s father took the trash out one day and met up with eleven of them, sitting in a line, waiting for Myka and snacks. Reasonably politely, but still. He screamed—he’s never liked raccoons—but they were unfazed.”

“And?” Helena asked. Myka was still laughing against her, harder now, saying “Eleven, eleven...”

“And the next day, he brought home a dog to deal with our raccoon problem.”

Now Myka picked up the tale. “She was a Corgi mix named George Eliot—although I was five, so I thought that was all one word, ‘Georgeliot’—and I adored her. So did the raccoons, and vice versa. My dad felt so betrayed.”

“I begin to see why he spends so much of his time sitting in a boat,” Helena said.

“Also he thinks raccoons can’t swim,” Myka told her.

“Can they?”

Myka, solemnly: “Like little furry crocodiles.”

Helena did think she had gone all in, mere moments ago. Now, however, a small, final bit of her heart or her soul or whatever might have intended to hold out some possibility of defiant resistance dusted its hands, picked up its lunch bucket, and walked off the job. She sighed. “I suppose they’ll feel right at home in the fountain, then.”

“They’ll keep it lobster-free for you,” Myka assured her.

“Considerate,” Helena said. She closed her eyes and, for one breath, paid no heed to those surrounding them; she let herself revel in the physicality of leaning against inadequate pillows, atop an industrial-grade bedsheet. With Myka. Not the day’s inevitable outcome by any means.

Then Jane said, “I am now exiting this inside-joke snowglobe and going back to City Hall, where I expect Myka and Abigail to join me shortly. And I’d appreciate it if Myka and Helena would both be so kind as to continue behaving in your exemplary nonpersonal fashion until I’ve had a chance to talk to the mayor.”

“Should I be there?” Myka asked. “I really think I could explain—”

Jane interrupted, beating Helena to it by a nanosecond, “You should not be there. You should be at least half a world away.”

At this, Myka gasped, dropped Helena’s hand, and sat up extremely straight. She said to the room, “Half a world away! If everybody here isn’t thinking exactly what I’m thinking, I’m going to be so disappointed.”

Helena said, “I, on the other hand, will be relieved. Because I fear for our collective sanity if we’ve all started thinking like you.”

“I’m with you, Helena,” Rick said, and Helena felt her umbrage subside again.

Varsha said, “I’m inclined to agree, but for reasons of family and history, I’ll vote ‘present’ instead.” She directed an appraising gaze at Myka and asked, “Unless you’re thinking about rabies? It’s caused by a lyssavirus, not very interestingly shaped, but extremely—”

“Not rabies,” said Myka. Varsha deflated, and Myka said, “I promise to think about rabies some other time.” Varsha didn’t smile, not exactly, but Helena for one was amused to find that there was a facial expression easily legible as “pleased to have at this moment begun mentally assembling a PowerPoint presentation on the topic of lyssaviruses.”

“Clean clothes?” Abigail tried, to which Myka shook her head. Abigail glanced at Jane again. “But I still care about good governance.”

Liam declared, “I’m a dime a dozen, and so are you!”

Both Steve and Myka said, “What?”

“It’s from Salesman. I was thinking about that season at the Civic.”

Steve said, “I was thinking about what kinds of design projects we could bid on that might involve greenhouses.”

Jane said, “Hm.” Then she said, “Well.” Then she pointed at him and said, “You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s a public/private partnership being set up to fund a senior-housing complex. I heard the word ‘greenhouse’ mentioned as something to consider, in terms of providing resident activities. Then again I also heard ‘horseshoe pit’ and ‘pickleball court,’ so they may go sporty instead.”

“When we bid,” Helena began, but at Jane’s ahem hurriedly corrected to, “rather, if we bid, Steve will wax lyrical on the virtues of gardening and persuade them otherwise. Won’t you?”

“The virtues of gardening, but the virtues of gardeners in particular,” he responded.

Liam put an arm around his shoulders. “Aw. You’re not a dime a dozen.”

“Neither are you,” Steve said, with an answering embrace. Helena found them charming.

Myka, charmed or not, was undeterred. “What is wrong with you people? Half a world away!”

“Well,” Jeannie said, “my first thought was probably too stereotypical a ‘Mom’ line, given that it was ‘honeymoon,’ so—”

“Ding ding ding!” Myka shouted. “We have a winner!”

“Your thought was ‘honeymoon’?” Helena asked, and Myka nodded in dramatic fashion. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but I don’t believe we can go on a honeymoon.”

“Why not?”

She had to be joking. The guileless eyes had to be an act. Helena didn’t know what the purpose of this act in particular was, but she played along and said, “Those generally follow weddings.”

Still guileless: “And?”

“And—Jane, don’t listen to this part—as far as I know, we are not in fact even engaged to be married.” Something had turned slightly strange in the room; Helena looked to Steve, but he gave her very little in response, not a smile or a shrug, just a gaze. Abigail did the same. Helena began to worry again. “These things do tend to proceed in a customary sequence,” she said, as a last aren’t-we-on-the-same-page stab.

“Okay, then, let’s get our raccoons in a row.” Myka turned her still-upright torso toward Helena and took her hand again. “First step: will you marry me?”

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Helicobacter #part 15 #AU week #I am curious to see if this part shows up in searches or tags #because there seems to be no rhyme or reason to what does or doesn't anymore #this vestige of bering-and-wells land should be allowed to persist #even if tumblr is trying to pretend we don't/shouldn't exist #I thought that particular tactic vis-à-vis bering and wells was the bailiwick of a TV show #that sent the father of science fiction to Heteroville Wisconsin #for no reason whatsoever

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dontgofarfromme · 6 years ago

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Afterimage

Vex’s eyes can’t pierce illusions, and her magical talents are small and shoddy in the face of those like Keyleth and Scanlan, but that doesn’t change the fact that sometimes, she sees things she shouldn’t. Things that nobody else does. But then, none of them has died as many times as she has.

Or, Vex'ahlia and her ghosts.

[ao3]

There must be something, Vex thinks, about dying. Something that untethers your soul just slightly more each time you do it, something that makes you harder to retrieve each time you drift beyond the gate. Vex’s eyes can’t pierce illusions, and her magical talents are small and shoddy in the face of those like Keyleth and Scanlan, but that doesn’t change the fact that sometimes, she sees things she shouldn’t. Things that nobody else does. But then, none of them has died as many times as she has.

She notices it first in the year after Vecna--the fact that Whitestone Castle is a house of ghosts. It’s not just because of the brutal murders of the most recent rightful owners--it's something that she thinks must occur to any venue this large and lived in and old. The former inhabitants visit their old home more frequently than Vex had ever assumed was possible. She doesn't see them all the time, of course, and they aren't the wailing, shrieking spirits of the undead--in fact, Vex is almost certain that they are fully, one-hundred percent deceased and not on this plane despite interacting with it in the slight ways they do.

Rather than haunting, the ghosts hover, as though the castle is some sort of tourist locale. They drift across the floors, peering at the décor and the furniture. Some of them appear to even interact with one another, as though discussing how in their day the gallery was furnished far better, and who hired the person that placed that chandelier in the foyer because honestly, it’s gaudy, you’d think the de Rolos would know better. The residents, though, they treat with care. More than once Vex sees the shimmer of a near-invisible hand clasp over Cassandra's to still its shaking as she attempts to draft yet another letter for yet another duty that should never have been hers. More than once she has seen the flash of a proud, amused smile as Percy talks circles around tentative allies and potential enemies with a poise Vex knows comes from participating in and observing years of terse, life-or death negotiations. She is proud of him, for taking this on, proud of both him and Cassandra. She sees their family watching and knows they feel the same.

Nevertheless, she sometimes avoids the castle. Her house, in contrast, is new and nearly entirely untouched by death; and sometimes the flashes she sees across the planes are too much. She doesn’t want to always live with the dead. She tells Percy what she sees, sometimes, but she doesn't share the details. It seems private, in a way. A secret, between her and the dead.

Keyleth is still the summer breeze, and Pike the sun, and Scanlan as fondly irritating and Grog as unrestrained and brash as ever. There is a weight to all of them now, though, that creeps to the forefront of the group. They see each other in short but increasingly frequent spurts, in the brief moments that Keyleth can transport via plants to Whitestone for a few hours between meetings, or that Scanlan can pop over using the Gatestone until someone of arcane means finds his singing through the entirety of their political meetings disruptive and sends him back. Their homes are miles apart, but with what they’ve been through Vex finds that they're closer than ever. Perhaps they have all finally grasped the insignificance of the time they have here--the fragility of their lives.

Vex doesn't see the ghosts that linger in Vox Machina’s thoughts often in real life—the people she knows seem to try to stay away or out of sight, for the most part. She goes back to their old keep numerous times, but the spirits of their fallen guards don’t seem to linger. Tiberius’s red scales have never slipped past the corner of her vision either. She wonders if its intentional, if they know to avoid her because it might dig into old wounds, or if it's something on her end, her unwillingness to dwell on their deaths for any longer than she must.

She does see Willhand Trickfoot once, when his death is still fresh and they are all with Pike in Wesruun, going through the things that were his. The vision is unexpected, but as they clear out his house for Pike to take over ownership, she catches the old man standing in front of his granddaughter, an insubstantial hand softly cupping her tear-stained face. Pike can’t see him, Vex knows, but her shoulders seem to relax just slightly and her face softens, some of the weariness and grief ebbing away. Willhand’s eyes flick directly to Vex with a startling awareness of her observation that she's never seen in a spirit before. He looks peaceful, but imploring, and Vex nods almost imperceptibly as a fierce conviction wells within her. Pike’s only real blood relative may be gone, but she is not without family—they will make sure she knows it.

The first and only time she sees Vax in full form, the wound from his absence is still aching and raw. She is in Syngorn, her first time back since fighting Vecna, her first time trying to go about this whole ambassador job with what feels like a gaping hole in the centre of her being. Seeing Syldor tears at the edges of it, not because he’s cruel—they came to an understanding, in that year before everything went to hell, and while he is not loving he is respectful, at least—but because she should not be here, in her father’s house, debriefing him on their defeat of a demi-god, alone. In all her times coming here as an ambassador, her brother has been in the back of her head—sharing her experiences with him was always the first order of business after a particularly taxing trip, sprinting from her house to drag him to the nearest tavern the second he stepped from the Sun Tree, leaving Keyleth and Percy in the dust. This time, every idiotic thing city officials and council members spew, every unintentional narrow-minded slip her father makes, every hilariously sarcastic or heart-meltingly sweet thing Velora says to her triggers an automatic I can’t wait to tell Vax—, until the painful void in her heart swallows the sentence and swells larger. Sometimes she wonders if it will consume her altogether.

She and Velora are walking the streets of Syngorn, Velora shouting with the exuberance of any pre-teen girl let out of school for a full day, the aftereffects of her death and resurrection invisible for the time being. Syngorn’s ghosts don’t bother Vex in the slightest—she knows none of them, and if she were to, holds only as much sympathy for them as they would for her, which is likely very little. She ignores them as they slip past her silently, ignores the stares she gets still from both the living and the dead full elves wandering the street. A title and station can only do so much for one’s reputation when it is a thing you are born with, and it seems death does very little to abate one’s prejudices, at least for those as long-lived and fixed in their ways as pure-blooded elves.

As they cross a bridge at the edge of town, Velora hops up to the edge and, before Vex can stop her, scrambles to stand on the very top of the railing and begins tightrope-walking across it. It’s a long way down to the river and the rocks below, and Vex is about to yell for her when she sees Velora lose her balance just slightly and begin to tilt towards the edge. A wave of cold panic washes over Vex as she kicks herself into motion, sprinting towards her sister, but she’s too slow and she feels herself in that moment once again, the world beginning to end, herself falling to the ground, frozen and helpless, watching Vax spiral uncontrollably from the sky on clipped wings.

There’s what feels like an unnatural gust of wind and through the fog of memory Vex sees a blur of black hurtle into—through—Velora, stopping her tilt towards the river below and toppling her backwards onto the bridge. She lands with a solid thud and sits stunned for a moment, then bursts out laughing. Vex finishes her mad dash and collapses next to her on the bridge, hugging Velora as though she might disappear if let go. Velora keeps laughing until Vex’s tears begin soaking into her shirt, at which point she pushes Vex up and her face contorts into an expression of worry.

“It’s ok, Vex. Nothing bad happened, see? I’m right here!”

Vex takes a deep breath and tries to collect herself, but ends up dissolving into deep, shuddering sobs. Velora’s arms wrap around her, small and wiry but strong. She doesn’t know how long they sit there for, on that bridge, mourning their loss and holding onto each other for dear life, but it feels good to let go of her composure for once, to pour her sorrow out into the world. At some point, Vex feels another set of arms join Velora’s, larger and stronger and shaking just slightly. She doesn’t look up, not until her tears have finally stopped, not until he’s let go and is fading once again into the distance. Velora doesn’t notice, of course, but Vex watches her brother—more substantial than any other spirit she’s ever seen, so vivid that she wonders exactly what he is, what it is that his Queen has him influencing on their plane—as he walks away from them again. His shoulders are strong, but she can see the slightest tremble to them, and there are three feathers braided into his long hair—one blue, one black, and one brown. She doesn’t call out to him, but she can tell he knows she’s watching.

Afterwards, she knows he’s there, sometimes. He’s different from the rest of the ghosts, but then, he is a part of her. When she feels her vision involuntarily drawn to nearby pitfalls and avoids them so her steps are as silent as the grave, when her thieves tools slide in and out of a lock type she’s never come across before with the precision of a master, when an unnatural breeze like a wing beat passes her face as she sails across the sky on her broom, she can feel him. Somehow, he never brings the same discomfort the other ghosts do. Her knowledge of his presence isn’t supernatural in the same way—it just is.

The temple of the Raven Queen is an odd place to go for solace, but in her case Vex thinks it’s understandable. She’s not entirely sure what the gods think of their followers paying homage to other gods. It’s probably a bad idea, but she’s not entirely sure she cares. Vex is a devoted servant and champion to Pelor, but the Raven Queen's touch has been on her from the time of her first death. Vax's sacrifice, Kashaw’s and Pike’s magic, brought her back, but no one escapes death unscathed, and if there’s someone who’s to blame for Vex’s walking in two worlds it is the Matron of Ravens herself.

Vex is one of few who ever goes to the temple in Whitestone, although the number of those who follow the goddess of death seems to be slowly increasing. It’s probably Vax’s fault, she thinks. Everything usually is. Empty or not, the shades here are more respectful than anywhere else, in that they at least keep out of her sight. Vex is sure they’re around, curiously observing the passage of time in the living world, wondering at the strangeness of Whitestone’s Lady lurking in an almost-abandoned crypt of a temple, but they don’t edge into her vision as much as they do elsewhere. The Queen’s sway here must dissuade them from poking their noses disrespectfully into other people’s business.

The altar is smooth and cold, and the blood Percy stole from the temple in Vasselheim sits still and clear in its place. Some days, Vex goes over to it and stares in, unsure what she’s hoping for a glimpse of. Others, she simply walks in and raps her knuckles irreverently on the altar’s stone surface.

“You’d better be looking after him,” Vex says into the emptiness, “If I get over there and he’s in any way damaged, you’ll have me to deal with. I’ve faced down an ascended god before. I’m willing to do it again”

Threatening a goddess in her temple is also probably a bad idea, but Vex thinks they have an understanding. The loud “CAW!” and swirling of feathers from outside the door to the crypt sound more to her like acquiescence than anger.

Some days, bad days, when she’s tired and hurting and her mind is tied up and held captive to the memories of Vecna and dragons and gods and the people she’s lost, even her house in Whitestone is too much. Her worst mornings always seem to push her vision farther away from this plane, and even faintest shades of the former inhabitants of this plot of land that drift past outside become more vivid and more immediate. On these days, Vex feels like she cannot escape death, not in her mind, not in her life, not for a minute. These are the mornings that she clings to Percy the hardest as she kisses him goodbye, and each time he holds her eyes with a look that pierces the haze of heavy, pressing fear and grief.

“I’ll be here when you return, dear.” He always says, holding her gently, tracing a hand through her hair, his artisan’s fingers brushing over the feathers behind her ear. She nods her head against his chest and pushes down the lump in her throat, feeling the tears well again. Gods, how she loves him.

“Just return,” He whispers into her hair, “that’s all I ask.”

Vex takes her broom and a pack and flies, to the heavens where her ghosts and those of others don’t tread, to the skies that are clear of spirits, clear of dragons and demi-gods and anything else that would threaten. Sometimes she’s gone for days, or weeks. Sometimes she finds herself all the way to Keyleth, sits with her far from the wisps of Zephrah’s dead, on the edge of a cliff, looking out across the skies and land and seas that remain intact only because of them and what they’ve lost. They lean against each other until any tears have dried across both their cheeks, until Vex’s heart has stilled, until she can see her way past the ghosts and the shades of death that pull her down and away from the world. Until she can see her way to life, to a future.

Sometimes, she feels the slightest, softest warmth of a familiar hand on her shoulder, and the barely-there brush of a feather across her cheek. She smiles.

She always returns.

#critical role #critfic #cr1 #cr #vex'ahlia #vox machina #vax'ildan #velora vessar #percival de rolo #perc'ahlia

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cosmosogler · 7 years ago

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oh my god, yesterday was the wooooorst.

i left for the airport on time. the bus app said that the bus would arrive at the stop in 10 minutes (and it was a 2 minute walk away). so i had 2 hours to make a ~30 minute ride.

i missed the bus by so much that i didn’t even see it drive away from the stop before i arrived. the app had just, completely lied i guess? the rest of the day was also like that.

so i walked to the downtown station to try to catch the other bus. i also just missed that one according to the lady at the counter. she said the next downtown bus was coming in 40 minutes. so i called a taxi after fretting about it for a few minutes. the taxi driver said they’d be there in 15-20 minutes so i was like “ok.” the other route would go by in a half hour so a taxi would be faster.

the taxi took over 40 minutes to arrive. i told them never mind and got on the second bus. they said they had just pulled into the station and seemed pretty salty about it. but like... that was more than twice as long as they said they’d take.

the bus didn’t leave the station for another ten minutes. i made the wroooong choice. the bus also stopped at every single stop along the route and got stuck at some long red lights. i called my mother. i complained about it to harrison. but nothin was gonna make that bus go faster.

i missed my flight by 10 minutes.

i got put on the next flight... which was in six hours. instead of 9 or 10 pm, i’d be getting home at 3 am (my time). so i spent 6 hours bumming around the airport. i couldn’t get food when i was hungry because the person behind the counter at the snack bar didn’t show up for a very long time. i started drawing a picture on my ipad that i’d planned on working on during the flight.

the flight took off late. i had had a 20 minute layover in charlotte, so every single minute was making me more and more antsy. then when we arrived in charlotte we got put at the wrong gate so the plane sat there for more than 5 minutes before trundling away to the new gate.

the gate was at the end of one terminal. the plane i had to catch was on the other end of the airport at the end of another terminal. i sprinted!!! i had ten minutes to get there!!!

i was really bummed because you’d think since i can bike 12 miles that i could run for more than one minute before completely losing my breath and stamina. though to be fair i had not eaten and was wearing a heavy backpack and a bra that’s a little too tight. i was wheezing after a few seconds.

i actually made it? and i got my boarding pass printed at the counter with 4 minutes to spare before boarding started. i ran back to the bathroom but the line was so long i’d never make it back to the gate (the area was under construction and the nearest bathroom was more than 2 minutes away from the gate).

it had been a few hours since i’d gotten to use the restroom, and with my gallbladder out i’ve had less... like, tolerance for waiting. that might be a “stress has destroyed my body” thing more than a gallbladder thing though.

anyway i had to fidget in my plane seat for 45 minutes while waiting for boarding to end and the takeoff and then we had to reach cruising altitude.

on the flight my ipad pencil wouldn’t connect to the ipad (airplane mode i guess?) so i couldn’t draw for the 5 hours i was sitting there. i got out smash instead since i got my 3ds fixed the other day... i got really REALLY good at hitting rest on a moving target as jigglypuff. i spent like 40 minutes doing nothing but that. the other hour was just working on general combos and taking on the computer as dedede. because i had nothing else to do and wanted to get good at it again. i made a gunner mii based off blue but the mii characters don’t really seem to have any natural combos? it’s just really hard to rack up damage with them. jumbi’s way easier to play as, at least. she’s got a sword.

my thumb started hurting from the new thumb stick (it wasn’t broken in yet i guess) so i put the game away and dozed for the rest of the flight. i made some notes for the story... just thinkin about how i wanted to work out some conversations. i mostly wanted to rest because i’d be getting home at 4 am in the morning my time, the airport is an hour away from my parents’ house. i didn’t get any sleep at all.

when i got to the airport my mom and dad were actually there? i thought they’d be picking me up at the curb. but they snuck up behind me while i was trying to get to baggage claim and mom almost pushed me down the escalator.

dad acted like everything’s normal. and i guess things are “normal” now. as in, this is the new normal, because dad has either completely ignored what he did or forgotten about it.

he probably forgot about it. grabbing and threatening me and using real personal insults wasn’t a big deal ~to him~. grabbing me while i was laying in bed trying to sleep wasn’t a big deal ~to him~.

i pretended to sleep on the car ride home but again couldn’t manage to doze off. i wrote a few more story notes in my memo after a while because i gave up.

when i got home i went basically right to bed without even putting on pajamas and then i couldn’t sleep. wiley came to cuddle with me for a little bit. once he was satisfied that he had stepped on me enough times he left. i still couldn’t sleep.

when i finally did doze off, i woke up like two hours before my alarm was set to go off. so i guess i got like five hours of sleep maybe?

today was a blur. i spent a large fraction of it scanning in my old comic pages. i couldn’t get my sketchbook to fit in the scanner though no matter what i tried (i tried a lot of arrangements). so i’ll either figure that out later or not bother. there was a big dark line down the left side of the images. i was also a little upset that my loose pages didn’t fit in the scanner, so there’s a bit of the side clipped off every page image now. i was so broken up about how much i was losing that i didn’t even change the deviantart images. i know i shouldn’t put stuff on the edges of the page, but i didn’t really register it when i started the comic. i had started to use the whole page, and i put dialogue at the top and off to the sides to give myself more room to draw. i had to erase and redraw a lot of speech bubbles.

then i think i dicked around online for a while, uploading the images and stuff, and then i went downstairs to try to draw on the ipad and maybe finish that picture i’d started. i don’t think it’s going to be a fast picture... i don’t have the energy for shading though.

my brother came home so i said “hi” and “nice anime hair.” his hair is more than twice as long as mine, at least in the front. in the back it’s not quite that much longer. we drove out to freddy’s for dinner and both got real sick from the greasy burgers. he got it worse though because i had a veggie burger. then we got ice cream because we’re geniuses.

then we got groceries but i couldn’t find any tempeh. so tacos are gonna have to wait.

mom came home at 8 pm. she’d been out of the house working or driving to/from work for 13 hours today. she’s going to work for 6 hours tomorrow too. she told me about our my financial situation. but then she gave me a bunch of excuses to not teach me how to do taxes yet again this year.

i gotta start paying off my student loans though. can’t let that interest build up.

villanova apparently blew all my parents’ retirement funds. i didn’t realize they didn’t actually provide us with any financial aid. we couldn’t get loans because of the retirement money... all i managed to do at villanova was almost die!

while i was hanging out with my brother he made a few “jew” jokes. i pretended to be extremely confused. he asked if i’d never heard of jew jokes before and i shrugged and said not really. at least it got him off track. he didn’t tell any more.

i need to read up on how to deal with family members who get... weird about race. my brother’s already made holocaust jokes though. he’s been doing that. i get the feeling he fell in with the wrong crowd. i don’t remember what to do about it.

genevieve seems bored to tears. from the way my family describes her behavior she seems... depressed. she won’t go for walks. she doesn’t leave her bed and doesn’t come when called. she still won’t touch the stairs and she doesn’t spend much time in the backyard.

i got her to come twice when i called today at least. i had to be really insistent and annoying but she did come over eventually and i highly praised her generosity. that seemed to cheer her up. she wagged her tail and everything. it’s so hot out... maybe tomorrow i can get her to go to the park for a few minutes. we’ll see.

whenever i try to interact with eve my family, like, tells me how it is with her. like she’s just Like That now and there’s nothing they can do about it. “she won’t go up the stairs. she just won’t.” “she won’t come when we call her. she just looks at us. that’s all she does.” when i called eve my brother actually interrupted me to tell me yet again that she doesn’t come when called.

i got her to come.

when i try to encourage eve to check out the stairs my mother has interrupted me three times to tell me eve won’t go up the stairs. like she doesn’t want me to even try. eve is so lonely. i can tell. she’s bored and lonely. that’s why she’s started chewing up cardboard and stuff left on the floor.

i’m gonna take my work downstairs tomorrow and work in the kitchen i think.

this evening i tried to start drawing for the comic again. i got one panel done, but IT’S SO HOT HERE. MY HANDS WERE SWEATING BEFORE I COULD EVEN PICK UP THE PENCIL. EVERYTHING GOT SO SMUDGED!!! it’s going to be a real struggle to finish two scenes this week. ten pages... i’ve got three finished already and in my drafts on the comic. so, i need to draw seven pages. i’ll work on it tomorrow if i can. these pages might suffer because of the heat though. i smudged one of the older pages before i could even get it in the scanner. i somehow got graphite on my LEFT hand, which never gets smudgy when i work... it’s always the side of my right hand since i rest it on the paper so it doesn’t shake.

my back really, really hurts. my shoulders and neck also really hurt. i tried stretching, but i didn’t really put a lot of effort into it... i always feel so, like, unable to do things here. unwilling to do things, maybe. lethargic. i didn’t get to meditate yesterday and i’m skipping it tonight because i don’t want to make noise with the guided thing. i’ve been lax about it anyway. i feel so on edge.

when i tried to have lunch at like 10:30 (? i lost track of time) this morning i was immediately very ill. so i ended up not having any food for about 27 hours, if we decide to cut out the leftovers adventure there. i didn’t try to eat again until i went out with my brother. to fast food... only good decisions, folks!!

still feeling super lethargic even though i finished a panel. i’ve got a lot of drawing to do. i hope tomorrow i feel better. on sunday i’m going to the movies with asher, i think.

you know what i’m probably feeling so low energy because i didn’t eat for so long and also i haven’t slept well in two days. or, really, in a very long time, but especially the last two nights. i still need to talk to mom about finances for, like, hiring a study specialist... i don’t think we’re going to have the money to afford the psychiatrist my therapist recommended. she REALLY wants me to get a second opinion on my meds but i just don’t think it’s a big enough deal to warrant shelling out for full price psychiatrist appointments. that doctor doesn’t take insurance and it’s just... i know how expensive this gets. it’s already expensive enough getting even regular check ups for snoopy.

i hate living here... it’s so dirty and dusty and dilapidated. in my apartment i keep everything pretty orderly and don’t hold on to things i’m not using. or at least, i try not to. i don’t have enough space to hoard random stuff and i don’t get that attached to those things anyway. my mom won’t even throw out old food that nobody ate for the 3 years before it went bad (2 years ago). they’ve been using my room as a storage space while they paint the game room, but that project’s going super slow because they’ve been at it for months now. so now there’s just tons of crap stacked in front of my dresser (so i can’t actually get to the clothes i left here) and you can’t even get to my sister’s door. she’s in korea anyway i guess so that doesn’t matter as much.

ok anyway i’ve been writing for a while now. thanks for listening. i’ve got a lot more sore muscles than just my back and neck and shoulders. maybe i pulled something while sprinting around the airport yesterday, because breathing is a chore and my legs are just... not feelin it. i’m just trying really hard not to get sick. my mom came in my room and coughed all over me without even covering her mouth so it’s like, well, guess i don’t have any control over that either!

high stakes, no control!!!!!!!!! just how i’m used to it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

it’s 11:40 arizona time but i know my body thinks it’s way later. i’m so tired. i don’t think i’ll be able to sleep though. guess i should try anyway.

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