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kim-seung-mo · 3 years

Note

hello hello <3 i LOVE your writing style, your reactions & headcanons are so fun and interesting to read :(( i was kind of also wondering if i’m able to request for #7 from your prompts list? thank you so much for your time & energy hhh have a lovely, lovely day <3

𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕆𝕦𝕥 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕐𝕠𝕦’𝕧𝕖 𝔹𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝔸𝕓𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕕

♩ gn!reader, angst, hurt and comfort, mentions of abuse, ptsd, blood, violence, alcoholism, past wounds, crying

♩♩ word count: 1.5k

♩♩♩ A/N: I am fortunate not to have been abused myself, I am definitely not qualified to discuss or write about it in detail. These headcanon are mainly the reaction of Stray Kids members. If you are experiencing abuse, please reach out for help. wip list here

Chan

While watching a movie with chan where the main character was beaten by his own father.

You casually mentioned that "this scene reminds me of when I was a kid", not thinking it would get such a big reaction from Chan.

Chan immediately pauses the movie and looks at you with the most serious expression you've ever seen.

You were about to complain about him stopping the movie, but when you turn around and see his serious eyes, you said nothing.

Seeing that you were frightened, he immediately put down his serious expression and put on a frown.

You never talked to Chan about your past.

He'd probably start blaming himself, thinking the reason why you never told him was that you didn't trust him enough.

You'd need to sit him down and listen to you.

Tell him it's definitely not his problem, it's just that there are some very personal things that bring up bad memories that you don't want to revisit.

If you don't want to talk to him, he won't push you and will respect your choice.

"You know you're safe with me, right?"

Minho

The first time you changed in front of him, he saw the scar on your waist.

"Y/N, what's this?"

You lowered your head and realized you never mentioned this story about you and your family to Minho.

"Oh...this was when I was a kid, uh ......my father caused it."

Usually, Minho is someone who always likes to tease you and make fun of you.

But at this moment, he gently wraps his arms around your waist and then kisses your scars.

You are surprised by his act of tenderness.

"Minho...I'm fine now...it's- "

"Shh...just let me."

Won't ask you too many detailed things, but will listen very carefully if you're willing to talk.

Won't ever let you find out, but he's cried about this privately.

Changbin

He came back from a little drinking outside to celebrate.

He thought it was nothing serious, but you who came to greet him started crying with fear after smelling the smell of alcohol on him.

Thinking that he had done something wrong, Changbin repeatedly checked himself to see if there was anything strange on him.

After realizing that it was the smell of alcohol, Changbin immediately took off his jacket and rushed into the bathroom to try and get rid of the smell, brushing his teeth three times.

After confirming that there was no smell of alcohol on his body, he started to approach you slowly.

After asking in the most gentle voice, he learned that it was because of your father.

Your father used to drink a lot when you were a child, and every time he came back drunk, something bad happened, which is why you are so sensitive to the smell of alcohol.

After knowing this, Changbin never came back smelling like alcohol again.

Even if he wanted to drink, he'd talk to you in advance and made sure to never repeat the same mistake.

After getting your permission, which you always gave him, he'd drink a little, but even then he'd feel guilty.

You told him, again and again, that last time you were just over-emotional, and that you were fine.

You'd have to repeat and re-ensure him many times before he slowly began to return to his previous state.

Hyunjin

You two were making out in the kitchen.

He put you on the countertop with his eyes closed and his hand unconsciously reached to the back of your head and clutched your hair.

You were so startled by this action that you pushed him away.

Not the playful kind, but the panic-stricken, instinctive reaction kind.

Seeing you look at him with that scared look, his heart broke into millions of pieces.

Will repeatedly and you apologize, crying, saying he really did not mean to.

Of course you know he didn't mean it, you never mentioned to him what happened to you when you were a child.

Cupping his face and telling him that you don't blame him and that the cause of your fear is not him.

In order for you to slowly accept him touching your hair, because he loves your hair so much, will offer to let him brush your hair.

He was extra careful with his hair-combing movements, afraid to hurt you.

Every day will gently kiss the top of your hair, telling you that he loves you and will never hurt you.

Jisung

You were just lying in bed when Jisung came out of the bathroom after washing up and pulled the belt out of his jeans and threw it on the floor.

The sound reminds you of something bad and scares you into sitting up.

"Baby? What's the matter?"

You look at Jisung apologetically, not knowing what to say.

Seeing this look on your face he hurriedly climbed onto the bed and sat down beside you, holding your hand.

"It's okay... It's just that the sound startled me."

He realized that you didn't tell the whole story and will be concerned, but won't continue to ask you.

You'll tell him when you feel comfortable about it.

He won't love you any less for not telling him though.

You are usually the one who was the big spoon, but tonight he insists on being it, holding you from behind.

He kissed the tip of your ear and rested his chin on your shoulder intimately, telling you that you were safe with him.

Felix

Felix comes home to see you on the couch looking down at your phone.

"Honey I'm home~" He thought you might not have heard the door open, so he made another sound to signal you to welcome him home.

But you still just looked down at your phone with a stony face.

This time Felix began to feel suspicious, he put down his backpack and went to sit beside you.

"Y/N? What's wrong?"

You finally realize he's back after feeling his hand on your shoulder.

"Hey Felix...it's nothing......it's just...it's gonna be my mom's birthday and...she wants me to be with her but...you know, my dad."

He's heard you talk about your relationship with your father a few times, but didn't really know much about it other than the fact that you don't have a good relationship with him and the fact that you ran away from home.

"Your father...what's wrong with him? Does he make you feel uncomfortable?"

You nodded, Felix frowned.

"But I want to be there with my mom...Felix, should I go back?"

Felix thought for a moment before leaning over to kiss you on the cheek, his hand attached to yours.

"I'll go with you, don't be afraid."

Seungmin

The sound of Seungmin accidentally breaking a plate reminded you of the sound of your father dropping a wine bottle on the floor when you were a child.

Seungmin immediately went to find a broom and started cleaning up, not noticing your strange behavior.

When he returned, he found you still sitting there, not even changing your movements, staring blankly at the shards on the floor.

"Y/N? What's wrong?"

You hear his voice, your thoughts yanked back from your memories, and then shake your head.

"Just remembering something from my childhood, do you need my help?"

You hastily stood up to move towards him, but he came over ahead of you and squeezed your shoulder to make you sit back down.

The look in his eyes told you he already knew what you meant by that statement.

"If this is about your father, sit down and listen to me."

Your eyes follow his slowly crouching form.

"Whatever that man did to you, it will never happen in this house."

Jeongin

(this one is kind of like an au)

It's weird that you haven't come to school in three days.

No text messages, no phone calls, and no reason whatsoever.

Jeongin was so worried that when the teacher asked if anyone would like to bring your homework to you, he immediately raised his hand.

Immediately after school he rushed to your door and knocked on it.

A dozen seconds later, you opened the door.

The eyes that were filled with fear immediately eased when they saw that the visitor was Jeongin.

"Jeongin..."

Your face was bruised and purple, and your nose was bleeding, you looked like you had been......

Jeongin frowned with anger in his eyes.

"Who did this? I'll kill-!"

"Jeongin! Don't speak too loudly... He, he just fell asleep ......"

Hearing your frightened voice made Jeongin even more heartbroken. He was using all his strength to suppress the anger inside.

How could that man do this to his favorite person in the world?

He grabbed you around the waist and held you in his arms.

"Y/N don't you be afraid... I'll do everything I can to protect you."

#stray kids #skz #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz reactions #stray kids reactions #skz headcanons #stray kids headcanons #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz angst #stray kids angst

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themonotonysyndrome · 3 years

Text

REDACTED verse - A dinner and a show

Prompt: any | any | competition

Word Count: 2,460

Author/Team: LadyMonotone

Fandom/Original: Redacted ASMR (Vincent Solaire/Lovely)

Rating: T

Triggers: Explicit implications

Summary: It's a tradition within the Solaire Clan that the King would visit his progenies from time to time. Tonight, Will is coming over to Vincent & Lovely's apartment for dinner. What's not a tradition is the karaoke competition that comes afterwards.

ConCrit: Y

I don’t know what happened. This oneshot just went out of my control but I had so much fun writing it today! I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Also, I just realised that all the characters in my oneshots have been eating lately. Oh my god, I got so hungry when I was writing them that I subconsciously includes food in some of the scenes 😭 Food is my love language so I guess it’s cute that the bois and their lovers would sit down and eat together.

That being said, I hope you guys will crave Korean food as much as I am in this oneshot! 😅

“Vincent? I need your help. Can you tell me what’s Will's favourite colours?”

“Lovely - ”

“Because I have some formal outfits in our closet, but they don’t mean shit if Will hate the colours.”

“Lovely, hang on - ”

“Is he allergic to perfumes? Colognes? I have some soft-scented bottles that should be Vampire-friendly! I think? Most of them are floral though… oh! Does he have a favourite flower? Do you think I should buy some before he comes over?”

“What? No, Lovely, I think you’re working yourself up - ”

“I know you bought some blood bags for dinner but do you think we should cook some food too? Does Will like to eat? Shit, I knew I should have bought some groceries yesterday after class!”

“You’re not listening to me at all, Lovely…”

“We have to clean up the whole place too. I don’t know how our furniture gets so dusty so quickly! I just wiped them down a few days ago!”

“...”

“Do you think I should do my hair too? It’s a bit of a mess lately; I could use a trim. Does Will - ”

Lovely's eyes widen as a deep kiss suddenly silences them. Their heart pounds when Vincent brings them close to his chest, trapping his lover in his arms. Lovely's eyes flutter close when he pulls away to press butterfly kisses on their neck. They couldn’t help it; they moan and tilt their head back when they feel fangs delicately drag down their tender skin.

“Vincent!” Lovely hisses, not sure for what, though, when Vincent's fangs pinprick where their pulse is.

“Oh? Are you finally with me again, Lovely?” Vincent breathes, loving how their heart begins to beat faster and faster in anticipation. His chest reverberates when he chuckles deeply. “There we go… I have your attention again, little one.”

They grumbled at the unfairness of it all. Just as Lovely knew all of Vincent’s weaknesses and tickle spots, he knew how weak their knees behaved when he pressed his fangs to any parts of his partner's body. Especially down south.

“I’m serious here, Vince.” Lovely whines. “There are so many things we have to do before Will comes over for dinner tonight. I want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

Vincent gives Lovely a deadpan look. They would’ve coo at how adorable he looks if it weren’t for his Vampiric speed and his habit of chucking them onto the bed whenever Lovely is being too stubborn to listen to reason. “Lovely? A question: are you dating my Sire or me?”

Lovely blinks; they didn’t expect that. “Uh, you, duh.”

“Then trust me, as your boyfriend,” Lovely has no idea why Vincent emphasised that last word, but they knew better than to interrupt him when he gets like this. “That everything’s going to be fine. Besides, I told you that while this might look like the whole ‘meeting the parent’ shtick, the relationship between a Sire and their Progeny is way more than that.” He patiently reminds them.

“Well yeah, but he means a lot to you.” Lovely points out. Now, why did Vincent look so surprised at that? “So that means he’s important to me too. That’s why this dinner has to be perfect.”

For a moment, Vincent said nothing. He just stares at them in wonderment.

Lovely let out a surprised squeak when Vincent suddenly crushed them in a hug. “How did I get so damn lucky with you, Lovely?” He murmurs, face buried on top of their head. “Sometimes I think that you’re… too amazing to be real.”

So soft and sweet; that’s Vincent. Lovely lets him cuddle them like his personal teddy bear until he's satisfied.

“Now, I need you to do something for me, Lovely. Do you think you can do it?”

Lovely raise an eyebrow. “Depends on what it is, Vince. I haven’t eaten anything yet, so I can only give you at least four hours in bed - ”

“N-Not that!” Vincent hurries to interject, a brilliant red blush runs across his cheeks despite him being a Vampire. He coughs once to get them on track, playfully glaring at Lovely for trying to distract him. “Geez, Lovely. It’s still way too early for… that. But we're definitely going to revisit that. Anyway, I need you to calm down for a second, OK? Will is a pretty chill guy and an open-minded Sire. He knows how much I love you, so you have nothing to worry about.” He gently assures them, rubbing calming motions up and down Lovely's back.

Lovely could feel their anxiety melts away. Just enough for them to finally breathe again ever since Vincent dropped the bomb that William Solaire will be coming over for dinner tonight.

Apparently, everyone in the Clan knows that the King would visit his Progenies at least once a month to check up on them. Just like how a parent would drop by their children's home for a visit, in Lovely's opinion.

“Ok. You win, baby.” Lovely sighs, loving how his rubbing eases the tense muscles. They arch their back like a pleased, spoiled cat when Vincent messages that spot below their shoulders. “Ooooh, yes, that’s the spot!”

Once Lovely's bones feel like they could melt at any time, they throw Vincent a grateful smile.

“Now, there’s the smile I’ve been missing the whole day!” Vincent teases. “C’mon Lovely, let’s plan for dinner before we take our nap. How do you feel about seafood?”

“Oh, I can go for some seafood. It’s been a while.”

“Spicy steamed crabs with scallops, battered pan-fry oysters and some chilled bowl of rice top with raw salmon and sea bass with slices of your favourite veggies? All Korean-style."

“Hell yes. I think we have all the ingredients for that. Wait. Err, can Will handle spicy food?”

"Uh... I have no idea. Maybe we should hold back on that spicy steamed crabs with scallops just in case."

Ever since the two started living together, Vincent really took a shine when it came to cooking and baking. The idea of providing for Lovely makes him ridiculously happy, and besides, him whipping up healthy and delicious food for them results in much richer and sweeter blood flowing within his lover for him to feed on so… win-win!

As the two of them traverse to the kitchen to start preparing the ingredients for dinner, Lovely slowly gain the confidence that their dinner tonight with Vincent's Sire will turn out alright.

And before both of them knew it, the sun had set.

After a fresh shower, the entire apartment is now spotless (to Lovely's standard), and dinner is served on the table, the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it!" Lovely announce just as Vincent finish putting down the plates. They smoothen out the creases on their clothes, roll their shoulders before taking a deep, calming breath and answer the door. Like a soldier marching towards the battlefield.

Seeing his partner's dramatic reaction, Vincent just shakes his head.

As soon as Lovely opens the door, William Solaire greets them. "Good evening. I hope I'm not too early. The evening traffic has been quite a hassle lately. I figured that even if I'm a bit early, I could help you and Vincent in the kitchen." Will explains. In his arms is a bouquet of white pear blossoms, yellow gladioluses and red tulips. When Lovely stares at them curiously, Will smiles knowingly. "Vincent informed me that you don't drink, so I decided that flowers would be the appropriate gift as oppose to a bottle of champagne."

"They're so pretty." Lovely reply, breathless when they receive the bouquet. "Thank you so much, Will! I'll put them in a vase now. Oh, and please come in." They graciously step aside to let Vincent's Sire in.

While Lovely is busy rummaging for a vase in the storeroom, Will and Vincent make small talks over at the dining table. Vincent passes the ancient Vampire a tall glass of blood which Will accept with gratitude.

"Hey, Will. How's it going?"

"I'm fine, Vincent. Thank you for asking." Will reply after dabbing the bloodstain on the corner of his lips. "The Clan is the same as usual; Our Newborn members have finally settled in nicely, much to Sam's relief. I plan to visit them next week."

Vincent tops up Will's empty glass before replying. "That's great to hear." He's about to say something else before a loud bang against the wall in the storeroom stops him. "Uh, Lovely? Is everything OK in there?" He calls out.

"It's fine, it's fine!" Lovely shouts back. "I found the perfect vase for the flowers!"

Vincent groans in exasperation. When Will throws him a confused expression, Vincent is compelled to explain. "Look, Will, Lovely has been freaking out about tonight's dinner the whole day. They think that if it turns out anything but perfect, you're going to be disappointed in them. So just... just play along, alright?"

Will chuckles; his heart warms at the thought that Lovely holds him in such high regard. What an adorable human. "Is that so? Very well then, I will play the perfect guest towards such kind hosts."

And true to his words, when Lovely joins them at the table after putting the vase full of flowers on the coffee table in the living room, Will waste no time in kicking his charm to the max. In between their meal, Will makes sure to compliment Lovely's outfit (which earned him a shy yet pleased blush from Lovely and a jealous kick at his shin from Vincent). He then comments that the spicy steamed seafood dish is his favourite, and when desserts are introduced, Will gently helps Lovely open up by asking about their interests and hobbies.

Will is pleasantly surprised to find one of the many common grounds they share: their love for analysing music.

"I find RM to be one of the most brilliant lyricists in this generation." Will states once his bowl of red bean shaved ice is empty. "His songs are undoubtedly impactful for the youths of today. Not to mention that I'm quite fond of his wordplays."

"You're into K-pop!?" Lovely ask, utterly gobsmacked. Their eyes are wide in shock.

Vincent snorts. "Alexis is a BTS fan. Somehow, she managed to convert Will too."

When Lovely turn to face Will once more, their expression frozen in disbelieve, he adds, "We're planning to catch their concert once the situation permits it."

Will's pop culture admission finally broke the ice. Lovely laughs in delight before launching themselves into an animated conversation about modern music with Will.

However, it wasn't long before their topic suddenly went off the rail when Vincent claimed that he's a better shower singer than Lovely.

"Oh please, Vince, I thought you were dying in the bathroom," Lovely interjects with a roll of their eyes. Vincent splutters at his partner's cruel remark, but Lovely presses on without mercy, much to Will's amusement. He resolutely keeps his mouth shut despite his growing grin slowly making its way up to his face. "Face it, you're tone-deaf. Being a Vampire doesn't magically make you a good singer."

"Those are some fighting words, Lovely. Can you back them up?"

"We can settle this tonight if you want. You and me; we can duke it out in a singing swag off with Will as the judge." Lovey declares with a smirk before they head into the living room. All revved up as if their previous anxiety over dinner had never happened.

"Oh my..."

Vincent turns to Will with a grateful nod. "Thanks for helping them relax. And hey, you don't have to stay if you have some other plans tonight, Will."

Will stares back at his Progeny with a faux, scandalous look on his face, complete with a hand on his chest. "Why, Vincent, where would I be anywhere but here? It's not every day that I get to see you humbled by your lover. Don't think I forget that you were once known as the Playboy of the Solaire Clan."

Shock looks good on Vincent's face. It's cute that he actually forgot how he was before Lovely walks into his life. Oh, Will is going to milk this for all its worth.

"Alright! The system is set up!" Lovely announce from near the TV with a microphone in their hand. "Will, come on! You need to help me prove that Vincent sings like a dying cat. Here, here!"

"Oi, oi! We haven't even started yet!" Vincent rebuke and flits over to grab the spare microphone. "You know what, Lovely? I'm so confident that I'll win this that I'll let you go first."

Lovely grins viciously and accepts his offer. Once Will makes himself comfortable on the couch and signals for them to begin, Lovely open their mouth,

Will couldn't stop smiling as Lovely sings their heart out, and Vincent makes his grand entrance after they're done (singing one of Will's favourite songs in hopes to sway his Sire to his side). Vincent and Lovely are having the time of their life, teasing one another as they sing. Will commits this night into one of his most cherished memories.

*"Dari apa yang aku perhatikan

Manusia mahu senang tapi tak semua mahu berkorban

Dari apa yang mereka katakan

Ada yang jawab jujur tapi selebihnya kuat beralasan..."

However, as the night grows long, Will doesn't have the heart to tell them that they both are horrible singers.

Tonight, it's Sam's turn. Will deliver three knocks on his door before Sam swings it open. He looks exhausted, unamused and seconds away from running out of the house.

"Good evening, Sam."

"Good evening, William. Before you come in, can I ask why my Progenies insist on having a karaoke competition tonight? On the night where they knew you were coming?"

Will begins to smile widely. Both he and Sam could hear a heated argument between Frederick and Bright Eyes from the living room.

"No, you can't sing Bambi, Bright Eyes. I won't allow it! You're going to break the windows!"

"Oh my god, would you let me live, Freddy!?"

"We've been over this; you can't sing! Wait. What are you - put down that microphone - "

Music starts to play at maximum volume, and then,

Sam closed his eyes and sighed deeply and in resignation when Bright Eyes began to sing louder to drown out Frederick's shrieking.

**“Feel it like memalla itteon mam wiro

seumyeodeun danbi

dabi piryo eopji

Because you’re my favourite..."

"I don't know what had happened - and I honestly don't want to know - but I hope you're ready to deal with these two tonight."

"Why, Sam, where would I be anywhere but here?"

These are the English translations & link to the songs that Lovely and Bright Eyes were singing:

*“From what I can see

People want the good life, but are not willing to sacrifice

From what I hear

Some are honest but others are full of excuses...”

**“Feel it like timely rain that seeps into my dry heart

No other answer is needed

Because you’re my favorite...”

#redacted asmr #fanfic #they/them pronouns #gender neutral s/o #vincent solaire #lovely (listener)#william solaire #sam collins #frederick #bright eyes (listener)#pop culture references

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

The Stars Made Us (Part 22)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 1921

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong and @arrow-guy and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week flew by and Stephen had read all of his materials. When he wasn’t reading one, you were reading it. You decided to go with him to the library to see if they would let you read some things.

“Mr. Strange and Ms. Y/L/N,” a man greeted politely.

“Uh… Stephen, please. And you are?”

“Wong,” he answered evenly.

“Wong. Just Wong? Like… Adele?” he joked and you couldn’t help but smile and laugh a tiny bit, trying to hide it. “Or… Aristotle. Drake. Bono. Eminem,” he continued to prattle off one named artists.

Wong took the books and examined them. “The Book of the Invisible Sun, Astronomia Nova, Codex Imperium, Key of Solomon. You finished all of this?” he asked, a bit incredulous.

“Yup,” he answered, knowing how it looked.

“Come with me.”

Stephen and you traded a look of intrigue before he said, “Alright.”

The two of you followed him into a room that sat down a few steps and every book was chained in a special book shelving unit.

“This section is for Masters only. But at my discretion, others may use it. We should start with Maxim’s Primer. How is your Sanskrit?” he asked as he walked around, gathering books.

“I’m fluent in Google Translate,” Stephen Responded and you shot him a look as if you were scolding him. He just shot you a smile.

Stephen found some books that seemed to be glowing and looked a bit more prestigious than the other books. When he asked about them, he was told they were the Ancient Ones private collection. Naturally, both you and Stephen assumed they were off limits and mentioned this to Wong. Wong said no knowledge is forbidden, only some practice. The only thing was the knowledge in those books were too powerful for anyone but the sorceress supreme to handle. Stephen pulled the book down and began reading. You glanced over his shoulder.

“That’s the book of Cagliostro. The study of time. One of the rituals was stolen by a former Master. A zealot called Kaecilius. Just after he strung up the former librarian, and relieved him of his head. I’m now the guardian of these books. So if a volume from this collection should be stolen again, I’d know it. And you’d be dead before you ever left the compound.”

You balked in response as Wong took the book back and refastened it in its chain holder. This Kaecilius seemed like a very bad character.

“What if it’s just overdue? You know? Any… late fees I should know about? Maiming, perhaps?”

You couldn’t help but snicker, trying to hide it, trying not to seem disrespectful

But Wong didn’t even make a face.

Stephen clearly thought the joke was funny and now felt uncomfortable from Wong’s hard gaze. “Uhm…Uh, you know, people used to think that I was funny.”

“Did they work for you?” Wong fired back and all laughing stopped. You made a face of surprise before laughing a lot louder now.

“Alright. Well, it’s been lovely talking to you, thank you for the books and for the horrifying story and for the threat upon my life.”Stephen and you gathered his books and began walking across the courtyard.

You were still laughing quietly.

“Shut up. You laughed too.”

“Yes, but you have to admit, he did catch you there.”

“I still think I’m funny.”

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing and teasing him further.

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

You stood in the courtyard, watching Stephen train with about twenty five or thirty other people. They were teaching him hand motions, how to move his body, how to clear his mind, and when it came time for him to cast magic, he was the only one in the group who couldn’t do it.

You felt sorry for him, but you also had a sense that he wasn’t giving his all to this. He was reading the literature, and he was attending all of the training, but he wasn’t connecting the two. He needed to connect with his soul, and he made it clear that he didn’t believe in that.

Later that night, when you two got done eating, Stephen started to head towards your bedroom but you began heading toward the courtyard.

“Where are you going?” he wondered.

You gestured with your head. “Come with me.” You swung by Master Mordo’s quarters and asked him to join you in the courtyard.

It was late at night, the moon hung high in the sky. It lit up the whole courtyard, as did flaming torches.

“Master Mordo, would you care to remind Stephen how to open up a portal?”

“Of course.” He walked over to the box of sling rings, opened them up, and gave one to Stephen. “Focus, visualize. Let yourself see the destination. See beyond what is right in front of you.”

Stephen nodded. “Got it, visualize it.” He held his left hand up, and spun his right hand. Only sparks appeared. He was already frustrated.

“Here,” you offered, holding out your hand. “May I try?” you asked both Mordo and Stephen at the same time.

Stephen gave you his ring and Mordo nodded. You slipped it on and thought of Charles’s kitchen. You focused, allowing yourself to really visualize being there, seeing the kitchen, smelling the smells… You held your left arm up, and began to use your right hand to spin in the air.

Sparks at first, and then, suddenly the sparks took shape, and made a circle, going bigger and bigger until you could see the entire kitchen. You couldn't believe you actually did it, so easily. You thought on your first try you’d fail, but you wanted to give it a go, to see if maybe you could unlock something to help Stephen with. But you never dreamed you get this close this fast. You were actually practicing sorcery, right this second and your mind couldn’t comprehend it, but you felt alive with promise and hope.

You were giddy with excitement both from the success of the spell and seeing a familiar sight, being this close to Charles.

“Very good, Y/N,” Mordo complimented. “How did you learn that so fast?”

“I’ve just been reading with Stephen. I applied what you said and what I’ve read.”

“How--How do you do that?” Stephen asked, stunned. “I’ve been trying for weeks and I can’t get anything and you try it one time for ten seconds and you can jump through portals?”

“I suppose the Ancient One was right about you.” He eyed you up and down. “I trust you to keep training him for this evening, hmm?”

You nodded. “Yes, Master Mordo.”

With that, he left, and you returned Stephen’s ring. “Here you go.”

“Teach me what you just did,” he ordered.

“I will, if you promise to open your mind.”

“I will. I am. Let’s just do this.”

You raised your brow, clearly not satisfied. “I’m serious, Stephen. If you don’t actually commit to this, believe in it, you won’t learn.”

“You don’t think I know that?” he barked at you and you gave him a stern look. He apologized. “I’m sorry. I know. Let’s try.”

And so you did, but he didn’t get much better. He still struggled, he still got frustrated. But you kept at it, night after night. You continued to bring him out into the moonlit courtyard and try to teach him in various ways to master the spells and magic he’d been taught. Sometimes it was from books you two had read, sometimes he had to really what the Ancient One had taught him.

But, despite your best efforts, his skill wasn’t improving. You felt like you were failing him and that caused a bout of guilt to build in you.

One night in your bedroom, you decided to take a break from practicing and get back to the literature.

“So, there you have it. What is a focal point?” you quizzed.

“A spot you focus intensely on. Come on, Y/N, really? We aren’t in undergrad getting quizzed for a final.”

“No, but clearly whatever I’m doing out there isn’t helping. Maybe if we just revisit the literature we’ll see something we missed.”

“We didn’t miss anything. I just can’t do this. My hands won’t work.”

“Stephen, it’s not about your hands--” you tried, exasperated.

“How is this not about my goddamn hands?” he questioned angrily and you sighed, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes.

“Alright. Okay, how about we take a break. Maybe this is too much, too fast. I’ve been like a drill sergeant and obviously that isn’t working.” You shut the book and put it on the desk behind you. “I’m sorry. I’m failing you.”

You hung your head in despair, wishing you could help, wishing you could do more.

“Hey,” Stephen said, putting his fingers under your chin. “You aren’t failing me. I’m failing you. You’re doing a lot here. I just can’t seem to get the hang of it, but that’s not your fault, it’s mine. Maybe if I wasn’t so stubborn.”

“Yeah, but then we’d have to wait for Hell to freeze over and we don’t have that kind of time.”

“Ooh, okay,” he responded with a bit of a chuckle. “Smartassed today, I see.”

“Just today? You’re slow on the game there, Sherlock.” You winked at him.

In an instant, the air changed.

For the first time since you met, the atmosphere wasn’t anything but tense, riddled with a desperate desire to break through the barrier of air that divided you and Stephen. Time stood still. All melted away. All you could see, smell, think about -- was the man in front of you.

He must’ve felt it too because his hand slowly moved from your chin to your hair, his other hand following suit. His eyes searched yours, for what, you weren’t sure. Permission perhaps, or perhaps he was trying to decide if he wanted to take this plunge. If he stepped over this line, he could never go back. He knew that this would almost surely bind you two. You would go from every other role you had held to -- his. All his. He was your soulmate, and you were his. This kiss would solidify everything he knew and everything he feared.

With your eyes searching his, you slowly raised your hands to wrap around his wrists. In a silent plea, you granted permission and he must’ve sensed the feeling in you because he didn’t waste another second.

His mouth crashed on yours and it felt as if it sent 1000 volts inside of you. His kiss spread out like the best medicine from your mouth to your toes. You saw stars behind your eyes and never imagined kissing him would feel this damned good. You never knew you needed this, but it was clear the instant it happened, that you in fact did.

He tasted almost warm, like spices used in baking. Clove, nutmeg, pepper.

Hunger seemed to ravage you both as you pressed more and more on each other.

All too soon, you pulled apart and he rested his forehead on yours briefly before kissing it, then rested his forehead against yours once more. Both of you were panting, smiling messes.

“I didn’t… expect that,” he admitted.

“The kiss?” you questioned.

“How...good and right it felt,” he clarified.

You pulled back, peering up at him with wondrous eyes before he pulled your face to him again, repeating the same amazing action.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#the stars made us #charles xavier x reader #stephen strange x reader #charles xavier fic #charles xavier #stephen strange fic #stephen strange

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homeformyheart · 4 years

Text

flying - edward mortemer x f!mc (ds)

author’s note: i started writing this for the prompt request “first kid vs. last kid” and realized i was writing enough for a separate one-shot before even getting to the “first kid” part. so i just went with it as a standalone fic that also works as a prequel, hope you enjoy! i’m also trying a new thing i read somewhere to add icon warnings to mark an upcoming ns*w scene so people can skip ahead if they want. i wasn’t planning on the ns*w scene since it’s definitely more than i’ve done before, the scene did get away from me while i was trying something new, sorry not sorry 😅.

copyright: all characters owned by pixelberry studios. series/pairing: distant shores – edward mortemer x f!mc (peyton bellamy) rating/warnings: 18+; ns*w explicit smut between the 🔥⚡ (heating up) and ❄💧 icons (cool down) word count: 2.6k based on/prompt: “first kid” prompt fill efforts (see a/n). summary: peyton struggles to find her place in her own time, waiting and hoping for the compass to send her back.

flying

peyton was exhausted. it had been two years in edward’s time since they defeated the admiral and discovered she could continue to travel back and forth in time as long as she was in proximity of the compass. time seemed to pass slower in the future; what felt like a matter of hours or days ended up being months in his. the first time she found her way back only took two days but the weeks they translated to were visible in the way edward’s shoulders seemed more rigid.

she was still high with adrenaline from the final battle and moment she finally got to be with edward when she returned the first time. edward was more weathered, but they both fell back into each other as if no time had passed, twisting and tangling, feeling and squeezing, equally giving and taking – until every part of her was wholly his and every part of him was seared into her body. they knew that this thing between them was something they had to grab and take as much as they could.

living in the moment was for those who knew where things could go; peyton was going to steal every moment she could.

it wasn’t enough. she knew it was never going to be enough and she tried to navigate her own time as if she had never left. there were too many moments to count, as she half-heartedly searched for auditions and part-time jobs, wandered around the grocery store, or took the bus down to the beach only to sit in the sand without a bathing suit, where she felt out of place, as if she had never really returned to her physical body. not that she could ask anyone, but she wondered if this was how spirits who had unfinished business on earth felt – wandering in a haze and trying to navigate the feeling of being in-between places.

so when she found herself back in time after several weeks, she felt relief escape her body with each exhale and warmth from the salt air fill her lungs with each inhale. never mind that she was alone and lost – not physically at least, she knew where she was, but not when.

charlie found her wandering in the port of tiburon, trying to remain hidden until she could change into something more period appropriate. after a too brief, but tearful, reunion and confirming that it had been almost a year since they saw her last, charlie brought peyton to the poseidon ii; she couldn’t help but smile at how the new ship looked almost the same as its predecessor.

and then she saw him – standing against the edge with his back to her, but peyton knew he felt her presence. it was the little details – the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly, the way his hands that were clasped behind his back fell to his sides, and the way the breeze danced through the hair tucked behind his ear, visible only because he turned his head ever so slowly to the side – that made her heart skip and her breath catch and before she even realized what she was doing, she was flying across the deck into his waiting arms.

“miss bellamy, is it really you?” edward murmured, pulling back slightly to look at her face. his hands moved from her waist to cup her face.

peyton leaned into the familiar warmth of his calloused hands. “oh edward. call me peyton,” she said softly. “i’m home.”

edward gave her a long, conflicted look that finally softened into desire. he gently stroked her cheek with his thumb and pressed his lips into hers, softly at first. peyton closed her eyes at the feel of his lips against hers, revisiting the familiar taste of salt and the ocean that always seemed to accompany him.

“miss peyton,” edward whispered as if he was practicing the sound of her first name on his lips, punctuating each try with featherlight kisses on her cheek and jawline. “peyton.”

she pulled back slightly and felt a smile start to make its way onto her face. she didn’t think she could explain what it felt like to hear her name whispered with such reverence that she could almost feel it caress her skin.

the bit of reverie they found themselves in was quickly broken by the sound of shouts from around the deck as the crew appeared from the nooks and crannies of the ship.

“peyton! you’re back!” ginny’s voice rang out loud and clear, followed by the sound of running footsteps on the deck.

peyton looked up just in time before ginny’s frame barreled into her, her head now coming up to chest height. “ginny! it’s good to see you – you’re so tall now!”

“it’s good to see you, lass,” jonas said, coming up behind ginny, followed by kendrick and maggie.

before peyton could say anything, she was engulfed by the crew and surprised at how quickly tears started falling down her face. she had missed this crew, her family, more than her own time.

“enough hugs, it’s time to celebrate properly,” charlie said, holding up a bottle of rum in her hand. as she poured out some for peyton, she winked. “welcome home.”

it didn’t take long before the entire crew was drunk and starting to dance and sing songs that didn’t make any sense to peyton, mostly because kendrick tended to mumble a lot when he was inebriated. peyton looked around at the group with a smile on her face and knew that the warm feeling settling in her chest wasn’t from the alcohol.

she caught edward’s eye and felt herself blink at the intensity she found there. the sun had all but gone to bed beyond the horizon, but the remaining glow was enough to still cast a halo around him. the only thing peyton could see clearly were his eyes, not because the color, size, or shape stood out in the shadows, but because the intensity of his gaze called out to her.

he turned away and headed to his cabin, not looking back once. peyton glanced around at everyone who was too drunk to notice edward’s departure before landing on charlie’s knowing look. peyton felt her cheeks warm under charlie’s teasing gaze and she quietly followed after edward. his eyes never left hers as she closed the door behind her and stepped toward him.

“miss peyton, do you know when you might leave next?” edward’s gaze was still intense but tempered with a pained longing that peyton recognized as something she saw most days in the mirror.

she shook her head sadly. “no… if and when i go back… i don’t know how long it will take for me to return. the compass seems to have a mind of its own and i constantly have to compromise with robert.”

edward chuckled, but it sounded hollow to peyton. “seeing you now… has made these past months endurable, but not knowing if i might ever see you again is almost unbearable.”

peyton’s heart clenched. there was always that tiny doubtful voice in the back of her head that feared one day edward would decide she wasn’t worth waiting for, or worse, that they would be apart forever, without knowing that it was forever. but she had always refused to believe either scenario would come true because it was just too heartbreaking to think about.

but here she was about to experience that heartbreak. a tear slowly trailed down her cheek, followed by another. she watched through blurry curtains as the water droplets started the beginning of a puddle on the wood floor. edward quickly closed the gap between them and lifted her chin with his finger so she was looking up at him. he slowly, and gently, cupped her face in his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs.

“please don’t cry, miss peyton. i did not mean to hurt your feelings. i would bear all the burdens of the world if it means i have your love.”

“you have it, edward. forever,” peyton promised. he had wiped her tears away and was hovering just a breath’s distance from her lips; so close that peyton was ready to beg.

as if he read her mind, edward leaned down and pressed his warm lips against hers, and the soft, happy sigh that escaped her naturally gave his tongue the opening it needed. she could taste the subtle sweetness of the rum on his tongue, further intoxicating her senses. she bit his bottom lip, eliciting a low growl from his throat that made her spine tingle. in retaliation, he started kissing down her neck until he reached her collarbone. peyton couldn’t help the gasp that escaped at the tingling sensation traveling down her spine.

🔥⚡🔥⚡

edward worked his way back up her neck until he was kissing her again relentlessly, giving her no room to breathe. he gently pushed her back until she felt the bed behind her knees. not willing to give up control just yet, peyton hooked her leg over his hip and pressed herself against edward, gripping his hips to create as much friction as she could; the layers of fabric he was wearing was too much against her thin summer dress. if he took another step, they both would go tumbling on to the bed.

he pulled back slightly to give her a mischievous look before he grabbed her ass and lifted her up so she had no choice but to lock her legs behind him. peyton wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as he laid her on the bed, covering her body with is and making her crave skin-to-skin contact.

“you have too many layers on. take them off, please,” she winced internally at the sound of her voice begging, but the embarrassment disappeared as soon as she saw the desire in edward’s eyes.

she immediately regretted her request when he stepped away, the heat from his body suddenly disappearing. she sat up on the bed as edward slowly unbuckled his belt and let it drop to the floor before shrugging out of his coat. his fingers moved to undo the buttons on his shirt one-by-one, mesmerizing peyton who wanted his fingers to undo hers.

peyton found herself pressing her thighs together for some semblance of relief from the heat pooling at her core as edward finally undid the last button and shrugged his shirt off his shoulders. she let out a frustrated sigh, which only made edward’s smirk grow bigger. she stood up and leaned into him, leaving his arms now trapped by the shirt. with the fabric taut against his lower back holding his arms in place at his sides, peyton placed her hands on the inside of his thighs and started trailing her fingers upward.

she grinned as edward’s smirk faded, only to be replaced by the sounds of heavy breathing, as her fingers stayed the course, curling firmly over the fabric barely containing his cock. she grinned at the change in his expression now that she was in control. she tucked her fingers into his waistband and pulled his pants down just enough to free his cock. she brought her hands back to caress the inside of his thighs, massaging it gently with her fingers while avoiding going any higher.

“enough teasing,” she said, stepping to the side and pointing to the bed. “sit.”

edward stepped out of the rest of his clothes and did as he was told. “i don’t think this is quite a fair trade, miss peyton,” he said, his eyes twinkling in the dimly lit cabin.

peyton kept her eyes trained on his as she lifted her dress over her head and threw it on the floor alongside his discarded clothes. seeing edward swallow at the sight of her bare breasts gave peyton the remaining courage she needed to slip off her panties and climb over him, pushing him back down on the bed so he was looking up at her. his hands immediately came up to her hips and she lined herself up over his cock before sinking down slowly with a satisfied moan. just the feeling of him fully inside her was enough to bring tears to her eyes, especially after realizing that her body still had him memorized.

“miss peyton—” edward grunted before peyton interrupted him with a kiss. she bit his lower lip before tangling her tongue with his, simultaneously moving up and down and rolling her hips to generate as much heat as she could between them.

as she felt the pressure start to build in her abdomen, her mouth started moving less intentionally over his. her moans started becoming audible and ragged; edward held her hips tight against him, stopping her mid-movement, so he could sit up and flip them over. he pinned her arms above her head as she wrapped her legs around his back.

“edward, i’m close—” she strained to get out, the feel of him moving above her was beginning to be overwhelming.

“i have you, let go,” edward coaxed, taking advantage of the angle to thrust harder and deeper.

peyton arched her back as she came, the pressure that had been coiling in her abdomen releasing and sending her flying. she cried out as edward urged her on, ignoring the fact that the crew were right outside the cabin. her back continued to say elevated as edward held her firmly through his own climax, their simultaneous grunts and moans drowning each other out. he held her lovingly through her climax until she was ready to touch back down.

❄💧❄💧

he left slow, patient kisses on her neck and collarbone as she breathed heavily, placing a hand over her heart in a subconscious attempt to slow down her rapid heartbeat. edward continued leaving kiss after kiss down her chest, on each of her fingers, before nudging her hand with his nose so she’d flip it over, allowing him to kiss her palm. peyton tangled her fingers in his hair as she opened her eyes, feeling her body flush under his loving gaze. he moved so he was laying beside her and peyton lifted her head so edward could slide his arm under it. she turned toward him, folding both her arm and leg over his so she could be as close to him as possible.

“get some sleep, my love,” edward said softly, pulling up the blanket to cover them both.

“i’m afraid to,” peyton whispered, moving her head to rest on his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat.

he lifted her chin with his finger so she was looking into his eyes. “i’m here. there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“what if falling asleep means i get sent back to the future? what if we wake up and i’m not here anymore?” it wasn’t the only way it happened, but waking up alone in the future without edward the first time she traveled back wasn’t something she was going to forget.

edward reached behind her to gently massage her neck and against her will, she felt her body and mind start to relax. as sleep started to seep into her body, she tucked her head under his chin and heard him murmur against her hair, “even if that happens, our story is still far from over. i will still love you with every breath until you return to me again.”

they knew their time was limited. she might disappear tomorrow, in a week, or years later, but for now, they were together. for now, that would be enough. it had to be.

* * * * * mentions: @khoicesbyk permatag: @agentnolastname; @freckles-spangledvampire

#choices ds #distant shores #edward mortemer #edward x mc #edward mortermer x mc #peyton bellamy #edward mortemer x peyton bellamy #choices fanfic #choices fanfics #playchoices fanfiction #reposting for new blog #my writing #ns*w #long fic #not twc #my choices fics

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alottanothing · 4 years

Text

Left to Ruin: Chapter Twenty-Two

Summary: Kahmunrah returns from two years away, with new recruits the fight, as well as baleful news from their enemies. The queen consoles her king with a secret she hopes will bring him joy.

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 6088

Warnings: A tad angsty, but mostly lighthearted.

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe, @r-ahh-mi, @hah0106, @rami-malek-trash, @diasimar, @sherlollydramoine, @flipper-kisses, @ivy-miranda-2390, @txmel, @sunkissedmikky, @concentratedsassandcandy, @edteche2

(Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Only 2 more chapters after this one 😬 I know right? I can hardly believe it myself. Also, word of advice, savor this one folks. What’s left isn’t gonna be pretty 🙃. As always, thanks for showing the last chapter love with your likes and comments and such. ❤️❤️ Once again as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible. As a helpful note Tahut-Mut is the top general of the pharaohs armies, and favors Kah over Ahk. There’s a lot of characters that don’t have major parts in this story but play a significant role. I should have made a glossary before I posted this.

Kahmunrah was away from the capital for eighteen long months, and as promised, new garrisons of fighting men arrived almost weekly from the cities the new Grand Consul visited. Some were learned men—soldiers who were already skilled in the way of battle; others were boys—eager for the chance to learn lessons the pharaoh was never taught. Every new wave of able bodies fought against the ever-present sense of dread looming inside Ahkmenrah’s mind, and before long, a glimmer of hope replaced that baleful feeling war oft kindled.

Even Nouke sang praise of Kahmunrah’s diligence, commending him for sticking to his word. It was a welcomed thing for the pharaoh to, at last, have unity within the whole of his family; no man was or would ever be as lucky as he was—Ahk was sure of it.

To show his gratitude to the fighters, the pharaoh held feast after feast to honor each squadron of recruits who arrived; the celebration curbed the reality ever-so-slightly. With full bellies and a drink in their hand it was easy to forget why it was they were there: to fight, protect, and die for their king.

Tahut-Mut always began those evenings the same: first escorting the new soldiers into the largest of the gardens leading them in a pledge of fealty to the true king of Egypt. Then, the stringent atmosphere melted away as the festivities commenced immediately after as if to quickly douse the flame of apprehension. No one thought of war with the allure of revelry.

As for the pharaoh, he loved every convivial moment he could spare not thinking about how murky Egypt's future was. Meeting people from far away cities he'd visited in his youth captivated his avid soul. Years caught in stagnation—bound by the chains of his station—Ahkmenrah's heart yearned once more to explore the sands of his great empire.

Nevertheless, Ahk found the most joy not listening to tales of distant oasis', but instead in the privacy of those grand gatherings which allowed the king and queen a moment to revisit the passion of the night they became man and wife.

As those months passed without so much as a whisper of war (apart from the weekly reminder of new soldiers, of course) Ahkmenrah found bliss in his life once more. He reveled in the pulsing of life all around him, from the Nile to the shifting sands, to the capricious winds that kept the world spinning. The king was glad for the thrill he found around him and in every breath that filled his lungs.

In those bliss-filled months, his little sister found her happiness too, marrying Satauhotep—who'd claimed the title of Consul of Montu with Kah no longer holding the position.

Seeing Setshepsut wed a good man who loved her, and who she loved in return, fostered the same achy tenderness that swelled in Ahk’s heart the day he married Nouke, a feeling that was almost suffocating, but in the best way.

As a gift, the king and queen had offered to build them a home, but Set insisted home was where her mother and her brother resided, and where her husband would spend most of his time as the pharaoh's Keeper of War. Ahk was only too happy to keep his sister close by and immediately called for the reconstruction of their quarters, promising them a grand suite like his own.

For eighteen months, Egypt and her king knew peace, but peace was a fragile wall that needed only the smallest of shoves to send it toppling into ruin.

Word of Kah’s return arrived three days before he did. The news sparked the pharaoh with delight and anxiety all at once, making sleep almost impossible, especially the night before he was to return.

There were so many stories Ahk longed to share with his brother, ones he looked forward to telling Kah during the meditative walks they took in the gardens—the pharaoh missed those hours of kinship with his big brother. Kahmunrah had missed so much: Setshepsut’s union to Satauhotep, Sekmenrah’s first steps, all the parties…mostly, Ahk couldn’t wait to thank his brother for the time he sacrificed in order to ensure Egypt was protected.

When news reached the palace that the Grand Consul was on his way back to the palace, Ahk was the first to stand and wait at the top of the stairs, listening to the distant sound of drums grow louder as his brother grew closer. Nouke joined him, taking his hand with a soft smile as she placed herself dutifully at his side. Her presence was always the most beguiling thing within Ahk's orbit and for a moment, the thrumming of drums meant nothing.

Tahut-Mut was there too, off to the side and stoic, moving only once Kahmunrah’s chariot came through the gates with a garrison of new men in tow. The general quickly shepherded the fresh recruits all in perfect formation to the training yard, allowing Kahmunrah the chance to properly greet Ahkmenrah and his queen.

The pharaoh forwent formality in favor of an embrace, pulling Kah into his arms with fervor, which his brother returned in a much more reserved manner.

“The gods are good!” Ahk exclaimed. “I am so very pleased to see you home again, Kah.”

He patted his brother’s shoulder in parting before stepping back to Nouke’s side.

“Likewise, brother.” Kahmunrah offered a tight-lipped smirk.

“We are glad you have returned safely,” Nouke said with a genuine tone, prompting a surprised expression to color Kah’s features. “Thank you for what you have done on behalf of my husband and on behalf of Egypt.”

Kahmunrah bowed respectfully, “Of course, my queen. Anything to better the future of this great empire.”

Ahkmenrah could barely contain his smile seeing them exchange civil words, and again, he was reminded of how lucky he was. He took Nouke’s hand in his, kissed it, and motioned for Kahmunrah to walk with them back into the palace.

“I insist you share stories of your adventure, Kahmunrah,” Ahk said, tossing his brother a grand, but slightly envious smile.

True, the pharaoh’s heart yearned for a journey, but he would be content enough for a while just to live vicariously.

“Surely you found time to rest and enjoy the beautiful cities?” Ahk easily recalled the places he’d visited in his youth—how rich and different life was from city to city.

“Of course, brother. I have much I will gladly share.” Kah stopped, and a seriousness settled on his features that caused Ahkmenrah to stop as well. “But I also bring home tidings of an unfriendly nature that require your attention at once.”

“What is it?” the pharaoh asked, a portion of that peaceful barrier beginning to decay.

Kah’s gaze teetered from Ahk to Nouke twice before settling on the pharaoh. “Might I speak to you in the council chamber?”

He looked at the queen again, then back to Ahk.

“Alone?” he added.

Nouke’s grip on her husband’s fingers tightened with a quick “be cautious” squeeze of warning, and Ahkmenrah returned it as silent affirmation he understood.

“Certainly, brother. Allow me to escort my lovely queen back to our chamber, and then Kamuzu, and I will meet you in the council room after.”

The ghost of a frown darkened Kah’s expression, but he quickly hid it, nodding.

“Very well.” He bowed his head to both in farewell before marching off in the direction of the council chamber.

In his peripheral, Ahk could make out the look of scrutiny Nouke cast Kahmunrah as he strode away; he’d learned not to question his wife’s persuasion when it came to his brother. Her uncertainty towards Kah was a part of her, and Ahk loved every part of Nouke, even if he did not quite understand them all.

Instead of nagging, Ahkmenrah rolled his eyes fondly and brought the back of her hand to his lips for another kiss until the hard lines on her face melted into a smile.

Together they walked leisurely through the halls, both enjoying the tranquility, neither foolish enough to spoil it with words. Ahk wished every moment of every day could feel so profound.

When they reached their chamber doors, the pharaoh pulled his queen against him, pelvis to pelvis, with a mischievous smirk curled onto his lips. Nouke’s eyes sparkled catching her husband's simper and matched it, sweeping her tongue out to glaze her lips with a perfect sheen she knew would drive him mad: an act too enticing for him not to taste.

There was very little pressure to his mouth on hers, just a heated weight devoid of rapid movement and tongue as he memorized that feeling until he gasped softly into the kiss. Ahk pressed closer, angling his chin to orchestrate one of the purest, sweetest kisses either of them had ever known. His hands framed her face, and Nouke’s arms wove around him, locking them together.

When they broke away for air, Ahk gingerly brushed the tip of his nose against hers, unwilling to surrender her closeness.

“Rescue me in an hour or so?”

“Rescue you?” Nouke smirked as a manicured brow hoisted into an arch.

“Yes,” Ahk implored, his tone slightly more serious. “If it is bad news my brother brings, I will be in need of rescuing.”

Her smirk took on a softness that matched the glistening compassion swirling in her amber eyes as her looped arms squeezed him tighter.

“Mmm,” she hummed, peering deep into his eyes in a way that spoke oceans of her affection. “I will gladly rescue you, my sweet king. Now and forever.”

Ahkmenrah kissed Nouke again with the desperate need to hold her in his arms a little longer.

When he began to make his way back down the hall with Kamuzu at his side, Ahk spun deftly on his heels and walked backward as he spoke, levity in his tone once more.

“Give Sekmen a hug for me?”

Nouke was lingering in the threshold of their bedchamber when she caught his words and threw him a smile.

“Perhaps I shall send Sekmen to rescue you, that way you may hug him yourself.”

“Perfect,” the pharaoh beamed.

***

When Ahkmenrah entered the council room he was met with a sight that caused him to stop and stare. Kah and Tahut-Mut were hunched over what looked like a map sprawled across the table, exchanging whispers.

Puzzlement swiftly consumed the pharaoh’s features as he stepped closer, having difficulty making out what they were discussing. Ahk did, however, manage to catch the word siege, which was enough to twist nervous knots into his stomach.

“Oh! Brother,” Kah cast him a quick grin and hurriedly rolled up the piece of papyrus the two were so intimately studying before the king had walked in. “Welcome.”

Ahkmenrah stood gauging both men warily, suddenly too aware of the malaise in the room; he felt as though he had wandered in on something he should not have. He could see so in the mild shock on Tahut-Mut’s expression; Kahmunrah’s surprise was harder to read, though.

“What matter were you both discussing just now?” Ahk’s eyes narrowed. “Did I hear something about a siege?”

The pharaoh kept his composure tightly laced despite the onslaught of panic he felt brewing.

Kah was quick to provide an explanation that worked to alleviate some of the tension in the room.

“General Tahut-Mut came to ask my opinion as to where the new recruits should be stationed if a siege should befall the palace.”

“How best to protect the pharaoh, of course,” Tahut added with a bow, that seemed belittling to a degree.

The general hastily took the roll of papyrus inscribed with the map from Kahmunrah and left without another word.

Ahk’s eyes stayed trained on his brother, narrowed intensely until Kah sighed knowing he was about to be lectured.

“You are no longer my Keeper of War—you made sure of that before you left,” Ahk said making sure his tone stayed even. “Why would one of my generals still be seeking your counsel?”

Kah shrugged, seeming disinterested. “That is a matter between you, and your generals, I think. Perhaps they do not work well with the man you put in my previous position.”

The proud indifference with which Kah spoke crept into his entire demeanor. With a simple turn of phrase and callous tone, he was blatantly off-putting to be around, causing Ahk to clench his jaw in frustration. Already the power Kah had gained was starting to taint the man he had become. The smug simper on his closed lips and the way he held himself was a remnant of the man who hungered for the grandest power in all the land.

The notion alone made the pharaoh’s stomach churn; still, he held tight to his resolve, not wanting Kah to see him unravel.

“I will gladly grant you that seat back, should you want it,” Ahk bit out, his anxiety turning to irritation. “I know many good men who would be honored to relieve you of the stresses of your new position.”

Ahkmenrah watched his brother carefully, wanting to see if he would take the bait and lash out as the old Kahmunrah would have. Instead, Kah’s arrogant posture wilted, and he sighed—definitely not an old Kahmunrah reaction.

“It was not my intention to argue, brother.”

“Nor mine,” Ahk said, losing his steam.

“Good.” Kah threw him a pleased smirk and pulled out the chair at the head of the table, motioning for the pharaoh to take his seat. “There is much to discuss.”

Kah took the adjacent seat as Ahk placed himself in his usual chair, his heart beginning to race as reality quickly came to consume him. Life had been so blissful—a perfect illusion Ahk was not yet ready to give up. Dread grew like invasive vines in his gut, twisting and contorting until he felt sick, making his composure difficult to maintain.

“First,” Kah began, looking somewhat guilty. “I must confess that before I left the capital I arranged for men to travel south into enemy territory so that they could report whispers of war directly to me. Doing so made sure I could be back in the capital in a timely fashion.”

Kah paused long enough to take in Ahkmenrah’s reaction. “I know you detest the use of spies, which is why I chose not to share this information with you before now.”

The frown that worked onto Ahkmenrah’s face was one he didn’t want to fight; he wanted his brother to know how unappreciative he was of such dishonest actions. Still, the pharaoh held his tongue to spare an argument, the irksome itch running over his skin told him that there was more to Kah’s reasoning that was more important than a squabble between brothers. Although, Ahk doubted any excuse could negate what had been done.

“And what did your spies tell you?” Ahkmenrah asked cooly.

There was a downward curl to Kahmunrah’s lips that did little to curb the pharaoh’s trepidation, and the longer Kah remained silent, the itch grew worse until it burned out any nuance of the king's previous ire.

“I forgive you for the spies, Kah. Now I demand you tell me what you have learned.”

Kah took in a deep breath, his slow exhale somehow amplifying the tension in the room, and met his brother’s glance—a somberness shimmering in the dark of his eyes.

“It seems, dear brother, the Nehesyw have brokered an alliance with the nations of Mitiumi and Hatti. All three plan to invade.”

In a single moment, the atmosphere in the council chamber was suddenly suffocating. The torches burned bright along the walls but a shadow settled over everything in sight, and Ahkmenrah slouched under the weight of his brother’s news.

It should not have come as a surprise that other nations sought to conquer Egypt. The pharaoh’s empire was a grand and prosperous nation, and as such, a challenge to anyone who thought themselves just as powerful.

“Are your men positive this is what shall come to pass?” Ahkmenrah asked, filling his lungs with a breath in hopes to steady his fraying nerves.

“I’m afraid so, little brother.” Kahmunrah placed a comforting hand on the pharaoh’s shoulder. “It seems our hope of negotiations has fallen through before it even had time to begin.”

The genuine sorrow in his brother's eyes and the ruefulness of Kah’s features lent a thin sense of compassion that was just enough to make Ahk feel like he wasn’t going to be devoured by dread. Even so, a wave of helplessness crashed mercilessly against the pharaoh, eroding that felicitous shell he had been living in.

For the first time in all his years of ruling, Ahkmenrah felt like a failure; what would his father think if he let their glittering empire topple into ruins? A chill shook his body at the notion. Ahk could not let Egypt fall.

“What do we do now?” Ahk asked in a whisper, hoping the soft tone of his voice would mask the panic that was slowly forcing its way out. “Perhaps there is still time to speak with the Nehesyw--”

“The Nehesyw people are savages—blood is the only thing they will ever understand,” Kah recanted sternly.

A furrow twisted onto Ahk’s face, confusion causing his head to shake as he recalled his brother’s previous plans of diplomacy.

“But you said we could negotiate once you had returned—you’ve returned. Let us go speak with them before they attack!”

Kahmunrah let out an irritable sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke, “We have missed our chance, brother. They’ve called to arms; now we must do the same. It would only show Egypt’s cowardice if we sought negotiations. We must stand.”

The pharaoh sank deeper in his chair, digging circles of pressure into his temples, trying to find logic. How could diplomacy be cowardly? Diplomacy saved hundreds, even thousands of lives. Was it wisdom with which his brother spoke, or was Ahk speaking to the blood-lusting, power-hungry man Kah used to be? Where did one end and the other begin?

Ahkmenrah couldn’t tell anymore.

If the Nehesyw were truly as savage as his brother made them to be, why had Kahmunrah led the king to believe there was ever a chance to reason in the first place?

Ahk’s head was spinning, and the knots in his stomach were so tight, he feared they would snap. Egypt was on the brink of war, and already it felt as though they were losing battles that had yet to be fought.

As silence crept into the chamber, it drove the looming malaise deeper. Ahk lingered in the bottomless cavern of his own thoughts as the quiet stretched on—vision unfocused, each breath more shallow than the last. It wasn’t until he swam through the flood of his thoughts that Ahk found the energy to speak, his voice weak, and unrecognizable.

“I suppose the next question I should ask is: can our armies fight them?”

Kahmunrah sat back in his chair, his focus drawing inward, rubbing his chin as he considered his answer.

His stalling gesture did not foster much in the way of confidence, but Ahkmenrah did his best to hold onto the shred of optimism that remained.

“The forces we have gathered here at the capital against all three nations? No. The number of men I have acquired that are ready to fight could easily hold this palace—even the city. But they are not enough to fight a war against three peoples.”

Ahkmenrah frowned.

“However,” Kah continued, steepling his fingers. “The well-to-do lords and governors of our great cities are aware of our situation and have promised to send what remains of their fighting men to the capital should Egypt need such defenses. Three nations will be tough, but I am profoundly confident that Egypt will prevail.”

Ahkmenrah could only nod to let his brother know that he understood, his words lost somewhere in the tangled web of his thoughts. He trusted Kahmunrah’s knowledge: he’d trained from his youth to learn how to fight and protect. Still, the pharaoh longed for his father to stand at his side to help him make sense of everything. Even more than that, Ahk wished to ask Merenkahre why he’d taught him only how to swing a blade or throw a spear. Swordplay and war were two vastly different things, and the king felt as though he was treading water that was pulling him under.

Before his thoughts could completely drown him, the pitter-patter of tiny feet stole Ahk’s focus, and he turned to find his two-year-old son toddling his direction with a smile on his face. The pharaoh smiled back and quickly took the boy into his arms, reveling in the serenity the weight of Sekmen in his arms brought.

Nouke followed the little prince, but she lingered in the doorway with an affectionate mask and watchful expression that lent another soothing warmth to deter the king’s anxieties. It was amazing how the simple sight of his favorite people could make even the darkest cloud light once more.

Kahmunrah grinned at his nephew and stood. “Allow me to speak on your behalf at tonight’s council. I will inform them of what we have discussed.”

His glance fell to the boy in Ahk’s arms, then to the queen behind him. “Spend this night with your family, brother. I can think of no better distraction.”

Ahkmenrah stood, shifting Sekmenrah’s weight to one arm so he could extend a grateful hand to his brother. “Thank you, Kah.”

Kahmunrah shook the pharaoh’s hand with a nod and a smile. “Rest assured brother; Egypt has nothing to fear.”

Had Ahk not caught the slight arrogance in his brother’s voice, Kah’s words would have left him feeling more at peace. Something about his tone seemed misplaced, but the pharaoh couldn’t figure out why—it was simply a feeling.

He pondered on it, fighting back the sense of alarm until Nouke hugged herself to his side.

“Did we rescue you in a timely fashion, my love?” Her eyes were sparkling with ardor and her expression prompted a smile to stretch across Ahk’s face, alarm forgotten.

“You did.” He hugged her closer and kissed her temple. “Thank you.”

Silence settled around them, and while the atmosphere still held its ominous aura, with Nouke and Sekmenrah in his arms, it was not so crushing.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”Nouke asked softly.

Ahkmenrah offered her only a doleful smile as a reply, conformation enough to cause her to hug him a little tighter.

“Let’s do something.” Ahk implored a moment later. He needed out of those halls that had told him all of his life duty would be his only purpose.

Nouke cast him a curious, single-sided smile. “Anything.”

***

The quiet interior of their chamber was drenched in orange and yellow hues as the sun sank into the horizon outside the open balcony. Immediately, Nouke could feel her husband relax beside her, the tense lines of his body melting under the cascading golden light.

She couldn’t help but relish his sight; holding their son, whose head rested upon his father’s shoulder, his sleep heavy lids blinking slowly. A soft smile pulled onto her features; such happiness they brought her. And more was on the way—a secret she’d been saving to tell the man she loved when he was most in need of something to remind him not everything was terrible.

Nouke took Sekmen from Ahk’s arms a moment later, humming the boy deeper to sleep in lulling tones as she tucked him snugly into his crib. Unlike so many other nights, the prince did not fight and drifted off easily, filling the chamber with soft snores.

The queen watched her sleeping son for a long while before her eyes drifted to where Ahkmenrah stood, meditatively removing all the golden barbles that made him a king. With each piece he shed, Nouke saw a little more of his burden dwindle away.

In a few steps, she crossed the room to help him, silently untying the fastenings of his wesekh and every other jeweled trinket he wore. Her fingers traced over his skin delicately, a purposeful intimacy radiating from her touch she hoped would steer away more of the anxiety Kahmunrah had brought home. Nouke felt the weight of his gaze on her, watchful, and praising of every tender gesture.

The last thing she removed was his polished crown, setting it carefully with all the other garments, and swept her fingers through Ahk’s hair until the curls fluffed into place.

His strong hands reached for hers with a feather-light touch that made Nouke’s heart swell, and he brought each of her wrists to his lips, kissing them gently to show his thanks. Ahk’s hands continued as he helped her out of the gilded finery she wore.

Every gentle touch he mimicked with the same finesse and amour, slowly removing her heavy jewelry to place alongside his own. His evocative touch made her heart race and her breathing shutter; every light brush of his fingers was both chaste and inherently sensual: a feat only he could have mastered. And once they stood naked of their duty—wearing the simplest of their garments—Ahk pulled her into a deep kiss that chased away the remaining pang of worry.

Stardust was bursting behind his eyes, making their blue-gray hues sparkle with whimsy as she met them in the dim light of their chamber. There was so much life in her pharaoh’s soul, so much love in his heart it almost didn’t make sense for a singular being to harness so much in a mortal body. Ahkmenrah was truly ethereal, a god-king, and all hers.

The pharaoh called for Medjay and a maidservant to watch their son when he took her hand in his, pulling her towards the door. Nouke didn’t question where it was he wanted to take her, she trusted his sense of adventure too much.

A content smile stayed on his face as he led her through the halls, coaxing a similar expression to paint across her own features. That placid mask only grew more joyous when he pulled them into the beautiful garden of their youth; the lotus blossoms were in full bloom, perfuming the air with their nectary fragrance, and Nouke quickly filled her lungs with their cherished scent.

Ahkmenrah continued past the quietly trickling fountain at the garden's center, over the plush beds of grass and through the thick brush of green that lined the outer walls until they came to their secret passage into the world beyond the burden of duty.

It had been years since either had cause to escape through the hole in the stoney exterior and as the bricks came loose effortlessly, it seemed as though they were meant to leave their worries behind for the evening.

Whatever news Kahmunrah had brought was enough to shake Ahkmenrah to his bones; she knew him too well not to see through all of his masks. And while the ever-present feeling of distrust would always writhe in her gut at the mere mention of her husband's brother, Nouke was going to have to remember to thank Kah one day for giving Ahk an evening to himself when he needed it most.

When their feet kissed the warm sand on the other side of the garden wall, a thousand memories flooded into their minds; memories of their youth together, memories of innocence and freedom. Even the memory of how Ahk had saved her by saving her mother. All of it flashed so vividly in her mind Nouke had to blink away their shine.

So much was written in those ever-changing sands along the Nile that they felt more like home than anywhere else—especially with Ahk’s hand in hers. She knew he could sense it too, finding his expression the same, his face upturned to the setting sun, eyes closed as the breeze tasseled his dark hair.

The sight was enough to make her already full heart burst with affection. Ahkmenrah was never more beautiful then when he was stripped of his golden raiment, the sun making his unblemished skin glow; he was absolutely radiant and Nouke could hardly look away.

His heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open as he turned his head to gaze at her, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he smiled. They walked along the bank of the Nile with Kamuzu several paces behind (as he had when they were children), and it was just as magical then as it had been years before.

The palace was far behind them when they came to a patch of green shore that was their favorite oasis in their youth. The moment they found it, Nouke knew it was the perfect slice of tranquility to share the news she’d been keeping to herself.

With a calculated yank, she pulled Ahk onto the soft earth beside a towering palm and the wind-swept reeds, the look of shock on his wide eyes causing her to laugh.

“I have news to share with you.”

The grin on his lips faltered somewhat as a hint of concern creased his brow.

“What is it, my love?” he murmured, sitting in front of her on folded knees.

He took both of her hands in his lap, his thumb sweeping tenderly back and forth across her skin as though to soothe her from the impending tension. In the twilight glow, Ahk’s eyes looked more green than blue, smoldering as they searched her face for a sign.

“Whatever it is, we will get through it together.” His concern was heartwarming, and it made her smile grow.

Gingerly, Nouke brought his right hand to her lips, kissed each knuckle then pressed his open palm to the, barely-there, swell of her abdomen.

It took the pharaoh a moment to work out exactly what it was she was telling him with the gesture; Nouke watched every expression with a smirk. From confusion to realization, to profound excitement, each one twisted on his features more vividly than the last.

Ahk’s question was in his smile, and Nouke cupped her hand over his as affirmation.

“The gods have blessed us again.”

Ahkmenrah’s mouth fell open as he glanced at her belly. From under the fan of his lashes, Nouke couldn’t tell if the twinkle she caught was a manifestation of whimsy or the welling of joyous tears. Either way, the sight filled her with warmth and love.

When he met her eyes again, his grin grew, and he crawled on his hands and knees to close the space between them with an enthusiastic kiss. Nouke hummed encouragingly and cradled the underside of his jaw with the tips of her fingers, drawing him closer until she was sprawled upon the soft earth, and he was looming over her.

Ahk’s face was a work of art, the sheen of his lips glistening while the rest of his beautiful face held a look of fascination, admiration, with the base of desire. Nouke traced the lines she found there, the natural pout of his lips, the cut edge of his jaw, the light scratch of his stubble tingling across her pads of her fingers.

Every texture under her touch, every gesture she made, and every slow, affectionate blink he cast upon her, Nouke logged to her memory wanting to save it for the years to come. He kissed her again, lazy like the movement of the clouds in the sky, and she memorized it too.

All of his love he poured into that kiss, and she returned it tenfold. With his body against hers, hands in her hair as their lips danced together, Nouke realized Ahk was far greater than a work of art or godly temple; he was the artist—the very architect of her happiness. It was him that painted the sun and the moon into the heavens, him that spilled into her heart colors of unimaginable hues. Ahkmenrah made her feel like she was a masterpiece.

He made love to her as the stars overtook the skies. Every piece of him crashed into her, and every piece of her crashed into him like waves unto the shore. In that shared moment of transcendent euphoria, Nouke swore that must have been how the universe was born.

As they came down from their highs, they chose to linger in the tranquility they found along the Nile, nestled in their oasis with no borders.

Ahk sat with his back against the trunk of a palm tree, Nouke against his chest, taking no moment for granted. His arms were around her, his open palm pressed proudly to her stomach, protecting the child he had put there. An other-worldly kind of peace encompassed her as the gentle rise and fall of her husband’s chest lulled her almost to sleep.

Nouke fought the temptation of slumber, however, not wanting to miss a moment.

“I would leave everything behind if you asked it of me,” Ahk confessed suddenly, his voice low.

The abrupt proclamation, coupled with his wistful bravado, fostered a new wakefulness that caused Nouke to shift in his arms to better study his expression. There was a soulful longing burning dim like embers behind the swirling color of his eyes—his gaze fixated on the distance. It was a mask that made her feel suddenly melancholy, weighing on the corners of her lips.

“I could leave it all to Kah—I doubt he would deny such a burden.” Ahkmenrah’s eyes stayed locked on the horizon as he continued to speak. “You…me…Sekmen. We could disappear. No more talk of war or duty—just us and a world to see…”

It was as though the boy she had grown up with was speaking: longing for a lifetime of endless adventure. Nouke had often considered a nomadic life, Ahk would have so easily fallen into it. But to leave Egypt to Kahmunrah? A changed man or not, Kah would never be the ruler Ahkmenrah was. Those days of childish dreaming had ended for them long ago.

Never-the-less, Nouke offered him a soft smile.

“What an adventure that would be,” she mused, playing into the whim just enough to deter some of the sadness in his features. “After all, you did promise to show me the pyramids, and the waters of the Mediterranean.”

Ahk’s eyes broke from the horizon to smile down at her, “I haven’t forgotten."

His gaze moved back to the horizon and when he sighed, Nouke could almost see the wistfulness billow out with his breath, tangling with the breeze.

“One day soon,” Ahk promised. “When we can afford to turn our backs on duty for more than an evening, I will gladly take you anywhere you wish to go.”

“I will count the days,” Nouke said with a soft smile, nestling back against him.

The abrupt shift in the atmosphere brought into mind a new wave of nostalgia Nouke couldn’t help but to mull over. Everything she held was precious; gifts she never would have imagined herself possessing or be deserving of, especially having come from a life of servitude.

“Sometimes I still feel more like that little servant girl when I roam the palace halls,” Nouke admitted, causing Ahk to sit up straighter with a look of bafflement contorting his features.

“My love, in the eyes of gods and men, you are a queen—my queen.” His hands cupped her face, and the adoration she found in his eyes was enough to chase away the feeling of lowliness forever. “Our son is a prince of Egypt, and in your belly, you carry another prince or princess. You are exactly who you were always meant to be.”

He kissed her again as if to seal his proclamation with an act of love to make it true.

“As are you, my king,” Nouke murmured, emphasizing his grand title so he knew he was exactly where he was supposed to be as well. It would have been foolish and greedy to abandon the roles they played.

Duty beckoned the king and queen back to the palace long after Khonsu’s light turned the waters of the Nile a glittering silver. And as they slowly strode back to the palace, they each wondered what life could have been for them free of the golden shackles they wore.

#Ahkmenrah #Ahkmenrah x Original Character #Ahkmenrah Fanfiction #Night at the Museum #NATM #NATM Fanfiction #Left to Ruin #Rami Malek Character #Rami Malek Character Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction #Rami Malek

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lildevyl · 3 years

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Blood and Tears

Summary: Foolish has been having recurring nightmares of a Bouquet that ends with someone that he cares about being Sacrificed. Foolish doesn’t know what the nightmares mean, but he has a feeling that it might be some sort of vision. The question is can Foolish figure out what these nightmares mean and be able to stop it from happening?

****OR****

The Eggpire Storyline but the Entity in the Egg decides to go after Foolish first to try and Corrupt to him and make him be the Totem of Death and to join them.

TW: Nightmares, Mention of Character Death, Implied Character Death, Slow burn of Main Character being Corrupted, Corruption.

A/N: My very first Dream SMP FanFic! Updates will be sporadic as I honestly don't know when Inspiration is going to hit or when I'll have to sit down and write. Let me know what you guys think and feel free to come yell at me or if you have any prompts, in my inbox!

(Night One)

With a satisfied grin, Foolish finished this part of the build for the day. He loves building and this build was one of his best builds ever. An entire mansion for Tubbo, Ranboo and their adopted son Michael! He was so proud of his work and Ranboo was more than impressed! Foolish walked to his Temple and decided to treat himself with a relaxing bath.

Foolish yawned a bit, it wasn’t uncommon that after exerting a lot of energy that his body would start to feel a little drained. Is this what humans tend to feel everyday after a long day’s work? Huh, maybe that’s why they need those vacations every year. To help regenerate their body’s energy. Another yawn later, and Foolish decides to head to bed to regenerate his own energy.

(The Banquet)

Foolish arrived on time at the Banquet that a few friends invited him too. He doesn’t remember what it’s about but he and a lot of friends were having a lot of fun! Papa Puffy was there! His old friend Ponk was there. Eret, Hannah, George and many others as well. Everyone was on the dance floor having a great time! Foolish talked about the mansion that he built for Tubbo and Ranboo and everyone seemed very impressed with it.

Everyone sat down at the dinner table and Bad asked if anyone wanted to give a speech. Foolish gave his speech, though he doesn’t remember what it was. Papa Puffy gave their speech, something about giving their friends a second chance, huh? George gave his speech and then Eret, and then Sam and then Ponk.

Bad gave his speech but something seemed . . . off about it. Foolish didn’t know why but something didn’t feel right. Like he’s waiting for something - bad? - to happen?

Foolish.

Something was about to happen and Foolish knew it. He just didn’t know what it was! Foolish looked around, but no one said the codeword. So, why did it feel like something horrible was about to happen? A feeling of dread took over and Foolish couldn’t shake the feeling. Looking back and forth between Sam and Papa Puffy, just waiting for one of them to give the codeword, but nobody did. Everyone was enjoying the soup, the appetizers, and soon the main course.

“You okay, Foolish?” Bad asked, bringing Foolish out of his thoughts.

“Huh? What?”

“You okay, Foolish? You barely touch your appetizer,” Bad explained.

“Oh, sorry. Lot on my mind,” Foolish said, unable to shake this dreadful feeling.

But then it happened. Lava poured around them, trapping them. Bad, AntFrost and Ponk, stood there and laugh. Revealing that this Banquet was nothing more than a Sacrifice party for whatever was in that damn egg like cocoon.

Eret knelt down in front of the altar, head bow and all Foolish could do was look on in utter horror. Why was this happening? Then AntFrost brought down the sword.

***

Foolish sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily, shaking from head to toe in cold sweat. What was that? Some kind of nightmare? It had to be. BadBoyHalo, AntFrost, Ponk, they wouldn’t . . . They wouldn’t - they were his and Papa Puffy’s friends. No, they - they definitely wouldn’t do something like that.

Foolish.

Foolish got out of bed and quickly splashed some water on his face. Then he got ready for the day. The sun will rise, shortly, and Foolish . . . Foolish, needs to build something. He needs to start building something to take his mind off of that nightmare.

***

(Night 7)

Foolish built and built and built and built, he had too. It was the only way to get his mind off of things and right now, Foolish needed something to distract himself. The nightmare was still fresh in his mind, so Foolish builds. He builds to get his mind off that nightmare. Taking a step back to admire his work, Foolish was very proud of his work! The outside looked amazing and the inside was coming along very well! But Foolish just couldn’t seem to shake this feeling of deja vu, like he’s been here before and this sense of dread was starting to creep up on him as if . . .

NO! No, no, no no! That was just a nightmare! A nightmare! A dream!

Foolish.

Dreams can’t hurt you! Dreams can’t hurt you! Dreams can come true yes, but nightmares can’t! They just . . . can’t!

“Foolish!”

“Huh, what?” Foolish turned around to see Ranboo standing there. “Oh! Hey, Ranboo!”

“You okay, Foolish? You seem a little distracted,” Ranboo asked with concern. “Maybe you should take a break from building for a bit.”

Foolish sighed, and stared at the ocean with a longing look in his eyes, wanting nothing more than to let his shark side out right then and there. It has been so long since he took a dip in the ocean and let his shark side out. He is a God of the Ocean, the Shark being his Animal Totem. It would actually be really good to go for a swim for a few hours. Take his mind off of things, feed his shark side. Oh, how he missed the taste of raw fish when he caught them. The joy of swimming so fast that he could literally fly through the air before diving back down in the deep dark blue.

Foolish closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You know what, maybe you’re right? Maybe I should take a break for a few hours.” Foolish said never, tearing his eyes away from the ocean. “You don’t mind that I do that? Maybe take a swim for the day?”

(The Banquet)

Foolish arrived at the party a little later than intended. He got carried away with one of his builds and completely lost track of time! This wasn’t the first time something like this has happened and everyone gave a light hearted chuckle. Foolish joined them on the dance floor, busting out some moves and really enjoying himself. He really needed this!

Foolish.

Foolish looked around thinking that he heard someone calling him, but nobody did. Shrugging his shoulders and chalking it up to overworking himself yet again. Foolish went back to enjoying the music and dancing.

AntFrost announced that dinner was ready and the food looked amazing! Skeppy said that he made all the food himself and if it tasted as good as it looked. Then they were in for a real treat! Foolish tried the first few dishes and he must say that Skeppy has out done himself! Foolish wondered what spices Skeppy had used because he couldn’t quite pinpoint the flavor, but the food was delicious!

“Are we going to do the Ceremony, Bad?” Skeppy asked excitedly. “Are we going to have them join us in the Ceremony?”

“Yes, Skeppy. We will do the Ceremony.”

Skeppy couldn't hold his excitement anymore and started to bounce around in his chair. “Ceremony! Ceremony! Ceremony!”

“Oh? Is there going to be a Ceremony, Bad?” Eret asked intrigued.

“Why, yes. It’s the big reason why we asked all of you to come tonight. We were hoping to have all of you join us in the Ceremony?”

Foolish smiled and nodded yes at Bad, not trusting his voice. He felt really . . . off. Lava began to pour down the walls, trapping everyone behind a waterfall of lava. Foolish was on his feet but quickly grabbed the back of the chair as a wave of dizziness hit him.

“Did you like the food I prepared for you, Foolish?” Skeppy asked with a sinister smile.

“What did you do to me?” Foolish demanded.

“I put a Weaken Potion in the food to weaken you and your powers, Foolish,” Skeppy explained. “The Egg wants Foolish. The Egg will get Foolish.”

“Alright that’s enough! I’ve had enough with this Egg! And now you’ve gone and poisoned my friend?! That’s going too far!” Ponk ran to where he hid the chest that had their weapons. Only to find the chest to be completely empty!

“What the -”

“Hahahahaha!!!! Were you perhaps looking for these?” Bad taunted, handing the weapons out to Hannah, AntFrost and Skeppy. “Oh you know what? Since, Ponk has so much spirit and went through all that trouble to sneak these in. Why not have Ponk be the first to be Sacrificed?”

“Great idea Bad! Would you kindly follow me!” Foolish made an attempt to stop Hannah but fell to his hands and knees.

“It’s okay, Foolish. It’s okay.” Ponk tried to reassure his friend.

Then Hannah brought the sword down on Ponk.

***

Foolish bolted straight up in bed covered in cold sweat. He was shivering from head to toe with it only being seventy five degrees Fahrenheit. Stumbling to the bathroom, Foolish splashed some cold water on his face. Closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths, Foolish tried to calm himself down. These - these nightmares are getting worse and Foolish has no idea why he’s having them or what they mean.

***

(Night 13)

Foolish wasn’t himself today. He started snapping at Ranboo - at Ranboo! Why did he do that? He never lashed out before! It’s got to be the stress of the build that he’s been doing for Ranboo and Tubbo and the nightmares that’s been plaguing him. He still can’t get over that! What do they mean?

He keeps revisiting the same nightmare but every time it’s a bit different. Foolish was invited to a Banquet being hosted by BadBoyHalo, AntFrost and Skeppy. Sometimes Skeppy wasn’t even there and instead it’s either Hannah or Ponk or both of them. And then someone dies at the hands of the people who should be their friends.

Foolish.

The worst part about these nightmares is, is the fact that Foolish doesn’t know why. Why would they do that? Why would Papa Puffy’s friends do that? What was the Egg? Was the Egg a Dreamon? The Blood God? An Ancient like him that was trapped or imprisoned from the God War?

Foolish.

Foolish looked around thinking that Ranboo or Tubbo or someone was trying to get his attention. Wait, when did he leave Snowchester? When did Foolish get to the dessert of his Summer home? He must be more tired than he thought. Foolish will deal with the fight he had with Ranboo tomorrow, right now, he needs some well deserved rest.

(The Banquet)

Foolish arrived at the Banquet a few minutes after Papa Puffy and Awesamdude. Looking around, he couldn’t help but smile a bit at the decorations.

“Foolish! You made it!” Bad said.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m a little late.”

“Got caught up with another build, again?” Bad asked and then laughed lightly at Foolish’s nod. “Well grab some punch and the dance floor is open. The food will be ready here shortly!”

“Foolish!” Papa Puffy called. “Foolish! You need to relax! We’re here to have some fun! Come on, and bust a move on the dance floor!”

Foolish smiled, and joined everyone on the dance floor. He even tried to mingle a bit with Nikki, and Hannah, but his heart just wasn’t in.

“You okay, Foolish?” Eret asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Just stressed. A lot of people have been asking and hiring me to build for them. Apparently, I received the reputation of one the “Best Builders”' on the Server.” Foolish tried to sound light hearted.

“Oh, you have, Foolish! You have!” Eret said with a lot of enthusiasm. “You might want to start your own business!”

Foolish actually gave a genuine smile and chuckled a bit at that. Ah, so that’s why he felt so out of it! It was just stress! Stress from building and stress from him trying to top himself, and outdo himself with each and every build. That’s got to be it! Right? Right. Okay, Foolish time to go and enjoy the music, the punch and the food! You’re here to have fun! And to get your mind off of things.

Foolish.

Bad announced that dinner was ready and Foolish was eager to dig in. The food tasted amazing! Ponk really out did himself! Foolish wondered what he used because it was just the right amount of spicy that he liked! Foolish engaged in some small talk while they ate. That is until he noticed the lava began to pour down the walls!

“What the?!”

“Oh My Stream!”

“XD! What’s happening?!”

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

“Hehehehehahahahahaha! Well, now, who would like to go first to be Sacrificed for the Egg?” Bad asked, enjoying the chaos.

“Sacrificed?!”

“No, we’re fine, we’re fine, we’re fine,” Puffy tried to assure everyone. “You know what? I didn’t trust you Bad! I didn’t trust you at all! I didn’t trust you or AntFrost or Ponk! You know, it’s unfortunate that I can’t trust either one of you!” Puffy went over to where they hid the chest in the table. “Because I planned for this! Wait, what?!”

“Oh ho! Were you looking for these?” Bad asked, handing out the weapons to his friends.

“What?! How?!”

“I’m sorry Puffy,” Hannah apologized. “I had to do it. I had to tell them.”

“What? Hannah? But you were with us!” Foolish couldn’t believe this! Not only was he not able to save Ponk but now Hannah has betrayed them?

“The Egg! It’s been helping me! Healing me!” Hannah explained.

“Now, who’s all ready for the Sacrifices?!” Bad exactly excitedly

“WHAT?!”

“Well, you see, in order for the Egg to hatch it needs energy. And in order to get that energy is for people to die near it and that’s where you all come in!” Bad explained. “So, who wants to go first?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Bad! AntFrost! This is your last chance with me!”

“Puffy, this is your fault!” AntFrost said. “You betrayed the Eggpire! You were part of something beautiful and worth something! Now, everyone behind you will die! Because of you!”

“Not because of me! I did what I had to do to protect the people! To protect my son!”

“Well, then. Thank You for volunteering! You can go first Puffy!” AntFrost began to drag Puffy up to the altar with Puffy putting up one hell of a fight.

“Alright stop! I am sick of this foul red stench. I tried - we tried to give this dreadful Egg another chance! But it’s probably best that it ends this way. Let’s see if this Egg can withstand a barrage of lightning!” Foolish began to charge up his power to summon the lightning. But nothing happened. Foolish tried again, eyes glowing white, but nothing happened. Foolish tries again, eye glowing white and sparks flying around him, but nothing happened.

“Wait, wait, - I don’t . . . I don’t understand . . . Why’s it - why’s it not working?” Foolish asked confused. Why weren’t his powers working? Why wasn’t it working? Why can’t he summon the lightning?

“Did you like the food I made you, Foolish?” Ponk asked. “I must admit, I didn’t think it would work on you, but I’m glad it did.”

“What?! Ponk?! What did you do to me?”

“After our encounter at your Summer Home, with you doing that wonderful display of your powers. I slipped you a Weakening Potion in your food.” Ponk explained. “Glad to see that it actually worked!”

“It’s okay, Foolish! It’ll be okay!” Puffy tried to reassure her son. “I’ll come back! I’ll still have two canon lives.”

AntFrost then brought the sword down.

***

“NO!!!!” Foolish screamed falling out of bed wrestling with the sheets to untangle himself.

“No! No, no, no, no, no!!!! Ender, no! Not Papa Puffy! Not Papa Puffy!” Foolish pleaded.

A part of Foolish wanted to believe that these nightmares mean nothing and that the events that keep happening in the Dream World would never happen! But another part of him knew that if he didn’t figure out what these mean, then chances are. These nightmares will become visions of the future. A future that Foolish fears what might happen if they do come true.

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authenticcadence18 · 4 years

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30 Questions About Me

THANKS FOR THE TAG @bugaboo-n-bananoir ILY!!!!

(Nick)name: Cadence

gender: cis female

Star sign: Pisces

Height: uhhhhh I am not sure, it’s taller than 5ft at least

Time: night! (Well I wrote most of this last night, but now it’s the evening of the next day!)

Birthday: well I’m a Pisces, so my birthday is between Feb 19th and march 20th!

Fave band/group: Pentatonix! Or For King and Country. Or the piano guys, the vitamin string quartet, Voctave.....also Phineas and the Ferbtones👌

Fave solo artists: I really like Lauren Daigle, and Jackie Evancho used to be my FAVE. Aaand idk if this counts but Michael Giacchino! love his scores, especially the score for Inside Out. There’s also this guy called Clay Kramer on YouTube who makes KK Slider covers of popular music, his stuff gives me so much seratonin😅

Song Stuck in my Head: Well I’m listening to music rn and “I’m Me” from Phineas and Ferb is on so I’ll say that! (I’ll revisit this one when I finish the list and update it with whatever song i’m listening to/is stuck in my head then) (ok the music has since been turned off and now I have “Status Quo” from High School Musical stuck in my head so! There ya go!) (now it is the next day, and I’ve got “when the party’s over” stuck in my head...i think these three songs are an accurate reflection of my taste in music🤣)

Last Movie: uhhhhh oh yeah, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice! It was SO GREAT because Jay Baruchel plays the main character (and the main character is super awkward), so I felt like I was watching Hiccup from the How To Train Your Dragon franchise learn magic and it was GLORIOUS. And also Nicholas Cage is great. And I liked the love interest in the movie as well!! She had a role to play in the story and felt authentic and genuine, which I appreciated!

Last Show: ok well the last show I watched by myself was Phineas and Ferb! Specifically, the episode with the Mardi Gras block party and then the one where Candace and Stacy compete in an obstacle course against Isabella and Ginger (omg wAIT ginger and Stacy are sisters and Isabella and Candace are GOING to be sisters mY HEART I—AH🥺). I hadn’t watched those episodes in forever, so they were really fun to revisit! I think the last actual show I watched was Kids Baking Championship or something, lol. (Those kids are AMAZING. So skilled!)

When i created this blog: November 2019! It was riiiight after the season 3 finale of miraculous aired and absolutely wrecked my emotions. I had some fanfic written that I’d never posted and had been thinking about making a tumblr/ao3 for awhile, and seeing the finale made me finally go, “.....you know what, yeah. The finale is aired, no more spoilers.....it’s time to make a blog.” So I did! And I posted my first fic! And I’m so happy i did :)

What Do I Post: a bunch of multi fandom stuff XD. This blog started off as 90% Miraculous, 10% other fandoms I like...but now it’s just kind of a hodgepoge of my favorite fandoms (with a focus on Phineas and Ferb, lol). I reblog a lot of posts, and then I post original stuff too! I write fanfic, nowadays for Phineas and Ferb but for Miraculous in the past (and probably in the future!), I draw art (mostly Phinabella art because I’ve been drawing them since i was 11 and it feels good to return to my roots), and OCCASIONALLY I will write an analysis post (I’ve got one in the works rn actually 👀), attempt to make a meme, or dip my toe into salt just SLIGHTLY before quickly backing away, lol. If I were to list the fandoms I post about in the order of how frequently I post about them, I’d probably say: Phineas and Ferb, Miraculous....and thennnnn everything else is pretty random and depends on the day, lol.

Last thing i googled: Jay Baruchel 😂. Couldn’t remember how to spell his last name!

Other blogs: this is my only blog! Sometimes I think about making a separate blog for my art and writing, but I am not sure if I should or not....maybe I will someday, but idk. I also have an AO3 for fanfic and an Instagram for art! All are under the name “authenticcadence18.”

Do I get asks: sometimes, yeah!! Sometimes I reblog ask games/prompts and get some asks for those (I’ve got so many prompts in my inbox I want to write/draw things for...ah it’s fine, I’ll get to it eventually😅), and sometimes lovely people will leave thoughts or nice messages in my inbox🥺💕. I’ve got a specific tag for all those nice messages so I can read back over them whenever I need a boost!

Why this url: it’s a music pun! When a song/section of a piece of music ends with a dominant chord resolving to a tonic chord (if you’ve read a certain fic of mine you should know allll about dominant and tonic chords👀🤣), it’s called an authentic cadence! There are different kinds of cadences, and authentic ones are my favorite. One example of this is “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” I also use this blog to be my authentic, fandom-loving self! So I like authentic cadences, and also, I’m Cadence and using this blog to be authentic! Woo! (And 18 is just my favorite number, lol) I’m glad I ended up choosing a name that doesn’t tie to a specific fandom becaaaaaause this ended up being a multi fandom blog!

Following: 232!!

Followers: 292!!! (THANKS SO MUCH Y’ALL ILY 💕)

Average amount of sleep: wellllll for the past week and a half I was sick so I was probably getting 9ish hours a night (because I would sleep in really late, lol). but NOW? In my immediate future? I suspect my average amount of sleep is going to go down because I’m really bad about staying up late even when I have to get up early😅. Hoping to be good about getting at least 7ish hours a night!

Lucky number: 18! But y’all probably already guessed that, lol.

Instruments: my voice, piano, ukulele, viola (but it’s been a HOT minute), aaaand i used to be able to play guitar but then I got a ukulele and forgot all the guitar chords. (I also dabble in songwriting! I primarily use voice and piano when writing music.)

What I’m wearing: my favorite sweatshirt (that was last night, rn I have on a tanktop), some leggings, and socks!

Dream job: I’m currently learning to be a teacher, and I LOVE teaching and working with kids so that is definitely a job I’m really excited about!!! I would also love to portray characters at Disney or something (well, maybe not at Disney because I hear they’re strict, but like....I want to be Rapunzel or Anna or something, that would be so fun). OR, I would LOVE to work in tv animation somehow, be it voice acting, writing scripts/music, and/or story boarding. basically if I could do what Dan and Swampy did for Phineas and Ferb/Milo Murphy’s Law, I would LOVE THAT. (Especially the writing music part. Getting to write music for established characters and get PAID for it would be SO COOL.!.!.!) Also I think it would be so fun to write Disney storybooks! Like, those books that are about Cinderella baking a cake or Ariel befriending a seahorse, stuff like that. Those brought me a ton of joy as a child!

Dream trip: I want to visit alllll the Disney parks someday😅. (Not right now because, ya know, Covid...but someday!)

Fave food: uhhh i really like pizza. And popcorn. Also hummus and guacamole!

nationality: American

Fave songs: “Times” by Tenth Avenue North; “Can’t Help Falling in Love” (I made an entire playlist of just this song when I first started writing my fic of the same name, so I like the original and a ton of covers of it!), “Show Yourself” from Frozen II, “What Might Have Been” from Phineas and Ferb (and lots of other songs from that show, i made a whole post about that once but I can’t find it, oof); “Rescue” by Lauren Daigle; “Thank You” by Pentatonix; “I See the Light” from Tangled; “Your Hands” by JJ Heller; “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran.....i like a loooot of songs so this is just the tip of the iceberg, but I think that’s good for now, LOL! (As soon as I post this I’m going to remember another song I love, lol)

last book: I got the book Unbirthday for Christmas! It’s basically Disney’s Alice in Wonderland, but if she’d never gone to wonderland and things went horribly wrong there. (I think, I’m not that far into it yet, lol)

Top 3 fictional universes I’d love to live in: 1. DANVILLE, PLS. Especially as a kid, I SO would’ve loved to hang out with Isabella and Phineas and the rest of the gang! Danville is so vibrant and unique and people are always randomly breaking into song there, that’s my kind of place! 2. Fairytopia (from the Barbie movies!) because I could be a fairy OR a mermaid OR BOTH and eat seeweed to breathe underwater even if I wasn’t a mermaid. Like, that’s the dream right there. (I’ve always loved mermaids and fairies, lol!) 3. Maybe San Fransokyo from Big Hero 6? All of the technology in that universe is really cool! And I would love to eat a noodle burger, lol .

Oh! That’s the last one! Wow! This was so FUN!!!!!!! Thanks again for the tag, Maddy!!!! :)

I’ll taaaag @sketchy-panda @macaronsforchat @simplynewyorkbound @inkjackets and anyone else who’d like to do this! (And pls don’t feel pressured to play at all, or answer all of the questions! I was definitely vague with a few of my answers, lol)

#long post #cadence rambles #tag game #this was so funnnnn!#i also got your other tag maddy🥺#going to get to that post soon!

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writethehousedown · 4 years

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In My Head, We Belong (Crystal/Gigi) Chapter Six -- Zyan

a/n: i gotta admit, today’s prompt was sort of hard to turn out but i tried my best by using it as a metaphor! hope you like it :) thanks to frey for bullying my characters beta-ing this chapter!

Crystal wants to slap herself when she finds the type of flowers used in the flower crown Gigi gifted her.

I love you. That was the literal meaning of Red Chrysanthemums. I love you. It was straight to the point and it left no room for questions.

And what did Sunflowers mean? Friendship. Jesus, had Crystal indirectly and accidentally friendzoned Gigi? God, she feels so stupid.

She tries to not beat herself up too hard, remembering Sunflowers can also mean adoration, but Crystal has no control over what meaning Gigi decides to give Sunflowers.

Crystal soon realizes she’s worrying too much for, allegedly, not having a romantic interest in Gigi anymore.

She freaks out a little, because how could she not? Gigi (probably) just blatantly told her she likes her through the language of flowers, she friend zoned her without knowing it, and she’s worrying too much about Gigi thinking she did so intentionally. But did she? Does she really see Gigi as a mere friend? Doesn’t she feel anything more for her? Have her old feelings quietly resurfaced or, moreover, did she ever stop liking Gigi at all?

Crystal revisits the past two years in the blink of an eye, thinking about all the times her heart has fluttered at the sight of Gigi all glammed up during their night outs and she looked nothing short of a goddess, or when they walk home from a tiring shift and, even when she could use a shower, Crystal always finds her equally beautiful whenever she smiles.

She thinks of all the times her cheeks had hurt from laughing at a bad joke Gigi said, and excused herself by saying she’s just easy to make laugh. She thinks of all the nights she’s crashed at Gigi’s house and fell asleep contemplating her face.

Crystal thinks and thinks and thinks, and she finds not all of them are tinted with romance. Some are just really good memories she has of Gigi as a friend, and some are from when she was head over heels for her.

An oddly specific memory hits her when she looks out of the window and stares at the New York City’s lights, imagining they’re stars. Once, when she was staying at Gigi’s place, they snuck out into the rooftop with a bottle of wine, a blanket, and some pillows - just because they could. Naturally, they couldn’t do anything like star gazing, but they sure talked about everything and anything, even if it was pure nonsense.

Gigi sleepily snuggled against Crystal’s chest at some point. Crystal could just stroke her hair until Gigi fell asleep in her arms, and there was such a warm feeling in her chest as she watched Gigi sleep, she couldn’t put it into words; Gigi’s warmth lingered in Crystal’s body for days after.

That had been at the end of last summer.

For a moment, Crystal is dumbstruck. Does it mean she likes Gigi? Is it even possible to like someone without noticing it, and if it is, how had she gone so long without noticing it?

There’s too many questions for someone with an empty stomach, and Crystal thinks better when her stomach is full.

Though, that probably should be put up to debate the moment Crystal thinks it’s a good idea to ask Gigi over text if she wants to grab a coffee tomorrow at their usual place, with the intention of talking about the meaning of the flower crown — though she clearly leaves out that part.

Gigi reads it just when Crystal starts regretting such a poor life choice.

Lady G: sure! I have a meeting with a customer at four, is five thirty good for you?

Crystal breathes in deeply as she types a confirmation. Gigi replies with two heart emojis, and Crystal inhales sharply.

Crystal comes to the conclusion that she’s stupidly impulsive while she waits for Gigi at the café.

She’s been nervous about it for the entire day, staring at the clock and thinking it’s broken or something, when the time passes painfully slowly.

She’s not really sure why she’s doing this if her feelings for Gigi aren’t clear. Only two weeks ago she was crying because a douchebag ditched her, but there’s something in her that wants to believe it’s a good idea. Communication is always good, right?

“Crystal?” Gigi’s soft voice speaks, making Crystal jerk her head up. She feels her heart give a thud, but she attributes it to the nerves and not to how pretty Gigi looks in that white blouse paired up with a baby pink plaid skirt. “Hi, um, you weren’t waiting for me for too long, were you?” She inquires as she sits down, placing her purse on her lap.

Crystal shakes her head, and it isn’t really a lie; she’s just been there for ten minutes, mentally preparing herself for possibly her worst impulse yet.

“No, I’ve just arrived, it’s all good.” She gives her a smile, and Gigi smiles back.

They have no idea what to say, so they greatly appreciate it when one of the waitresses swings by to take their orders.

“It feels weird when you’re on the other side,” Gigi says once the waitress is gone and they just have to wait for their orders. “Sometimes I automatically put on my customer service smile when I approach people or vice versa, it’s weird.” They laugh shortly, and it’s a good way to kick off their conversation.

They talk about random stories, the shows they’re watching, remember past night outs or gatherings, stories about their time in college or High School, and soon Crystal forgets about what she initially wanted to talk with Gigi.

It helps calm down her nerves, though. So when she sees the opportunity of bringing up the flower crown when Gigi mentions her mom’s garden again, she takes it without hesitation.

“Oh, um, speaking about flowers, there’s something I wanted to talk with you about,” Crystal begins, and though she tries to hide it, she can see how Gigi becomes uncomfortable, her shoulders tense and the smile on her face becoming awkward. “I know what Red Chrysanthemums mean,” she says softly, and Gigi’s demeanor changes once again.

Her cheeks turn crimson red in the span of a second and she looks away, her hands twitch, so she hides them under the table.

It all confirms Crystal that Gigi didn’t gift her the crown out of pure coincidence. But she asks her either way.

“Gigi, I need to know if it was intentional, please,” Crystal begs her, trying to catch a glimpse of Gigi’s eyes.

She nods sheepishly, finally meeting Crystal’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Yes,” she manages to say. Crystal inhales sharply. “I… I was kinda hoping you’d never notice. It wasn’t how I wanted to tell you. Though, to be fair I wasn’t planning on telling you, like, ever,” Gigi confesses and Crystal’s heart stings a little.

What would’ve happened if she never bothered to find out the flower’s meaning?

“I’m— I know that you don’t feel the same, I understand it. I swear I’ll try to get over it if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Crystal knits her brows in a frown. Gigi’s words unexpectedly hit close to home for her.

“Y’know, when you started working at the restaurant, I rehearsed those same words in my head whenever I thought you knew,” Crystal comments, trying to sound as casual as possible, but her legs are bouncing and her palms are sweating. Gigi frowns, not understanding what Crystal means. It leaves Crystal surprised, to say the least.

“I had a crush on you when you started working at the restaurant, but I guess I kinda forced myself to stop it, ‘cause, y’know, when I tried to flirt with you, you’d brush me off by being just friendly,” she says and Gigi gasps, covering her mouth.

“Crystal, I swear to God I never knew. For real I thought you were being nice! Like, at that moment I just wanted to fit in and try to get used to the job. I never noticed you—” Gigi stops herself in the middle of the sentence to rubs her temples, and Crystal watches her in a stunned silence.

Wow. She really is bad at reading people’s feelings.

“How ironic, huh? When you don’t have feelings for me anymore, I get a crush on you,” She laughs awkwardly, but Crystal cocks a brow.

“I’ve never said I don’t have feelings for you,” Crystal says quietly, and Gigi shuts her mouth, looking completely dumbfounded. Crystal hesitates before continuing. “I mean, lately my feelings for you have been confusing, because I feel different around you now. But a good different.”

Crystal smiles warmly and Gigi softens up a little, fidgeting with her hands.

“So what now?” She inquires bashfully. Crystal shrugs.

“We go on a date?” Crystal offers doubtfully. Gigi giggles.

“Doesn’t this count? I think it does.”

Crystal nods with a laugh and she swears she’s never seen Gigi smile so wide.

#rpdr fanfiction #crystal methyd/gigi goode #crystal methyd #gigi goode #zyan #in my head we belong #slow burn #lesbian au #cisgirl au #waistress au #spring fling week 2020 #day 6: birth #submission

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seriouslyhooked · 5 years

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Lost Souls and Reveries (Part 23)

24 part AU written for @cssns. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22. Story available on AO3 Here and FF Here. Banner created by the amazingly talented @shipsxahoy!!

A/N: Hey all! So we are back with another chapter of Lost Souls and Reveries and, as is very typical of me, I found myself trying to wrap up this story and I’ve come to the realization I need a few more chapters to do the story justice. I also had multiple readers ask (okay, beg) me to pick up the story right where the last chapter had ended so I have done that with this chapter. Be advised we will move from Killian’s POV to another character who’s POV we’ve never had before. But rest assured you’ll get some fluff, some smut, and some cuteness before getting back into the drama. Thanks so much for reading, and can’t wait to see what you all think!

Hearing Emma say the words, ‘I do’ just now as they made their vows to each other out on the front porch changed the entire plan Killian had for this evening. There could be no soft and sweet or slow and steady when he knew Emma loved him just as fiercely and entirely as he loved her. It brought too much to the forefront, prompting his body to pulse with the need and adrenaline reserved only for two perfectly suited fated mates. This didn’t seem to bother Emma though, for she replied in kind, holding him tightly and clamoring for more as they moved past the front door and into their new home.

A tour might have been an obvious first step, but it would have to wait. Right now, Killian craved the taste of his love and the satisfaction that came with making her purr. He could smell her want for him and feel the way her body shook with anticipation and desire. It was like their first night spent together all over again. None of the frenzy had dissipated, and his confidence and assuredness in them had only grown stronger. He and Emma were forever. There was nothing but this – nothing but them – and he let out a growl of approval at that as he made quick work of the alarm and bolted the front door, locking them away from the rest of the world. Before she could put even a few inches of space between them he was on her, resulting in a yelp of anticipation from Emma that dissolved very quickly into a throaty moan.

“Killian.”

His name on her lips soothed him even as they drove him just a little more insane. Didn’t she realize how lost he was for her and how such strong displays of her infatuation would drive him even more wild? She was stirring the animal inside of him, making him and his wolf completely desperate for more.

“I had a plan, love. I was going to take you room by room through this house. I was going to tell you of my dreams for this place and ask you of yours,” he said as his hands brought her harder against him, her core rubbing against his hard length through the denim of his jeans. She writhed at his show of power, her eyes hazing over to a lusty emerald green. “But that plan is no longer viable.”

“It isn’t?” Emma asked, her tongue coming out to wet her lips, taunting him and splintering his already fractured control.

“No. I can’t wait any longer, love. Maybe another day, in another moment…” he trailed off, not wanting to revisit the harrowing episodes from earlier today again, but Emma understood. Instead of letting that linger she pulled him down to kiss her and fed directly into his new dream. Soon he had her caught between his body and the wall and as he tore his lips from hers, seeking out her slender neck, he hummed before nipping at her pulse.

“You unravel me, Emma,” he said as his hands roamed her body with power and precision. He held her tight, his hold absolute, dominating his love in a way more befitting of a wolf than a man. It was primal, but oh so right, for him and for his mate, as was made clear by Emma’s little keening cries for more and her ever strengthening scent. “My mate, my wife, I must have you.”

“You do. Totally and completely,” she exclaimed, her voice growing pitchy as her breathing grew more labored.

She wiggled against him, and he resented the clothes still between them. Without real care for any of it, he stripped them down of everything he could, ripping away whatever wouldn’t easily go. He pretty much destroyed the whole outfit his Emma had been donning, but he didn’t give a damn. He’d buy her a hundred more if it made her happy, and in this moment she didn’t seem to care, watching him with increasing excitement and desire with each rip and tear. When she was naked before him, he stood for a split second totally hypnotized. He didn’t know where to start. He wanted to devour her completely and he traced the lines of where he could begin over and over a thousand times in mere moments. But when his eyes landed on the place where their pup was now growing more and more every day, he was pushed to action again, overtaken by the knowledge that he’d filled her womb with his child almost from the start. She was his in every way, tying them together and building something wholly good from their union, and both those things only made him want her more.

“It’s moments like this I thank God a little extra for what you are, love,” Killian murmured against her skin, his instincts trying to decide where it would be best to take her. Sure he could gather her up and bring her upstairs, but that would take time. Time he had no interest in wasting.

“What I am?” she asked, not following.

“A perfect blend of human and shifter. It makes you strong, love, strong enough that when I take you tonight I don’t have to hold back. I would have loved you any way you came, Emma. Never doubt that, but knowing how much you can handle…” he said as he knelt before her, his hands keeping her pressed against the wall as he maneuvered her to bring her waiting heat to his hungry mouth. “Knowing I can take you hard and make you mine again and again, well that’s the definition of a miracle.”

Without further discussion he took exactly what he wanted, savoring her taste and her desire while sating some of his need for her. This urge to dominate her, to take what he wanted while also giving her everything she could ever wish for pounded through his body, and after a day as riddled with peril as the one they’d just faced, he could do nothing to curtail this. The sounds of her wild and unchecked wants were music to his ears, and he started to lose grasp of his conscious human mind. Everything was instinct as his animal took over with just basic pulsing words blaring in his head as he tasted her sensitive flesh.

Mine. Take. Claim. Mine. Take. Claim.

He felt Emma crash into her completion once and then again and again. He drew her out and never let her rest, but when she couldn’t take love in this form any more he shifted their position, bringing her down to the ground with him but having her from behind. They’d done this before but never so brazenly, never with so much rampant need. It made the back of his throat tight with a need to howl, and when Emma begged him to take her he almost did. He cursed aloud but felt that biting sense of bliss as he slammed into her over and over. He lost himself in this but it wasn’t enough. It felt like the mating moon bearing down on them, but it was just their love. No other magic was at play, save for the magic that lay in Emma. Ultimately he needed to change their position again, never feeling fully complete without seeing her fall apart and when she did he wasn’t far behind. And in those precious moments where they truly became one, Killian found that all too elusive peace that told him just how perfect they were for each other.

“That was…” Emma couldn’t seem to find the words as they lay together on the living room floor, both spent and reveling in what they’d just done, with nothing like shame or embarrassment between them. “God, I don’t even have words. Can we do that again?”

“Every day of our lives, my love.”

After a few more moments spent enjoying their togetherness and the way that their burdens felt far beyond their reach, Killian wanted to show his soon to be bride their new home. There was just one problem – in his haste to claim his mate, he’d made a real mess of their clothes, hers most notably and in the end all they had between them was his jeans and shirt.

“There are clothes upstairs,” he explained, running his hand through his hair distractedly, as Emma stood up, completely exposed and unfazed in the slightest. But then she smiled at him and he was truly driven to distraction.

“Why bother?” she asked, stealing his shirt and throwing it over herself, the hem of it coming to just about midthigh, covering her, but making her no less tempting to him in the process. She gestured to his jeans and he put them on, reveling in the look in her eyes when he remained shirtless and available for her viewing pleasure. “See? We’re golden.”

Killian laughed at her assessment before taking her hand in his and guiding her on an actual tour through their new home, a place she clearly loved, even before seeing the redone interior. It was a great gift to him to know that he had made such a good decision in buying this estate, and Emma’s enthusiasm and excitement reassured him that he could not have done better. She was enamored with this house, and thankfully she was on board with all of the changes he’d made so far.

“I can’t believe this can be the same house. Everything is so bright and airy, but it’s still timeless,” Emma marveled, taking in the high ceilings that the first floor boasted and the charming antique moldings that adorned the walls. He’d had the contracting crew paint everything a pale eggshell for the time being, wanting a clean canvass that Emma could change should she so wish, but even like this the house was somehow still cozy. It didn’t have any sort of sterile, modern malaise. It was simple sophistication, and that seemed to be exactly what Emma wanted.

When Killian first saw the house, there were some rooms that were beyond salvaging, but many were diamonds in the rough. In some spaces, like the sunroom which was directly next to their living room, the antique windows that had always been there still worked perfectly. They formed a large glass encasement facing the east, so that early morning sunlight would always fill the area. With a bit of cleaning and restoration, the gilded beauty of a more ostentatious time was made relevant again, and the effect was classic and homey all at once. The room lacked furnishings now, but Emma immediately had ideas, something Killian knew would happen. He was almost glad for this little bit of chaos, if only because it sped up his reveal of their home. With Emma’s wishes known now, he could make this place a completed, calming hideaway for them by the time they were truly wed, and that was a goal he would be glad to accomplish. In this room especially, Killian could imagine shared stolen moments. Someday this home would be filled with their children, and there would be rare segments of time when Emma and Killian weren’t attending to them, but in the early morning, when the sun was just rising, or just after dusk when the stars were starting to appear in a vast night sky, Killian could envision them curled up, sharing a coffee or a cocoa and enjoying the respite, however fleeting it might be.

Other areas like the kitchen, were beyond small fixes. The contractors gutted the whole thing, and what now stood there was a contemporary looking space that was big enough for everything they needed. There was ample counterspace, new appliances, and a kitchen island made of local white granite, and most importantly there was an open wall so that he or Emma could see directly into what would be one day be their children’s playroom when they were cooking meals. That wasn’t the original layout of the house, but Killian had been adamant with the contractor that this was what he wanted. He and Emma hadn’t discussed this at length, but he knew that her career and the service she provided to the community meant everything to her. As such, he anticipated that he would take on a bulk of watching the kids and keeping things handled over here. He was desirous to do that, knowing that providing his family with love, protection, and stability after being denied that for so much of his youth would make him a better man. This fresh start with Emma was a way to do things right, and though it might seem overprotective, he wanted the ability to keep tabs on all their little ones at any given moment.

“This kitchen is amazing,” Emma gushed, running her hand along the sleek new features with adoration. Suddenly her cheeks flushed and Killian was on her immediately, wrapping her up in his arms and demanding to know what thought she’d had that made her blush. “I was just thinking that we’ll probably be spending a lot of time in here. What with all my pregnancy cravings and everything.”

Killian knew she didn’t just mean cravings for food, of which Emma had already begun to show signs. Since he’d gotten her pregnant Emma had been even hungrier for the love between them, and that was perfectly fine with Killian. He craved Emma every second of every day, and if she liked this kitchen and had visions of satisfaction stemming from this space, then who was he to deny her what she wanted? Hell, he’d take her right this moment if she indicated that was what she wished, but clearly this tour meant so much to her, and they still had much to see.

The rest of the first floor was all pretty standard, though Emma commented again and again about how open it was and about how it was exactly like she’d always wanted. But it took getting upstairs for really overflowing emotions to emerge. Emma saw the rooms Killian had begun to design for their future children and the features he’d put in already, like reading nooks and bay windows that matched her own childhood bedroom. There was a circular ‘tower’ room that he’d converted into a library, and even now many of Emma’s favorite books were adorning the built-in shelves around the space. She had been so busy she didn’t notice him taking them from her apartment above the clinic, but seeing them now she was overcome with emotion. Her eyes filled with happy tears, and her voice grew soft and strained from all that she was feeling.

“Oh, Killian, it’s perfect,” She said, running her hands along the wooden shelves with a dreamy expression.

After a few more minutes, Emma noticed the books that adorned many of the lower shelves and in the face of them her unshed tears managed to slip down her cheeks. For there, in an area most easily reached, there were already some childhood story staples. More than a few of those were courtesy of Emma’s parents. They had saved her favorite books from when she was a young girl and gifted them back now in hopes that one day their grandchildren would enjoy the same stories. Meanwhile, though his own possessions were much less vast than Emma’s were from childhood, there were even a few bounded tales from his youth, which he one day hoped to share with his children.

“I was thinking I could put the telescope here,” Killian said, drawing her to another wall that was made almost entirely of glass and which dipped upwards, allowing for a beautiful view of the night sky. Already the stars were twinkling, and though the grounds of their house were largely obscured by the shadows of the night, the sight was still beautiful. “I always loved the stars as a boy, I figure chances are one of our little ones might be the same.”

“They all will. They’re all going to want to be just like their Dad,” Emma said, bringing Killian’s hand atop their growing pup and smiling as she did. “They’re not even here yet and already you’re the best kind of father. You love us all so much, and that’s the one thing that matters most of all.”

Killian agreed that she was right. His love for their family was forever. It was unconditional and it would never end, as long as he lived and ever thereafter. That was probably evident in the way he’d begun to style the nurseries and designed the rest of their home, but in one room there was no real hint of their children. The master bedroom would be their space, a den of sorts, built to be the essence of comfort for him and Emma. From a giant bed with flowing white linens, to the giant clawfoot tub and the walk-in closet, Killian had chosen every feature with Emma’s happiness in mind. Things in their life were already hectic, and when they had kids it would be the same, just in new and differing ways. He felt strongly that Emma and he should have this, a private little oasis where they ended and started each day together.

To say that Emma agreed would be an understatement, and she showed him that immediately, by pulling him into bed and ‘christening’ the room in a way that drew them both to bliss. All in all, it was a perfect first night together, and a miraculous stretch of time where both of them could put down their worries about of the state of their small world. They ate, they bathed, they made love more than once, and they cemented their mating bond over and over again. The monsters in their lives were pushed to a far away distance, and somehow they both managed to sleep after everything they’d gone through. Nine full hours of rest were attained, and both of them slept with only peaceful dreams, but alas, the real world could only wait for so long, and sure enough it came tumbling back in again. When it did Killian woke right away, hearing the chirping of his phone before it woke Emma and walking into the room beside theirs, which happened to be their nursery before answering the call.

“You found something?” He said, not even greeting Ruby’s call with a hello or a good morning.

“We did. Graham managed to get surveillance tape of George’s SUV. He changed the plates but there’s a recognizable scratch along the front. Definitely bear claws. Graham ran it through the national database and got a hit at the border.”

“So he’s in Canada now?”

“Yeah, but we lost the trail there. Graham’s police contacts seem to not be as international as we might need them to be.”

“So we’ve got nothing then?”

“Not so fast, Lance of all people got a message from a mountain lion clan about six hours from here. There’s something happening up there, something weird.”

“What do you mean by something?”

“Animals are acting strangely, unaccounted for tracks, and there’s a smell, or rather a stench as they put it.”

“More sick shifters?”

“Only one way for us to find out, but it sounds like it. Good news is David and Neal made good progress with a cure, and in the meantime, they found a sedative that works. Anna’s bear let them test it on him and he was out damn near all night. They’re prepping more now.”

Killian heard the sound of Emma waking up, the sheets on their now messy bed rustling as she moved and he sighed, knowing that yet again he was facing real danger and an enemy that didn’t want him and Emma to have this peace. The only consolation was that a lead could get them past this. If they could find these shifters, then maybe they could find George and really get rid of him. That was the ultimate priority as the man was seemingly decided against letting Emma be.

“Do we know anything about the area?”

“We don’t, but David seems to. He says it was a long time ago, but when he was a kid he went with George past the border. They stayed with another family of hunters who lived not too far from this clan. David had heard that family were all gone now, some sort of hunter feud gone bad, but land records show there’s a massive estate out there. No listed residents but taxes on it get paid every year so no one’s messed with it.”

“George is probably there,” Emma said, putting into words Killian’s own assumptions as she curled into his side, and he nodded to her as he promised Ruby that they’d be there in thirty minutes. When he’d hung up the call. He looked to Emma, hating what he had to say next.

“We’re going to need to send a tracking team love, and there’s a reason Ruby called me. Of all of us, it’s likely me, Liam, and your father who are most needed out there. If this place is really as rural as Ruby made it seem, we’re the only ones trained for this kind of thing.”

“Well good, you should go then,” Emma said, moving to get dressed. “But I’m going with you.”

“Emma, you don’t have to do this,” he replied. “Yesterday was a lot for you and the baby and -,”

“Oh no you don’t. There is no way in hell I am sitting on the sidelines. This is my fight too, and besides, we both know that even if you’ll worry about me with you, it’s nothing compared to what you’ll feel if we’re apart.”

How could he argue with her when she was exactly right? He would feel better knowing she was with him, danger or not. After yesterday, there was just no comparison. Fighting side by side would now always be his preference and Emma knew that and made no complaints.

Soon enough they were ready and reunited with the others, and it became abundantly clear that more people wanted to go than could easily be brought. Killian and Liam were a given, as was David for obvious reasons. He was the only hunter among them, he had a baseline awareness of the area, and he had the most resentment against George of any of them. Ruth couldn’t bear to go, and it didn’t make sense for most of the others, but finally it was settled that Emma and Anna would round out the team. On this they had only mild pushback, all of it from Elsa.

“If you’re going, I’m going,” she said, not to Liam but to Anna. His brother’s mate seemed to trust in Liam’s ability and obviously didn’t desire to be away from him, but her fiercest protective instincts only came out for her sister and for Emma. Since Emma had Killian to watch over her, Elsa was appeased on that score, but Anna was more precariously placed, and also guided by emotion that could end up being her downfall.

“No, Elsa, you have to stay here. Ruby needs you to help with tracing Gold, she can’t do it alone, and I need you to stay with him,” Anna said, motioning towards the bear who remained trapped in the crystal enclosure.

The bear had been paying attention this whole discussion, and he roared out an aggressive sound. Clearly it didn’t like the idea of Anna leaving, and Killian couldn’t blame him. But there was very little choice, especially when Anna wanted to get some kind of vengeance for him. Before he could get too worked up, Anna slipped back into the crystal enclosure. While no one outwardly gasped this time, it was still alarming, and Emma squeezed his hand tight as she watched her friend.

“I know you hate this idea,” Anna said, pressing her hand to the bears face lovingly. “I’m not a huge fan either, but I know it’s the right thing. My instincts are going haywire, telling me it has to be like this. I’ll never know peace until I know he can never hurt us – hurt you again.”

The bear growled, but the sound was aimed at George and not Anna. Surprisingly the bear then reached its claw out to grab Anna and pull her close in what was quite literally a bear hug. Anna let out a sound between a laugh and a cry, but she relaxed into the embrace for a moment. Finally she pulled back, pressing a quick peck to the bear’s cheek before promising to come back. When she was through the crystal enclosure again, she looked to Elsa, and the tears in her eyes did nothing to deter her conviction.

“I can’t leave him with just anyone, Els. Leaving at all is hard enough, but I have to. This man hurt him, tortured him, and it makes me crazy. I have to help bring him down, but I can’t if you won’t stay here and protect him for me.”

Elsa stood there quietly for a moment, her hands balling and releasing unsteady fists as a range of emotions crossed her face. She clearly hated this idea, and her eyes flicked between Anna and Emma, before ultimately landing on Liam. Killian watched as his brother whispered an assurance in his mate’s ear and then kissed her surely, and when they pulled back Elsa’s fear was somewhat eased but by no means erased. Still, she chose brave acceptance over continued argument.

“You have to promise me you will stay with Liam or Emma at all times,” Elsa said to Anna, emotion caught in her throat as she spared another glance at her mate and Emma to confirm. “Seriously, you all three better come home to me or there will be hell to pay.”

“Everyone is coming home, and that is an order,” Mary Margaret said, her stares intent on David and Emma, though she clearly cared for all of them.

It was almost humorous to see the fierceness of a mother and a wife so closely mirroring Elsa’s fear as a friend and sister. If one didn’t know better, she and Mary Margaret would seem like family, but then again they were. Truth be told, every person here were all of them connected together, whether through blood, love, or unbreakable bond and that was all exceptionally clear as goodbyes were said, and ‘see you soons’ were exchanged.

“There’s no use worrying now about how this is gonna go,” David said a few minutes later as they got into the car and he drove the clinic’s SUV out of town and due north.

“Oh no?” Anna asked, her eyes watching the landscape like at any moment she’d see her mate running through this grove of woods.

“When my wife gives an order, she gets her way. If she says we’re coming home, we’re coming home.”

The joke achieved its objective, lightening the mood and bringing a small smile to everyone’s face. And though there were no real guarantees, and the future was still unsure, Killian chose to believe that Emma’s father was right. For after all of this, they simply had to survive, and when they did it would be on to happy endings, and the days of warring villains would be past them once and for all.

………………………..

Idiot! Fool! Complete and total failure!

The snarling voice inside his mind gave life to all of Gold’s own feelings about the sham of a hunter who had driven him astray.

What a farce this had been, and infuriatingly, what a harrowing misstep they both had made. All of this magic and time, wasted. He was low on his stores, having depleted too much of his saved up power not just in the past few days but over a series of years, and the thought was repulsive to Gold. After decades of harvesting every last bit of magic he could from creatures and beasts all over this world, here he was, weak and vulnerable. That wouldn’t last too long. A few months in one of his many hideaways and he’d revive himself to a more stable position. He had plenty of treasures back home designed to help him do just that. But still, what an embarrassment, and it was all because George Nolan was too blinded by purpose to prepare for all outcomes.

Of all the things to be undone by, a mated bond was one Gold never anticipated. Surely a seasoned hunter wouldn’t be so stupid, so pitiably dumb as to miss a possible match set by a natural magic far stronger than any Gold could conjure. But then that was the problem with these humans. All of them were so guided by their own crusades and devoted to overblown ego. Still, hunters were supposed to be of at least some use. They knew of magic in this world, they were privy to more than the average so and so. Yet in this situation it clearly meant nothing and now years of planning were gone, faster than he could flick his wrist and cast a spell.

Walking through the doors of this dilapidated shack that humans called a home, Gold bit back his sneer. Or maybe he didn’t. Why guard himself now? The cat was already out of the bag, so to speak, and now it was time to clean up. He had made a mess, or at least had allowed a mess to happen, and now it was time to make things right and protect himself before this belligerent waste of space made even more trouble.

“You played me!” George said, appearing from the back of the room that was obscured with shadow with a cross bow drawn and aimed Gold’s way. “You reneged on our deal! You told me you’d give me a weapon to kill them, and look what you did instead!”

“What I did?” Gold bit out, the words filled with venom and yet sterilized from most of the hate and rage flowing in his veins. He stepped closer to George, never flinching even when the hunter raised his bow to aim at his heart. “You were the one who made the choice. Who caught the beast in question? Was it me? Oh no, it was you. I offered one after another after another. I made it as easy as I possibly could for you to have all that you wanted. I gave you access to every shifter I could find, I ravaged half a dozen packs and chose the strongest of each clan, but none of them suited you. No wolf would do. No lion would suffice. I searched high and low, but it had to be a grizzly, and for what?”

“You know as well as I do that the infusions work best with a larger beast -,”

“Ha! You and your little ‘infusions.’ It was my magic that made anything possible. Without me you couldn’t stabilize that sickness to save your life. You would have had nothing, nothing!”

“Would have had? I have nothing now! Not only did the bear not fulfill the objective, they captured it.”

“You really can’t even grasp your own stupidity can you?” Gold asked. If he were capable of pity he would have felt it in this moment, watching as George looked confused in the face of his words. “They didn’t capture the beast. The bear has a fated mate and she is a witch. A friend of your great-niece.”

“That’s not possible. I designed the virus to override that instinct.”

At this Gold let out a sharp cackle, a maniacal sound that echoed through the aging wood of this long forgotten cabin. He hadn’t laughed like this in a long time and it really was funny, even if it was also a fucking farce.

“Override the instinct? You really are as dumb as any human off the street.” George’s anger got the better of him and he shot the arrow at Gold, but Gold was faster, waving his hand and halting the motion of the weapon as it clattered to the ground. “There is nothing in the world stronger than a fated mate. True love, soul mates, they exist in all the fairy tales for a reason. As long as there has been magic in the world, love has had power.”

“Well you should have told me! How was I to know?”

“See that’s the problem with you – you think that in this deal it’s I who serves your purpose. And I’m here to assure you of how wrong you are,” Gold said lifting the arrow with his powers back from the ground and turning it back to face at George. “The only reason I let you have your little sickness was to suit my needs. I want those witches and the hybrid. You promised me them in exchange for your weapon.”

“Maybe if you had told me why you want them so bad we could have avoided this.”

Gold ignored the barb, but his own sense of foreboding crept in again. He suppressed it, refusing to allow a dying witch’s last words to haunt him any longer. He was taking control of the situation, stifling any threat, or at least he was trying to.

“But it’s too late now.”

“Too late?” Gold said with a barked out laugh. “We’ve a half a dozen more shifters roaming around these mountains, waiting to be sent to track and kill, and none of them with mates to find in that wretched pack.”

“Doesn’t matter. David knows what he’s up against now, and he may be a disgrace, but I also trained him. He’ll have found a way to fend them off by now, he and those abominations he carries on with.”

“You really believe he has that ability?”

“I do,” George admitted, angrily.

“So what? It’s just over then? You’re giving up and reneging on your deal?”

“The way I see it the deal is moot – you failed to provide -,”

“I gave you everything I promised!” Gold screamed out, and the sound of it boomed around them, echoing in a thunder clap above them. The wind had picked up inside the cabin, the air crackled with energy, and yet when he calmed, that aching sense of exhausting kicked back in. he was weak right now, and he couldn’t afford this fight. But that didn’t mean he planned to lose. Far from it. “And now you’ll see just how strong a weapon that it was.”

With a flick of his wrist, the arrow fell down to the ground again, and George let out a sigh of relief, but then the howl of animals in the night emanated from a few miles away, sending an eerie chill even through Gold’s body. Oh he was at no risk, to be sure. His magic had a failsafe – no creature in his hold could turn on him, but any block against their attacking George was now gone. After all, a deal was a deal, and if a man couldn’t meet terms… well, that was hardly his problem.

“What did you do, Gold?” George asked, but Gold just smiled, giving an exaggerated wave goodbye, laughing again as he turned for the door. “Gold?! Gold!”

The sound of desperate calling was music to his ears as he walked away into the woods, heading to somewhere no one could find him without paying a hefty price. And though it might take some time, Gold reveled in the thought that by this time next year his latest trophies would be found. The witches and the hybrid would be his, fate would be rewritten, and he would remain the most powerful creature of them all.

Post-Note: Okay so yeah, this was wild even for me, BUT I needed you guys to see a little more of how things have gone awry and to know more than Emma and the others do. When I hinted a few weeks back about a spin-off of this series, I always had tracking Gold in mind, and though the story will feature CS, it will more centrally revolve around some of our other characters. Rest assured though, Gold is now out of the picture in this story, but George and the six sick shifters are still very much an issue. We’ll get to the climactic conclusion of that next time, and in the meantime I hope you guys enjoyed, I thank you so much for reading, and I hope you’ll keep enjoying this journey with me as we hit our last two chapters (and maybe a bonus epilogue or two)!

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mrsnazariowrites · 5 years

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Dangerous Minds

The Edge of the World: Chapter 10

Perfect Match AU

Pairing: Damien x MC

Perma-note: Dames’ name is Dexter in this series.

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I hit a huge snag with this latest plot twist and had to revisit my outline. It was so confusing, I ended up scrapping an entire scene and rewriting the first half of the chapter. Huge thanks to @lizeboredom for bouncing off ideas with me as always!

The supporting lyrics are from the song Dangerous Mind, by Within Temptation

If you need to catch up, Chapters 1-9 is in my Masterlist

If you want to be tagged, let me know!

Link to the Choices Fanfic Archive version:

http://choicesfanfic.com/content/dangerous-minds/

Summary: Someone has intercepted Hayden and his friends! Can they trust him? Meanwhile, Damien has something that Eros wants . . .

Disclaimer: Characters/canon belong to Pixelberry

I’m searching for answers

‘Cause something’s not right

I follow the signs, I’m close to the fire

I fear that soon you’ll reveal your dangerous mind

“What the- hey, get off me!” The impostor struggled in Hayden’s grip as the two wrestled each other, before Hayden managed to lock his arms behind his back. “Guys, it’s me, Damien!”

“The hell it is!” Steve growled. “You can drop the act, ‘Damien’! Or should I say Dexter? Or some other name that starts with D?”

“What the hell makes you think I’m-” Before he could say anything else, Steve pressed a certain spot on his shoulder and watched as the panel slid open. The revealed circuitry cast an unearthly blue glow masking The Match’s instantly paled face. “I . . . how . . .” He stammered. “I don’t understand- these wires-”

“Drop the act, Dexter,” Hayden said coldly. “We’re not falling for this again. You either take us to Maya and Damien or we have a handler right here who can make that happen.”

As if to prove his point, Sloane stood straight, her lips pulled in a thin line. “We don’t want to fight you,” she implored. “The way I do things, Matches are always afforded a choice, but now, we don’t have the luxury of time. Please just cooperate with us.”

For some reason, he only seemed more and more bewildered at the things they were saying to him. But noting Hayden’s furious expression and the tears in Nadia’s fearful eyes, he started to back down. “Look, let’s just calm down here,” he said softly. “I need to get a few things straight. First off, I genuinely have no idea why I have wires in me and I’d really appreciate some answers on that. Second, my name is not Dexter. That has got to be the dumbest name I’ve ever heard of.” He scowled. “And if someone’s legally changed my name without asking me, I need to have words with them.”

“Listen, you-” Hayden was cut off by Steve, who motioned frantically towards the corner. Sure enough, the shadows of patrolling guards were growing longer, indicating that they were approaching the area now.

The Match took advantage of the distraction to wrench free of Hayden. Then to everyone’s surprise, he beckoned them in another direction. “This way!” he whispered. “Hurry!” Seeing no other choice, everyone followed him through another path until he reached a certain cargo container. After making sure no one else was in there, he led them inside and secured the door closed, keeping them safely hidden from anyone passing by.

A few awkward moments passed as everyone gauged him, trying to process this sudden turn of events, until Nadia finally spoke. “Guys, I think he’s telling us the truth.”

“Nadia, we still need to be careful here.” Hayden said. “How do we know he’s not going to lead us straight to Cecile? You know what happened to Maya after she trusted him.”

“But that’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent here!” The Match protested as Sloane frowned and stepped forward to examine his panel, pulling out her tablet from her small bag. She went relatively unnoticed while the others continued their exchange. “I just got out of my prison and I’ve been trying to find Maya. I think I know where they are and we need to get out of here right now!”

“I don’t know,” Hayden was watching him skeptically. “Something’s still not right about this.

“Guys, wait.” Sloane’s eyes were wide, she tinkered with the Match’s panel until the desperation in his eyes suddenly went blank and his body became completely still, prompting everyone to take a cautious step back.

“Uh . . . Sloane, did you just break his brain?” Nadia tilted her head curiously, rapping her knuckles against his head.

“No, I put him in maintenance mode to do a scan. This way, Matches function as robots – detached from personality, emotions and basically everything that makes him . . . well . . . human.”

“How can you scan a Match when he’s conscious?” Hayden asked.

“He’s not conscious, at the moment. Maintenance mode, remember?” When Sloane noticed everyone’s stunned expressions, she just shrugged. “I’ve hacked confidential files from a corporation and overrode their prison’s entire security system in the North Pole and turned their entire factory of Matches against them. I don’t see what’s so surprising about this. Anyway,” she took a deep breath, gesturing to the Match. “He’s definitely telling us the truth. He’s not Damien, but he isn’t Dexter either.

“So he’s a . . . clone of a clone?”

“Perhaps. His first recorded memory is only timestamped to just a few hours ago. In fact, his interface is scheduled to record and upload video logs to Eros’ mainframe in this location. But his long-term memory includes footage of the events from before, including the events at the Louvre. But the only difference is that the footage being recorded here is in real-time, which makes his presence here more specific to whatever the agenda is at this particular place and not from before.”

When Sloane looked up, everyone was staring at her with completely confused expressions. She cleared her throat, realizing she needed to simplify her word choice. “Whatever his purpose is, it’s only meant to be carried out here.”

“Well we’re about to find out.” And with that, Sloane switched the Match back to normal mode.

He blinked several times before facing everyone, taking in their grim expressions. When Sloane opened her mouth to speak, he raised a hand, cutting her off. “Wait. You don’t have to say it,” he said sadly. “I saw it for myself and then whatever you just did . . .” He looked at his hands, frowning. “I’m like Hayden and Steve, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Sloane replied. “I’m sorry that we don’t have a gentler and gradual way to tell you, but we’re completely pressed for time.”

The Match nodded in understanding, swallowing hard as he closed his fists. “I know,” he said. “I’m starting to remember everything now.”

Hayden blinked in surprise. Well that was quick. “How exactly is your memory at the moment?” He asked. “What do you remember?”

“Not much,” The Match squinted, trying to think back. “I know who you guys are . . . I remember Maya, our friendship, the fact that we’re together now, my mother and sisters. I know what all these people mean to me, though the details are a little hazy. But I do remember today more clearly. All I know is that I’m supposed to get to Maya and escape.”

“Ugh,” Nadia shuddered. “Why do I have a feeling this is somehow related to what Harley was going to do to Maya back at the Arctic?” Everyone exchanged uncomfortable glances, knowing that was what was likely going to happen here, given the Match’s obvious cluelessness to the situation and where he’d been headed had they not intercepted him. This guy would barge into her cell, make her believe they were getting out of here, then lead her to either Cecile or Rowan, who would then reveal the truth; staging the ultimate heartbreak for her in order to suit whatever nefarious agenda they had in mind.

It was then that everyone had reached the same conclusion. Trusting this Match was a huge risk. But it was one they had to take if they had any hope of getting their friends out relatively unscathed. So they proceeded to fill him in on everything that had happened to them, up to and including Cecile’s deal. Even that there were other Damiens out there – the real one, and another fake. When they were done, he was pacing, running his fingers through his hair.

“Like we said,” Steve chimed in awkwardly. “We’re kind of on a time crunch-”

“No, no, I get it- it’s just . . . a lot of information.” He stopped in one place, his expression changing as everything seemed to become clearer to him. “So they’re gonna use me-him-us to hurt her . . .”

Nadia chewed her lip, struggling to hold back tears. “Technically, they already did in a way. And they’re planning to do it again. And I’ll bet you anything they have something in store for Damien. What with their weird obsession with ‘love’ . . .”

He picked up on the implication and swallowed hard, shaking his head rapidly. “No. I can’t let this happen.” He looked up at them, his earlier desperation returning, though with a completely different meaning now. “What can I do to help?”

“Since you were on your way there, do you know where she is? Can you get to her?”

“I could’ve . . . but if you say I’m uploading logs to Eros and they can look into my head, I’m not confident I’ll get past the guards, Harley and Dexter before the jig’s up. It’s really risky – speaking of which, we need to find a better place to hide. Someone’s bound to need this cargo container at some point and then we’ll be discovered.”

“Upload logs . . . look into your head . . .” Sloane suddenly perked up. “I have an idea! It’s crazy, but it might work!” She looked to her tablet and scrolled through the diagnostics she’d gotten on him. “You and Dexter are both clones of Damien, meant for Eros’ temporary use- no offense!” She continued when he waved her off. “You’re obviously of the same model. Maybe there’s a way to see what’s going on there through Dexter’s eyes! With you as our means of communication!”

Nadia raised an eyebrow. “So you want to have him make some sort of mind-melding telepathic connection to Dexter and use his brain as surveillance?”

“And to see how his mind works if possible! Maybe there’s more going on than we think! Something to turn the scales in our favor?”

“Oh god,” Hayden groaned. “Now my mind’s gonna explode.”

“Maybe literally in my case,” The Match said, wryly. “But if it’ll get us the intel we need, let’s do it.” He watched as Sloane reopened his panel, then typed away at her tablet, starting programs and windows that none of them could decipher while Steve kept watch at the entrance. Once she was done, she took a deep breath.

“All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” she explained. “I’ve hacked into Eros’ surveillance program and am going to replace it with an update that will synchronize your software with Dexter’s and essentially override-”

“Uh, in English, please?”

“I’m going to link your mind with Dexter’s so that he can see everything that you can see. And only him; not anyone else at Eros.”

The Match nodded and then took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and concentrated. As Sloane completed her update, he began flinching, shuddering and jerking in place for a few moments while Nadia and Hayden kept their hands on his arms, supporting him. Several minutes passed by with everyone both giddy with anticipation as something could finally be working in their favor, and also anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop – such as a random trojan horse or something that would alert Cecile to their location.

Once the update completed the Match’s eyes opened; a blank, faraway look in his eyes now as he started searching for Dexter. “Found him,” he said. Everyone sighed in relief.

“What’s he doing now?” Hayden asked.

“Pacing back and forth outside the cargo container. He just got done taking food to Maya and Alana – he also had a really heated exchange with Maya.”

“Heated exchange?” Hayden tensed. “Did he hurt them?”

“No, they just . . . argued a lot.” The Match pressed his fingers over his temples and tried tapping further into Dexter’s memories. “Maya confronted him over lying to her at the Louvre and causing all the awful stuff that happened today and he insisted he was just doing his job, but . . .” Then his eyes widened.

“But what?”

“Maya mentioned him suddenly deciding to protect her when Harley was hurting her and he basically let it slip that it’s hard for him to see her suffer and the extra feelings he’s been having about her are real, but he’s insisting there’s nothing he can do, that she brought that on herself but he still doesn’t want her to be harmed- good lord, he’s going back and forth.”

“Uh- whoa, back up. Extra feelings?!” Nadia’s jaw dropped. Hayden didn’t know whether to be furious at the revelation that his own look-alike had hurt Maya or strangely disturbed yet intrigued by the fact that Dexter had clearly developed a soft corner for Maya.

“He’s struggling,” The Match explained to the stunned group. “He was in on the whole thing at first, but something’s changed now. He has memories of Damien and Maya – they’re vague, but clear enough that it’s had an impact. Now he doesn’t want to hurt her. At this point, he’s likely hoping there’s a way for her to be unharmed without anyone finding out his feelings.”

“So . . . he knows this is wrong, but is hesitating to do the right thing!”

The Match nodded. “He needs more of a push to understand the bigger picture. Damien’s memories that Dexter and I have are hazy enough as it is. His, more so than mine. ”

“Because he was never meant to stick around for the long run” Hayden finished for him. “He’s just a distraction meant to get her here. After Eros is finished with us, he’ll probably be of no use to them.”

“But if he didn’t have those memories, how exactly did the extra feelings come around?” Nadia asked.

“Maybe all that time he’s been with her is reminding him of them?” Sloane contemplated. “Dexter is made from Damien, after all. He has his feelings and personality. The part of him that’s ‘Damien’ is likely keeping him from going all out with Eros’ cruelty the way Harley is and is trying to fight it.”

“Then maybe we can help him make that choice.”

“We will, but not here,” The Match said firmly.

“Then where?”

———————————-

Sometime later . . .

After taking a few deep breaths, Dexter felt his earlier annoyance dissipate at last. Satisfied that he could now think clearly, he decided that it was time to report back to Cecile. Technically this was supposed to be a quick food run. It was in his best interest not to be gone too long-

A sudden flash of white halted him in his tracks.

What the hell? Dexter stopped, blinking repeatedly until his vision became clear again. After waiting a few moments to make sure everything was fine, he started walking again only to feel a sharp sting poking through his head. “Gah-!” He stumbled forward, clutching his head as his vision started swimming with multiple images.

They flashed back and forth at light speed for a few seconds, then slowed down to a more clear picture as his mainframe seemed to process this new information.

A cargo container filled with about five people, Nadia Park’s tear-filled eyes, Hayden’s anger, Steve’s suspicion, Sloane . . . then came the background of a small office- what he recognized as the control room at the center of these docks . . . Populated by those same four people.

There were several voices, one of which sounded suspiciously like his own . . .

“He knows this is wrong, but is hesitating to do the right thing!”

“They don’t intend to keep him around for long. He’s just a distraction meant to get her here. After Eros is finished with us, he’ll be of no use to them.”

The image of the control room became clearer at that point. A video was playing on the screen, showing a facility lined with blue screens and machinery. He could only assume this was a manufacturing facility for Matches.

It was all crystal clear for him to see, as if he was actually there.

“Who is that?” Hayden was pointing to a young-looking gentleman, dressed in a blue polo and a simple green sweater, as he stood stiffly in front of Rowan with blank eyes.

In the video, Rowan folded his fingers in his lap. “Power core status,” he commanded.

The Match opened his mouth and spoke tonelessly. “Core frequency stable in standby mode. Temperature nominal.”

“Emotional check in.”

“Anticipation laced with nervousness. Positive emotions detected, including but not limited to joy and optimism.”

“Good.” Rowan nodded, satisfied. “Last but not least, do you know who I am?”

“. . . Yes, Father.”

And just like that, the anger was back. “Maya,” Dexter snarled. “You’ve really done it this time.”

——————————–

Damien’s head was pounding when he finally opened his eyes. He blinked several times against the brightly lit bulb hanging in front of him, recoiling from the uncomfortable prodding against his side.

Wincing, he reached to clutch a spot where Harley had hit him before, only to find that he couldn’t. Damien looked above him to find that his hands were separately handcuffed, to opposite ends of a metal bar against the wall.

He sighed. So it’s gonna be one of those times, huh? He took in the dark, metal walls of the cargo container locking him in. It shouldn’t have surprised him, considering he already knew they were at the docks, but it certainly didn’t make him feel any better about the circumstances.

On that note, Damien suddenly remembered that Maya and Alana were locked up somewhere else – probably tied up like this too – and a strong urgency came over him. He began twisting at the cuffs, hissing at the sharp sting in his wrists.

Come on, Nazario! Keep trying!

He tried recalling the old days at the precinct when he and his colleagues would practice getting themselves out of handcuffs. Though they were in a chair, not chained against the wall like some goddamn medieval prison. Still, there had to be something in there that would get him out of-

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Damien looked up to find Cecile and Harley standing in front of him, both of them wearing smug grins. “Cecile.”

“Damien.” She nodded condescendingly. “Glad to see you’re making yourself at home. You’re-”

“-going to be here for a while” He rolled his eyes. “Is there anything you can say that won’t make you sound like a TV show villain?”

“Show all the attitude you want, Damien. Fact of the matter is, we have the upper hand right now. You might as well cooperate and this could be all over.”

“Yeah, that’s a little hard to believe,” Damien said, pulling at his handcuffs to make his point. “Given the situation.”

“We’re not taking chances with you this time,” Harley replied. “After that stunt your crazy girlfriend pulled at the Arctic, don’t expect Father to go easy on you now.”

“That was nothing compared to what I’ll do to you if you touch her again,” Damien growled venomously. Harley’s fist swiftly connected with his jaw and he recoiled, biting back a groan when the jerking movement yanked the cuffs against his wrists. He let out a dark chuckle. “Someone’s a little salty.”

Harley looked as if he would attack again, but Cecile held out a hand, halting him. “As fun as this banter is, we have things to discuss.” Her eyes flicked to his bindings and she smirked. “You should really take it easy, detective. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“How kind of you,” He drawled.

“Funny enough, I’m actually feeling pretty generous. Now, there’s something here you might like to see.” She pulled out a tablet from her pocket, tapped on it a few times and then turned it around to show him.

A window popped up on the screen to display security footage. It was an empty hallway consisting of several rooms. The time was displayed on the bottom of the screen, the seconds counting away.

Damien was already feeling a little uneasy as he searched every detail of the image playing on the screen; not that he was about to let it on. There was clearly a purpose for this. So he just raised an eyebrow. “This supposed to be a rerun of Paranormal Activity or something?” That earned a chuckle from Harley. “I appreciate the home movie but I prefer comedies.”

“We’ll see if you’re laughing after this.” Cecile forwarded to a certain point on the video and played at a point where the inside of what appeared to be a warehouse was showing.

He first saw Nadia and Steve in the video, piling boxes into a makeshift bed, then Alana who was sifting through a small fridge, and Maya who was just coming back inside, shivering in spite of the thick uniform she was wearing.

Damien instantly realized that this was old footage from the warehouse at the Arctic HQ, where they’d been hiding the night before their escape. Then the screen paused at a shot of him, hunched over and typing away at one of Eros’ company laptops. “What exactly am I supposed to be seeing here?”

“As you can see, before you left the Arctic you’d already been snooping around our facilities for a while.” Cecile replied. “What were doing with that laptop that night?

Damien shrugged. “How else do you think we got to Paris in the first place? Booked some tickets online.”

“I can see you’re going to be difficult about this. Not that I’d expect anything less at this point. But I’ll humor you.” She shook her head, chuckling as she stepped back and crossed her arms. “We’ve been searching for someone very important to us and happened to receive some vital information on him the night before our headquarters were destroyed. But the next day, all of those memos were missing.”

Damien could feel Cecile and Harley watching him, trying to gauge his reaction. So he kept his face neutral, not wanting to give away that he vaguely knew who they were talking about.

That night, he’d been looking through the laptop to see if there was anything he could find that could be used as evidence. Along the way, he’d stumbled onto a few emails detailing someone they were looking for . . . some guy under the alias ‘Richard Cummings’, which apparently warranted ridiculous jokes about it. Based on what it said, this man had already been found by them once, only to have disappeared again to San Francisco. These were brand new memos addressed to Cecile, which Damien had taken the liberty of deleting before they could be read.

At the time, he’d thought it was just some random employee, so he hadn’t been able to look into it too deeply yet. Though he’d started to do it at some point during their excursion in Paris to maybe get some more information and get them one step closer to bringing down Eros. That was when more names had popped up. Names of people who’d disappeared soon after their projects gained popularity.

Now, Damien was beginning to think that maybe this man was more important to Eros than Damien had first realized. Perhaps deleting those emails to slow Eros down was the right call after all . . .

With that thought, he took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s because your laptops were one of the things that blew up.”

“Or maybe it’s because you deleted them first.” Harley countered. “Trying to keep the information for yourself.”

“Assuming I have this information, which I don’t,” Damien chose his words carefully as he spoke, knowing that anything Eros gave away could potentially benefit him. “Why would some random person even matter to us? You know as well as I do that with those files gone, we have no evidence against you.”

“He’s not just some random guy,” Harley insisted. “Father’s project-” Cecile placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

Bingo.

“You let us worry about that, Damien.” She said coolly. “Also, you should keep in mind that if you don’t say anything, we could always ask Alana or Maya.”

He shook his head. “Not possible. If I don’t know, they don’t know.”

“Are you saying that to protect them? Or because you kept it from them?”

Damien met her smug look with an unyielding glare. Sneaky witch.

“Now to get back to our original point, I want you to tell us what you know about Khaan Mousavi,” She said point-blank. “Whatever you’ve dug up on him in Paris – which I know you’ve been trying to do. And while we’re at it, whatever you found out about Eros when you were back in New York.”

He maintained his neutral expression and relaxed his body as much as possible. Damien had been in these situations enough times to know how important it was to keep his mouth shut.

“One of the memos we lost was one that contained his last known alias and potential locations. I want that information.”

He wasn’t sure if revealing anything was going to hurt him and his friends in any way. But it was certainly not going to help them. Eros was never planning on letting them go to begin with. It wasn’t as though he would be buying anyone’s freedom. At best, it may guarantee a temporary safety.

“All you need do is cooperate. Maybe we could work something out. It would be to your advantage considering your . . . attachments?” Harley suggested. He was pointing in the direction of the tablet where the footage was focusing on Maya, who was apparently tending to some minor injuries.

No. Do not say a damn thing.

Damien willed himself not to look at it again, keeping his steely gaze on the Match. “I would remind you again that Alana made a similar deal with you involving me.” He pointed out. “You didn’t hold your end of the bargain and she had no prior connection with all this. Why should I expect anything different?”

“For one thing, it’d save your girl a lot of trouble,” Harley snipped. “We’re gonna find this guy one way or another. Doesn’t matter who we have to break in order to do it.”

“Not if we break you first,” Damien fired back, only to receive another punch in the gut.

“Careful,” Cecile warned, gesturing at the recorded footage on her tablet once before turning it off completely. “Wouldn’t want someone to get hurt because you made a bad call now, would we?”

Damien was leaning forward, breathing heavily, slightly winded from that punch. He knew all too well what she was referencing and she was clearly enjoying it. You’re damn lucky these handcuffs are holding me back.

“Come on Damien, you’ve worked in law enforcement.” She sneered. “Surely you’ve seen what usually happens in situations like this. Just cooperate and you won’t be harmed.”

If it weren’t for his heavy leather jacket, one would’ve been able to see Damien’s heart beating erratically. He knew exactly what she was implying and it was killing him to take this risk. He didn’t give a damn about himself; Maya’s safety was more important to him than anything.

But on the other hand, this information was potentially the key to everything they were fighting for. Now that he knew he’d been onto something, Damien wasn’t about to let go of the only advantage they could soon have. All he needed was more time to dig deeper – time they would never get if he gave this up, if he couldn’t escape.

This was an impossible choice and the only two people he could turn to for help with this were the very ones in danger if he didn’t make up his mind. And fast. Damien couldn’t stand the thought of Maya getting hurt - he would do anything to prevent that . . . even if it meant keeping their attention on him, however sinister their intentions.

Before he could say anything else, the door opened and a guard stepped in, walking toward them with purpose.

“I warned you,” Cecile said, un-phased by his defiance. “Don’t blame us for being cruel from here on out.”

I’m searching for answers not questioned before

The curse of awareness, there’s no peace of mind

As your true colors show a dangerous sign . . .

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

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#perfect match #damien x mc #damien nazario #pm dames #perfect match fanfic #harley doyle #cecile contreras #nadia park #hayden young #sloane washington #steve tennyson #perfect match au #alana kusuma #the edge of the world #mrsnazariowritesagain #mrsnazariowrites fics

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queeniewritesce · 5 years

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Recommendations (2/2)

This is part 2 of my entry for the @mrs-captain-evans 2,5K followers Writing Challenge.

Summary: Twitter is a strange place. But once in a while, you connect with someone.

Word count: 2,484

Warning: mild language, 35 seconds of angst, could be less if you read it fast.

The heavy double-paned door opened with a jingle and a creak, letting the cool air from late November enter the small café on Arrow Street. You didn’t bother looking up from your laptop, where you read an article about penguins instead of finishing grading yesterday’s pop quiz.

Procrastinating was your new favorite pastime since decreasing your online presence. Not that it stopped the ache you still felt every time you opened Twitter to post a new article, which was the only content you shared nowadays. Gone were the jokes geared towards your students, pictures of Captain Hook, or commenting on the everyday shenanigans of the White House and Congress.

The less you shared, the less you cared, and the only reason your profile was still up was because of your job.

You checked the time on the bottom left of the screen. Professor Kincaid’s class had been canceled and you had one hour to kill before your own class started, which prompted you to run to Bean There for a fresh pot of coffee and one huge Boston Cream doughnut.

As you read about penguins kidnapping other chicks if they own young died, you got wind of the murmurs and rushed voices going on around the room. You tried to tune them out, young people got excited about anything but they seemed to get louder and louder with every passing moment. You located your bag seating by your feet and was looking for your headphones when a pair of black boot cladded feet stopped in front of you.

Pursuing your lips, you let the ears buds fall back inside the pocket but didn’t bother to look up. If your assumptions were correct, the owner of those boots was the cause for the raucous around you.

“Y/N…”

Yep, the voice and the boots belonged to the same person.

Tears made your eyes sting and you blinked to prevent them from falling. You minutely shook your head, not knowing exactly what you’re trying to convey; that this was not the place or that you’re not, would never be, ready to talk to him.

“Please. Can we talk?”

The hurt in his voice gave you pause. Why would Chris feel anything but pride at playing you as he did? Did he want to do a coup de grâce to your ego?

Keeping your eyes downcast, you lowered the screen of your laptop, glad you hadn’t bothered with the power strip. Shifting the electronic around you other stuff took more time than intended but after a few tries, you zippered up your bag, grabbing some money out of your wallet and dropping it on the table.

You got up and your nose pressed against the most muscular chest you ever saw. He was so well built that you could see the hard contours of his pecs through the thick cream sweater he was wearing. The smell of his cologne hit your nostrils and you almost swoon, finally looking up.

He shouldn’t be allowed the whole package, that was so unfair to you.

Deep blue eyes framed by thick eyelashes stared back at you, the lower half of his face covered in fine auburn whiskers that couldn’t be more than two weeks old at the most, looking so soft that you had to restrain yourself from reaching out and running the tips of your fingers through them.

“All I am asking is for a chance to explain myself.” Strong fingers reached for you, encasing your small hand in his as if he really wanted you to stay. You scoffed at the notion, this man really knew how to play you. Did he get off in toying with you?

Your scared eyes looked from his eyes to your clasped hands and back again, silently begging him to let you go. He mouthed a soundless no and stepped towards you, bridging the already small gap between your bodies.

Later, if someone asked you why you did it, you would blame your next course of action on the overwhelming need to escape.

“Look, everyone, it’s Chris Evans.”

Chris’s eyes widened and a different kind of hurt clouded his vision. Betrayal. He let your hand go.

Good. Maybe know he would understand exactly how you felt.

A round of applause broke out around the café and the whispers were now cheers. The discretely held cellphones now pointed straight at the man in front of you.

Move, get out. Your feet took their sweet time obeying your brain, but soon you’re grabbing your coat and your messenger bag and making a beeline to the door, not bothering with actually putting on your coat before the full brunt of Boston’s late autumn slammed into you. You powered through, running through the streets that led you to your office, not once looking back, certain Chris would not follow.

Entering the gray building that housed Media Studies and Social Analyses, you allowed yourself to slow down and take a breath. Safe.

The lights stayed off when you entered your office, the loaded mahogany bookcases and dark upholstery making the room more ominous than it truly was.

You let your bag slide to the floor near your desk, not really bothering with damaging the electronics inside.

Heavy feet carried you to the sofa under the balcony window, where you sat with unfocused eyes, mind running a mile a minute trying to understand how your life became a drama movie in just a few short months.

What was Chris doing here? You thought you made your feelings clear when you blocked him. The pain ebbed away after a few weeks, diluted to an ache that accompanied you day and night. For a fleet moment, you had entertained the idea of a relationship with Chris. Not Evans. Just Chris, the wholesome and funny guy you got to know during those four months you spent trading messages with. But that guy didn’t exist, he was just a persona, one more character created and well played by Chris Evans. Right?

There was a knock and whoever was outside didn’t wait for an answer before your door was pushed open.

Professor Travis stuck his head inside your office, a scowl on his face.

“If I hear one more student going off about the Oscar worthy drama on the media department I’ll flunk them and fire you, we’re not a telenovela. Fix whatever this is or convince him to stay away, I got your next class covered.”

He pushed Chris inside the dimly lighted room, raised his eyes brows pointedly at you and left, the door closing firmly behind him.

Silence stretched around you, uncomfortable and unnerving.

His hands stayed on his pockets, heavy coat looped around one arm while Chris took inventory of his surroundings before focusing on you, his gaze never wavering.

“Can I sit?”

You didn’t expect the croaked voice, nor the way it warped around your heart.

Two fingers pointed to the chairs on the other side of the center table. A safe distance, an actual barrier between you.

Of course, he decided to sidestep the table and sat opposite you on the love seat, his knee almost touching yours.

“What you did back there was treacherous and mean.” He faced forward, fingers drumming on his knees. “I guess I deserved it.”

“You did.”

“I never thought those would be the first words I’d hear you say direct to me.”

You cocked your head, not sure what to say to that.

“I mean, I thought about our first meeting, how you would be surprised but also happy I wasn’t a serial killer, just a dumb actor with too much free time on his hand.” He let a dark chuckle. “I never expected you to out me to a room filled with twenty-somethings years old and run away.”

What did he mean by thought about you? You admittedly had mulled over the idea more than once, wondering if you would click on the real world as much as you did online. Even created a list of topics you could revisit from your online conversation, mixed with silly questions you’d never asked him, like blueberry or chocolate chips on your pancakes? Could this man, so famous he couldn’t even walk into a coffee shop without being recognized, also be so committed to the idea of meeting you?

No matter. He still deceived you.

“I asked you once if you were catfishing me. You said no.”

Chris whole body faced you and he trained his eyes on you.

“I wasn’t. I looked up what that word means. I don’t fit any of those boxes. I’m not in it to hurt you. I never said I was someone else. I just never told you my last name.”

“Or who you actually were.”

He huffed.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I shared with you exactly who I was. Am. My opinions, my true likes and dislikes. I didn’t sugarcoat it or played dumb, I didn’t hide behind a forced laughed or a sound bite. You got Chris, the whole unadulterated version.” His expression hardened. “It’s not easy to open up like that when people expect you to be a certain way, act another way. Since you teach about expectations and the effects mass media has on other people, I believed you’d understand why I had to hide behind a pseudonym.”

It was not the first time you wondered what was like on the other side of the fishing lenses celebrities were under. You taught the basics of how media twisted and organized exactly how the public perceived being famous, asking your students to always remember no matter how famous someone was, there were first and foremost a human being.

“I understand why you did it, that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me.”

“I never lied to you.” Chris rebuffed.

“You told me you were a flight attendant and you worked for Delta.”

“No, I didn’t. You assumed all that, I just never corrected you.”

“I…”

He was right.

You remembered all the times he changed the subject when you discussed his work and you honestly believed he was embarrassed about his job. You never asked what he did, or what he was doing in Atlanta for so long.

You felt the hot flashes of embarrassment creeping up your face and you hung your head low. Were you really so obtuse?

“I’m sorry.” A staggered breath left you. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask and assumed.”

“I have my own share of the guilty Y/N. I wanted to tell you, I wrote hundreds of messages but I could never send them. I was terrified you wouldn’t believe me before I could send you proof. And then I told you my name and it got comfortable, I wasn’t lying, just leaving out some stuff.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie in my book.” The serious tone of your voice washed over Chris and he winced.

“I got that when you blocked me.”

Once again the room was quiet save from the filtered shuffling of feet coming from the corridor.

As a true scholar, you analyzed all the information he gave you, looking for strong points and flaws on his reasoning. It all checked out. You wouldn’t have believed him. He never outright lied to you.

There was only one question left unanswered.

“Why are you here Chris?”

His smile warmed you, made you want things that you shouldn’t. Images fleeted through your head, other times when he could smile to you like exactly like he was doing now.

“I’m here because I spent all summer and most of autumn inside a hot as hell costume, my hair dyed blonde, stuck inside a hangar filled with fake debris and green screens, and the only thing that kept me sane was that when I was on my breaks or done for the day I would open Twitter to a new message from you. I’m here because you were my island of calm while I drifted with anxiety.” Two fingers slid under your chin and he gently made you look at him. “I’m here because I like you.”

“You like me?” You repeated and he nodded.

“I do. You’re funny, wicked smart but you don’t take yourself too seriously unless you have too. You admitted to being a nerd, which if I didn’t make myself clear during the whole Hubble debacle, so am I.” He pointed to black baseball hat he was wearing and you saw the NASA logo. “On a shallower note, you’re way, way more beautiful than all my previous teachers combined. If all professors look like you, I might even give this whole college thing a try.”

Well, wasn’t he a smooth talker. Your smile now matched his.

“So do you like me like me or like me as in she’s okay?”

“Baby, you’re so far removed from okay, it might need a visa to visit you.”

The room filled with your laugh, your heart finally free of the hurt you carried the past few weeks.

He liked you.

“You’re not a nice guy.”

His smirk told you he knew exactly was this was going.

“I’m kind of an asshole.”

“I’m not denying that one.” He pouted and you wanted to kiss him. “So, not a nice a guy but not a complete asshole, so not a bad guy either.”

He got closer, his fingers playing with a loose tendril of your hair, the other hand fastening on your waist.

“That considerably narrows down your options, uh?”

His smile was contagious and you grinned back, shyly nuzzling his chest.

“How about you? You know, if you’re still interested.” You beamed at the man in front of you, bitting your lower lip.

“Let me show you how interested I am.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when his lips descended upon yours. He poured himself into the kiss, months of wanting you, feeling close but so far away. He fell for you during those late nights you stayed up texting, giving his heart and mind and receiving yours in return. He kissed you gently, slowly coaxing your mouth open, his tongue brushing yours.

He trailed his hands up your back to bring you closer and you shivered, settling contently against his chest, your fingers making their own journey to the back of his neck, brushing your hands on the hair there.

“How about that date?” Chris said against your mouth. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

“How about I cook for you instead? My house, 8pm?”

“I’ll be there.”

Disentangling yourself from his arms, you grabbed a notebook from your coffee table, writing down your address and handing it to Chris, kissing him on the cheek.

“Now go before Professor Travis forgets how much he likes us and I lose my job.”

You moved from the sofa, putting some space between both of you. You grab your bag, checking to see if your syllabus for the next class is still there.

“Y/N?”

“Uhm?” You’re sure he’s gonna kiss you again when he comes closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“One thing though.”

“What?”

The feel of his breath when he speaks so close to you gave you goosebumps. You’re ready, so ready to be kissed again.

“You gotta unblock me on Twitter. I only ever want one person to block me and believe me, you’re not him.”

#Chris Evans Fanfic #Chris Evans Fan Fic #Chris Evans Fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #mrs-captain-evans #writting #writting challenge

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a-splash-of-stucky · 6 years

Text

how long will i love you?

Pairings: Artist!Steve Rogers x Artist!Reader

Summary: Nothing lasts forever, except, perhaps, your love for him.

Warnings: So much angst. Major character death/grieving. Language.

Notes: Written for @barnesrogersvstheworld’s writing challenge using the prompt ‘paint tubes’. Kisses are featured, though how ‘significant’ they are is up for debate (sorry y’all, I tried)

Some inspiration taken from the ‘Over and Over Again’ music video, and title is from ‘How Long Will I Love You’ by Ellie Goulding. Sorry in advance for the heartbreak, but on a separate note: I’m really proud of how this turned out.

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“You need to clean it out,” Wanda says, for the dozenth time in probably as many minutes.

“I don’t need to do anything—”

“It’ll be cathartic,” she says, “You’ll find closure, you’ll...I dunno, you’ll find those pizza socks that you’ve lost, maybe?”

“I do miss those socks,” you say forlornly.

“So, you’ll clean it out?” she presses.

“I’ll...think about it.”

—

The art studio is exactly how you’d left it, albeit with a thin film of dust clinging to every surface. That is to be expected, given that you haven’t set foot in this room for over two years. As you step into it now, you feel as if you’ve just gone back in time, to a point in your life when things were brighter, easier.

You sigh heavily as you flick on the light switch.

It’s a small, square room, with an enormous corner window. When the blinds are drawn open, sunlight floods into the place, making the studio seem much bigger than it really is. You cross the room quickly to do just that.

You rest your back against the cool glass of the window as you carefully survey the place. The room is in a state of organised chaos, with some semblance of order built into the messiness. An eclectic collection of DIY shelves and IKEA storage units housing your art equipment line the wall beside the door. Some of the drawers are practically overflowing with their contents.

A large desk has been pushed against the wall to your left and on it, there are glass mason jars with paint brushes still inside them. You know that if you were to open the drawers of that desk, you’d find all of your old sketchbooks and a few unfinished pieces of art. Larger equipment like tripods, a drying rack and easels are arranged against the wall opposite the desk. The window takes up most of the fourth wall, so you’ve put no furniture in front of it, in order to not block out the light.

It’s bittersweet, being in here.

You slowly make a circuit around the room, trailing your fingers over the paint-stained and pencil-marked surfaces. His presence fills the room, despite the fact that he has not been in here for the last two years, either. The stuff in here is as much tied to him as it is to you; both of you shared this studio, both of you used these brushes and those easels, both of you used to blast your music as you painted into the wee hours of the night.

It’s difficult enough, having to live in the home that you once shared with him without having to come in here and be harshly reminded of his absence. Nearly eighteen months ago, you moved into a studio-office downtown, so that you could work in a space whose every square inch had not been infused with the essence of his being.

You remember the times when you would open the door to this studio and see him hunched over the desk, new splatters of paint decorating his apron. His tongue would be sticking out of the corner of his mouth and his brows would be furrowed in concentration as he worked on his latest piece. Music would fill the air — something mellow and old-school, something that reminded you of jazz bars and speakeasies.

You’re torn between the urge to preserve the room exactly as it is, and clearing everything out, giving you the opportunity to start afresh.

As you perch yourself on one of the stools, your eyes land on a cardboard box balancing precariously on top of one of the smaller drawer units. You dimly remember dumping it there ages ago, fully intending on coming back to it in a couple of days’ time.

Funny how two days can so suddenly turn into two years.

You cross the room to examine it more closely. The box is exactly how you remember it, black, with the brand name written across the front in simple, clean white text. Hesitantly, like you’re afraid that something might leap out and bite you, you lift up the lid with a single index finger. The paint tubes are still inside, untouched — pristine as the day they came. There are ten of them in all.

In the grief and darkness of the last two years, you’d forgotten about them.

He would not want them to go to waste.

In a sudden burst of motivation, you drag an easel, a small table and a stool over to the window, before rooting around the storage units for a pre-stretched canvas. You grab all the utensils you think you’ll need and don your old, paint-stained apron before sitting down.

You have not put a brush to canvas for a long time, but perhaps, it is time to revisit your roots.

—

You scrub the back of your hand over your face, groaning in frustration when you realise that you’ve probably just smeared blue acrylic across your cheek.

It’s a Friday night and, while most people are ushering in the weekend with booze and parties, you’re stuck in the art department, frantically trying to finish your coursework piece in time for the Monday morning submission deadline. You’re lowkey hating your past-self for being so ambitious and/or being really shitty at time-management, but what’s done is done and your present-self must now deal with the consequences of your own incompetence.

It is at this precise moment that the door to the art studio creaks open and a broad-shouldered, blonde-haired hunk of a man walks in. It takes a moment for you to clock him as Steve Rogers, otherwise known as the guy that you’ve been crushing on for the better part of the last academic year.

He’s wearing a light-grey t-shirt, dark blue jeans and a black bomber that hugs him just right. He’s got a canvas backpack slung casually over one shoulder, and big, square-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He does a double-take when he notices you, like he’s surprised to find anyone else here, on a Friday night.

“Uh...hey,” he says, waving a hand in greeting.

“Hey yourself,” you reply, straightening up in your seat.

Of all the times for your crush to see you, it had to be when you were wearing your least-flattering pair of sweats and had paint smeared across your cheek, right?

“You’re, uh...you’re Y/N, right?” he asks, as he slowly walks over to you.

“Yep, that’s me. And you’re Steve?”

“Steve Rogers, that’s me,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He stops beside your table and gives a cursory glance over the mess you’ve got spread across it.

“Coursework?” he guesses, jerking his chin towards your painting-in-progress.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“Same, I got some things I needed to finish up before I can hand it in,” Steve says. “I gotta admit though, I didn’t think anyone would be in here this late.”

You frown in confusion. “It’s not that late, it’s only like...oh,” you murmur, as you look at the clock hanging over the door.

Steve chuckles. “What time did you think it was?”

“Like...maybe almost nine o’clock?”

“Yeah, and then somehow, you find out that it’s five past midnight, huh?” Steve says, nodding sagely. “Yeah, I’ve been there before.”

You smile wryly. “The struggles of being a student artist, huh?”

“You can say that again,” Steve says, shooting you one of those disarming, carefree grins. “But hey—at least you’re not alone anymore, how much longer are you planning to stay?”

“Uh…” you mumble, as you assess your work and quickly estimate how much more time you’ll need before you can pack up. “I need to get the painting done by tonight, ‘cause I need to go over some of the parts with pencil tomorrow, so...maybe another couple hours?”

“Cool,” he says, as he dumps his stuff onto the table to your left. “I’m probably staying that long too.”

“Cool,” you mutter, despite the fact that internally, you are anything but cool. You’re a nervous wreck, praying to the heavens above that you don’t make a fool of yourself in Steve’s presence.

Eh, you’ve already got paint on your face — how much worse can it get?

You covertly watch Steve out of the corner of your eye as he pulls out a set of drawing pencils and a sketchpad from his drawer and gets to work. It’s nice, having him there to keep you company. The two of you make small talk every now and then, but for the most part, you’re both focused on getting your work done as fast as possible.

Sometime after the one-hour mark, Steve brings up his Spotify account and puts some music on in the background, to keep you going for the home stretch. You’re unfamiliar with the artist, but the music is calming and bluesy, enough to occupy the silence, but not too much to make you lose your focus.

You hunker down and finish off the rest of your painting in record time, sitting back triumphantly as you appraise the nearly-completed piece. You need to let it dry before you can add in the last bits of pencil shading, and you still need to mount it into a proper frame, but you’re confident that you can get all of that done by Monday morning.

Steve finishes his work just as you start cleaning off your brushes and palettes in the sink. He comes over and dumps his stuff into the sink beside yours, before turning on his faucet.

“Productive?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the running water.

“Yeah. But I’m really tired now.”

“Yeah, well — it’s almost 2AM, that’s kinda expected,” he says, laughing gently. “You live far from here?”

You shake your head. “Nah, just on the other side of campus.”

“Oh really? I’m near there too, I can walk you home, if you’d like.” he offers.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t wanna bother you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah! I’m just gonna walk through all the campus buildings, I’ll be okay.”

He opens his mouth, about to press his point further, but winds up shrugging his shoulders and dropping the topic instead. You finish cleaning your brushes, then place them and your mixing palettes into the appropriate drying racks. When you turn around, you find Steve’s eyes staring directly at you. He startles and turns around quickly, the slight flush on his cheeks making it obvious that he was just checking you out.

Wait — he was checking you out?

Are you imagining things? Could it be? Holy shit.

Steve is resolutely ignoring you, focusing intently on making his brushes as clean as physically possible. You could either confront him, or live with the agony of not knowing what happens next for the rest of your life.

You decide to bite the bullet.

You clear your throat loudly to get his attention. “Is something wrong?” you ask.

He frowns. “Uh, no? Why would anything be wrong?”

“Well...you were just looking at me funny...did I forget something?”

Steve’s eyes widen in panic. “Oh! Oh, that — no, nothing’s wrong, you just...you got something on your face,” he says, gesturing vaguely with one hand. He clears his throat. “I uh...I can get it for you? If you’d like?”

“Sure,” you reply, rolling one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug.

You watch, strangely nervous, as Steve turns the faucet off, dumps his brushes into a holder to dry and wipes his palms on his jeans before stepping closer. Your breathing hitches in your throat as he gently cups your chin and brushes his thumb over your cheek in a featherlight caress. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the warmth of his breath on your skin.

Quick as a flash, he ducks down and presses his lips to yours — a touch that is gone as suddenly as it came.

His cheeks are flushed a scarlet red when he pulls away.

“Um...sorry, I — yeah,” he mumbles.

You blink rapidly, trying to get your thoughts in order. Did—did that just happen?

“Did you just kiss me?”

His blush deepens, if that were possible. It spreads down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt — a part of you is curious to find out if he’s a full-body blusher.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You chew on your bottom lip as you take in the situation. Steve’s body is still curled towards yours, and the faint, pleasant scent of his cologne fills your nostrils, making it hard to think. He hasn’t taken his hand off your cheek; beneath his palm, your skin tingles with anticipation.

It’s now or never. Carpe diem, and all that crap.

“That was...something,” you murmur, as your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, his gaze flicking from your lips to your eyes, and back again. “It was.”

“I—uh, I think we might need to do that again. So that I can figure out what the ‘something’ was. For science,” you add hastily, as the corner of your lips quirk up into a half-smile.

His lips pull into a grin, one that threatens to outshine the sun and makes your heart do an excited little flutter. It’s a smile filled with hope and promise, and it’s taking everything in you not to lean over and kiss him stupid.

“The start of something new, maybe?” he suggests.

You bark out a surprised laugh. “Oh, do not start quoting High School Musical at me, or this’ll turn into an impromptu sing-and-dance number real quick, I promise you that.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs, even as he leans in closer, curling one hand around your jaw and the other around the back of your neck.

“Anything can happen,” he sings, softly, and horribly off-key, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “When you take a chance.”

“You’re such a dork,” you breathe, as you surge forward and crush your lips together.

—

You’re painting aimlessly, putting paint on canvas merely for the sake of it.

Since his passing, you’ve tried to keep your distance from any and all types of paints; there are just too many memories associated with him. Painting doesn’t have the same allure to you as it once did. Instead, you’ve developed your skills in the world of digital art, favouring Photoshop and cameras and high-tech gadgets over traditional media. Between the two of you, he’d always been the more-skilled painter, anyway. Now, with you being so out-of-practice, a brush has never felt more foreign in your hands.

The colours on your canvas are disjointed and discordant, bold splashes of red juxtaposed by sickly greens and dark expanses of blue. You feel as if you’ve forgotten everything you’ve learnt; how to mix colours, how to dilute the paint to get lighter washes, which colours work well together.

You have no direction in mind, with this piece.

You’re not happy with where things are going, but at least you’re reacquainting yourself with your brushes. You hadn’t realised how much you missed their weight in your fingers, the satisfying give of the bristles as you press them to the canvas. Surprisingly enough, the muscles in your arm and hand still remember how they should move to best lay down the colour. Your fingers are covered in specks of paint and similar flecks of colour now adorn your light-wash jeans.

Despite your best efforts, this piece is becoming increasingly unsalvageable. Layer after layer of colour simply adds to the dissonance in front of you.

A part of you just wants to quit.

You can hear his voice in the back of your head, reassuring and encouraging and comforting in a way that only he could be.

Stop over thinking it, sweetheart. You’re good, you know how to paint. Don’t use your head, just...listen to your heart, paint what you love.

It clicks, then.

He’s been kept alive in your memory for so long, perhaps it is time to share his greatness with the rest of the world.

You stand up, hurrying across the room to get a fresh canvas and a new jar of water. You can see the painting taking form in your mind, with its golden tones, simple brushwork and muted palette. You push your unfinished piece to the side and position your new canvas on the easel, before dragging your stool closer and picking up a clean brush.

You have a portrait to paint.

—

You and Steve are walking down the street hand-in-hand, weaving through the throng of last-minute Christmas shoppers. It is the first holiday season you’re celebrating as a couple, and you’re excited to spend a cosy weekend at home, trading little presents and gentle kisses under the warmth of the covers.

“I fucking hate crowds,” Steve grumbles, “Everyone’s so goddamn rude.”

You laugh, threading your arm around his and pressing your cheek to his bicep, still warm despite the chilly winter air. “Let’s hurry up and get you your hot chocolate, then, before we get crushed to death by all these people.”

He grins, patting your hand affectionately. “You’re filled with great ideas, aren’t you?”

Just then, a store that you’ve never seen before catches your eye. Eager to investigate further, you tug Steve over to the shop window, making him yelp in surprise.

It’s an art supply store — a fancy one, if the decor is anything to go by. The display boasts an impressive array of beautifully-crafted easels, handmade brushes, premium colour pencils and, most notably, a Winsor and Newton 10-colour gouache paint set.

The sleek box is front-and-centre of the display. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the elegant white tubes, with the simple Winsor and Newton logo emblazoned across them. A sheet of paper beside the box holds a swatch of each colour; they look positively dreamy.

“They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?” Steve murmurs appreciatively.

You hum in agreement. “Shame you’d need to drop nearly 90 bucks to get them.”

“I’ll buy them for you,” Steve promises, turning to face you. “I mean—not now, obviously, but one day.”

You smile as you wind your arms around his torso and tip your head back to look up at him. “Yeah? Once your pieces have made it into the Guggenheim and the Tate, you mean?”

“Exactly,” he says, grinning as he bends down to press a kiss to your chilly, slightly-chapped lips.

“I’m fucking freezing,” you mumble, as he pulls away.

In response, he wraps his arms around your shoulders, smushing your face into his torso in an effort to warm you up.

“My little icicle,” he says fondly.

“That...that sounds vaguely sexual,” you say, your voice slightly muffled.

Steve snorts, gently pushing you back so that he can tuck you under his arm. “Get your mind out of the goddamn gutter, please.”

“Fine,” you grumble, giving one last longing look at the set of paint tubes before the two of you resume walking. “Hot chocolate?” you prompt.

“Hot chocolate,” Steve agrees.

—

It is strangely bittersweet, using these paint tubes.

In your mind’s eye, you see his slim, strong fingers wielding a brush expertly, the backs of his hand and knuckles covered in splotches of paint. He was so confident whenever he mixed his colours, knowing instinctively how much he needed from each tube to create the exact shade he was looking for. He had an intuition, a deep-seated knowledge that you’ve always admired.

You personally had never reached quite the same level of skill that he had attained, but you never envied him for it. He had his strengths, he had his weakness and you, likewise.

With this piece, you have a much clearer idea of where you’re going. The painting is taking shape before your very eyes, a creation that is coming straight from your heart. You are literally pouring a part of your soul onto the canvas, exposed and vulnerable, for all the world to see.

As the brush glides across the canvas and deposits streaks of colour in its wake, you feel as if you’re functioning on autopilot. Your brain has taken a backseat and your heart is now running the show, painting what it loves dearly and longs to see. You have no reference besides the memories in your head, the ones that have been your sweetest grief in the most difficult period of your life.

You might not have the same knowledge of colours and composition that he had, but what you lack in skill you make up for through sheer force of will. You don’t allow yourself to question your actions or second-guess your decisions; you know how to mix the exact shade of golden amber for his hair, the precise colour of blue for his eyes, the perfect shade of pink for his lips.

You’re moving on instinct. Your hand and arm and fingers map out the planes and curves of his face, the slope of his shoulders, the breadth of his torso. His image is burnished into your memory, just as his name has etched itself onto your heart.

He may be gone from this world, but you promise yourself that you’ll never let him fade from your memory.

—

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Steve says, as he drops a package wrapped in brown paper into your lap.

“What’s this?” you ask, examining it in your hands as you sit up straighter. Steve bites his lip and shrugs as he comes to sit beside you on the couch.

“Open it,” he says simply. His hands are clasped in his lap and he is twisting his wedding ring around his finger with his right hand — a nervous tick that he’s recently developed.

“But—Stevie, you’ve already got me a birthday present!” you protest.

“I know, I know...this is like...an early Christmas present. Or a late Christmas present, however you wanna call it.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. “I thought we don’t do Christmas presents?”

“Then, well—this is…oh, for fuck’s sake, just open it, will you?”

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, hastily peeling the tape off.

As the wrapper falls away, your eyes are met with a plain black cardboard box, with Winsor and Newton written across the top in simple white font. From the weight and size of the box, you have a feeling you know what this present might be.

“Steve,” you breathe, as you turn to face your husband. “Is this—”

“Just open it!” he begs, “I’m literally dying from the suspense.”

You laugh, despite yourself, rushing to peel away the protective plastic wrapping that encases the box. Tentatively, you lift up the lid to peek inside, gasping when you set eyes on ten tubes of gouache paint, each one pristine and elegant and so bloody beautiful, just waiting for you to use them.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, putting the lid to one side before running your fingers over the tubes reverently, lips parted in awe. These paints are the stuff of legends; your hands are itching to play around with them.

“Stevie,” you whisper, at a loss for words.

“Do you like them?” he asks, voice heartbreakingly timid.

You nod your head vigorously as you lean towards him, clumsily wrapping an arm around the back of his neck as you crush your lips together, all whilst trying to balance the box on your laps, so that the tubes of paint don’t tumble to the floor. The kiss is clumsy and uncoordinated and you accidentally nip his bottom lip too hard, but that only makes it more perfect.

“I love it,” you whisper fervently, as tears of joy prick at the corner of your eyes. “I love them so much, thank you, honey, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says breathlessly, strong arms snaking around your body to tug you closer. “God, honey, I love you so much. “

As amazing and unexpected as the paints are, what’s more significant — what’s making tears stream from your eyes — is that, after all these years, Steve still remembers how much you’ve been wanting them.

These paint tubes — yeah, okay, they’re paint tubes, but they’re also more than that. Your heart is on the verge of bursting from all the meaning and significance behind this gift. Painting — and art more broadly — has been a cornerstone of your relationship from the outset, weaving its way into every single significant occasion that you’ve shared, and all the little moments in between. These paint tubes symbolise how far you’ve come as a couple and hopefully, how far you have yet to go.

—

Who would’ve thought that just two days later, he’d be caught in a freak car accident that would ultimately steal him from your grasp? Who would’ve thought that you’d be left a widow, before you’ve even hit your fifties? Who would’ve thought that you’d turn into a shell of the person you used to be, passing through day after bleak, monotonous day without a purpose to guide you?

Life is achingly brief. The things that we take for granted can be taken away in the blink of an eye, leaving us bereft and lost.

Nothing lasts forever; that is the cruel, unfair truth.

You’re allowed to curse and sob and scream with anger, frustration and sadness, but you can’t change the rulings of fate. What’s done is done, and you can either let the subsequent current of sorrow drown you, or rise above it, stronger than who you were before.

For the past two years, you’ve been drowning under the weight of your heartbreak, which has been a crushing burden on your shoulders. It’s been a struggle, just to survive.

But maybe—

Maybe it’s time you tried kicking a little harder, tried to break the surface of these dark and murky waters, to see if you truly are strong enough to rise above.

It’s what he would’ve wanted from you.

You put the final few finishing touches on your painting before setting down your brush and standing up, groaning as you stretch your arms over your head. Your bones crack and pop as you move your body around, your muscles stiff from being in the same position for so long. Outside, the last rays of the dying sun paint the sky in vivid shades of red, pink and orange. You grimace — the fact that the sun is setting tells you that you’ve been working on this painting for at least three hours.

The loud rumble in your stomach serves to reinforce your conclusion.

You take a step back to study your finished piece: a painting of him, from the torso up.

Despite the fact that you’re a little rusty, the resemblance of the portrait to his likeness is striking. It is a painting of him as he has been immortalised in your mind, an image of him as you’d loved him best.

You’ve painted him with his head angled slightly to the right, frozen in mid-turn. His rosy pink lips are parted, the corners pulling up in the beginnings of one of his pure, tender smiles. His bright blue eyes are glinting with mischief, the corners crinkling with joy.

You’re proud to have been able to capture the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw, the dusting of freckles across his nose, the ever-present flush of pink that sits high on his cheeks. His blonde hair is slightly tousled and falling over his forehead, the way it used to look like in the early mornings, when his skin was still sleep-warmed and his voice was low and throaty.

You’ve painted him in one of those plain white t-shirts that he used to love, the material hugging his broad shoulders and ridiculously perky chest.

To emphasise the golden shine of his hair, you’ve kept the background dark and simple, abstract strokes of brown slapped onto the canvas with a dry brush. It had been one of his favourite techniques to use to achieve texture whenever he was making expanses of flat colours, and you’re pleased to have incorporated it into your work; it makes it more Steve, somehow.

As a final touch, you’ve used some amber and white paint to make a thin ring behind his head, feathering the paint slightly with a small offset spatula. The end result is that you’ve created a pale, ghostly halo.

Angel boy, you think absentmindedly.

You gaze upon the fruits of your labour with wistful nostalgia hanging heavy in your heart. Though it saddens you to have been made acutely aware of his absence in your life, the process has been strangely therapeutic. You haven’t cleaned out the room as you’d promised Wanda, but maybe, you’ve done something better with your time, and found closure in your own roundabout way.

You still miss him terribly and you’ll probably continue to miss him, for the rest of your days, but—

To miss someone is to have loved someone and that, surely, is better than to not have loved at all. Nothing lasts forever, except, perhaps, your love for him.

#Attie’s Marvel Kiss Challenge #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers au #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #steve x you #my writing #how long will i love you?#steve rogers angst #steve angst #steve rogers fluff #steve fluff

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mbcorvo-author · 6 years

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Get to know the writer - II

1. What time [of day/night] do you find yourself being the most productive? It really depends on the day. Usually, during the day I’m job hunting, taking care of my puppy that hates being ignored for too much, some house stuff and such. So, I think that probably I could be more productive during the evening/night when I can stay alone in my room writing and worldbuilding. But I think that the best time for me to be productive is generally when I’m alone and I don’t have too many distractions around (the dog is a fun distraction, though).

2. How do you go about developing out your ideas? Oh...I’m not really sure how to answer! Sometimes, with a couple of short stories I wrote, the words just came one after another while I was writing. Other times I have random ideas that needs a bit of thinking to make it work...and in some cases (like my sci-fi wip) I thought, outline, research and such so deeply that in the end I didn’t even know how to start and where to go with the story but I could tell you the magnitude and the classification of the star of the system nearer to the one where there was the planet of the story. With Beyond the Veil I started with some random scenes I wrote as “warm ups” after not writing for long and then I outined a plot and I’m trying to limit my worldbuilinding to only the strict necessary for the novel.

3. Favourite style of piece (novel/novella/short story/character piece etc) to write? Favourite style...I would say novel or short story, even if I was usually able to complete only a couple of short stories. Plus few characters pieces because sometimes I got the right idea for a character but I didn’t have a story...or it was a character that I liked but that was thought for an homebrew rpg that I stopped playing.

4. What’s your biggest distraction? Myself. Too many ideas too little time and a writer’s block that gets triggered too easily (but maybe because of stress, not sure).

5. Do you have a specific place to write? Nothing in particular. The most used ones are my room, the livingroom and the study room at the next town’s library. I only need silence and less distractions as possibile.

6. How did you come up for the idea for your main wip? I think that I mentioned it in answer n°2. I tried to get used again to write saving a bunch of prompts and then trying to write something everyday (and it didn’t work, I can’t force myself to write everyday and I had the final proof with the fictober thing) and with that exercise I saved a bunch of scenes and almost-scenes jotted down after some prompts...and I noticed that few of them had something that could connect. Also I was in the mood to try something different after failing with my almost-6-year-old-scifi-wip so I started outlining a bit the characters in those scenes and I tried to came up with a simple plot that could easily connect all the scenes in an actual plot...or something that looked like that. And this is how Beyond the Veil started.

7. Tell us about your fave character you’ve created. I love all of the characters I ever made. Also the evilest ones. But I think that (as for now) my fave will be Luciel the genie that appears in my Beyond the Veil. He is a character with a long life (I think) since it’s a revisitation of a character I play in an rpg...something like a “what if he lived in a different setting and could really do - almost - whatever he wants?”. He (or they, since Luciel can change shape and could be male or female they always use a different pronouns depending on the way they are presenting at the moment.) is carefree, a bit of a trickster and morally grey because they choose to do good or bad things solely depending on their mood. The classic chaotic neutral, maybe. I’m really fond of Luciel, I know.

8. Pick another writeblr and summarize their story. I have to skip this because I’m in the writeblr community only for a very short amount of time and I still haven’t gotten...comfortable? befriended? enough to talk about other people’s writing and stuff.

9. What’s your favourite thing about writing? Writing makes me feel good like when I’m reading. There is only me and the world and people I’m writing about and all the worries and problems are set aside. I also love the emotion, feeling yourself the emotions that you are writing hoping that if someone will ever read them will feel the same thing that the characters and yourself felt.

Tagged by: @marthawrites thank you! :D

Tagging: @lmrclarkeauthor, @grittygambit, @simpletonscribbler, @writerlyheart, @theapprenticewordsmith (tell me if you don’t want to be tagged!)

#get to know the writer #tag game #writing #writeblr #about mgcorvo #corvo answers?#mgcorvo-author

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myuntoldstory · 6 years

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Mystic Messenger | Colombina

AO3 | FF.net

Day 1 of @jihyunmcweek: Watercolour | Carnival

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: V | Jihyun Kim/Main Character

Warning: N/A

Word Count:1,855

Summary: Not canon compliant. A year into his travels, V finds himself in Venice in time for the Carnival. As he spends a lonely night in a ball, he encounters a woman who asked him for a dance.

Colombina

“What a unique hair colour.”

V blinked as the words broke through his daze. He glanced at the source: a woman standing beside him. She wore an off-shoulder blue ball gown with a lace style silver detailing. Like most of the guests in the palazzo her face was covered by a mask. It only covered the top half of her face, stopping at her cheeks. The design was intricate, with the colours and decoration matching the dress. Jewels, crystals, and feathers surrounded her eyes, drawing attention to them. What deep brown eyes they were—upturned with short lashes. It reminded him of… no. Better not go down that thought.

“It’s natural, isn’t it?”

“What makes you say that?” he smiled politely.

“Oh, I know—I mean, you don’t seem the type to dye.” She returned his smile and his own fell at the sight of it. The exact shape of her lips... the kindness emanating from it... it was exactly like... but it wasn't. It couldn’t be. He was here in Venice while she was five and a half thousand miles away, in Seoul. The person before him had her eyes and smile, but it wasn’t her.

The music changed. Before the band played a waltz; now, it transitioned into a slow ballad. V looked away from his new companion to the dancefloor. Groups of people departed, leaving behind couples. A sigh escaped his lips as yearning struck him. How wonderful would it be if she were here. They could have talked like they used to. They could have danced.

“Well? Shall we dance?”

V’s attention returned to his companion. She offered her hand to him in invitation. There was that smile again—so much like hers that he was in serious danger of imagining her to life in a stranger. He winced. “I apologise. I’m not really a dancer—”

“Just one?” her smile widened, dropping her hand and taking the skirt of her dress in her fists. She twirled around and then stopped, giggling as she smoothed the wrinkles she created. “It’s my first time in a ball wearing a gown; I’m feeling very much like a princess.”

He couldn’t deny that. “You do look like one.”

“And you look like a prince,” she quipped, offering her hand again. “It’ll be like a fairy tale.”

There was no way V resembled any kind of fairy tale prince. However, it would be rude of him to argue against something that made his companion happy. He stared at her hand. It was beautiful, dainty and delicate—something he’d like to sketch. One dance wouldn’t be so bad. After all, she was kind enough to approach and befriend him. “Well, in that case I am happy to oblige.”

He held her hand… and something fluttered in his chest. He glanced down and found that his hand dwarfed hers. In his mind was a memory, one he revisited often during his loneliest hours. He had done this before in another time, another place… with another person. Longing stirred in his chest, making him wish for things he shouldn’t have… at least not yet.

In his daze, he had not realised that his companion was pulling him to the dancefloor until he almost tripped on one of the steps. He caught himself before he fell, following her until she stopped at the very centre of the floor. Gazing at her, V tried to find something unique about his companion... something different. But it was difficult. Her eyes, her smile… and even the way she talked now reminded him so much of—

The tempo changed and they moved in time with it. Seamlessly, they fell in unison with the other dancing couples. It was like the lessons he took when he was younger, though not as strict. He’d already made several mistakes, but his companion followed him without complaint. She smiled at him and he smiled back, but it was half-hearted.

“You don’t live here,” she stated.

“I don’t, no.”

“Been travelling long?”

“Yes…” he trailed off thoughtfully, “actually, I’ve been travelling for a year now.”

“What a brave journey,” she gasped, “it’s just my first night here and I’m already homesick.”

“To be honest, I’m feeling quite homesick myself,” he admitted, now averting his eyes. It’s as if he’d just confessed to her, but she wasn’t here. Saying it to a stranger somehow seemed worse than telling her. As if it was a secret he intentionally kept from her. “But… I’m not ready to return.”

“I see.” The sound of her sighing prompted V to look at her. Her expression remained polite, though she no longer smiled. Did he say something to offend her? Their eyes met and hers glistened in a way that reminded him of tears. V blinked and stared again… no. It was the lights of the hall playing tricks on him. “And… what brings you to Venice?”

“Oh… I wanted to partake in the carnival.”

“Me too. I haven’t been before.” She looked around in wonder. “It’s colourful, isn’t it?”

“Very. It’s vibrant and energetic… the people here seem happy.”

“I think so too.” When she looked back at him, her smile had returned. The lights sparkled in her eyes like stars and it dazzled him. “And? Where next?”

“The rest of Italy… and the rest of Europe.” He smiled. “I’m excited, actually.”

“You are?”

“Well, Europe is the mecca of western art, you see.” His smile widened. During his travels he had gotten more comfortable in talking about his passion. It was such joy to talk about art, the things he knew about it, and the things he learned. “Respected artists lived in different parts of this continent. It was always a dream to learn from them—study their style and skill closely. And their histories, their experiences, harrowing and otherwise. It would be like finding kinship—”

“What’s wrong?” she said as his smile faded.

His eyes roamed over the design of her mask. He had been talking to her as if she was someone else… and she didn’t even know. It was unfair. To him, his companion, and her. He shouldn’t let his loneliness cloud his judgement so easily. “I apologise. It wasn’t my intention to be so familiar.”

“I don’t mind. That was lovely to hear,” she chuckled. “You’re an artist, aren’t you?”

He flushed. “M-me? I’m not—”

“You are an artist.”

He nodded with a conceded sigh. “Well, yes. I’m just starting, though.”

“Good.” She looked around as the ballad transitioned to something upbeat. They, along with the other couples, stopped. “Oh… what a shame, the music’s ended.”

Well, that was that. He stepped from her, but kept holding onto her hand. Around them, more people joined the floor and danced to the music. He led her to a quieter place off the dancefloor to avoid the crowd. Then, he smiled gently and bowed—like a prince. Because somehow he felt like he was in a fairy tale too. “Thank you… for the pleasure of your company.”

She giggled and curtsied. “No, thank you for indulging me.”

He kissed the back of her hand before letting go. “I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

She smiled and with a final nod, he walked off. He resisted the urge to look back. It was a horrible truth to admit, but he wanted to catch a last glimpse of who his companion resembled. How rude of him... he didn't even get her name. Still, he was grateful for her. For a few minutes she made him feel like himself again—the part of him that he had left behind back home. He weaved through the crowd. Could he bridge the gap just a little? Though he wasn’t ready, he longed for a respite from his loneliness. If he called… would they be disappointed at his lack of contact? Would she?

“Wait.” Slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. “B-before I let you go… I want to know.”

He looked over his shoulder and saw his companion. Smiling, he faced her. “Yes?”

Her fingers tightened. “What you’re doing now… is it what you want?”

“It is,” he answered.

She nodded fervently. She now held his wrist in a vice-like grip. What questions she asked him. As he gave her his full attention, something prickled at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t make sense of it. “And right now… are you happy?”

“I… yes. I am happy.”

“Good.” She smiled shakily. V saw tears slide down the mask and along her jaw. Why was she crying? He wanted to help her, but at the same time he was confused. He stood, unable to act, as she released him. She bowed her head and reached around the back. “I’m glad to hear that because if you weren’t then it’d make me sad.”

The ribbons of the mask slid down. V’s heart beat furiously against his chest. The thoughts in his head exploded into pieces and connections that he struggled to solve. Meanwhile, his companion peeled the mask from her face and looked up, revealing a face he longed to see the whole night. “Lux…”

“Hi,” she said, wiping at her eyes and sniffling. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to trick you—”

He took her hands, staring at her in disbelief. After not seeing her for a year—after not talking to her and hearing her voice... after the many flights he cancelled because he knew he was not good enough to see her yet… she was here. She was really here. She was in his arms, a reality he had not prepared himself for. “Am I dreaming?”

“No…” she embraced him tightly.

“But why?” he leaned away from her, gaze running over her face. He cupped her cheeks and wiped her tears away. Each passing touch was confirmation that he wasn’t dreaming. It was her. It was her all this time. He had been talking to her. Those eyes, that smile… it belonged to her. It was a shame that he didn’t recognise her. He was so deep in his own loneliness that he saw her everywhere, but knew that it couldn’t be her. To have her really here, standing before him… it was nothing short of a miracle.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she said, holding onto his hands.

Of course. Chuckling, he nodded. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She was the same as a year ago. It was as if he never left. But he did. The memory of his departure was so clear to him. She shed so many tears as he said his farewell to her. His heart ached the more distance he put between them. Leaving was not necessary, he could have found himself back home… but he wanted to be reborn in a new place. He was certain she was cross with him for leaving after all they’d gone through. He convinced himself that she didn’t want to see him again. But here she was. Here she was.

He embraced her. “I miss you… so much.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I miss you too.”

#jihyunmcweek #jihyun kim #mysme jihyun #mystic messenger #mysme v #mysmefanfic: oneshot #mysmefanfic: jihyun kim #mysmefanfic: mc #technically late since im in australia #technically not because its not australia anywhere else lmao #the perks of being in the future?#yikes writing anything complete on a daily basis #is something i have not done since my uni days #pray for me i wanna complete this week #fanfiction: mystic messenger #mysmefanfic: love

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kenshi-vakarian7 · 7 years

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“Perfect”

Another F!Reyder fic to add to my “Whiskey Gold & Ocean Blue” collection.

This is in fact a prompt, but I won’t be revealing what prompt that is until the end as it will spoil the intention I have for this short fic.

And hopefully, I didn’t deviate too much from Reyes’s character. Sorry if it seems like I did. =\

Regardless, enjoy!

Reyes Vidal couldn’t help the nervous twitching in his fingers as he looked over the controls on the console in front of him. Sitting in the pilot’s chair with one leg shaking from side to side, he saw that all was well for his shuttle, though he was starting to get low on fuel. Luckily, the Nexus was within view through the front window.

Reyes was pretty certain that he made it to the station in record time from Kadara. However, that didn’t matter to him. The lack of sleep he got throughout his travel didn’t matter either. What only mattered was that he needed to get to Kira Ryder as soon as possible.

It was supposed to be a routine visit. Since she resigned from being a Pathfinder, Kira still assisted Nexus leadership with negotiating between them and and angaran leaders as an Arbitrator. In other words, her job was to keep the peace between the Milky Way species and the angarans living on Kadara. Occasionally, she made trips to either Aya or the Nexus when certain negotiations were better resolved in person rather than through video conferences.

Her brother Luke, who was the second-in-command to the current human Pathfinder, Cora Harper, took the opportunity along with her former crew to meet Kira at the Nexus and spend some time with her. This was especially with knowing that this would be her last visit to the station for a while. With the team currently exploring beyond the Heleus cluster, who knew when the twins would see each other again.

Then two days ago, Reyes received a call from Luke. He had yet to shake the words her brother said from his mind, the twin’s voice laced with worry. “Kira’s in the hospital. You need to come here as soon as possible.”

More than once since receiving the call, Reyes kicked himself for not taking her offer to go with her. There was too much work here for him to look over on Kadara despite the last of the Outcast being long since gone. Besides, he hadn’t been a fan of revisiting the Nexus since the uprising. Kira understood – she always did – but that still didn’t make him feel any better.

The Nexus became larger and larger as time ticked away, but the station still felt so far away. Sure, it was better than the more than forty-eight hours of flying he endured to get here, but now the Nexus was like someone dangling a toy in front of a cat who can’t quite snatch it no matter how close they got.

Needing a distraction, Reyes let himself think about how he and Kira met at Kralla’s Song more than six years ago. He also thought about all the adventures the two of them had, the fun and mischievous smile on her face whenever she was about to jump into a fight, her laughter… the way she always looked at him as though he meant everything to her. He thought of all the times they’ve spent together, the many nights they made love… the few times he nearly lost her…

Reyes quickly shook the last thought from his head. No… that was the last thing he was going to think about.

Finally, after what felt like forever, a light ping was heard indicating to Reyes that he was within Nexus Control’s comm range. Without hesitation, he pressed the comm button on the panel. “Nexus Control, this is Shuttle N-503 Anubis requesting permission to dock… preferably as close as possible to Garson Memorial Hospital.”

It was a few seconds before someone responded. “N-503 Anubis, please stand by.”

Reyes let out a breath in annoyance. He was always a patient man, but considering the current circumstance, he just wanted to get this all over with. The sooner he was there by her side, the better. At least it was much easier for him to get onto the station these days, not like from the beginning after he became an exile. That was one less thing to worry about.

The flight controller finally got back to him. “N-503 Anubis, you are cleared for landing. Proceed to docking bay S-323.”

“Roger,” Reyes replied. “Proceeding to docking bay S-323.”

Just before he began landing procedures, Reyes quickly unlocked his omni-tool - which had been turned off to prevent being tracked despite jamming technology in his shuttle – to send a quick message to Kira’s brother, even while noting a few other messages waiting for him…

To: Luke Ryder

From: Reyes Vidal

Docking now. Will be there soon.

The hospital, newly built and named after the Andromeda Initiative’s founder, Jien Garson, was relatively quiet upon Reyes’s arrival. Then again, as Luke directed to him in his responding messaging, going through the back way was better than the main entrance. It didn’t surprise Reyes at all that a few members of the media were camping out front. Even after she resigned as Pathfinder, there was still an interest in Kira Ryder’s life. With few exceptions, she despised the attention her former job gave her.

Near the door entrance, one member of Kira’s former crew, Vetra Nyx, waiting for him in the quiet lobby. Most likely, Luke sent her to meet with him once the younger twin received his message. Reyes immediately went over to her and the turian didn’t hesitate to wave an arm as she began to walk forward as soon as she saw him, indicating to Reyes to follow her. He remained just a couple of feet behind Vetra, keeping up with her despite her taller height.

“Luke’s in there with her and with the exception of Drack, the others are in a private waiting area,” Vetra informed him before he said anything. “She’s in a room not too far from here. We’ve been keeping the media out since word spread about her hospitalization. Luckily, no one’s got in yet.”

“Good,” Reyes said in agreement. The last thing Kira needed right now was for the media to barge into the hospital when she was currently vulnerable (especially since it was the one feeling she hated experiencing the most).

As Reyes followed Vetra through the hospital hallways, he found that he couldn’t even begin to start asking her the other questions that were haunting his mind; was she okay? Were the doctors taking care of her? How long would she be here for? Those were just a few out of what felt like a million questions.

It was easy to find Kira’s room even before they reached it. That was because Drack was standing right next to the door, his back against the wall and his arms folded as though he was daring anyone to try to get past him. It reminded Reyes, not for the first time, how much he appreciated the Tempest crew’s loyalty to Kira even long after she walked away from being the Pathfinder.

The krogan spotted them both coming his way. As soon as he made eye contact with Reyes, Drack gave him a single nod, which he returned. Vetra stopped to stand with Drack as Reyes reached the door. He only stopped for a moment to get rid of his nerves as he realized that he was finally within a few feet from where Kira was. Only then did he realize that he hadn’t asked whether she was awake or not. If it was the former, hopefully she forgave him for taking so long to get here…

Reyes took a deep breath, putting on his mask to hide what he was feeling, before stepping into the room…

As Vetra mentioned, Luke was there in the room with his sister, occupying one of the two chairs next to the bed. He looked up to see who came in the room and got up to meet Reyes halfway. “Hey, you made it,” Luke said quietly once he was within arm’s reach.

Reyes sighed a bit. “I would’ve been here sooner, but…”

“I know,” Luke replied quietly as he patted his shoulder gently. “I’m going to step outside for a bit. If you need anything, let me know.”

Reyes simply nodded to him before Luke circled around him and headed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Reyes walked over to the bed and sat in the same chair Luke had occupied moments ago. Kira was laying on her side in her bed facing the chair. She looked very tired, probably even more so than he was, but that didn’t stop the small smile from forming on her face as soon as she saw him. “Hey there,” she greeted, her voice a little groggy.

“Hey yourself,” Reyes answered as he leaned forward in his chair and reached out to brush his fingers through her dark brown hair, tucking the strands behind her ear. He then leaned down and pressed his lips to her temple. “You okay?”

“I’m sore as hell and hurting all over, but I’ll be fine,” Kira assured him. “It all happened so fast that I didn’t really have time to process it.”

Reyes frowned. “I should’ve taken your offer to go with you. Then you wouldn’t have been alone-”

“Hey,” Kira started as she reached a hand up to cup his cheek. “Don’t blame yourself for not being here. And I wasn’t alone. Luke and the rest of the Tempest crew were with me the whole time.”

Kira removed her hand from Reyes’s face and began to adjust the small, bundled blanket she held in her other arm… revealing the tiny face of a newborn baby. In that moment, a flood of so many emotions crashed upon Reyes it was nearly overwhelming. He never thought it was possible to feel both exhilarated and frightened while his heart was already swelling with immense love for the little human in Kira’s arms. He didn’t know how to comprehend it, so he simply let it be as he attempted to take it all in.

This wasn’t something Reyes and Kira ever planned. Even now, the future always felt uncertain given both the wild environment they lived in as well as their occupations. Both had been scared out of their wits when they found out, her more than him, but they eventually decided to go with it despite the uncertainty. A part of Reyes wondered during these months if they would regret their decision. But now, seeing this little baby sleeping in Kira’s arms, all the doubts and uncertainty seemed to have melted away in an instant.

“It turns out she’s just as impatient as her uncle since she decided to show up a month earlier than expected,” Kira continued, her smile widening and her eyes glistening with tears upon noting Reyes’s reaction to seeing their daughter for the first time. “Already, she’s anxious for an adventure.”

As she spoke, Reyes slowly reached a hand out and, lightly and gently so that he didn’t wake her up, stroked the tip of his finger over the infant’s cheek. It was softer than he had imagined. “And… she’s all right? She’s healthy?” he murmured.

Kira slowly nodded. “Despite being born a little early, she’s fine. And she’s beautiful… though she looked like a red, slimy bullfrog when I first saw her. But to be fair, Luke and I looked the same way when we were born.”

Reyes chuckled at that, his eyes never leaving his daughter. “That’s one way for her to take after her mother.”

“Har har,” Kira grumbled.

Reyes leaned his head close to her, a sly smirk on his face as his eyes shifted to Kira. “I meant the part about being beautiful.”

“Liar,” she uttered, but was smiling nevertheless.

“You wound me,” Reyes gasped, feigning hurt.

Kira shook his head, still smiling. “Give birth to a seven pound baby and then we’ll talk about who’s more ‘wounded.'”

Reyes smiled at that. “Fair enough.” He then sighed as a bit of melancholy suddenly gripped at him. He frowned as he murmured once more, “I should’ve been here…”

“I told you not to blame yourself,” Kira assured him. “Like I said, she was too impatient to wait and it happened very quickly.” She smiled. “Besides, your hand was spared from the ordeal. I’m almost certain I was one more squeeze away from breaking all of Luke’s fingers.”

Reyes knew Kira was joking as a way to make him feel better, but it wasn’t really helping that much. Kira figured that out from his lack of reaction. Her free hand reached out to caress along his jawline. “Hey,” she started. “I’m sorry you weren’t here when she was born. If it’ll make you feel better, I’m planning to give one certain half of Nexus leadership hell for making me travel for a useless meeting at a time like this despite my protests.”

Reyes couldn’t help but smirk. “Let me know if you need me to send in the 'Calvary’ to set an example. I promise they won’t get hurt… unless you count their pride.”

Kira chuckled, knowing the 'Calvary’ meant the few members of the Collective who were planted on this station as an extra set of eyes and ears for him. “That might not be necessary, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

Reyes continued to caress the little infant’s cheek before Kira asked, “Do you want to hold her?”

Reyes suddenly froze in his ministrations, feeling some reluctance over that offer, but he knew that it was out of nerves more than anything. For one thing, she looked so peaceful as she slept and the last thing he wanted to do was to disturb that. And what if he dropped her? Carefully planning raids and discreetly smuggling goods across the galaxy was one thing. Holding a baby? That was out of his element.

But this wasn’t just any baby… it was their child. His child. He was still trying to comprehend that this was not just a dream. She was real and he was her father. The reality of the latter had yet to settle in just yet.

Lost for words, Reyes simple nodded to Kira’s offer before she carefully handed the sleeping infant to him. “Just remember to support the back of her head,” she reminded him. “Her neck isn’t strong enough for her to hold up on her own yet.”

Once more, Reyes nodded as he managed to get a good hold of her before he felt confident enough to lean back into his chair. The baby fussed a bit during the transfer, but soon relaxed once all the movement around her stopped. Reyes then pulled the blanket back a bit, revealing the short strands of black hair on top of her head. Brushing a finger gently over her hair, he noticed how her skin was lighter than his, but also darker than her mother’s. Although her eyes were closed, Reyes was pretty sure that they were blue like all infants were born with. Whether they would stay that way, like Kira’s, or turn amber like his later on remained to be seen. She was also small and light like a bag of feathers, which he didn’t expect.

Holding the little girl in his arms, Reyes wanted nothing more than to protect her from all the things that could harm her in this new galaxy. Not for the first time in the last few months, he thought about walking away from being the Charlatan and letting Keema take over in full… but after everything he put into the Collective, it wasn’t that easy to do. Kira understood this, more than he had expected when they discussed the possibility. Someday he may, but even now wasn’t the right time.

The only thing Reyes could hope for at this point was that this decision didn’t bite him in the rear later down the road…

“So,” Kira started again after some silence as she observed them, cutting through his thoughts. “How do you still feel about naming her Charlotte Ellen Ryder?”

Giving the little girl her mother’s surname was something they decided on months ago. Giving her the Ryder name would keep her safe, and he would do anything to make sure it remained that way. For her sake.

Reyes leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “It’s perfect,” he murmured. “She’s perfect…”

I had this idea in my head for a while… which is funny because I normally don’t write much family stuff, but I decided to go for it after seeing Fanfic Prompt #12: Family Guy by @makocartwheel .

I hope you enjoyed reading this.

#reyesvidalweeklyprompt #mass effect andromeda #reyes vidal #kira ryder #freyder #reyes x ryder #my fanfiction #fanfic #fic prompt fill

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