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consistantly-changing · 2 years ago

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[Image descriptions in order: a screenshot of a YouTube video titled "How To Lose 15 pounds in 7 days with Peel-a-Pound Soup" by T-ROY COOKS. The preview of the description says "Are you wanting to lose weight quickly without exercise? This Peel-a-Pound Soup burns more calories digesting it than your body..." The thumbnail is a photo of the soup, which is a thin red broth with a lot of pale and green vegetables, nearly filling the pot to the brim.]

[Several screenshots of the YouTube comment section. Ryan M. comments "This will make your body release gases that have been banned by the Geneva convention".]

[Ebrill Owen: I did not heed the warnings of the comment section. After day one of eating this soup I was woken up in the middle of the night by a fart that sounded like Donald Duck ripping a phone book in half in a fit of rage. It made my cat jump off my bed and go downstairs to sleep lol I can't blame her]

[OverlyLethal: I've been scared to poop since I started eating this. What came as a blessing also came as a potential nuke that could destroy the U.S. I lost 25 pounds but if I keep eating this we could also lose the U.S.]

[Jtt Diana: I don't recommend this soup during the Coronavirus because there is a national shortage on toilet paper and that is also an essential part of this diet]

[Negasilver: Made this the other day and shared the recipe with a couple of my neighbors cause meat is getting a little scarce but there's still tons of veggies at the supermarket. Tasty, but we had cops coming by every hour for like two days straight because they kept receiving reports of shotgun blasts in the area.]

[Sock Puppet: I tried this soup and lost 7 pounds and ruined three pairs of boxer briefs. Thanks. Totally worth it.]

[the midimalist: step 1: "into a large dutch oven"

step 2: realize in hindsight he meant my apartment]

[Mark OByrne: Did you find that old paper recipe in an abandoned silver mine? There's a reason it was down there, you have no idea what you've done.]

[AJ: I ate this everyday for a year and lost a alotta weight. I lost so much weight I imploded. I turned into time itself]

[PAUL ELLIOTT: My farts are punching holes in the drywall.]

[Prositive: If you eat this soup, even your farts will have to fart]

[Hkm Khan: I made this soup and got eviction notice next day... now I don't have a home.]

[king grund: My grandmother makes something like this for the holidays..on a unrelated note her houses plumbing has been acting up]

[buck4life1: I ate this soup for a week and at Sunday church, I leaned over and told my wife, I just let out a silent fart, what should i do and she said, after we leave here, we are stopping at the store and getting new batteries for your hearing aids.]

[T B: This recipe is a conspiracy hatched by plumbers.]

[Matt Curtis: Here is sit, broken hearted, ate the soup - then went and sharted...]

[Nickbiz247: It's now day 59 of the quarantine. I realized I gained 10lbs. I could no longer fit certain clothes so I decided to take action. Magically, this video was recommended to me. YouTube has a canny way of reading your thoughts. I suspect they have psychics on staff...who knows.

So I decided to risk my life by going to the grocery store like Will Smith going outside in I Am Legend. I knew the infected were out there but these ingredients in the video I needed for the right sustenance. The store was almost empty. What a sigh of relief. I rushed to get my items and leave.

I get home and cheerfully prep the ingredients. I decide to add garlic and cayenne pepper...I shouldn't have done that. I cook everything to perfection and when it was done, I marveled in my masterpiece.

I then scoop some of this heavenly greenery or so I thought into a bowl to partake in the first feast of my weight loss journey. I finish it within 5 mins. It tasted amazing. I decide to go and relax....and then it started.

What I thought was a simple poot turned into a nonstop marathon of flatulence. I felt like one of those deep water methane reservoirs erupted and started releasing everything. And the smell, oh God the smell. The garlic didn't help. It smelled like a massive herd of animals crawled in my ass and went extinct. Then started rotting. I'm afraid to sleep in my room with the doors closed out of fear I'll end up in a gas chamber like they do in basic training in the military. I can't even walk past my stove out of fear my sphincter will release what could only be the end of my existence. Lord help me. I should've came to the comments first. Now for the next several days I'll be producing more natural resources than a deep sea well pumping natural gas.

Y'all pray for me.]

[TN: Thank you. My pregnant wife farted out our son early thanks to this soup.]

[Reviews of the sugar free gummies. The first review has the name, title, and rating cropped out, and says: I would consider myself a prudent man.

I'm not given to bouts of outspokenness or craving attention, and certainly not one to rock the boat. On any given day, I can be found reading a crime novel on a park bench in the middle of the city, soaking in the opulence of nature while nibbling on my tuna fish sandwiches and fending off the voracious gulls and squirrels that threaten to spoil my repose.

This is me. Law-abiding and introspective.

Which is why it came as a shock to me to find myself incarcerated because of the Devil's Confectionery.

Satan's Sweetmeat.

Lucifer's Lozenges.

The horror that is known as Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears.]

["Selah" gives a 5 star review titled "Umm, smells like hell". The review says "This was the day my life changed. I bought a bag of these delicious Satan snacks, and they took me back to the past. It took me back to the day Pompeii erupted, instead of lava there was hot brown liquid feces exploding out of what could be the black pit of hell. I was sitting on my toilet, sweaty AF, It felt like I was in a sana after drinking vegi free combucha while being punch in the gut by Arnold Schwarzenegger, the worst part was didn't have any toilet paper I questioned myself if I should use my dog to while my sweaty crack of hell, but I'd rather shoot him befor I put him through that hell like place.... all in all 10/10 great gift, would by again".]

["Nicole P" gives a 3 star review titled "One of the worst days of my life". The review says "I ate half of a 6 oz bag I picked up at CVS. They changed the color of the bag. I didn't know. I spent 24 hours in the fetal position on my bathroom floor repeating "please God, why?" I still don't have an answer."]

[A 5 star review from an "Amazon Customer" titled "Five Stars" and says "help me".]

["Trevor Raborn" gives a some star review titled "Better than Miralax!!!!" The review says "I was in a financial pinch, having just paid our taxes. With what little money left under the seats of our couch, I was able to scrunge up around 10.00. As you can tell, its been years since we've cleaned our couch. 25 years to be exact. So $10 dollars is a reasonable find.

As I went to the store to purchase some medicine, I had to only the $10 from the couch, but Miralax was $11, with tax, but these gummies, free 2-day shipping, I knew this was a win-win.

Only waiting just 2 days, the prized gummies made their way to my door. Just the opening smell from the bag, made my bowels rumble like a UCF fight. I knew this would do the trick. Forget Miralax, this stuff is the JAM!

My intestines want to specifically thank Haribo and their Anti-Sugar stance. These outperform any modern medicine when you need to be "on-the-go"."]

["Vicenta Morris" gives a five star review titled "Five Stars" and says "GOOD CLEANSER" in all caps.]

["Jimmy Beans" J gives a 5 star review titled "A delicious treat that should be enjoyed only after the following preparations have been made". The review says "A delicious treat that should be enjoyed only after the following preparations have been made,

1- make sure it's Friday and cancel all weekend plans, for good measure go ahead and call in for Monday

2- call the city and make sure your water bill is paid in full

3 visit your local hardware store and purchase a sink attachment for your garden hose as toilet paper will quickly become too painful to bear

4 give advanced notice to family members, roommates and neighbors unless you're keen on trying to give birth to a crushed watermelon while convincing your local swat team that both the screaming and demonic noises are from you and a dynamic entry would only bring about more needless suffering

5- redo your restroom in motivational pictures, ones with slogans like courage is fear hanging on one minute longer, the only easy day was yesterday etc, I also advise posting up the suicide prevention hotline number or having a dedicated friend or other support group to walk you through the low times.

Lastly I must strongly urge you to consider why you are thinking of buying this product, is it a sense of deep self loathing? A reckless sense of adventure? Are you researching dysentery? perhaps you are the drill sergeant of some extreme commando unit seeking to break down the enemies will to fight by airdropping these into their midst. If you are just curious then let me say oh fellow human, beware for this life is dangerous enough, next time I want a thrill I'll skydive without a parachute, that way at least I'll have a chance."]

["Nicole L Boley" gives a one star review titled "Diarrhea while driving". The review says "One of our beloved physicians brought a bag of gummy bears to work to share with the staff one night shift. Not realizing they were the famous dreaded sugar free gummies multiple staff throughout the shift grabbed a handful of gummies while passing by and each have their own near miss stories but this is mine...

The next morning I have to run an errand about and hour and a half from my house. On the drive home down a curvy back country road my stomach suddenly begins to cramp and I feel the immediate urge to empty my bowels. Frantic, as I realize Im not going to make it home I start searching for a place to pull over. The end of a gated logging road perhaps? Im speeding along, arching my back, practicing lamas breathing techniques, anything to stall the inevitable. I pass the first turnoff that has a sheriffs car parked at the end and keep searching with sweat pouring down my forehead and bubbling noises in my guts that drown out the heavy metal on the stereo. Finally! I spot the end of a brushy trail and whip my truck sideways, thrusting the drivers side door open and leaping from the seat to scurry around to the other side. I turn around with fingers in waste band about to drop trow and look up to my horror realizing it is indeed the end of a driveway and the folks outside are staring down toward me probably wondering what this crazed individual is about to do. For several moments I seriously considered just completing the task and running away but couldnt imagine my parents seeing the cell phone video of myself on social media later in the day. I scurried back around the truck and halfway there my ability to hold back the hot lava flow of liquid stool from making a hastey exit out of my spasming rectum was lost and I crapped my pants right there on the side of the road standing next to my truck. My bowels cramped up and expelled every drop of liquid from my body. At that point Im now standing there with leggings full of hot liquid stool running into my shoes and debating on what the next best course of action should be. Of course I have no extra clothes or any towels in my truck. What do I do? Do I call someone? Do I drive home the remaining 20 minutes? After a few moments of self reflection I decided to strip off my shirts and lay them on the seat of my truck and get inside. It was a rather uncomfortable drive home with the windows all down and skin burning on the backs of my legs and buttocks. It was one of the longest 20 minute periods of time Ive ever experienced in my entire life. I alternated between crying and laughing at the situation and checking the speedometer like a paranoid drunk thinking I cant possibly get pulled over right now because what would I say? Yes officer, I crapped my pants. Thats what that smell is. Tears streaming down my face. I finally arrive home, screeching to a hault in the driveway in front of the open automatic garage door I triggered as I was drifting the curve onto my road. Holding the bottoms of my pant legs closed tight I awkwardly stagger into my house and immediatly into the shower fully clothed.

Fast forward 3 weeks and Im at work hearing about the other incidents and the light bulb clicks on......

35 years old and I had to reset the clock for the "how long since you've last crapped your pants" countdown...

Thanks Dr Hanson

Lesson learned........make sure the gummy bears are not the sugar free version".]

ive been doing a lot of youtube recipe binging lately so i was recommended this video and i was like fuck it diet soup why not

and it sounded pretty tasty so after the vid i scrolled down to see what people thought of it, and i just really need to share with you all what the comment section is like

and for the one that broke me:

#soups #dieting #sugar free gummies #from the notes: the diet has attached a meal plan and it is. insane.

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letterstonamjoon · 5 months ago

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Past-final

This is the story of a man who almost became the father of my children.

Two months after joining a new company, I met a business contact for dinner on a weekend afternoon. It was a late day of the year, the sky was cloudy and there was no sunshine. When I sat reading a book in the park opposite the company, waiting for him to finish work, I felt like I was waiting for my lover. After dinner and then walking until midnight, I seriously thought about choosing that person. He was 6 years younger than me, handsome, smart and ambitious.

A week later, we officially dated.

With the thought of getting married seriously, for the first time in my life, I let someone fully enter my life, and introduced that person to the world. The first time I changed my status to "In a relationship" on a social network, the first time I invited a lover to explore new places together, and the first time I completely changed my future plans.

Nearly a year later, when I said we were one month away from our one-year anniversary, he said, "I'm surprised we can still maintain it until now." The relationship fizzled out soon after. The apartment where we had many memories together became so sad that every night I could only sleep on the sofa, in front of the TV playing the Disney channel.

After we broke up, he described our relationship as “very toxic.” Indeed, I often found myself torn between continuing to try to change myself to preserve the relationship, or ending it. We fell into a cycle of on-again, off-again for a while. I remember once saying, “If I had to get married, I would definitely choose you. But since I have another choice which is to live alone, I think we should break up.”

I am an irrational person. I started with my head, with analysis that this was my ideal type of person to marry, but I held on to the relationship with the weakness of my heart. After breaking up, we still went back and forth and still traveled together. While I hoped to mend the relationship, he only chose 'Friends with benefits'. The final straw came when I asked him if he could go to the hospital with me because I was about to have ear surgery, he answered that he couldn't because he was in a new relationship. And we just had sex a week before.

I am a person who believes in fate. I think every person we meet in life is arranged by fate. Then, that person and I will create happy memories or sad memories, depending on whether the cause is fate or debt. In our relationship, each person takes turns causing pain to the other. Perhaps, in our previous lives, we owed each other a lot.

Later, when he received the news that a life had been brought to me by God, he was very angry and asked if I had set him up. Two years of radio silence ended abruptly on my daughter’s first birthday. This coincided with the passing of his father, and I think the uncertainty of life after the pandemic made him want to find a new anchor in life, a person he thought was his child.

I thought of giving all three people a chance, so that my daughter could have the full love of the two people who created her. At that time, people who knew the story, including me, believed that he was the father of my daughter. However, it became clear that he came to us not to build a family, but just to find an anchor as his life drifted apart. So as soon as the DNA test results said the two were unrelated, I sent him out of my life.

I would have kept that frozen state for many years to come. However, the constant mental strain of holding onto negativity made me understand that forgiving others is forgiving myself. On the occasion of my birthday last year, I sought to apologize to those I had hurt, and forgive those who had hurt me, including him. A year earlier, when he walked out, I was a 58kg, messy-haired mother wearing oversized t-shirts. This time we met again, I had shed 12kg, neat and full of confidence in a small midi dress.

Since then, he is just another person who has passed through my life.

#namjoon

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audbod3 · 11 months ago

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Mad Honey by Jodi Picoult and Jennifer Finney Boylan -- A Long-Ass Review

Spoilers ahead.

TW: Domestic violence, violence against trans people, gender dysphoria, child loss, murder.

I am a book review account now, forgive me, my three followers.

I finished this book a few days ago and have been left with a bitter taste in my mouth. I absolutely loved this book, right up until the end, where it quickly lost any meaningful themes it had been establishing throughout the entire book.

A quick summary: this book follows two protagonists. The first, Olivia, is a woman who has escaped an incredibly abusive marriage and fled with her son to her childhood home in Adams New Hampshire. The second, Lily, is a high-school senior who moved to Adams with her mother to escape the abuse of her father, her peers, and her community due to her being transgender. Lily's story begins at the end of her life, after Ash, Olivia's son, and Lily's boyfriend, finds her dead in her house.

Ash is almost immediately a primary suspect in the death of Lily, and for good reason. Throughout the novel, more and more damning information is revealed about Ash that builds a strong case against him, both through Lily's narrations and through evidence revealed during Ash's trial. Lily reveals a lot about Ash to the reader, most notably being that he was incredibly abusive to her-- there is no denying that. A scene in the book depicted Ash fuming while driving down a highway as fast as possible, followed by him throwing Lily across the car in a fit of rage when she tried to take the wheel. In another scene, Lily is depicted speaking to her ex-boyfriend at a fencing tournament. Ash then comes up to her, letting his jealousy get the best of him, and grips her arm to the point of bruising while yelling at her. Despite only the latter being brought up in trial, it is clear that the fictional jury, the public, and especially the reader are all suspicious of Ash's guilt.

Olivia is incredibly distraught knowing that her son could be a potential abuser. As she reveals details of her former relationship with his father, Olivia describes her worry that, despite her best efforts, Ash's temper had been lying dormant within him during those years of separation. At the beginning of the book, Olivia is completely unrelenting about her son's innocence. However, throughout the novel, we see the seed of doubt planted within her, watered by the unraveling of countless lies her son had told her. These notably included that he had been meeting with his father once a month for almost a year prior.

This point in the novel spoke to me, communicating that we really don't know the people around us, not even family. I loved getting a glimpse into Olivia's internal conflict, especially as she described a feeling as if her love for her son was, unexpectedly, conditional. For me, this was one of the most powerful themes in this book, but it is sadly completely negated by the ending.

Spoiler incoming: Ash is found not guilty and acquitted! Whyyyy?! Well, the defense builds an argument that, due to Lily's hormone therapy, she was prone to bruising incredibly easily, and potentially had a preexisting brain bleed (also caused by hormone therapy.) The jury ultimately decides this is sufficient evidence to build a case for reasonable doubt, which I suppose it is, and Ash is found to be not guilty. The thing is, Ash was literally not guilty, it was actually revealed to be Maya, Ash's childhood friend and Lily's best friend, who got into an argument with Lily about her love for Ash, resulting in Lily tripping down the stairs to her death... Yeah...

This just made me so angry. I got the message that, despite the established violence that Ash perpetrated against Lily, his streak of lying, and his frequently defending his abuser father (and even meeting with him behind his mother's back?!), she ultimately died because women just can't help but be jealous of each other! Oh, girlhood! I thought the alternate ending of Ash being guilty, his mother having to come to terms with that and find a way forward, and the fact that Lily, like many women before her, was murdered by the person who was supposed to love and protect her, would have made for a much more meaningful and thought-provoking ending.

Now, I haven't even begun to touch on the implication that this ending has for communicating violence against trans women. Transgender women disproportionately make up victims of murder and domestic violence, a point this book was clearly attempting to communicate for the majority of the novel. However, by ultimately having her death be an accident resulting from an argument between her and a friend, I felt that this book failed to illustrate the real threat that transgender women face on this front, not to mention it reeks of internalized misogyny from the authors.

Now, I don't want to completely shit on this book. I will say that I really found it intriguing and pretty well-written. Additionally, though I am not trans and cannot speak to its ability to depict the experience of gender dysphoria, discrimination, and abuse for being transgender, I can say that I appreciated reading Lily's narrations and getting a glimpse into her experience of being born into the wrong body. This aspect of the novel is one that I am glad the decision to have two authors was made for, as Lily's narrations are written by Jennifer Finney Boylean, who is transgender.

This book is similar to Gone Girl in that sure, it is an intriguing mystery, but ultimately delivers conflicting messages regarding abusive relationships for which the cultural impact is not well considered. In Gone Girl, the reveal of the female protagonist completely framing and lying about her experience of abuse to keep her husband under her spell ultimately had harmful implications for real-life women survivors who come forward about their experiences with abuse. Similarly, I think that Mad Honey has the potential for similar consequences. Women who are murdered are most likely to die at the hands of their romantic partner, or a former one, and this phenomenon is even more true for trans women. I wish that the book followed through with this point.

Final rating: 2.5/5

#booklr #books #book review #book reviews #mad honey #ugh this book is not what I had been hoping for

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tommysparker · 3 years ago

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Never Forget You [Chapter 3]

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

A/N: hey y’all! thank you for your patience with this chapter. enjoy!! :) [also totally didn’t have this in my drafts then forget to post earlier pfftttt whaaaatt?]

Warnings: angst with a tiny amount of fluff. anakin finally makes his debut in this series. it gets better just stay with me. long italic paragraphs = flashbacks

Anakin Skywalker had witnessed many things over the years.

Giant beasts? At least once a week. Sith Lords? Becoming too common. Droid armies? All year long. Looking death in the eye? Simply another day in the life of a Jedi.

Nothing could ever have prepared him for the sight he was currently witnessing.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, his Master, The Negotiator, the Jedi Council’s most prized Jedi…sulking.

It has been a full week since You returned to the Jedi Temple and Anakin couldn’t help to think his former Master’s mood and your arrival were connected. He was vaguely aware of your past friendship, only hearing bits and pieces of the adventures you had together as Padawans.

During his days under Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship he would often hear about how “a wise Jedi I once knew” would do certain things. He wanted to know more about this oh-so-great Jedi, however, any time the young boy asked his Master would always brush him off with a mournful look in his eyes.

He didn’t understand at the time but now he’s beginning to piece together that perhaps there was something more between the two of you.

“You think Master Y/l/n and Master Kenobi were courting?”

“Keep your voice down, Snips,” Anakin hushed.

“Sorry, sorry. But Master,” Ahsoka lowers her voice, “what led you to that conclusion? I’ve hardly seen them together since Master Y/l/n came back. What makes you think they could be lovers?”

“That’s just it, Ahoska. They’ve been avoiding each other like the Rakghoul plague. Obi-Wan told me they were such good friends, and now that they’re back they can’t stand to be in the same room as each other? I don’t buy it.” Anakin looked back to where Obi-Wan sat with Commander Cody, no doubt brainstorming new battle tactics and liberation plans.

“So what do you suppose we do? Set them up or something?” The look her Master gave her made her regret her words the moment they left her mouth.

“Come on, Snips. It’s a good idea. We get them to stay in the same room so they have no choice but to confront each other and talk things out! It’s genius.” Anakin smiled, his eyes still on his former Master. He had a feeling if Obi-Wan were to find out about this plan he would be in for a major lecture but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. He couldn’t stand to see the old man look so miserable, not if he can do anything about it.

Ahsoka crossed her arms and followed her Master’s gaze. Something was clearly different about her Grand-Master. He had put his full attention into ending the war, which wasn’t new. However, she could tell something was off. He no longer came out to the landing zone to greet returning fighters, stayed away from the meditation and training centers as well as the Jedi Archives which was the most off-putting observation considering that was where he spent most of his time.

Anytime someone needed to find Obi-Wan Kenobi, the first place they would check was the ancient history section of the Jedi Archives.

“I don’t know why you find so much interest in these old books Y/n/n,” Obi-Wan complained from across the table. “Can’t we go practice our lightsaber skills instead?”

You smiled. “Nuh uh, mister. If I won the wager you promised to sit with me during my reading time. Now shush, and read.” You pushed the unopened textbook toward the pouting Padawan. “Maybe you’ll actually learn something.”

Obi-Wan stuck his tongue out in a childish manner, sighing dramatically when you gave him a certain look and reluctantly opened the cover and began to read Tales of The Old Republic.

Safe to say from that point onward, Obi-Wan would join your daily Archive visits with zero complaints.

You close the book, careful to make sure no pages fell out and gently push it back into its place on the shelf. Using the force, you carefully push the ladder you were currently standing on over to the next column and begin nitpicking through the array of old texts.

It took a few days for you to settle in and readjust to the Jedi Temple life. Once you had, however, things quickly took a turn.

Master Yoda requested that you help train some of the younglings who were having trouble advancing into the next stages of becoming a Jedi. In all honesty, you much rather have had the freedom to roam for at least one more week, but the new role presented an excuse to not be around a certain blue-eyed Jedi.

“Looking for something?”

The voice startled you, causing you to jump and lose your balance on the ladder. You yelp as you begin to fall towards the ground, bracing yourself for the hash impact and the bruises that would add to the collection on your side still currently healing.

Instead, you feel a pair of arms catch you, one under your back and the other behind your knees in a classic bridal style. The hold felt secure instantly, and you instinctively clung to the tunic of your savior. You look up to thank the person for preventing any injuries, but the blue eyes staring back at you made your mind go blank.

Obi-Wan stared back, unsure of what to say. This was the closest he has been to you since you left a decade ago. He longed to have you in his arms, to hug you, to regain that safety net you provided he knew he could always fall back on.

“Um...thank you, General.” It came out as more of a question, your mind still reeling from almost falling and also the fact that the man who you had been actively avoiding just happened to be in the same place you spent hours of your youth together.

“Obi-Wan, please. No need for formalities, darling.” The old nickname slipped out, and he was about to apologize when he noticed the light blush that spread across your face. Perhaps not everything about you has changed.

“Right...Obi-Wan. Well, I’ll be on my way then,” You rushed, trying to pass by him but he stopped you once again by the call of your name.

“Y/n/n’s wait. Whatever game you’re playing, frankly I am not a fan of it.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows.

“What are you talking about?” You turned around and looked at him confused.

“You were the one who summoned me here,” he stretched his arms out, “here I am and now you’re trying to run away again. I hardly think that’s fair.” He was beginning to get frustrated. He came in with his heart on his sleeve, ready to finally talk to you after so long and find out why you’ve been keeping your distance. Now, all he felt was betrayal and irritation at the ongoing dance you insist on doing around each other.

He preferred to dance like you did in your youth, but alas this was nothing but another sign he needs to get mind out of the past.

You scoffed lightly. “Again? What is that supposed to mean exactly?” You knew exactly what he meant, but you didn’t want to admit it. You’ve been denying it for ten years and Force be damned if you’d admit it now.

“You’ve been avoiding me since your return--” You open your mouth to protest but he ignores you and continues “--and then you send the youngling to bring me here, only to try to flee upon my arrival,” He frowns, lifting his elbow and resting it on his remaining crossed arm. “I know our history can make things...difficult in the present time,” He glanced around cautiously as he spoke,”but I would appreciate it if we make an agreement simply to not speak from now on. No more games.”

You blinked, head tilting slightly as you waited for him to finish. “Obi-Wan, I didn’t ask for you to come here. Nor would I ever involve younglings in personal matters.” He should know that, you thought. But should he really?

His face fell from annoyance to embarrassment, his arms falling to his sides. “Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to do now. It was his own fault for getting his hopes up. I should have known better.

You purse your lips and nodded slowly. “Well, I’m glad we at least came to an agreement. Goodbye, General Kenobi.” You took your leave, forcing yourself not to look back as you felt his eyes watching your figure.

Obi-Wan let out a frustrated sigh, knowing he just ruined any and all changes of reconnecting with you. In his defense, however, you were the one avoiding his attempts at friendly conversation and refusing to meet and make up for lost time.

Still, something didn’t feel right about this.

“What the kriff was that?”

Ah, there’s that something. “Anakin, please tell me this was not your doing.”

Anakin smiled guilty, Ahsoka coming out from behind the bookshelf to stand next to her Master.

“It was Snips' idea.” Anakin shrugged, flinching when he felt her punch his arm. “Ow!”

“You were the one who came up with the plan, and now look! Master Y/l/n and Master Kenobi will never get together--” Ahoska stops herself, realizing she said too much. “Oh no.”

“I beg your pardon?” Obi-Wan looks at them both incredulously. “First of all, Master Y/l/n and I are simply…” he wanted to say friends, but even that was a reach at this point, “acquaintances. We knew each other in the past, and in the past our friendship shall stay. As for ‘getting together’, you both know very well any implication of that goes directly against the Jedi Code.” He crossed his arms tightly as he scolded.

“I can tell you harbour feelings for them, Obi-Wan. You don’t need to lie to us.”

“Whatever feelings I may or may not have for Y/n are unrelated. You must understand your responsibilities as a Jedi. No matter what emotional sacrifice we must make.” He made a point to look at Anakin at the end, knowing he won’t follow the implication but at least hoping he’ll get the message.

“We’re sorry, Master.” Ahsoka looked down in shame not at what they had tried to achieve, but at the cost and clear damage they caused.

Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand over his beard before resting it on her shoulder. “It’s alright young one. You meant no harm. Perhaps some things are better left forgotten.”

Oh, if only it were that simple.

A Padawan approached the three of them quickly. “Excuse me, Master Yoda sent me to tell you he and Master Y/l/n are waiting for you all in the council room.”

Of course, these things never are.

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heres a box to put your heart pieces in -> [] :)

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leviaju · 4 years ago

Text

forgiveness

pairing: belphegor x GN! reader, hints of everyone x reader

words: 8.1k+

genre: angst, fluff at the beginning and a bit at the end if u squint

warnings: mentions of mc and lilith’s death, foul language

preview: “I’m sorry,” He begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. “I know that will never cut it, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

hey guys what up. so... i’ve done a lot of thinking about belphegor’s dynamic with MC, and, like many others, was really bothered by the sudden switch after... he killed them. u know. typical stuff. i wanted to fill in the gaps!!! if im being completely honest, this has sat in my wips for.... like half a year. it’s my first time writing for obey me, so i hope that everyone’s not too terribly ooc LOL

anyways yeah. i mention how belphegor killed mc a couple of times, so proceed with caution! hopefully, if i get any ideas, the next stuff i write will be a lot lighter. hope you enjoy! (also requests r open soooooooo)

The weight on your chest crushed your rib cage, threatening to snap your bones like they were nothing more than twigs. All you could see was the pitch black of eternal night, and whether your eyes were opened or closed you couldn’t tell. What commanded your attention was the searing pain in your lungs, growing exponentially every half-second, and the unrelenting grip that was slowly shattering your esophagus. No matter how hard you struggled, squirmed and fought against the weight holding your body down, there was no use. It was pointless. The pain spread from the raging fire in your lungs to the tips of your fingertips, and everywhere felt as if you had been set aflame. Slowly, a light illuminated the force keeping you down.

You couldn’t make out much, save for the cackle that rang insufferably through your ears, and the intense eyes that were staring you down.

They held no remorse.

Bones ache as you rest against your bed, finally allowing the tension in your muscles to melt away. You’d never mistake this feeling for regret of a busy day, having spent so much time with the people you care about, but it certainly took its toll on you.

It began with Satan, who’d asked you the night before to accompany him on an early morning walk. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence — he’d invite you to join his morning routine on every day off, and you’d never refuse — hence, at the wonderful time of 7:00am, you were venturing around the Devildom, hand in hand with the Avatar of Wrath. The two of you would walk, occasionally resting on a park bench for longer than either of you would like to admit, for about an hour and a half before you took an official break. The time was filled with pleasant chatter and comfortable silence. Every so often he’d squeeze your hand, and when you’d look over, the fondest of smiles crossed his face. It was a reminder of how glad he was that you joined him.

At around 8:30, he took you into a café for breakfast, and two of you spent only about thirty minutes there chattering away happily. For the most part, he was vividly and excitedly discussing a book he’d just finished the night before…

Until you were interrupted.

“Hello, lovely!” Asmodeus wrapped his arms around you from behind, just before pressing a kiss on your cheek. Satan sighed, resting his head in his hand as he watched the interaction.

“My selfish older brother’s been hogging you all morning, I couldn’t help but want to whisk you away!”

Despite the glare Satan was sending his way, Asmodeus took a seat next to you, happily engaging in conversation as he completely ignored his brother. He told you that the mall was opening in about an hour, and Asmo desperately wished to get his perfectly-manicured hands on a new makeup product being revealed that day.

“But of course I can’t go alone! How positively dreary that would be.” His fingers twined with yours as he looked at you hopefully, and you ran your thumb across his hand. A sheepish smile crept its way onto your lips, and you looked over at Satan. He simply nodded, flicking his hand as a gesture for you two to leave, and Asmodeus didn’t hesitate. He was quick to stand and pull you with them, holding tight to you as he whisked you away. You called out to Satan, now alone at the table with a reluctant smile on his face as he waved goodbye.

“Thanks for breakfast! Get home safe!”

You almost missed the chuckle that left his lips, the café door closing behind you.

Asmodeus kept you until noon. He got a hold of the lipstick he wanted almost right away, but insisted on buying an outfit to match the colour. Regardless of what you’d initially thought, the outfit wasn’t for him.

“Oh, we’ll look positively stunning together!” He exclaimed after about two hours of forcing you in and out of changing rooms, putting his hands all over you to “adjust the clothing” as he deemed necessary. Near the end, you could feel soreness deep in your muscles creeping in from such an active morning, but Asmodeus’ cheery face and constant flirtations helped you forget about it almost completely.

It wasn’t until you got home that you truly felt the effects of on-and-off walking since early in the morning. Be that as it may, your stomach was growling, loudly reminding you that it was now past lunch. As much as you wished to give up on food for the time being and instead head to your room to collapse, the pain in your belly was enough to urge you to cease any arguments, instead ready to try and ignore the ache in your bones in order to quell the angry rumbling of your stomach.

Unfortunately, when you finally made it to the kitchen, there was no food prepared. Instead, what you found was a dejected Beelzebub, frowning softly as he once again was at the receiving end of a lecture from the eldest of his brothers. As quiet as possible, you snuck into the kitchen, trying to listen in on their conversation.

There was silence, followed by a sigh.

“It’s easier to simply ask what’s going on as opposed to trying to eavesdrop, MC.”

You jumped, then bashfully made your way into the kitchen, a sheepish grin on your face. Lucifer was rubbing his temple.

“Beelzebub was supposed to be on lunch duty, but ended up ‘taste-testing’ to the extent that he ate it all. Again.” Lucifer sighed. The typically perfect eldest brother was being run ragged, if the bags forming under his eyes told you anything. “So, instead of working on the papers I have to get finished for tonight, I’m stuck making lunch while he cleans up.”

Beelzebub’s frown tugged at your heartstrings, and in spite of the exhaustion clawing relentlessly at your bones, you relented.

“Why don’t I help? Four hands are better than two,” you proposed, and a small smile graced Lucifer’s face. He lifted his hand to brush the disheveled black hair out of his face, and your chest ached just a bit at the sight. You made a mental note to drag him to bed for a nap the next time you saw him like this.

“That would be more than welcome. Please, if you may.” Already you turned to start working, but Lucifer’s voice made you pause.

“But no feeding Beel. He’s eaten more than his fill already, he can wait until we’re all done.”

Needless to say, every so often you’d slip Beelzebub a piece of chopped vegetable or cooked meat, and he’d very happily (but quietly!) munch away, his expression radiating warmth and joy. And Lucifer, who seemed to almost be omniscient at times, never once mentioned it. Once the three of you were done cooking, Lucifer placed his hand on your head, patting you gently.

“Good work, MC. I must leave now, but I trust that the two of you will be able to clean everything up. Your help was much appreciated. You will be paid back in kind for all of your hard work.”

If nothing else, the slight blush on Lucifer’s face as he ever-so-gently pressed his lips to the crown of your head was more than enough payment.

“Thank you.” Beelzebub cleared his throat, washing the dishes as you dried them. “I… Thanks for helping. And feeding me.”

His smile warmed your heart, and you nodded, bumping your arm with his gently. The small bit of pink that dusted his cheeks compelled you to coddle him, but you resisted the urge. Barely.

“Anytime, big guy.”

After you ate lunch, the only thought in your mind was the prospect of curling up under your covers and passing out. The fretful, broken sleep the night before wasn’t helping at all in keeping you awake, and that on top of the rest of the day’s events had you yearning for the feeling of your pillows.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t even made it through the door when your phone began to blow up, one notification after the other in quick succession.

GGKKJFLFJG

CMOE QUIC K

PLS

SUPE R RARE EVENT IN MONONONOKE

PELASE

YOU HVE TO BE PARTNERED WIHT SOMEONE TO GTE THE PRIZE

PL E A S E

HURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHHHUUURRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY

You found yourself in Leviathan’s room, sat in his lap as he explained the event to you. Your half-asleep brain did its best to keep up with his quick speech, but that, along with the warmth of his chest against your back, became the most soothing lullaby.

“Hey! Normie! I agreed to let you sit here so I could easily help you through the event, but if you’re going to fall asleep on me, I’m pushing you off—“

“I’m awake! I’m awake.

...Now, what was I supposed to do?”

The unintentional giggle that escaped your lips at his expression caused Leviathan to huff, exasperated, despite the flush of his face. Diligently, however, he thoroughly explained the event, for the second time, and the method to obtain the rare prize: a level 2000 I’m Going To Murder You So Hard That You’ll Come Back To Life Just To Die Again Death Sycthe, the strongest weapon ever released in the game. It was a partner event, which explained Leviathan’s desperate and urgent request for aid. You didn’t mind though. While yes, you’d probably never be able to get to his level of gamer, you were more than happy to go along for the ride. It made him happy!

Leviathan rested his chin against your shoulder as he played on his phone, focused to such a degree that the usually easy-to-fluster demon was completely unphased by your proximity. Your phone, set to AutoFight, rested untouched near Leviathan’s leg, abandoned on the floor. You watched him expertly take out enemies that would have one-hit KO’d you through heavy eyelids, and every time he beat a wave of enemies, his attention would momentarily avert from the screen, looking at you from the corner of his eye expectantly. A kiss on his cheek was more than enough to motivate him to continue on, albeit with a pink glow on his cheeks until his attention was once again completely wrapped up in the game at his fingertips.

“Levi! I said open up, goddamnit!”

The pounding against the door was enough to distract Leviathan from his game, subsequently killing his character in the process. He groaned, cursing the demon who interrupted the two of you as he gently lifted you off of his lap, before getting up to open the door.

“The hell do you want?!”

To be completely honest, you were so wrapped up in watching Leviathan play his games that you had forgotten about your weekly movie night with Mammon, who had come over to his younger brother’s room to drag your ungrateful ass back to your own. Leviathan had cleared the event in Mononoke Land hours ago, but not wanting you to leave just yet, invited you to keep watching him play. Setting aside how tired you were, how could you say no? You’d wanted to spend time with him, too.

Unfortunately, you lost track of time, and your phone, battery completely drained from the event, rested uselessly in your pocket. A consequence of this happened to be missing the countless messages and calls Mammon had sent your way, before he began his hunt for you throughout the house. The last place he checked was, of course, Leviathan’s room.

“Come on, human, I ain’t got all day. No one keeps the Great Mammon waiting!”

“Except for MC,” you heard Leviathan mumble under his breath, and a laugh escaped you before you had the chance to slap a hand over your mouth. Mammon flushed deeply, before striding into his brother’s room.

“Hey, wait, you moron! I never said—!”

The force of Mammon throwing you over your shoulder wasn’t enough to hurt, but it certainly was enough to leave you breathless for a moment. “Let’s go, fragile human. I picked the perfect movie already.” Mammon’s words came out in a bashful mumble, but he had enough courage to lift his head and smirk at Leviathan as he carried you out of the room. All you could do was smile apologetically at the blue haired demon before Mammon turned, bringing you out of sight.

Mammon was all complaints as he carried you to your bedroom, but you knew it came from a place of love. Even though he’d never admit it, you could tell he was hurt by you unintentionally ignoring him. Because of this, instead of demanding he let you down, you allowed him to hold you like this, not a single complaint leaving your lips.

When he brought you to your room, you were set on the bed you’d missed dearly and he went to put the movie in the player.

“Hey! No sleepin’ on me, alright? I wanna watch the movie with ya, and I can’t if you’re passed out, now can I?”

And so here you are now, bed frame creaking as Mammon climbs onto the mattress. Rubbing your eyes, you nod, and lean into him once he gets close enough for you to.

“Seriously, I’m gonna hafta have a serious talk with Levi,” Mammon grumbles, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in so that you’re almost in his lap. He pulls the blankets over the two of you as you rest your head on his chest, and hum quietly in return. “He used up all your energy, and now we won’t be able to get to enjoy the movie as much! Honestly…”

The vibrations of Mammon’s words can be felt through his chest, and you simply cuddle into him more and try to train your bleary eyes on the television screen. The Avatar of Greed shuts up completely when you take his hand in yours and press a gentle kiss to it, before doing your best to focus on the movie. As time passes, however, the idea of giving into your whims grows more than tempting, and oh-so-easy for you to do.

“Hey! Yo, MC! Seriously… You’re hopeless.”

A chiding, yet gentle voice draws you from the confines of rest. You puff air from your nose in response, cuddling closer to whatever it was that had been so comfortable in the first place.

“MC… Come on. Ya gotta wake up, ya didn’t even watch any of the movie! It was really good, y’know.”

Mammon’s hand rubs circles on your back as you mumble incoherently, a noise to acknowledge the fact that he‘s been talking, and that you are indeed awake now.

It takes a good amount of time, as well as some gentle encouragement from Mammon, to get you to finally open your heavy eyes, and even longer for you to be able to apologize to him for missing out on the movie he was so excited to watch. He pouts a bit, but the blush on the highs of his cheeks lets you know that he didn’t mind all that much. You smile and yawn, and his chuckle resonates in your ears.

“I gotta go now, otherwise Lucifer’s gonna kill me for staying so late. Sorry I woke ya up, but ya look so tired now that you’ll probably fall back asleep right away.”

And so, after a quick goodbye and a kiss on the cheek (which made Mammon turn the prettiest shade of red), you close your door and… sigh. If you had been able to stay asleep, the fact that you aren’t in pajamas and haven't brushed your teeth wouldn't be that much of an issue. Now that you‘re slightly more conscious, however, it’s hard to convince yourself to simply climb back into bed. Your breath is bugging you a bit, and the jeans you’re wearing certainly aren’t at all as comfortable as your pajama pants. For that reason, to your own dismay, you begin getting ready for bed — properly this time.

A small “finally…” tumbles from your lips after you finish your nighttime routine. Lacking any form of grace, you plop into bed once more and pull the blankets to your chin, nuzzling into the pillow. Your bed still smells like Mammon’s cologne, and you hum softly to yourself before closing your eyes and waiting for sleep to take over once more, and hold you hostage until late in the morning.

Alas, sleep seemed to be evading you now, similar to how you had ignored it during the day. The mattress you lay on simply isn't comfortable anymore, and the blankets that hug your body cause you to overheat. Unfortunately, if even one limb is out of the blanket, you get so cold you start shivering. None of your typical sleeping positions are anywhere near as effective as they typically are, and you’re left to wrestle with sleep alone, hoping to beat it into submission so you can finally get some proper rest.

After about 45 minutes of tossing and turning with no results, you finally relent. The nap you’d taken while watching the movie royally fucked you over, and you groan. Eventually you decide to give up on trying to fall back asleep, and huff as you sit properly on your bed.

Blanket dragging behind you as it drapes from your shoulders, you slowly make your way through the silent hallways of the House of Lamentation. The only sounds floating through the walls were the light buzz of electricity running through the wiring of the house, and your own footsteps as you began walking up one of the many staircases in the large building.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking, the passage of time different at night to a hazy mind, but eventually you arrive at your favourite area in the house, second only to your lush bedroom. There are no artificial lights, only the gentle cast of the night sky providing the ideas of shape in the planetarium. You’ve never seen stars so vibrant and bright, and there are so many more in the Devildom than anywhere you could go back home. Even though the only light comes from the stars, it’s enough to create soft, fuzzy edges around everything in the room; this includes the bundle of various blankets mussed in the centre of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, you make your way towards the pile.

Since you’d arrived in the Devildom, the planetarium at the top of the House of Lamentation became your safe haven. Your room, without a lock on the door, was way too easy for intruding demons to enter without permission, and on nights when everything became too much for you to handle, you’d head up to the planetarium to clear your mind. There’s just something so calming about a starry sky on a clear night that releases you of your fears and anxiety, and helps you get a grip on the situation around you.

After freeing a certain someone from their attic-based captivity, however, you learned that the planetarium was a place favored not only by you. Since he’d been freed, you’d been kind, but there were still fears plaguing your mind, reminding you of everything that has transpired between the two of you. It’s something that you can’t escape, following you even - especially - in your sleep, when you wished you’d be the most at peace. It makes sense, considering the sin he embodies, but you wish it wasn’t like that nonetheless.

Once you’d learned that this was one of his favourite rooms in the house, especially on nights when he can’t fall asleep, you found yourself avoiding this area. It’s not that you hate him; it’s the opposite, really. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel the tightening of his fingers around your neck, and the burning sensation in your lungs that’s screaming for oxygen, and the desperation to alleviate the seer of deprivation.

Still, you trek on. Closer and closer to the pile of blankets, your gut cries to you to run away. You ignore it. The nearer you get to the nest of blankets, the faster your heart beats, the more lightheaded you feel. But you continue.

Eventually you get close enough to make out the shape of a familiar pillow, the cow print on the case worn and well-loved. From the moment you walked in the room, you knew he was here. All the same, you walk on, and the only sounds in the room are the gentle taps of your clothed feet against the tile, and the quiet noises of your quickened breaths.

You’ve avoided being alone with him since… Since you… Since the event. Your heart screamed at you to forgive him, to love him just as much as you love his brothers. That said, there’s nothing in you that can stop your stomach from churning whenever he gets too close.

Butterflies beat aggressively within your heart and stomach, and it’s years before you get within his range of sight, but you sit down on the floor, holding the blanket tight to your body.

There’s one beat,

two beats,

three beats of silence before you can hear him sucking in a breath through his teeth. In your peripheral you can see his lips parting, closing, parting again as he tries to find the words. He heard you walk in, and was pleasantly surprised when you didn’t immediately bolt in the opposite direction. However, this proximity leaves him with an entirely new predicament. He wants to talk to you, he wants to laugh and joke with you the way his brothers do, but one look at your face and he notices the dark bags under your eyes, and the frown that tugs at your lips as you stare up at the stars. He can hear your heart racing, and feel his own in the tips of his fingers. He opens his mouth again, but the crack in his voice betrays his usual collected personality.

“I’ll go,” Belphegor begins, begrudgingly starting to gather his blankets. His body freezes when his eyes pass over your figure and you’re looking right at him, through him, and he swears he can feel the blood in his veins stop pumping. Your expression is unreadable, almost scary, and he’s never in his life been in fear of a human until this moment.

The seconds pass as years do, both of your bodies chilled to the bone but neither of you able to look away. In the end, the one who casts their gaze somewhere else is you, and he exhales loudly.

“Don’t.”

Your reply is simple, but he’s stuck in place. Slowly, he nods, sitting down again the way he had been prior, and pulling his beloved pillow close to his chest. He can’t breathe, the tension suffocating. It doesn’t help that now you refuse to look at him.

“... If you want,” he replies dumbly, staring at the floor. He feels trapped in place, afraid to move and scare you off. Despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave you be, he stays. You told him to, after all. Slowly, you sit down, his blankets creating a low wall between the two of you.

It’s only now that he gets a good look at you. You're tired, he knows, watching as your eyelids droop and your lazy movements when you get more comfortable under your blanket, but there’s more to it than just that. You seem so fragile, like sugar glass, breaking with even the slightest amount of pressure. He feels he can reach over and shatter you with the gentlest of touches, and that thought alone roots him in place. Since you came back, he’s never seen you without a smile. Your genuine smile was the prettiest, he decided rather early on, one that lights up your face and brightens those around you. Belphegor really, truly loves your smile.

He knows there was a point in time, not long ago, where he could have made it so no one saw it ever again. He can’t help but be grateful he didn’t succeed when he sees you smiling at his brothers.

That’s never the smile you show him though. It’s not for lack of effort; you certainly try, and he loves you for that. But the smile you show him is always plastered on, and he knows you’re doing it for his sake. With Belphegor, your smile never reaches your eyes. Be that as it may, you’re never weak around him. Fake smiles prove exactly how strong you really are, but your heart races every time he enters the room. As much as he wishes your palpitations are out of excitement, he knows better than to give himself false hope.

That’s why he’s so taken aback when he looks you over and you seem so vulnerable. Never, not in a million years, would he ever let himself believe that you’d allow yourself to look weak in front of him, not after what he did. Even so, here you are, shaking, knees drawn into your chest, and his heart soars because you’re showing him a new side to yourself. It aches at the knowledge that you’re feeling so vulnerable because of him.

His eyes burn holes in the side of your head. You know he’s watching you, studying you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Not when the hands he uses to pull the blankets over his body are the exact same ones that led you to your untimely and violent demise, and not when every time you look at his face, you can also see Mammon’s above you, sobbing as he tries to will you not to fade away into nothingness.

There’s no putting it nicely. You were murdered, and Belphegor was the one who killed you. As much as he tries to pretend it never happened, to act around you the same as his older brothers do, you would never forget. Neither would he, regardless of the effort he puts into pushing the memory out of his mind. His chosen way of coping was to laugh with you, to get close and have you forgive him without acknowledging the situation. It was too painful to talk about, after all. He willingly, happily snuffed out the life of someone his brothers love, and someone he’d find himself loving too. You became someone who changed him, helped him grow and be better. It was easier, simpler to act as if you’d met him the same way you’d met any of his brothers.

Belphegor killed one of the last remaining parts of his past, a part that, while once warm and light, mutated and infected him, causing his anger to grow out of control, like a weed that suffocates any flower that tries to flourish. He killed a descendant of his sister, and the fact that you’re here now is more of a second chance than he thinks he could ever deserve in all his millenia of living.

And yet, here you are. Scared and shaking, but here. The silence has stretched on for longer than he’d like; he wants to be able to love you, openly and happily, but knows it won’t happen. It can’t, unless he does what he thought was the very last thing he’d do.

“I’m sorry,” Belphegor begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. He can hear your heartbeat pick up, and he curses himself mentally. Your lip between your teeth, you remain silent. His nerves force him to speak more.

“I know that will never cut, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

There’s more silence. He feels like he can’t breathe, the tense atmosphere forcing its way around his throat and tightening its grip. He doesn’t know how long it takes you to even contemplate replying, let alone allow yourself to respond. Belphegor’s ears ring almost deafeningly loud. He can’t take it.

“You’re right.”

His eyes, which he trained to the ground, dart up to your profile once more. You pause, wetting your lips.

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

There’s not enough time to process your words before he really, really looks at you. Almost fearlessly, you meet his eyes.

Almost fearlessly.

The shaking of your hands betrays the strength of your voice. Belphegor’s chest aches.

“But…”

There’s a pause as you speak. He can’t look away again, even as your eyes meet the stars once more. There’s no chance he’ll miss a word you say, even if it tears him apart.

“It’s… it’s really difficult. I know you know that, but…”

Each time you pause, Belphegor’s mind begins storming. He can’t figure out what you’re going to say, or how you’re going to react, and it drives him crazy. He’s usually so good at reading people, but you’re an enigma. It sends a chill down his spine.

His throat is caught. Even if he had words to say, they wouldn’t be able to come out. So he sits in silence as you find your own.

“I don’t want you to feel worse than you do.” You lick your lips. “Or maybe I do? I… I really don’t know. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you, Belphie.”

The nickname tugs at his heart, more than he could ever admit. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to do anything other than look at your melancholy face, knowing he’s the problem. He wants to run and hide, to sleep forever. He can’t, though. Not when you’re here. Not now.

Knuckles turn white as he clutches desperately onto his pillow. His breath shakes as he draws in air.

“I want to love you. I want to love you as much as I love your brothers, and care about you as much as I care for them…”

You struggle to find the words.

“... But it’s hard.”

You curse your lack of eloquence. Now, of all times, when your words are the only thing that enable you to communicate how you truly feel, they fail you. This might be your only chance to ever properly show Belphegor how you feel, what makes you so conflicted every time he walks into the room with a smile on his face, and yet all you can say is “it’s hard”. Obviously.

A breath finds its way into your lungs, and the sound of your lips parting in the otherwise silent planetarium echoes in your ears.

You continue.

“It’s hard because every time I see your face, or I hear your voice, or I-”, you falter, heart catching in your throat, “or you touch me, I can’t help but be reminded of what happened.”

Belphegor doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from your form. The grief that settles into his face perfectly matches your own, eyebrows upturned and bottom lip quivering just the slightest bit. Even the trembling of your hands is replicated in his own. He’s never seen you like this, so incredibly vulnerable, and it tears him apart inside to know that he is the cause of it.

A shuddery breath comes from Belphegor, and you fight your instincts to check if he’s okay. You know he isn’t.

The silence deafens you, thundering in your ears so harshly that you're tempted to place your hands at the side of your head to muffle how quiet it is. You don’t, however, and whether it’s because you don’t want to look crazy, or because you’re afraid you might shatter if you move, you’ll never know. Do you want him to talk? Do you want him to say anything? Do you want an apology?

If you had an answer for that, you’re sure that things would have patched themselves up much quicker than this. You caution a glance at Belphegor, and the weight pressing down on your chest gets heavier at his expression. It feels almost as if you can inhale the guilt he feels, the emotion radiating off of him in waves.

“I… Logically, Belphie, I get it.” Again with that cursed nickname. Usually, hearing it from your lips makes Belphegor feel warm and goddamn near giddy, but now it only seemed to drive the knife in his gut further.

“I understand what happened and why you did it. I may not agree… but I get it, you know?” You swallow.

“In the end, I’m still here. And… and I’ve come to learn that you’re nothing like that anymore. You’ve grown, and changed, and the guilt and anger that consumed you took control, and that's why you-- that’s--”

You pause, clutching the blanket around you to try and ground yourself. The shakiness in your voice is not missed by Belphegor, and even if it had been, there’s no way he’d be able to ignore the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. Slowly, subconsciously, one of your hands comes up to rest against your neck, a phantom of the grasp that once threatened to crush you.

“S-So… I understand why you did it. And I’m alive, and we’re friends, so it should all be okay, right?” Belphegor casts his glance away.

“But Belphie… as much as I want to forgive you, I also know that I’m never going to be able to forget what happened. It’s there in my dreams, and it’s there in your smile, and it’s there every single time your arm brushes mine and I flinch like a total loser.”

A weak chuckle makes its way out of your chest, and the halfhearted smile that follows forces a tear from your eye. You’re quick to wipe it away, hopefully quick enough so that it goes unnoticed by Belphegor.

It does.

What he does notice, however, is the frustration that holds tight to the edges of your sentences. The frustration is not directed at him, no. You would be yelling if that were the case, and maybe that would be easier for him to hear. No, this frustration is directed at yourself. You’ve been trying so hard, and all Belphegor has been doing is running away. His teeth dig so hard into his bottom lip, trying desperately not to show any anger he feels at himself, that he tastes iron.

“And then we became all buddy-buddy, you know? Like I was never lied to, or used, or manipulated, or-- or--”

Belphegor is torn from his self-pity when you continue, and he almost wishes you’d stop speaking. The thought that you might break him with your words has him shaking, and a feeling similar to fear courses heavily through his veins. Please, stop. He wants to go back to running away.

But you continue, as you always have.

“And I’m left not knowing how to feel. I’m so mad at myself for being such a coward and not being able to just get over it like everyone else, and I’m so fucking pissed that I can’t just exist around you like I do for everyone else. I mean, I used to be terrified of Lucifer, too.” Another fragile laugh, and you sweep the hair from your eyes with a shaky hand. Belphegor swallows hard.

“But I… I can’t pretend like nothing happened. As much as I want to be near you, and hug you, and take naps and play pranks on Luci with you… I can’t. I can’t act as if what I feel isn’t real, and what you did didn’t happen. It’s so hard, Belphegor.” You sigh, and finally look at him once more. He can’t meet your gaze, slumped over himself and hugging his pillow so tight to his chest it seems as if he wishes to disappear into it. “Especially because I really, truly want to understand why everyone loves you so much. And I want to love you, too. I want to know why Beel smiles every time you’re brought up in conversation, and I want to smile just the same. But… But right now, I can’t.”

Talking has gotten easier. The words that used to escape you have become accustomed to being used again, and confidence has restored in your gut. You sit a bit straighter as you watch Belphegor carefully, a sad smile lifting your cheeks.

Belphegor knows that this is when he should swoop in, say something so intellectual that you’re caught off guard, and he can save you from… himself. This knowledge does nothing to save him from himself. He can’t even open his mouth to mime a sentence, let alone actually speak. The thought of how pathetic he must look settles under Belphegor’s skin, and he can feel his irritation rising. Not at you though, never at you. Not even when… When it all happened. His anger was misplaced, but he has never been angry at you.

Finally, when the quiet becomes too much, he forces himself to meet your gaze. The way you look at him, just as vulnerable and bare and scared as he is… he feels safe. He knows, even though your words sear his heart, that you never mean to hurt him, especially now. You’re being honest, and simply expect the same from him.

Belphegor inhales a deep breath, before willing himself to speak.

“I thought--” he croaks, and quickly clears his throat. Fuck. “I thought that if… if I could pretend that nothing happened, then I wouldn’t have to face any consequences.”

He curses audibly. Just how pathetic can he sound? Belphegor’s voice is hoarse and quivering, and weak. “Weak” is never a word that he would have used to describe himself, but now it echoes hauntingly against the confines of his skull. One of the most powerful demons in existence, and he finds himself quaking before a mere human. He cares for you, though, and he cares for you viciously. Something in Belphegor knows that he’s never going to be able to prove that to you unless he pushes his way through this.

So he forces himself to continue, even with every cell in his body desperately screaming at him to stop.

“I did what I did out of a place of guilt… and regret. I couldn’t stand the fact that it was because of me, that it was my fault, that I’m the reason that Lilith--”

Belphegor stumbles over his own words, and he sets down his pillow before he accidentally tears a hole through it. Instead he braces himself on the cool floor, in need of something steady to hold onto. This whole conversation shook him to the core. He can hardly believe he’s talking about his sister. She’s a topic that he’s avoided even around Beelzebub…

But if Belphegor ever wants even the possibility that you’ll forgive him, he knows he has to. Everything is on the line. His blunt nails press against the tiles and he focuses on steadying his voice.

“I couldn’t accept that it was my fault.” A newfound steadiness weaves its way around his words, and he finds himself sitting a bit straighter. “I’m the one who introduced her to the human world, and kept bringing her back. I’m the reason she suffered, and why the war started, and why we fell, and why she…” Belphegor coughs. “In the end, I couldn’t accept that I’m the one who killed her.

Your heart yearns to tell him that no, he’s wrong, it’s not all his fault. You know it won’t help right now, though, and that it isn’t your time to speak. Settling back a bit, you let your blanket fall from your shoulders.

Belphegor’s heart stutters, and pounds so hard that he feels like it's trying to tear through his chest. Even so, he doesn’t miss the way your hand reaches out to smooth over his own, and for a moment he feels himself wanting to melt just from the simple touch.

Belphegor pulls away. He doesn’t deserve your comfort, not yet.

“So… So when you said that you’re a descendant of Lilith, I-- I couldn’t help myself. I jumped at the chance to get to know you, learn about what makes you similar and what makes you different. Her blood flows through your veins, and I was quick to ignore what I did in favour of getting to know you, and… and inevitably, becoming just as fond of you as my brothers… but that can’t erase what I did.”

The feeling of understanding floods you and you find yourself nodding at his words. To be completely honest, even now, you’re scared. Your heart beats for many reasons, fear one of them, but you don’t run away. Not anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to even if you wanted to.

Your hand, abandoned next to Belphegor’s, lay dormant. The need to comfort wills you to once again place your hand on his, but you don’t move. When he’s ready, if he ever is, you’ll be there.

Just as he’ll be there for you.

“I killed you, MC. And in doing that, I killed Lilith. Again.”

Countless emotions storm their way through Belphegor’s conscience, despair clawing at his throat, regret snapping his back, and guilt slowly crushing him under its weight. How is it that one can feel so empty, and yet so filled to the brim with misery?

“And not only that, but if I succeeded… I would have completely missed out on getting to know you, and caring about you as much as I do now. It would have been a loss that I never would have understood, but know for a fact that I would have felt. Even… Even when I was proud,” he spits out the word as if it’s poison, “of what I’d done, watching my brothers’ hearts break at the sight of your body… Even then, I felt it. The ache. It’s so fucking stupid.”

His tone, now bubbling with anger, stills you. It’s not directed at you, and you know this, but despite yourself, you freeze. Belphegor notices, and quickly clears his throat, relaxing his shoulders. He allows your heart a moment to slow as he regains his composure, and you find yourself breathing again.

“I know that me saying sorry is never going to cut it.” Belphegor turns his body to fully face you. He’s no longer running from his feelings, or from you. He knows he can’t anymore. Hesitantly, he lifts his trembling hand to place over yours. The muscles in your fingers tense, and he pauses to gauge your reaction. When you slowly nod your head once, he delicately places his hand on yours, using his thumb to gently begin massaging the tension away. “And I know that even if I do everything right from here on out, that there’s a chance that you won’t ever forgive me. And I understand why.”

Your heart sinks at his expression, his gaze locked on your joined hands. As aloof as he normally is, you can see none of that on his face now. When you turn over your hand he quickly pulls away, but your shaky movements to bring his hand back and intertwine your fingers urges him to go on.

“But I want to try. And really try this time. I want you to be honest with how you feel, whether I’m frustrating you or scaring you or anything like that, and… and I want to be honest with you too. I…”

Belphegor trails off, but you squeeze his hand. He draws in a slow breath.

“No matter what happens, no matter how you feel, we’re stuck together for the next few months. I want to spend that time getting to know you, and I want us to be as close as you are with any of my brothers… but I also want you to know that you shouldn’t feel forced. If it’s ever too much, I need you to tell me, and I promise I’ll back off.”

The smallest of smiles makes its way onto your face as you quietly agree. Belphegor doesn’t allow himself to try and figure out if it's genuine, out of pity, or sadness, but in spite of everything, it makes him feel a bit lighter. Just a bit.

“This won’t fix everything right away,” you say, and he now knows that your smile is a combination of the three. Along with this, though, Belphegor also knows the small sparkle in your eyes is hope, and he’s willing to take that hope and nurture it for however long he must.

“I know,” he sighs, but even he can feel the small tilt of a smile on his face, “but I’m willing to take as much time as you need to decide how you feel about me. And… And if you decide you hate me, which is fair, and that you never want to even be in the same room as me, I’ll respect your wishes.

Until then...Until you decide that you really, truly hate me, I won’t stop trying.”

There’s no way of telling how long his words linger in the air around the two of you, circling around your heads and making their way through your body. Even so, Belphegor diligently watches you, wanting to make sure he’s not overstepping his bounds. He even contemplates letting go of you, but is reassured when slowly, almost unnoticeably, you begin smoothing out the lines on the back of his hand with your thumb.

As much as you want to tell him that you could never hate him, you also know you can’t promise anything. Still, for now, just as much as him, you’re willing to try. You stay in silence, more comfortable than you’ve ever been in his presence, gently caressing the hand held in your own.

Eventually, Belphegor clears his throat once more. The vulnerability has made him tense and rendered his voice weak.

“Can… can you hug me?” He all but whispers, fragility making his body quiver once more. He was completely open about his feelings for the first time in a lifetime, and the intensity of it left him craving affection. He knows how unfair this is to you, but he can’t help himself. He wishes to be held, for his fears to be quelled by someone so much stronger than him. “If you don’t want to,” he falters, speaking quickly, insecurely, “I won't even touch you. I-If you do, I promise I can keep my hands behind my back, and I won’t even--”

His words end abruptly as he feels you release his hand, and his heart sinks. He debates running away again, until he hears you moving towards him, and he finds he’s frozen in place. Slowly, but surely, with more courage circulating through your veins than you’ve had all night, you make your way over the blankets that divide you and position yourself right next to Belphegor, pulling him into your chest. Even now, he can feel how quickly, persistently your heart races, and yet you stay. True to his word, Belphegor rests his hands on the ground behind his back, but he doesn’t stop himself from nuzzling into your chest… and he cries. The complete, uninhibited release of his emotions hit him like a truck, and he sobs heavily into you, tears slowly but surely staining your shirt. You adjust yourself so you can hold him closer, slowly and reassuringly rubbing his back as he lets go of everything he’s been holding on to for longer than you can even imagine. This is a man who’s run from his emotions for centuries, and the fact that he’s willing to face them for your sake comforts you, cradles your heart and presses gentle kisses against the cracks. You know that you’re not going to wake up tomorrow with everything okay, but for now… for now you’re comfortable with his touch. Heaving in a deep, steadying breath, you reach down just enough to take Belphegor’s arms, and guide them to rest his hands on your hips. At this silent permission, he slowly, delicately wraps his arms around your waist, despite craving your body closer, wanting to hold you tight and never let go. He cradles you like you’re made of the most brittle glass, and you smile. The gesture touches your heart, and… and you feel safe. You know that all he wants to do is embrace you as tight as he can, but he doesn’t, even with permission.

Here, in Belphegor’s arms, you feel safe. Here, where Belphegor’s grip on you is so gentle that it wouldn’t even crumple paper, you feel loved. As he cries into your chest, holding you as if you were an antique, hope slowly fills your heart.

Everything is far from perfect, but it’s still on the right track, here in the quiet planetarium.

1K notes · View notes

gisachi · 4 years ago

Note

Hi ^^ I know that your requests are now closed but I was thinking that, given you have written jealous Shinichi, I would very much enjoy some jealous Ran! Maybe you can mix it with one of the prompts? Just throwing the idea out there, no pressure. Delete this if you don't feel like it, it's okay really. Thank you for writing these amazing fics, the shinran fandom is in your debt. ❤️

So this is the last (!!!) and longest (!!!) of the kiss prompts, and I dedicate it to multiple-requests Anon and to this Anon. I hope both of you still see this. It took me a while. ^^;;

P.S. Special thanks to @artycreaty for keeping this in check. You are awesome. 🥰

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella. 46. A lingering kiss before a long trip apart. (6,489 words)

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She has hundreds of reasons not to. They’re merely childhood best friends. Life would be much easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven. Shinichi absolutely doesn’t look at her that way. And so forth.

She wonders why they’re even friends in the first place. If their parents hadn’t enrolled them in the same kindergarten, she was certain they wouldn’t even be on speaking terms. He lives in a world of grisly books and crimes, she in a world of martial and visual arts. Their hobbies don’t overlap. They excel in different fields. They enter the same university with completely unrelated majors. The only bond they have in common is their shared history. Literally bonded since they were four, until now at nineteen.

So when she sees him all jolly around his newfound circle who hold the same interest in Holmes or detective work, it shouldn’t surprise her as much. It’s part of university life, it’s normal, they expand their horizons, and Ran understands that it hits much differently when they bond with people who like the same stuff they do. Something she’s aware they cannot share a hundred percent.

She’s proud of him, and she absolutely has no right to feel jealous, especially when she sees him around taller, prettier, more interesting women from his course block. There is no reason for her to look away with a heavy weight in her chest everytime the women get giggly and touchy while he’s absorbed in narrating his stories.

Everytime she does, she reminds herself of how he didn’t seem to mind when she was casted as the protagonist of their high school play and the leading man was the handsome Araide-sensei. Or how he simply shrugged when she fawned over the brother of a classmate because he looked so much like the karate senpai she was crushing on. Or when she secretly caught Sonoko dragging the detective behind gym after P.E. to confront him about his opinion regarding an upperclassman courting Ran and his only response was, ‘She can like whoever she likes, Sonoko. I’m not her boyfriend.’

He never showed her any sign of jealousy, therefore he must not be into her. Simple as that. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him differently. Getting snarky just because he received sixteen new fan mails again, more now that they’re in uni, and two even coming from the popular criminology seniors he is often teased to? Or ignoring him unprecedentedly just because his eyes followed the back of a woman with long chestnut hair and voluptuous curves? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s bound to be attracted to someone else. This is a pill she ought to learn to swallow eventually.

Eventually.

“Shinichi-kun, you never told us about your scariest case yet, tell us about it?”

Kaori closes her notes and so do the other two girls across her, and Shinichi’s eyes twinkle. He truly seems to enjoy study sessions with the little group they made consisting of some of his and Ran’s coursemates because they love listening to his stories.

“At the top of my head is this murderer disguised as a bandaged man, and he targeted us one by one…” and so the detective drones. Ran pauses typing and reminisces quietly. Ah, that one from summer three years ago. I was almost injured by that crazy man during my sleep but Shinichi woke me up in time.

“Ran-san,” Shun, her friend and coursemate, mutters beside her, also stopping his typing to listen to the detective’s story. “It’s ridiculous how popular Kudou-kun is with the girls. He’s full of wild adventures.”

“Yes, he is,” Ran says, smiling. “He’s been a girl magnet ever since high school.”

She watches as Kaori inches closer to Shinichi, listening attentively, chin on her palm and flirtatious smile on her lips as the detective rants on and on.

For the third time that afternoon, Ran looks away.

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She does, everyday, but it’s hard when he smiles at her, cares for her, holds her in a way she’s never seen him do for anyone else. It gives her hope every time the girls cling to him but he never touches them back, whereas he automatically slings his arm over her shoulder because she’s afraid or cold or he simply feels like it.

Then again, maybe she’s giving herself too much credit. Perhaps it’s a free pass for being around him for too long. She even gets to spend time with him during weekends and holidays. It isn’t special because it’s normal.

And that’s all she’ll ever be, a normal girl in his eyes.

“Ran? She’s pretty special.”

Ran reacts to the mention of her name and catches Shinichi looking at her. “She appears quiet but she can kick anyone’s ass without breaking a sweat. It’s bad if you cross her,” Shinichi gloats with a grin.

“Oh my god, really? We can bring her with us then!” Kaori claps her hands in excitement.

“Ah... But she won’t like that,” he follows up, wary. Ran has missed the topic they were talking about and now she’s curious.

“But ghosts aren’t real and Mouri-san can give them a good beating!”

“Gh-Ghosts?” The color in her cheeks drains, eyes freezing at Shinichi who has probably already expected that reaction, for he sports that same look of concern as those times he had expressed whenever she joined him in his way-past-bedtime elementary school adventures.

“We’ll investigate an abandoned house I always pass by walking home,” Kaori explains. “Last night I saw a faint cigarette light at the second floor window. It might be a fugitive or a homeless person or a ghost, who knows?”

“You don’t need to come if you don’t want to, Ran,” Shinichi assures.

Gulping, Ran contemplates whether going with them will do her any good. It’s a nice change, it’s been a while since she last tagged with Shinichi in his cases. But she isn’t exactly proud of shrieking like a little kid in front of serious criminology majors who may feel like she’ll drag their covert investigation down if she joins.

“...I’ll pass,” she answers meekly, and his coursemates sulk except Shinichi, who offers her a smile of understanding.

“Man, I thought we’ll be able to see Mouri-san in action!”

“That’s ok, maybe next time. We still have Shinichi-kun!”

“Shinichi-kun will protect us, ne?”

“Hah. Right. Invite Hakuba too, use him.”

“Oh c’mooon, Shinichi-kun!”

Ran closes her eyes, struggling to zone their voices out.

In her silence, Ran ponders if she has made a wrong choice.

Ran has no right to be jealous. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him this way.

The following weekend, Shinichi narrates what happened in their late-night investigation. Hakuba wasn’t there so Shinichi was the only available guy as usual. Ran refuses to hear any more details, both of the haunted house and secretly of the girls chancing onto him during the investigation. Shinichi is puzzled.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Nah, just swamped with work.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to assist?”

“No.”

Her replies are curt from the couch of his house, not looking at Shinichi on the other end as she mindlessly cleans up her digital sketches. She hates how snappy she sounds but her brain is too absorbed with conjuring spiteful imaginations to even think of masking her annoyance.

“Ran, hey. Look at me.”

His low voice freezes her from drawing, and she slowly looks up to meet Shinichi’s serious eyes.

When this happens, she knows he’s reading her. She inwardly chants a prayer because now isn’t a good time. Whatever time isn’t a good time. She doesn’t know what to say when she’s aware everything she’s been feeling is irrational and unfair. She’s being selfish.

“You’re… stressed.”

“No, I’m… Eh?”

He scoots closer, an arm’s length away. “Your dark circles are more prominent now, you need a break.” His eyes turn a soft blue. “Let’s have dinner out? My treat.”

Ran is surprised, to say the least. The last time he invited her out was two weeks ago. She’s become so used to seeing him around others that any initiative from him sounds too good to be true.

“But I need to finish this project by tonight.”

“Let’s have food delivery then!” Shinichi announces, not rattled by Ran’s indirect refusal. “I know exactly what you want. Ramen and shaved ice.”

Her eyes thin at the absurdly goofy expression she knows he makes when he’s being mischievous. “Clearly you’re ordering that ramen for yourself. I only like shaved ice.”

“Damn! Miss Detective gets it.” A mile-wide grin stretches across his face, earning an eye roll from the half-smiling woman. “Let’s eat together on your short break, please?”

He leans within a respectful distance and she sees his smile better, pair of kind eyes locking with her overworked ones. “It’s been a while.”

Her heart throbs for him. So much.

She caves - of course she does - and breathes her acquiescence.

After two long weeks, they have dinner together, just them and Shinichi’s ramen and Ran’s donburi and shaved ice, Shinichi taking a spoonful of dessert from the cup when she isn’t looking and Ran snatching a slurp from his take-out bowl and laughing when he catches her.

With how heartfelt his laughter is in her presence devoid of any mysteries, Ran knows she’s probably giving herself too much credit, but for once she wants to believe she is the cause of why Shinichi’s happy.

Just for that night, she gives it to herself.

She’ll change the dark colors of her digital artwork to brighter ones after they eat.

Despite everything, Ran finds it difficult to contain her recurring jealousy.

The more she shares precious time with him, the more it gets harder to suppress the selfish emotions. What is so unsatisfying about being the best friend is that she is only the best friend. No more no less. At the end of the day, she isn’t the one he gets to cuddle with, to tease then kiss, to tell ‘I love you’ to, romantically.

“I love you.”

Ran feels her heart about to leap out of her chest.

“But please. Stop. Tearing. The. Cushions!”

The little furball he has scooped underneath a throw pillow wiggle from his grasp. The kitten and detective engage in a brief staring showdown before it jumps away to hide under a farther couch.

Snapping out of reverie, Ran watches her childhood friend slink dejectedly onto the partly scratched furniture. He’s fortunate enough that his mother isn’t around to give him a long lecture on Why Pets Aren’t Allowed in the House 101. She can always take Yukiko-san’s role and reprimand him for it, but as for this and the cat, she finds herself not wanting to intervene.

“Kaori-san sure is taking her time with her parent’s permission. By the time she does, Momo would’ve shredded all the pillows in this house.”

“You named the cat?” Ran asks, amused.

“She did.” He thinks for a moment, then sniggers. “Actually I did. I suggested a random name. She took it.”

Ran merely hums. What can she say? They’re getting close. Close enough to team up as parents to an adopted kitten.

“I’m surprised you also agreed to keep Momo when you never took in animals before.”

“Kaori said she’ll treat me to the latest Detective Samonji movie this weekend if I do. Can’t resist that.”

“Just you two?”

“Yeah.”

A beat. Then he turns to her.

“Wanna join? I can ask her to count you in since you’re kinda helpi—”

“N-no need,” Ran quips, “It’s—It’s fine.”

“No really,” Shinichi insists, “Kaori-san has a lot of money, she—”

“I’m going to Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum with Shun-san this weekend... so... I can’t.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

“It’s, um, for a project,” she bolsters.

“I know.” The faintest smile graces his lips. “It’s your thing. Both of you.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t say anything else after that.

“Shinichi, you’re a detective, right?” she blurts out of the blue.

“Yeah...and?”

Then deduce what I feel. Here and now.

“Then you’re going to enjoy that movie!” Ran forces a beam, giving Shinichi a thumb of approval. “And you can discuss it with Kaori-san over dinner. I’m sure you two have a lot to say about it.”

Shinichi’s eyes linger on her, reading her like a book, and Ran has her mind reeling again, afraid to be read.

“Yeah, we do,” he finally says, ending the conversation.

Only a few words are uttered the rest of the afternoon.

Momo resurfaces and curls beside Shinichi.

Momo’s purring is loud, but Ran’s shattering heart is louder.

Ran must not feel jealous. She is not a girlfriend.

Because she isn’t a girlfriend, he’s free to fall for and date anyone else. Who is she to gatekeep him? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s one big catch. Ran believes she’s a big catch, too. With the way she loves dearly, her future boyfriend is going to be very lucky.

Her future boyfriend is not going to be him.

“...mber the required fieldwork in one of my majors I told you? We actually go by batches. The first batch did theirs last month. The second batch was last week… and I— Ran, are you listening?”

“Ah! Yes,” Ran notices they have already reached her station and are now walking two blocks to her apartment. “Your fieldwork, right?”

“...Yeah,” he carries on. “I’m in the last batch... This whole winter break.”

“I see, I understand.” She smiles, getting what he means. No Christmas or New Year’s Eve together. The first time since they’re four. It’s fine, honestly. If it’s a required activity, then there’s really no way to go about it. She isn’t going to lash out just because she can’t be with him in her most favorite time of the year.

“And Hattori-kun and Hakuba-kun will be with you?”

“Hattori did his last month. Hakuba is in the previous batch. I’ll be stuck with the girls.”

Ran’s heart momentarily squeezes. “Where will your fieldwork be?”

“In Akita.”

Her pupils constrict. “That far?”

“Yes... so to cut on expenses, Kaori-san offered her house for me and the others to stay while we’re there—”

Kaori. Again with the tall, beautiful, intelligent Kaori. She bets it’s amazing to spend the holidays doing what he loves and with Kaori beside her, snuggling with him by the fireplace in a romantic snowy night and she might even confess, and it’ll be a great catch for Shinichi, and he’ll return with a girlfriend, and—

“Kaori-san is lucky.” The words flow out of her mouth, unbridled.

Shinichi looks at her. “Lucky?”

Ran remains quiet and keeps walking. It’s dangerous to say anything. She only has one thing in her mind and she doesn’t want to say it out loud. She has no right.

“Ran, hey.”

She doesn’t stop walking.

“Ran.”

She ignores his call.

“Ran… you’re jealous.”

She stops walking.

“Excuse me?”

“...You’re jealous…” Shinichi repeats quietly.

A contrast to his calm tone, his irises beset hers in the cold twilight and Ran attempts to shield herself but her bag and umbrella are in the way. She thinks of turning away but her feet are frigid like icicles, and Shinichi steps closer.

For the third time, he declares, “You’re jealous.”

Hearing her thoughts echo through his words renders her speechless.

It seems to take a moment before Shinichi’s brow arches, lips curl up as his eyes refuse to stray, and she hears a faint exhale even, like he’s exasperated, and suddenly he’s smiling - or is he smirking? sneering? - and...and...

It stings, is her immediate reaction.

For the longest time, she’d wanted him to take a hint. But if she had known this was how he’d react, she’d rather live a life having him oblivious of her emotional struggle. Dealing with that is more tolerable than witnessing him gaze her down in blatant mockery. He sneers as though he’s about to crack a joke and move on and forget such a laughable matter. That’s the last form of acknowledgment she wants for her honest feelings.

Heartbreak and shame and pain build up in her chest like a volcano closing eruption. Water begins to cloud her vision. She clenches her fist tight on her umbrella and Shinichi notices, and he takes another step forward.

“Ran…?”

“I am not, and you’re a fool.”

In a span of a breath, she’s sprinting in the opposite direction, tracing the path where they have walked, ignoring the distant yells of her name behind her. She runs and runs, and as she runs farther, with her thoughts muddy and breath short and dry, she wonders if she may have overreacted.

If he’s done that on purpose, screw him. If not, screw her.

After all, they are merely friends and she has no logical reason to act this way.

“Stop... running... will you!”

She hears heavy footsteps close in. It takes all the energy Ran has to prevent herself from turning her body around but his strong grip overpowers her.

“Let me go!”

“Why are you running?!”

“I can’t...deal with you!”

“Why? Was I right?”

“Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter!”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because I am your best friend!”

On another occasion, she would’ve successfully jilted away and run farther, but Ran is floored when he yanks her into a one-armed hug, so floored she drops her umbrella to the snowy ground.

“Stop saying that!” he hisses in her ear, frustration apparent.

“What are you— Let me go!”

He hugs her tighter.

“If you don’t let go in three seconds, I will screa—”

“I am happy!”

Ran stops struggling, eyes widening in shock.

Icy huffs tickle her neck as he half shouts, “I’m happy you feel that way!”

“You’re...You’re happy because I’m suffering?”

“What? No! I—”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? How?” The hurt in her tone is impeccable, prattling muffled against his chest as she spares him no moment to butt in. “You think I wanted to feel this? That I enjoy griping in helpless jealousy? And you’re rejoicing that I am? How full of yourself can you be?!”

“That’s not...You don’t underst—”

“I do understand! I understand that I am so incredibly stupid for catching this disgusting heap of emotions for an obnoxious, stuck-up deduction maniac that is my best friend and maybe it’s better after all that he never, ever sees me the way I see him!”

“Stop saying that, Ran!”

She thinks he has broken away, but he drags her back with an insistent tug, crashing his lips onto hers as she stumbles into his arms.

All willpower rippling through her disintegrates quickly like snow in high heat.

An impatient pop resonates as he separates, eyes slowly opening, breath thick and ragged.

“I know that is not how we explain things, but does that explain anything?”

She hears it. The madness. But more than madness, yearning bleeds through his voice so much that her frustration turns into physical pain. Blinded by an all-consuming ache, she tips her chin and presses her lips back against his, demanding for cure in the wrong place. Shinichi freezes, then relaxes. He moves his hand to her nape, four fingers in her hair, thumb treading her jaw.

They look like a scene in a movie.

Under his umbrella and hidden from view, they communicate through brushing lips and tilting heads. His mouth closing over hers with gentle force, her hands splaying across his chest, heavy with something that makes his heart pound under them.

She is so lost in the chase and his tender embrace that for a second she forgets she is kissing her best friend.

Best friend.

This doesn’t explain anything. It worsens it.

She pulls back, ending what she has so recklessly started. “N-no, I’m— No.”

She pushes him away, gathers the stuff she drops, and runs without looking back.

“Ran!”

He shouts her name. Twice.

On the third call, his footfalls die down. On the fourth, he stops running.

She doesn’t.

Thirty minutes before midnight, Ran stands outside his gate, boots buried half foot under the snow as she rings his intercom for the second time, thinking to herself how foolish she must be to cut communications with him for a week and then show up his doorstep looking miserable like a stood-up date.

It’s the start of winter break.

He’ll leave for Akita in ten hours.

She needs to give his Christmas present before his departure.

She’s crazy, pathetic, still frustrated, and hurtfully in love.

“Oi. You better have a good explanation for why you’re buzzing at goddamn midnig—”

“Shinichi.”

His surprised gasp is apparent even through the intercom. A rustle follows and with a croaky voice, he responds. “...Ran.”

Surely he isn’t expecting this. Not after the tantrum she threw days ago. He probably thinks she hates him more than ever. But what she truly feels is more overwhelming than all negative emotions combined, and may god grant her all the strength to address it all, tonight.

“May I come in?”

“The house is—The house is a mess I, um. I’m packing my stuff for...”

“I’ll help you.”

“...”

She’ll understand if he decides to turn her down. But the answer that follows the deafening pause is a low and quiet ‘Okay’.

Despite psyching herself hours before she came, courage wanes when he opens the front door and gate in his pullovers. She is welcomed in, and the trip up his room is wordless. Shinichi only talks when he points out that he’s already packed clothes for two days and will need help for two weeks’ worth. He lamely laughs when he instructs her to pick the tops and layers, and he’ll take care of the pants and underwear.

On a normal instance, she would’ve humored him and they would’ve been talking right after. Now she simply pulls an empty smile and then they fall back into silence.

She supposes he’s trying to act unbothered, to treat what happened a week ago as a one-and-done glitch in their friendship, never to be discussed again. She cannot fault him when she’s trying to do the same. But it’s not easy when in the stillness of the night the echo of their altercation howls, raging persistently in their ears.

What has he been thinking of for the past week?

Has he been kept up all night by the words she said and the words he left unspoken?

Are they still friends? Will they still be friends after this?

The kiss... What about the kiss?

So many questions. So little words. So little time.

Ran is seated on the floor, folding shirts and stuffing them neatly in his duffel bag. Her back faces Shinichi who is sorting out bottoms in his cabinet. She senses him sit on the floor, back against her but not touching. Neither dares to speak first.

A ringing phone cuts the silence.

“Mm, still awake. Good for two weeks right? Gotcha. No, I’ll meet you girls at the station, no need to fetch me. Pfft. I can walk. Ok, see you tomorrow.”

If Ran wasn’t so hyperaware of where she is and what she’s done, her mood would’ve shifted to the one she’d been trying to avoid. Now isn’t the time to think about that. Midnight sneaking out to go to his house is something she wouldn’t do even on good days. She scans her bag on the far couch, deliberately bringing a bigger one to hide his gift. Maybe she can just sneak it in his bag and leave once she’s done and he’ll discover it only when he’s prefectures away. Brown has always suited him, and he’ll definitely find the overcoat useful as spare protective gear.

That’s right. She always cares for him like this. She is his best friend first, and... and nothing second.

“Don’t just leave after putting your present in my bag. At this hour, I can’t let you walk home alone,” he says swiftly.

Ran’s eyes fly wide.

“How did you…”

He doesn’t say anything and continues with his business.

Again with the throat-drying silence.

Something in Ran’s gut compels her to speak, but she is surprised when he does first.

“I... I don’t like Kaori-san. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ran stiffens, pausing mid-motion from folding. “I’m not…”

He leans his back completely against her and she shudders, voice reverberating through her skin. “Ran, if you could just hear me out.”

Unable to talk and move, she does.

“Kaori-san and the rest... They know I love mysteries. They know I want to build my own private detective agency. They know my favorite Holmes’ story is The Sign of Four. They know how many crimes I solved in Tokyo. All the information about me which anyone can read from the internet and newspaper and from what I told them when they ask, they know. Ran, you know all that. All that and more.”

He angles his head to the ceiling as if he’s talking to someone there. Ran supports his weight, curling to her knees as she silently listens.

“You know of my first ever deduction because Christ, my first deduction was about you. You know of the two cases which haunt me until this day because I watched the culprit die in front of my very eyes. You were with me the nights I locked myself in here thinking about them. You know of the interesting, the boring, the absurd cases, everything, because I told you or you were there. You know of the odd way I play the violin while I ponder over a case. You know I forget to eat when swamped with new books to read. I have three copies of The Sign of Four but the one I keep beside my bed and read almost weekly is the one you gave me on my tenth birthday and that is all I need. You know me for me, Ran. Everything about me that is off the record, the good and the bad, you know all of those. Only you. The same way I do... about you.”

She feels him crane slightly to the side, addressing her.

“Ran.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

Ran’s heart almost completely stops beating.

“I love you,” he whispers, “more than I am even supposed to.”

All words seem to have fizzled out of her vocabulary as she sits still, stunned at what she’s hearing.

“I’m happy growing up with you, studying with you, bickering with you, acting stupid with you, investigating with you, eating with you, napping with you, hugging you, holding you, taking care of you, simply... being with you. Before I know it, it’s not the cases or Holmes or mysteries that complete my days, it’s you.

“For you to keep repeating that ‘best friend’ phrase, I…” He lowers his head.

“For who knows how long, I’ve loved you as that and more.”

Someone pinch her because in no way can this be real.

“I was happy thinking you’re jealous because it meant a sliver of chance you feel the same way. We could’ve remedied the misunderstanding easily, Ran. We could’ve talked it over like we always do. But I was stupid and emotions were high and in the end I… kissed you…” he takes another deep breath, “But—but you kissed me back, and my heart couldn’t stay still...”

Pulse drumming loud, Ran tilts her head on the side where he leans, wanting to see the slightest expression he makes as he continues.

“If my deductions are wrong and you’re mad for a different reason, and—and you returned that for a different reason...” she hears the pang of remorse in his tone, “then please forget I ever said anything and I’ll leave myself to die in humiliation once I’m out of your sight.”

He lays one palm flat on the floor and she notices.

“But if my deductions are right and you were indeed jealous, I...” She feels his head swivel enough to feel his warm breath fan across her cheek, before shifting back front and releasing a slow, guttural exhale he’s kept contained within.

“I’ll wait... until you accept it. Accept me.”

Ran may have choked on her throat for how long she’s held her breath.

In spite of herself, she knows she doesn’t need to think of what to say. She had it all in her head before coming here. Yet expressing it out loud is a different matter.

She isn’t ready, but when will she ever be ready? Shinichi undoubtedly isn’t too. Yet here he is, laying the groundwork for her, no holds barred and a stuttering mess at that. How she plans to build from it is the question she asks herself next.

Inhaling as though bracing herself, she places a hand beside him, pinky slightly grazing his.

“I didn’t... You never showed any signs.”

Careful and calm, he extends his little finger over hers. She doesn’t flinch, and both hands crawl closer until two fingers overlap.

“Either I’m a great pretender or you’re incredibly dense.”

“I’m...I’m not dense.”

“I’m a bad actor, then.” He slides his hand further.

“I was trying so hard to be a supportive best friend for you.”

“I sensed that but ignored it because I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You did though. Now we’re here.”

“Would you rather we aren’t?”

“I would rather we spend the last weeks of this year talking like normal than being stupid idiots before you leave.”

“It’s just two weeks, Ran.”

“Two special weeks I would’ve wanted to spend with my best frien-... with you.”

Without knowing it, his hand has completely nestled atop hers, four fingers curled between her thumb and index finger.

“Ran... You must really hate the idea of falling in love with me.”

“Eh?”

“You’re so wrapped with the thought that we’re simply best friends that you hold your love in chains as though it isn’t permitted to grow.”

“I… I didn’t want to ruin the only connection we have-”

“Two friends falling in love are still friends… They are also more. You cannot ruin an indefeasible connection. Friendship and love may be the only bond we have, but they’re the most important bond of all.”

Ran falls quiet.

“Geez…”

He releases a thick sigh, brushes his thumb across her splayed fingers.

“I have shit art appreciation skills, but I can take you to museums too... as a friend and as a date.” A beat, and a mumble. “Even to better museums than Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum.”

She darts her head sideways, realizing something.

“Were you also…?”

“No.”

Ran doesn’t suppress the heartfelt giggle that bubbles out.

“Shun-san has a boyfriend, Shinichi.”

“I—” he pauses. “I wasn’t asking.” Ran giggles more.

“Shinichi.”

“Yes.”

“I love you too.”

The hand above squishes hers all too suddenly like he’s been blown away and is needing something to hold onto.

“I came here to give your present and to apologize for being so shallow and for acting without thinking and for a lot of things actually... but now I feel there’s no need, because then I wouldn’t have...” She looks down at their intertwined hands.

Before she can return his squeeze, he recoils.

“Oh, y-you do apologize. Running away like that.” He coughs, and she can practically hear the tripping in his tone.

“Aren’t you already used to it? I’ve done it many times,” she chides.

“No. Apologize,” he insists. “And look at me while you do.”

Ran’s stomach twists, heart kicking up a step.

It’s easy to talk without eye contact, but to be requested so after confessions are exchanged—

“Face me, Ran.”

The familiar voice of yearning strums her heartstrings, tone sounding a lot like a plea than an order and Ran finds her head instinctively craning at an angle, hand coiling on the floor trying to calm her nervous beating heart. She feels him shift behind as well.

She takes all her time to face him, partly unsure what to do, partly knowing exactly what she wants to do. Despite the deliberate slowness of their movements, it is when they lock eyes that time truly seems to stop.

Shinichi appears so different, so soulful. His blue irises glimmering, fixated on nothing but her as she reveres him with matching intensity. The same guy she treats as her best friend looks at her with tender love in his eyes, darting down her lips and up like no best friend ever would.

“I love you,” he says, breathless. “Make me your boyfriend.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over her, heartbeat fluttering in overdrive as they huddle on the floor, bags and clothes and time forgotten.

“From best friend to... such a shift-”

“Nothing will be different.” He rests his forehead on hers, gaze of soft blue patient though more intimate now, knowing what they share is mutual. “We’ll still do what we do... With exclusive romantic commitment and sweet nothings that translate to ‘I love you’ in more ways than one.”

She attempts a jab on his chest but he catches her fist, soft but jesting beam all too apparent and she does but play along.

“What about when we fight?” she asks.

“Same. But...” he slides a thumb over her quiet lips, parting them slightly, “I can do this once we make up.”

“...Like right now?”

“Like right now.”

A genuine smile is the last thing she sees before delicate pair of lips lands on hers, capping their one-week fight and their last night of the year together in the best and most unexpected way imaginable.

Ran keeps telling herself she shouldn’t be jealous.

Not because they are simply best friends, because they aren’t. Not because life would be easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven, because it wouldn’t.

Not because Shinichi doesn’t look at her that way, because he does.

She shouldn’t be jealous because she absolutely has no reason to, is all.

“I haven’t forgotten about your present. I was planning to buy yours in Akita.”

“Stop lying, you totally forgot it.”

“I didn’t. Stop that.” Half-mast eyes rake her side profile, and Ran covers a mirthful grin with her mitted hand holding the umbrella, then yawns. Hours of packing and talking and laughing left them with roughly four hours of sleep. It isn’t like she slept the whole period because while sleeping in his room isn’t new, cuddling while they sleep is. Ran couldn’t simply shut her eyes and heart to that.

“I believe though,” he wraps a hand around her free one, pocketing both of them in his brand new overcoat, “I gave half of my present already.”

“Hnn. That doesn’t count as a gift.” Her hand shifted, coddling his own to a warm fit.

“Really?” A smug smirk pulls up his face. “I believe I am a nice present, Ran. That’s why they—”

“Screw this. You are unbelievable. A humbug. Why do people like you.”

“I know. Why do you like me?” Shinichi laughs as he avoids the swing of her umbrella.

From afar, they see Kaori and the girls at the meet-up point outside Tokyo Station, though they seem unaware of their presence yet. Suddenly feeling conscious, Ran feels the urge to disentangle her hand, but Shinichi holds on, firm.

“Why?” He asks in a low voice.

“I dunno… maybe this isn’t the best time…”

“Isn’t now the best time?” His smile is proud and natural, not one ounce of reluctance visible.

Although she gets what he means, that doesn’t free her of shyness and guilt. Somehow she feels like apologizing to Kaori for… she doesn’t know. She just wants to. Letting her see them like this makes her think that she’s giving her an indirect slap on the face. Shinichi certainly won’t agree because ‘What’s with women and their logic?’, but still, whether or not it’s all in her head, Ran needs more time to prepare for this.

But to her surprise, Shinichi lets go of her hand. They are still a few feet from view when he steps in front of her and turns around. “Maah, fine, I get it,” he huffs, then smiles. “Then, just give me your umbrella.”

The moment she does, Shinichi closes their distance and dips his face onto hers. Ran is given no leeway to gasp as loving lips seal her quiet. It isn’t as long as what they shared a week ago, but the emotions are loaded and full, speaking fond thanks and temporary farewell.

She doesn’t realize she has closed her eyes until he separates, and she’s met with the most tender, most angelic expression he wears only on the rarest occasions. He’s saying without telling that her feelings are valid, she doesn’t have to worry, and he doesn’t have eyes for anyone but her. Somehow, the snow is the sea and fish are swarming around but neither cares because they have already caught each other.

“You don’t have to, silly.” Three layers of pink blanket Ran’s puffy cheeks.

“But I want to.” Grinning, Shinichi hands her back the umbrella. “You don’t like hand-holding. You don’t like being seen. Don’t you think that’s a great compromise?”

“Idiot, many people saw...”

“No, they didn’t!” Upping the duffel bag slung on his shoulder, he steps back and gives her one last goofy beam. “I’ll see you next year, Ran. I’ll call as often as I can.”

Wordlessly, Ran watches Shinichi’s back as he jogs to his waiting companions, who by then have already had their eyes pinned on the approaching figure.

“That is Shinichi-kun! ...And Mouri-san!”

“Ehhh!!?! You’re a thing!”

So much for being subtle, Ran flushes inwardly as she returns the wave the other girls are giving her. At that moment she really does feel immature for her past conduct. All of them are sweet. Even Kaori.

“I knew it Shinichi-kun! Mouri-san is sooo lucky, I’m so jealous!” Ran hears their banter and sees her jab his bicep before acknowledging her. “We’ll take care of him, Mouri-san!”

The Ran from one week ago would’ve had her heart crushed by such declaration, but now she’s nothing but pleased and the smile that forms across her lips is nothing but honest. “Make sure he doesn’t drag your group into a random dead body, Kaori-san!”

“Hey!” surfaces Shinichi’s shout amidst the mincing laughter of the group and the onlooking passers-by, and Ran bids her last wave before they enter the station.

Smiling to herself, Ran returns home, the lingering promise of his kiss committed to memory, knowing that she doesn’t have to get jealous because she has no reason to. Their indefeasible bond is all the assurance she needs.

#shinran #kiss prompts #fanfic #lmk anon(s) if you see this and if you do then yaaay #thank you for requesting!#and thank you for reading!#:')#I have a love-hate relationship with this fic #it's only supposed to be 4 scenes #oh well it is what it is lmao #it's ok ig since this is the last (awww) from the kiss prompts!#😌#I tried so hard with a jealous Ran haha #jealous fics are good reads but writing them is hard :O

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moonflowerlesbians · 3 years ago

Note

Jamie is trying to ignore the new au pair. She doesn't need to fall for this beautiful and straight girl. But then Flora asks her to clean the pool after months without using it because "it's a perfectly hot and beautiful day and we need to have a pool party. And you're invited too".

Dani. The pool. Bikini. Jamie doesn't know how to react to this, so she decides to keep ignoring her. But she can bet Dani is looking at her... A bit too much.

took me a second but I offer you almost 3000 words as penance. also I sort of extended it because it's apparently impossible for me to write pure fluff.

AO3 link in reblog if that's your preference :)

~~~

“Ah, yeah, it’ll be perfectly splendid,” Jamie grumbles between pants, yanking the tie of the pool cover over one shoulder with a huff. “Sure, perfectly splendid to swim in. Have t’ get it clean first. Can’t just jump in.”

At half eight in the evening, she’d been trying to beat the bizarre heatwave that had befallen the English countryside, but she’s failing rather spectacularly if the moisture gathering at her hairline is any indication. She swipes an arm across her forehead and listens to the faint chatter from the open sitting-room window, where the other grown members of the household bask in the glorious company of electric fans. Meanwhile, Jamie swelters away the evening spraying down pool filters and vacuuming leaves from the tile floor because someone had the bright idea to remind an eight-year-old that she has access to a pool.

“Oh, please, Jamie, please!” Flora had pleaded, practically bouncing out of her seat at the dinner table and coming terrifyingly close to tipping several drinks onto Hannah’s pristine tablecloth. “It’s dreadfully hot and a beautiful day, and we simply must have a pool party.” She had gasped so abruptly that Dani nearly dropped her fork, Jamie noted with a subtle grin. “We’ll all have a pool party! And Owen can make sandwiches, and Mrs. Grose can bring picnic blankets, and you must come, too, Jamie, won’t you please?”

Then Jamie had made the poor decision to lock eyes with Dani from across the table. The desperation plainly written across her face had been enough to convince Jamie to concede with a faux exhale of annoyance.

Thus, the weary gaze of a haggard au pair run ragged by herding two children indoors is the reason Jamie finds herself skimming the pool’s surface for any leaves and algae that managed to weasel beneath the cover when she should be driving home.

“Sorry,” a voice comes from behind her, “I’m the one who planted the idea in her head.”

Jamie turns to find Dani, a glass in either hand, peering at her with the expression of a woman who is half-tempted to change places and take up the skimmer herself simply to have a moment to herself.

“S’alright, needed to be done anyway. Won’t be ready until at least tomorrow,” Jamie sighs, accepting the proffered glass with a grateful nod. “Kids tired of being cooped up?”

Dani puffs out a laugh that says, you don’t know the half of it. “You’d think they don’t have a house the size of my old school to explore.”

“Bet they haven’t even found half the secret passages,” remarks Jamie over the smooth rim of her glass. Dani sips from hers, and Jamie endeavors to ignore the bob of her throat as she swallows.

“The what?” The wrinkles that appear on Dani’s forehead are surprisingly charming. Too charming. Jamie shoos the thought away before it can land.

“C’mon, Poppins. House this size? This old? There at least have to be servants’ tunnels.”

“Have… have you found any?”

Jamie hums noncommittally, noting the way Dani shifts her weight on her heels as if she cannot bear the thought of standing still. “Did you come out here just for this?”

“Partly, yes, but,” she lowers her voice, “I really just needed to get away from the kids for a few minutes. Owen’s got them playing a board game, thank God, and after that, I can put them to bed. I adore them, but sometimes…” she shrugs.

“We all need space,” Jamie finishes, a bit more brusque than she intended, which she chalks up to the evening hour and the heat, and Dani takes a step back. Shit. “Meant to say,” Jamie salvages with a wince, “it’s nice to be alone sometimes.” She grimaces, doing her best to focus on the cool glass in her hand rather than the heat in her face and the flutter low in her belly.

“I know what you meant,” Dani says softly. Then, after a moment’s pause spent glancing from Jamie to the pool and back again, “You need any help out here?”

Jamie raises an eyebrow. “Lookin’ for excuses to avoid work, are we?”

“No, no, I, um… No?”

“Relax, Dani,” Jamie chuckles, setting her empty water cup down in the grass. Dani visibly settles. “If you’d like to drag the garden hose over, we’ll need to rinse the filters.”

“Got it,” Dani says seriously, and she practically marches to the nearest hose rack as Jamie watches with a quirk of the lips. The au pair completes tasks as if the world will fall apart if they remain incomplete a moment longer. It’s a quality Jamie admires in her, the passion and fervor with which she undertakes the seemingly mundane tasks in her life. Jamie also finds herself mildly amused by the way Dani stalks across the property like she might break into a run at any moment, always on high alert. Always tense.

Might be nice to see her take a full breath for the first time in her life.

Might be nice to see her at ease.

Might be nice to see her relax.

Very nice, indeed, it turns out.

Almost too nice, two days later, the way Dani lounges on a patio chair she’d dragged to the poolside, with a book in her hand and one leg propped on the seat.

Too nice, the way her hair looks beneath a sun hat, casting dappled shadows over the tip of a tongue poking out between pursed lips as she turns a page.

Too nice, the way she lowers her sunglasses over her nose to keep an eye on the children splashing and shrieking in the water.

Too nice, in fact, far too nice for Jamie, who tries and repeatedly fails to keep her gaze off pale, freckled skin and eyes as blue and clear as the water. She can’t sit still. Can’t seem to cease the bouncing of a leg or the rote twirling of hair between twitching fingers. Can’t seem to stop flitting from superfluous task to superfluous task long enough to catch her breath, stolen against her will each and every time she catches a flash of exposed skin dancing in the midday sun.

But the worst part, by far, is when she looks at Dani… Dani is looking back. Four times now, Jamie has cast a fleeting glance at the lazing au pair only to find her peering at Jamie with equal intensity.

Odd, Jamie thinks, fiddling with the stem of a bush a few meters away from the pool, to catch Dani staring so often. But coincidences have been stranger, she decides, chalking it up to amicable concern. She can’t allow herself to dwell on the occurrence. Too many possibilities that open doors to too much trouble. Far more trouble than Dani is worth.

But what if… a niggling voice at the back of her head chides.

No, Jamie reminds herself with a mental kick and an outward shake of her head. She had a fiancé.

Hannah sits with her trousers rolled to her knees, ever one for modesty, with her legs dangling in the shallow end of the pool, while Owen and the kids do everything short of pulling the poor housekeeper in the water to utterly drench her. Hannah, to her credit, is taking their antics in stride, no doubt due to the mustachioed mastermind currently huddled with two overeager children.

The promise to Flora had been a pool party, and, never one to give up on her goals once they were set in her mind, the girl had hounded the adults with unrelenting chipperness until, one by one, they had been worn down. Which is surely the only reason Jamie hovers at the edge of the pool deck in an oversized t-shirt tied at the waist and old running shorts--the only sort of swimsuit she could throw together on short notice.

“Thought I might get in. Care to join me?”

Slender legs enter Jamie’s field of vision, then Dani is only paces away, a hand resting on one hip. She’s removed her hat, left to save her empty seat, and her sunglasses rest atop her forehead, pushing her hair out of her face and onto her shoulders. Her cornflower-blue swimsuit hugs her figure, and Jamie forces her eyes up, her throat terribly dry. She swallows thickly.

“May as well.”

Dani leads the way to the water’s edge, dipping one painted toenail into the water and producing a satisfied noise. She turns to Jamie standing a few feet behind and sweeps the sunglasses from her head, shaking her hair out. “Hold these for me?”

Wordlessly, Jamie delicately grasps one temple of the white plastic frame as Dani steps forward, her arms over her head, hands meeting in a V-shape. The hidden muscles in her back ripple, and she executes an elegant plunge into the pool, emerging with a gasp and a whoop of elated laughter. A smattering of applause rises from the opposite end of the pool, the others having apparently stopped their scheming long enough to watch Dani’s flawless--at least in Jamie’s opinion--swan dive.

“Oh, Miss Clayton, that was splendid!” Flora’s shrill voice chirps.

Hannah remarks, clearly impressed, “I had no idea we had a professional in our midst."

“I’d hardly say professional,” Dani says with a modest roll of her eyes. The water swirls where she treads. She pushes water-darkened hair from her eyes. Then, to Jamie, she explains, “I was on the community pool swim and dive team for a few summers before I could get a job.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jamie replies. She passes the sunglasses to Dani’s outstretched hand and takes a seat on the sun-warm grey concrete at the edge of the pool. Dani swims up and places crossed arms beside Jamie on the deck, resting her chin on the intersection and looking up at Jamie. Lean legs kick out behind her into crystalline depths, and golden sunlight refracts in the water, bathing beneath the surface in an ethereal glow.

“You’re not getting in?” Dani asks.

“Not the biggest fan of water, if I’m honest,” Jamie confesses nonchalantly, as if by some miracle this admission will end the conversation.

No, Dani’s desire to learn, to understand, is far too intense for that. It’s another quality of hers Jamie admires, even if it feels as though she’s laying herself bare by sharing the tiniest details under her scrutiny.

“I knew plenty of kids afraid of the water back in the day,” Dani says easily, tracing lines in the small puddle that has formed from the droplets on her skin, “it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“‘S not that. I just,” Jamie searches, somewhat defensively, struggling to convey the message without saying the words that reveal a weakness she is loath to expose. Her silence evidently speaks volumes.

“Jamie,” Dani says quietly, a furrow forming between her brows, “can you swim?”

Damn those observant eyes, that sharp mind.

Jamie looks away, shrinks just a little, scoffs with false bravado, “‘Course I can swim.” Then, “Can paddle… float….” Heat rises in her already flushed cheeks, and she picks at the skin surrounding the cuticle on her thumb.

“It’s… You know it’s okay if you can’t, right?” And Dani’s voice is soft, so soft, a murmur really, a whisper that makes Jamie’s heart ache. It keeps the sound from carrying across the pool as it does hold Jamie in her destitution.

She thinks back to a childhood of coal dust and dirty sofa beds and scavenging for food. Thinks of summers spent doing odd jobs to pay the rent, of sleeping on the porch because it was cooler out there than in the house. Thinks of covering herself with as much clothing as she could despite the rising temperatures to fend off roving eyes, to appear a larger threat than a scrawny eleven-year-old girl actually was. Thinks of boiling pots and scalding showers spent scrubbing her skin clean, as though maybe if she rubbed hard enough, the memories would wash away with the grime. Circle the drain once, twice, and disappear forever.

“Never really learned, I s’pose,” Jamie forces a weak laugh. “Didn’t have anyone really keen on teachin’ me.”

Dani is quiet for a moment. “I could.”

“Could what? Teach me? ‘S not your problem to worry about, Poppins.” The thought nearly sends her mind into overdrive. Nescience of an essential life skill is ignominious enough, but to have Dani bear witness to the reality is unthinkable.

“Well, sure it is,” Dani shakes her head, affronted at the mere notion. “What would we do if you fell in and drowned? Someone needs to keep Owen in line.”

Jamie notes the ‘we’ in her statement. We need you. Not I. Distinctly not I, Jamie repeats to herself. She fidgets with the knot in her t-shirt.

“Already told you I can paddle. I’d be fine.”

“Still.” Dani is staring up at her with a pointed look. She has the glint in her eye that Jamie recognizes from the instances Dani deems it necessary to hold her ground with Miles or persuade Flora to clean up her dolls at the end of a long day. She will not give in.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Jamie raises an eyebrow, approaching Dani’s determination as one might a chest of buried treasure, hesitant, disbelieving, a bit curious.

Dani shakes her head again, the ghost of a smirk upturning the corner of her lips.

A beat, during which Jamie’s thoughts wage war amongst themselves. One team screams at her to take the opportunity to spend time with the woman that another batch reminds her is not interested in the least. Another group acknowledges the practical benefits of developing a skill beyond aimless paddling, while another still acknowledges the persistent flutter in her stomach.

At last, “Reckon you’ll be putting that fancy teaching degree to use again,” Jamie acquiesces with a sigh. “Doubt this is what you signed up for, though.”

“I know exactly what I signed up for.” There’s a mischievous lilt to Dani’s words that sends a bolt of feverish perplexion through her. Dani pulls back from the side of the pool and holds out her hands. “We can get started right now.”

Jamie must look as if she’d rather snip off a finger with her garden shears than get in the water because Dani laughs.

“Or not,” she says with a sincere smile, and she ducks back under the water before popping up at Jamie’s feet, wiping the water from her eyes.

“I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of the kids,” Jamie says with a chuckle. “Lord knows I’ve never done that before, and I don’t intend on starting now.” It’s a half-truth. The real issue stems from the moderately disconcerting realization that breathing on land is hard enough with Dani so close, and Jamie really isn’t keen on finding out what will happen if she tries to slip underwater.

A brief flash of her sputtering to the surface, limbs flailing in all directions, crosses her mind, and she shakes it away.

A whooping from the opposite end of the pool catches her attention, and she looks up.

It seems whatever Owen and the children plotted had worked. Hannah is, much to her presumed consternation, sopping wet from head to toe, though she merely wrings out her blouse and kicks a lighthearted splash back at the children, who, having completed their mission, slink out of the pool and wrap themselves in paisley towels.

“Finished already?” Dani calls, and Flora nods from the deck, a yawn splitting her face despite the clock only reading three in the afternoon. “I’ll be right there!” She turns back to Jamie, says softly, “Another time?”

Jamie nods. “Another time.”

Then, Dani is off, gathering her things and herding the children back across the stretch of grass and into the house, leaving Jamie to watch in delirious bewilderment as her heart pounds far faster than it ought to, given the situation. And yet, Jamie cannot fault it, nor can she calm her racing pulse, though she tries.

Dani is the cause, she knows. Dani is always the cause, and no amount of fervent internal reminders seem to dull her effect. No incalculable quantity of mutterings about ex-fiancés will stop Jamie’s breath from catching when Dani settles down for dinner. No collection of whispered slim chanceswill convince a weak heart to cease its clamant pattering at the sight of a column of silky skin. No platitudes can dissuade Jamie’s longing soul from going against her better judgment, from going against her learned experiences that say this will only lead to heartbreak.

Love is sink or swim, she has learned, and Jamie has been treading water, head just barely above the surface, for far, far too long. Dani has offered to hold her hand, quite literally, to guide her through the risk, if only Jamie will make a move to reach out. Perhaps… Perhaps, Dani can guide her to shore to rest among sand beaches and good company. Perhaps, Dani will not let go along the way.

Another time, then.

Another time, yes. But soon. Soon, because Jamie is rapidly growing weary of condemning her wayward heart to fruitless excitement, of shutting a thing down before it can even begin, like cutting down a sapling before it emerges from a seed.

It’s sink or swim, and, at last, Jamie chooses to swim.

#no beta we die like dani #the ending is questionable because fuck it why not #vibes only #i did spend too long looking up appropriate chemical balances for pools in England in the late 80s #and then scrapped it altogether so #also dont imagine jamie swimming to the middle of the lake to find danis body knowing dani taught her in the first place #also I love not being able to come up with titles for shit #fic #ficlet #my writing #the haunting of bly manor #damie #dani clayton #jamie #jamie taylor #jamie x dani #dani x jamie #damie fanfic #thobm

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ja-khajay · 3 years ago

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Stuff I read (and liked) this year

As promised, here’s a list of the novels, comics, manga, etc... I read this year, focusing on the ones I enjoyed and would recommend to people. Under a cut, this is going to be a little long.

-------- Books --------

Favorite book of the year: Stranger in the Woods, by Michael Finkel

Non-fiction. Based on the interviews of the man himself by the author, it is about a man who felt so unfit for society he decided one day to leave it, and spent the next 28 years as a hidden hermit in forest in Maine. The book details how he survived there, how he was eventually found, and some of his reasons for doing so. It’s a great reflection on the nature of loneliness.

Indian creek, by Pete Fromm

...Yet another detailed tale of living alone in the woods. This time, the diary of a student who spent a winter in the mountains to help tend for salmon hatchlings, and how he spent the rest of his days hiking, hunting, meeting the locals. It’s a fun little book who, being set almost the whole world away from where I live, was a nice way to travel.

Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones

I don’t feel the need to explain this one since everyone and their mom has seen the movie adapted from it. The book, that I first read a decade ago before I actually watched the film, is a less romantized, more spirited telling of the same story. The writing is absolutely delightful and so is the world it paints, and it’s the first time in ages a book had me laughing out loud during my entire read.

-------- Comics (BD) --------

Favorite comic of the year: Monsieur Désire?, by Hubert and Virginie Augustin

A discreet young woman becomes a maid for a decadent, unbearable, byronesque young lord. Caked in the rigid and oppressive social hierarchy of the victorian era, you follow a mental and verbal joust between the two, as the lord tries his best to offend and corrupt his new unrelenting servant, to little success. The writing and especially the dialogues were stellar, drawing me into the tense atmosphere, watching this trainwreck of a character flamboyantly destroy himself. While there’s no precise content warnings that I can give, this is a mature and heavy story.

World of Edena, by Moebius

Anyone who’s followed this blog for over a month knows how much of a Moebius fan I am. Edena combines the vague, dreamlike, wordless storytelling from stuff like Arzach or The cat’s eyes with an actual plot. While I haven’t completly finished the story, the evolution of the main characters and how the story is told have been great to read through, and as always the art is beyond gorgeous. Unfortunately suffers from some good old sexism in the writing that even if minimal, tasted sour

Le roman de Renart, by Joan Sfar (book 1)

Sfar’s work always has a signature vibe of being dreamy and light without being light hearted, of being down to earth but drifting in the fantastical, and this one is no exception. It’s an adaption of a series of medieval folk tales I grew up with, who uses the same characters to tell an original story. If you’re familiar with icons like Renart as well as other mythological big boys like Merlin you’ll fit right in. There is something special in how the dialogues are written, who feel natural in a way that you’d overhear in a street corner and is very special to me.

The mercenary, by VIncente Segrelles

Another one I post about a lot on this blog. The mercenary is a king on the throne of fantasy cheese. The worldbuilding is interesting at times but the writing is a pretty pathetic display of glorious old time sword and sorcery sci-fantasy 10 years too late for it’s prime (warning for ye old sexism and orientalism that plagues the genre, cranked very high...) but you come and stay for the art. The entire thing is drawn in a series of hyper detailed oil paintings with an insane eye for technical detail, from the engineering of the weaponry, to the architecture and weather, to the anatomy of the fantasy creatures... Each panel stands out as it’s own painting which makes even flipping through it without reading the scenario a treat. Click here to see more of the art, in my Segrelles tag.

The ice maurauder, by Jacques Tardi

A short story about mad scientists entirely drawn like a 19th century engraving. In great Tardi tradition everyone is ugly and mean, it ends terribly, it’s both a hommage to the genre of late 19th cent. to early 1900s dramatic adventure novels and a critical eye on it, and it’s morbidly funny. Most people I saw online hated the way this was written but I’m not them and I really recommend this book. Die mad

-------- Manga --------

Favorite manga of the year: it’s a tie between the following two.

Cats of the Louvre, by Taiyo Matsumoto

Most wonderful comic I have read in ages. The story follows a bunch of semi-feral cats secretly living in the Louvre museum’s attic, and the small group of humans who share their life, walking through the museum as the night watch. When the cats are together, they are represented in a humanoid way, but still act like animals, and “become” cats again when a human is nearby. The plot is a sort of supernatural mystery centered around a kitten who walks around paintings. It’s a love letter to art, sincere and beautiful, with a unique art style and great characters.

Memoirs of amorous Gentlemen, by Moyoco Anno

A sex worker in early 20th century paris starts writing down a diary of the clients she meets, in a quest to cope with the troubles of her life. You follow her, her colleagues, and her bittersweet relationship with an abusive lover. I don’t have much words about this comic, but the art and writing both are amazing, it’s the perfect length and drew me in like little series had before. Obvious content warnings as this is an adult story that talks about sexuality, but also depicts both mental and physical abuse.

Hana, also by Taiyo Matsumoto

A very short story, this was not made to be read as a comic originally, but served as storyboarding and visual development for a play, and the way it is written follows that. Hana is a slice of life story set in a fantasy world, of a young boy, his family, his village. Despite the setting being an original one, the character interactions are refreshingly... normal, and there is no huge plot to speak of, just a bit of the life of these characters. The art is beautiful, entirely black and white, with a scratchy style and an emphasis on contrast. Matsumoto is on a speedy road to becoming my favorite manga artist haha

Delicious in Dungeon, by Ryoko Kui

While not marked as my year’s favorite, I still consider this series among my favorite manga ever. The art and writing are amazing, and it’s both heartfelt, well concieved and plain hilarious. The story follows several parties of dungeon diving adventurers each on their little quests with a premise of our protagonists, on a panic rescue mission, surviving in the dungeon by cooking and eating the monsters they come across. From a DnD party turned cooking manual dinner of the week beginning, the plot creeps up on you and slowly thickens. I don’t want to spoil anything about the overarching story of this because it was a delight to discover for myself. While everything about DinD rules, I am especially fond of the design philosophy of the author, who puts great detail in the practicality and biology of what she draws, as well as the character writing. Everyone even side characters has so much charm and depth to them, the cast is so diverse and entertaining...! Each character is just a bit lame enough but endearing, and has their own little backstory that shows in the way they exist. It’s a delight

Chainsaw man, by Tatsuki Fujimoto

I went into CSM expecting a borderline campy hyperviolent dumb fun thing to read and was very surprised to find an uncomfortably well written story about a teenager being groomed. The hyperviolent dumb fun fights are here nonetheless and the series still qualifies as shonen for some reason, but the more mature character writing as well as some truly outlandish visuals make it something very special. If you can’t stand shonen, not sure you will like it, but if you don’t mind it, worth trying.

Witch hat atelier, by Kamome Shirahama

The oh so elegant fantasy seinen every cool kid started posting about this year, who I also succumbed to and fast. Witch hat is hard to explain, as most of it’s plot revolves around the rules of the world it’s set in, specifically the regulations around it’s magic and the social and historical reasons for them. It’s about growing up, learning, disability, making art. You follow a little girl taken in by a witch as an apprentice, her magical education, and learn little by little why her lovely teacher is so willing to break a lot of rules... While a bit too gentle and pretty for my taste at times, Witch hat has great worldbuilding and explores sensitive themes I rarely see in manga, much less in fantasy. And Berserk wishes it had art this good

#j #long post

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amchara · 3 years ago

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Road to Hell (Wait for Me, I’m Coming) Part Two - Kit / Ty Hadestown AU

(Part One)

Ty rubbed his face tiredly, as he stared at another chicken-scratch parchment in the Unseelie Court’s library. He looked up and saw that Dru was fast asleep, gently snoring into her crossed arms, while Anush was dazedly flipping through pages of a huge leatherbound book. Mark had left a while ago, muttering something about getting some food for them but he hadn’t returned yet.

Ty looked down at his research, the collected notes he had written over the last day and a half and suddenly it seemed pitiful, compared to the task ahead. Ty could feel the panic rising, his chest tight and he concentrated on the feel of the rough paper underneath his fingertips. He had to get Kit out of Hell and he was taking notes, like he was back in the Scholomance and this was an assignment, instead of… instead of the most important fucking thing in the world.

He hadn’t told Kit how he felt yet. They had only just re-entered each other’s lives over the past two months and were still doing a wary dance as they relearned each other’s steps after three years apart.

There had been a hesitant scene in the L.A. Institute’s atrium when Kit had strolled in, almost as if he had never left, all sunshine gold hair, eyes the colour of a clear autumn sky, and a husky voice with just the slightest hint of an English accent.

There had been the angry, sparse time when Helen had sent them on a patrol together and they had strode along in miserable silence until Kit had finally stopped him and asked where Livvy was- and Ty had snapped back at him, the wound still raw, that he was trying to make amends for everything he’d done but he’d had to do it alone and he wasn’t ready to talk about it. The fragile moment when Kit’s face had crumpled briefly and he told Ty he was sorry he had left and that Ty had had to do it alone. And the appearance of the Raum demons a minute later, interrupting them- but then the glimpse of how it could be, as Kit had stopped him after the attack and insisted on drawing the iratze on Ty’s forearm, his face a study of concentration as they sat in the car before driving back to the Institute.

There had been fleeting, glorious moments in the training room when they had sparred, the pretence of combat a freeing sensation for Ty, as he felt able to finally touch Kit and the look Kit had given him, his breath an uneven whisper on Ty’s collarbone after he pinned him to the floor, almost helping Ty make his decision. But it hadn’t been enough - and the agonising choice of whether to knock - and still being a coward and walking away, almost too quickly, from Kit’s door.

And then that moment in the clearing. When Kit had done the stupid, honourable Herondale thing and sacrificed himself for the rest of them. Ty didn’t think he’d do the same if the situation was reversed - but then again, he was a Blackthorn.

From far away, he could hear a tearing, ripping sound and he came back to himself, noting the confetti of yellow parchment floating down to the ground around him, as he paced back and forth, paper strewn around him and his hands moving almost mechanically as he shredded his carefully taken notes.

Anush looked over at him, finally noticing Ty’s pacing and his eyes widened. And just then, Mark re-appeared in the doorway, carrying a large tray. He let out a curse as he saw Ty, almost knocking over the tray in his hurry to put it down. He crossed the room quickly to stand in front of Ty, gentle as he placed his hands over his brother’s as he clasped them a firm grip. This time, Ty let him in and he drew in a few deep, shuddering breaths as he let the small remains of paper drop.

“It’s all right,” he told Mark. “I have them all memorised.”

Mark nodded. “It’s wise to not leave the notes to Hade unguarded,” he said. He paused. “Although perhaps a bit unkind to the brownie cleaners - but no matter, I’ll arrange to speak to them.”

There was a stretch of silence. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” Ty said. “I can’t wait too long- we don’t know if time moves differently in Hades compared to the rest of Faerie and I can’t risk it.”

Mark’s eyes searched Ty’s face - not seeking eye contact but a different kind of reassurance. He seemed to find it, and he dropped Ty’s hands. “Then we’ll prepare to go together - you’re not going alone,” he said. A chorus joined in - a rousing if slightly terrified response from Anush, and a sleepy affirmation from Dru, who appeared to have just woken up.

Ty felt a brief moment of terror that he was bringing more people into what his research told him was likely a suicide mission… but the ice cold shiver of memories and Livvy’s pleading, drained face swam into view and he swallowed his protests. He didn’t think he could go through it alone again.

—

The ivory keys of the grand piano were always immaculately polished and Kit wondered whose job it was to clean them. His job was to play the music and he thanked - well, it wasn’t God and it wasn’t the Angel Raziel - but he thanked his lucky stars that he had picked up some basic songs from Jace the previous summer when he had visited the New York Institute, and that Jem had considered learning to read music by sight an essential part of a well-rounded education, alongside Kit’s Shadowhunter training and mundane school.

In contrast to the bright electric fluorescence that lit the warren of overly warm machinery-filled rooms that Kit had started to refer to as Hadestown, Persephone’s conservatory was different, with its faded white, latticed walls and high glass ceilings letting in the smallest fraction of outside light.

It reminded him of where he had lived with Jem, Tessa and Mina - in… C- In Cir- Kit’s mind stuttered. He didn’t know how long he had been here - the days were starting to blur together and he was worried he was starting to forget more than just the little things.

He stared down at the piano keys as the large ornamental clock on the wall struck eleven. Like clockwork precision, Persephone waltzed in, her movements sultry but sulky as always. She threw some new music books at Kit and he caught them awkwardly, balancing them on his lap.

“These ones - I don’t care which one you play first today,” she said, sitting down on the long fainting couch across from him, her black hair spilling over the white satin fabric as she rested her head. Kit tried not to stare at her deep decolletage, which was prominently framed by the tight red dress she was wearing. She noticed as he turned away and her gaze was hungry as she looked at him.

Kit looked down as he chose a music book and blindly opened it to a first page he saw. He started playing, a crooning jazz number singing out underneath his fingers. He didn’t know if it was because he was in Faerie or the spell he could feel he was under but he was a much better musician here than in the mundane world. The tight, lost look on Persephone’s face began to relax as the melody echoed in the conservatory.

As he finished the first song and began another, his movements almost automatic, Kit allowed himself to think again, of escape - of returning to the land of the living - to his family, to the Shadowhunter institutions he was slowly becoming accustomed to again, to… Ty. To what might be between them, although he had almost strangled that hope, locked it away tight and deep inside his heart. What they had resurrected - if that word could be used - given previous circumstances was almost a miracle, Kit thought, hard fought for and one that he hadn’t been about to throw away on foolish too-soon declarations of love. Even so, when he had seen that faerie arrow aimed straight at Ty’s heart, he hadn’t hesitated. He might not be ever able to tell Ty how he felt but at least he had been able to show it in his actions, he mused.

And he wasn’t about to give up on leaving this hellhole, although each unrelenting day in this dull, dark and depressing place of dust and hollow-eyed workers pulled at that hope. But he clung to his memories - to the now-dimly lit memories of the outside world. Of his love for a black-haired, grey-eyed boy with his sharp intellect and fierce love of his family, who saw the world in a different light than most, and was - had been willing - and maybe, might be willing again to share it with Kit.

The last note rang out as he finished the song and he drew his hands back, muscles aching. He had been playing for nearly an hour. In the sudden silence, Persephone let out a ragged sigh.

“Who is the love that you play for, boy?” she said, her voice ancient and rough. She rose from the couch and crossed the floor, her dress swishing across the smooth marble. “I have heard many love songs in my years… but yours is one that I haven’t heard in an eon. Tell me their name.” Her green eyes glistened with unshed tears.

But Kit remained silent. He knew instinctively if he said Ty’s name, he would lose it. He shook his head, his lips pressed together.

Persephone narrowed her eyes, and she reached out, as if to stroke his brow. Kit evaded her and stood up. He had been coming to play for her for several times now, and he had started to learn her ways. He needed a distraction. “I saw that crack in the wall- is that new, Persephone?” Kit lowered his voice as he gestured across the room. “I know you’re a captive as much as I am. Let me help you- we can escape together and then I will tell you.”

Persephone’s laugh was as dry as a winter’s wind as she sized him up. “Oh, that’s adorable, my sweet-” she said. “But I made my choice long ago and it’s--” her eyes suddenly moved past him. “It’s the love I deserve,” her voice suddenly was filled with honey and springtime.

Kit knew that Hades had arrived, and he tried to quell the fear rising in him as he turned around.

The man - fae - god or whatever he was - was standing in the doorway, casually watching them.

“Leave him,” he said in his deep voice. “I desire your company.”

Persephone swept past Kit without another word and draped herself across Hades. “Of course my darling- I am here. What shall we do?”

Hades took a moment to whisper into her ear and Persephone looked uncomfortable but let out a deep, throaty chuckle. “Of course.”

Hades smiled, with a devilish twist and he pulled her away, starting down the hall.

But then he stopped and looked back at Kit. “Your shift here has ended - get back on the assembly line.”

Kit looked down at his rough worker’s uniform, smeared with rust and dust and he forced himself to nod evenly - he knew from past experience that it was unwise to argue with Hades.

Hades’ firelit eyes swept over him. “And once that is over - come see me in my office.”

And at that, Kit knew that he was in trouble. Hades had summoned him twice since his arrival to his office, after the initial contract signing. Each time afterwards Kit had found himself weak and gasping on the floor outside, his mind blank and unsure of what had passed behind the walls of the office. Nothing good, he thought grimly - and that was likely the cause of his increasingly fuzzy memory recall.

He needed to escape and soon. He nodded again and Hades left with Persephone. Kit started to make his way to the factory floor. On his way out of the conservatory, he bumped into a small, bird-framed girl with a luminous beauty and whose too-large eyes must have been lively once but were now faded and glazed over with the thousand yard stare that all Hades’ workers had. That he might soon have. “What’s your name?” Kit asked the girl, trying not to sound desperate.

She looked up at him. “I- Eu- I…” she looked puzzled and sad. “I don’t know.” she said.

Kit felt a stab of despair.

Tag list: (let me know if you want to be added / removed!)

@jesse-is-spiraling @dontmindmyshadowhunting @sandersgrey @thechangeling

#kitty fanfiction #tsc fanfiction #kit herondale x ty blackthorn #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #my fanfic

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 4 years ago

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all gone, all gone, all gone

part 2: the two of them are always walking me into the stormy weather

CW: discussion of a suicide attempt, implied emotional abuse, grief

This wasn't in my original outline and doesn't really further the plot but it's here for the angst. there's a tiny relevant plot detail if you squint. but if you skipped this one, you really wouldn't be lost.

Part 1 | AO3 | Masterlist

Cordelia’s heart raced as she entered Alastair’s bedroom. It felt like a terrible invasion of privacy, but the others were right: if there was any evidence of what he was doing with Belial in this room, she needed to find it. She made the trip over and told her mother and Risa a quick lie about him being pulled out of the city for Shadowhunter business. If the time came that she needed to tell them the truth, she would deal with it then. Slipping into his bedroom afterwards was easy enough.

Her anxiety was eased by the fact that it didn’t feel like her brother’s room. She could recognize all of his things: his small collection of political theories, his brilliant dagger collection, a single tapestry on the wall. However, it was quite rare to see a thing out of place in his room. He’d always kept things very tidy, almost unnaturally so. So perfect that it did not seem real. Now, his desk was a mess, there was some clothing strewn on his armchair, a book left on his nightstand.

It was wrong. It was all wrong. This wasn’t his room. It didn’t feel right, and if her mother or Risa came in, they would know it, too. She got started, first picking up the clothes around the room, then straightening the belongings he kept on his dresser. When she moved onto his desk, she remembered what she’d come to the house for in the first place. The reason James was outside, waiting for her in the carriage. She heaved a sigh and began to sort through and organize the papers on his desk. There were financial documents, a few letters of condolence, even an unopened letter from Charles Fairchild, who clearly still had not given up. Nothing that gave any hint of what Belial might be planning.

As she tucked the papers away into the drawer, she felt a note stuck to the underside of his desk. She pulled it away, finding an envelope with nothing written on it but her name. Her hands shook as she tore it open, her heart beginning to race again.

Dear Cordelia,

If you are reading this letter, I assume it means that I am gone. Unless, of course, you were snooping again, in which case I am bound to be quite upset with you. In the case of the former, however, I must apologize for leaving you so soon. I hope there will never need be a day that you read this letter, but this serial killer business is dangerous at best, and I cannot in good conscience risk my life without some hope that in the event of my death you will read this and heed my words.

She skimmed through the rest of the letter. In it, he detailed all of the things he’d never told her: the full truth about their father. He told her the things he did to him, the things he did to her. He explained Elias’ actions that he was not able to protect her from, though she’d never realized they’d happened at all. From Alastair’s perspective, he could see what she could not: how her father seemed to fall ill most often when she was happy, when she’d begun a new project, when she’d started to make a new friend. He never truly needed her help at all.

He explained it to her and told her that it would be her responsibility now to protect their sibling in ways that he would not be able. He told her what to do, what to look for, how she might be able to help. He apologized for this now being her burden to bear.

Why was it ever yours? she thought, tears springing to her eyes. It didn’t make any sense. This letter was clearly written before their father had died, and she was sure that Alastair’s deal was after. Not that Belial’s Alastair would ever leave a note, anyways. It was not written as someone who welcomed death but as someone who feared it. How was he even connected to the serial killer? How was he risking his life? Why?

She heard a noise from behind her and quickly tucked the letter away.

“What are you doing in here?” she heard in Persian.

She spun around. “Nothing, Risa,” she quickly replied, blinking away her tears. “He simply asked me to retrieve something for him before he left.”

Risa raised an eyebrow at her and shut the bedroom door. “Cordelia joon, what’s really happening? We used that ‘Shadowhunter business’ lie enough times on you when your father disappeared for days at a time; I know how to recognize it.”

Cordelia thought of the letter tucked in her pocket. She exhaled and sat down on the edge of Alastair’s bed. “He-” Raziel, could she actually say these words out loud? “He tried to kill himself. However, a Prince of Hell intervened, offered him a deal. He took it. He’s being controlled by him now, in some way, I think.”

“I see,” Risa responded. She’d been staying with Sona at Cornwall Gardens ever since Elias’ death, and being able to speak in her mother tongue again was a small comfort to Cordelia. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it.

“Are you… surprised?”

“I certainly did not expect it, but I am not surprised, either. What are you trying to ask, truly?”

“I just want to understand why he would do something like that, why he would- Right after our father’s death? Hadn’t we experienced enough tragedy? Shouldn’t that have been a good thing, for him? With Baba dead he could finally move on, be happy? Why would he-”

“Cordelia joon,” Risa said slowly, sitting beside her and placing a comforting hand on her back. “Your brother is a troubled person, he has been for many years. Not in the ways your parents spoke of it. He did not carry the stress of a boy becoming a man. It was different, it was the weight of many decades that could crush the strongest of shoulders, and his were very small at the time it was placed on his. Do not attempt to enter his mind too much; it will do you no good. Just know there was nothing in this world more important to him than you. Whatever led him to such a decision, he would not have made it without believing in some twisted way that you would not be affected by it.”

Cordelia began to protest, but her words were caught in her throat.

“I know. But we do not always think rationally.”

“He does.”

“None of us do, azizam. Not always.”

Cordelia thought of the letter in her pocket. “He didn’t need to protect us anymore,” she realized. “Not me, not the baby. Not with Baba gone.”

“Maybe,” Risa responded, “but you will drive yourself mad attempting to understand this. Perhaps you will be able find a way to break this deal he made with this Devil, and only then will we attempt to understand what happened, if only to keep it from happening again. And if instead we need to tell your mother the truth, I will be by your side.”

She only nodded in response. “I should- James is waiting for me. I need to finish cleaning, if Mâmân comes in, she’ll know something is wrong-”

“I’ll help.”

Both her and Risa took the next several minutes and tidied up Alastair’s room. Cordelia attempted to discreetly peek into the pages of his books and looked into his drawers, but she still found no sign of anything Belial-related.

As she readied herself to leave, Risa offered her one last thought. “Good luck, joonam. You are so strong, and as is your brother. Remember that.”

Cordelia gave her a sad smile. “Thank you for your help.”

She bid her goodbyes and hurried back to the carriage.

“That took a while,” James commented. “Did you find something?”

Cordelia thought of the letter. “No, not really. I- I had to clean his room.” Her voice broke with the admission. “That sounds so stupid. He just- He never leaves his room like that, or he didn’t, before-”

“It’s okay.” James signaled for the driver to take them back to Curzon Street. “Are you alright?”

Cordelia shrugged. They spent the ride in silence. When they arrived at the townhouse, the rest of the Merry Thieves were already waiting for them.

“Did you find anything?” Matthew asked.

She thought of the letter in her dress. The whole of it was solidly unrelated to the matter at hand, but the serial killer- “There was one thing. A letter. It’s not- He wrote it before our father died, but it mentions something about the serial killer.”

“Can we see it?” Matthew asked.

“No,” she said a little too quickly. “It’s not… There’s just the one line about it.” She sighed and pulled out the letter. “It says ‘this serial killer business is dangerous at best, and I cannot in good conscience risk my life without some hope that in the event of my death,’ etcetera, etcetera. That’s the only line about it. It was clearly written before our father died, but… I don’t understand. He wasn’t involved in the serial killer investigation at all.”

“Perhaps he was already working with Belial by then?”

“He wasn’t. He wouldn’t- He wouldn’t have worked with him before the deal, and this was certainly before it.”

Thomas seemed like he was about to speak, but Matthew spoke first. “There’s still a possibility,” he said gently. “If we could read it, perhaps-”

“No! I already said that you couldn’t! And it doesn’t make any sense for him to have been working with Belial before my father’s death!”

“We’re only trying to help, and it’s not helpful for you to be hiding-”

“I’m not hiding anything! It’s a letter he wrote to me about our father and what I would need to do to protect our sibling from him in a world where he was still alive and Alastair wasn’t, alright?” She didn’t know when the tears began to fall. “So, no, you can’t read it, and, no, I don’t think he would have risked his life, and our sibling’s safety, without sufficient motivation. There must be another explanation.” She folded the letter again and put her head in her hands.

“Perhaps you should go,” James suggested to the others. “We’ll meet tonight at the Devil and decide where to go from here.”

She listened to them leave, but she didn’t look up.

I'm finishing my finals this week & next so hopefully I will updating my fics more frequently once that's over! i've also made a playlist for this fic! it's here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4KaoQmHAoEFMkZH5Fd23gM?si=1357d801920f41c5

taglist (lmk to be added/removed): @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs @littlx-songbxrd

Part 3

#alastair carstairs #cordelia carstairs #tlh #the last hours #fanfiction #fanfic #all gone fic #cw suicide #cw emotional abuse

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sebbytrash · 4 years ago

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Through His Eyes - Part Twenty (The End)

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings - The end.

A/N - Gah. I’m literally at a loss for words. This is almost 3 years in the making. My life has changed drastically since I started this. (I’m a mom, yikes.) I can’t thank you enough for all the wonderful support on this one. It was truly a piece of my heart in words. So yes, the end is here and it’s a little bitter sweet but I might visit these two again one day. I hope this is everything you have been waiting for. <3

HUGE thank you to my other half @manawhaat for her exceptional Betaing as always

Through His Eyes Masterlist

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Bucky asks, not for the first time, glancing worriedly down at your forearm.

“The surest.” You reassure him, fix him with your best full wattage smile and roll your sleeve up the rest of the way. The skin tingles in anticipation, or dread, and your heart thumps readily in your chest. It’s time, it says with each beat.

At your nod, the needle descends and the first painful line of change begins. Bucky shudders at the noise and keeps his eyes on yours, or more accurately, keeps them anywhere but on that needle.

“You know, for an Avenger, you sure are squeamish,” you joke, grab his hand and give it a squeeze when he doesn’t smile back. “It’s just a tattoo, Bucky. Barely even registers.” The tattoo artist catches your eye with a soft smile and you roll your eyes in a playful isn’t-my-boyfriend-cute kinda way. Boyfriend, yeah, it still feels weird to think it, let alone say it. Truthfully, the word doesn’t even come close to what he is to you. The word simply doesn’t exist.

“I know, I know,” the boyfriend in question says, “I just hate the look of it, s’all.” His mouth twists in that way that tells you he's still concerned and is probably going to be the entire time so you should just let him.

This moment was a long time coming. You had thought and thought about getting your scars covered, these ones in particular that made wearing short sleeves a nightmare unless you wanted to flash an unintentional Nazi neon to anyone in a 2 metre radius. At first, you held on to them as a reminder, something to keep your heart cold and cruel, and then you held onto them as a shield, something to keep you from growing and forgetting, to keep you from leaving that part of you behind and finding out what was left without it. Now, you ache to transform, to strip away the last of the darkness and move forward with the growing light. That light that Bucky has shined into your life with that stubborn heart and those same unrelenting eyes that warily watch you close this chapter of your life. It will always be with you, be a part of you, but you no longer want it to be you.

The tattoo itself, flowers chosen for their meaning, would now flow up your forearm with a soft wind replacing the haphazardly cruel branding you endured. Daffodils, meaning rebirth or new beginnings, and Irises for hope. Steve and Wanda had helped you with the design, the former brushing off his old drawing skills to do so and Tony had acquired the artist. Lee, a tall, severe looking man with the softest smile you’d ever seen on someone with a shaved head and ear gauges. He was kind and funny, and everything you needed to put yourself entirely in his hands with this precious piece of your history.

It takes roughly four hours and Bucky is tense for every single minute of them. Lee spends half his time smirking at you when Bucky starts pacing again or sighs a little too deeply, his intense discomfort is nothing short of hilarious in the end. The finished piece is breathtaking, Lee has taken Steve’s sketch and created something so incredible, you feel the breath forcibly taken from your lungs and words from your mouth.

“Wow. It’s perfect, Lee.” You stare at it unblinking before glancing at him. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” He nods with quiet understanding and busies himself tidying his workstation. You turn to Bucky, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes and you try haplessly to blink them away, a few escape and Bucky steps up close to catch them with his thumb. His eyes reflect yours, and you wonder if it feels as significant to him as it does to you, looking at your arm and seeing that journey etched in colour, bright and beautiful and on display.

Bucky lets out a breath so large, it’s like he's held it the entire day. "It's beautiful," he says, after a long minute, "It's you."

It's still dark when you are catapulted from sleep, your sweet dreams stolen from underneath you in a swift movement just like the blanket so often is by your bedmate. It takes a second for the sound to match what you see, for you put the pieces of your reality together like a puzzle. He's dreaming again, Bucky, a bad one from the sounds being torn from his throat.

He's rigid beside you, muscles and ligaments all turned to stone despite his obvious turmoil. You suspect that it's a part of him that holds on to a sliver of reality, that fights to ensure he doesn't harm you, even now, when he's asleep. It doesn't shock you to discover that even unconscious, he's the best man you know.

"No. Stop. I can't." He says and the words curdle in the air. You wondered if this would happen, after today and his reaction to the tattoo. His need to protect you runs bone deep and so it’s impossible to run from the dreams on the days he considers you hurt, or hurting.

You smooth a hand over his face, gently and coaxing, "Shhh, Bucky. I'm right here. I'm with you, I'm safe." The magic words, you'd discovered, were less about his own safety and more about yours. Buttery promises that melt right through the brickhouse dream and pull him back to you.

He wakes slowly, blinks up at you with those sea storm eyes, rides the crest of a wave in between realities and then blinks again and lets the waters crease and slow, settle into a soft hum. You place a kiss to his brow and leave to grab him a glass of water, giving him a minute to settle so that he isn’t forced to look at you before he’s ready. When you return he's sitting up against the headboard with his body tilted like he's waiting for you to slot right in. He downs the whole glass quickly and then grants you a smile, the smile, the one that makes electricity wake up in the morning.

"Do you need anything?" You ask, like you always do, letting your fingers lace with his.

"Just you," he answers, pulls you gently to him so he can tuck your head under his chin and his fingers slot against your ribs, let's his breathing slow to match yours and his heartbeat to follow suit.

It's what you do for each other, when the need arises. Just quiet understanding and quiet support. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, you no longer feel like it's going to strip the skin from your bones or send you plunging into the dark. Now it feels like stitching a wound shut, or rubbing an aching muscle, leaning on each other in a truly honest way despite everything, or maybe because of everything, and it's...nice. There’s not a single part of you that you have to hide from him, or him from you, and that feeling is measureless. There were stars living inside your chest, burning furious and bright, a sunshine heart and a moonlit soul.

You stay that way long after sleep steals you both back, tangled limbs and tangled scars, and tangled hearts.

In the morning, his tired eyes are not weary, as they once might have been after such a night. Instead, they hold a promise of a smile inside, the saltwater seas are waveless. His smile comes easily, harbouring a quiet joy he has not yet shared and so you're helpless, swept away in it as his lips take your reason captive. He stops to look at you and you look back at this resilient, gentle man who didn’t try to hide or reconcile all the complex truths inside himself, just simply existed exactly as he was.

“What’s got your face looking like that?” You ask, letting your fingers slide along his jaw in a lazy, familiar way.

“Just realised somethin’” He smiles like he has the answer to a question you forgot to ask, continues when you raise your brows at him, “Bob isn’t sharing the bed anymore.”

Oh.

It’s true, you’d finally found yourself ready to put your gun into an actual gun safe and not within 2 metres of you at all times. Since the great revelation, as you so often thought of it as, you’d taken Sam up on his offer to join him down at the VA for the group sessions, finally unburdening yourself in a more controlled and productive way, taking your own small steps to recovery. It’s not a journey, the voice of Sam scolds, it’s a state of being. One you need to work on every day.

You make a noise of agreement. “Yeah. Didn’t really need him there anymore.” You admit, press a quick kiss to his lips and say, “Besides, they would need to get through you first. That’s why you sleep closest to the door.”

He laughs and smiles sheepishly, the admission dies on his tongue when you hush it with yours, the curve of his mouth when it smiles simply too tempting not to taste.

“There you go,” Wanda says as she zips your dress. “You’re ready.”

And you were ready. It was a date, a real date in a real restaurant with real people around you. You and Bucky had lived inside a bubble, protected and cosy, all bed covers and armchairs, netflix and books. He decided, or was reminded, that there were other ways to spend his time with you and tonight was to be the first. The first official date. It was exciting, and nerve wracking, and you tried not to hang your fate against the success of one night.

“Yeah,” you agree, let the hum of unreleased adrenaline settle over your bones in anticipation, “I’m ready.”

You're halfway to the door when you stop, sudden, and hastily turn back to your dresser, rummaging around with abandon until you find it. You gasp in triumph, clutch the glass bottle in hand and show it to Wanda.

“I haven’t worn it yet,” you explain when she casts you a confused glance. “I guess I was saving it.”

Hope. The scent you’d purchased all those months ago when Bucky had first arrived, when you’d felt the very first flutterings of it within your chest before you even recognised what it was. It feels apt to wear it tonight when all that hope has become reality.

“Hmm, well now does seem perfect, right?” She looks at you that way she sometimes does when her face turns into a mirror for your own feelings. It still makes you blink a few times, even now, when the feelings are joyful.

When you make it to the door this time, you hesitate, hand gripping the cold handle long enough for Wanda to softly clear her throat. She doesn’t ask, but then again she probably already knows. It’s been a while since you’ve worn anything this nice, the dress is really nothing fancy, it’s flattering and comfortable, but still entirely different to your usual workout clothes and lounge wear that Bucky usually sees you in. It still makes your hands clench and your heart flutter with nerves, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of feeling self-conscious. The same man has seen your very soul, after all.

He’s waiting for you with Steve, his back to you as you approach and so you have a few sweet seconds to admire the sturdiness of his shoulders in the shirt, how the fabric stretches and clings to his broad back and thick arms. Steve smiles when he sees you coming, gives Bucky a nudge and then watches him turn to you with barely contained glee.

When Bucky finally sees you, he looks at you with such fierce want, and love, that you nearly buckle at the sight of it. He smiles the smile that carves roots in your bones and stars in your heart. It’s only when you draw closer that you see your own eyes reflected in his, see yourself looking at him the way he’s looking at you.

“You look beautiful.” He says, quietly and just for you.

“Thank you.” You finally tear your eyes from his long enough to do a leisurely sweep of him, taking in that shirt and dress pants combo that somehow looks like it was how he looked all along, made for it. “You do, too.”

He laughs, like you intended, reaches out to clasp your hand in his without thought and those two actions combined are threatening to let too much of that feeling leak out of your chest, the one that reminds you that you need him too much, love him too much. It’s still terrifying, this kind of love.

You hate it. You don’t.

The restaurant is small, a quiet but cosy kinda place that has more candles than menus and serves things called “Mom’s soup special”. Its soft lighting combines spectacularly with the coved tables, each individual one a private getaway that’s filled with fluttering lashes and toothy smiles. Bucky ushers you forward and tucks your seat behind you as you sit, the gesture all too natural for him and not all like the forced way you’ve witnessed so many people do it before.

“This place is amazing,” you say, still glancing around with wonder hanging off your eyelashes, “how did you find it?”

“Oh, uh, Sam suggested it, actually.” He admits, tucks his chin a little before adding, “Haven’t actually been out to eat since, you know, melting.”

You blink at him stupidly, eyebrows gathering up into a frown. “But, didn’t you live in Europe? And Wakanda?”

“Yeah. Romania. Well, I was on the run so it was mostly tins of beans and whatever fruit I could find,” he explains, nothing of the painful memories showing on his face, even if they show on yours, “Wakanda was different. I spent a lot of time in the lab, and when I wasn’t, I didn’t exactly socialise. I wasn’t what you would call, fit for the public eye.”

You reach across the table to take his hand in yours, try not to squeeze it as tight as your chest is squeezing your heart. “I’m glad you're here,” you say, still marvelling at the ease at which he now opens up to you, how these things don’t drag you both down into the dark. “I’m glad I get to share this with you.”

He smiles, soft and pleased, “There’s no one I’d rather share it with, sweetheart.”

The pet name, or perhaps the casualness in the way he says it, makes your heart stumble in your chest. Once, a gesture like that would have felt entirely foreign to you, probably even a little pointless, but when it rolls off his tongue with such tenderness you find yourself with sudden understanding that no amount of Hollywood movies could ever show you.

If he notices your reaction, he doesn’t say anything. The rest of the meal is spent with easy laughter and enthusiastic eating, the staff leave you mostly alone but you catch more than one with a small, knowing smile on their face when they do approach. Caught in the feeling between you, your happiness that bubbles over and spills into every passing person so that their smiles mirror your own.

You had spent so long denying yourself, and Bucky, these feelings that the now freely given love is pouring, uncontainable, from you both with such force that you can barely stand it. All that effort that went into holding back, denying, did not transfer because in truth, loving Bucky was no effort at all.

You share a dessert, Bucky coming round the table to join you in what was surely just an excuse to be close, arm draped along the back of your chair, touching from knee to hip. You lean into him, letting his body heat soak into yours and his metal fingers dance along your shoulder. It’s quietly euphoric, and you know he feels it, too.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this.” You admit, turning so you can see his eyes when the words take shape, watching as those seas rumble against your meaning.

“Me neither.” He admits right back, turning to look at you the way he so often does, captures your mouth in a kiss, a lifetime's worth of affection hidden in the curve of his mouth.

You didn’t believe in soulmates, not really, but as you lay back against his chest and feel his heartbeat on your back, feel the way the beats of his match the beats of yours so precisely, you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, they might.

Or perhaps, Fate saw the damage you’d both done to each other and decided to forcibly fuse those souls together. That those matching scars would fit perfectly together and prevent you both from spilling out onto any of her other plans or people.

As someone once said, “May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, whispers I love you in your ear and you think that you don’t care if it’s soul mates or fated or not. You know that you’d choose him every time. A fate selected by your own hand, or heart, and worth far more than dreams of paths forged for you.

TAGS: @manawhaat @theashhole @captainrogerss @higherfurtherfasterbby @peculiar-persephone @captain-rogers-beard @chrisevansnco @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @samingtonwilson @vintagevalentinexx @abovethesmokestacks @imhereforbvcky @avengerofyourheart @stormy-thomas @danijimenezv @angelicthor @betheboo55 @palaiasaurus64 @raxacoricofallapatoriuspotter @johnmurphys-sass @katbird787 @sexyvixen7 @jobean12-blog @justreadingfics @justareader @smoothdogsgirl @theliarone @aikibriarrose @timeladylaurel @badassbakers @earinafae @tardis-is-mine @httpmcrvel @bucky2-0 @mocking-rain @sociallyimpairedme @jezzula @bless-my-demons @ign-is @indominusregina @-supernatural-coffee-llama @alwayshave-faith @shifutheshihtzu @mizzzpink @yknott81 @haven-in-writing @xtina2191 @reniescarlett @notsoprettykitty @wickedwerewolf @tatalopes23 @pineapplebooboo @mizzezm @thefridgeismybestie @memory-of-a-goldfish @supernatural-girl97 @standing-onthe-edge @ruinerofcheese @mysweetcookie99

#through his eyes #kale writes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #marvel fanfic

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reynie-muldoons · 3 years ago

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'The Art of Conveyance and Round-Trippery' Liveblog!

Sorry this is a few days late!! I moved across the country this weekend, we drove like 13 hours within 2 days and we did a lot of heavy lifting. I'm exhausted, but the boxes are slowly emptying and I've been wanting to watch this episode so gd bad, so LESGO

Over halfway through the season!!!! That's absolutely surreal

1:11 oooh they're getting their royal fitting

1:22 LMAOO WTF 😂😂 Princess Diaries vibes

1:42 ✨CONFIDENCE✨

1:52 Alfonse is a perfect name for that guy HAHA

2:05 Nathaniel, my guy, you've made some points

2:11 "do you feel your power?" POWER RANGERS, GO

2:24 no no hesitation just prolly thinkin bout how he was caught cheatin

2:39 "can you not allow yourselves luxury?" okay fr I feel that I get Nice Things Guilt(tm) too easily

2:52 dayummmm let's talk about Sticky being a hat stall between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, mans is brave as fuck under extreme pressure and loyal to the point of putting himself on the line

3:15 bro Sticky getting some recognition. Love to see it, he deserves it

3:19 "is that a coincidence? Or written in the stars?" IS DR. CURTAIN CATCHING ON THAT THEY KNEW EACH OTHER BEFORE OR LIKEEEE

3:49 WHAT WORD AROUND CAMPUS 😭😭😭 MY BOYS ARE NOT A MISTAKE HOW DARE YOU

4:09 why doess the action of Dr. Curtain putting the sash on them seem so nefarious

4:36 I dont really understand the whole pastel yellow, blue, and pink palette of the school but the boys both look pretty okay in their vest-sash getup

4:42 THE OPENINGGGGG. This shit slaps.

5:41 Kate and Constance look so fucking cute in that shot, dont ask me why but hnnggggg

5:54 sash rope 😂😭 kate, honey, that's a reach

6:09 it might feel buttery, but, my guy, it also looks buttery. It's literally the color of butter. Get yourself some crisco

6:24 I find it kinda interesting that they made up new riddles for the show, I'm almost positive that that one wasn't in the book. Correct me if I'm wrong though

7:03 "I'm not gonna apologize for knowing things" the sass. the ✨confidence✨. living for it

7:03 If they build on that it sets Sticky up really nicely for the arc in the second book where he starts to show off a little

7:15 tiny Constance who is constantly dressed in pink with cute little braids is the perfect medium for the most morbid comments 😂😂

7:55 Martina's hot in her uniform. Can't prove me wrong.

8:15 why does that make me sad 🥺 eat with your friendssss. iirc they only talked about eating at the Messenger table in the books

8:26 dipshits forgot their lunches. Seems Constance is holding the communal braincell atm

8:50 anyone have Guiness on speed dial? Reynie and Sticky have a submission for them

9:25 oh hello this was alluded to in the preview!!! Morse code is compromised, rip

10:05 so are Jackson and Jillson stuck with night guard duty all the time?? They've been outside at night a lot

10:18 ahhhhhh the little blinkie light, stopppp

10:25 MILLIGANNNNN!!!

10:25 so is this the point where he starts staying on the island with them????

10:39 so are they just like "fuck it we'll do it right before sundown" ???? Like Jackson and Jillson are still gonna be on the lookout, they aren't gonna chill just because it's not fully dark

10:50 did the kids.....just not tell them that Mr. Bloom was on the island 😂 nice oversight guys

11:05 MADGE TIME MADGE TIME

11:05 remind me to tell you guys a story about Madge, I may or may not have done something irl a few years ago that would make y'all proud 😂😂😂

11:16 idk why but it makes me so happy that they kept Madge as a peregrine falcon

11:37 Rhonda, my love, you have my heart in your hands

11:46 roll credits

12:05 THE HEAD SHAKE HAHAHAH

12:06 Awww man, I was so excited for Milligan to be on the island .-. He must have been scoping out the inlet

12:07 "they're quite regal" A. I read the subtitles as "legal" the first time and that's somehow really in character for him, and B. IS MILLIGAN GOING TO NAME HER???!? HER MAJESTY???? PLEASE I WOULD LOVE THAT SO MUCH

12:15 his grimace KILLS ME

12:17 the hard cut from Nicholas in a brown setting and brown suit to Nathaniel in a blue setting and blue suit was lowkey striking

12:36 are they looking up Morse code 😳 can you imagine if they wrote down the message and are now decoding it

12:41 omfg all that for a HAT 🙃 I feel stupid

12:51 two things: 1. Those walls are atrocious, and 2. Yeah, talk about Morse code in a louder voice Connie girl, you're just in a public hallway

13:03 I'm sorry but those orange pillar things are not the vibe

13:03 the golden gate bridge called, they want their arches back

13:10 please let Kate climb the tower before the end of season 1. please.

13:22 y'all are about to be flying something else 😎

13:33 cleansing breaths

13:47 OH HELLO MESSENGER DUTY ALREADY??

14:06 what the heck is that teal pole for 😭😭

14:12 blindfold timeeee

I'm so sorry but I'm exhausted, it's 11:30 pm on Sunday night right now, I'll finish this episode tomorrow morning after I get some sleepies

Good morningggg lesgetatit

14:50 "vomit of metal" ashhdjdjd

15:16 a wild Martina appears!

15:36 and if you folks look to your left, you'll see a wild Constance being the voice of reason once again

15:57 "lose the bucket" "I'm not gonna do that" HELL YEAH KATE

16:07 I get not having the bucket on the court lolol, I thought Martina was telling Kate to lose the bucket in general. Like, yeah, good luck convincing her to so that

16:35 show!Kate is much angrier than book!Kate and I'm still deciding how I feel about that. The Kate we've known from the books is a sunshine baby with looots of repressed trauma.

17:03 ......what is that. why is that.

17:11 WAIT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE REYNIE AHEHDJDJD

17:15 HI MADGE

17:41 the grand swell in the music makes me think it's going to go comically wrong

17:51 she's majestic because she's a queen 🥺

18:03 LMAO CALLED IT

18:14 Rhonda and Number Two getting at each other is such a sisterly thing to do 😂😂😂

18:37 ohhhhh? Someone's approaching? Miss Perumal perhaps????

18:45 YEAHHHHH BABY

18:50 PROTECTIVE MOM COMIN IN HOT!!!

19:22 THEYRE SO PRECIOUS 😭😭😭😭 I feel like I've been subconsciously starved for her and Mr. Benedict's interactions

19:36 died at that line in the one trailer

20:00 so Miss Perumal pulled a Sherlock Holmes. Love that for her

20:20 Cheri Tupintown??? Of all the aliases they could pick, Cheri Tupintown???

20:33 "Power in Truth Inc" that HAS to be something Rhonda came up with

21:01 you can literally watch Mr. Benedict realize that this is a woman not to be fucked with and he is CORRECT

21:23 "he's fine. Perfectly fine." At this, Mr. Benedict's pants caught aflame.

21:52 something about Constance sitting in on practice!!! It scratches an itch!!!!

22:19 "incorporate the helix. Live in the helix." Lord Helix is pleased with this offering.

22:26 so what I'm hearing is Kate is going to blow up on Constance for messing with the bucket

23:13 unrelated but Jillson'a shoes are cute

23:29 why does this room give off Johnny Depp's willy wonka vibes

24:13 that looks like a chair from a doctor's office waiting room 😭

25:29 they do be egg heads tho

26:02 baby girl, I have no idea why you're crying at weird art but let me dry your tears 🥺🥺

26:50 SHE FOUND ITTTT

27:27 okay Indiana Jones, go off

27:46 why did that kinda sound like Miss Perumal

28:43 the return of everyone's favorite, "enjoyable"

29:05 not that I'm not loving the ice breaker questions and the one-sided conversation, but I'm not loving it

29:22 oh so we're getting right into it aren't we

29:54 his eyes being open again makes this infinitely creepier

30:36 "where's your proof?" Miss Perumal doesnt fuck around!!!

31:29 you're telling me Constance has been there all day?? And Kate went to find her???? 🥺

31:58 oh so we're getting right to it then?? Kate addressing her independence and trust issues arc????

33:29 NEWS!!!!

33:49 CONSTANCE RIDING PIGGYBACK!!!!!!

34:04 okay, so they opened the murder hole, what are they gonna do now

34:59 Italian? 🤨 m'sir that is so fancy

34:59 fun story I learned Italian diction in college, so I know a little bit

35:16 "take your time" the whisperer says, immediately repeating the prompt to get the answer sooner

35:31 theeeeere it is

35:46 SOMETHING ABOUT THE WHISPERER SAYING "YOU ARE HOME" 😭😭😭 the show really played up the cult shit!!

36:02 Kate being protective of Constance 🥺

36:20 ohhh shit is it time for Connie girl to have double Reynie? Double Sticky?

36:36 STICKY

36:52 "what kind of nonsense?" HAVE THEY NOT ASKED THAT BEFORE THIS?????

37:14 "and your tiny brain can somehow pick it up!!" KATE STOP 😂😂😂

37:16 "I knew you had to be special in some way." WE DONT HAVE TIME TO UNPACK ALL OF THAT

37:51 she's right, this is disregard for their safety. The show made Mr. Benedict and his team a lot more back-alley and dishonest, and Miss Perumal has every reason to be pissed

38:30 oh good they finally remembered he has narcolepsy

39:38 and the best mom award goes to:

40:38 I was gonna say that this hallway is how I imagined the KEEP in riddle of ages but then I remembered that (spoilers) the Institute is the KEEP

40:46 oh, hello propoganda

41:10 that's the other person Rhonda couldn't contact, along with Mr. Bloom. This has to be the brainsweeping process

41:22 yeppppp

41:44 this dark doctor's office theme gives me horror movie vibes

42:22 ohhhh, so that's how they replaced that scene where the four of them jump in a crate to hide and Sticky drops his glasses in the open

42:47 and so we've come to the part of the story where Sticky and Reynie become infinitely more conflicted

42:47 and since we've reached that point..... can we have the white knight scene? Pretty please? Please Disney I'm begging you-

43:12 so Reynie just figured that out without Constance? :/

44:03 love the manipulation

44:31 I'm sorry, the farm?

44:35 farm and forest????

45:16 "the Emergency has served its purpose" 😳 well okay then murder man

45:39 "one thought, one purpose" the hive mind rises once more

45:48 LOVE THE MANIPULATION

46:07 "what have you done to earn anyone's trust?" VALID

46:26 "please do!" WHY AM I EMOTIONAL

47:06 "we still have the falcon" that you do 😂

47:19 AYYY HERE WE GO!!! Time for Milligan to stay on the island??

47:49 ohhhh Constance, casual telepath strikes again

48:16 "stop it, Kate!" OOOOHHHHH

48:53 that line ("it would be nice to be unburdened") would be funny as shit if not for the fact that Constance is a telepath unbeknownst to herself and can both subconsciously perceive people's thoughts and hear the subliminal messages

49:20 HI MRS. PERUMAL!!!

49:25 wow, she's really going through with it 😳 not that I doubted her, but still, that's dedication

49:39 OH SHIT

50:17 oh, so he's an asshole to SQ too. Got it. Torches and pitchforks? Ready to kick his ass?

50:40 "for the moment, anyway" FUCKIN WHAT

This episode was really good!!! They covered a LOT. I hope Miss Perumal comes back to the group and talks about her findings, I hope Milligan goes to get the kids and they tell him no, and I hope they get that classic 4-person Society brainstorming and binding time that hits that sweet spot

#mbs disney+#mbs liveblog #the art of conveyance and round trippery #the mysterious benedict society #charity's talkies

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