#it really looks like the day after a big storm with those wild clouds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luimagines · 3 years ago

Note

oooh i have an idea, how would dear reader reacts to the chain's secrets? they could be canon like wolfie being twi, or something you headcanon!

Masterlist

I procrastinated on this one admittedly because I had no idea where to take it but after writing out a list and appointing a secret to each boy. I have it done.

Some things are definitely headcanons.

Part one will include Hyrule, Sky, Warrior, Four and Wild.

Content under the cut!

Hyrule

The battle wasn’t necessarily hard to deal with- the monsters weren’t difficult to deal with and there weren’t a lot of them to begin with.

You slashed, dashed and kicked every enemy away from you and watched as they fell to your blade. Every new step revealed a new purple cloud as you danced around the battle field.

You saw Wild and Twilight fighting back to back with practiced ease and handling it as well as you were. Warrior and Sky was side by side closer to Time and Legend than the rest of the group was and Four and Wind were up in the trees striking the enemy down at a distance and no doubt scheming something while the going was easy.

The only one you had no idea where he was, was Hyrule.

And that didn’t take a lot to dive into your brain and wriggle uncomfortably until your own insecure thoughts pushed you to go look for him.

Between the monsters and the land mines of purple smoke, it was a little difficult to find him.

But when you do- he does something you don’t fully understand at first.

You manage to run into him in a clearing, but he doesn’t notice you at first. Instead, you see him take his sword and run it through his palm. His blood coats the length of his blade, and it drips down his hand onto the grass below.

He watches the monsters in front of him and dances for a minute around them before he takes a breath and kills them effortlessly.

You frown and step toward him. “Why did you do that?”

Hyrule jumps higher than should be physically possible and doesn’t catch himself on the way down. He falls flat on his butt and looks up at you with wide and startled eyes.

“Are you ok?” You kneels next to him and go to take his injured hand. “What on earth were you trying to do?

Hyrule jerks his hand back like you’ve burned him and you see the magic flow through the air around his wound- closing it like it never happened.

“Link?” You frown again and slowly place your hand in your lap. You’re confused and a little afraid for him. You know that blood magic is taboo for a reason and is typically avoided more often than not because of its’s dark nature- but you never thought Hyrule of all people would dabble in it.

“I’m fine.”

“Link.” You stress a little more. “What were you trying to do? I didn’t think you were capable of blood magic... At least you don’t usually use those kind of spells. Is that why you fight on your own for a while each time?”

“I’m not using blood magic.” Hyrule frowns and stands abruptly.

“Then why-?”

“It’s not important.”

“Hyrule, you’re hurting yourself. I’d say that that’s pretty important.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t make me get Time.” You threaten. “I’ll get Legend too. I bet they’ll get some answers out of you.”

“You won’t just drop it, will you?” He sneers

“Nope.” You stand and cross your arms. “What were you trying to do?”

“I was just checking something.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like if a curse would work or something?”

Hyrule tenses and he crosses his arms- instantly looking away from you.

“WERE YOU ACTUALLY TRYING TO CAST A CURSE?!” You screech.

“THE CURSE WAS CAST ON ME!” He yells back.

You both still for a moment and wait for the forest to show any signs that others might have heard you.

The sounds of distant fighting continues and after a minute of waiting some more, no one shows up to check on either of you, so you’re safe.

You turn back to your companion and furrows your eyebrows. You lower your voice just above a whisper just in case someone might be on the way but now you need answers. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He scowls- a face you’re not used to seeing on him and throws his arms down his sides in anger. “Back home, Ganon cast a curse on me. The monsters need my blood in order to resurrect him and I can’t risk letting any monsters from my time getting to me. I need to check if the other monsters will follow suit.”

You blink, not expecting that answer but your anger flares up regardless. “So you go out on your own to check this curse because your blood is needed to resurrect hatred incarnate? What if you’re overpowered? What if they do react to it? How are we supposed to help you if you’re alone?”

“It’s my problem to deal with. I don’t need-”

“Shut up.” You scowl and grab him by the shoulders. You shake him roughly for as long as you speak. “We are your friends! We care about you! We don’t want to see you hurt! We’re going to help you! Whether you want it or not- we’re not to let you deal with this alone. Not while we’re here.”

“Stop shaking me.”

You let him go.

“I won’t tell the others because I know you wouldn’t like that.” You say. “But this stops today. You hear me? None of us are just going to let these freaks near you and this is not necessary while you have a whole team of heroes just as pissed about the situation as you are. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“How clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.”

Sky

Sky wakes up one day with a far away look in his eye which immediately puts you on edge.

Not only that but to make it worse, he doesn’t stop looking at you.

He looks scared.

Every five minutes you swear you catch him looking in your direction only to look away in haste when you look back at him.

No one is saying anything and it doesn’t help your paranoia.

With some people walking ahead you, you step back and take a spot next to Sky. You notice that he’s tense and walking robotically, and trying to match your pace. “Dude, what’s up? You’re freaking me out.”

Sky trips over himself and finally looks you in the eye. “What do you mean?”

“You woke up like you saw a ghost. You’ve been looking over to me every five minutes and even now you look like you want to sprint away from me. Did I do something?”

“I.. Ummm...” Sky stutters for a minute before swallowing whatever lump was in his throat. “I just had a dream... is all.... I’ll get over it.”

“I’m assuming it had something to do with me then.”

“No, not exactly.” Sky’s quick to speak even if you can see the beginning’s of sweat collect on his brow. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Want to talk about it?” You tilt your head. “It looks like it really shook you up.”

“Oh, um, I-”

“Maybe you died and Sky freaked out.” Legend pushes you forward and away from Sky. “He doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to.”

“Ok, my god, Legend slow down! Not everyone is as emotionally constipated as you! Talking about things is healthy and important!” You shout over your shoulder, trying to dig your heels into the dirt with little to no luck.

Legend seems a bit stronger right now that he usually is, you bet it’s his power bracelet.

If Sky actually looks a bit paler at Legend’s claim than neither of you notice.

The day passes a little calmer after that, Sky seeming to have calmed down enough to not be so weird and it something you’re quick to forget about.

By the time the afternoon hits, a bunch of dark and foreboding storm clouds roll in.

Somehow, Sky manages to find it in himself to walk next to you again and does his best to stay close.

You don’t mind it and even jokingly pull his sail cloth over your head when it begins to rain on your group. It’s not particularly strong and there’s not a lot of options to rest and take cover, so you bare with it. Sky lets you keep the sail cloth over your head surprisingly.

But then there’s thunder and you see lightning in the distance and bite your lip. “Maybe we should hunker down or something?”

The rain goes from gentle drops to a down pour within seconds and the group runs a bit to gain as much cover as you can in the nearby tree line.

Sky pushes himself in front of you and shoves you behind him with enough force that you’re fully knocked over. In one fluid motion he lifts the Master Sword skyward and charges the blade, tossing it away from the group in a glowing blue arc. It cuts through the grass and even splits the first tree it strikes in half before dissipated into the air.

You would have been struck by lightning if he didn’t do that.

“Sky?” You get up and try to wipe as much mud off of your pants as you can. “Are you ok? How did you know that would happen?”

Sky gulps and takes a deep breath as he looks at you with wide eyes and understanding. “I saw it in a dream.”

“Oh...” You gasp and reach out to him shakily, putting your hand on his shoulder. “You have dreams then?”

“Yes.” Sky looks at his sword and hesitantly puts it away. “Sometimes.”

“Ok then...” You nod and look around the group. They’re all in varying stages of shock, surprise and concern.

Everyone is looking at Sky.

“We need to get out of the storm.” You say in lieu of changing the topic. ” Who knows if there’s more lightning on the way and there’s a lot of metal within the group.“

“Right.” Time nods and does a not so subtle double take in his attempt to leave it be. “Let’s go.”

You nod back and nod once more to Sky and wrap your arm around his shoulder. you lead him forward and lean into his space to whisper into his ear. “Thanks.”

“I’m just glad I made in time.”

“We’ll talk later ok?” You smile in hopes of alleviating some of the tension. “I have some questions if you’re willing to indulge me.”

“I suppose it’s only fair.”

Warrior

“He’s a cute kid.” Warrior mentions randomly one day.

You startle and jump, nearly dropping the image. You scramble to catch it and successfully do so after playing hot potato with yourself.

“Warrior, a little warning please.” You sigh and attempt to clean your finger print smudges on the glass. “But yeah, my little brother is cute. I hope he stays that way.”

“I don’t think you have much to worry about.” Warrior shrugs. “He grows up to be a fine and upstanding young man. Good looks run in the family. ”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Thank you, I’m sure they do.”

Warrior comes to stand next to you and gently turns the glass over to see the image better.

“Warrior?”

“Hm?”

“Am I doing the right thing?” You sigh.

“What do you mean? I’d say you are. Sacrificing yourself for the good of a better tomorrow- for your family- for your loved ones- but that’s not what you’re talking about are you?” Warrior lets you take the image back.

“But he’s so young... and I’m supposed to take care of him.” You gulp. “I just want him to be safe and sound and healthy but I can’t really do that from- from... I’m here instead.“

“Well... no said it was going to be easy.” Warrior offers lamely.

“What if he grows up to hate me?” You clench the glass tighter at the thought. “I just abandoned him, didn’t I? Oh my god-”

“Hey. He loves you.” Warrior takes your shoulders in his hands and shakes you somewhat. “He admires you greatly. You’re his hero. He looks up to you even now. He’ll understand when the time comes.”

“Even now?” You sniff. “What does that mean?”

“Years have passed and he hasn’t stopped looking up to you and how you did everything you could for him, for Zelda and he’s trying to make you proud-”

“Warrior he’s five, how do you know this?”

His mouth shuts with a click of his teeth.

“Warrior.”

“Um... I... He...”

“Link.” You pocket the glass and face him head on. “When did you meet my brother?”

He stares at you for a moment and deflates. “During... during the war of my era.”

“...What?”

Warrior hisses and brings his hand to scratch the back of his neck. “He showed up around the same time that Wind did but he talked about you.... and I guess you talk to him about me because he wasn’t really surprised at what was happening.”

“How old was he?” You bite your lip, already dreading the news.

“Older than me actually.” He offers with a tight smile. “I never asked him but if I had to guess I would have put him in his mid twenties. The oldest Link to start his adventure compared to the rest of us...”

“But he still...” You deflate as well and hug your arms around yourself. “He still has to go doesn’t he? I can’t save him from it. Even now, I... I can’t- I fail him in the end then.”

“He doesn’t see it that way at all.” Warrior catches you before you fall to your knees in despair. “He admires everything you’ve done for him, everything you’re currently doing. You kept him from danger for as long as you could- until he was old enough to take on his destiny. That’s more than any of us could say.”

“I don’t want him to go through any of it though.” You sob and lean into Warrior for support. “That’s my baby brother Warrior- how am I supposed to be ok with this?”

“I don’t think there is a way.” He admits. “Nor do I think you should be.”

“I can’t keep him from it.”

“But you can and have been postponing it.” Warrior rubs circles into your shoulder as you cry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you even more.”

“I miss him.”

“You’ll see him again.” Warrior grips you tightly. “He also did very well all things considered. He became an older brother to me and to Sprite and Wind... I don’t think Wind has figured it out yet that your brother and Lucky are the same Link though.”

You sniffle and calm down slightly. “Was he awesome?”

A laugh is startled out of him and he chokes on the snort and cough that tries to leave him at the same time. “I’d say he was better than me... And he claims to have never held a sword until then.”

“Good.” You nod. “He’s the best brother in the whole world.”

“Yeah, he was.”

Four

You’re walking on a random trail as the day dies down and you’re partner is Four for the hour.

The sun rests behind you comfortably and you talk about the different weapons from each others Hyrule. You’re no smith- but you do think it’s an interesting process and try to take notes where you can.

As you trade your notes and laugh at the more ridiculous stories from one another, you look down and notice something weird with Four’s shadow.

It almost looked like it was laughing along too... in the opposite direction that Four was looking in. But you blink and it’s as if it never there.

Maybe you’re tired.

You have been walking all day and perhaps it was a trick of the light.

You don’t think on it too much and go back to talking with your friend.

Hours later-you’d think that it would be the end of it but it isn’t.

In fact, you can’t sleep. And the way it moved was different than it should have been and the more you look into the memory there more obscurities than there should be. Not to mention that Four gets weird around shadows or whenever they are mentioned.

You stare up at the star filled sky as you think about the incident.

“I’m telling you I think they saw me.” A new voice says.

You’re thrust into the moment and attune your hearing to the direction it came from.

“I think you’re thinking too much into it. How could they have seen you?” It’s Four.

You close your eyes and roll over in the same direction, pretending to still be asleep.

The voices take a minute to pick up again when you do that.

They were watching you.

“They stared at me for a solid minute- how did you miss that?” New voices hisses.

“They were laughing-”

“You were laughing, you love sick fool. They looked at me. They saw me. I’m going to blow the secret and you’re not even listening to my warning.”

Your eyes snap open and you push yourself up as quickly as you can.

You instantly spot Four sitting by the fire, but you’re not surprised by that. What really takes your attention is the new person next to him- who looks uncannily like your friend.

But with purple hair...

And red eyes...

And darker skin...

“Four what the hell?” You blurt.

Four responds quickly and as intelligently as he can manage. “Uhhhh...”

The person next to him curses and runs a hand through his hair. “I told you. I told you. I told you.”

You lock eyes with the new guy and introduce yourself.

He huffs and crosses his arms, his face darkening slightly- or again- maybe it was a trick of the light. “I’m Four’s shadow.”

“His... shadow...?”

“Yes. That’s what I said.”

You nod, wide eyed before turning to Four with a million questions in your eyes. He can see it and holds his hand up to his mouth, pressing his knuckles harshly against his teeth as he waits for them to start flowing out of your mouth.

“Love sick fool?”

“Shadow you snitch!” Four screeches and takes a swing at him.

His cry is loud enough rouse some of the others but only really wakes up two of them. You stare tensely as Time and Legend sit up fast enough to nearly throw themselves into the fire as they turn to Four.

“Sorry.” You whisper yell to save his honor.

Shadow is nowhere to be found.

Time and Legend turn to you as the only other one awake and each raise an eyebrow in tandem.

“Ni-nightmare. I yelled. I’m sorry.” You try to act like you just woke up as well and try to hunker down into your blankets.

Time sighs and wipes his eyes. “You ok?”

“I will be.” You try to smile but you’re too nervous and it comes out more forced than it should- but perhaps that helps you sell your little fib.

Legend for his part glares at you before he sits down with a solid thump and throws himself dramatically back into his bedroll.

No words are exchanged between you two.

“Everything alright Four?” Time yawns as he also begins to lie down again.

“Yeah. All good here.” Four laugh nervously and waves him away.

Time nods, no longer paying attention and slowly... nearly half an hour later, you see that the two of them have fallen asleep again. Thankfully neither of them seem to realize that it didn’t sound like your voice at all.

Shadow appears again from somewhere and takes his spot next to Four. “Nice going.”

“Shut up.”

“Four, I have questions.” You sit up and make your way over to the two of them.

Shadow raises an eyebrow. “What’s there to explain?”

“Everything?”

“Ok. Ok. Both of you, don’t start. You caught us fair and square. Sit down.” Four sighs and gestures to the other spot next to him. “It’ll take a while.”

“Done.” You grin and nearly run over a sleeping Sky in the process. “Tell me everything.”

Wild

“Has anyone seen Mr. Champion?” You glance up after doing a supply check through your bag. You’re running a little low on rations and know the resident cook usually has some to spare.

But you haven’t seen him in a while.

“Didn’t he go to get fire wood?” Wind tilts his head.

“Wasn’t that at least an hour ago?” You respond, furrowing your eyebrows as you think about it more. Where did Wild go?

“He hasn’t come back yet?” Warrior sits up straighter. Now the rest of the group is a little more aware of their missing member and each start subconsciously checking the tree line as if he were about to come back that very second.

“I can go look for him.” You offer, standing up. “Maybe he got distracted. We are in a new area.”

“Oh great, he could be miles away and we’d never know.” Legend groans and throws his head back. “Just what we needed.”

“Have a little faith Vet.” You snort. With a quick jump and skip over the supplies, you begin to leave the camp behind. “Try calling him Wind, I’ll see if I can go find our missing chef before dinner.”

“Please do.” Time nods. “We’ll start a full search party if you’re not back within the next hour though. It’s getting too dark.”

“Noted.”

“I could find him faster.” You hear Twilight say but you’re already too far away to back down now.

Truthfully, you have no idea where to start- but you imagine that to find Wild- one must think like Wild.

You pick a direction and stick with it.

At some point maybe fifteen minutes in you reach a small creek and begin to follow to stream upwards.

It’s really more like you’re taking a hike than searching for your friend and you begin to feel a little stupid even if realistically there’s no other way for this to be done.

That is- until you see him anyway.

He’s seems to be frozen in place, staring off into the distance with his hands still held mid air, gripping the canteen he appears to have been filling up.

It confuses you and you stand there staring at him to move- to blink- to do something. But he doesn’t. “Wild?”

No response.

“Champion?” You call a little louder and begin to tip toe a little closer to him. You’re afraid that even the slightest snapping of a twig would break whatever spell he’s under and you don’t fancy a violent reaction out the man who can easily blow the whole area up with little to nothing.

But still no response.

“Link!” You hiss and eventually reach his side. He hasn’t once turned in your direction or even acknowledged your presence and you begin to doubt that he’s even conscious.

His eyes are open and he’s knelt beside the creek but maybe he got hit with some magic or something- you don’t know.

You gulp and place a hand on his shoulder. You shake him lightly but when that also proves to not do anything you begin to shake him more and more until you nearly throw him over-but he does not react at all.

“Oh boy... What on earth happened to you?” You bite you lip and begin to look around. He’s too heavy for you to carry on your own and also too far away to yell for help or assistance.

You should have dragged Twilight with you.

Suddenly he takes a deep breath and blinks rapidly, shaking himself back into the present.

You freeze and tense up considerably as you watch him come back to himself.

Wild stretches and looks up at the sky before standing up. “Twilight’s not going to like this.”

“No. I don’t think so.” You reply.

He freezes as well and looks at you by only shifting his eyes. “How long were you here for?”

“A while...” You admit. “Maybe fifteen minutes. You were gone for over an hour. I got worried.”

“Oh. That’s not so bad then.”

“You ok?” You gulp and slowly drop your shoulders from your ears and unclench your fists.

“Yup. Peachy.”

You nod and continue to lower your guard- not trusting this one bit. “May I ask what that was?”

“Just a memory.” He shrugs and tries to walk past you.

“A memory?” You frown and turn on your heel to follow him. “A memory? I shook you head enough to nearly throw you into the water and you claim it was because of a flashback? I’ve heard of disassociation before but I think this is more like astral projection through dimensions. You were completely gone!”

“It happens from time to time. Nothing to worry about.”

“What if something came up behind you and killed you?” You argue. “I’d say that’s something to worry about. Does this happen often?”

“Everyone once in a while. Maybe once every other month. It depends really. It doesn’t happen as often as it did in the beginning though.” Wild admits and gestures for you to follow him.

You do- but you keep asking him questions.

“So this is normal?”

“For me? Yes.”

“For you?”

“I...” Wild hisses slightly as another thought comes to his mind. “I never told you did I?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but I’m going to assume that no, you didn’t.”

“I get memories from my old life from time to time when something triggers them. I used to have amnesia but I’ve got most of the my memories back at this point... By now it’s just filling in little blanks.” Wild shrugs. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh...” Understanding calms you somewhat. At least it’s not a magic spell or anything. “How did you get amnesia? Do you remember that?”

Wild stops in his tracks and looks at the ground momentarily before looking up again and walking forward. “I died.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“I died.”

“Huh?”

“I. Died.”

“WILD!” You tense up again and follow him without hesitation. “What do you mean you died? Did you heart just stop or were you like blow up or something- Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I’m being super insensitive right now, aren’t I? But I don’t understand! I don’t- Wild- Link- you can’t just drop a bomb like that. Are you like a ghost or something? No. Wait. You can bleed and I’ve seen you crash into more walls and rocks than I care to admit.”

“This isn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting.” Wild frowns and cuts you off.

“ArE YOu oK?!”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

“But that’s not what I mean- How can that even make sense-”

“Where did you think I got my scars from?” Wild cuts you off once more with a barely restrained snort as he bites his lip.

“Oh my god.”

“I’m fine I promise.”

“Wild nooo....” You whine and Wild thinks for a minute that the information upset you so much that you’re going to cry. “Who did it? I’ll kill them with my bare hands. Who hurt you?”

Wild comes to a full stop again and sighs. Deep and tired but he tilts his head and offers you his hand. “Do you want the short story or the long?”

“Long story please.”

For the first time since this conversation started, Wild smiles even if it’s faint and subtle. “Alright, let’s take the scenic route back. This might take a while.”

Part 2

#linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #linked universe #is my personal plot line growing #maybe #maybe not #those you have been following for a while will take Warrior's call back for what it is #can't fully break away from god given duties can you?#Link is no exception #also #Apparently Sky gets prophetic dreams #i've never played skyward sword #but I've been meaning to get it for the Switch #so soon!!#Maybe Sky will be easier to write after I play it

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years ago

Text

The Good I Come Home To ||Leon S. Kennedy x Female!Reader|| Part 1

Warnings: Angsty, PTSD Leon being very jumpy and shell-shocked, mentions of sex.

Words: 3318

Summary: Originally posted to my Archive of Our Own Account.

Part 2 can be found here

Leon has kept it very casual with you for months, seemingly oblivious of the growing feelings you harbour. You have no idea just how badly it hurts him to leave you every time until he tries to cut you out of his life completely. You have other ideas. You just have to persuade Leon they're the right ones.

Leon S. Kennedy was a complicated man in many respects, but it was easy to unravel all those complex layers if you started looking at his core values, his sense of purpose. To serve, to protect. Leon was built to be the bodyguard of humanity, the first line of defence between unimaginable horror and the things he loved. Every experience had moulded him into this hard shell of a man, so far from the one people used to know. It had been interesting, really, to see an old friend from the Police Academy approach him and see just how different they had turned out. They both had the eyes of experience anybody in the force acquired over time, but Leon’s were sterner, like an unbreakable stone as opposed to ice you could chip away at and eventually shatter. This old friend of his had a small-town job and apple pie life. He had the white picket fence and the wife who kissed him when he came home to freshly made dinner. His children were doing well at school.

Leon had listened like his life was a whole other world away. It was visible in his eyes, though he carefully kept it off his face, that the comparison between each man actually disturbed him. You hadn’t meant to see of course. It was pure coincidence you’d happened to be in the supermarket, walking down that same aisle. His old friend had hit the barricade you so often hit when you asked. You’d stopped questioning it after a few months of back and forth and the looming threat of losing him became a dark and unbearable burden.

“So er, heard about the huge explosion at Raccoon. Where’d they place you after that?”

“Nowhere. I work for the government now.”

“Oh damn. FBI?”

“Something like that.”

His job was the complicated topic. Classified and bad enough to put a certain brand of darkness behind his eyes when you asked, it was best left untouched by your hands because it was hidden beneath the many layers of the man you’d only ever been allowed to scratch the surface of – literally and figuratively. Beyond his core values, the simplicity of Leon S. Kennedy lay in his needs. He was a flesh and blood man after all. He was guaranteed to need to eat, to do laundry, to shower, to relieve himself. These simple needs were what made him somewhat predictable to you. On his best days, when he text you days or hours before, you were almost guaranteed to be wined and dined. Okay so the wine and dine option was sometimes more like beer and take-out pizza but it was always paid for by him if you bought the alcohol.

When he was feeling a little less than okay, you’d get no outright statement of his desire to see you, but he’d hedge around the topic and wait for you to ask him, like he was afraid to be a nuisance. You’d only get this awkward and prompting behaviour from him an hour or two before he showed up which left you little time to prepare, but a quick shower was always on the cards. In his worst moments, he’d give no warning and simply show up at your house with smouldering eyes that demanded your attention and everything else you had to give him. God help you, you always gave him everything. As simple as his needs were, as his feelings on the matter appeared, yours were much more complicated. Leon S. Kennedy had made it clear from the start when he met you at the bar that fateful night, all chiselled jaw and playful eyes, that nothing serious was to come of this.

It had progressed to a proper agreement when you both seemed to just keep running into each other. You were free to date, if you so pleased, and he’d stop showing up. He’d be gone like dust in the wind, untraceable and impossible to bring back. You didn’t want that. Until the day either of you became tied down you had agreed you were exclusive. You sated each other only. It was hard to keep to that promise all the time when he was away for long periods, but you remained true to your word anyway, and that was how it had stayed for a solid eight months. Leon came back to a bed you kept free just for him and left in the morning like it was no more than a pit-stop on a long and winding road.

You suspected he wasn’t proud of it. You thought sometimes you could see something softer in his eyes, something that made you think he wished for something more than he was already giving you. There were moments his eyes lingered when he said goodbye, times his hands stayed on you a little longer than they usually did. On rare occasions, when he was just a bit too drunk after what you guessed was a bad job, you let him sleep it off with his arms around you and listened to the whimpers in his sleep with an aching heart. Leon consistently let you have his body, gave you the briefest glimpses at the big heart he held so carefully hidden away, but never once did he let you into his mind. As much as you loved being with him, you had never truly been with him at all. You’d never truly connected with him beyond anything physical. It pained you to know you never would. You cared for him too much. You saw the deep pain he carried with him everywhere, and you’d never be able to alleviate that load because he wouldn’t let you.

You had to pause the TV to be sure you’d actually heard anything at all, but when you heard the noise again it was stronger, bolder. Knocking. Glancing at the clock, you turned the TV off with a frown. There weren’t many people who would come knocking at this late hour, and you didn’t know if your heart was in it tonight to let him in when he would forever keep you out. As if on cue, when you opened the door to a dripping wet Leon, thunder rumbled and rattled the open window in the corridor of your apartment block. A small puddle of water had formed on the windowsill, dripping in as the harsh rain battered the glass. Leaving your door propped with the door stop you kept nearby for moments like these, you crossed to the window to close it and lock out the weather. You felt sullen enough without the storm clouds invading your house.

“Leon if you’re here to drink that’s okay but I’m not really up for-“ you cut yourself off, uncertain all of a sudden as to what it was he was here for. His needs were always so simple, the looks and actions associated with them something you had come to learn to recognise without much conscious thought. This was entirely new. Those piercing blue eyes were sullen, fighting between being as hard as sapphire and as soft as calm ocean waves. What was frightening was the depth of the ocean you saw. It was like staring into an abyss of torment. Red-ringed and with whisky on his breath, it didn’t take a genius to realise Leon had been crying and was in fairly bad shape. Hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, he stared at you through those horribly complex eyes, his mouth half open like he wanted to say something but couldn’t force the words out. He was pale, breaths even but heavy, like he had to physically remind himself to huff out each one.

Wordlessly, you took him by the hand. His skin was freezing to the touch and you guessed the faithful jacket had done little to keep the bitter cold from seeping into his exposed skin. Your theory was proven right when his cheeks were just as cold to the touch.

“I…” you thought he might say more but it was like watching a caveman learn to talk. There were only sounds, no words. He was usually very skilful with his tongue but tonight those talents were nowhere to be found. Pushing his jacket from his shoulders you hung it to dry over the back of your sofa, hoping the radiator would do its job and leave it toasty for him when he inevitably put it on to leave you again. You ignored the stinging in your chest at the thought. Leon didn’t need you to be petty right now. Truthfully, you were frightened. Leon’s carefully constructed composure had been shattered by something and you didn’t think you wanted to know what was strong enough to shatter this man’s rock hard exterior and cut him so deeply. He stood dumbly in your hallway, and you gently pushed him to the edge of the sofa to take off his shoes so they wouldn’t traipse water into your home.

“Shhh Leon, just come with me.” You coaxed him back onto socked feet, leading him down the hall to your bathroom.

“No…no Y/N I, I don’t…” he swallowed.

“Do you trust me Leon?” you asked him, keeping your voice gentle like you were cajoling a wild animal into eating from your palm. Leon nodded without question and you smiled slightly. “Then just follow for me now.” You kicked open your door and led him to the edge of the tub, grabbing a towel from the shelving units there and placing it on the sink.

“What are you doing?” he could barely speak above a whisper, looking confused and upset and lost all at once.

“I’m going to run you a nice hot bath before you catch your death. I don’t know how long you were in the rain for Leon but you’re frozen to the bone.” You said calmly, putting the plug in the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. Leon didn’t answer, merely watched you with the eyes of a man so lost in trauma he couldn’t find his way back to the surface world and make sense of the happenings around him. While you waited for the water to turn steamy, you rubbed at his hair with the towel in your hand to dry it. You knew something was incredibly wrong when he let you mess it up like that. There were very few instances you were allowed to touch his hair and you had to always, always comb it back into place or suffer the consequences. Occasionally, you took a break to fill the tub with some of your prized bath oils. Lavender, camomile, jasmine, all your favourite scents from a beautiful kit a colleague had bought you as part of secret Santa last year.

He didn’t comment as the room filled with intoxicating, relaxing scents, nor when you checked the temperature again and told him he could get in when he was ready. He held the towel in both hands, staring at the cotton as if it might hold some answers.

“Thank you.” He mumbled. You nodded once.

“Have you eaten anything yet?” you asked him. He nodded once, but he didn’t meet your gaze. He was lying you were sure. “Okay. Take as long as you need in here, I’ll be about when you feel ready to see me alright?” you promised, leaning up to kiss his cheek softly. Your lips lingered a little too long, but Leon didn’t move away. He closed his eyes as if the contact was all he had wanted and more. As the door closed behind you you heard the soft, muffled sob he tried so hard to bury in the towel, and your heart broke a little more. Something had shattered Leon S. Kennedy and it didn’t sit well with you at all to see him this vulnerable. He needed the space right now to get his mind back in order but once he did, when he was ready to face you, you weren’t sure you’d get an explanation from him. He’d shut down every time you’d ever asked for one before.

He’d woken screaming one night, lashing out so violently that if you had been sat upright there’d have been no way to avoid his fist and he’d have knocked you out cold. When you tried to ask what was wrong, he’d simply snapped at you to leave him be and left your apartment so fast there could have been a fire under his ass. So, what did you do? Did you just not even try? He hadn’t made a move on you, had specifically said no when he saw you heading in the direction of the bedroom. But if he wasn’t here for sex what was he here for? It only added to your anxiety that you really had no clue what he wanted if it wasn’t your body he’d come for, and though part of you thought that should make you angry, another part of you hoped that that meant it was something more that he was after this time. The kind of more you wanted.

No. You had to try for him. You couldn’t let him go on like this. He didn’t have to fight the war in his head alone, not when you were here. At least, if he wanted to go it alone, he could have someone stable waiting with a safety net if he stumbled. For now you’d let him linger and soak in the tub, and you’d make the most out of the ingredients you had in the fridge. If he stayed, he could eat it off a plate. If he didn’t…well, you’d make some in a container in case. Pasta bake had always been your father’s speciality and it had been your favourite as a child, was still your comfort food now. Chicken and bacon sizzled, pasta boiled, and you grated the cheese to the rhythm of your favourite song playing softly on the radio while the milk and butter warmed on the stove. You snagged a piece of bacon from the wok and let the salty flavour burn your tongue.

With your masterpiece constructed and more cheese grated on top, you slid the dish into the oven for it to crisp up and set your timer, setting about washing the utensils next. It kept your hands busy, kept your mind from wandering too much, but even the sudsy water couldn’t quite keep your mind from ticking over. Why had Leon come here in the pouring rain? What had spooked him so badly he’d thought, in his less than coherent state, that he needed to be here in your apartment? Did the fact he’d come to you mean anything at all or did he just happen to be nearby? You put the saucepan a little harder than necessary into the rack when it slipped from your hands, jumping and cursing to yourself at the loud clang it had made.

“Y/N!” Leon almost roared your name in pure, abject terror. Eyes wide you rushed for the bathroom, hands still soapy and dripping water. He was already out of the bathtub, naked and scrambling through his jacket until he came up with a gun of all things, aimed right at you as you burst through the door. A shriek escaped you and you immediately dropped to the floor, hands above your head.

“Leon it’s me!” you begged. Harsh breathing filled the room.

“Where is it?” he demanded. You peeked up at him from below your arms, lowering them slowly. He was half-crouched, eyes wild and fixated on the door that led back to your room. He offered you a hand. “Come on, get up and get behind me, where is it?” he repeated the question more firmly now.

“Where’s what? Leon I – there’s only us here. I just dropped a saucepan.” You breathed. His expression faltered, confusion flooding his features first , then guilt, and finally grief. His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply, held it, exhaled slowly. He lowered his gun after a few more deep breaths.

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking a little like a kicked puppy. You shook your head, slowly pushing to your feet so as not to startle him. His skin was tinged pink, little suds clinging to the ends of his hair. The timer went off in the kitchen and Leon flinched again, hand tensing around the gun. You soothingly placed your hand on his arm.

“It’s just the timer. We’re the only people here Leon, nothing’s going to hurt us. How’s about you dry off and come have something to eat?” you suggested. He blanched at the mention of food and you frowned. “You don’t have to eat everything, just a little bit, you look really pale.” You reached for the towel and held it out to him until he reluctantly nodded and wrapped it around his waist. You left the door slightly ajar and headed for the kitchen to switch off the damn timer. He was so jumpy, so eager to jump to your defence. You plated up a small portion, not wanting to put him off with a large one. You didn’t feel particularly hungry yourself but you’d had a proper meal earlier in the evening, a cup of tea would suffice, camomile and honey would soothe your nerves. Leon had a liking for peppermint you knew. Maybe if he was nauseous that would help him eat? Tea and pasta bake served you sat opposite his place, one hand wrapped around the handle of your mug and the other pulled up to your mouth, your teeth nibbling the side of your nail.

“You’ll make your thumb sore.” He lingered in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he should sit down or run away. You dropped your hand and placed a more welcoming smile on your lips, nodding to the plate.

“Chicken and bacon pasta bake. It’s good.” You invited. Hesitantly, Leon shuffled to the chair and sat down. You didn’t push him to talk. Months of being with Leon had assured you that pushing would only clam him up further, and you wanted to pry him open tonight. With a sinking feeling, you realised it might be the last night you ever saw him. He’d let himself be extremely vulnerable to you already and you weren’t the type of person to see this kind of trauma and let it go unchecked. You’d want to check in on him, you’d want to help him feel better, and Leon didn’t appreciate the questions you’d have to ask to get the kind of help he needed right. He sighed slightly, picking up the fork and taking a small bite. He looked physically sick for the first few mouthfuls, and you made an effort to distract him with small talk about the weather, your day and all its mundane happenings.

He seemed enraptured by your very voice, soaking in every syllable that crossed your lips and mindlessly working his arm and mouth to clear the plate and drain the mug in front of him.

“Can I have a bit more? It’s really good.” He surprised you with his request but you obliged him, spooning some more on his plate.

“If you’re that partial to it you can take some home to.” You said simply. He nodded once, clearing the second portion with ease and looking much better for it. The colour had returned to his cheeks and he looked a little more put together than before. You settled back in your chair, watched him clean his plate and put it in the drying rack. It was a courtesy you’d never have asked for but were grateful for nonetheless. He didn’t turn around though, keeping his back to you and tightening his grip on the countertop.

#resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon s kennedy #female reader #leon kennedy x female reader #angsty #tw ptsd #part 1

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petite-ely · 4 years ago

Text

Afraid // JJ Maybank

five - but what if?

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem routledge! reader

Warnings: bad language (don’t swear kids), mention of drowning, mention of death, nightmares, mention of guns, mention of fight, did I miss something.

Description: after his reckless actions at the party, JJ is unable to sleep but he isn’t the only one still awake.

A/n : I don’t want to make this longer than it already is, I think I’ve talked enough lol. If for some reason you want to know why I’ve been gone for so long I’ve written a post regarding it. Sorry again for not posting in so long. If you want to chat, feel free to reach out. I’m friendly. :) please kindly tell me if I’ve made some mistakes, I’ve reread this like a hundred times but its possible some mistakes slipped.

Previously next

Afraid masterlist

Gif by @cobrazkai

Song recommendation

JJ Maybank was 14 years old when he first realized that he had feelings for one of his best friends. The thing is he didn’t know what the hell those feelings were. He had always thought that y/n was really pretty and he considered her to be one of her closest friends and that was it. Friends- that’s what they were.

But after years of friendship and wild adventures and basically hanging out 24/7, something felt different. And boy, did that scare him.

JJ was not the kind of person to be really in touch with his emotions. Being abandoned by his own mother and living with an abusive alcoholic father didn’t really help either. If anything, his past traumas only made him more disconnected from his emotions and feelings.

He might’ve been hot headed and impulsive but that didn’t stop him from feeling things, often even too deeply. The issue was naming the emotions he was feeling. He didn’t know what he was feeling like half of the time. So when it came to y/n, his feelings for her were so intense and unknown. He had never felt this way for anyone before. He was so confused.

Being around her felt weirdly homely and yet, he never really had a real home to come to. For him, it was only a house. It was a building with things he wasn’t really attached to and a man he couldn’t really call a father, despite DNA saying otherwise. Being with her felt warm and golden and it was like a drug he couldn’t say no to. He was constantly looking for ways to feel this specific way. It was euphoric. But he only felt this way when he was around her. And it felt like home.

She was the home he wanted to come to every freaking night. And he wanted to dance with her and have night long discussion and caress her cheeks tenderly. He wanted to kiss her more than anything else, his lips on hers staying that way until one of them needed to take a breath - oh what heavenly feeling that must be. He wanted to proclaim his feelings to the entire island - the entire world even.

Only he couldn’t. There was this rule, and he couldn’t break it. Usually, he wasn’t the kind of person to let rules determine what he should and shouldn’t do. But it was the pogue rules, he couldn’t break them. He couldn’t do that to his friends, regardless of his own feelings.

Love. That’s what his feelings were. It took him some time to realize it, but yeah, it was love. He was certain of it (which was rare for JJ). A first love, innocent, deep and one sided. At least that’s what he thought. How could she love him? How could anyone love him when even his own father didn’t? Who would want him?

Now, JJ had messed, big time.

He was sitting beneath a tree, at the edge of the yard whims the château, a few feet away from where the water started. His gaze was turned towards the sunrise though he wasn’t really looking at the magnificent show of colours that nature was offering him. He was thinking or more like regretting.

He kept replaying the event that had happened just a few hours ago on the boneyard again and again in his mind. The arrogance on John B’s face while he taunted the kooks, the empty, psychotic look on Topper’s face while he was holding J.B’s head underwater, his own hand holding the gun against Topper’s head. It felt so powerful at the moment and yet in retrospect he felt so stupid. What would he have done if something had actually happened, if someone had gotten hurt because of him?

In the spur of the moment, he hadn’t thought about it really much. How crazy it actually was. He saw his friend in a situation where he could actually die and only thought about helping him. He had this thing with him that could help save him, an object that take could take someone’s life in the matter of seconds. So he used it at his advantage. He had only wanted to help, but at what cost.

He kept picturing the expression on y/n’s face when he got the gun out. It wasn’t anger, no it was much worse, she was terrified. She had actually been scared of him. How could he ever make up for that. How he could he ever admit what he was feeling for her after he had brought her such terror. He had ruined everything.

What if she never forgot that moment? What if she never forgave him?

A branch cracked somewhere in the distance, and JJ turned to face whoever, or whatever, was lurking in the dark. He was blinded by the bright artificial light of a flashlight. “JJ?” A voice spoke and the blond immediately recognized it. Y/n.

“Can you please turn it off, I don’t think it’s necessary,” he responded, motioning to the clarity that brought the sunrise. It was light enough for them to fully see one another.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, “-she sat down beside him- “Couldn’t sleep?” JJ stared at her for a moment before taking his eyes away.

“Yeah, you could say that. What about you? John B snoring too loud?” Y/n gave a small laugh.

“Um, no, not this time.” Her smile went down. “I had a nightmare.” JJ’s brows furrowed.

“Not about um, not about tonight right?” He asked, guilt hidden in the tremors of his voice.

Images of the past night filled y/n’s mind. Her brother being held under water, JJ pulling the gun out, the loud echoing sound of the firearm as it shot in the air. She could still hear it ringing slightly in her ears.

A small moment went by before she finally shook her head in denial, earning a small sigh of relief from the blond (at least that wasn’t his fault, he already felt guilty for so many things). “No, uh, no it wasn’t that,” she said, her voice barely audible.

JJ stared at her face in the golden light of this early morning. He noticed the blank stare in her eyes and frowned. Nightmares, although worrying for most people, were pretty common for y/n. JJ of course knew this, yet something felt odd.

He rested his hand on the small part of her back between her shoulder blades. “Do you want to talk about it?” She turned her head to meet his eyes, the feeling of his skin, warm and soft against hers sending small tingles at the base of her neck.

She didn’t want to bother him with her problems, she knew how horrible his home life was compared to what she was living. She didn’t want to remind him of this not make him feel bad about her small problems when he was facing such violence on a daily basis. Still, she knew JJ and talking about his dad was the last thing he wanted to do. And his eyes, his beautiful ocean blue eyes, it’s like they could see through her. How could she lie to him?

“I, uh I-I-“ his hand went to her shoulder and he squeezed it reassuringly. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.” Y/n felt her cheeks burning (hopefully he didn’t notice it). She took a moment to breathe in deeply the fresh air, calming herself slightly before putting her hand on his.

“No, I-I want to. I think it’ll help, in a way.” JJ cracked a sweet smile. “Alright then.”

“I keep having this one dream about my dad and I see him on his boat wandering. He’s lost in the middle of the ocean and he’s calling my name.” Saying those words, she really felt as though she could hear her father calling her name in the far distance, as if he was right beside her. Sadly, it was only her imagination playing tricks on her.

“And it keeps turning to this nightmare, where he dies in various horrible ways. Either drowned or starved or eaten by sharks.” JJ’s gaze softened, his eyes admiring her lips forming each words one after the other. “But tonight-“ she let go of his hand, shifting her body to face him completely, “-tonight, for a reason, I didn’t see him.”

“The boat was empty.”

Flashes of her nightmare came back to her like waves crashing on the beach. Her dad on his boat, a smile sketched on his lips. The sky is clear blue, not a cloud is in sight. There’s a warm breeze, she can almost feel it on her skin, and the sun is shining. It’s almost utopian, the perfect day to spend out in the sea.

Then the scene changes. The sky darkens to a deeper shade of blue, grey clouds towering the ocean. The wind is stronger, much stronger. It whistles as it makes its way in the crevices between each tree and threatens to tear the sails down. And the boat, she can see it floating hauntingly on the wild waves the same way a ghost would in abandoned castle. And there’s no trace of her father. Not even a feeling, that would tell her he’s there, trying to survive this storm.

“What if he really is gone J? What if my dad-“ she stopped her sentence to look at the horizon, somehow hoping to see a sign that would prove she was wrong. “I’m trying so hard to be positive and optimistic, but it’s been so long. What if he never comes back?”

The look in her eyes was heart-wrenching. JJ didn’t know what to say or do. He never really thought about it. What would happen if Big John was gone. To be honest he didn’t want to, that man was more of father to him than his own ever was. And losing him would be... he preferred not to think about it.

“I disagree,” he finally said. “What?” “Your dad is like one of the smartest person I’ve ever known. I think that, he, of all people would know how to get out of any situation, especially if it seems impossible to everyone else. I don’t think that you should give up on him yet.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, I do,” he smiled. “So fuck everyone who tells you otherwise,“ y/n giggled. “Fuck all of them! You’re allowed to have hope, y/n, even after this much time. They can’t take that from you.”

“In the meantime, we’ll there’s us,” us, “the pogues, our own family. We can get through anything, right?”

“Yeah, we can.” Y/n’s head fell on his shoulder. “We’re the pogues.”

JJ admired her carefully. How her face looked, basked in the golden rays of the sun, looking so terribly tired and yet so beautiful. He could stay like this forever, losing himself completely in her smile. God she was so wonderful.

“Hey y/n/n?” “Yeah?” “Are you mad at me?” “Huh?”

“Why would I be ma- oh, oh.” The gun. He thought she was mad at him for what he did. Though he saved her brother, didn’t he? So, she didn’t understand why he would think she could hate him.

“It’s just that you looked so terrified when-” “You saved him JJ, that’s what matters most.” Y/n interrupted the boy mid sentence, placing her hand on his arm in gratitude. “If you hadn’t done anything, he could have...” she didn’t finish her sentence.

When she saw JJ holding the firearm against Topper’s head just a few hours ago, she had first been incredibly shocked. She didn’t recognize the JJ she knew. But now, she completely understood. It was his way of protecting his friends, his way of showing he cared. And that, she admired him for it. Though he could’ve shown it in a less dangerous way.

“I admit,” she added, “it was dangerous and a bit scary to see and we’re probably gonna get some kind of revenge from the kooks soon, but no one got hurt. And J.B, well he’s okay! We’re all okay!”

“Also, I’m pretty sure I did some very, very stupid things last night, so I can’t really be mad at you,” she cringed remembering the amount of alcohol influenced things she had said and done during the party. “God, I must have looked so ridiculous.”

JJ laughed at her comment. “Yes, yes you did.” “Man, John B was right, I can’t believe I’m saying this.”

“Can you just promise me something?” Asked y/n, once their laughter had died. “Depends what?”

“Promise me you’ll never hurt yourself with that thing, or anyone else for that matter.”

“I promise, y/n. ”

“Thank you.”

Taglist

@deionswannabegirl @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @poguestyle17 @im-a-stranger-thing @lasnaro @thoughtsofthestars @briandaflores19 @lunaposey @allycat449-blog @ifilwtmfc @kitty084 @coloradogirl07 @ponyboys-sunsets @chaoticbisous @p0gue420 @sloaneemily

If I forgot you or if you wanna be added/removed just tell me! Also I’m sorry if your name didn’t work :/

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yangrdn · 4 years ago

Text

brutal | mj

summary: being a teenager is brutal.

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: hinting at suicide (i think only twice), swear words, not proof-read

my m.list

SOUR m.list

“i want it to be, like, messy”

and that it is, messy. seventeen is really messy. it’s like someone in front of your doorstep waited all their life long, waited until the day you turned 17 and let in demons and fears.

as if school isn’t enough stress, the cherry on top is the fact that you’re in love with your best friend. and you want to confess. now, this doesn’t sound the worst. what could go wrong other than her not feeling the same? yes, her. you don’t even know if she likes girls that way, or if she likes anyone.

mj is quiet, keeps to herself. most times you see her at lunch or in the library, face hidden behind a book and bottle of juice set next to her on the table. it’s like all she does is living off of books, in her own little world. and you admire her for that.

because if you could, you’d escape into the world the books you’ve read introduced you to, too. like your size shrinking, the book open on the floor and just jumping in, landing on colorful grass and being able to run and run and run and leave all your worries behind, only feeling the wind blowing into your face as you laugh.

instead, you got big nebulas clouding your brain in a dark place. it’s like those clouds have names, “i don’t like me”, “fear”, “death”, “insecure” floating around you and making the place you’re supposed to get inspiration from dark. like a storm, the rain being replaced by the tears let loose when you’re laying alone in your bed at night, thinking about everything you’ve faced and will need to face everyday.

you adored how she keeps everything to herself, how she stays out of drama. another thing that makes you think about how people perceive you. what do they see? do they see the y/n that is content with her life and balances school and private life, with little to no worries of failing classes and turning her homework in before it’s even due? or do they see the y/n that cries at night, the one that is always so close to losing it and screaming at the image reflected in the mirror as tears run down her face and ruin the make up she put on beforehand, trying to feel prettier?

the thought of them seeing the latter haunts you to sleep.

“y/n! have you heard?” betty comes up behind you, waving her phone in front of your face. you slow down your steps and let her catch up to you as you walk together to your third class that day, chemistry. you frown and take her phone as she hands you it, staring with wide eyes at the picture.

“is that flash?” you whisper, as if saying his name out loud would summon him into the full hallways. she nods swiftly, swiping with her finger so that another picture comes up. your eyes widen, making it look as if they were about to pop out. “holy shit! isn’t this brad!”

“yes! they got drunk at liz’s party and mj decided to paint their faces with a pink marker. do you see that? that’s a dick on his nose,” she giggles and takes her phone back after pointing on brad’s face. frowning, you question betty.

“uhm, mj was at liz’s party?” betty only nods, distracted by the pictures she’s looking at on her phone. “oh…” your voice sounds flat, sad even. you shake your head quickly. betty frowns as she looks up to you.

“what do you mean oh? did she not tell you?”

no, she didn’t “i think i was busy on friday, so we didn’t really talk,” you like. she hums and turns back to her phone, whispering something about blackmailing brad and flash with the pictures and calling flash flish dick. upon hearing that, you chuckle lightly.

in class, your mind wanders again. you think about the things you can compare life, deciding to call it tornado. because it starts small, no worries, nothing. it gets bigger, bigger and bigger until you’re standing in the middle of a big wild field that once used to be full of yellow, bright flowers, now surrounded by an enormous tornado sucking you in and making you look around confused, staring at all the different clouds in grey, reminding you of your nervous state.

why is 17 so hard? everyone keeps saying “enjoy your youth” when everything you’re getting from it is pain and more crying, as if you were a waterfall. it’s supposed to be like in the movies, instead it’s all a lie. where’s the teenage dream everyone’s oh so happy waiting for? you’ve been waiting for three years, why isn’t it here yet?

or maybe, just maybe, it’s supposed to be mj. just maybe your teenage dream is mj and you’re meant to be. but how? movies show you a girl and boy, never have you seen a movie about a smart girl getting to know the other smart girl and ending up falling in love. with your head so deep in all these movies, it’s getting hard to believe you’ll get anything like that. and on top of that with a girl.

all you did everyday after waking up was try your best. you’re nice to everyone, the first ready to help. sticking up to yourself is hard but if it meant being able to help others, that is enough. that is enough to make you happy. but of course, the universe has other plans. because instead of giving you the best, you’re met everyday with a new insecurity. is this the kind of thanks somebody who helps, gives and loves deserves?

“have you heard? sam and jenny are back together!”

“what? that’s like the fifth time,” the red head at the lunch table next to you rolls her eyes, taking slow bites of her pasta. well, that’s what school calls it. it looks like someone put noodles into a pot and threw a can of orange into it, mixing it and feeding it to students as if they were a bunch of hamsters.

you tune out once again. your own thoughts drowning you and making students laughing shouting and talking sound like someone trying to get your attention standing on a boat, waving their hand in front of your face to invite you in, saying “come out!”.

is it normal to be sick of yourself? every corner you look at, every person walking by you is an example of what you could be. happier, prettier. jealousy being the best term to use, insecurities and fear that the person you love will leave you any second for someone more exciting and be happier with them.

all these girls look so cool. they have money, they have clothes and they have a family that loves them. their teeth being so white you could compare them to paper, their bodies a pretty shape of an hourglass. and you know that even if you looked like them, loving yourself only comes from within but it gets harder and harder to force yourself to stare into the mirror and say “i am pretty” whilst your voice gets louder, trying to convince yourself.

“y/n? do you want to come with us tomorrow?” you blink rapidly, raising your lowered head an squinting your eyes as you look at gwen. she’s nice, blonde hair and blue eyes.

she’s so helpful, always ready to answer any questions you got regarding school. she once even gave you a chocolate bar in seventh grade when everyone had money to buy themselves something, the same day you forgot to tell your mom if she could give you some. she was the only one that noticed and offered to share her food, and since then you couldn’t stop thinking about how much she stands out walking in a crowd. it could be her hair, her pale skin that resembles a cloud on a summer afternoon or her lips that are always painted red. either way, she seems like the perfect girl with her amazing looks and high grades.

“uhm, where are you going?” you cough, trying not to sound too surprised. will she know you haven’t been listening this whole time?

“peter, ned, mj and i wanted to get ice after school. the sun’s out and it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain today,” she says. you hum, nodding your head as you chew on your pasta.

“i’ll go.”

“great! my dad will rent us his car for the day. he’s been letting me drive it more often now, after getting my drivers license,” she tells you proud, earning a smile from you before she turns her head and continues to talk with betty.

“say cheese!” mj hugs you, pulling you close and pressing her cheek against yours before raising her hand up in a peace sign and showing the camera peter’s holding a big toothy grin, her hair being blown at every direction thanks to the cool wind.

you’re caught off guard, frown resident on your face and wide eyes looking everywhere before you spot the black camera, now too late to compose yourself when you see the flash going off and peter throwing his head back after analyzing the picture.

“you two look so cute together,” ned remarks as he comes to stand next to peter, handing him a popsicle. you drop your eyes after catching yourself staring at the girl. she turns around, her face beaming as she comes to hug you.

“what can i say? we’re the two pretty best friends,” she giggles. you laugh awkwardly, not knowing what to say. your crush just called you pretty. but she als called you best friend. but then again, she’s your friend so she always calls you pretty. what if she lied? what if she-

“ayo, i’m going to look in the house if there’s something cold to drink. my throat’s literally drying out,” ned notes, turning around and walking into the cabin. peter following him.

“the cabin’s pretty, hm?” mj sits down on one of the blue plastic chairs, pulling one next to her and patting the empty spot. you nod and sit down.

your friend group let peter decide what to do this year’s summer break. and like the smart boy he is, he decided to take his chance and ask tony if he could rent a cabin for ten days at a beautiful lake.

“yeah. it’s,” you stare off in distance, searching for words,” it’s hot.”

“hot?” mj asks laughing, her shoulders vibrating and you can see her locks floating in the wind as wrinkles are made up around her beautiful eyes. god, you could look at her forever.

“yes. i mean, i feel like i could melt,” you joke and lean back in the chair, closing your eyes as you soak up the sun. it feels good.

you frown when you feel water drops hitting your face. is it raining? before you could even think of a reason, your eyes snap open at the feeling of cold water hitting your eyes. you gasp and jump up, squinting at the two boys sniggering behind you.

“you fuckers! dude, this is cold!” you shout as you turn around, facing them. mj is wheezing behind you, throwing her head back and clapping her hands.

“i’m so fucking sorry for laughing, but this is so,” another laugh leaves her lips before she can finish her sentence. you chuckle, trying to stifle a laugh.

“this is for stealing my lunch!” peter shouts, holding up a phone. your eyes wide, he’s filming.

“that was in seventh grade,” you whine and let your shoulders fall. you gasp at a new idea. slowly, you make long strides to peter and ned. peter lowers his phone, eyebrows furrowing at ned when you get closer.

“dude, i think she’s trying to-” you cut ned off when you throw your arms around both boys, squishing them in your arms and making sure they got water everywhere.

“i love you guys so much, time for a hug!” you giggle and let go off them. ned looks down at himself, clothes damp.

“this was the last pair of shirts i had,” peter groans. ned shakes his head.

“i should’ve listened to my mom when she said to bring an extra pair of shorts. you cackle walking back to your chair and sitting down. at least it’s not hot anymore.

this is a memory you surely aren’t going to forget so soon.

why is it that when you do something new, it’s new. it’s something you’ve never done before and it could go anything but right. it could turn out to be the best thing you’ve ever done, it could make you cry, make you want to die, it could be a big step into the future. it could be anything, good and bad but you would never know unless you find out by trying it out.

“i wish i had done this before,” you mutter, kicking the stone out of your way. ned sighs, nudging your shoulder.

“i’m sure you’ll get your chance! i mean, she was just a crush,” he states. you raise your head, staring at him.

“i just got rejected by mj. i told her i liked her for months. i sound like a fucking freak and stalker!” you cry and throw your hands up. “ned, our best friend!”

“she will forget over the weekend,” he tries to cheer you up, voice sounding insecure and quiet. you roll your eyes and sigh.

loving people is annoying and painful. sometimes, we love people we usually wouldn’t like. and we love people we like but are not meant to like us, and they never will. you’ve heard of countless stories of other people your age being rejected, but they moved on. it sounds so easy to move on. live your life like before, wake up everyday and not cringe at the thought that you told your best friend you liked her. that’s not possible right now. all you want is for her to feel the same, and it makes you angry. because of her. it’s selfish to feel angry and mad because of the girl that rejected you. is it a mistake you made? is she disgusted? does she not think you’re pretty?

“i know what you’re thinking. stop it.” the voice startles you. you raise your eyes to be met with peter. you feel tears fill your eyes.

“she said no,” you whisper, letting the tears fall. he opens his arms and you fall into his embrace, wetting his shirt with your tears as you hide your face on his chest.

it’s fucking brutal.

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chicksung · 3 years ago

Text

Can’t You See Me? || Choi Chanhee

part of @ficscafe fic exchange event!

Genre: angst, little bit of fluff, ghost!au

Pairing: ghost!chanhee x reader (ft. younghoon)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: death, depictions of depression, dealing with death, mentions of a car accident

Synopsis: You loved Chanhee, with your whole being. You didn’t what you would do without him. However, it seems like life intended for you to be without him for the rest of your days

A/N: this fic is for rani @letteredwings please enjoy lovely. sorry that it’s a little late :/ this is unedited. please ignore any mistakes

any and all feedback is appreciated

Choi Chanhee promised you that he would love you until the day he would inevitably stop breathing and cease to exist. You always laughed off the comment, thinking it was just a stupid saying he would be saying into old age. You wished you had taken it as a sign, maybe you would’ve been more cautious, maybe this whole situation could’ve been avoided. What you didn’t know is that he had died a liar when he said those ridiculous words. He loved you after he passed too.

Chanhee stood helplessly in the kitchen, watching you stand there with an aching heart. You were wide eyed, shocked and frozen from the news.

“I’m…sorry?” You stammered, hoping, praying, that your ears were deceiving you with mean elementary school tricks.

“Is your partner Choi Chanhee?” The man’s voice seemed down, like he was scared to tell you again.

“Yes, he is. We’ve been together since high school,” You informed him, trying to push down the sickening churning in your stomach.

“I regret to inform you that your partner has passed away. We received a call this morning of an accident. A truck had collided with a car. The truck driver seemed to be okay, but your partner’s injuries seemed to be more serious.” Every word pricked your heart, which was as fragile as a balloon being poked with a needle, “We tried everything, but he eventually passed away. I’m very sorry for your loss.” You nodded, your chest tightened painfully, your vision blurry from the tears in your eyes.

“Alright, thank you for letting me know. Have a good afternoon, sir,” You signed off, trying to keep your voice from cracking.

“You too, and again, I’m sorry for your loss,” The line went dead and you placed the phone on the kitchen counter. Chanhee? Dead? No, he can’t be. He had specifically said he would be careful on the road. Tears slipped down your cheeks like sweet raindrops, your knees pathetically giving out as you wailed, yelling out obscenities and curses. Chanhee ran behind you.

“No, I’m right here! Can’t you see-” He went to place his hand on your shoulder when he realised how pale, almost transparent, he was. He sat beside you on the floor, a million thoughts passing through his mind. He couldn’t comfort you, only able to listen to you cry his name in a desperate plea to bring him back to you. Chanhee’s heartstrings tugged harshly, but he was helpless. He was nothing but a memory now, a missing part of your shared apartment, a ghost.

You stood amongst crowds of familiar faces, his friends, family, distant relatives, colleagues, the list goes on. Who they were didn’t really matter to you, what mattered was the casket being carried away from the church doors and out into the miserable weather. Fitting, you supposed, that it was pouring with rain on the day of his funeral. Attendees moved outside, umbrellas creating a dismal cloud of sorrow above them. It had been two weeks since Chanhee had passed away now, but for some reason you could not bring yourself to cry. No matter how many times you felt his absence, not even after looking in his open casket, no tear stung your eye. You watched emotionlessly as his coffin was slowly dropped into the rectangular hole just beneath his headstone.

Here lies Choi Chanhee

Loving son, brother and friend

April 26 1998 - August 17 2021

Until we meet again, my love

You felt a hand slide across your shoulder comfortingly, Chanhee’s best friend, Younghoon’s. You didn’t react, didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You remained stone cold and kept your face void of expression. A different feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. Irritation? Anxiety? Frustration? It was hard to describe, which typically meant it was complicated, and you didn’t really like complicated feelings. You could sense a storm coming, and judging from the storm clouds of emotion in your mind, it didn’t look like it would be clearing up any time soon.

A distance away from the gathering of mourners, a pale figure stood solemnly. Sure, watching his own funeral felt weird, but Chanhee could only think of you, and how you stood there, in a similar way to him, unable to display your emotions. He wished for one second, just one, that he could understand what you were thinking, feeling, praying. Maybe there would be a way to ease the pain you felt in your heart? He was technically responsible for said pain, so shouldn’t he try and fix it?

Younghoon had been coming over more, Chanhee would notice when he would be sitting on the foot of your bed, which you had not made the effort to get out of. Everyday, the time you would eventually get up would be pushed back. Before, it was only an hour later, then it was two, then three, then four, until one day, he noticed that you only got up to go to the toilet. He would listen to you cry, sniffle, send the occasional text to someone. Younghoon had seemed to notice, so had made it routine that he would come over at exactly 1:09pm every day to help you get out of bed and try to create a productive day together. Chanhee had memorised the sound of Younghoon’s footsteps, the sound of his keys jingling in the door’s lock, the way he would hum as he made his way to the bedroom. Younghoon had become the life inside of the dead quiet house. Chanhee noticed the way that his best friend would look at you, the sad sigh that would escape his lips when he saw you, sprawled out and weeping.

“Come on. You can’t keep moping in here,” Younghoon sauntered over to your bedside, crouching down to get a better view of your face.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. Go away,” you hissed, pulling the covers over your head, childishly pretending that if you couldn’t see him, he would simply fade from existence.

“Bubba,” he called out sweetly, tugging the covers out of your grasps, “you’re running low on food. I don’t want you going hungry, and besides, it’s a nice day outside. Whaddya say?” With a low groan, you slowly rose from the safety of your sheets, loose hairs sticking up in wild directions. Chanhee rushed to your side, his cold touch to your cheek sending a cold shiver down your spine. He sighed somewhat sadly as he watched Younghoon help you out of bed. It should be him helping you out of bed every morning, it should be him trying to motivate you with small activities. However, deep down he knew that if it were him, you wouldn’t even be struggling to get out of bed in the morning. He was the cause of your lack of motivation, he was the cause of your pain, your suffering. Every emotion you were feeling right now was because of him, and somehow, in some way, he wished he was still there. He wished he was Younghoon.

“Where’s Uncle Chanhee?” Your young nephew looked up at you with big eyes, confusedly looking around to find his favourite uncle. You sighed softly. You knew you would have to have this discussion with him sooner or later.

“Uncle Chanhee...isn’t going to be coming today,” you explained, kneeling down to the four year old’s level. Chanwoo’s bottom lip quivered slightly, “Why not?” He asked with glossy eyes. He had been really looking forward to playing with Uncle Chanhee, and couldn’t understand why he didn’t wanna play with him. You knew Chanwoo was too young to understand death, but he had seemingly noticed Chanhee’s absence. You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to think of some sort of acceptable lie to tell a child.

“He’s not well today. He says he really wish he could play today, but he had to stay home,” You pet the boy’s head softly, hoping he would understand. The little boy nodded, seeming to understand.

“Can I make Uncle Chanhee a get well soon card?” He asked with wonder in his eyes, and you would have to be a monster to have said no.

“Of course, Woo. Go get your craft things.”

You helped your nephew decorate his ‘card’ which was really just a folded sheet of printer paper, but you weren’t about to rain on his innocent parade.

“I’m still sad that I can’t play with Uncle Chanhee. I wish he was here,” Chanwoo admitted, writing a sweet message in lopsided messy handwriting.

“Just because he’s not here in person, doesn’t mean he’s not here in spirit,” you explained, drawing a sun in the corner of the card for the youngster to colour in.

“What do you mean?”

“It's kind of like magic,” you pondered aloud, “like a hug you can feel from someone who is not there.” The child nodded.

“Yeah! Like it still feels like mommy is hugging me even when she’s not there,” it was your turn to nod.

“Exactly, Woo! You’re such a clever boy,” you ruffled his soft hair, making him giggle uncontrollably.

You were right, in a way. Chanhee was there, as a literal spirit. He felt a warm surge crash over his pale body, knowing that Chanwoo wanted to make him a card without fully understanding what was going on. A child too sweet for this world. However, it wasn’t Chanwoo he was focusing on. It was you. You weren’t crying, you weren’t wailing his name in agony. You seemed peaceful, collected, like you were watching the sunset over the sea. You were starting to come to terms with no longer having your boyfriend there. Sure, it pained you every morning to roll over and say good morning to someone who never even got into bed that night, but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. He was unsure how long you would stay in this peaceful mindframe, but only the best storyteller will tell, time.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Younghoon asked softly, eyes just as gentle as his words. You nodded, confident in your decision. You were a little unsure when you first brought up the idea to him, but it had to be done. The both of you walked up the hill in the cemetery, hands intertwined. You two had been dating for some time now, but you always had this lingering feeling that Chanhee wouldn’t like what you were doing. You loved Chanhee dearly, but you felt the same about Younghoon. It had been almost seven months since you received that phone call, but slowly everything in your life was piecing itself back together, formerly shattered after the tsunami of emotions that wiped out everything that made you feel human. You stood at the face of his gravestone, his name etched prettily into the cool rock.

“Hey,” you greeted, your hand slipping out of your boyfriend’s. Chanhee displayed an invisible smile.

Hey.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence felt awkward and heavy on your tongue.

It has. How have you been?

“I’ve been doing well. Just trying to get by, you get it.”

Yeah, I get it. Is that Younghoon?

“I was getting to that. I’m not sure how it happened, but it did. He helped me a lot after you passed. I owe him a lot. Mainly ice cream,” You laughed at yourself, partially because of your bad joke, and partially because of how ridiculous you must sound to anyone passing by.

You’re dating now?

“Yeah. I just...I wanted to say thank you,” you blurted, playing with the tips of your fingers.

Why are you thanking me?

“You taught me a lot, Chanhee. How to cook ramen properly, how to make the best oven baked pizza anyone has ever had, but most of all, you taught me how to love. And while I love you so much, my god, you can’t even believe to comprehend it, I’ve found someone else that I love,” You felt tears spring to your eyes. You were the only one talking, so why did it sound like you were saying goodbye? You glanced at Younghoon, who only smiled weakly.

“Can I say a few words?” Younghoon stepped forward, placing his hand on your shoulder, the same way he had done the dismal day of Chanhee’s funeral. You nodded wordlessly, watching your boyfriend stride towards the grave of his best friend. Younghoon traced the etched marks of his friend’s name before giving a small smile.

“You’ve been gone too long,” he started, giving a sad chuckle, “and a lot has happened during that time.” Chanhee laughed silently at his friend’s words, slumping against the cold headboard of his resting place.

“But I will promise you this. I will look after them for you. I will care for, and nurture and love them for you. It’s what best friends are for, right?”

Chanhee nodded, a friendly smile finally adorning his features. He felt something new, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, peace. His body felt as light as a feather, as if it was drifting through the breeze. He dropped his gaze to his hands, only to see that the aforementioned body part wasn’t there. He was fading, an experience he had thought about many times before, but somehow, it wasn’t as scary as he thought it would be. Chanhee looked to you, and he could’ve sworn that for a moment, just one moment, you could see him, slowly dematerialising out of existence. He wasn’t scared anymore, scared of how you would cope without him. You had Younghoon, the only person other than you that he trusted his life with.

“Until we meet again, my love,” Chanhee bade his final farewell to this world, taking a small bow and with a slight change in the wind’s direction, he was gone.

You felt light, like the weight of an entire urbanised city had been lifted off your shoulders. Younghoon took his place by your side once more.

“Should we go home?” He suggested, earning a relaxed smile from you.

“Yeah. Besides, it’ll be dark soon,” you squeezed his hand, your eyes glowing in the reddened flare of the sunset. Hand in hand, you walked down the stone path and out of the overly large rusted gate. It was never easy letting go, not by any stretch of the imagination. You would always carry a piece of Chanhee with you, and even without him by your side, you felt closer to him than ever.

#ficscafe #kpopscape #kpop #fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #kpop fluff #kpop angst #the boyz drabbles #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fanfiction #the boyz new #choi chanhee #the boyz chanhee #the boyz fluff #the boyz angst #the boyz

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years ago

Text

The Perfect Bad Boy (Pt. 18 of 18)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: Working as a lifeguard in the Hawkins Community Pool, you try to fit in after moving from New York. Things were going pretty well when you notice you've been under someone's stare. Billy Hargrove, Hawkins' bad boy, has been staring at you since day one. You never intended to have anything to do with him, judging by the reputation he has. But Billy won't leave you alone, determined to show you his feelings are different this time...

As if your heart flooding you with confusing feelings wasn't enough, there are weird, strange animals lurking in the woods... But those have to be just part of the wild live of the woods surrounding Hawkins... Right?

<- Previous part (17)

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

Set Them On Fire

Today, you need the sun. You need it hot and bright, to offer you protection, to burn anything that comes out of the flames. But there are clouds in the sky, threatening to hide that damn ball of fire. Bouncing your leg, the only thing keeping you down to Earth is Billy's hand on your thigh, trying to calm you down. You had to call in sick today, telling Anthony both of you got a cold and passed on to the other. And now the manager of the pool knows you're living together. But it doesn't matter. This matters, setting those monsters on fire and being done with it.

“Relax, babe.” He says, squeezing your thigh a little, making you look over him. “It'll work.”

“It will.” You tell this more to yourself than to him.

Half an hour later you reach the only hole left, joining the party who gathers a few feet away, in the protection of the threes. When you step out of the car, you feel a rather cold breeze, the one that announces a storm. Max hands you the bat, which you gladly take, holding it tight. The kids are getting things ready. Well, they're helping Eleven, you're not sure how since she's the only one with superpowers, as she searches through the woods, making sure all the Demodogs are in the tunnels.

The idea is to use one of the robots to take a stick of small dynamite into the tunnels, so when it explodes, the fire will spread through the whole thing quickly, since it's basically soaking in gasoline. When Eleven finally stands up, taking off the fabric that was covering up her eyes, everyone starts moving.

“They're all in there. They already started digging again. We gotta do it now.” She says, and immediately, Mike gets the small robot ready.

“This takes thirty seconds to blow up, more than enough time to get in the there, drive it inside, and run back here.” He announces, standing up to his feet. “Who will go there?”

You were expecting then to be nervous, to push it around, not wanting to get too close to the hole, not when the clouds are threatening to give the Demothings a chance to hunt in the daylight. But no. They start arguing about who gets to go.

“Seriously.” You mumble, running a hand through your hair and pacing around. You just need this day to end. You just need the fire to catch.

“Hey, hey.” Billy reaches you as you walk away from the others, not wanting to listen to their arguments. The guys are fun to be around, and they manage to get a laugh out of you despite being sad about Jason, despite being anxious about the Demodogs, but now you just can't, not today. There's too much at stake. “Come here.” Billy hugs you, your arms embracing his midsection, head on his chest. He has this thing, you don't know how, you don't even know if he actually tries. But when Billy hugs you, the rest of the world vanishes. It doesn't matter how dangerous it is, Billy makes it all disappear.

“Everything I want to do right now is–”

“This is not the place or time to make out. Let's do this!” Hopper's thunder voice cuts you short, and you take a couple of seconds to swallow the anger before letting go of Billy.

“Let's go. It'll be over soon.” He bends over to place a soft kiss on your lips before taking your hand and walking over the party again.

Lucas won, he gets to put the robot near the hole. You watch as he does it, lighting up the dynamite and running back here as Mike moves the thing forward, making it disappear inside the tunnel. Dustin is counting down, and you close your eyes, your body frozen.

“Seven, six, five, four–” It happens, a small explosion followed by wild, high flames taking over the exit. It makes a weird noise as the fire spreads, but it soon vanishes, fading away as it takes over the tunnels underground. “I must have miscalculated.”

“It's working,” Eleven says, focused, blood coming out of her nose. “I can feel them dying.”

“Great,” Hopper says, a gun in hand, ready to act if things go south.

You're allowing yourself to relax now, despite the clouds covering up the sunlight, and the thunder that can be heard somewhere from above. The rain won't put down the fire, it'll keep burning for several hours, until all the gas is consumed. All the Demodogs will be nothing but ashes by then.

Several minutes pass by, and a light rain starts falling. Summer storms are unpredictable, they come suddenly, and can either last ten minutes before the sun comes out again or two days. But it doesn't matter. Nobody seems to be bothered by the water so there's no reason for you to overthink.

“Can't we go now? It's done, isn't it?” Robin asks, removing some of her hair that's glued to her face. “It's pouring.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Steve answers, his eyes, like everybody else's, on the flames, coming out of the hole. “I think this is it.”

Eleven breaks out of her state, taking a deep breath and turning around. “I think we can go.”

You're relieved, if the words can even express how you feel right now. You're grip on the bat loosens, and you lay it on your shoulder.

“Home, then. A little party to celebrate?” Steve suggests, and they murmur in response, obviously excited.

But a groan, a snarl, building up from a low whisper to a loud, disgusting noise shut them up. Slowly, all eyes turn back to the hole, and your heart stops when you see it. When you actually see the thing making that noise.

As it crawls out of the tunnel, yelling, groaning in pain, it's skin falling apart, you immediately recognize it, despite never seen the thing. This Demodog just evolved into the full thing, eight feet tall massive Demogorgon. Now, the rain is a problem. Out here, with the water hitting its skin, the fire is being put out.

“Hopper, start shooting!” Joyce yells, and Hopper moves, blasting that thing, and despite some painful growls, it also gets its attention, and now, it's looking over here. At you. And when it starts moving, the commotion starts. Everyone who knows how to use a gun has one, Billy included, and the shooting begins.

You wish you could be brave. You really wish you had the courage you had when Neil attacked Billy. To just go there and beat the shit of this... This... Thing. But instead, you freeze, unable to move, just looking at the monster, and it comes towards you.

“(Y/N)!” Billy's voice reaches you at the same moment you feel his arm around your waist, pulling you back. “C'mon.”

You don't know what comes to you. The kids are so brave, they have been dealing with these things for a while now, and you just... You can't move. You can't think. Your eyes can't believe what they're seeing, your legs won't obey your commands. You're just... Paralyzed.

“Take her away. Now.” Someone says, and you feel yourself moving when the Demogorgon jumps, moving way too fast for something so big, landing right among you, splitting the group in half.

It's close now, close to you. It lowers his head, not seeming to the bothered by the many bullets hitting its skin. You see it, looking right at you with no eyes, and its head opens, slowly, and you feel like you're inside a nightmare, the worst nightmare you could ever imagine.

It happens fast, and it snaps you out of your numbness. Billy pushes you away, raising his gun, shooting the creature until there are no more bullets left. Then you see it, you feel it, the thing ready to jump over Billy. That makes you move. From your state, you hold the bat with all the strength left in your body, stepping forward and swinging it right into the Demogorgon's head. The nails pierce through its already sore skin, burned, peeling off, and when it moves back, flinching away, you pulled with it, only letting go of the bat when you stumble down, a sharp pain on your knee and right forearm.

“Everybody get back now!” Eleven shouts and you're quickly pulled up, right into Billy's arms as he moves both of you away from the thing.

Holding on to Billy, you see as Eleven steps forward, furious, raising both her hands. Then, the impossible, which insists on reminding you it's not impossible anymore, happens again. The flames start flowing out of the tunnel, like a fireball, creeping through the woods, leaving a trail of fire on its way here. On its way to the Demogorgon. In a violent push, Eleven lowers her arms, and the fire swallows the creature, which makes the most horrifying sounds you ever heard. It tries to fight it, to run, to attack, but by the looks of it, Eleven is holding it back too.

The groans are deafening, and you can't look anymore, hiding your face on Billy's neck. It only gets worse, louder, and the rain falling on you feels hot. Then, it stops, and before you can process what happened, you're pushed back in a wave of power, both you and Billy hitting the ground hard. Your first instinct is to look at the monster, sitting up abruptly, checking if its anywhere near you. But you see nothing. Nothing but ashes falling down with the rain. It's gone, disappeared.

“Damn it.” Billy groans and your attention falls on him.

“Billy.” With a hand caressing his cheek, you quickly check for any injuries. “Are you alright, baby?”

“I will be after I wash the Demogorgon's ashes off.” By the comment, he's ok, so you lower yourself to kiss him, over and over again, until you hear someone clearing their throat behind you.

“We're all fine too, thanks for asking.” Robin comments.

“Oh, shit.” You mumble, stumbling back to your feet and almost falling back down on the process. “Maxine? Dustin, Steve... All the rest. Mike? Lucas, Joyce...” As you look around, you mentally count, making sure everyone is alive and well.

“Everyone is here.” Eleven says, a tired smile on her lips as Mike hugs her. “They're gone. All of them. I double-checked.”

Breathing out, you run a hand through your hair, a laugh escaping your lips when Billy hugs you, lifting you up. “I told you, princess. We'll be just fine.”

The drive home is chaotic. Everyone is dirty with rain, mud, dirt, and Demogorgon ash. And also blood, since you save a graze on your forearm and a wound on your knee.

Back home, as Lucas and Maxine fight over who will get to shower first, Billy lets you go first, as usual, and when you're done, you have to go and pacify the young couple. Lucas decided to let Maxine go first, and the fighting ends. As you wait for Billy, you clean the wounds, noticing they're not as bad as you feared. Lying down on the bed, you close your eyes, thinking about Jason. You only wish it all happened before, so he'd still be around, but it feels good to know nobody else will get hurt. That you had a part in it, even though it was so tiny.

“So...” Billy says, and you open your eyes when you feel the mattress moving under his weight. “We got our summer back. Whatever is left of it.”

“We still have three weeks until college.” When you notice he's coming to stand above you, you push him back, climbing over him instead. “Then it'll be crazy. Will you really go on with that routine? Drive to Indianapolis Monday morning, drive back here Friday after class?”

“Yeah.”

“It'll be tiring.” You explain, lowering yourself until your face is only an inch away from his.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure that–”

“Stop trying to make me change my mind about it. I want this crazy, exhausting routine because I want this. Me and you, together. I want this.”

Biting your lip, you hold back a smile. “I love you, Hargrove.”

“Love you too, future Mrs. Hargrove.”

• • •

Life has fallen back into the old pace. Now, only two weeks left of summer, you use your free time to hang with your friends and Billy. You finally feel safe to stay out at night again, but the pain for missing Jason is still very real. You visit his grave once a week at least, mostly with Monica, holding her as she cries. But other than that, the rest is getting better. Steve still teases you, Mike doesn't let go of the incident in his house, Lucas and Maxine keep fighting like a married couple, Joyce and Hopper decided to replace your parents, worrying way too much about your relationship with Billy. Diane comes to visit every once in a while... Life is good, and you're enjoying it.

Today, you just returned home from having lunch with Monica, closing the door shut and throwing the car keys on the table. Billy is on the chest bench, and as you stop to watch, he gives you a look and a wink.

“Almost done here, princess.” He says as you walk closer, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” You simply say before sitting on his lap, straddling his hips. “Do twenty more.”

“Why do you always find a way to bug me when I'm working out?” He rolls his eyes, not bothering to stop lifting the weight.

“One...” You start, giggling. “Two... Three.”

“I've been here for half an hour. I'm tired.”

“Four. I can see, you're all sweaty. That's disgusting. Five.” Billy fakes an angry face, raising his leg and kicking your back, forcing you to fall against his chest. “Billy!”

You move to stand up, but he presses the bar in your back, trapping you down. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Alright. Let me up.”

“Only if you kiss me.”

“If you don't let me up I won't kiss you for a week.”

“I heard that before. It lasted an hour.”

“Uhm...” You're looking at his lips as he speaks, immediately regretting what you just said. “You're so lucky you're a good kisser.” Giving up that stupid idea, you kiss him, feeling when he puts the weight away, arms coming to hug you.

“What the hell.”

“Ignore them,” Maxine says, and when you raise your head to look, you see as she drags Eleven to her room.

“Now that we were interrupted, let's get ready.” He stands up as he speaks, carrying you with him.

“Ready for what?”

“I told you I'd take you somewhere special. And today is the day so wear something nice.”

It doesn't matter how many questions you make, Billy won't say a thing.

You choose to put on a light blue dress, since he told you to dress up nice, despite not knowing where he's taking you. You were thinking about a restaurant, the mall, one of the cute snack bars, but when we start driving out of town, you don't really know what to expect.

“I'm gonna need you to close your eyes from now on.”

“Why?”

“Just do it. C'mon.”

Giving him an exaggerated eye roll, you do as he says, knowing he'll be checking you. After a couple of minutes, he stops the car, telling you to wait. He then opens the door for you, taking your hand and helping you out. “Can I?”

“No. Wait.” He covers your eyes with both his hands, and you walk carefully. You feel a fresh breeze messing with your hair, the wild smell of the woods filling your nose. “Look now.”

You open your eyes when he removes his hand, and what you see is nothing less than Hawkins, the tiny houses down there, as you stand some feet away from the cliff. A smile immediately spreads through your lips, as you admire your home from afar. “Billy, this is... Amazing.”

“I knew you'd like it.” He hugs you from behind, resting his head on the top of yours. “Since you love this city so much, I thought this would be the right place.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you turn around to look at him. “The right place for what?”

Smirking, Billy searches for something in the pocket on the inside of his jacket. Raising an eyebrow, you step away, crossing your arms. “I will make the right question this time.” He takes a small, dark blue box. Your eyes go wide and your heart starts drumming in your ears, as your mind tries to process what's happening, telling yourself not to think what you're thinking.

“W-what question?” Stuttering, you keep looking into his eyes as he opens the box, pushing the hair away from your face since the wind is making it fly wildly.

Slowly, very slowly, you lower your stare to the box, now open, and you see two rings. “Right here, with the whole town as my witness, I want to know if you would, someday, be my wife.”

“Yes.” This time, you don't fight it. You can just let the word roll out your tongue. “Yes, baby.”

The smile that comes to his lips it's the most beautiful thing in the whole world. Billy takes your hand, putting the ring on your finger and you do the same soon after. “Was it the right question this time?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Hargrove.” Rolling your eyes, you pull him closer, standing on your toes.

“As you wish, princess.”

The kiss tastes like a promise. Like pure and complete bliss. This is where you're supposed to be, Hawkings, a small town, so different from everything you ever experienced. And, despite the moments of terror you've been through, you'd go through every single one of them a hundred times over if it only meant you'd end up here, with Billy's lips on yours, his arms holding you so close. In your own particular heaven.

@chloe-skywalker @dpaccione @dreamin-of-dacre @funeral-7 @uncookspaget @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @halloweenbitch2764 @redlovett @multific @shinydixon @nikkixostan @clockworkballerina @nope-thanks

#billy hargrove x reader #imagine billy hargrove #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy stranger things #stranger things imagine #imagine stranger things #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 4 years ago

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Loyalty

A/N: I got inspiration for this piece from the Tumblr account @xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx (I got their permission to tag them!) however I think they’re a wonderful writer and always one of the top ones with a huge amount of Gerard x Reader fics that I keep on crawling back to. They have a work called “Gotham City Rivals” (with two parts) that I fell in love with and decided to do my own spinoff of with their idea. I also don’t know that much about any DC comics, most of Gerard’s character in this is based off of Bruce Wayne, but I didn’t do a bunch of research so I apologize for any inaccuracies. Hope you guys enjoy! Pairing: Batman!Gerard x Catwoman!Reader Word count: 2,781 Warnings: Angst, minor fighting, swear words, injury, mentions of blood.

You slipped off your skin tight suit with a harsh gasp, your teeth grinding together at the rough cuts that the latex and leather of your suit now brushed against. Yet the sounds of a hot shower and the steam that you could already see promised some element of relief to the pain. “You alright?” You heard your boyfriend walk in the room, armor still on in it’s completion besides his mask and gloves that he was currently carelessly throwing on the marble counter.

“Yeah, I think so.” You responded, examining the damage of your wounds in the mirror. “Not the worse I’ve taken.” Reflecting back on the various gun shots and stabs you’ve received over the years.

He came over, standing behind you. His metal armor always looked so good on him, solid black with small decals that you felt lucky enough you only got to see. He gave small kisses on the cuts and bruises along your shoulder and collarbones. It wasn’t in a sexual way, more in a caring one.

He finally decided to take off his suit as well, revealing his soft muscles but well built frame. You always found it funny how comic and cartoon artists portrayed real life heroes. They ignore your hip dips, made your waist the size of a pencil, and even overemphasized your boobs. And with Gerard, well, he was actually a lot like what artists portrayed him as, maybe just a little less triangle shaped.

“Next time,” You sighed as you look at him in the mirror that was now fogging with steam, his eyes on yours through the reflection, “You’re taking more hits.” He lightly laughed.

“Fine.” He agreed with a kind smile, “If you insist.”

“I’ve told you a million times, Gerard, I don’t know anything about those two!” You paced around his marble office trying to explain to him, “They are batshit crazy. They hold no patterns, no compunction, it’s part of their game and it makes it fun for them.” Your feet hastily moved back and forth on the gray tiled floor, the only light source was the sun creeping through the gray clouds outside and small desk-lamps around the large room.

“You’ve worked with her a few times,” He argued back from across his desk where he sat, “You have to know something.” “Those ‘two times’ happened probably five years ago, and it was exchanging files for some cash that’s it.” You sighed, “They don’t have a plan, ever, that’s what I’m telling you. Gerard, I know you’re incredibly smart and think with a plan. And the Joker’s really fucking smart too, but he’s also mentally insane and has no grip on himself other than to kill. He’s like a wild fucking animal.” Your boyfriend leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, his finger holding his temple together as he collected himself. “If I could help you on this, you know I would in a heartbeat.”

“Would you though?” His anger was growing, both he and you knew it. In fact, the entire room and all its objects were now drowning in the tension.

“What?” You asked barely above a whisper and through teeth clenched together, eyebrows furrowing as your vision grew red. There was no response. “If you’re questioning the integrity of my current work then fuck off. You’re too scared to kill the man, and now you’re gonna put some of this one me?” You snapped, he remained emotionless. Damn he was good at his job. “Go fuck yourself Gerard.” And with that, you stormed out of the room and up to your shared bedroom.

This stupid mansion he lived in was still a maze to you, and stomping through it in your utter fit of rage didn’t help, the sound of your feet bouncing off the large halls. It made your head want to explode.

You had never once blown up on him in your two years of dating and partnership. But never had he ever questioned your morals, or more importantly your loyalty. And you were expecting some form of an apology in the least.

Sure, you felt a little bad about bringing up his own methods of working. He had his extremely valid reasons, but it was a button to push in response to him pushing yours. You knew you would apologize eventually, but you needed him to come to you first.

After all, he was the one acting like a child. It was almost like an interrogation of you, despite the fact you had told him countless times that you knew nothing about the Joker or Harley. Other than the two deals you made with them in your early days for some extra money, those two were wild cards.

So you sat in the absurdly big California king with decorated in a gray and black and decided to do some breathing exercises so you didn’t use the wall as a knife throwing target.

It was hours, no, more than hours before you saw your lover again. And if it wasn’t for your stomach grumbling in hunger you would’ve stayed cooped up in the room. You wandered your way into the grand kitchen, beginning to look for whatever you could.

Grabbing a cookie from a batch you had baked just the day before, you began brewing some coffee for yourself. Of course you didn’t hear Gerard walk in, since you two had begun this whole partner/dating thing he had begun picking up on some of your specialties, such as being extremely quiet. On missions and such you were thankful for it, considering his armor was quite clunky, but now you regretted it.

The two of you didn’t even acknowledge each other’s presence, despite the fact that you were only a few feet a way. It was like a silent game, but just completely ignoring each other. It was like the other person didn’t even exist.

But the tension was a whole other level. You literally felt suffocated by how tense it was. And you knew your lover felt the same. With the extremely small glances you took you were able to piece together how he was definitely a form of uncomfortable, his emotions starting to break through, which you knew they would eventually.

You decided once your drink was done to leave the room, leaving Gerard and the extreme conflict behind. Well, some of it at least. And back in your room you grew bored, fast.

You didn’t want to show your weak side, determination to not be the first to apologize flowed through your veins. So, you decided to relieve your stress the way you always did.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You heard Gerard’s voice echo through the hallway next to you. Your skintight suit hugged your body, kitten heels hitting the ground in rhythm.

“Going out.” You replied.

“In your suit?” He questioned, this time grabbing your arm tightly with his hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh?” You questioned, turning to him and eyeing him through your mask, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Don’t test me.” He warned, his voice growing deep. This time, you pulled your arm harshly from his grip, which he didn’t fight back.

“That’s what I thought.” You spat, walking off.

Patrols were not the most enjoyable thing, the only time they were was when you were stressed and needed something to take your mind off of all your problems. A relationship limiting argument between you and your boyfriend was a perfect example.

Very rarely, if ever, did big stuff happen in Gotham. Small crimes like robberies, domestic cases, so on and so forth could be dealt with by the excuse of a police department the city had to offer. You were wondering when the federal government would finally come and kick a shoe up their ass.

It was funny, Gerard with all his power, I mean being the Gerard Way (despite the fact absolutely no one knew he was Batman) still couldn’t convince major officials to bring in more backup despite his numerous requests hidden in comments within conversations. The excuse was always that Gotham didn’t need help: they had Batman.

And let’s not forget his stealthy partner who did a lot of the work as well, the wonderful Catwoman who always got overlooked by the patriarchal influences that still flushed their way into society today. You scoffed at it.

On your earpiece you heard an incoming for an “escalating situation” at one of the prisons, which was just icing on the already destroyed caked for “a bunch of dangerous prisoners just got out.” Great.

It took you less than five minutes to be at the scene, strutting in and flashing your badge. It wasn’t that you actually needed one, it was just for good measure.

You got led through the dozens of police cars lining the outside of the prison all with flashing lights and a few sirens still going, escorted by one of the main detective inside where you were met with another officer talking to the one and only man himself.

Those hazels eyes hidden well under the mask looked up and met yours, softening just a bit from the black optics of Batman’s as you approached him. “Catwoman.” He said in a stern tone.

“Batman.” You responded the same, arms crossed over your chest.

You were briefed on the situation: A bunch of highly dangerous criminals did escape and were on the loose. The police felt that they needed help because some may or may not have ties to the Joker, therefore it made it a case for you and Gerard to deal with.

“Be careful,” Gerard told you, the two of you walking side by side in the street on patrol and looking out, “I don’t want you getting hurt again.” “Please,” You scoffed, “These guys probably have guns and a destructed god complex. I don’t see a problem.” “Some of these are former Arkham patients.” He warned, “They could be dangerous. And crazy.” “Like we haven’t dealt with that before.” You reminded him, “Or more specifically me, because I could have connections, ya know?” A verbal stab for sure. He looked over and glared.

“We’re not having this conversation right now.” “So when we get home are you finally going to grow up and have one after the entirety of today?”

“I told you-” Before he could even finish the two of you were surrounded by men with guns and various other forms of highly illegal weaponry. “Shit.” He muttered.

“Yeah shit.” You responded as bullets began shooting towards you. A few of them managed to ricochet off of nearby metal beams hitting your attackers, while other nearly missed you as you managed to jump behind them. With a few solid kicks and swings you were able to disarm and knock out four or five of them, Gerard getting the other 10 of them or so considering his suit and physical ability was greater than yours.

“How many were there again?” You asked him.

“15.” He responded. You looked around, mentally counting the bodies.

“Perfect, 15.” You responded with a sigh. “Do they not know how to scatter?” He shook his head.

A deafening silence filled the car on your way home, the only thing being heard was the soft engine rumbling of the mobile. You were still going to be strong about this whole thing, despite the fact that you wanted it to be over with.

You looked around out of boredom, and down at your suit to see if there was any damage. And, well, there was more than damage. “Well, would you look at that,” You lightly laughed, looking at the left side of your torso where a big slash and blood was seeping through. You hadn’t noticed any pain or anything until you looked down.

“What the fuck?” He asked, looking down to from the road.

“Gee, pay attention to the road.” He reluctantly huffed and put his gaze back there.

“You have a huge fucking slash on your side.” “I know,” You commented, “Oh well, we’ll fix it when we get home.”

You hadn’t noticed his increase in speed or the extra few minutes he cut off as you pulled into the large and modern mansion. Before you could even step out of the car in the garage Gerard had already opened your car door and picked you up, carrying you bridal style.

“You know I can walk.” You lightly laughed, holding on to his arms, “I think it was just a bullet graze.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself.” He placed you down on the couch, “Let me grab the first aid kit.”

He was gone for only a few moments, coming back with the kit in handy, no mask and gloves this time, with no time to remove his armor. It wasn’t a life threatening wound, that’s for sure. “May I?” He asked, motioning to the zipper on the back of your suit. It was so cute to you how he always asked, despite your years of being together. You nodded, moving your hair out of the way.

He took your suit off with ease, helping you step out despite the harsh feeling you got from the slash. Carefully he sat you back down, dabbing your wound with a bit of alcohol and making sure not to directly touch the affected area. There was a certain spot where he had to touch the wound with the cottonball. You couldn’t help but cringe and gasp at the painful feeling, shutting your eyes as it felt like your flesh was burning. “I’m sorry baby.” He commented, squeezing your thigh for support. “You’re doing so great.”

It took him only a few more minutes, and the two of you deciding stitches may be stretching it too far, for you to finally be all bandaged up. You slowly got up, Gerard coming right to you and helping to hold your hips up. “I would suggest a bath but-” “Not a good idea.” You lightly laughed, placing your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.” You mumbled.

“No problem.” He responded, kissing the top of your head. “You alright?” You nodded as he picked you up again, taking you to the bedroom to rest.

He placed you lightly on the bed while removing the covers on the side you always slept. You crawled into the open area he had created, placing your wounded body onto the sheets and covering it up. “Do you want some pajamas?” He asked, now removing some of his suit, his unbrushed and tangled black hair fell just below his eyes.

“Yeah, actually,” You lightly smiled, “If you wouldn’t mind. This sports bra is kinda tight.” He nodded, walking into your closet and grabbing some sweatpants, while walking into his own to grab an old t-shirt, knowing those were your favorite things to wear.

He gave them to you, and stood there watching to which you rolled your eyes, “C’mon now, turn around.” You instructed, his eyes went wide with a form of embarrassment, “You don’t get to see my tits, yet.” He sighed, complying with you as you slipped your bra off and shirt on in a few seconds.

You decided against pants, considering that would take a lot of extra effort. So you just pulled the covers over you, sinking back in. “You can turn around now.” And Gerard did, looking at you with the shirt on and residing to his own side of the bed next to you.

You chose a petty play next, completely ignoring him, waiting for an apology. “I’m sorry.” He said, leaning back on the frame of the bed and looking at you. You looked back at him signaling him to do more explaining, “I’m sorry for questioning your loyalty and moral of your work. I know those two things matter to you very much, and I had no right to question either of those.” You took a moment to let the words settle in.

“Thank you,” You responded, “I’m sorry for bringing up the way you work. I know why you do it and I, too, didn’t have the right to do that either.” “Thank you.” He responded, both of you taking sighs of relief as most of the tension alleviated. “I love you.” He told you next. It had taken him a full year to speak those wonderful three words to you, and whenever he said them you always cherished the way they sounded.

“I love you too.” You responded with a small smile, placing your head on his shoulder which he happily complied with.

#gerard way #gerard way x reader #gerard way x you #gerard way x y/n #gerard way fanfiction #mcr gerard #my chemical gerard #my chemical romance #My Chem #my chemical gee #my chemical romance x reader

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

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masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

This chapter is very dialogue heavy. Stephen Strange being a little bit of a dick and Tony being a sweetheart. No warnings here, just plot and worldbuilding. I think Tony is his own warning to be honest... Do we want fun facts before each chapter like before or nah?

Sorcerer Strange stared at me with the heat of a plasma beam after I finished stuttering throughout my story, one accurate eyebrow raised and sharp cheekbones painting him displeased and dangerous in the yellow light of the store lamps. The whole experience shook me more than I would have liked to admit to myself and his mute reaction wasn't helping matters at all.

"Hmph," he finally cleared his throat, taking a step back and casting a thoughtful look over the shelves in the store. "You did all you could. Perhaps, we owe you gratitude," his tone was far kinder than his face. "How long have you been doing... This?" He vaguely gestured with a gloved hand.

"Long enough," I replied without thinking. My stress levels urgently rose above acceptable and the feelings needed to be let out now; Wong's dismissive attitude and Strange's half-assed apology for the attitude was still fresh in my mind.

The sorcerer sighed, briefly touching the bridge of his nose. "I won't pretend to understand the reason for your hostility but I'd like to remind you we're on the same side here," his steely blue eyes attempted to peer into my soul.

"There are no sides here," whatever he was selling, I wasn't buying it. "There are just people who get hurt, either because of unstable maniacs with superpowers or aliens who think Earth is an all-you-can-kill buffet," I stuck my dirty, bloody hands in my pockets. "You do your part in mitigating the damage, I do mine. That's all there is."

"And you would be making my job expotentionally harder if you get in the way and slow down professionals, even if you mean well," the man's temper had, evidently, won over and he immediately got on the defensive, crossing his arms and trying to glare me down.

Odette's words rang true, starting a storm of hollow anger in the pit of my skull. "Now listen here, you privileged prick," the damn burst at the seams as I squared up to give him a piece of my mind. "You and your Hogwarts rejects and the merry band of billionaires may have the opportunity to 24/7 healthcare and near-instant compensation for any damages the villain of the week decides to bestow upon your shallow little heads," I advanced half a step towards Strange, hands bailed into tight fists, internally rejoicing at the way he leaned back. My blood sang with adrenaline as I breathed the exhilaration.

"But how many people do you overlook? How many children never make it because your super secret organisation gives their parents an ultimatum just because they are different? This is a safe space for the ones you pretend not to see until it's convenient and it will stay that way, over my fucking dead body, if need be," I stared at the tall man, almost physically feeling his brain halt and pause with the cartoony sound of screeching tires. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this.

A pregnant pause hung in the air, both of us waiting for the other to explode.

"Don't you think I am aware," Strange finally seethed through gritted teeth, alarming golden sparks shining in his eyes. "The Avengers are not under the rule of SHIELD and I, personally, have no affiliation with either. I do not condone their barbaric methods," the man was struggling to form his sentences properly but even despite that, I understood his ideas.

I desperately wanted to believe his words to be true, I really did, but... "Then do your fucking job and let me do mine. I do not go out there and intervene, I merely clean up the mess you all leave. Something that nobody wants to do do, so unless you've got any takers, I'll keep helping those you deem unfit," in a fit of muted rage, I flew my arm to point at the abandoned cars and destroyed concrete outside of the window, the empty street and the clouds of dust rising into the moody skies.

The entrance door flew open suddenly, with a force strong enough to bang the heavy, old handle against something outside, letting in the stuffy air inside the bodega. Strange jumped at the sound of the screaming hinges, my own heart skipping a beat from the startling interruption.

Visibly composing himself, the man pierced me with a final stare before starting a dangerously quiet, "Very well, goodbye," and hightailing it out of Odette's before disappearing in a golden circle just outside the front porch.

I let my shoulders sag for a brief moment of respite, feeling the tension bleed out of me and penetrate every nook and cranny in the room. My protection charms were mostly destroyed, silver dull, glass and amber crackled. Tossing them into the appropriate recycling bin, I set to clean up the shop, flying through the motions in record time and wandering home through the damaged streets on autopilot.

My anger had cost me more than a fortune in my past but no matter how much I sought to reason with myself, I couldn't bring it to justify Strange's attitude towards my choices. The more I thought about it, the less rational my guesses became; I forced myself to stop thinking about it when my brain had unhelpfully supplied an absurd notion of him being jealous of my lifestyle: he knew next to nothing of my skills and his opinion was based solely on seeing me work the store front and one cleansing spell I'd performed on Bucky. There was simply no rational explanation for his behaviour.

NYC life wasn't affected by the battle in the slightest, it seemed; a day and a half later, I was back at Jeremy's, serving overpriced hot beverages to the rich and the busy. I'd slept on the Bucky and Strange situation, got a handle on my feelings and decided to simply put it away. There were other, more pressing things to worry about than a couple of men.

I didn't expect the flood of anxiety that turned my hands to lead upon seeing Tony Stark's signature suit-and-sunglasses wearing ass waltz into the café. He flashed me his usual easy grin but didn't remove his glasses, eyes eerily blank behind them, as he motioned for his usual order before leaning on the countertop with the entirety of his upper body. "So, Starshine, what is it exactly that you do?" Came the question I was dreading. "Are you, like, a witch? The broomstick and cauldron kind?"

"Mr. Stark, I am serving you coffee and a muffin as we speak," I replied curtly, raising an eyebrow.

"Drop the act, honeybuns. I thought we were friends," if I squinted, I could see that he was genuinely hurt by my lack of desire to communicate. Or, perhaps, he simply was unused to not satisfying his curiosities immediately.

Either way, I stood no chance against Stark patented puppy eyes. "I clock out at two," a sigh of epic magnitude left my mouth against my will. "You can interrogate me then. Until that, it's lattes and cheesecakes only."

Tony narrowed his eyes, smile warming up by a smidgen. "Interrogate you? Never," he pocketed the napkin with Dr. Banner's scribbles the doc had forgotten last time. "I'm merely curious." Another flash of his teeth and he was gone, taking what little peace I had left along with him.

The hands on the clock made their hurried rounds over and over. My chest had grown it's own set of ticking, grinding, mismatched gears as the endless possibilities coursed a steady stream through my head. Tony Stark was a wild card, his struggles with authority a widely known fact, as frequent as his strange habits in just about anything. And while I doubted I would get ambushed and locked up, I had no qualms of him berating me for telling off his boyfriend. He seemed like the possessive, overprotective type, anyways.

As soon as I exited the café, surrounded by the smells of flour and coffee grounds, my eyes immediately landed on the shiny, brand new Audi illegally parked right in front of the establishment, it's owner leisurely leaning against the hood with a face of contented boredom as passerby pedestrians shamelessly ogled him and his ride. His face lit up as he noticed me, immediately rushing to hold the passenger side door open for my comfort. "M'lady," the dorky remark didn't fail to summon a smile to my face even if it was a weak shadow of my usual camaraderie.

"Mr. Stark," I greeted him as soon as he peeled off the crowded sidewalk.

The lack of joy on my face didn't go unnoticed by him and every now and then, he snuck a glance at my face. "Relax, Starshine, I won't bite."

"Well," I mumbled, remembering the vicious way I had torn into his boyfriend. "Good to know."

Seeing as that didn't do much for my nerves, he suddenly swerved right, rushing into a busy intersection with the ease of a practiced manic driver. "I'm feeling like a cheeseburger," he announced unceremoniously, pulling into a parking lot of some place I never noticed.

I doubted that I could swallow anything at all but relented, sitting down opposite him in the furthest booth from the entrance. I ordered the biggest milkshake they had as Tony grinned big at the waitress, finally taking off his sunglasses when she left for the kitchen.

I rested my elbows on the table under the scrutiny of his gaze. He kept quiet. I couldn't hold back my curiosity any more. "So?"

His sharp, clever brown eyes captured and held mine for the longest second in my life. I struggled not to break eye contact until he relented, focusing on the shine of my rings instead. "RoboCop almost died from the shit that happened to him," Tony's words were curt. I inhaled sharply, assuming he was talking about Barnes. The engineer's fingers began to fiddle with his glasses. "We couldn't figure out how you helped him. Not the medical, not Banner, not me and and not even Steph," he paused to run a hand through his hair. "Barnes was hit with a poisoned arrow. There were no toxins left in his body, not even a single inflammation marker showed up on the tests." With that, Tony expectantly turned to me.

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Magic," I simply answered, figuring Strange had already briefed him about my occupation.

Tony shook his head with a snort. "Magic that the Sorcerer Supreme doesn't recognize or cannot detect?" The question was saved in nature.

Stephen Strange was Sorcerer Supreme and I had pissed him off and remained alive. I couldn't believe my luck, if Odette's stories were anything to go by. Inwardly rejoicing, I nonetheless resigned to answer truthfully. "Because there is nothing to detect, no foreign energy," I tried to phrase it in a way a scientist could understand. "What I use to heal, it is given me by nature and willingly. Think of me as a... Conductor. I merely store the energy short-term and direct it where it is needed."

That sparked a visible interest in Tony. He leaned forward, running my whole form, over and over, with his sharp eyes, searching for something I knew he wouldn't find. "Like... Making a blood transfusion?" It was obvious that he was thinking hard about the subject. "Like a successful organ transplant?"

"Something like that," I agreed amicably, seeing as he was talking at himself rather than engaging in a conversation with me.

"But it doesn't come from nothing, the first law of thermodynamics..." He started off in slight confusion.

"Yes, the total amount of energy remains constant," I interrupted him, making his eyes widen. "It's all around us, Mr. Stark. You cannot see it, and most people even cannot feel it, but mother Earth supports her creations. More than we like to think," the corner of my mouth tilted upward at the memories. Working with Gaia directly was like being briefly submersed in a cocoon of pure, warm sunshine; like being held in mother's arms as a babe. "She is kind and she is merciful, especially to the ones whose suffering is unjust," I let the man mull over my words.

The waitress brought our orders; my throat was parched, I took a few haste gulps of the chocolate milkshake. Tony's burger, however, remained unnoticed and untouched.

"Earth is a sentient organism?"

The question made my eyebrows rise; I coughed slightly, meeting his confused eyes with a smirk. "Mr. Stark, keep your science headcanons to yourself," the banter came easily now that the status quo was established.

He rolled his eyes, fitfully resisting the smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm telling on you to Mean Green," there was no malice behind his words.

I doubted the shy scientist would do much more than stutter out two jumbled questions but let the topic slide in favour of closing up on the issue. "Would you call a wolf sentient? No," I shook my head. "But it is autonomous, it has free will. Think of it like that," I wasn't really up to par on explaining Tony all the ins and outs of my craft. The more I spoke, the more questions danced in his eyes. It was charming but not something I wanted to spend most of my day on.

"I won't pretend to be anything but sceptical but as it is, I happen to be dating a wizard," the engineer finally chortled, making hands for his burger. He made a vague gesture with his fork, expression still not-quite out of the thinking place.

"They say opposites attract," I shrugged.

"Romanoff keeps saying we're two sides of the same coin, so," he non-commitally shrugged in return. "Can't help but wonder what the fuck did you tell him that day. He was seething," Tony raised an eyebrow, tone teasing.

"Oh lord," I briefly palmed my face. "Here comes the shovel talk."

"No, no," a fry landed on the table in front of me. I snatched it right from under Tony's hand. He pouted. "He probably deserved it. I mean, you saved the Terminator and, honestly," he paused. "I heard about one third of his rant and I distinctly remember something about 'girls way over their heads' and whatnot," he did a poor imitation of his boyfriend's deep voice. "Now, I consider myself a feminist so, respectfully, I disagree," he finished with a self-satisfied smirk.

I blanked, trying to process the avalanche of information. "That's a lot to unpack," I acquiesced.

"It means he likes you. I would know," the man had the audacity to wink at me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Tony Stark.

"Are you hitting on me for your boyfriend?" I couldn't resist snarking back, briefly catching his eyes as I polished off my milkshake.

Tony looked at me through his thick, long lashes, a picture perfect visage of surprised innocence. "Maybe," his tone a little too south of friendly, the direction of his eyes a bit lower than my face.

The snort escaped me before I could put a stop to it. The banter - it was easy, comforting in this situation where I found myself to be akin a fish out of water. Like I was a slightly socially awkward witch, Tony was a genius engineer and a notorious flirt. He toed the lines of appropriate with practiced gusto and I hadn't had the heart to do anything but indulge in a little bit of harmless fun ever since he first stepped foot in the café, seeing right through his stone cold facade of an alleged womaniser. Call it a hunch, if you will.

Say what you want about Tony Stark but one thing was definite: he was a gentleman. I thoroughly enjoyed my ride home in his expensive, fast, latest model car. As the city streets zoomed by in a flurry of blurred lines and flashing colorful lights, I allowed my mind to finally calm and resume it's usual even wandering pace.

A hand loosely thrown over the steering wheel, Tony quietly hummed along to the music, playing with the hem of his tee whenever it wasn't occupied with driving the car. He looked so peaceful like that.

The sound system played some contemporary rock that blended in with the moderately busy afternoon of the NYC streets, submerging the surroundings in catharsis. Grey everything with the occasional burst of colour from a traffic light; the brief car ride lulled me into a state almost drowsy.

"You with me, Salem?" Tony's voice quietly took me out of my stupor.

I blinked, seeing the front door of my apartment building. "Yeah, yeah, thanks," I didn't resist the big, wide smile of relief and rejoiced upon seeing his face return to his normal expression, sparkling and mischievous. "That's my stop," I motioned lamely.

Something hung in the air, something unsaid. It leaked through the gaps between Tony's smile and his eyes, it filled up the car with something thick and foggy. I was powerless to stop its influence on me; the daze remained just as it was when we zoomed through city streets.

Tony's fingers twitched on the steering wheel as I exited the vehicle, giving him a short wave before he put pedal to the metal, quickly disappearing into the twilight. I watched his tail lights glow red amongst the flat blacks and greys and beiges of my surroundings, blinking away the dryness in my eyes only when the car disappeared from my view completely.

My apartment was just as I'd left it, warm and slightly messy- but a new feeling had crawled up from the very gutter of me, foreign and impending. The walls didn't breathe the comfort I had hoped I would finally find: if anything, none of what I encountered on my rapid beeline towards the couch felt real.

I'd grown accustomed to the comforts of my solitude and routine, to attached to the simplest task of being. Sorting through my dirty laundry had never been a favourable ordeal for me, I'd much rather lived in a relatively wide bubble- rationally, I knew that sooner or later, change had have to come, but there was nothing ever rational about having feelings on one matter or another.

My spirit was trying to tell me big things were coming and I had no choice but to listen and let the currents of fate and happenstance snatch me up and take me whichever way they pleased.

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

#practical alchemy #bun writes #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #stephen strange x reader x tony stark #Stephen Strange x reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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imnotwolverine · 3 years ago

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The Wolves Return - Part 4

Summary: Evil is looming and old memories are blooming in the keep of Kaer Morhen.

Word count: 2005 (7 min read)

Disclaimer: old and brittle Jaskier, dementia, blood and gore, a melancholic Geralt (but also a touch of fluff stuff)

Author’s note: Sorry for being MIA my loves! Life’s been crazy busy with long workdays and social events (FINALLY). So writing was kinda pushed on the backburner. Hope you enjoy this one ❤

‘Remember that time in Velen, Geralt?’ Jaskier’s voice sounded brittle with age.

Geralt looked up at Jaskier. His friend no longer talked as much like he used to. With thoughtful blue eyes the bard looked out over the vines that outstretched the autumnal valley of Corvo Bianco. Their shared home for some time now.

Geralt sighed.

‘Which time is that? The one when I saved your ass from the Duchess?’

Jaskier squinted, as if thinking. ‘No no. The time..The..’ He started to fling about his hands as if searching for words. ‘The one time I had nearly eloped with the butcher’s daughter, remember that? The one in..’

‘You mean the time you told me you’d be a father?’

‘Yes..’ Jaskier's voice quieted. ‘Oh Geralt!’

‘What’s that, Jaskier?’

Jaskier remained silent until yet another of his bloody coughs came up. With a bony hand he raised a kerchief to catch the red stains that had parted from his lungs.

Geralt gritted his teeth. It was all going so fast all of a sudden. His lifelong friend whom he had travelled up and down the Trail with, would soon be no more. Jaskier’s hair had gone grey years ago. And his once nimble fingers no longer played the songs they used to. Which, for a time, had been pleasant, Geralt had to admit that.

Looking at the slumped form that was his friend, the Witcher felt his heart crumple with fear. He didn’t like goodbye’s. Never had. But he knew that with the falling leaves and the arrival of winter, the days were growing shorter for his friend, too.

It felt too soon.

‘I’m a father.’ Jaskier let the bloodied kerchief fall to his lap. ‘Ha..’ Jaskier’s lips turned into a little smile. ‘She must be nearly grown now.’

Geralt tried to smile along. The unsteady motion of his heart was however difficult to contain. Jaskier had been with his daughter for years, but the way he spoke of her made it feel like his friend could no longer remember. Like he couldn’t remember many things now.

‘Well, let's hope she’s not as talented at getting herself into trouble as her father was.’

Jaskier sucked in his lips, breathing deeply. His blue eyes had watered up as he watched two swallows duck down from the trees. They remained low, meaning cooler weather or perhaps even a storm would come.

‘I should’ve been there for her.’ Jaskier said, sitting back up stiffly.

‘Jaskier..’

‘No Geralt. I mean even you. In fact YOU. You’ve raised a kid. And what type of vivacious, vibrant young woman that has become!’

It made Geralt think. As the day came to an end, the bugs drew out from their sanctuaries, though today they didn’t fly high like usual. Geralt’s eyes followed the swirls and dives of the swallows as they feasted on their bounty. Swallows.. Hmm.. Ciri. Cirilla. Zireael. His little swallow. He wasn’t sure what to say in that moment as his friend slowly pushed himself up from the stone bench they’d been sitting on. With cracking bones Jaskier hoisted himself up by his walking stick. Should he tell Jaskier he had been a good father? Geralt couldn’t know. He had not been there at that time. Not for many years. He had not even met Jaskier’s daughter.

In a swift move Geralt stood up as well, arm reaching out to support Jaskier where he could. And then yes..Ciri. Watching the swallows up above, he thought of his own adoptive daughter. He had not heard of Ciri in some years now, either. Nor had he heard of Yen.

Looking at Jaskier beside him, he wondered how well he’d do all alone.

‘Well Jaskier. We both are fathers. And we have tried our best every day.’

Jaskier looked up, blue eyes lighting up with curiosity. ‘Me? Goodness Geralt..-’ Jaskier halted as his body started to rack up another bloody cough. The white kerchief was hit with a dark red gob of spit, before it was duly returned to a pocket.

Geralt watched and silently inhaled the scent. The scent of looming death. As if it would help, he held onto Jaskier a little more tightly.

Jaskier sighed wearily and tapped at Geralt’s paw, that was just about death gripping his arm. ‘Geralt..Geralt..Promise me one thing Geralt.’

Geralt released his grip.

‘Treat her like you would have me.’

Palewhite was Isabella’s face as her finger pointed at the other side of the room. High up above, where the dark wilderness loomed through narrow windows, fluttered a crowd of dark shadows. Crows. Bats. Or something of the like.

With little thuds the animalistic shadows started bumping into the glass panes, willing the windows to break.

‘What the..’ Eskel gripped for his sword, and not far behind was Geralt who swivelled around with an awkward stagger, hand gripping for the nearest sword rack where some old swords were hung for decoration.

‘Speak Isabella.’ Geralt growled beneath his breath. ‘Did you bring these?’

‘WHAT? No!’ Isabella started to furiously shake her head, eyes wild. ‘No, no..I..’ She pressed herself into a wall. ‘It wasn’t me I swear!’

Eskel squinted his eyes. ‘Transmutation you think?’ Eskel asked, studying the beasts that were now flying larger bouts so they could drive themselves with more force into the windows.

‘Like fuck..’ Geralt sighed, feet shuffling to find a more comfortable stance. Above them the windows started to groan with the pressure. Dust was falling down. And not long after the inevitable break of one, became the breaking of many. Like crystal rain the windows shattered, shortly followed by a cloud of flapping wings.

Behind the witchers, Isabella cried louder. ‘Not again!’ She cried.

‘Again?’ Eskel slashed into the air, trying to keep the bat-like creatures at bay. ‘You best not be --’ He swiped right. ‘telling us you have ANYTHING to do with--’ He caught one with his hand and squeezed it to mush between his thick fingers. ‘this.’

On his left, Geralt was slashing with less grace, but more annoyance. Short, jagged motions hit and killed and before long a pile of beady eyed creatures had piled up on the keep’s stone floor.

Outside the windows a strange voice called, but no more than two of the creatures managed to escape the Witchers’ assault. Flapping furiously they raced until there was nothing left but the carcasses of those that had been slain.

Eskel tipped one of the leathery black creatures around with his shoe. It was shin-length and beneath all the black blood that was spouting from its innards, it looked like a regular, though slightly too large, bat.

‘Start talking young lady.’ Geralt snarled.

Isabella shuffled uneasily, eyes looking for the exits that were too far away to escape to. ‘I …’ She inhaled sharply. ‘There was this man at the inn. I thought he was one of youse. You know. Big ol’ armor, some Witcher-y necklaces on, swords on his back. We drank..and..’ She cleared her throat. ‘spoke of nothing special really. The weather and such.’

‘Necklaces? Plural?’ Eskel asked.

‘Yes.’

Eskel started to wipe the blood off his sword, frowning. ‘And they looked like Witcher necklaces?’

‘I think so. One of them looked like yours.’

Eskel shot her a warning glance, to which Isabella scowled even further back up into the wall.

‘So he’s not one of yours then.’ She mumbled.

‘Did he follow?’

‘Of course not. I..I got too drunk. I slept for the whole day after, then the inn keeper warned me about the weather. That I best be on my way. So then I went..and..but..there was nobody. I swear. There was nobody else out.’ Isabella looked at Geralt, who had folded his arms in silent judgement.

‘I swear! It was raining cats and dogs! I wasn’t followed!’

‘Hmm.’

Eskel cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to check out what’s going on. You stay here with this one.’ He pointed at Geralt before leaving the hall.

Geralt clicked his tongue, yellow eyes looking out into the broken windows. ‘You’re not telling us everything little bird.’

Isabella looked down at her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t think I was followed..’ She brushed away a tear. ‘My father’s maps weren’t really clear anyway. Got lost and all.’

Geralt kept his eyes up and out to the windows, so Isabella continued with another sniffle.

‘I’m sorry Geralt. I really am.’

Finally his gaze lowered. He looked disappointed.

‘I’ll leave -’ Isabella said, sighing and sniffling.

‘Did this man have a name?’

‘The man? Eh. Something..’ She searched for the words, but they didn’t come. ‘Mm..can’t remember. He was Redanian though. Quite odd so far up North.’

‘Redanian.’

‘Yea.’

‘The paths are blocked off. And can’t have you knowing any more of our..secret..pathways. Which by the way are NOT on our maps.’ Geralt raised an unamused eyebrow. ‘So we’ll see to this in the morning.’

Isabella sighed in quiet relief. ‘Thank you.’

‘Oh and Isabella. We’d like ALL our maps back.’

Isabella blinked up at him, cheeks blushing a deep red.

‘Now.’ Geralt reached out a hand.

‘Really see it all, huh?’

Geralt stepped in closer, forcing her to flatten herself to the wall. ‘I see..’ He looked deep into her eyes - cornflower blue, just like her father’s. He wanted, in that moment, to teach her a lesson. To perhaps frighten her. But his resolve melted away with the hue of her blush and the rise of her bossom.

Argh.

Growling inwardly he turned away, pointing at the table, where she could place the “borrowed” map she was keeping in her skirts. ‘Right there. Just put it there.’

It took a long night of waiting before Eskel returned. With blood caking to his rugged clothes, he spoke of a number of monsters that had run rampant around the keep. A short magical imbalance, it seemed. Though Eskel and Geralt both continued to be wary. Not in a long time had unwelcome visitors come ‘round. The last time actually having been the Night Hunt, who had come to look for Ciri.

Ciri. Geralt wondered where she was right now. If ever she’d return to Kaer Morhen, even if just for a day or so. Was she even alive still?

Holding guard in the hall, he watched out into the night where stars sparkled like the glass they had swept to a side of the hall. The bat bodies were burning in the fire, all purple and gooey and obviously not quite natural.

In the corner two of the old cots had been returned to their function of beds. Both Eskel and Isabella were out cold after the eventful night. Geralt, however, did not feel the least bit tired. He could feel something else. Melancholy. Loneliness. Immortality. The ever grinding passing of time. The ticking of the clock on the wall behind him. The washing and waning of the moon in the sky. The drifting by of clouds and birds and before long it was another day, followed by another night. Though hopefully, by that night, the fuss that was Isabella would be gone. He was thinking of blindfolding her. Getting her out through the crypts. But even then it would be a difficult thing to get out.

With half an eye he looked at the two sleeping forms in the corner. Eskel, though terribly annoyed with the young woman, had hushed Geralt when he had made another attempt of showing her who’s boss. Geralt didn’t know why he did that. Lashing out to Isabella the way he did. Perhaps the lack of grip on the situation had bested him. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of..

He felt his eyes water and just like that all the frustration he felt slipped down his cheek in the shape of a tear. Gods he missed Jaskier so much. He’d take it all back. The mischief. The saving the bard’s arse over and over. Even the annoying songs. Yes, even the songs. His stiff lips turned into a melancholic smile.

‘Treat her like I would you, hmm?’ He sniffled. ‘Fine.’

Part 5 >

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14 @aletheladyinred @moonlacebeam @kebabgirl67

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #eskel #geralt x oc #jaskier

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grigori77 · 4 years ago

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2020 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 3)

10. WOLFWALKERS – eleven years ago, Irish director Tomm Moore exploded onto the animated cinema scene with The Secret of Kells, a spellbinding feature debut which captivated audiences the world over and even garnered an Oscar nomination. Admittedly I didn’t actually even know about it until I discovered his work through his astonishing follow-up, Song of the Sea (another Academy Award nominee), in 2015, so when I finally caught it I was already a fan of Moore’s work. It’s been a similarly long wait for his third feature, but he’s genuinely pulled off a hat-trick, delivering a third flawless film in a row which OF COURSE means that his latest feature is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my top animated feature of 2020. I could even be tempted to say it’s his best work to date … this is an ASTONISHING film, a work of such breath-taking, spell-binding beauty that I spent its entire hour and three-quarters glued to the screen, simple mesmerised by the wonder and majesty of this latest iteration of the characteristically stylised “Cartoon Saloon” look. It’s also liberally steeped in Moore’s trademark Celtic vibe and atmosphere, once again delving deep into his homeland’s rich and evocative cultural history and mythology while also bringing us something far more original and personal – this time the titular supernatural beings are magical near-human beings whose own subconscious can assume the form of very real wolves. Set in a particularly dark time in Irish history – namely 1650, when Oliver Cromwell was Lord Protector – the story follows Robyn (Honor Kneafsey, probably best known for the Christmas Prince films), the impetuous and spirited young daughter of English hunter Bill Goodfellowe (Sean Bean), brought in by the Protectorate to rid the city of Kilkenny of the wolves plaguing the area. One day fate intervenes and Robyn meets Mebh Og MacTire (The Girl at the End of the Garden‘s Eve Whittaker), a wild girl living in the woods, whose accidental bite gives her strange dreams in which she becomes a wolf – turns out Mebh is a wolfwalker, and now so is Robyn … every aspect of this film is an utter triumph for Moore and co, who have crafted a work of living, breathing cinematic art that’s easily the equal to (if not even better than) the best that Disney, Dreamworks or any of the other animation studios could create. Then there’s the excellent voice cast – Bean brings fatherly warmth and compassion to the role that belies his character’s intimidating size, while Kneafsey and Whittaker make for a sweet and sassy pair as they bond in spite of powerful cultural differences, and the masterful Simon McBurney (Harry Potter, Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy) brings cool, understated menace to the role of Cromwell himself. This is a film with plenty of emotional heft to go with its marvels, and once again displays the welcome dark side which added particular spice to Moore’s previous films, but ultimately this is still a gentle and heartfelt work of wonder that makes for equally suitable viewing for children as for those who are still kids at heart – ultimately, then, this is another triumph for one of the most singularly original filmmakers working in animation today, and if Wolfwalkers doesn’t make it third time lucky come Oscars-time then there’s no justice in the world …

9. WONDER WOMAN 1984 – probably the biggest change for 2020 compared to pretty much all of the past decade is how different the fortunes of superhero cinema turned out to be. A year earlier the Marvel Cinematic Universe had dominated all, but the DC Extended Universe still got a good hit in with big surprise hit Shazam! Fast-forward to now and things are VERY different – DC suddenly came out in the lead, but only because Marvel’s intended heavy-hitters (two MCU movies, the first Venom sequel and potential hot-shit new franchise starter Morbius: the Living Vampire) found themselves continuously pushed back thanks to (back then) unforeseen circumstances which continue to shit all over our theatre-going slate for the immediate future. In the end DC’s only SERIOUS competition turned out to be NETFLIX … never mind, at least we got ONE big established superhero blockbuster into the cinemas before the end of the year that the whole family could enjoy, and who better to headline it than DC’s “newest” big screen megastar, Diana Prince? Back in 2017 Monster’s Ball director Patty Jenkins’ monumental DCEU standalone spectacularly realigned the trajectory of a cinematic franchise that was visibly flagging, redesigning the template for the series’ future which has since led to some (mostly) consistently impressive subsequent offerings. Needless to say it was a damn tough act to follow, but Jenkins and co-writers Geoff Johns (Arrow and The Flash) and David Callaham (The Expendables, Zombieland: Double Tap, future MCU entry Shang-Chi & the Legend of the Ten Rings) have risen to the challenge in fine style, delivering something which pretty much equals that spectacular franchise debut … as has Gal Gadot, who’s now OFFICIALLY made the role her own thanks to yet another showstopping and definitive performance as the unstoppable Amazonian goddess living amongst us. She’s older and wiser than in the first film, but still hasn’t lost that forthright honesty and wonderfully pure heart we’ve come to love ever since her introduction in Zack Snyder’s troublesome but ultimately underrated Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice (yes, that’s right, I said it!), and Gadot’s clear, overwhelming commitment to the role continues to pay off magnificently as she once again proves that Diana is THE VERY BEST superhero in the DCEU cinematic pantheon. Although it takes place several decades after its predecessor, WW84 is, obviously, still very much a period piece, Jenkins and co this time perfectly capturing the sheer opulent and over-the-top tastelessness of the 1980s in all its big-haired, bad-suited, oversized shoulder-padded glory while telling a story that encapsulates the greedy excessiveness of the Reagan era, perfectly embodied in the film’s nominal villain, Max Lord (The Mandalorian himself, Pedro Pascal), a wishy-washy wannabe oil tycoon conman who chances upon a supercharged wish-rock and unleashes a devastating supernatural “monkey’s paw” upon the world. To say any more would give away a whole raft of spectacular twists and turns that deserve to be enjoyed good and cold, although they did spoil one major surprise in the trailer when they teased the return of Diana’s first love, Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) … needless to say this is another big blockbuster bursting with big characters, big action and BIG IDEAS, just what we’ve come to expect after Wonder Woman’s first triumphant big screen adventure. Interestingly, the film starts out feeling like it’s going to be a bubbly, light, frothy affair – after a particularly stunning all-action opening flashback to Diana’s childhood on Themyscira, the film proper kicks off with a bright and breezy atmosphere that feels a bit like the kind of Saturday morning cartoon action the consistently impressive set-pieces take such unfettered joy in parodying, but as the stakes are raised the tone grows darker and more emotionally potent, the storm clouds gathering for a spectacularly epic climax that, for once, doesn’t feel too overblown or weighed down by its visual effects, while the intelligent script has unfathomable hidden depths to it, making us think far more than these kinds of blockbusters usually do. It’s really great to see Chris Pine return since he was one of the best things about the first movie, and his lovably childlike wide-eyed wonder at this brave new world perfectly echoes Diana’s own last time round; Kristen Wiig, meanwhile, is pretty phenomenal throughout as Dr Barbara Minerva, the initially geeky and timid nerd who discovers an impressive inner strength but ultimately turns into a superpowered apex predator as she becomes one of Wonder Woman’s most infamous foes, the Cheetah; Pascal, of course, is clearly having the time of his life hamming it up to the hilt as Lord, playing gloriously against his effortlessly cool, charismatic action hero image to deliver a compellingly troubling examination of the monstrous corrupting influence of absolute power. Once again, though, the film truly belongs to Gadot – she looks amazing, acts her socks off magnificently, and totally rules the movie. After this, a second sequel is a no-brainer, because Wonder Woman remains the one DC superhero who’s truly capable of bearing the weight of this particular cinematic franchise on her powerful shoulders – needless to say, it’s already been greenlit, and with both Jenkins and Gadot onboard, I’m happy to sign up for more too …

8. LOVE & MONSTERS – with the cinemas continuing their frustrating habit of opening for a little while and then closing while the pandemic ebbed and flowed in the months after the summer season, it was starting to look like there might not have been ANY big budget blockbusters to enjoy before year’s end as heavyweights like Black Widow, No Time To Die and Dune pulled back to potentially more certain release slots into 2021 (with only WW84 remaining stubbornly in place for Christmas). Then Paramount decided to throw us a bone, opting to release this post-apocalyptic horror comedy on-demand in October instead, thus giving me the perfect little present to tie me over during the darkening days of autumn. The end result was a stone-cold gem that came out of nowhere to completely blow critics away, a spectacular sleeper hit that ultimately proved one of the year’s biggest and most brilliant surprises. Director Michael Matthews may only have had South African indie thriller Five Fingers for Marseilles under his belt prior to this, but he proves he’s definitely a solid talent to watch in the future, crafting a fun and effective thrill-ride that, like all the best horror comedies, is consistently as funny as it is scary, sharing much of the same DNA as this particular mash-up genre’s classics like Tremors and Zombieland and standing up impressively well to such comparisons. The story, penned by rising star Brian Duffield (who has TWO other entries on this list, Underwater and Spontaneous) and Matthew Robinson (The Invention of Lying, Dora & the Lost City of Gold), is also pretty ingenious and surprisingly original – a meteorite strike has unleashed weird mutagenic pathogens that warp various creepy crawly critters into gigantic monstrosities that have slaughter most of the world’s human population, leaving only a beleaguered, dwindling few to eke out a precarious living in underground colonies. Living in one such makeshift community is Joel Dawson (The Maze Runner’s Dylan O’Brien), a smart and likeable geek who really isn’t very adventurous, is extremely awkward and uncoordinated, and has a problem with freezing if threatened … which makes it all the more inexplicable when he decides, entirely against the advice of everyone he knows, to venture onto the surface so he can make the incredibly dangerous week-long trek to the neighbouring colony where his girlfriend Aimee (Iron Fist’s Jessica Henwick) has ended up. Joel is, without a doubt, the best role that O’Brien has EVER had, a total dork who’s completely unsuited to this kind of adventure and, in the real world, sure to be eaten alive in the first five minutes, but he’s also such a fantastically believable, fallible everyman that every one of us desperate, pathetic omega-males and females can instantly put ourselves in his place, making it elementarily easy to root for him. He’s also hilariously funny, his winningly self-deprecating sass and pitch perfect talent for physical comedy making it all the more rewarding watching each gloriously anarchic life-and-death encounter mould him into the year’s most unlikely action hero. Henwick, meanwhile, once again impresses in a well-written role where she’s able to make a big impression despite her decidedly short screen time, as do the legendary Michael Rooker and brilliant newcomer Ariana Greenblatt as Clyde and Minnow, the adorably jaded, seen-it-all-before pair of “professional survivors” Joel meets en-route, who teach him to survive on the surface. The action is fast, frenetic and potently visceral, the impressively realistic digital creature effects bringing a motley crew of bloodthirsty beasties to suitably blood-curdling life for the film’s consistently terrifying set-pieces, while the world-building is intricately thought-out and skilfully executed. Altogether, this was an absolute joy from start to finish, and a film I enthusiastically endorsed to everyone I knew was looking for something fun to enjoy during the frustrating lockdown nights-in. One of the cinematic year’s best kept secrets then, and a compelling sign of things to come for its up-and-coming director.

7. PARASITE – I’ve been a fan of master Korean filmmaker Bong Joon-ho ever since I stumbled across his deeply weird but also thoroughly brilliant breakthrough feature The Host, and it’s a love that’s deepened since thanks to truly magnificent sci-fi actioner Snowpiercer, so I was looking forward to his latest feature as much as any movie geek, but even I wasn’t prepared for just what a runaway juggernaut of a hit this one turned out to be, from the insane box office to all that award-season glory (especially that undeniable clean-sweep at the Oscars). I’ll just come out and say it, this film deserves it all. It’s EASILY Bong’s best film to date (which is really saying something), a masterful social satire and jet black comedy that raises some genuinely intriguing questions before delivering deeply troubling answers. Straddling the ever-widening gulf between a disaffected idle rich upper class and impoverished, struggling lower class in modern-day Seoul, it tells the story of the Kim family – father Ki-taek (Bong’s good luck charm, Song Kang-ho), mother Chung-sook (Jang Hye-jin), son Ki-woo (Train to Busan’s Choi Woo-shik) and daughter Ki-jung (The Silenced’s Park So-dam) – a poor family living in a run-down basement apartment who live hand-to-mouth in minimum wage jobs and can barely rub two pennies together, until they’re presented with an intriguing opportunity. Through happy chance, Ki-woon is hired as an English tutor for Park Da-hye (Jung Ji-so), the daughter of a wealthy family, which offers him the chance to recommend Ki-jung as an art tutor to the Parks’ troubled young son, Da-song (Jung Hyeon-jun). Soon the rest of the Kims are getting in on the act, the kids contriving opportunities for their father to replace Mr Park’s chauffeur and their mother to oust the family’s long-serving housekeeper, Gook Moon-gwang (Lee Jung-eun), and before long their situation has improved dramatically. But as they two families become more deeply entwined, cracks begin to show in their supposed blissful harmony as the natural prejudices of their respective classes start to take hold, and as events spiral out of control a terrible confrontation looms on the horizon. This is social commentary at its most scathing, Bong drawing on personal experiences from his youth to inform the razor-sharp script (co-written by his production assistant Han Jin-won), while he weaves a palpable atmosphere of knife-edged tension throughout to add spice to the perfectly observed dark humour of the situation, all the while throwing intriguing twists and turns at us before suddenly dropping such a massive jaw-dropper of a gear-change that the film completely turns on its head to stunning effect. The cast are all thoroughly astounding, Song once again dominating the film with a turn at once sloppy and dishevelled but also poignant and heartfelt, while there are particularly noteworthy turns from Lee Sun-kyun as the Parks’ self-absorbed patriarch Dong-ik and Choi Yeo-jeong (The Concubine) as his flighty, easily-led wife Choi Yeon-gyo, as well as a fantastically weird appearance in the latter half from Park Myung-hoon. This is heady stuff, dangerously seductive even as it becomes increasingly uncomfortable viewing, so that even as the screws tighten and everything goes to hell it’s simply impossible to look away. Bong Joon-ho really has surpassed himself this time, delivering an existential mind-scrambler that lingers long after the credits have rolled and might even have you questioning your place in society once you’ve thought about it some. It deserves every single award and every ounce of praise it’s been lavished with, and looks set to go down as one of the true cinematic greats of this new decade. Trust me, if this was a purely critical best-of list it’d be RIGHT AT THE TOP …

6. THE OLD GUARD – Netflix’ undisputable TOP OFFERING of the summer came damn close to bagging the whole season, and I can’t help thinking that even if some of the stiffer competition had still been present it may well have still finished this high. Gina Prince-Blythewood (Love & Basketball, the Secret Life of Bees) directs comics legend Greg Rucka’s adaptation of his own popular series with uncanny skill and laser-focused visual flair considering there’s nothing on her previous CV to suggest she’d be THIS good at mounting a stomping great ultraviolent action thriller, ushering in a thoroughly engrossing tale of four ancient, invulnerable immortal warriors – Andy AKA Andromache of Scythia (Charlize Theron), Booker AKA Sebastian de Livre (Matthias Schoenaerts), Joe AKA Yusuf Al-Kaysani (Wolf’s Marwan Kenzari) and Nicky AKA Niccolo di Ginova (Trust’s Luca Marinelli) – who’ve been around forever, hiring out their services as mercenaries for righteous causes while jealously guarding their identities for fear of horrific experimentation and exploitation should their true natures ever be discovered. Their anonymity is threatened, however, when they’re uncovered by former CIA operative James Copley (Chiwetel Ejiofor), who’s working for the decidedly dodgy pharmaceutical conglomerate run by sociopathic billionaire Steven Merrick (Harry Melling, formerly Dudley in the Harry Potter movies), who want to capture these immortals so they can patent whatever it is that makes them keep on ticking … just as a fifth immortal, US Marine Nile Freeman (If Beale Street Could Talk’s KiKi Layne), awakens after being “killed” on deployment in Afghanistan. The supporting players are excellent, particularly Ejiofor, smart and driven but ultimately principled and deeply conflicted about what he’s doing, even if he does have the best of intentions, and Melling, the kind of loathsome, reptilian scumbag you just love to hate, but the film REALLY DOES belong to the Old Guard themselves – Schoenaerts is a master brooder, spot-on casting as the group’s relative newcomer, only immortal since the Napoleonic Wars but clearly one seriously old soul who’s already VERY tired of the lifestyle, while Joe and Nicky (who met on opposing sides of the Crusades) are simply ADORABLE, an unapologetically matter-of-fact gay couple who are sweet, sassy and incredibly kind, the absolute emotional heart of the film; it’s the ladies, however, that are most memorable here. Layne is exceptional, investing Nile with a steely intensity that puts her in good stead as her new existence threatens to overwhelm her and MORE THAN qualified to bust heads alongside her elders … but it’s ancient Greek warrior Andy who steals the film, Theron building on the astounding work she did in Atomic Blonde to prove, once and for all, that there’s no woman on Earth who looks better kicking arse than her (as Booker puts it, “that woman has forgotten more ways to kill than entire armies will ever learn”); in her hands, Andy truly is a goddess of death, tough as tungsten alloy and unflappable even in the face of hell itself, but underneath it all she hides a heart as big as any of her friends’. They’re an impossibly lovable bunch and you feel you could follow them on another TEN adventures like this one, which is just as well, because Prince-Blythewood and Rucka certainly put them through their paces here – the drama is high (but frequently laced with a gentle, knowing sense of humour, particularly whenever Joe and Nicky are onscreen), as are the stakes, and the frequent action sequences are top-notch, executed with rare skill and bone-crunching zest, but also ALWAYS in service to the story. Altogether this is an astounding film, a genuine victory for its makers and, it seems, for Netflix themselves – it’s become one of the platform’s biggest hits to date, earning well-deserved critical acclaim and great respect and genuine geek love from the fanbase at large. After this, a sequel is not only inevitable, it’s ESSENTIAL …

5. MANK – it’s always nice when David Fincher, one of my TOP FIVE ALL TIME FAVOURITE DIRECTORS, drops a new movie, because it can be GUARANTEED to place good and high in my rundown for that year. The man is a frickin’ GENIUS, a true master of the craft, genuinely one of the auteur’s auteurs. I’ve NEVER seen him deliver a bad film – even a misfiring Fincher (see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button or Alien 3) is still capable of creating GREAT CINEMA. How? Why? It’s because he genuinely LOVES the art form, it’s been his obsession all his life, and he’s spent every day of it becoming the best possible filmmaker he can be. Who better to tell the story of the creation of one of the ULTIMATE cinematic masterpieces, then? Benjamin Ross’ acclaimed biopic RKO 281 covered similar ground, presenting a compelling look into the making Citizen Kane, the timeless masterpiece of Hollywood’s ULTIMATE auteur, Orson Welles, but Fincher’s film is more interested in the original inspiration for the story, how it was written and, most importantly, the man who wrote it – Herman J. Mankiewicz, known to his friends as Mank. One of my favourite actors of all time, Gary Oldman, delivers yet another of his career best performances in the lead role, once a man of vision and incredible storytelling skill whose talents have largely been squandered through professional difficulties and personal vices, a burned out one-time great fallen on hard times whom Welles picks up out of the trash, dusts off and offers a chance to create something truly great again. The only catch? The subject of their film (albeit dressed up in the guise of fictional newspaper magnate Charles Foster Kane) is to be real-life publisher, politico and tycoon William Randolph Hurst (Charles Dance), once Mank’s friend and patron before they had a very public and messy falling out which partly led to his current circumstances. As he toils away in seclusion on what is destined to become his true masterwork, flashbacks reveal to us the fascinating, moving and ultimately tragic tale of his rise and fall from grace in the movie business, set against the backdrop of one of the most tumultuous periods in American history. Shooting a script that his own journalist and screenwriter father, Jack, crafted and then failed to bring to the screen himself before his death in 2003, Fincher has been working for almost a quarter century to make this film, and all that passion and drive is writ large on the screen – this is a glorious film ABOUT film, the art of it, the creation of it, and all the dirty little secrets of what the industry itself has always really been like, especially in that most glamorous and illusory of times. The fact that Fincher shot in black and white and intentionally made it look like it was made in the early 1940s (the “golden age of the Silver Screen”, if you will) may seem like a gimmick, but instead it’s a very shrewd choice that expertly captures the gloss and moodiness of the age, almost looking like a contemporary companion piece to Kane itself, and it’s the perfect way to frame all the sharp-witted observation, subtly subversive character development and murky behind-the-scenes machinations that tell the story. Oldman is in every way the star here, holding the screen with all the consummate skill and flair we’ve come to expect from him, but there’s no denying the uniformly excellent supporting cast are equal to the task here – Dance is at his regal, charismatic best as Hearst, while Amanda Seyfried is icily classy on the surface but mischievous and lovably grounded underneath as Hearst’s mistress, Marion Davies, who formed the basis for Kane’s most controversial character, Arliss Howard (Full Metal Jacket, The Lost World: Jurassic Park, Moneyball) brings nuance and complexity to the role of MGM founder Louis B. Mayer, Tom Pelphrey (Banshee, Ozark) is understated but compelling as Mank’s younger screenwriter brother Joseph, and Lily Collins and Tuppence Middleton exude class and long-suffering stubbornness as the two main women in Mank’s life (his secretary and platonic muse, Rita Alexander, and his wife, Sara), while The Musketeers’ Tom Burke’s periodic but potent appearances as Orson Welles help to drive the story in the “present”. Another Netflix release which I was (thankfully) able to catch on the big screen during one of the brief lulls between British lockdowns, this was a decidedly meta cinematic experience that perfectly encapsulated not only what is truly required for the creation of a screen epic, but also the latest pinnacle in the career of one of the greatest filmmakers working in the business today, powerful, stirring, intriguing and surprising in equal measure. Certainly it’s one of the most important films ABOUT so far film this century, but is it as good as Citizen Kane? Boy, that’s a tough one …

4. ENOLA HOLMES – ultimately, my top film for the autumn/winter movie season was also the film which finally topped my Netflix Original features list, as well as beating all other streaming offerings for the entire year (which is saying something, as you should know by now). Had things been different, this would have been one of Warner Bros’ BIGGEST releases for the year in the cinema, of that I have no doubt, a surprise sleeper hit which would have taken the world by storm – as it is it’s STILL become a sensation, albeit in a much more mid-pandemic, lockdown home-viewing kind of way. Before you start crying oh God no, not another Sherlock Holmes adaptation, this is a very different beast from either the Guy Ritchie take or the modernized BBC show, instead side-lining the great literary sleuth in favour of a delicious new AU version, based on The Case of the Missing Marquess, the first novel in the Enola Holmes Mysteries literary series from American YA author Nancy Springer. Positing that Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill) and his elder brother Mycroft (Sam Claflin) had an equally ingenious and precocious baby sister, the film introduces us to Enola (Stranger Things’ Millie Bobby Brown), who’s been raised at home by their strong-willed mother Eudoria (Helena Bonham Carter) to be just as intelligent, well-read and intellectually skilled as her far more advantageously masculine elder siblings. Then, on the morning of her sixteenth birthday, Enola awakens to find her mother has vanished, putting her in a pretty pickle since this leaves her a ward of Mycroft, a self-absorbed social peacock who finds her to be wilfully free-spirited and completely ill equipped to face the world, concluding that the only solution is sending her to boarding school where she’ll learn to become a proper lady. Needless to say she’s horrified by the prospect, deciding to run away and search for her mother instead … this is about as perfect a family adventure film as you could wish for, following a vital, capable and compelling teen detective-in-the-making as she embarks on her very first investigation, as well as winding up tangled in a second to boot involving a young runaway noble, Viscount Tewkesbury, the Marquess of Basilwether (Medici’s Louis Partridge), and the film is a breezy, swift-paced and rewardingly entertaining romp that feels like a welcome breath of fresh air for a literary property which, beloved as it may be, has been adapted to death over the years. Enola Holmes a brilliant young hero who’s perfectly crafted to carry the franchise forward in fresh new directions, and Brown brings her to life with effervescent charm, boisterous energy and mischievous irreverence that are entirely irresistible; Cavill and Claflin, meanwhile, are perfectly cast as the two very different brothers – this Sherlock is much less louche and world-weary than most previous versions, still razor sharp and intellectually restless but with a comfortable ease and a youthful spring in his step that perfectly suits the actor, while Mycroft is as superior and arrogant as ever, a preening arse we derive huge enjoyment watching Enola consistently get the best of; Bonham Carter doesn’t get a lot of screen-time but as we’d expect she does a lot with what she has to make the practical, eccentric and unapologetically modern Eudoria thoroughly memorable, while Partridge is carefree and likeable as the naïve but irresistible Tewkesbury, and there are strong supporting turns from Frances de la Tour as his stately grandmother, the Dowager, Susie Wokoma (Crazyhead, Truth Seekers) as Emily, a feisty suffragette who runs a jujitsu studio, Burn Gorman as dastardly thug-for-hire Linthorn, and Four Lions’ Adeel Akhtar as a particularly scuzzy Inspector Lestrade. Seasoned TV director Harry Bradbeer (Fleabag, Killing Eve) makes his feature debut with an impressive splash, unfolding the action at a brisk pace while keeping the narrative firmly focused on an intricate mystery plot that throws in plenty of ingenious twists and turns before a suitably atmospheric climax and pleasing denouement which nonetheless artfully sets up more to come in the future, while screenwriter Jack Thorne (His Dark Materials, The Scouting Book for Boys, Wonder) delivers strong character work and liberally peppers the dialogue with a veritable cavalcade of witty zingers. Boisterous, compelling, amusing, affecting and exciting in equal measure, this is a spirited and appealing slice of cinematic escapism that flatters its viewers and never talks down to them, a perfect little period adventure for a cosy Sunday afternoon. Obviously there’s plenty of potential for more, and with further books to adapt there’s more than enough material for a pile of sequels – Neflix would be barmy indeed to turn their nose up at this opportunity …

3. 1917 – it’s a rare thing for a film to leave me truly shell-shocked by its sheer awesomeness, for me to walk out of a cinema in a genuine daze, unable to talk or even really think about much of anything for a few hours because I’m simply marvelling at what I’ve just witnessed. Needless to say, when I do find a film like that (Fight Club, Inception, Mad Max: Fury Road) it usually earns a place very close to my heart indeed. The latest tour-de-force from Sam Mendes is one of those films – an epic World War I thriller that plays out ENTIRELY in one shot, which doesn’t simply feel like a glorified gimmick or stunt but instead is a genuine MASTERPIECE of film, a mesmerising journey of emotion and imagination in a shockingly real environment that’s impossible to tear your eyes away from. Sure, Mendes has impressed us before – his first film, American Beauty, is a GREAT movie, one of the most impressive feature debuts of the 2000s, while Skyfall is, in my opinion, quite simply THE BEST BOND FILM EVER MADE – but this is in a whole other league. It’s an astounding achievement, made all the more impressive when you realise that there’s very little trickery at play here, no clever digital magic (just some augmentation here and there), it’s all real locations and sets, filmed in long, elaborately choreographed takes blended together with clever edits to make it as seamless as possible – it’s not the first film to try to do this (remember Birdman? Bushwick?), but I’ve never seen it done better, or with greater skill. But it’s not just a clever cinematic exercise, there’s a genuine story here, told with guts and urgency, and populated by real flesh and blood characters – the heart of the film is True History of the Kelly Gang’s George MacKay and Dean Chapman (probably best known as Tommen Baratheon in Game of Thrones) as Lance Corporals Will Schofield and Tom Blake, the two young tommies sent out across enemy territory on a desperate mission to stop a British regiment from rushing headlong into a German trap (Tom himself has a personal stake in this because his brother is an officer in the attack). They’re a likeable pair, very human and relatable throughout, brave and true but never so overtly heroic that they stretch credibility, so when tragedy strikes along the way it’s particularly devastating; both deliver exceptional performances that effortlessly carry us through the film, and they’re given sterling support from a selection of top-drawer British talent, from Sherlock stars Andrew Scott and Benedict Cumberbatch to Mark Strong and Colin Firth, each delivering magnificently in small but potent cameos. That said, the cinematography and art department are the BIGGEST stars here, masterful veteran DOP Roger Deakins (The Shawshank Redemption, Blade Runner 2049 and pretty much the Coen Brothers’ entire back catalogue among MANY others) making every frame sing with beauty, horror, tension or tragedy as the need arises, and the environments are SO REAL it feels less like production design than that someone simply sent the cast and crew back in time to film in the real Northern France circa 1917 – from a nightmarish trek across No Man’s Land to a desperate chase through a ruined French village lit only by dancing flare-light in the darkness before dawn, every scene is utterly immersive and simply STUNNING. I don’t think it’s possible for Mendes to make a film better than this, but I sure hope he gives it a go all the same. Either way, this was the most incredible, exhausting, truly AWESOME experience I had at the cinema all year – it’s a film that DESERVES to be seen on the big screen, and I feel truly sorry for those who missed the chance …

2. BIRDS OF PREY & THE FANTABULOUS EMANCIPATION OF ONE HARLEY QUINN – the only reason 1917 isn’t at number two is because Warner Bros.’ cinematic DC Extended Universe project FINALLY got round to bringing my favourite DC Comics title to the big screen. It was been the biggest pleasure of my cinematic year getting to see my top DC superheroines brought to life on the big screen, and it was done in high style, in my opinion THE BEST of the DCEU films to date (yup, I loved it EVEN MORE than the Wonder Woman movies). It was also great seeing Harley Quinn return after her show-stealing turn in David Ayer’s clunky but ultimately still hugely enjoyable Suicide Squad, better still that they got her SPOT ON this time – this is the Harley I’ve always loved in the comics, unpredictable, irreverent and entirely without regard for what anyone else thinks of her, as well as one talented psychiatrist. Margot Robbie once more excels in the role she was basically BORN to play, clearly relishing the chance to finally do Harley TRUE justice, and she’s a total riot from start to finish, infectiously lovable no matter what crazy, sometimes downright REPRIHENSIBLE antics she gets up to. Needless to say she’s the nominal star here, her latest ill-advised adventure driving the story – finally done with the Joker and itching to make her emancipation official, Harley publicly announces their breakup by blowing up Ace Chemicals (their love spot, basically), inadvertently painting a target on her back in the process since she’s no longer under the assumed protection of Gotham’s feared Clown Prince of Crime – but that doesn’t mean she eclipses the other main players the movie’s REALLY supposed to be about. Each member of the Birds of Prey is beautifully written and brought to vivid, arse-kicking life by what had to be 2020’s most exciting cast – Helena Bertinelli, the Huntress, is the perfect character for Mary Elizabeth Winstead to finally pay off on that action hero potential she showed in Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, but this is a MUCH more enjoyable role outside of the fight choreography because while Helena may be a world-class dark avenger, socially she’s a total dork, which just makes her thoroughly adorable; Rosie Perez is similarly perfect casting as Renee Montoya, the uncompromising pint-sized Gotham PD detective who kicks against the corrupt system no matter what kind of trouble it gets her into, and just gets angrier all the time, paradoxically making us like her even more; and then there’s the film’s major controversy, at least as far as the fans are concerned, namely one Cassandra Cain. Sure, this take is VERY different from the comics’ version (a nearly mute master assassin who went on to become the second woman to wear the mask of Batgirl before assuming her own crime-fighting mantle as Black Bat and now Orphan), but personally I like to think this is simply Cass at THE VERY START of her origin story, leaving plenty of time for her to discover her warrior origins when the DCEU finally gets around to introducing her mum, Lady Shiva (personally I want Michelle Yeoh to play her, but that’s just me) – anyways, here she’s a skilled child pickpocket whose latest theft inadvertently sets off the larger central plot, and newcomer Ella Jay Basco brings a fantastic pre-teen irreverence and spiky charm to the role, beautifully playing against Robbie’s mercurial energy. My favourite here BY FAR, however, is Dinah Lance, aka the Black Canary (not only my favourite Bird of Prey but my very favourite DC superheroine PERIOD), the choice of up-and-comer Jurnee Smollet-Bell (Friday Night Lights, Underground) proving to be the film’s most inspired casting – a club singer with the metahuman ability to emit piercing supersonic screams, she’s also a ferocious martial artist (in the comics she’s one of the very best fighters IN THE WORLD), as well as a wonderfully pure soul you just can’t help loving, and it made me SO UNBELIEVABLY HAPPY that they got my Canary EXACTLY RIGHT. Altogether they’re a fantastic bunch of badass ladies, basically my perfect superhero team, and the way they’re all brought together (along with Harley, of course) is beautifully thought out and perfectly executed … they’ve also got one hell of a threat to overcome, namely Gotham crime boss Roman Sionis, the Black Mask, one of the Joker’s chief rivals – Ewan McGregor brings his A-game in a frustratingly rare villainous turn (my number one bad guy for the movie year), a monstrously narcissistic, woman-hating control freak with a penchant for peeling off the faces of those who displease him, sharing some exquisitely creepy chemistry with Chris Messina (The Mindy Project) as Sionis’ nihilistic lieutenant Victor Zsasz. This is about as good as superhero cinema gets, a perfect example of the sheer brilliance you get when you switch up the formula to create something new, an ultra-violent, unapologetically R-rated middle finger to the classic tropes, a fantastic black comedy thrill ride that’s got to be the most full-on feminist blockbuster ever made – it’s helmed by a woman (Dead Pigs director Cathy Yan), written by a woman (Bumblebee’s Christina Hodson), produced by more women and ABOUT a bunch of badass women magnificently triumphing over toxic masculinity in all its forms. It’s also simply BRILLIANT – the cast are all clearly having a blast, the action sequences are first rate (the spectacular GCPD evidence room fight in which Harley gets to REALLY cut loose is the undisputable highlight), it has a gleefully anarchic sense of humour and is simply BURSTING with phenomenal homages, references and in-jokes for the fans (Bruce the hyena! Stuffed beaver! Roller derby!). It’s also got a killer soundtrack, populated almost exclusively by numbers from female artists. Altogether, then, this is the VERY BEST the DCEU has to offer to date, and VERY NEARLY my absolute FAVOURITE film of 2020. Give it all the love you can, it sure as hell deserves it.

1. TENET – granted, the streaming platforms (particularly Netflix and Amazon) certainly saved our cinematic summer, but I’m still IMMEASURABLY glad that my ultimate top-spot winner FOR THE WHOLE YEAR was one I got to experience on THE BIG SCREEN. You gotta hand it to Christopher Nolan, he sure hung in there, stubbornly determined that his latest cinematic masterpiece WOULD be released in cinemas in the summer (albeit ultimately landing JUST inside the line in the final week of August and ultimately taking the bite at the box office because of the still shaky atmosphere), and it was worth all the fuss because, for me, this was THE PERFECT MOVIE for me to get return to cinemas with. I mean, okay, in the end it WASN’T the FIRST new movie I saw after the first reopening, that honour went to Unhinged, but THIS was my first real Saturday night-out big screen EXPERIENCE since March. Needless to say, Nolan didn’t disappoint this time any more than he has on any of his consistently spectacular previous releases, delivering another twisted, mind-boggling headfuck of a full-blooded experiential sensory overload that comes perilously close to toppling his long-standing auteur-peak, Inception (itself second only by fractions to The Dark Knight as far as I’m concerned). To say much at all about the plot would give away major spoilers – personally I’d recommend just going in as cold as possible, indeed you really should just stop reading this right now and just GO SEE IT. Still with us? Okay … the VERY abridged version is that it’s about a secret war being waged between the present and the future by people capable of “inverting” time in substances, objects, people, whatever, into which the Protagonist (BlacKkKlansman’s John David Washington), an unnamed CIA agent, has been dispatched in order to prevent a potential coming apocalypse. Washington is once again on top form, crafting a robust and compelling morally complex heroic lead who’s just as comfortable negotiating the minefields of black market intrigue as he is breaking into places or dispatching heavies, Kenneth Branagh delivers one of his most interesting and memorable performances in years as brutal Russian oligarch Andrei Sator, a genuinely nasty piece of work who was ALMOST the year’s very best screen villain, Elizabeth Debicki (The Night Manager, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Widows) brings strength, poise and wounded integrity to the role of Sator’s estranged wife, Kat, and Aaron Taylor-Johnson gets to use his own accent for once as tough-as-nails British Intelligence officer Ives, while there are brief but consistently notable supporting turns and cameos from Martin Donovan, Yesterday’s Himesh Patel, Dirk Gently’s Fiona Dourif and, of course, Nolan’s good luck charm, Michael Caine. The cast’s biggest surprise, however, is Robert Pattinson, truly a revelation in what has to be, HANDS DOWN, his best role to date, Neil, the Protagonist’s mysterious handler – he’s by turns cheeky, slick, duplicitous and thoroughly badass, delivering an enjoyably multi-layered, chameleonic performance which proves what I’ve long maintained, that the former Twilight star is actually a fucking amazing actor, and on the basis of this, even if that amazing new teaser trailer wasn’t making the rounds, I think the debate about whether or not he’s the right choice for the new Batman is now academic. As we’ve come to expect from Nolan, this is a TRUE tour-de-force experience, a visual triumph and an endlessly engrossing head-scratcher, Nolan’s screenplay bringing in seriously big ideas and throwing us some major narrative knots and loopholes, constantly wrong-footing the viewer while also setting up truly revelatory payoffs from seemingly low-key, unimportant beginnings – this is a film you need to be awake and attentive for or you could miss something pretty vital. The action sequences are, as ever, second to none, some of the year’s very best set-pieces coming thick and fast and executed with some of the most accomplished skill in the business, while Nolan-regular cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema (Interstellar and Dunkirk, as well as the heady likes of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, SPECTRE and Ad Astra) once again shows he’s one of the best camera-wizards in the business today by delivering some absolutely mesmerising visuals. Notably, Nolan’s other regular collaborator, composer Hans Zimmer, is absent here (although he had good reason, since he was working on his dream project at the time, the fast-approaching screen adaptation of Dune), but Ludwig Göransson (best known for his collaborations with Ryan Coogler Fruitvale Station, Creed and Black Panther, as well as career-best work on The Mandalorian) is a fine replacement, crafting an intriguingly internalised, post-modern musical landscape that thrums and pulses in time with the story and emotions of the characters rather than the action itself. Interestingly it’s on the subject of sound that some of the film’s rare detractions have been levelled, and I can see some of the points – the soundtrack mix is an all-encompassing thing, and there are times when the dialogue can be overwhelmed, but in Nolan’s defence this film is a heady, immersive experience, something you really need to concentrate on, so these potential flaws are easily forgiven. As a work of filmmaking art, this is another flawless wonder from one of the true masters of the craft working in cinema today, but it’s art with palpable substance, a rewarding whole that proved truly unbeatable in 2020 …

#wolfwalkers #wonder woman 1984 #ww84 #love and monsters #parasite #parasite movie #the old guard #mank #enola holmes #1917 #1917 movie #Birds of Prey #birds of prey the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn #tenet #tenet movie #2020 in movies

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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sea monster indruck nsfw? maybe including one of them masturbating while fantasizing about the other one and confessing all their dirty thoughts as they're actually having sex? scary protective monster is also always hot if you're down for that

Here you go! I wasn’t able to fit in everything, but this one was fun!

This is all the hangman's fault.

Indrid could be pleasantly dead right now, not trapped in a gibbet on a clifftop, if the man had bothered to check his ropes ahead of time. But no, instead he failed to see the rats had been gnawing on them and the blasted noose snapped clean off the instant it took Indrids weight. To the villagers, this was a sign that Indrid was indeed a witch (and the son of a demon, a rare charge that drags his poor, deceased mother into this mess). To Indrid, it meant a new set of bruises and the worst possible death.

They locked him in the gibbet, the Atlantic crashing in angry, grey waves far below them. The man on his right is dead, eyeballs already plucked out by an enterprising bird, and the man on his left is getting there. If his visions are accurate, Indrid has a good five days of suffering the elements, the wild-life, and his own hunger and thirst before he joins them.

A lifetime of visions breeds resignation in the face of fate, so he closes his eyes, follows the futures of luckier men as a temporary escape. The screams of his neighbor rouse him with a start. Their source is wholly unexpected.

Looming at the edge of the cliff is an immense monster. From his vantage point, Indrid spies the creatures’ lower body still submerged in the sea, making it well over a hundred feet tall. It’s skin is green, it’s fingers webbed, and it’s crowned by a frill of wave-shaped spikes. The face is humanoid, with green eyes and hair of black water and a squid-beak where a mouth should be. Strange tentacles appear and disappear along its torso, as if they have not made up their mind as to whether they wish to exist.

The monster sighs, “Fuckin hate it when they leave their dead like this. Unsightly, and I ain’t sure it’s good for the seagulls to be eatin humans.”

“The dead and, ah, almost dead do not enjoy it much either.”

Upon hearing Indrids voice, the creature peers into his cage, “Huh, guess you ain’t dead. Either of you.” He turns his eyes on the other condemned man, who starts screaming again, “why’d they stick you here?”

“Witchcraft, specifically foresight and dabbling in ‘black magic.’ Well, that and a failed hanging” He tilts his head to show the visitor the rope mark.

“Damn, that looks like it hurts. Wonder if I can..” the tip of an immense claw extends towards him. There’s a crackle of power that makes his ears pop, and the monster pulls his hand back, “nope, fuck, was hopin it’d be a small enough thing to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The monster sighs, “Long story short, my kind ain’t able to interact in an, uh, altruistic fashion with humans unless they’re acolytes. Can’t even open that damn cage without gettin zapped. Never mind that some of us don’t even wanna be old gods or whatever the fuck, still ain’t allowed to help. Maybe if I get a real big stick..”

“How does one become an acolyte?” Indrid presses his face to the front of the cage.

“Uh, you gotta swear loyalty and servitude to me, specifically, and the ‘old gods’ in general, live in a place I set up for you, and do stuff when I need you to.”

“Very well, are there specific words of the oath or…”

“Whoah, hold up now” the creature raises his hands, “this shit is real bindin’, rather you not rush into it.”

“Given the alternative is death, a rush is rather necessary.”

“All I’m sayin is you might wanna think for more than two seconds before you agree! And there might be other ways for me to get you out.”

“Do..do you not want an acolyte?” Being rejected by a sea monster feels like a fitting end to his life.

“Not really. It ain’t personal or anythin; I’m just now leanin into the whole god thing and I still ain’t all that comfortable with parts if it. Last thing I want is an acolyte who saw me as ‘not as bad as death.”

“And the last thing I want is to die of exposure, so we are at an impasse.”

The monster clicks his beak once, “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You take until sunset to think over whether you wanna be stuck servin’ this” he gestures to himself, “for a long-ass time, and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well.” Indrid resigns himself to several more hours of misery as the creature sinks from view. He glances at the other prisoner, “what do you think? He seems very considerate for a sea monster and I for one would like to keep living.”

The man stares, babbles incoherently for a moment before shouting, “You, you conversed with a devil! You are a witch, just as they say!”

“He spoke to both of us.” Indrid blinks, puzzled.

“I closed my ears to his lies, you offered yourself to his wickedness! Speak no more to me from your black tongue.”

“Hmmph” Indrid does his best to ignore the ongoing beration. He’s not sure the creature is a god, but then again the creature seems uncertain on the matter himself. Serving a maybe-god seems no worse than serving the king, a life among the depths no less tolerable than his small home in a town torn to pieces by accusations of witchcraft.

After a time, the storm clouds fulfill their purpose, a downpour battering him from all angles. Then a shadow falls over his shut eyes, and no more rain touches him.

“Seemed awful rude to leave you stuck in the rain while you thought things over.” The god explains, one massive hand shielding the human.

“Many thanks. Ah, I do have one concern about being your acolyte. Would...would I have to hurt anyone?”

“Don’t think so. I ain’t fond of hurtin folks, and if someone did need to be hurt, seems real strange to make the tiny human do it.”

Indrid puts on his most hopeful, charming smile, “I am very cold, very hungry, and my whole being feels as though it’s been stomped on by a team of horses. Perhaps I could give my answer early?”

A chuckle, like bubbles in deep water, “Hard to say no to that face. Okay, you got a deal. I checked with Joe while I was gone, to make sure I knew the right thing to do if you said yes. I’m gonna say the oath, and you’re gonna repeat it.”

Indrid nods, makes his way laboriously through the incantation in a gurgling language he does not know. The god patiently guides him along, cracks open the cage when the last word is spoken.

“Do I get to know your name? If it was one of those words, it will take me some time to master it.”

The monsters’ cheeks rise, suggesting a smile, “You can call me Duck. It’s a nickname. C’mon” he holds out his hand, “let’s get you outta the rain.”

“One moment.” Indrid moves to the other gibbet, undoing the lock, “you can get free if you wish. If anyone asks how, tell them it was the witch.” With that, he settles in Duck’s cupped palms, the skin smooth and cool to the touch.

“Down we go.” Duck sinks.

“Wait, how will I bre-” water fills his mouth, but only for a moment. A clear bubble forms around him, let’s him gulp in air as Duck dives further into the sea. More jarring than the spell is the sight of the monster unfurling behind him. He assumed Duck had legs, but instead his lower body is that of a sea-serpent, green with bronze rings and undulating in the dark waves.

“Like what you see?”

“Yes” he wonders what touching that tail is like.

“Yeah, this is a real beautiful part of the sea. If you want, some time I can take you further out; some spectacular lookin creatures out there. Here we go, home sweet home.” They surface at the base of a much shorter cliff, Indrid woozy from the change in depth. Three cottages--one red, one gold, and one blue-- stare back at them from a grassy hill.

“Let’s see if I can do this” Duck sets Indrid on the ground, closes his eyes, and hums. The world shudders and splits, and then a fourth, emerald green cottage sits alongside the others.

“Ha! Pretty damn good for a first effort.” His frill flickers with silver light.

“It’s wonderful.”

“All yours. You get yourself settled, I'm gonna go find out from the others what else needs doin’ now that I got an acolyte.” He lowers himself so the two of them are roughly face to face, “see you soon, Indrid.”

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

The cottage holds more possessions than Indrid’s ever had in his life, including a large feather bed that he stretches his aching body across before falling asleep and dreaming of seaweed twining up his legs.

Voices from the window rouse him some hours later. At the side of the red cottage sit three other humans, two of whom are at work in a vegetable garden. Indrid ventures down to introduce himself.

“Hi!” One, a woman with golden hair, waves to him, “you must be Indrid. I’m Dani, this is Barclay” she points to the bearded man harvesting potatoes, then to a tattooed man polishing a pile of gold and silver jewelry, “and that’s Boyd.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. You are all acolytes as well?” His stomach rumbles and Barclay pauses his digging to slide him a basket containing bread and cheese.

“Help yourself, those are leftover from lunch. And yeah, we are. Or were, in Dani’s case.”

Even with foresight, Indrid is surprised when the woman says jokingly, “Got promoted to ‘wife’ a few months.”

“Congratulations.” It seems the appropriate thing to say, given her smile, “ah, what exactly do you all do for your gods? Duck is rather unclear on the details.”

“Some of it is spellwork. Beings like Duck have some innate power, but they can get more of it from an acolyte doing rituals or making offerings. Joseph, that’s my monster, Duck, and a few others aren’t sold on the idea that they’re meant to destroy humans, so they spend a lot of time keeping other monsters from doing just that. Our spellwork gives them an edge. Other than that, it really depends on who you’re working for; I spent a lot of my first month helping Joseph understand that hauling himself up onto a random dock to ask questions is not the best way to learn about humans. Boyd spends a lot of time maintaining Ned’s treasure.”

“Only because he bloody tricked me into workin for him. Just bidin my time until the deal runs out. You hear that Chicane!” Boyd yells towards the water, “don’t care how much you steal, I’ll get my share and run one of these days.”

To Indrid’s ear, the sea laughs in reply. Boyd grumbles and returns to his work.

“He’s just annoyed because he and Ned thought they could outwit each other; Boyd was on a prison ship bound for Jamaica and Ned offered him an out. Apparently they spent hours haggling over the terms.” Dani leans closer, whispers, “Boyds left twice, comes back every time saying he’s bored without someone to challenge him.”

They talk a while longer, Dani promising to bring Indrid some hens and a goat from town, Boyd giving him some firewood, and Barclay explaining the network of sea caves in the surrounding hills. When there’s a knock at the door, he opens it expecting another human and jumps when this is not the case.

“Evenin’” Duck smiles as he slithers into the house, “brought you a few more things.”

“You got smaller.”

“Can change my size some, though this is about as small as I can get.” He’s still two heads taller than Indrid, who notes that the ceilings are just high enough to accommodate him, as if the god built the cottage with visits in mind.

Duck sets a bucket of fresh oysters in the kitchen along with a large slab of butter, some milk, and some sugar, “Had one of my human friends bring me these. And, uh, I made you this” he holds up a cloak in the same colors as his tail. It fits Indrid snugly, shutting out the chilly air and making him feel rather grand indeed.

“C’mere” Duck pats a kitchen chair, “lemme take care of your neck.”

Indrid sits, shudders when webbing and claws rub sticky balm into his skin. The gods hands easily encircle his neck, a realization that stirs heat deep in his stomach. Duck talks as he works, a meandering story about a shipwreck, and Indrid finds he enjoys his manner of speech. The initial discomfort of the touches subside, the balm washing the pain in his neck away like a wave erasing a message in the sand. Cool hands wrapped around his throat turn as comforting as the fire crackling in the stove.

“That looks like it healed. Good” Duck’s beak fondly nips his ear, “gotta make sure my servant is in good condition.”

“Mmmm” Indrid bumps his chest with his head, hoping for more; tomorrow he’ll ask the others if it’s commonplace for an acolyte to lounge in the coils of their gods lap like a housecat.

The beak touches his ear once more, biting it lightly with little kissing sounds.

“Huh'' two tentacles catch Indrid as he tips sideways, his body deciding that the earlier nap was not enough rest, “didn’t think you’d find that soothin. Did it by accident, it’s how my kind show affection.”

“S’very nice” Indrid mumbles, dimly aware of being carried.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Y’know, in case I need to reward you for somethin.” Duck lays him in bed, pulls a thick blanket over him, and bids him goodnight. Indrid is sound asleep before the door closes.

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

“Ngahka miskato--ah! Give that back” Indrid wrenches his spectacles free from hold of a far too inquisitive octopus. The creature squirts him with water, then disappears back into its pool.

Each of the gods has a sea cave in which their acolytes perform their rituals. Since the processes involves ancient, dark magic, all manner of strange sea life makes its way to the caves. Some, like the octopus or the seals that bob in the distance or flop on the rocks to nap, are known to him. Others might be classified as indescribable horrors from the deep, though Indrid thinks they look like crustaceans with a few too many limbs or the offspring of an eel and devil fish.

His oath to Duck allows him to read the spells, and his pronunciation is improving. Duck’s requests center on defense; letting himself take greater damage from an enemy, be better able to protect his friends, that sort of thing. Indrid even found a ritual that gives the god new cloaking abilities, which he’s used to make the cottages disappear on the hillside and thus keep curious townsfolk away. He also found one that allows Duck to remain out of water for well over a day.

The Duck who visits him in the cave and the one who stops by his home may be radically different sizes, but his disposition is constant. He talks about the kelp forests and the animals, about his annoyance with his supposed destiny as “destroyer of all man.” He conjures fine clothes from seaweed, furniture from driftwood, and brings Indrid newly made grins embedded with fresh pearls.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one serving you?” Indrid will tease.

“Way I see it, we serve each other. Don’t care what that fuckin oath said.”

Indrid is feeding his hens one evening when his luck catches up with him; his human friends are all standing at the edge of Dani’s house, peering anxiously around it’s corner and down the hill. Joining them, he sees a crowd marching with torches and an assortment of lethal farm equipment.

“What the fuck are they doing? You were just in town today and everything was fine” Barclay glances at Dani, who shrugs, worried.

“My visions tell me that as they get closer we will hear them yelling about witches and that I will recognize many of them. I suspect my fellow gibbet-occupant told them about Duck.” He sighs, “I’ll try to lead them on a chase, get them away from all of you.”

Indrid runs into the evening before the others, or his own common sense, can stop him. Keeping to the cliffside, he lets them glimpse his hair and his red glasses, both used at the trial as proof of his wicked nature. His plan is to take a secret tunnel down into the caves, but his visions alert him a moment too late to the fact there are two, not one, groups of villagers. He’s outflanked on the cliff, holds up his hands to show he means no harm.

“I understand my continued existence alarms and confuses you, but that is no reason to go running about with weapons. Would you kindly leave me alone?”

“No, witch, we will not.” The head of the party shouts over the wind.

“I have a name, you know.” He grumbles, looking behind him and wondering if his status as an acolyte grants him immunity from death by falling in the water.

“You have already confessed to your black work, and we have on good authority you have made a pact with the devil. There is nowhere to run, and if you come quietly I promise we will hang you properly this time.”

“And if I do not?”

“We shall see to it that your body is scattered about this cliffside before the night is out.” The mob moves forward and Indrid stumbles back, the earth giving out beneath his feet.

He lands with a yelp in a smooth, large hand. As Duck rises more fully from the waves, the crowd freezes, struck dumb with fear.

“Y’all ain’t gonna touch him, y’hear? Indrid’s under my protection and in case it ain’t obvious, I could smoosh the whole damn bunch of you without breakin a sweat. So, what you’re gonna do is turn around and go back to your village, and I’ll forget this ever happened. If you come after him again, I’m gonna start taking out ships in your harbor. We clear?”

The panicked flight of the mod downhill suggests he’s made his point.

Duck carries Indrid home, joining him in the cottage once he can fit through the door. The monster follows him upstairs, pulling him into his arms.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.”

“That makes two of us.”

Duck nuzzles the top of his head, “You mind if I stay here tonight? Little worried some of them might get it into their heads to come back and hurt you.”

No futures show this, but Indrid nods all the same. Duck curls up near the bed, not leaving until the morning sun shines through the window. He does the same the next night, and the night after that, and soon it’s been two weeks of the god talking softly with Indrid as the human falls asleep.

When Indrid shyly asks if Duck will join him, his monster lays as comfortably as he can on the right side of the bed. Indrid is now used to waking up with a tail looped around his leg or a tentacle clinging to his arm.

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

Indrid is just drifting off when the covers slide aside and weight slithers up the bed. He opens his eyes; Duck is on his side, facing him, annoyed.

“What troubles you, my dark excellency?” Indrid nudges Ducks’ lower belly with his toes. He’s taken to calling Duck increasingly absurd things, and the monster calls him “faithful servant” or “esteemed attendant” in reply.

Tonight, Duck just sighs, “Y’know how I was supposed to do somethin important tonight, bein’ that it’s the second full moon in the month? Turns out that somethin was, ‘spread my seed among the beds of men’ so our kind will gradually overrun the surface.” He clicks his beak with a snort, “don’t that sound fun?”

“No.”

“Smart little thing, ain’t you?” Duck teases, cups Indrid’s chin, “Yeah, I said no. Problem is, apparently a second full moon makes my whole body wanna fuck, which is why that prophecy was supposed to happen tonight.”

Indrid looks down, sees something rippling under the skin at the upper part of Duck’s tail.

“I’m gonna try sleepin it off.”

His visions give him courage; Duck turns him down in most futures, but none of them end in death or bodily harm, which at his point in his life is all he asks.

“Or you could, ah, allow me to help you.”

Green eyes blink, slow and calculating, “‘Drid, that ain’t part of your job.”

“No…” Indrid scoots across the sheets, tentatively runs his fingers up Duck’s side, “but that is not why I’m offering.”

“No?” The rest of his tail joins them on the bed, curving so it traps Indrid against him, “Then why are you offerin, sweet human of mine?”

“Because I, ah, I want, that is I would very much like to know you in that way, and I thought it was allowed based on the others, I apologize if it’s not, I did not mean to-” He freezes as Duck cups his face, nipping his ear and throat with a kissing noise.

“‘Drid?”

“Y-yes, my lord of the depths?” He’s breathless, drowning in Duck’s gaze.

“Stop apologizin and take off your clothes.”

Indrid flails until nothing is between him and his monster.

“Thats better” Duck’s voice deepens, washing over him like rough waves, “now, come serve your god.” He pats what Indrid thinks of as his waist, the point where his human qualities disappear entirely.

“As you wish” Indrid tries for a coquettish smile as he straddles him, but it gives way to surprise as the slit in Ducks skin parts.

“I was not expecting tentacles. Which, given the rest of you, was naive.”

“Not usin that future vision of yours to see what’s comin’?” The webbing of Duck’s fingers is like velvet as it caresses Indrid’s chest.

“It is difficult to focus on such things when you are here. You command my attention. You always have.”

Duck flicks his tongue across Indrid’s lower lip, “Now that kind of devotion I could get used to.”

“It is yours whenever you want it.”

A tentacle emerges from his side, petting Indrid’s face, “My Indrid. You been so good for me, so faithful and true. Letting me babble about seaweed and when my claws through that pretty hair. And you just keep gettin better.”

“Please” Indrid rests his head against Duck’s chest, hugging him as best as his size will allow, “please teach me how to serve you this way too.”

“I can do that. You don’t gotta lift a finger.” Several of the tendrils that comprise his cock twine together to form a single appendage. The tentacle on his face gains a twin and the pair slide down to his ass, parting it.

Indrid’s thighs are uncooperative, struggle to get and keep him in the right position to sink down. He curses, reaches down to adjust only for a thicker tentacles to bind both wrists and yank them up above his head.

“Uh uh, I said no finger-liftin and I meant it.”

Indrid moans, his cock filling as he discovers there’s no way to free himself. He expects Duck to guide him into place with his hands. The end of his tail encircles Indrid’s hips while his claws trace arcane shapes on his skin.

“I, I did not know it was quite so dextrousOH, oh god.” The tip of that strange cock pushes in, pulsing little by little to stretch him open without pain.

“Right here.” Duck nibbles his hair with that same kissing sound, “I got you. Take such good care of my faithful human.”

“Oh god” Indrid can’t come up with anything else to express the sensation of Duck sinking deeper into his body, of how safe he feels stretched out and stretched open in the monsters hold. He tips his head back with a cry as Duck bottoms out and his cock moves fluid and disjointed all at once. It’s pulsing, thrusting him full on each inward push, yet it’s individual tendrils curve and curl within him independent of the whole.

“More, oh god, please, please never ever ever stop.”

A fond chuckle, “That good huh? Maybe that prophecy was wrong. Maybe what I’m supposed to do is fuck you full and then drop you in town so you can spread the word of how good my dick is. Be my consort and prophet all in one. Get everyone clamorin for the chance for me to fuck them.”

“No” Indrid squirms, petulant, “you’re my master. Not theirs.”

A louder laugh this time, “You gonna take the amount of fuckin I was supposed to do to a whole town yourself?” A tendril curls around Indrid’s aching cock.

“Yes” He wails, rolls his hips “you may have me as often as you please, I want you too, I’ll, I’ll be your faithful servant always.”

“You’re already somethin better; you’re my ‘Drid.” Duck twists the tendril and Indrid’s lost, his orgasm knocking breath from his chest and tears from his eyes as white spatters the green of Duck’s abdomen.

“That’s it darlin, lookit you bein so good, cummin for your master. Think it’s time for you to make good on your promise to take whatever I give you.” The tail lifts Indrid up and down as Duck cums, the monster not so much as pausing before thrusting his hips harder, “fuuuck that’s good, my perfect servant, my ‘Drid, takin me so well.”

Indrid sobs as another burst of cum enters him and a strange feeling fills his chest; he’s buzzing with blindingly bright power. It’s coming from Duck, he knows this, and in the haze of his submissive state he understands the depth of his divinity.

“Duck” he whimpers as more tentacles twist around his limbs, the god losing himself in his pursuit of pleasure, filling Indrid until his belly twinges and his eyes fight to remain open. When the god groans out the humans name a final time, Indrid is so enveloped by him he wonders if they’ll ever fully disentangle.

The monster carries him to the washroom, Indrid still squirming on his cock, and gently pulls him free to set him in the tub. A flick of his hand fills it with warm seawater.

“You okay?”

“I doubt I will be able to walk tomorrow.” Indrid smiles to show he relishes this fact.

“Guess I’ll be spendin tomorrow waitin on you.” Duck joins him in the tub, coiling protectively around him as he washes his chest and thighs.

“I thought I was the servant here?” Indrid cuddles closer, kissing Duck on the tip of his beak.

“Nah. Far as I’m concerned, we take care of each other.”

#indrid cold/duck newton #Indruck #monster march #reader requests #monster boyfriend #the author says "fuck HP Lovecraft

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dearcat1 · 4 years ago

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Guardian Tsu and his sky Xan?

This is somehow far longer than I was expecting... I was trying to do something different than the multichap that I have plotted hahaha hope you like it.

Story:

No matter what other people think, Xanxus is a Sky. Despite their willful ignorance, he's actually the Sky with the most experience with Clouds. After all, if they're to be mafia one way or the other, the Varia tends to be the more palatable option. Xanxus has no interest in parading them around like show ponies, no need to leash them to his castle. As long as they take the required number of missions and complete them, Xanxus gives zero shits about the rest.

Which means that when they're aware of the option and it's given to them, most Clouds flock to him. Not that any of the old men would ever recognize that little fact. It also means, however, that ten years later, when he finally sees Sawada again, he sees it. Xanxus was set to dislike him, had decided in his mind already but once he notices it, there's no ignoring the fact and Xanxus can't stop watching.

Reborn thinks his student is a cloudy Sky, possessive and territorial but nothing that can't be overcome with a little conditioning, a little pushing. Xanxus takes one long look at Sawada reigning his temper in and he realizes that's not the case at all. That's a Cloud, with a damn powerful Sky secondary. It's not until later, however, when Xanxus witnesses Sawada losing his temper for a fraction of a second that he understands.

First, Sawada is the most powerful, most in control Cloud that Xanxus has ever seen. Second, Reborn and Timoteo are buffoons. What do they know about Clouds anyway? They've been trampling over Sawada's instincts for years, attempting to curve his tendencies instead of working with who he is. They have given Sawada no time to rest, to collect himself. He has no territory, no sense of belonging because of that. Third, Xanxus could sit back and enjoy the explosions. No matter how calm Sawada is, everybody has a breaking point.

And yet… Fourth, Xanxus wants him. It had only been a moment, certainly not enough time for much other than to see Sawada's Flames briefly lash out from under his skin but it had been enough. But it had been more than enough. Xanxus is picky, he wants only the best of the best and Sawada is the best Cloud in the mafia.

He starts small. Where all the other Skies in Vongola impose themselves on Sawada with casual disregard, Xanxus makes a point of respecting his cues. When it looks like Sawada is about done with people, Xanxus covers for him. If it's only the two of them in the meeting, he waves Sawada away, tells him to come back when he feels like it. When it's with their old men, he provides a distraction just long enough for Sawada to collect himself.

Soon enough, Xanxus becomes the one Sky in Vongola who can guarantee Sawada will show up to their meetings instead of sending Gokudera or the baby swordsman to replace him.

One morning, Xanxus wakes up to Vongola as a collective losing their fucking minds. Sawada is, apparently, missing. Unlike Timoteo, Xanxus doesn't worry. The little Cloud will come back when he feels like it and not a moment before that, Hyper Intuition will see to it. Vongola begins search parties. Xanxus finishes dressing and strides into his office. When he finds Sawada sprawled on his couch, napping with a manga on his hand, Xanxus doesn't react.

All he does is sit down and tackle the paperwork.

Sawada wakes up some time later but loses interest in his book after a while, watching Xanxus silently. It's predatory, almost considering. Xanxus keeps working. Sawada stretches with a hum, slow and lazy. "What are you doing?"

"Courting you."

"Hmm," Sawada takes that in, nods once and turns back to his book.

The Cloud disappears for ten days, there one moment and gone the next. Xanxus sits back and watches the chaos, secure in the knowledge that Timoteo will simply assume Xanxus is sadistically pleased. He ignores the sad disappointed looks and continues on with his life. If you want a Cloud to stick around, Xanxus knows, you better store away the leash.

Sure enough, the night of the tenth day, Sawada shows up once more in the Iron Fort, shoes covered in mud, a streak of it on his cheek. But he looks calmer, more settled in a way that makes Xanxus's lips twitch up and the brat's tutor stop. Sawada endures his guardians fuzzing with grace, pretends to listen to Timoteo's scolding about responsibilities and duties. Xanxus buys him boots and gives them to him during the next meeting.

When Sawada takes them from him, he blinks, "uh. Thank you." But he puts them on right there, looking pleased with the way they fit. "They're nice."

Good, the sooner Sawada forms his territory and settles, the sooner Xanxus can actually make strides in his courtship. He makes no mention of just how much those boots cost. He just ruffles Sawada's hair, "good. Lets get back to business."

It becomes something of a routine. Sawada disappears for a day or two, always coming back a little muddy but happy. Timoteo hates it, his guardians try to tag along, Reborn is at a loss on how to curve it and Xanxus covers for him, encourages it. Whether Sawada disappears to unknown places with no warning or does it after a nap on Xanxus's couch, Xanxus buys him time and offers him a calmer welcome when Sawada finally turns away from his usual committee.

Xanxus still twitches in place when he finally realizes where exactly Sawada is creating his territory. That little shit. He strides to the very edges of the land behind his castle, carefully stopping right at the start of the lush forest-like garden and waits. But there's no answer, no acceptance or rejection. So Xanxus steps in, careful to step only on grass. It takes him almost two hours but he does find Sawada, laid on a branch of a tree.

How big is this thing? Xanxus crosses his arms and arches a brow, "really now?"

Sawada opens one eye, smug and mischievous. "Do you like it?"

"Very relaxing," Xanxus nods. Slowly, he lays on the grass, under the shade of the tree. Sawada doesn't react, watching him silently.

The next time Xanxus shows up at Sawada's territory, he brings along a box full of seeds. He says nothing when he gives it up. Sawada takes it from him with a delighted little hum, disappearing between the trees. Xanxus watches him go and doesn't follow. It becomes something of a tradition, Sawada will disappear every now and then and Xanxus will go back to his castle, find another variety of seeds and walk to the edge of Sawada's territory with his offering.

It's a learning curve, slow and steady. Xanxus learns just how far in he can get without an explicit welcome, where to wait for Sawada to come greet him and even how far in Sawada will allow the rest of his elements. Which had been a bit of a touch and go thing, Xanxus had never seen Sawada as angry as the moment Belphegor had carelessly stabbed one of the trees. On the bright side, the prince now has a healthy fear of Sawada. On the other hand, however, it had taken Xanxus almost half a year to get to the point where he was trusted enough to bring somebody else.

Which is why he's so relieved when he walks in, Squalo a step behind him and Sawada doesn't come to fend them off. If he ended up being back to square one, Xanxus would have put the damn Storm back in the medical wing himself.

"Voi," Squalo murmurs, looking around, "this place is a fucking forest."

That much is true. The plot is big enough for it and Sawada has taken advantage. Between the space and Sawada's apparent green thumb and random planting, the land has lost any sort of connection it had to a garden to become a forest instead. Full with life, wild animals included. And yet, not a human soul but them and Sawada himself. If that doesn't speak of Sawada's preferences, Xanxus doesn't know what will. Even Hibari's territory, for all of his short patience, is full of 'herbivores' to herd.

Xanxus guides them to the clearing and settles down under the tree for a nap. Sawada will either show up or he won't. At this point, all they have to do is wait.

When he wakes up, hours later, it's to the rhythmic sounds of Squalo cleaning his blade. He opens his eyes to find Sawada watching curiously from where he's laying on top of a branch. Xanxus watches him instead. Sawada turns to look at him and Xanxus hums, stretching an arm up with the box. Sawada jumps down, sitting cross-legged beside Xanxus as he takes the box.

"What's this?"

Yawning, Xanxus turns on his side, "signal yammer. You can leave your phone in that." So that you don't have to keep smashing them when you disappear, Xanxus doesn't say.

Sawada perks up, touching the engravings on the metallic surface. It's handmade, Xanxus made it himself. "Come on," Sawada pulls on Xanxus's sleeve.

It's not unheard of but it's definitely strange for Sawada to invite Xanxus deeper into his territory without Xanxus himself asking. And doing so while leaving Squalo unattended on his territory is a very big sign of trust. So Xanxus stands, letting Sawada guide him around by the sleeve of his coat. They go deeper than Xanxus has ever been, Sawada letting him stop and stare every now and then. There are streams running through the ground, a small lake, a cave system. "How big is this?"

"Big enough," Sawada shrugs, happy and still full of mischief. "It took you forever to figure it out."

Xanxus snorts, "yeah? But then it wouldn't have been ready when I came."

That makes Sawada stop, like the thought hadn't occurred to him, and then pout. "It was ready, though."

"Hmm," Xanxus takes the place in. It's a small house, carved inside the cave system with tools and flame. Nothing too luxurious but impressive all the same. They're inside of what seems to be the bedroom, there's a small dresser, some shelves with some assorted random objects, one of them dedicated only to Xanxus's gifts. The rest of the bedroom is just a giant bed. Pillows and blankets on the ground, enough that it's impossible to see the stone underneath, all in a soft colorful chaos, small led lights hanging on the ceiling like a messy spider's web.

All in all, very cozy.

Sawada is looking at him, shy and expectant. So Xanxus walks closer, ruffles his hair. "It's nice," and Xanxus hope's he's not misunderstanding. "Your bedroom?"

"Yup," Sawada puts his hands on Xanxus's pockets, walking backwards and then letting them fall. He's caging himself between Xanxus's body and the pillows, "ok."

"Ok?" Xanxus's breath hitches. No matter Iemitsu's despairing remarks or Timoteo's gentle condescending suggestions, Xanxus is a Sky. He's greedier than most. His elements are his and Xanxus will have them in every way he can have them.

"Uh hu," Sawada presses closer, forehead against Xanxus's shoulder.

Xanxus lets him, shrugging his coat off and maneuvering it onto Sawada's shoulders. "Next time," he promises, kissing the crown of Sawada's head, "next time, I'll have you. Next time, I'll be ready. How do you like your breakfast?"

His Cloud makes a tiny sound of surprise, turning them around even as he slips his arms on the sleeves of Xanxus's coat. It's too big on him. He presses Xanxus down, moving blankets and pillows around them until he's happy they're both comfortable and warm. Xanxus lets him use his chest as a mattress, hand rubbing gently on his back. "I don't have a kitchen," Sawada offers.

"I'll figure it out," Xanxus reassures.

#fanfiction #khr #xanxus #katekyo hitman reborn #sawada tsunayoshi #ask #lady-hallowtide #wilful blindness

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years ago

Text

Cardigan | Jon Snow

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

Genre: Angst with fluff at the end

Warnings: —

Words: ~3k

Prompt: Based on Cardigan by Taylor Swift. I’m not sure if that translates, but it’s all I listened to when writing this so there’s that.

Note: Want to be tagged in my future works when I post?? Link is in my Bio! ♡ Also, I like -- love Jon a lot...?? And I want more content, so feel free to request more Jon content.

Winterfell was always unbearably cold, something you never got used to, despite living in the North your whole life. But despite the biting cold that left you feeling like you were seconds away from frostbite and minutes away from turning in a statue of ice, you loved it. You were enraptured by snowflakes that lazily glided down the sky, nearly iridescent when the faint rays of the sun would hit them. They’d land in your hands, melting within an instant, turning to small water droplets that would slip through your fingers. Your dark hair was a startling contrast to the white blanket surrounding you, your pale skin glowing in the light, making you look otherworldly.

As a child you’d run through it, as wild as the direwolves north of The Wall, running through fields covered in ice, no rhyme or reason. A ferocious yell leaving your mouth just because you felt like it, not restrained by the obsession of being civil and proper. But you were older now, no longer that wide eyed naive girl, instead of running freely, you kept it hidden deep inside you, only visible in a glint in your eyes.

You still often find yourself as far from Winter Town as you could, hiding away in the depths of the Godswood. However, instead of chasing imaginary battles against dragons, you chased shadows that were just as distant as your dreams. Their hair so dark it could be mistaken for black, but you’ve seen the sunlight hit it just right, exposing the soft and wild curls as a dark brown. Deep brown eyes bore into your soul, seeing right through every layer that surrounded you and hid your true feelings and ambitions. And his voice was deep, the Northern brogue only enhancing how hoarse it could sound, and sometimes when he spoke, you swore your whole body would tremble. He’d deny it over and over again, but standing in the Godswood, the crimson red leaves dancing around him and crowned by snowflakes, he looked beautiful.

Some days you danced around each other, mimicking the movements of the Lords and Ladies in lavish balls neither of you would ever be let into. You moved towards him and he took two steps back, making declarations about how unhappy you’d be with him, how he’d never give you what you needed. But by the end of the night, when the sun was completely gone, the woods around you plunged into darkness, he’d crack. He’d stop fighting, if only for a moment, and allow himself to drown in you. He’d pull you so close to him that two blended into one. Your lips would meet in soft and slow kisses, stars clouding your eyes. And when you burned from the cold, ice numbing your whole body, he’d pull you even closer, if that was possible, lighting you on fire with a single smile.

And it was nice, sneaking away from your parents and all the noise that surrounded you. Every stolen moment with Jon was built under a delusion that the outside world wasn’t real, an illusion that one day you could be more than an illicit affair. And each time you met, you told yourself that it was the last time, but you lied. Despite knowing everything the two of you built; every quiet moment under the stars, each second tucked away in the Godswood, and every secret glance would crumble until it was nothing but a ruin.

Even with that knowledge, the day you watched Jon leave for The Night’s Watch stung more than ice ever could, burnt you more than dragon fire would have. And as you stood hidden away, watching him with tears threatening to pour down your face, you swore your chest was hollow. He gave you one last look, filled with longing, sorrow, and all sorts of other emotions. You wanted to be furious at him, scream and yell until everyone knew that he was leaving you behind. But you couldn’t. You’d seen the sad look in his eyes, the scars covering his body from the mental and emotional lashing Lady Catelyn gave him with just a glance. How beat down he really was, truly believing he couldn’t be anything more than a bastard. And despite how many times you drew stars around his scars, no matter how permanent the ink was, nor how many you drew, they would bleed again the second you two departed.

So instead of making a scene, you just smiled sadly, wiping away any stray tears as you waved him farewell. To this day, your mother still doesn’t know why you cried so much that day.

Shortly after Jon left, Lord Stark was imprisoned in King’s Landing, accused of committing treason against Joffrey Baratheon. And before you could register what happened, Robb Stark became King of the North and marched off to war. Then Theon came back, declaring that Winterfell belonged to the Iron Islands, forcing Bran and Rickon out of Winterfell. And you wanted to go with if only to keep them safe for Jon, but they didn’t even know who you were. And each day, you regret your decision to stay when the news that Theon killed the Stark boys reached you. Your parents were horrified, your brothers and sisters mortified, and you soaked your pillow in tears that night, knowing the news would reach Castle Black and Jon would be devastated.

But then worst of all was when the Bolton’s came to Winterfell after murdering Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, and any remaining Stark soldiers at The Red Wedding. They swept into the hold as if it was always House Bolton’s, quickly getting rid of any signs the wolves ever lived there. Statues were torn down, flags burned, and anything with a wolf destroyed. Then came Little Finger with Sansa Stark, marrying her off to Ramsey Bolton, who proved to be worse than his father in every way possible. And every time you saw the fear and desolation in her once sparkling blue eyes, you died a little on the inside. You wanted to help, but what could you do. So you just watched, millions of words caught in your throat.

But then the dark storm that drenched you in heavy rains that nearly swept you away, bringing lightning that nearly stuck you and thunder that frightened away all your sanity suddenly cleared. Warm and bright daylight washed over you, as bright and powerful as a Dornish sun. The sun burned out any signs of rain every being there, the intense heat drying out the water left behind. Suddenly the leaves grew back, more vibrant than ever, and wildflowers in every shade possible blossomed overnight.

Jon came back.

He came back with an army to reclaim Winterfell and the North for House Stark. And he won. Miraculously beating back Ramsay Bolton’s army with the help of the Knights of the Vale brought by Sansa after she escapes from Winterfell. After the battle was won and the dead collected to be buried or burned, the Lords and Ladies of the North gathered with the Wildlings that fought for Jon in the Main Hall. You’re not sure what happened, you weren’t allowed in, too busy trying to return to your old normal before you lived every day in fear.

But what you do know is Jon walked in that hall as a bastard and walked out a King.

You should’ve been elated, beaming so brightly you could’ve been mistaken for the sun. But you were petrified, petrified that you’d spent all these years missing Jon, only for him to have moved on. Scared that all those nights you flipped between crying, reminiscing, and cursing his name would’ve been wasted.

So you hid like a coward. You buried yourself in anything you possibly could, taking on any task no matter how big or small. And it worked for a while, the pain in your chest every time you saw his wild hair and deep brown eyes in your mind wasn’t as raw when you were elbow deep in dishes. But late at night, when you had nothing but your thoughts, he was there. Every second you’d lie awake because whenever you’d close your eyes, he was there, haunting you like a phantom.

So here you are now, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots as you approached the clearing in the Godswood. You moved towards the place you avoided for years, looking for the one person you wanted more than anything but could never have. Except maybe now you could. And maybe you were just sleep deprived, delirious in the brain from the lack of sleep, but you wanted nothing more than to see the face that’s haunted you for years, at least one more time. Because even if he sent you away, you could have a new image to see in your dreams.

Standing in the center of the clearing-- your clearing, it brought a twinge of hope, a warm feeling washing over your body as your heart raced, possibilities and what-ifs running through your head. He isn’t the shadow he was all those years ago, both there and not at the same time, no, he’s too real for that now. Standing in the center of the snow filled clearing, surrounded by barren trees and crunchy leaves that are scattered on the ground, he looks too regal to be compared to a shadow. The heavy fur cloak, similar to the one Lord Stark had worn, and Robb after him, looked good on him, framing his broad shoulders and strong posture. And maybe you were biased, but he wore it the best out of all the previous Lords and Kings of Winterfell.

You're at the edge now, unable to move any closer in fear of breaking the spell he cast on you. But then he turned and your eyes met, his gaze like flint, catching you on fire in an instant. His skin was paler than ever, cheeks flushed and rosy from the cold. Long unruly curls have been cut shorter than it had been all those years ago, contained by a small bun near the nape of his neck. He was older, more scars marring his visible flesh, but it was him and he was real.

You stare at him and he looks back, neither of you doing anything else.

And you swear the world paused, time standing still has you tried to comprehend that he was really here, and not a figment of your imagination. He wasn’t a delusion you created to cope with the lowest points of your life.

He was real.

You were running. And so was he. Within a second, you met in the middle, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into him, lifting your smaller form off the ground as he spun you in circles. The heavy cloak was warmer than you’d initially thought, the expensive furs immediately warming up your frozen skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on so tightly because you were afraid he'd slip through your fingers as he did all those years ago. The very tips of your fingers bury themselves into his hair, pulling it free from the leather cord that kept it back. And this moment was better than anything you could’ve envisioned, his smell: leather, sword polish, and something woody, more enthralling than you remembered.

He sets you back on the ground but doesn’t release you from his embrace and you didn’t pull away. A laugh bubbled out of your mouth, it was light and airy and happy, something you hadn’t been for years now. There was a glimmer in your eyes, the same one you’d seen reflected in Jon’s eyes so many times before. Your face hurt from the grin that was on your face the second you met in an embrace and he mirrored you, leaning his head down, resting his forehead against your own.

“You came back to me,” you whispered, moving your hands from his neck to hold his face in yours. As if to further convince yourself that he was here, with you at this moment. Thumbs trace his cheekbones, running over the scar that followed his right cheekbone.

“How could I not?” he replied, his raspy voice low and husky, much older than the boy of seventeen you said goodbye to.

“I hoped you would everyday, but I-- I couldn’t--” your voice trailed off, the words getting caught in your throat.

“But now I’m back.”

“And now you’re back,” you replied, looking up at him with a soft smile. The seconds tick by, silence swallowing you whole as you just bask in his presence, memorizing each new mark on his face.

“I missed you.” Your voice cut through the silence as your eyes grew wet, glistening tears that shined like ice in the sun falling down your face. Jon catches them as they fall, wiping them away with a single swipe of his thumb. And then the small distance that was left between the two of you closed as your lips met. And it was warm and soft and gentle and happy. Everything you missed from your life, returned in a single instant. And it’s like all the sleepless nights, the tear stained pillows, and the fear and horror you’d endured through the years that was muffled by the coming of daylight was completely washed away. The only thing on your mind was Jon and his lips on yours.

He pulled away, but only just enough that the tips of your lips would brush against each other’s and his breath fanned across your face. You kept your eyes closed, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“You were always there with me, gods I could never get you out of my head,” he whispered, brushing his lips lightly against yours. A shiver overcame your body, starting from the very top of your head until it hit down to your toes. A good tingly sensation that disappeared with him, but also returned with him.

“Glad to know it wasn’t just me, Snow.” You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his in a sweet kiss. It was like drinking a sweet berry wine the Southerners were so fond of or having a sweet tart that you stole from the kitchen. The sensation was addicting. The world could crumble around you; Cersei Lannister could march her whole army on Winterfell and Daenerys Targaryen could swoop down with her dragons and burn everything to the ground. But it wouldn’t matter, it would never matter to you. Not if you had Jon.

“Marry me,” the words left his mouth nonchalantly like he hadn’t just proposed marriage. Your eyes snapped open, looking at him, shock and excitement mingling in your wide eyes.

“What?” Your voice was shaky and unsure, hiding the pounding of your heart and the nerves in your body.

“Marry me, be my wife, and rule the North with me!” he exclaimed, much more confident in his words as they echoed around you, forever imprinted in the trees in the Godswood. And you couldn’t help but compare him to the old Jon you knew, the one who would never dare utter those words to you. Not that you didn’t want him to.

“You're crazy,” you breathed out, laughter and disbelief lacing each word. And he laughed, it was loud and warm and made your stomach twist in the best ways possible.

“Maybe, but I’m crazy for you. Why should I wait when I’ve loved you since I was a boy who didn’t even know what love was,” he said, weaving his arms around your waist and pulling you as close as physically possible. And the scene was similar to all the previous times you stood in this spot, too intertwined in each other to care about the world. Except this time tragedy didn’t hang over you like a storm, this time there was nothing but bright skies and sunlight.

“Okay,” you whispered against his lips. “I’ll marry you.” A beaming smile overtook your face, banishing any negative emotion that lingered on your face. At that moment, Jon wore if anyone ever asked, he’d say he has been to the South. And it wouldn’t be a lie, because the smile on your face and the vibrancy in your gleaming eyes was brighter than the sun could ever be, warming him to the very core. You leaned forward, sealing your promise with a kiss as you got lost in him, over and over again.

And when I felt like an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite.

o0o0o0o

Tags:

@stuckupstucky

#jon snow imagine #jon snow one shot #jon snow x reader #jon snow #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones oneshot #a song of ice and feels

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