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marvelatthetwilight · 4 years ago

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Tell me your secret

Part one: The Secret

Part two: The Secret’s Out

Part three: Secrets and Lies

Part four: Sick of Secrets

Part five: The Last Secret

“Carlisle, you need to see this.” Edward calls out of the door.

Carlisle appears and glances between the three of you, his eyes settling on you, holding a blood bag in your hand, the others scattered on the floor, your face covered in blood.

“How are you feeling Y/N?” His eyes softening as he can sense some pain in you.

“I feel fine. Demetri however...” you trail off and look up at Demetri, who is still rubbing his hand.

“Carlisle, Y/N appears to have a power.” He walks towards you, holding out his hand. “Y/N do you think you could do it again?”

You focus on his hand and reach out your own towards him, but when they touch, nothing happens.

Edward and Demetri exchange looks, both frowning.

“I think she may need some motivation. Edward, I need you to attack me.” Demetri states, a smirk pulling at his lips, and you begin to panic. At what would be lightning speed if you were human, Edward moves towards Demetri, but you rush out of the bed towards him, faster than him in your newborn state. Before you know it your hand is on Edward’s arm and then he is on the floor.

“Fascinating.” Carlisle laughs as he claps your victory.

Edward huffs as he pulls himself up off the floor. “For you maybe. It’s not quite so fascinating when it happens to you.”

“It’s like Kate’s gift?” Carlisle asks, referring to one of their Denali cousins who can radiate electricity around her body, giving an electric shock with her touch.

“Not quite, but similar. It’s a much sharper feeling, like a bolt of lightning flashing through you.” Edward replies, having felt both gifts now first hand. The two of them then begin discussing your gift and how they can help you control it, as you wonder about this Kate, intrigued that they know someone who can possibly help you with this strange power.

Demetri appears by your side, pulling you toward him, taking in your scent. “Oh how I’ve missed you.” He whispers, and a small shiver runs down your spine. His voice and his scent are more intoxicating to you now, and the mere thought of Demetri standing this close to you warms your body.

“But I don’t smell like me anymore surely?” You ask, worried that just as your feelings have intensified, that Demetri’s will have faded now you are no longer human.

“You smell better.” He reassures you, and you frown. He turns you so you are facing him, and he cups your face with one hand. “We are mated, soul mates, yes?” You nod. “As a human, I was drawn to your scent as you are to mine, but also to your blood, which often made our...closeness more difficult. Now, I am still drawn to your scent, but I can your scent is like...an antidote, to anything and everything. Does that make sense my love?”

You reach up to hook your arms around his neck and give him a soft kiss on his lips. “It makes perfect sense. Also helps me understand what I’m feeling right now. Being this close to you, I feel so calm, my throat doesn’t burn as much.” Demetri smiles at this. “It’s our bond my darling, we will have that effect on each other.”

He pulls you into a hug and you rest your head on his chest, before looking over to where Edward and Carlisle are standing, the latter now on the phone.

“Thank you for your help Eleazar, we will see you soon.” Carlisle says as he hangs up the phone and turns to face you all.

“Eleazar and Kate are coming to see us, to help Y/N N work out her gift. I’m going to let Esme know, we will go and hunt before they arrive. Edward, Demetri, do you think you can help Y/N hunt, she will need all her strength to practise her power.” Carlisle asks as he turns to Edward, who nods.

“Hunt? You mean like animals?” A worried look as formed on your face as you realise what you need to do.

Demetri scrunches his face in disgust. “I believe so my love, but it is up to you. Whatever you wish to do, I will do too.”

You think carefully. Whilst the thought of human blood as you salivating at the mouth, the thought of killing someone makes your stomach tie up in knots. Animal blood sounds disgusting, but killing an animal versus killing a human sounds far more palatable.

“Demetri, let’s go hunt some animals” Demetri visibly grimaces at this, but quickly changes his expression to a smile and gestures for you to lead the way.

“I am so impressed with your hunting skills today my love.” Demetri states as you return through the Cullen front door. He puts an arm around your waist and gives you a quick squeeze.

“Mountain lions aren’t as fast as I thought they would be. I’m sorry you weren’t able to catch much Demetri, you must be starving.” You look up at him, a glint of teasing in your voice, waiting for him to take the bait. He laughs, knowing exactly what you are trying to achieve, but the competitor in him won’t let it go.

“I just don’t understand. I’m one of the best hunters in Volterra and THE best tracker in the world. How can I not hunt a deer.” He throws his arms to his side and his frustration is evident on his face.

“You could’ve shared my elk, there was plenty to spare.” You take his hand and smile sweetly.

“Hmmph. Yes well, I wanted something of my own.”

Your conversation is cut short by Carlisle.

“Eleazar and Kate are nearly here, should we go outside to practise?” He motions for you to follow him back out the front door.

“Carlisle dear friend, it’s nice to see you when your life is not in imminent danger.” Eleazar greets his friend with open arms and they laugh together.

“Eleazar, Kate, it’s so wonderful to see you both again. Thank you for coming to help Y/N. Y/N...” Carlisle holds his arm out to you and you make your way to his side, suddenly anxious.

“Y/N this is Eleazar and Kate, both dear friends to our coven, cousins if you will from Denali.” You smile at the dark haired man you now know to be Eleazar, you vaguely recognise him from the meeting with the Volturi, although there were so many visitors in those weeks that the faces became blurry. However, Kate you remember. You remember the pain on her face at seeing her sister destroyed, her screams of pain and anguish etched in your mind.

“It’s so nice to meet you both.” You nod at both of them, and Eleazar holds out a hand in greeting. You offer him your hand and he clasps it with both his hands, looking deeply into your eyes. “You are very powerful Y/N, I can feel the energy running through your hands.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Oh” is the only sound you can form.

“What do you mean by very powerful?” Demetri asks.

“Allow Kate to demonstrate.” Eleazar gestures for Kate to step forward, and she holds her hand out to Demetri. He hesitantly reaches out to touch her hand.

“Arghhh” he screams and falls to the floor.

A growl slips through your lips and suddenly a crackling noise leaves your fingers, then Kate is also on the floor groaning.

“Did you know that was going to happen?” Kate growls at Eleazar.

“I had my suspicions. Like I said VERY powerful.”

“What happened?” You ask them both.

“Y/N, Kate’s power is limited to someone touching her. It started in her hands, and then she worked hard to have it be her whole body if needed.” Eleazar explains.

You nod, now remembering the meeting with the Volturi and how Kate’s power affected Garrett when he tried to hold her back.

“However...” Eleazar continues, “your power is not limited to touch. You are able to inflict this from a distance. As demonstrated by that.” He gestures to Kate who is massaging at her temples trying to dissipate the pain in her head before standing up.

“What we need to work on is being able to use this power without your mate being injured as an incentive.” Carlisle suggests, looking to Eleazar.

“I second that!” Demetri announces from beside you, laughing.

“Sorry” you apologise as you look up and him, he shakes his head and places a kiss to your head.

Eleazar nods. “I would also be interested to see what sort of distance her powers work from.”

You all put together a plan, the training beginning immediately. Demetri joins in, having trained hundreds of new guards in Volterra in basic fighting skills, and feeling anxious that your gift will make you a target.

Whilst you are practising your gift on Emmett with the help of Kate, Demetri pulls Carlisle to the side.

“We have to keep this from the Volturi. They CANNOT find out about her gift. Aro will stop at nothing to have her.” Demetri whispers.

Carlisle nods. “I know. I had the same thought. I have asked Alice to watch the Volturi carefully, so if they find out, we will know.”

After a week of training Emmett begins to grow tired of always losing to your power, deciding to go hunt with Rosalie and rest, so Jasper volunteers to help.

You’ve moved the training to a field, and begin with Jasper standing a few feet in front of you.

“Come and get me newborn”

Jasper winces in pain but doesn’t drop to the floor like you were expecting. You frown and try again, but he takes a few steps back.

“Try again Y/N” Eleazar prompts. “Think about what we said, visualise it.”

You take a deep but unnecessary breath and focus on your fingers, you imagine the power, your power sparking out of them towards Jasper. Then you focus on Jasper, his eyes hardened, goading you to attack him. He drops on the floor to his knees, wincing in pain, but not writhing in pain like he would if you touched him or if you had thought Demetri was in danger.

“I can’t do it.” You huff, arms dropping to your sides.

Demetri rushes to stand in front of you, he holds a hand on side of you holding onto your arms and gently shakes you. “You. Can. Do. Anything” he stares into your eyes, willing you to see yourself the way that he sees you. “I love you Y/N, I believe in you” then he kisses you quickly “show him what you can do” he whispers as he moves out of your way.

This time Jasper increases the distance even further, now standing a few hundred yards away.

You fix him with your glare, and again think of the power leaving your fingers, sparks reaching across the clearing to Jasper. I love you rings out in your head and you force your hands forward, willing your power to reach the distance. Almost immediately Jasper is on the floor, his body twitching from the electrical jolts circulating through his body. You bring your hands back and let them hang by your side, and after a couple of minutes Jasper slowly returns to a standing position, clearly exhausted.

“Wow” he mutters.

“She is pretty wow isn’t she?” Demetri smirks as he returns to your side. “Told you” he whispers.

On their last day Eleazar calls the whole Cullen house to the clearing for a final demonstration of what you have learnt.

“Jasper has given us some pretty high expectations considering the state he returned home in. If he could sleep I think he would have been comatose for days” Rosalie announces, giving you a small thumbs up of support.

“Who would like to be a volunteer?” Kate asks the crowd gathered before them.

“Why don’t we do a real test? Three of us?” Jasper suggests.

You visibly gulp at the idea, but Eleazar nods, clapping his hands together. “Excellent idea!”

You are forward and look out at the vampires standing a few hundred yards in front of you; Edward, Emmett and Jasper.

Closing your eyes to focus, your fingers dance in anticipation, small sparks flutter between them until you open your eyes, darting between the three figures. Taking one final, deep breath, you reach your hands forward. Emmett and Edward look cocky, neither of them expecting you to be able to target the three of them at once, Jasper looks anxious, the pain from your previous encounter coming back to him.

The three of them drop to their knees simultaneously, Jasper falling to his side twitching, Edward’s face twitching in pain before falling backwards, then Emmett, falling forward flat on his face.

The sound of cheering from behind you brings you out of your trance and you do a small bow before you are enveloped into a Demetri hug.

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispers in your ear before kissing you deeply.

The vampire group are so focused on their friend and her gift that they do not notice the stranger in the shadows. The stranger who recognised the figures before him. The missing Volturi tracker, the mind reader and the one who can see the future. Even better than all of those though, the newborn with the extraordinarily powerful gift.

Aro will love her. He thinks to himself before rushing away through the trees, his gift hiding him on his journey until he reaches the doors of Volterra.

“Tell me your secret” Aro demands, holding his hand out to the stranger who claims to bring valuable information.

He holds the stranger’s hand in his own and his eyes widen in glee as he sifts through his thoughts.

“Brothers, we are going on a trip”.

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#demetri volturi #demetri imagine #demetri x reader #twilight #the twilight saga #twilight saga #twilight imagine

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husbandograveyard · 4 years ago

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This is part of the Awkward Fluff Collab I am doing with @burnthoneymint and @some-piece (who made the banner!). Prompt: I’m so sleepy/drunk, but I still try to flirt. What a pity I mistook you for someone else. Requested by: @burnthoneymint - Writer's pick.

2nd person. Fem!reader. Mentions of alcohol, drunkness.

Pirate parties were your favorite. The food was good, the atmosphere was nice, everyone seemed to be happy, and the alcoholic beverages seemed to be bottomless. You were usually a little more conservative when it came to your drinking habits, life on a ship required you to be sober most of the time for adventures and possible emergencies. But something about parties made the liquid courage so much more accessible and made it easier to convince your mind that a ‘few more drinks’ couldn’t really hurt. Right?

Truth be told, the fact that you called it liquid courage today, was because you were pretty sure you could use some of that quality booze to lower your inhibitions and finally make a move on the ship’s cook. You had your eye on Sanji for a while now, and while you were definitely enjoying all the special attention he gave you along with the other female crew members, you couldn’t help but long for more.

You knew the best way to get there was to let him know that you were interested, but that was way easier said than done. You were a disaster when it came to expressing such feelings, and when it came to flirting? Well, someone call the paramedics because there’s an accident waiting to happen.

That being said, nothing that a little alcohol won’t help, and thus, that’s why you were now on your… well, you couldn’t exactly remember how many glasses you had drunk already, but you were feeling good. A pleasant buzz was in your head, everything seemed funnier than before. It was time to get to the next step of the plan: find the object of your affection, flirt a little, make him want more and then reel him in slowly, like a good fish caught for dinner.

The first signal that something was wrong came the minute you tried to stand up. Your legs felt wobbly, a bit like jelly, and the pleasant, small waves that made walking on deck usually so enjoyable, now seemed like a huge storm determined to bring you out of balance. It took you three tries to get to stand up straight, and another seven to make it across the ship, where you held onto the railing to steady yourself.

“Okay y/n, you can do it. Slow and steady, take some deep breaths”, you tried to encourage yourself.

You followed your own advice, and as you turned to continue on your mission a lightbulb went off in your head. Maybe you should try and test your techniques on someone else first. You could just tell them afterward it’s for Sanji. Maybe you could get some tips to improve, so you would be irresistible when you finally used them on him. In the hazy fog that was clouding your brain, this seemed like the best plan you’ve had in your life.

You walked around, looking for someone that would be okay with your advances in the other crew. Your thought process was, that since you wouldn’t be with the other crew anymore from tomorrow onwards, even if this all went wrong, the awkwardness wouldn’t last. The worst thing that could happen was that Sanji himself would reject your advances, but you trusted him to be nice enough to not hold that against you afterward.

You picked another blond, similar body type to Sanji, wanting to not break the illusion too much. You took another deep breath (and another gulp of your drink) before you made your way over to them.

A million things to say went through your head. Clever things, funny pick-up lines, downright romantic (and slightly melodramatic) opening sentences. So you had no idea why your brain decided that “Nice ass” was the best you could come up with. You had a sly grin on your face, eyebrows slightly raised as you nodded to your own remark. Your hazy brain had officially crowned you the queen of pickup lines, nothing could go wrong.

The man turned around, confusion apparent on his face.

“I’m sorry y/n, you said something?”

“Yes.” You turned your head a little, grin still very present on your face. You took a pause, another sip of your drink and repeated the two words. Again, you were extremely proud at the compliment you had conjured up.

The man looked at you in confusion, and you frowned in response. Why wasn’t it working?

“Y/n, are you drunk?”

“Yeah, a little. What of it?” You felt yourself getting a little defensive. Everyone here was drunk. Why weren’t you allowed to be drunk?

“Nothing wrong with it… but, please be careful, you don’t want to say those kinds of things to the wrong person. They might take advantage of you.”

You frowned. This was supposed to be a practice in flirting, not a talk on the morality of the average man present on the ship. You decided to tell him just that.

“Practise in flirting? With me?”

“Yeah… I kinda just want to flirt with Sanji, can’t do it without this,” you held up your drink and emptied it, holding it out for someone to give you a refill. The man you were talking to gently took the cup from your hands, not refilling it, much to your dismay.

“I think you’ve had enough, Y/n”

“You don’t know me, you don’t get to say what I can or can’t drink. Just tell me what to say to Sanji so he will think I am absolutely irresistible.”

“I’m pretty sure he already thinks that, y/n”

You frowned again, thinking this conversation was going nowhere. You’d go find Sanji now, and just bluntly tell him your feelings. That would work and maybe you could still add in your flirting skills. You tried to grab your cup back to get that refill, losing your balance in the process, falling forward. Luckily the blond guy stepped forward and pulled you back up with an arm around your waist. You didn’t even get the chance to register you were falling.

You gasped from the sudden shock, inhaling his scent, and all of a sudden part of the fog in your head cleared. You felt your knees grow weak and despite the man supporting you, you sunk to your knees on the deck, the man kneeling down with you.

“Y/n? Are you okay? Should I go get Chopper?” You were feeling all kinds of flustered. Your mind was clear, your words still slurred. “Sanji- I- You… me… I didn’t think… I thought… I- blond, look like you… IS you… oh no”

He chuckled. “We’ll talk this out after you’ve had a nap, Y/n, you could really use one.”

You were feeling so weak, you could only nod in response, your world a blur again as you felt yourself being picked up and carried to the girl’s room. Your head was spinning, a mix of embarrassment, alcohol-induced dizziness, and a feeling that you couldn’t quite place, but your heart was beating so fast and you felt like you could cry.

When you were dropped on your bed, a soft kiss was placed on your forehead. “Sanji I-”

“It’s okay Y/n. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. That is, if you can remember it.” He winked at you and let out a chuckle. You looked at your blankets, unable to make eye contact all of a sudden, all the extra confidence that you had gained through the alcohol had been left on deck the moment you fell to your knees. You nodded, and you heard him leave the room, although he hesitated right before the door.

“Do you really think I have a nice ass?”

#One piece #Sanji x reader #one piece imagine #vinsmoke sanji #one piece x reader #sanji imagine #awkward fluff collab #collaboration #one piece scenario #sanji scenario #reader imagine #female reader #burnthoneymint #OP scenario #opfics #one piece fanfic #alcohol tw #drunkness tw

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years ago

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Matched

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x female reader

Genre: match-maker au / fluff / university au

Warnings: none

Prompt: “Are you lost?” - #1 of Idea Starters

Word count: 1545

You were stunned when Mingyu walked through the door. Not because of the obvious, however.

You weren’t like the rest of the population who thought of the tall man as incredibly handsome and fawned at his feet. Sure, you could acknowledge that when he was created, his maker dumped him in the physical appearance container one too many times. You just weren’t someone who went ga-ga over attractive guys.

No, you were stunned because Mingyu had no perceived reason to come into your department at all at this point in the day. You serviced many people on the university campus every Friday. Those who came into your little office in the Clubs department were of a certain type.

Those who found dating hard.

You simply couldn’t imagine Kim Mingyu having troubles with dating at all.

“Are you lost?” you couldn’t help but ask in a detached voice, clearing your throat immediately and chuckling. “Sorry, I just can’t imagine you need my services. Are you looking for the tennis club that used to occupy this room? They’ve moved into the bigger room-”

Smiling softly, Mingyu shook his head and interjected. “No, I meant to come here, Y/N.”

“Oh wow. You know my name.”

“Should I not? We’ve shared the same classes in high school before coming to the same university.”

“Huh,” you simply said, staring at the tall man for half a minute before recomposing yourself. “Well, what brings you to Matched, Mingyu?”

“What brings other people?” he enquired, and your eyebrow rose in confusion.

Your match-making skills were second to none, and you had built up quite the reputation in creating some of the hottest campus couples. Surely, your services were widely known.

Again, you gave him a reprieve, still convinced he didn’t need to come to you for anything.

“Most people enter my office looking for a way to make their crush see them in a romantic light. It doesn’t always work out, and I’m straight forward with pointing this out so people can move on instead of pining over the impossible. I also help with dating advice to build confidence in general.”

Nodding, Mingyu smiled weakly. “I’ve heard good things.”

“I appreciate that.”

Silence prevailed your statement, and so you smiled politely before reaching for your water bottle, pulling your straw between your lips.

“Can you help me?”

It was unexpected, much as it was to him that you would splutter your mouthful of water over the desk towards him. For a second, both of you stared at one another, aghast, before you launched into using some tissues to mop up your mess.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” you requested, darting your focus between the mess and the man before you.

Mingyu rubbed his neck awkwardly. “I need help.”

“With what exactly?”

“Dating. Finding the confidence to ask someone out,” he offered shyly, and you stifled a snort.

You could count on both hands how many close friends you possessed who would sell their souls to date Mingyu. You had witnessed countless girls throw themselves at the man and assumed he had his weekends full because of it.

“You need assistance with that?”

Mingyu nodded.

“The world is stranger than I thought.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh!” You let out a small laugh and waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing! No reason. I could help you. If you need it.”

“I do. I’ve liked someone for a while now, and I’ve struggled to ask them out.”

“Do you know why?”

You were already running through a mental list of the hottest girls and guys on campus. As you did so, Mingyu fumbled with the cuff of his sweater. Finally, you glanced up at him, and he was startled, sitting back in his chair as if you were about to confess his secret crush to him.

“Do I know them?”

“You know her, yeah,” he said, inhaling a shaky breath that relaxed him again.

“And she’s single?” you continued, turning to your laptop to take notes.

“I think so.”

“You don’t know?”

Mingyu cringed. “Her relationship status isn’t public knowledge, but I’m pretty sure that she’s single.”

“Okay, so we can work with that.”

“You’ll help me?” Mingyu asked, hopeful.

“I’m not sure what help I can be for you, but I’m ready to give it a shot. Everyone deserves the chance to tell someone they like them.”

You worked with Mingyu twice a week for a month. At first, it was rather awkward. You had a preconceived notion that someone like him wouldn’t need help. But after unpacking his good looks, you were able to establish that he wasn’t the type to do things just on a surface level. He was a deep thinker, and you began to appreciate his sensitive side a lot.

Mingyu warmed up to you the further he spent time in your company, his endless smiles leaving you in a good mood. In fact, after each session, you felt great. It was different from your other clients. They were always so focused on their situation, which made sense. However, Mingyu really engaged with you, was eager to learn more, and even wanted to understand how you would feel in the hypothetical situations you created.

“So, you would appreciate someone just telling you honest?” he asked, and you nodded immediately. “Even if they fumble over it?”

“Of course. Honesty is endearing.”

“I’ve held it in for so long though, I wonder if it would be taken as sincere or not,” he wondered, and you leaned forward, reaching out for one of his hands on the table and gave it a gentle tap.

“I’m sure when you do it, she’ll appreciate it.”

“In any situation?”

You laughed. “Describe the situation?”

“Like right now.”

“Totally fine. If you’re in a position like this with her, it would be the right time. There’s no one else around to interrupt the moment. Timing it to where it’s just you and her will make it easier for you.”

“Y/N,” Mingyu said, and you waited for him to continue. “It’s you.”

“It’s me what?”

“I like you. I’ve liked you for years.”

“Ohhhh, you’re practising with me!” you replied, chuckling lightly. Gesturing with your hands, Mingyu implored you to pay proper attention.

Your eyebrows furrowed together.

“It’s not practise anymore. I want you to realise the girl I’ve crushed on is you.”

You blinked slowly.

“Is what I’m saying registering?” he asked, and you nodded before shaking your head.

“I’m confused.”

“I can tell.”

“Are we talking about what you’ll say or-”

“I’m confessing to you.”

“You came to me for dating advice about myself?” you concluded, and Mingyu smiled coyly.

“You should know yourself the best.”

“I don’t know, right now I’m having a bit of an out of body experience,” you admitted, and Mingyu reached out for your hand, brushing his thumb over the top of it.

It was then when you comprehended everything.

Of course, it had been different.

Every session, Mingyu seemed nervous to be around you, not the idea of dating. He had a lot of questions for you, asking you what you liked, and you had assumed it was to get a general feel for what other girls of your age group might like. You had been completely blind to his affections because you believed from the moment he stepped into your office that you weren’t even someone on the cards.

You hadn’t offered yourself up to him to be approachable over all these years. No wonder he was hesitant to know how you felt compared to those who had confessed to him.

“Can I like you?” he asked, and you melted away from all confusion, a smile gracing your lips. His own curled up hopefully. “Can I?”

“Was this your plan all along? To blindside me like this?”

“No, definitely not. I didn’t know how else to approach you. And since you are a formidable matchmaker, I had hoped you would have the skills to even match yourself.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you replied with a wry smile. “I don’t ever consider myself.”

“Why not?”

You shrugged. “I’m too busy with crafting love for others.”

“Can you try to craft a little with me?” he asked, and you clamped your eyes shut, feeling flutters erupt in your stomach.

Oh, you were good. Way too good. You had taught him well.

Laughing, Mingyu leaned closer, and you felt his breath hit your face. Opening your eyes, you blinked at his proximity. “Did you like that?”

“I don’t know if you need any more sessions with me. I think you’re about to become the master at flirtation.”

“That’s not true,” he mentioned, though his smugness permeated through his body. “I need more help.”

“With what exactly? You’ve done too well with this confession of yours.”

Mingyu smirked. “I’m not a very good kisser. I’ve been pining over this girl for so long that I haven’t had a whole lot of experience, you see.”

“Oh, so you think I could offer you lessons on how to improve kissing, like I’ve done with the dating, huh?”

“That would help me out a lot. I appreciate your efforts.”

Giggling, you then bit your bottom lip giddily.

It looked like Mingyu had you matched.

_________________

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the-darklings · 3 years ago

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╱ together.

pairing: jean & v, implied other v ships

verse: coa, alt post-ch19 timeline

word count: 4.8k

prompt: “We’ll lose.” - “Then we’ll do that together, too.”

notes: so this is a speculative piece looking at how jean might have fit into coa verse & how him and clara v could have fit together. dedicated to that one anon who asked more of them, thank you very much for making my day! 🌿 ✨

“Well, well. Out here all by yourself and in the dark?” a smooth, accented voice calls out and your shoulders jolt, stiff with disuse, your head tipping towards the approaching figure of a man. “Have you been doing much brooding, chérie?”

Jean’s tall, graceful frame casts a shadow across the decking of the penthouse terrace as he saunters closer and you bite back a grin. With the cover of darkness as his partner, he’s a panther, a predator, out for a casual hunt in the shadows. Tonight, his prey is you. But he knows better than that. You both do.

The Frenchman halts beside you and takes a seat on your right without waiting for an invitation. This time a roll of your eyes follows his innate show of arrogance but you don’t impede him. Allow him space next to you which is a privilege very few have ever been granted.

It’s dark up here. Quiet. You didn’t bother with any lights aside from the automatic pool ones. Wind whistles gently across the tranquil surface, causing a ripple to shift across the previously calm body of water. Faintly—from the direction Jean had just come from—you can still hear the rest of your family inside the apartment.

The final touches are being added and prep is being made. Tomorrow…

Tomorrow will either spell the beginning of your victory or utter defeat. One of these scenarios ends with all of you dead, if not worse.

“And here you are bothering me in my final moments of peace,” you note dully.

The man beside you stretches his legs out, inclining back in the comfortable outdoors chair leisurely. Plush and Italian made—as if Santino would ever clad his home in anything that wasn’t authentic or expensive. A taste for finer things in life is something Jean and Santino share in common. Though you’ve long since learned that Jean’s appetite comes from a different place; a place you could always relate to, much to the Italian’s chagrin.

Wind plays with your loose hair—a rare occasion when it’s not pulled out of reach—and it leaves you breathing calmly, counting the thuds of your own heart. It’s not frantic this time though. You savour every beat of your heart now. Relish the moments you still have. However few of those there are still left.

Jean shifts beside you, pulling something out of his pocket and you glance at him briefly. The dark grey of his expensive wool jumper almost makes him blend in with the night, but the icy blue of his eyes stands out with the pool lights reflecting in them. If anything, it makes his attention feel even more intent. Honed.

“Can’t a man enjoy a smoke anymore?” he wonders innocently, a touch of sarcasm clear, and places an unlit cigarette between his lips, lighting it with expert ease a moment later.

He takes a long drag before pulling it away from his mouth and you watch his profile as he exhales slowly, savouring the moment, his head tilting towards the vast sky above you.

Using his momentary distraction, you reach forward, pinching the cigarette between your fingers and placing it between your lips instead. Jean doesn’t offer much resistance. As usual, he only looks mildly amused by your antics, a brief smirk appearing before it’s gone.

“Still greedy.”

Your lips twitch at that, too. “Some things don’t change.”

You inhale deeply, feeling the burning heat of the smoke at the back of your throat before passing the cigarette back to him. The smoke slips like dreamy wisps from between your parted lips and you look towards the open sky as well. Jean’s stare stays on your mouth. You know because you can always feel him. His attention is like silk caressing your skin, kissing little patches of skin, stealing them for himself.

You’re hardly the only greedy one here. He, too, exists in absolutes. More so than he would care to admit at least.

The blinding lights of New York City—even this late—almost drown out the stars but you can still see them. As cold and as distant as the man beside you. You want to ask him why he’s out here in the first place. Why would he bother? He may dress it up as wanting to smoke but everything Jean does is far too deliberate and calculated for this to be a mere coincidence.

Nor does the man beside you believe in such things. Master of his own fate—he always has been.

Jean places the cigarette back between his lips and turns to grab something from beside his chair. You hadn’t even noticed he was carrying something. Are you slipping this much already? Your instincts and body deteriorating even quicker than you calculated?

“May I interest you in a drink?” he offers, his words almost a soft murmur around his cigarette, and raises a bottle of wine and two glasses in the air.

You don't bother hiding your chuckle. “Trying to get me drunk on the eve of the battle?’

He, in turn, doesn’t bother denying it. He only bestows you with a knowing twitch of his mouth—all half-secrets and implications; dark and arcane as him, but doesn’t confirm nor deny your words no matter how long you wait.

“Maybe your hangover will be so terrible tomorrow you will abandon your suicidal plan, vipère.”

It’s a mild statement; a test of waters more so than anything, but you know Jean doesn’t speak mindlessly often. If ever. He chooses his words as carefully as he does everything else in his life. He’s methodical; oftentimes ruthlessly so.

You watch curiously as he places one glass next to your feet and one beside his own, opening the bottle with practised, near beguiling ease. He pours half a glass each, a cigarette bit between his teeth now, and you see how he inhales the smoke, still tasting tobacco on your own tongue. Red wine and cigarettes are two flavours you associate with him. With his mouth. The growl of his voice in your ear, the roll of your name on his destructive tongue.

A smudge of dark orange light illuminates his angular, handsome features and dark stubble and you can’t quite help your next words.

“You’re here.”

You hadn’t expected him to linger. His job was done. Yet here he is.

A small sound rumbles from the back of his throat. “I’m here because you asked me to be here,” he reminds you, and you can hear the displeasure—the downright callous edge to his amiable words—when he removes the cigarette from between his lips. Smoke slips from between them as he speaks, his eyes finding yours in the darkness. “Consider yourself very lucky that I owe you, V. After this, however, I’m not sure I’m ever going to bother you with business again. I’m not sure why you bothered inviting me here in the first place.”

Yes. His debt.

He’s tried to weasel out of it for years. Everything from trying to get you into trouble, outright attempting to get rid of you, to downplaying the sheer magnitude of it. He’s never succeeded, however, and has grown fond of comparing you to a viper with seven lives.

A life debt is a life debt though.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t think you’re half as bad as you make yourself out to be.”

Even if others have outright disagreed with your opinion of the man.

Jean snorts under his breath, a cool smile splitting his face, sharper than one of your blades. Shaking his head, he lifts the glass in the air, offering it to you. You take it after a pause, watching him do the same with his glass. “You’re right,” he hums in agreement, and takes a sip of his wine; a slow one because he never rushes these things, and you know it. The cigarette returns to his mouth a moment later and he turns to glance at you again. “I’m much worse.”

“You’re also smart,” you note without missing a beat and take a mouthful, too. It’s red and fruity, and the sweetness of it coats your tongue pleasantly. Though usually you aren't too fond of wine this sweet, Jean has developed a habit of finding things you love. However accidentally. Or perhaps he knows you better than you do. He no doubt believes so. It’s become another game for him over the years. One of his favourite games to play between you on the rare occasion you would run into each other. “And know that if you betray me and my family, death will be the least of your worries.”

You don't bother mincing your words or implying things. Not this time. Not when it comes to this.

If he betrays you, he will die choking on his blood regardless of your past association or lingering fondness for him. You will rip him to shreds with your bare hands if he ever so much as attempts it.

Bringing him in on this has been the biggest risk you ever took. Everyone opposed you. Even John. Winston had been the only one who—no matter how reluctantly—eventually agreed that Jean Laurent could end up becoming a unique and unexpected advantage.

You proved your own suspicion correct. Combining Jean’s web of information with Step’s hacking skills has been as good as striking a goldmine. It’s been invaluable in gathering intel on all the members of the High Table and their weaknesses.

A vicious, clever spider sitting in the middle of his silky web of information, and you have taken advantage of every single thread in it.

You’ve been watching his every move since he joined your side like a hawk. You don't trust him—can’t trust him. You would be a fool to do so, and even though he has stuck by his word so far, you still feel like the moment you glance away from him will be the moment he sells you out.

One leak, one sly suggestion—that’s all it would take for everything you’ve been working towards to fall apart. Everything would be lost, and it would be your fault.

All because you placed some semblance of trust in the last man on earth deserving of it.

“My, my, I do love it when you talk dirty to me, vipère,” he murmurs lightly, his voice unconcerned but the shift in his eyes informs you how your words have been noted. He knows better than to dismiss you.

Jean raises the glass back to his mouth, a smouldering cigarette sitting snugly between his index and middle fingers, and you watch how the wind ruffles his black hair.

This time smoke rolls from his nose. He gazes at the New York skyline silently, pensively. Maybe he did mean his earlier words after all. Maybe he simply joined you because he, too, wants a moment to himself.

Cold nips at your fingertips—you’re not quite sure how long you’ve been sitting out here by yourself—and perhaps that’s the reason why you break the silence between you first.

“You came because I asked,” you begin carefully, still peering at him while he looks out towards the world. Forever looking ahead. You always loved that about him. Jean doesn’t like looking back, only ahead. Often you wished you could shake your past as easily as he seemingly can shake his. How many times has he told you the same? “But you chose to stay. Why?”

His expression remains impassive, not outwardly reacting to your words, and you begin to doubt he will ever offer you a response before he finally speaks up.

“It will never work,” he states frankly. “This plan of yours. It cannot be done. We’ll lose.”

Of course this is what this is about. He’s always been out for himself. The fact that he thinks your plan will fail should not surprise you. He told you as much the moment you finished telling him about it. He point-blank called you an idiot for ever thinking you could take on the High Table and win.

You are many things, V, but foolish is not one of them.

You had hoped these weeks spent planning and working together would have changed his mind. Shown to him that this isn’t a simple pipe dream. That you have the raw skill and the will to follow through with this coup.

You wanted Jean to believe in this goal—this dream—too.

He is, of course, not wrong.

The longer you planned, the more of this plan came together, the easier it became to see what he’d been saying from the start.

You are not only likely to lose, you are near guaranteed to do so.

Unless…

Unless you gamble away everything. Whatever little there is still left of you. The clock is already ticking. It has been for two months now. Every minute of every day the end is nearing. The least you can do…

The least you can do is make it count.

“Then we’ll do that together, too,” you say softly.

And it won’t be such a terrible way to go, you think, keeping them safe.

Jean finally drags his eyes your way. The bitterness creasing his expression cuts deeper than you ever could have expected it to. It’s rare for him to show this much.

“Do not tell me you are this naive, chérie,” he says coldly, his expression emptying of emotions swiftly. He seems to have caught himself in the uncharacteristic slip, exhaling a low, “But it seems like this night is full of disappointments,” he adds quietly with a forced exhale, his eyebrows curving downwards.

Neither of you speaks for a while after that.

You cradle the wine glass between your partially numb fingers, occasionally lifting it to your mouth.

Maybe you should get drunk. Do something reckless. The call of the void has been screaming at you as of late. Seductive whisper after seductive whisper how you could and should do anything you want. With whoever you want.

L'appel du vide, vipère, Jean used to exhale hotly against your ear, it is why you and I are the same. Your days are numbered unless some miracle happens and you find an antidote anyway.

But feeling hopeful after failing for two months straight is not something you can muster up tonight.

You realise, then, that this may very well be the last opportunity to get some answers from the man beside you. Get some rectification on your odd bond over the years. Not your first attempt but what will certainly be your last.

“Do you think…”

You’re suddenly unsure where to even begin. How does one untangle years of tiptoeing around different labels? Enemies that are not quite enemies. Lovers that are not quite lovers. Friends when it suits them, then the cycle repeats, and it’s like they’re back at square one all over again. Constant push and pull.

You’ve never been sure where you stand with Jean. Two years ago everything between you changed but unlike with others, he’s always been every blurred line in your life. An almost-maybe.

“I try to,” comes his dry response from beside you.

You roll your eyes, bobbing your leg up and down as another gust of wind sweeps across the silent terrace.

Jean has finished his cigarette, his shrewd stare now focused on you, expectant.

Go on, then, say it, his unfaltering stare seems to goad.

You’re not nervous. You have nothing left to fear, not anymore. But all the same…

You’re tired of constantly being hurt by someone. Your question opens the door for exactly that.

“Do you think we ever could have worked out?”

Had life gone just a little different. Had you met when you were both less guarded and twisted up inside. You, at least, have managed to find people willing to stand in your corner and fight your fight.

He’s all alone.

And maybe he prefers it that way—he has certainly always been adamant that he does—but you’ve never believed it. Not fully, at least.

A house full of people he could string along and play with, yet the liesmith seeks refuge out here in the dark. With you.

A thoughtful hum, then, “Don’t let your gaggle of boyfriends hear you asking me that.”

You almost splutter.

Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowing, “I don’t have a gaggle of…fuck you,” you spit when you spot his smug expression and a raised brow.

“You have,” he purrs, his accented words a caress of his hot mouth across your fluttering pulse. “Many, many, filthy times, amante. Or am I so easy to forget?”

“You know, for how often you go on about Santino stroking his ego,” you remark dryly, giving him a pointed stare. “You sure do it often yourself.”

Jean clicks his tongue, leaning back in his seat, more irked by the change in the topic than he lets on. You’ve learned to read him as well. To a degree, at least.

“Am I supposed to be impressed by D’Antonio’s drooling?” he scoffs, words bland but tone sharp. “It’s frankly embarrassing. Either he’s atrocious at seducing you and you’re entertaining him out of pity, or he doesn’t understand you at all.”

His words dig into your heart but you don’t let him see it. Quirking an amused brow, you instead stare at him. “At this point, I honestly can’t tell if you hate him because you’re French and he’s Italian or because you don’t like him as a person.”

Jean grins this time; a dark, cruel thing. “Ah, chérie, hatred is too strong of an emotion to waste on someone I don’t care about,” he rebukes smoothly, standing to his feet. He glances in your direction, adding a deliberate, “But D’Antonio hates me because I won the one thing he always wanted but could never have.”

You.

Even if it weren’t for the deliberate, hot dig of Jean’s stare focusing on your face, you know as much already.

Blue depths drag over your still shape, lingering on your neck and lips, and you wonder if he’s thinking back on all the wicked things he’s done with them. Every moan and bruise, every hot drive into your body and mould of your naked skin together. He’s been an escape from everything. A bit of fun, a release, a shadow smearing in and out of your life for years.

Now though, you can’t help but wonder. Can’t help but consider why it’s always been so easy with him when it hasn’t been with others. Why every pursuit of happiness in the past has ended in misery and pain. With Jean, you always got exactly what you signed up for.

Mindblowing sex, thrill, challenge, and an escape without any attachments. No promises of a glowing future or expectations for you. He never made you live under the expectation of you being anything other than yourself. Messy and cracked around the edges but still you.

Jean has never cared for a normal life or demanded it of you, never wanted you to become an apprentice or Lady of anything.

You’ve always been enough to him just as you are, you realise with a dizzying rush. And his awful, seductive, traitorous self has always been enough for you as well. He’s never tried to change you or himself to appease you.

Not hearing a response, Jean offers you another striking grin you know has seduced endless numbers to his bed and turns to go.

“Wait!” you call out, jumping to your feet. Your joints protest, groaning and cracking, and stumble a step after him. He’s paused in his tracks, turning back towards you. “You never answered my question. If you think we could have worked out.”

You stand together, breathing, and he gazes at you for a long, charged minute. It’s nigh impossible to tell what’s going on behind his effortless mask of ease and composure. Always in control of himself and his emotions.

You’re about to ask him again but he closes the distance between you in two steps, grabbing you by the neck and yanking you to him. His mouth is hot and consuming as you remember it. His tongue drags over the roof of your mouth, seeking out every edge, every crevice, claiming it entirely. Claiming you. Despite him standing almost a head taller, you snake your hand around his neck, savouring his hiss of breath at the feeling of your cold fingers on his heated neck. Broad shoulders block the wind, block the rest of the world, and you sigh into him. He still tastes of smoky tobacco and sweet wine. A dizzying mix that stirs your body, warming your blood. Your nails drag up his neck and into the strong strands of his midnight hair, scratching all the while. You feel his hold on the back of your neck tighten in response.

The battle between you two never ceases and you can feel him grinning against your mouth, as if he, too, is having the same epiphany.

“Don’t die,” he exhales hotly against your parted lips when you separate with a gasp, still holding you to him, every hard edge of his body cutting into you. “Maybe then we can find out.”

Don’t die.

You almost burst into tears.

I’m dying right now, you want to confess to him. Would he stay if he knew as much? Would he stay until your heart halted inside your chest and you became forever still? Would he be kind if you asked him to be? Just this once?

He’s unaware of your internal struggle, dragging his thumb over the line of your jaw. Lips parted, and eyes hooded—you’ve seen this side of him many times. The sensuous lover with his sultry eyes more sapphire than blue now that he’s gazing down at you. How many times has he stared at you exactly like this? Caught dragging his tongue over every crevice of your body, his favourite being the dip between your thighs and your neck.

Jean nudges backwards, and you read his question there, his body asking what his tongue won’t.

If you’re joining him in bed. If tonight you’re his. Another stolen instance between you.

“I can’t,” you say quietly. He doesn’t appear surprised or angry by your refusal, his hands slipping from your body with a nod. But you don’t let him retreat, grasping his forearm, feeling the coil of muscle where you’re holding onto him. “Wait.”

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out a familiar, heavy object. Gold gleams in the low light and you turn the circular disk, warmed by your body.

Jean stiffens at the sight of it. You both know what it is.

Opening the Marker with a too quiet click, you release your hold on him, staring at the print of his blood smeared inside.

He helped you only because the High Table would have hunted him if he hadn’t obeyed his Marker, you remind yourself. You silence the voice inside your head that reminds you he could have sold the information to them for immunity if he so wished.

Exhaling, you press your thumb against the tiny needlepoint, not reacting to the bite of pain. Blood wells against your skin and you stare at it for a moment.

You’re not sure if Jean is still breathing but you feel the intensity of his stare searing into your body.

Breathing deeply, you press your thumb harshly against the cool metal. Another second later you pull back, staring at your dual blood prints on the metal plate. Your insides quiver at the sight of it.

This is the way it’s always been between you. Shadows and blood, secrets and hunger.

Sometimes…

Sometimes in between those moments, you could almost pretend he loved you.

“We both know you were going to leave anyway,” you begin tightly, closing the Marker with a grim smile, holding it out to him. “This was just another shitty goodbye. Never thought you’d manage to top Venice. Or Berlin for that matter. But now you’re free. I no longer want you here, so don’t be here tomorrow. Save yourself while you still can.”

He doesn’t deny your words. He at least respects you enough to not dismiss you like he would others. Let them tangle themselves in a web of speculations and doubts. Jean enjoys few things more than people choking on their own words. A rope of their own fashioning is poetic justice, he used to tell you.

He reaches for the Marker, the one damn thing that’s always tied you together, and takes it. A stab pierces your heart to see it in his grasp. Now there’s nothing between you. You don’t doubt his earlier words. It’s unlikely he will want to associate with you in the future after this.

Doesn’t matter now though. You’re likely to be dead by tomorrow, or another few weeks if you’re lucky.

If.

“You knew.”

Your smile is grim. “Of course. I know you better than you think.”

He won’t risk himself for a plan doomed to fail.

You drop your hand but he grabs it before it can fall back to your side. This time his kiss is different. Hungrier, simmering with some desperation you’ve only caught glimpses of a few times in the past. A silent war in him you’ve never been able to decipher. Jean cups one of your cheeks, leaning over your at an angle that’s unlikely to be comfortable with your height difference but you savour it all the same. His heat. His presence. The burn of his stubble scratching against your skin. More, more, more. You want every last bit of him.

You’ve never noticed how safe a man this dangerous makes you feel. After Tokyo, Chicago, after the desert, after everything you’ve been through, you never thought you’d ever feel like this again.

Alive.

For being no better than glaciers, cold and merciless, nothing burns better than him.

His nose nudges against your cheek—it’s too big, you put that nose any closer to me and you might take an eye out—his arm, an iron band around your waist. Jean is never shy about his touches, he knows exactly how every inch of you trembles and shudders. He’s spent endless hours familiarising himself with every inch of you after all. You hate how you feel a silent goodbye in every second of your body curled against his now.

“Come with me,” he says, and it borders on a snarl, a demand. “Arrêter… this stupidity now and come with me. My web goes far and wide. I could hide you.”

“And go where?” you wonder softly, leaning into his touch, his thumb stroking your cheek despite the chipped bite of his native tongue. You’re desperate for another few seconds with him.

You never thought you would miss him this much, that you would ache so much at the mere thought of never seeing him again.

“Anywhere, vipère,” he drawls, tugging you closer as if he’s a hair away from throwing you over his shoulder and disappearing into the unknown. For a single second, you want him to. “The world is ours. A beach. You and me, and a whole lot of naked skin,” he continues with a seductive grin you feel against your face.

Seduction—his preferred weapon of choice. You wonder if you’re imagining the harder bite of his voice and meaner grip of his hands, as if he needs to convince you to abandon everything and disappear.

Your closed eyes flutter open, meeting his earnest stare. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him more earnest in all the years you’ve known him.

“I want to,” you tell him, leaning closer to kiss him once, softly. His muscles tighten and you half expect him to flinch away from it because it’s not lust you’re kissing him with, and he knows this. He’s too good not to recognise it. Leaning back, your breaths still mingle, and you inhale his cologne, “But I’m done running, Jean. One way or another. This ends. Now go. I don’t need you anymore.”

He pulls back, his smile cool, caustic. “You’re still a terrible liar, amante.”

The golden Marker disappears inside his pocket. Out of sight.

“I do believe there’s more left for me to teach,” he drawls deliberately, his smile smoothing into something more enticing, crooked as it is sly. “I’ll be seeing you, V.”

There’s no question there. You don’t have the heart to inform him you’re unlikely to ever see each other again.

When no one can locate Jean in his room or reach him over the phone the next morning, you simply tell others to stop looking and focus.

It’s better this way anyway.

At least this way one of you gets to live.

#original writing #spilled prose #original prose #oc x reader #oc writing #writing #s: almost love #c: jean

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minor-solemnity · 4 years ago

Text

Invention and Intrigue pt.2

Tag List: @jinxqsu @cakesarecute @naps-and-lemons @mainlynonsense @riddles-wifey

He’s looking at you as though he knows you, as though he sees something familiar in you. The thought makes the hairs on the back of your arms stand on end. He reaches out, cups your cheek gently and then lets his hand drop to his side. “Show me the spell.”

You spend the next week swinging wildly between panic and resignation. You can’t figure out why Riddle wouldn’t go to the Headmaster - he’s Head Boy. As far as you’re aware, he’s never broken a rule in his entire academic career and it’s no secret the kind of company he keeps. So why on earth would he allow you to get away with what you’ve done? It’s this question that sends you half-mad with paranoia and anxiety. You see Lestrange glowering at you whenever you pass him and there’s a large part of you that’s beginning to suspect that Riddle hasn’t told any of the professors because he and Lestrange are planning something far worse than expulsion for you. Revenge is the only explanation you can think of.

Melanie, bless her, remains blissfully unaware of the fact that you’re spiralling into a vortex of paranoia and worry. She chats happily to you over breakfast on Thursday morning about George Warrington, about how he’s been a perfect gentleman so far. He pulls her chair out for her in the lessons they share together, offers her his cloak when she complains about the cold, laughs at her jokes even when they’re not funny. You smile and nod and hum your happiness for her in all the right places but your eyes remain fixed on the Slytherin table across from you.

You absently take a sip of your tea and almost spit it back out when Riddle suddenly looks up from his breakfast and meets your eye, as though he knew you’d been watching him this whole time. He cocks his head to the side and even from this distance you can see the amused smirk playing on his lips. He raises his glass up and inclines his head slightly in a mock toast. A toast to what? Your idiocy for cursing Lestrange in public? The knowledge he has over you? Your impending demise? He takes a long sip of his drink and you don’t want to notice (but do anyway) the elegant column of his neck, the shift in his throat as he swallows. He maintains eye contact and smirks, a thumb rising to dab at his mouth. You’re gaze snaps to your porridge in front of you and ignore the way your cheeks feel suddenly hot.

“Are you alright? You look rather flushed,” Melanie asks, finally halting her increasingly giddy descriptions of George’s skill with his broom to look at you quizzically.

“Mmm, fine. Just, you know tired. Dreading Herbology. The usual.” She purses her lips in a way that suggests she doesn’t quite believe you but you’re saved from having to answer any of her questions when George makes an appearance next to him. She beams up at him and you watch with mild nausea as he kisses her on the mouth. You’re no prude by any means, but watching your best friend and her new beau learn the crevices of each others’ mouths before nine o’clock is a little much. You cough a little pointedly but Melanie is evidently too distracted to notice so, with a roll of your eyes, you grab your satchel and head for the exit.

You’ve still got another half an hour before Herbology starts but it’s a nice day so you settle down on one of the stone benches by the greenhouses and pull out the book you’ve been reading. It’s a deceptively thin, nondescript text and you’ve read it cover-to-cover at least three times already. Still, it’s one of the most useful books you’ve found on breaking down spell components to their most fundamental parts. You’re so engrossed in your reading that you don’t acknowledge the person who has just sat down beside you.

A flash of gold and onyx obscures the print and Riddle is plucking the book from your hands. “Excuse me, I was reading that,” You squawk, making a grabbing motion to retrieve your book. Riddle looks entirely unperturbed, he’s lounging out on the stone bench, long legs stretched out in front of him. He looks positively regal. He ignores you as his eyes flick rapidly over the page you’d just been reading. “Do you mind?” And maybe it isn’t particularly smart of you to snap at him the way you are. He has more than enough ammunition against you to ruin your life and the fact that he hasn’t yet only serves to make you warier of him. But you hate people touching your things. It reminds you too much of all the times in your first few years at Hogwarts when little snot-nosed purebloods had taunted you by messing with your things.

“Not particularly, no,” He says at last and you don’t like the amusement that laces his voice. You don’t like it one bit. It reminds you that when you peel back the layers of good manners and cultivated gentility, Tom Riddle is just as snakelike as the rest of his house. “This is an interesting choice,” He continues as if he’s oblivious to your less than charitable feelings towards him. “Though perhaps less surprising considering your, ah, extracurricular pursuits, no?” He hums in amusement at the shuddering sigh that escapes you.

“Speaking of those pursuits, I’d like it if you would meet me after dinner tonight. Eight o’clock by the statue of Artemisia Lufkin.” The way he says it, you can tell it’s more of a demand than anything else, but something that looks suspiciously like uncertainty flickers across his expression before he can hide it. Despite yourself, you find yourself oddly endeared.

Part of you (the sensible part of you that you should really start listening to more often) wants to protest and make an excuse but you remember the position you’re in - the position you only have yourself to blame for - and are forced to swallow your reservations. At your very small, very reluctant nod, Riddle smiles widely, eyes gleaming with unspoken triumph. “Lovely, I look forward to it.”

When he hands your book back to you, his fingers brush yours and linger for just a moment too long.

***

“What? No. No, absolutely not.” You’re staring in horror at the cage that Riddle has placed on the desk in front of you. Inside the cage, there’s a large fluffy cottontail rabbit. It’s nose twitches. It’s very cute. From somewhere behind you, Riddle sighs in exasperation.

“You realise that to demonstrate your spell for me, there will have to be a living target?” You wrinkle your nose at the patronising tone he uses. “And whilst I appreciate you might favour practising on Slytherins, I cannot in good conscience allow a repeat performance.”

“That was different,” You say and wince internally at the slight whine audible in your voice. “I’m not a sadist-”

“No, you’re not. That’s hardly what I was trying to say,” He cuts in, still amused, still pleasant, still utterly in control. He moves to your side, close enough that your arm brushes his, close enough to tell that despite the deceptive pleasantness, there's an undeniable air of excitement clinging to him. “Forgive me, but I’m finding it difficult to understand why you, a muggleborn, would spend time inventing such a spell and then test it out on a pureblood unless it was because there is a part of you that really does wish to inflict pain on those you deem worthy of it. Tell me, what got you interested in such dark magic to begin with? It’s hardly an interest commonly pursued by people of your status.”

You feel decidedly out of sorts at his appraisal of you. You don’t like to think of yourself as a violent person and you certainly don’t like that other people might see you as one. But it’s difficult to deny the obvious logic behind his questioning: you’d known exactly what that spell would do to Lestrange and you’d known that there would be a chance that it would do more damage than you’d intended. You just… hadn’t cared. You’d wanted him to suffer, to hurt, to feel fear as intimately as you have for years. You’d wanted him to look at you and know that he was lucky to be alive. “An interest in dark magic is hardly a statement of intent.” You say, at last, determinedly ignoring the fact that almost draining a man of all their blood in an abandoned dungeon probably is. He raises an eyebrow to let you know that the irony is hardly lost on him either and you sigh.

“Magic is… You know the first time I performed accidental magic it was to smash my teacher’s favourite paperweight?” You can’t help but laugh at the memory. At the time you had been so angry over some perceived injustice that you can’t even remember anymore. She’d been so upset and seven year old you had been so pleased with yourself. “I think the second time I did the opposite - fixed a vase my mother had dropped. My point being, magic is about-”

“Intent,” He summarises softly, watching you with unabashed interest. “You don’t think there’s a distinction between light and dark magic.”

It’s not a question. You nod slowly in agreement anyway.“That spell could easily be used in conjunction with a blood replenishing potion as cure for blood diseases. And...” You trail off uncertainty setting in as you regard the boy in front of you. Riddle hasn’t shown you any animosity, on the contrary, he acts as though he wants to know you, as though he’s seen something in you that he likes. You feel like you could maybe trust him. “And I don’t feel guilty for defending myself against someone who’s told me that they want me dead just because of my heritage.”

You’re not sure what you’re expecting from Riddle, but it certainly isn’t the glint of recognition that sparks in his eyes. He’s looking at you as though he knows you, as though he sees something familiar in you. The thought makes the hairs on the back of your arms stand on end. Riddle fixes you with a look of such intensity that you can’t bare to look away. His eyes never leave yours as he reaches out and cups your cheek gently and you have to fight to keep your breathing steady. “You should never feel guilty for demonstrating your power against those weaker than you.”

He drops his hand and moves to stand behind you, closer than is strictly necessary. Leaning forward slightly, he murmurs in your ear, “Please, show me the spell.”

And this time, god help you, you do.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fic #minific #jinxqsu

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years ago

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BTS Reaction | Asking You To Quit Your Job [Request]

Seokjin:

Jin was quite old fashioned when it came to this, you'd been married for four months now and he'd been debating bringing up the topic since then but he knew that now was the right moment. You were in a good mood and you'd prepared dinner for him to come home to. It had been your week off and it felt good to have you at home all to himself.

"Don't you think this week has been amazing?" You took a sip of your wine and nodded as an answer to Jin's question,

"Coming home to you every night was so nice, I bet the time off was great too." You hummed,

"Yeah, it's a shame I have to go back. I was just starting to get into this new show." You laughed, and Jin took it as a sign.

"Then don't go back."

"Jin I have to go back, it's my job," He shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly and chewed on the steak that you had made for dinner that night.

"Quit, I don't mind being able to provide for us. I pay most of the bills anyway," You stared at him dumbfounded that he would even think like that.

"I do, I pay everything, your money is just extra that we don't really need." You put your knife and fork down and stared at him as he continued to talk about it.

"Jin...I love you but did you want me to quit and become a full-time stay at home wife?" He shook his head,

"No...I just meant..."

"Do you want me to rely on you for money, to come to you when I need new clothes, new shoes or I want to go out?" He shook his head finally starting to see why you wanted to keep your job,

"I like earning my own money Jin, I would never want to just take things from you. It would feel morally wrong. Relying on other people...It's not something that I do Jin," He placed his hand over yours on the table and he sighed,

"I never thought of it that way," You smiled sweetly and he looked down at the table not knowing what to do or say now.

"It was a lovely thought though baby, maybe next time I have a week off you can take one too, we can go somewhere together and just spend time together?" He agreed and you both began to think of places where you wanted to go.

Yoongi:

All you ever did was complain about your job which is why Yoongi had suggested what he had in the first place,

"Quit? You think I can just quit without having something else to fall back on?" You groaned sitting up in the bed and looking at Yoongi. It was one of those mornings when he'd just come home and you were just getting up for work.

"You're always complaining about your boss being an arsehole, I don't see a problem with it...Just quit." You shook your head at him,

"I can't just quit Yoongi I need something to have behind me, another job-"

"Another job?" He sat up and stared at you when he told you to quit he meant just quit working. He wanted you to stay at home and be happy that you didn't want to work for everything you had in your life. He was more than willing to pay for everything you and he owned.

"Yes...What did you think?"

"Well, I just thought that- I don't know, that maybe you would quit and not work again?" You laughed softly thinking it was some kind of a joke but then you saw the serious look on his face and you realised it wasn't a joke.

"Not work again? Yoongi how would I afford to live?" You laughed nervously but he took your hands in his,

"I would take care of everything, I earn more than enough for both of us." He was talking on and on about it so much that you knew he'd clearly been thinking about it for some time but you were still hung up on how he expected you to do nothing all day?

"What am I supposed to do while you're at work? Wait around until you come back?" He shook his head,

"No, you can do all of that reading you've been wanting to do, find a new hobby? A new skill. You can do anything you want,"

"I want to work Yoongi," You smiled at him, it was nice of him to think of you like this though. To think of providing for you both but it wasn't something you could ever do,

"I wouldn't be able to do that to you Yoongi. It would feel wrong." He sighed, he knew you were right. It would feel like he was paying you to stick around,

"And if anyone ever found out, god the media would have a field day painting me as the bad guy." He laid back down and pulled you down to lay on his chest,

"I still don't like you working for that company, we'll find you somewhere else together and then you don't have to deal with your boss." You smiled and looked at the time,

"Speaking of which, if I'm late again he'll actually kill me." You kissed him before disappearing into the bathroom to have a shower and get ready for the day ahead of you.

Hoseok:

"I couldn't get the time off, but I'll come and see you on my next weekend off." Hoseok groaned as you told him, he'd been planning on taking you on tour with him and the boys but your boss wouldn't let you take any time off.

"I hate that job of yours, you should just quit." It had come out as a joke but the more that Hoseok thought about it the better idea it seemed to be,

"Yeah! You should just quit, I can look after you, you won't have to work for that stupid boss of yours ever again." He then began talking so fast that you could barely understand a word he was trying to say to you,

"Hobi?" You tried to interrupt but he began pacing around the bedroom and you were only catching onto some of the words he was saying. Something about quitting and then always being with him, no matter what tour they went on you could always be there for him. You stood still in front of him and he smiled down at you, giving you a kiss on the lips.

"I'm a genius,"

"You sure are babe but what are you so genius about?" He sighed and sat you down on the bed,

"You should just quit, that way I can take you all around the world with us on tour, we can go sightseeing together, do tourist things that couples do when they go to new places." You nodded along as he repeated everything he had been saying but in a slower way so you could understand him this time.

"That would be brilliant Hobi but I love my job, I don't want to quit it and run around the world with you." He looked at you and you knew you'd upset him.

"Of course I'd love to go with you Hobi but not all of the time. I have a life, I have friends and family here, and what would I do when you're practising all day on tour and then when we're home and you're at the studio," His mind hadn't thought about that, he'd only thought about all of the good things that would come along with you quitting your job.

"I'll still come and see you but I don't want to rely on you for money Hobi. I have my own job for a reason," He nodded and leant his forehead against yours, this would be his final night home until he left for their world tour.

"I'll see you in a month and until I get there we can call, skype and text." You promised him,

"It'll be like when we were dating," He chuckled at the memories and nodded with you, he knew you were right but he hated leaving you behind when he went away but he also adored his job.

"Pack. Before I get told off by Jin for distracting you and making you leave things behind again." You laughed and Hoseok began packing his things up, sneaking one of your shirts in there to cuddle at night.

Namjoon:

This whole fight had started out as something small but now it was a huge fight between you and Namjoon that had been going on for the last week. You'd stop at night and pick right back up when you both came home to one another the next time, fueled with more facts and insults for one another.

"What about when we start a family?! You're just going to take off right after giving birth to our son or daughter?!" You stared at Namjoon as he brought that up,

"It's different..." You whispered trying to think of how in any way that it would be different but you knew deep down that it wasn't. Namjoon had told you he wanted you to quit your job and that he didn't want you working at the office you worked for anymore. He could provide more than enough for you and him three times over if he really wanted to. He made enough money to do practically anything he wanted but he didn't seem to understand why you were so upset with him wanting you to quit.

"How is it different Y/n? You'll have a son or daughter and then leave them at home alone?" You shook your head,

"No Namjoon, of course not. But I want to work, I can't just sit around the house all day and be bored! What about if I want to go out shopping? I'm not going to use your money." He stared at you,a little shocked that you were exploding out about everything. The whole fight you had been calm about it but you were starting to lose it.

"I don't want to rely on you for money Namjoon. Do you know how terrible I felt when I lost my job back when we first started dating? I stay up all night every night hunting for this job, applying for countless jobs because I didn't want to rely on you..." Namjoon had no idea that you'd done any of this, that you felt that way about taking money from him. He'd always seen the money as something you shared, you were married and living together, the money was joint between you.

"It's your money Namjoon, I don't want to take it." You whispered to him, he walked over to you and knelt in front of you.

"I didn't know you felt that way." You sighed and looked at him, you knew it was something you should have told him before but you never wanted to rely on anybody for anything. It was just the way you were brought up,

"I should have said something before but Namjoon I don't want to quit." He nodded and kissed you lovingly,

"Then you don't have to, I should have thought before I started mentioning it. I'm sorry." This was going to end up in one of those apology circles where you and Namjoon when back and forth saying sorry until you finally fell asleep so you just kissed him to shut you both up.

Jimn:

You crashed through the door and into Namjoon's studio where Namjoon, Jimin and Kai were sitting.

"I brought your coffee, you weren't in the TXT studio so I figured you'd be with Joon." Jimin watched you handing Kai his coffee before leaving through the door and he frowned racing out after you.

"Baby, what are you doing?" He questioned, you stared at him and then over his shoulder.

"Jimin I can't talk, I'm late for a meeting with PD," You tried to go around him but he grabbed onto your wrist to stop you from moving away from him.

"Since when were you on coffee runs for TXT and going into meetings with PD again?" He stared at you wanting answers but giving him answers meant admitting that you'd been demoted from your other job and given an intern role but with low payment.

"You can't lie to me," You sighed knowing he was right,

"I got demoted, they found out about me and you being together so they demoted me. Jimin I'm lucky I'm not fired so can I go please?" His grip was still on your wrist and you heard PD calling your name,

"If I don't get to that meeting I won't even have this job Jimin." He shook his head,

"Then quit, I don't want you to work here if you're going to be a coffee maid, I can provide for us...I can pay for our bills and we can-"

"Are you asking me to quit my job and let you pay for everything?" He nodded not seeing a problem with it, his dad paid for everything his mum had.

"Jimin I can't just quit it's my job..."

"You got demoted-"

"And I can earn a promotion again as I did before...Do you think I would just quit and rely on you?" You were slightly offended that he would think you would just quit and use him for money,

"No, but I have the money I don't see the big deal." You stared at him and you knew he really didn't see the issue with it.

"It's not about money Jimin, I don't want to rely on you for anything...I can't explain this properly right now but I would never use you for your money for anything." The way you worded it cleared everything up 'Use him for his money.'

"I didn't- I don't want you to rely on..." The more he tried to explain it the more he realised what it had sounded like and he kissed you,

"I'll cook dinner tonight, work hard baby." You smiled and ran to catch up to bang PD.

Taehyung:

You were busy because you worked for another kpop idol, usually, it was just running around for coffee but just lately they'd been wanting more and more from you so you were getting home later and later. When you walked through the front door that night you hadn't expected to see Taehyung sitting on the sofa waiting for you to come in,

"Baby, it's late. You should be in bed." You whispered going up behind him and rubbing his shoulders, he smiled at the feeling. He'd missed you all week and now you were finally here he never wanted you to leave again.

"I haven't seen you all week, I missed you." He grumbled so you sat down next to him on the sofa and laid your head down on his lap.

"I know, I'm sorry. The guy I work for he wants me to start getting into the business properly." His hands were playing with your hair as you yawned.

"I've been thinking about it a lot..." You hummed as a sign for him to continue talking and he sighed.

"What if you quit..." You sat up as the words came from his mouth, you'd never talked about something like this before.

"Why would I quit?" You questioned turning so you were sitting face to face with him on the sofa, he looked nervously down at his hands before looking back at your face.

"Well I mean you don't need to work, I can afford to look after us and more." You felt your heartbreak as he spoke about this,

"Tae I don't-"

"I can afford the house, I can afford our bills and then I still have loads left to pay for whatever else we may want." You shook your head quickly getting off of the sofa so you could try and process what he was saying to you, it was 2 in the morning and he was telling you all of this now.

"Tae, no...No I don't want you to pay for everything." He continued to talk about how he wouldn't mind and how he could afford to do it but it was only making you feel worse as a person.

"Tae! Do you remember when we first started dating? How I didn't want you to pay for my meal? Do you remember that?" Of course, he did, it was one of the many reasons that he'd started to fall for you. You didn't want him for his money, you wanted him for him.

"Yes but this is different, this would be me providing for my girlfriend, my future..."

"Tae, I don't want to rely on you for money. What about when I want to go out? I'm not going to start asking you for money, or relying on you when I need money or new clothes." He wasn't understanding and you knew why he wasn't, this was his first serious relationship and he didn't see the big deal with it. It was just money to him,

"I can't take your money Tae." He could see how upset you were getting so he nodded his head,

"Fine, okay. Don't quit okay? I just...I want to see you more." He whispered and you got back onto the sofa next to him and laid your head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry Tae...I'll try and get some time off, find something else with fewer hours. I don't like being away from you either." He sighed wrapping his arm around you and drawing your body closer to his so he could hold you as long as he could.

"I have the weekend off though." You whispered closing your eyes,

"Me too." He whispered back to you, kissing your head and letting you sleep next to him.

Jungkook:

You were sitting on the sofa with Jungkook and Jimin watching one of those old black and white TV shows where the wife ran around for the man. Made sure dinner was on the table by a certain time and ran everything perfectly while the husband worked all day every day.

"Don't you think that's nice?" Jimin and you turned to look at Jungkook who was sitting in the middle of you and holding the popcorn.

"Do we think what is nice?" You questioned, taking a handful of popcorn and putting it into your mouth. You and Jungkook had been together for three years and you'd just moved in together, tonight was the first night you'd invited one of the guys over.

"Having someone waiting for you at home, having dinner ready for you the moment you step through the door." You snorted back and laugh and shook your head,

"Oh yes, and the poodle skirt she's wearing is just define. Maybe if she's lucky he'll give her an allowance and let her go to the shop," You were only half-joking at this point. You and Jungkook had gotten into a fight earlier that night about you leaving your job but it wasn't something that you wanted to do, you wanted to keep working. You loved working and you loved your job but Jungkook didn't, it kept you away from him just as much as his job kept you away from him.

"You know that's not what I meant, I just meant it's nice to have that kind of life. Someone to come home to." You rolled your eyes and Jimin could sense something big was coming so he made an excuse to leave the apartment.

"Is that how you want our life to be? You want me to run around after you like some kind of housewife? Have dinner on the table for when you get in?" He shook his head as he followed you into the kitchen,

"No, I just- It's not a completely awful thought...Coming home to you." You stared at him as you leant back against the kitchen countertop.

"You want to come home to me in a poodle skirt with dinner ready on time? Run around like a slave?" You continued ranting on about how disgusting it was for women back then and how they had no rights, had literally nothing but their husbands and he realised what he'd said,

"No. No, look-" He took your hands and walked you over to the kitchen table sitting down with you as he held your hands in his so that he could talk this through properly.

"I just meant I thought it would be nice to come home to you all of the time, there are nights when I don't come home or you don't come home because we're so busy...I don't want you to run around like a housewife but being able to see you every night would be nice." You realised you'd probably overreacted about everything but it was just how you felt,

"I can't give up my job Kook." You whispered to him,

"I can maybe go down to part-time but I can't quit if I quit I'll go insane with nothing to do." He nodded in agreement with you and you leaned across to kiss him,

"Though you in a poodle skirt does sound cute," You pushed his chest playfully and he chuckled at you and then shook his head.

"I'll talk to my boss Kook," You promised him and he kissed you again running his hands up your side and smiling as he felt you move the chair closer to him

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies @yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @lyoongx @fan-ati--c @btsiguess-kpop @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie

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eveningstar1516 · 3 years ago

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Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 9

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so..., Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence. AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A/N: I gotta Discord server guys! It's primarily Obey Me but other fandoms are welcome as well. It's kinda baby and dead so me and the other members are looking to revive it and we'd love for you to come join us. A roleplay area is included :) https://discord.gg/F3YEmDZCPS Please remember to read and accept the rules once you join for access to all the channels. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Previously: “Of course, what are big brothers for. Anyway, about my payment, maybe you can forget about the money I owe ya?” Groaning, Levi started walking faster, leaving Mammon and his whining behind as he made his way back to the safety of his room. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 9 - Not So Different After All (1754 words)

You were practicing your swordsmanship in the garden clearing when Michael approached you. You’ve been living with the council for 3 decades by now and was confidently running them like Lucifer used to. This left you little time for yourself and you cherished these moments to yourself. That doesn’t mean you don’t like teasing Michael from time to time.

“Good afternoon Y/N”

“Good afternoon to you too Mike. What’s up?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” “Just be glad I don’t call you that at work. Anyway, how can I help you?”

“May I join you?”

“I don’t see why not, but on one condition. If I win, tell me why you despise Lucifer and why you refuse to call him by his new name. If you win, I’ll answer 2 questions with complete honesty, no restrictions on the type of question.”

Michael visibly stiffened at this. He contemplated this for a moment then agreed. He summoned his sword and stood opposite of me in a ready position. I matched his stance and parreyed off with him, signalling the start of our match. Michael started with a calculated quick strike to my neck. I brought my sword up to block his strike and tried to twist it from his grip but he pulled back and made a quick swing toward my left leg. I jumped up and switched to offence striking for his sword arm trying to land a hit. He saw this and backed away. This continued on for a few minutes. Michael attacking and me blocking and returning the favour. After a few more strikes, I saw an opening, he shifted his legs a little too wide. I dropped my weight and swept his feet out from under him. Before he realized, he hit the ground and I was standing above him, my right foot on his sword arm and my sword by his throat.

“Looks like I won.” I withdrew my sword and extended my arm to help him up. He grabbed my hand with a distasteful look on his face, ashamed at making such a mistake and losing to someone with less skill and combat experience than him.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Handing him a towel and some water I sat under a date tree and took a sip from my own bottle.

“Lucifer. I took an interest in it after seeing him practise one day and he took it upon himself to teach me, his excuse being that I should know how to protect myself if I insisted on taking up a blade. Enough of that, you lost, now can you tell me why you despise Lucifer so much?”

Michael took a seat next to me and leaned back against the trunk.

“You mean other than the fact that he went against Father, started a civil war, killed numerous angels, abandoned his duty, embraced the very sins that father forbade us from committing, birthed a demon of wrath, and willingly bowed down to the demon prince and still serves him to this day like a loyal lapdog all because he couldn’t take care of Lillith enough to keep her from trying to break one of our laws to save a human? No, no reason.”

“Wow, and I thought humans were the masters at holding grudges.” I took a swing of my water.

“Think about it, at the root of all that, Lucifer did it to protect his family, to protect his little sister. He may have embraced and embodied the sin of pride, but he pushed all of it away to save her. You don’t really think he serves Diavolo just because he asked him to? His pride would never allow it, and yet he does because by doing so, he can protect his family and the ones he loves. Isn’t that a virtue in Father's eyes, protecting loved ones no matter what you need to sacrifice?”

“Well yes, to an extent. You are supposed to do that, unless it means you defy him. If protecting your family results in you turning your back to him, he’d tell you to leave them behind.”

“Why do you keep calling Lucifer "Samael"?”

“That is the name Father gave him, that is the name I will call him. Samael was my brother and I don’t want to remember him for the destruction he caused but for the moments we shared as brothers. He was the pride of the heavens. Despite that, he embodied humility. He never took advantage of his authority. He always made sure the minority were heard. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion as Father's right hand. He never let the praise get to his head. Despite all that, he still embodied pride. He would never ask for help insisting that he could take care of things. He still took in his siblings and raised them, despite the burdens that were already placed on his shoulders. I used to look up to him and saw him as a role model. I accepted the fact that he is no longer an angel and is now a completely different being. In my mind, Lucifer and Samael are 2 separate creatures. I will remember him as Samael, my brother and best friend and Lucifer as the demon serving Lord Diavolo.”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that they aren’t that different from each other? Samael may have taken all the burden and worked himself till he passed out from exhaustion, but Lucifer still does that. I can’t tell you the number of times I would enter his study just to find him clinging to consciousness trying to finish the never ending paperwork for both the Devildom and from his brother's antics. He does his best and works himself to the bone to make sure that his family has a roof over their heads, enough food to eat which I got to tell you is hard considering they are living with someone who embodies the sin of gluttony. He works himself to make sure that Diavolo doesn’t do the same and can focus on running his kingdom and school without having to worry too much about what goes on behind the scenes. Even with all those responsibilities he took, he still makes sure to be there and protect his family. He raised Satan as a first time father with no knowledge on demonic children. He always set aside some time each week, no matter how busy he is to spend some time with the rest of us. He may be harsh, but he isn’t heartless. He may look incapable of it, but he is very caring and compassionate towards the ones he holds close to him. He is still very much the Samael you knew, he just looks a little different.”

“Was your intention just to tell me these things so that I wouldn’t act distasteful to you or Samael?” “No, I just wanted you to see things from an outsider's perspective, nothing more.”

With that, I got up and left Michael in the garden to think about what I had said as I went to shower and finish up any outstanding work before dinner.

In the Devildom After they lost Y/N

After they lost Y/N, Asmo could barely function. Some days, he would lock himself in his room and not come out for days on end. When Beel would come and drop off some food, Asmo would always insist he just leave it outside the door. When Beel would come back to collect the plate, he found that only a small portion was eaten and that more than half of the food was left. They would never find out that it was because he was unintentionally starving himself and that he was dropping his self care routine. Other times he would leave for days on end and when he did eventually come home, he was either stoned or drunk out of his mind, but he always had a lingering scent of sex on him. It continued on like this for weeks before Satan found him. Asmo had just come back after being missing for a week and once again refused to leave his room. This time, Satan insisted on delivering his food. He needed to check on his little brother no matter how much Asmo didn’t want him to. When he got to the door he knocked and announced he was coming in. Without waiting for a reply, Satan broke the lock on the door and was greeted with an emotionally exhausted and physically wrecked Asmo laying face up on his bed. Tears streaming down his face. Satan closed the door and looked around the room noticing how everything was thrown around and the state of what used to be one of the most organized rooms in the house, now looking like a hot mess. Carefully, he cleared a spot on his dresser, making sure nothing got damaged in the process and set the tray down. Next he went to the washroom, equally messed up, and located a washcloth. He ran it under some warm water and went back to Asmo, carefully wiping away any tears and smudged make-up. Slowly, Asmo opened his eyes to look up at the soft expression on Satan’s face. He turned his head the other and screwed his eyes shut.

“Asmo, look at me.”

When he didn’t turn his head, Satan asked again, a little softer and put a comforting hand on his shoulder to ground him.

“Asmo, can you please look at me?”

Slowly, Asmo turned his head towards Satan and reluctantly opened his eyes. Satan gently lifted him up and pulled him into an embrace. Asmo couldn’t take it anymore and broke down on Satan’s shoulder. Satan rubbed soothing circles on Asmo’s back and stroked his tangled hair, grounding him. Eventually, when Asmo stopped crying, he pulled away from Satan with a sad smile on his face. Satan cupped his right cheek.

“It’s alright, we all miss them too. It’s ok to break down. When was the last time you took care of yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Asmo mumbled.

“That’s alright. Let’s get some food into your stomach first.”

Satan spent the rest of the night by his brother's side, cleaning his room and slowly, step by step, bringing back how his brother usually looked like. A glowing masterpiece, worthy of both envy and praise.

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alittlebitgoofy · 3 years ago

Text

stay gold - chapter one (taywhora)

here we go, chapter 1 proper, i’m really excited for where this is going, stay tuned for chapter 2 soon :)) thanks to @goodemornting for betaing ily babes ao3 link

Aurora hesitated at the entrance for a heartbeat or two, eyes bright.

She’d worked on the outside as much as one could over a few days. The plants had come back to life startlingly quick, as if there was an influence perking them up after being starved of attention for so long. The colours stood out against the stone stairs that curled up to the shrine, vibrant and lambent. She found herself sitting on them often, wondering if the person she’d seen before would ever show themselves again.

It had taken a week for Aurora to finally drum up the courage to stand at the door, ready to unlock it once more. She tried again with the tip of one of her arrows and struggled. They must have locked it tighter, clearly not wanting her in there.

Tayce felt the familiar presence at her door once again.

She watched discerningly as they fumbled with the lock, huffing in frustration as they failed to open it a second time. Good to know her magic had worked— she still felt a bit rusty in that regard. She’d tried to practise a few things to varying levels of success and scorned herself for not trying to refresh her skills sooner.

The blonde girl finally got it to click open after a few more attempts, letting out an excited squeal at her victory. Tayce scoffed at the sound— mortals really were amused by the tiniest things. It was almost cute, that they’d feel so fulfilled at small success. Aurora wandered through the room quietly, eyeing up the pedestal and hesitantly grabbing something out of the bag she’d brought, which had been concealed by her cloak until she opened it. She placed down a loaf of bread gently, wondering if what she had read was actually true. The deity that lived there apparently loved any type of offering, especially food. She’d made some extra at work to attempt to please her, hoping it would serve as a way to tell if someone truly was watching her, though she’d have to come check the next day.

Tayce eyed the stranger as she left, carefully relocking the door as she had the time prior. She only now focused on how rejuvenated the front of the shrine looked, peering at it’s appearance in veneration. The flowers were back to their former glory, the ivy tangled it’s way up the walls. The nature seemed to be in peace again, taken care of. Tayce hadn’t seen it like this in years.

Not since then.

She shook the thought away quickly, focusing on the offering the little mortal had left. It looked good, clearly freshly made, wrapped in a little linen cloth to keep it safe. It was cute— the frequentor of her shrine had put in more effort than anyone had in a long time to please her without asking for anything in return.

Maybe they still had some skill left in that old village, perhaps the baker was just talented at their craft. Either way, the blonde had good taste.

---

Aurora couldn’t stop thinking about the shrine.

It was as if something drew her there, like fate pulling her to something it deemed necessary. It didn’t make sense, no where else she had ever gone made her feel like this. She knew there had to be something inside— whether it be a spirit or a creature or even a person. Everything had convinced her there had to be someone in there, but every time she had visited she’d still received no answers. Aurora wondered why they were hiding, when she had done her best to prove her good intentions. Perhaps something had happened?

Maybe this aura was the one her books kept talking about— the legend of the guardian of their village. Maybe she did really exist, but Aurora couldn’t confirm it until they came face to face. It was all she wanted now, even if only for a split second.

She came back the next day, noticing the cloth folded on the pedestal and the bread all gone, only tiny crumbs remaining. She took a deep breath— that was absolute, concrete proof. Someone had seen her, be they mortal or guardian. Someone was there.

That was when she felt it, the eyes returning and watching every little move she made. It fell upon her so quickly, paralysing her as it felt like something kept creeping closer and she was powerless to stop it. They were invisible though Aurora could have sworn she heard the flap of some wings. Her head whipped around the room at a concerning speed, fear bubbling up as she couldn’t see a thing to point to company in there.

The doors creaked, and with a flash of light, someone appeared in front of her.

Aurora blinked up at the creature before her, mouth gaping in terror and awe.

She’d never seen someone so ethereal.

The creature’s skin sparkled in the light that flooded through the door frame, her wings fell at her side, so wide they didn’t fit in the doorway when stretched out. Her eyes held amusement as a small smirk played at her lips.

Tayce grinned down at the elf, gaze sharp and challenging. This was the person who had been trying to get her attention and Tayce wouldn’t let her actions go unnoticed, even if the girl was barely breathing in shock as she slowly approached.

“So. Any explanation as to why you came here or would you like to forget everything you’ve seen?” Tayce’s smirk grew as her guest’s eyes widened. She forgot how easy it was to play with mortals, especially those who didn’t know of her existence.

Aurora couldn’t find the words, all of them stuck in her throat. She blinked back at the person in front of her, gawking. Her mind was racing, clouded with all the mistakes she might make that might anger this mysterious deity. She’d been trespassing here, obviously, and the creature clearly wasn’t happy about that. Aurora wasn’t sure of the powers that she might possess, or what punishment might come her way.

“I’m just messing with you.” Tayce finally continued, brightening up as the girl's shoulders relaxed immediately. “You’ve been quite respectful, actually, so I thought I’d appear to, y’know, thank you. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing. Quite the makeover of the outside, it’s nice to see some effort put into it after all this time.” Tayce starred her down, taking time to take in her features. She seemed to relax after being spoken to, staring back in silence.

Aurora tried to process it, that the person in front of her wasn’t angry but yet...thankful? It was confusing, it didn’t make sense with everything she’d read but she seemed so genuine if a little overbearing in her entrance that she couldn’t just shake it off.

“Yeah.” She spoke quietly, still in awe of the creature in front of her. Anything intricate couldn't get let out as Aurora could only stare at the person in front of her. “You’re… welcome?”

“You don’t need to be scared, if I was going to hurt you I wouldn't have waited so long.” Tayce quipped, glad to see the way the blonde’s lips curled up at the comment. She seemed to relax a bit, the fear in her eyes replaced by a more vibrant curiosity.

“So what’s your name? The plaque over there is too old to make out a lot of it, though I don’t know if it was intentionally scratched out, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s not important really.” The blonde rambled, feeling the strong gaze of Tayce looking over her though powering through to at least utter a sentence at a reasonable volume. Something about her was enchanting, if not a bit unnerving. She felt powerful even from just standing in front of her. Though her beauty was what really left her shaken, how could she be so effervescent? Maybe this was why people worshipped her in the past. Tayce paused, wondering if she trusted this random mortal enough to allow her in further than an object of her amusement, someone she could get to know. Sure, she seemed decently kind and had no ill will towards her, but she hasn’t gotten this close to someone in a while. Her eyes were too kind, clearly excited under the nerves to meet someone she thought to only be a legend. What would it hurt, humouring her for a bit. She’d surely get bored soon enough but a bit of entertainment sounded like fun.

“My name is Tayce, and yours?” The brunette held eye contact with the smaller elf, repressing a smirk at how she seems to shrink at the prolonged staring. Mortals were funny things, stare at them enough and they’d cower away.

“Aurora.” She managed to get a small word out, eyes staying fixed on Tayce as the deity moved closer and outstretched her arm. “Your kind still does this, right? It’s polite?” “Yeah, people still shake hands. It’s a bit formal but definitely polite.” Aurora failed to stifle a slight laugh, how could someone so intimidating question the customs of the people she lived so close to.

Tayce’s expression hardened, not sure how to react to her. She hadn’t been in the company of a mortal in years, but she didn’t remember them being like this at all. It had been too long, maybe the girl was just a bit peculiar. She didn’t mean any rudeness by it, more amusement than anything. Tayce could feel her, calmer than anyone who had ever stood before her. She needed to know more.

“Why are you here?” Tayce cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, curiosity in her tone, careful not to scare off her new companion.

“I was, I don’t know, curious? I’ve heard and read a lot about the guardian of our village but no one’s heard anything from them in over a century. I wanted to know, people act like you never existed but there was too much evidence someone was here at some point.” Aurora spoke honestly, trying to ignore the chilling feeling she got when Tayce’s eyes stayed on her for too long. She didn’t mean it, but their height difference combined with the intensity her eyes held at the first glance left a lasting impression.

“They’ve forgotten about me, have they? Can’t say i’m surprised, they moved on. Don’t need me anymore. It’s a bit sad, though I'm glad to see everything still thriving.” Tayce felt her stomach drop at the revelation, though she masked it behind a poker face. It was inevitable her lack of appearance would affect the place she called home but for them all to just think she was a figment of folklore, it stung more than she thought it would. So thus, it was quite confusing that Aurora, who appeared to be a run of the mill mortal, thought so differently. Tayce wondered if she had gotten her hands on any books about her, maybe, or some rotting old elder had blathered on about her existence enough that Aurora just had to come see if the myths were true. It was almost embarrassing to know that someone was so invested in her existence, if she was honest. Just your run of the mill immortal deity.

Ah. that would be weird to most mortals, her existence seemed to always cause shock. It was getting old…

Aurora wasn’t sure how to respond. She could sense the sadness in the brunette's tone but felt it wasn’t her place to pry. She’d been far too lucky to make it this far, seemingly having earnt at least a small amount of trust from someone who could easily end her with a flick or her wrist.

“I’m glad I could meet you.” She managed out, barely able to speak as Tayce absentmindedly flexed her wings, showing how large her wingspan was when unfurled. They were majestic, though hidden by her side as after she stretched them out.

“You like my wings?” Tayce raised an eyebrow, delighting in the way Aurora’s face flushed as her staring was caught out.

“They’re so majestic, really. You’re… you’re breathtaking.” She spoke her thoughts aloud, wondering why Tayce seemed taken aback by the comment before realising what she had said. Right now would be a good time for her memory to be wiped, not remembering the turn this interaction took because she couldn’t keep her own mouth shut and ended up in conversation with someone who probably saw her as insignificant.

Tayce watched with curiosity at the way the blonde seemed consumed by embarrassment at blindly blurting her thoughts. She was amused, holding back a laugh at how the tips of her ears turned pink. Poor thing didn’t need to be laughed at right now, she was already mortified enough for one day.

She liked this one, Aurora had a lot of charm, she was sweet. Despite being clearly out of her depth she’d tried her best to converse, it was entertaining watching her fumble through trying to figure out how to treat Tayce.

“I like you, actually. Though you’re a bit of an odd one, aren’t you?” Tayce laughed, watching over the elf carefully for her reaction. She hoped she could take a bit of a prod, it would make things much more humorous.

Aurora was taken aback at that, blinking up at the deity skeptically. She couldn’t fathom how something with such an all-encompassing, magical presence could feel anything similar to fondness for her, even if she appreciated it. This made no sense, she was much kinder than the stories said. She seemed like a normal person if not for the huge wings and her sheer height that would dwarf anyone she knew.

Then she caught on to the end of that statement, a joke very much at her expense but one she couldn’t really deny. She had picked a lock into some type of ground that she didn’t know wasn’t sacred and offered the creature bread with no idea if she was even there. “You say this as the one with huge wings.” She huffed in mock annoyance, chest tightening at the laugh Tayce let out. It was a heavenly sound, she ached to make her laugh more, get to know the intricacies of her, though it was a bit early to pry.

“Excuse you! My wings are majestic are they not?”

Aurora hesitated, flustered at the reference of her previous comment. She couldn’t win against Tayce, could she? “Yeah, but they do make you stand out.” She stated simply, feeling her insides warm once more to get a laugh out of her new found friend. “Bit blunt too, you’re a fun one.” Tayce spoke to her fondly, like her friends did when making fun of something impulsive she had done. It felt different, Tayce's eyes pierced through her soul and yet she seemed amused by all of her little comments and quirks.

There was a mutual air of intrigue, a natural back and forth while still being a bit reserved. Tayce confirmed her intentions, pure if not a bit dangerous. She had made sure to encourage more visits, though Aurora expected her bread may have sweetened her up every so slightly.

Either way, Tayce was fond of her and that put her on cloud nine, all she wanted was to make her laugh again.

#taywhora #rpdr fanfiction #stay gold

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kiatheinsomniac · 4 years ago

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Unwoven Fate VI

[MY MASTERLIST]

(Y/n) took another sip of her bitter coffee as she cast a glance into the fireplace, sitting with the Assassins.

"It doesn't make sense." She shook her head.

"That's precisely why it's so unusual." The man, who she now knew as La Volpe, replied.

"A dead child? They planted a dead child at the villa?" (Y/n) had to close her eyes and take in a deep breath. Her Aunt and Uncle were evermore being revealed as monsters to her. "Why go to that length just to take me in?"

"None of us had seen you in over three years so when we saw the child's body, we all assumed it was you," Machiavelli chimed in.

"But you had no idea that my mother had any family?" (Y/n) repeated again. Why had her mother hidden her past?

"No. She told us that she was an orphan from Vienna and moved to Forlì with her adopted father when she was young."

"She never mentioned Vienna to me as far as I can remember." (Y/n)'s brows furrowed. She could feel tears threatening her eyes but she kept them back as she took another sip of coffee, biting her inner cheek. If only Emma were there for the young woman to question her.

"What I still don't know is the connection between Emma lying about her past and why your Aunt and Uncle had her and Lorenzo killed." Volpe hummed.

"And why they killed an innocent child just to take me in. . ." (Y/n) added quietly, feeling guilt for whoever that nameless, faceless youth was. Whoever she was or would have been had died in her family's scheme.

"And, until now, the only thing you've known of the Assassins was what you found in the letter from my uncle." Claudia's brother added as he handed it back to her, having gone over his passed loved one's handwriting so many times.

"My Aunt and Uncle never mentioned it before. Originally, I thought it was because they didn't know but now I'm not so sure. . . It doesn't sit right anymore."

"There's definitely something deeper here. . ." Machiavelli pondered, walking away to the other room in order to think. (Y/n) put her cup of coffee down on the table beside her, no longer having an appetite for its bitterness. "Every time I go looking for answers, all I find is more questions." She sighed exasperatedly.

"And you will have them," Volpe spoke as he stood up, "You are Lorenzo's and he was like family to us, Emma became family in time too. We won't turn you away." She found herself smiling bittersweetly at this. On her journey, she felt that she had lost any sense of home so, while it was nice to be offered somewhere to stay, it felt painfully temporary.

"You may join our ranks." Ezio spoke up, causing some looks of surprise around the room, "Your family come from our Brotherhood and there will be a place for you here if you wish to take it. I'll give you all the time you need to make your decision."

An Assassin. He was right to give her time to make up her mind, it was a very big decision. It was a new life. Wasn't that what she wanted? Either way, she would definitely take her time on this one instead of jumping at every chance presented to her.

"Thank you," She spoke with a grateful bow of her head and she rose from her seat, "I'm aware that I've delayed your meeting, I'll let you get on." And she made her way back to the main hall where she found a bookcase and a pigeon cage with a carrier pigeon inside.

After a few times, stealing had come naturally to her but killing? Did she have it in her? She shook her head; she needed to know more about this cause before she even started on that train of thought. What about this brotherhood had stirred her mother's passion so much that she had revoked her own family? She turned to the bookshelf, seeing some scrolls tucked between the volumes here and there and decided to see if the papers held any answers for her.

⚜⚜⚜

Two months had passed since and she woke up to the sound of the door across her room opening, hearing footsteps go down the corridor. Emilio's heavy door was usually what woke her up in the morning. (Y/n) threw her arms upon her pillow, groaning as she stretched her back and then sat upright, reaching for her aching shoulders.

She had accepted Ezio's offer of becoming a recruit for the Brotherhood and she felt that she was making good progress. She was not yet trained enough to be called on in the field but she hoped that she would be promoted soon. Ezio was the Brotherhood's primary mentor but he was also a busy man which meant that the recruits often spent most of their training sparring against each other.

(Y/n) fought with her father's hidden blade which had been repaired with a little oil to restore its long-neglected mechanics. The training had definitely taken its physical toll on her: she had not been very athletic before so aches and pains after a long day came without fail but practise and a lot of torn muscles were making her grow more and more used to her new lifestyle. She got out of bed and tidied up the sheets behind her: it had been a skill she'd taught herself during her residence at the Assassin hideout after being raised with servants to do it for her throughout her life.

There were still aspects of (Y/n)'s life as a noblewoman that she didn't want to let go of though and makeup was one of them. It motivated her to get out of bed as soon as she awoke instead of staying curled up in the sheets and she simply didn't feel prepared for the day until it was complete. It didn't take her too long to apply the light powder across her face and neck along with the blush on her lower cheeks. She oiled her lashes, dusted her brows and dappled some lipstick to the centre of her mouth in a matter of minutes then got to weaving her hair into a braid around her head like a crown. Her previous braided style had proved impractical for training as she'd found that they would often hit her in the face if she turned quickly.

She pulled on her wine-coloured recruit robes and took a final glance at herself in the small mirror, touching her necklace to the two strings of pearls around her neck. Somehow those pearls made her feel like she had made the right decision - the pearls of her Assassin mother now being worn by her Assassin-recruit daughter.

(Y/n) had noticed that she was now the best free runner out of the other four recruits but she knew exactly why. As she made her way downstairs to raid the pantry for whatever fruit preserves were left, she reflected on her experience so far. The other recruits didn't trust her and they weren't very good at hiding it. They found her mysterious past daunting somehow and remained suspicious of her because of it. This often meant that she was excluded from sparring so she had been spending much more time running across the rooftops of Rome and (without others knowing) checking the carrier pigeons. She would often check on what sort of contracts were available so that she could grasp a better idea of what it meant to be an Assassin.

She ate her usual breakfast of a cup of coffee and a few slices of bread smeared with fruit preserve. By the time she got to the hall where the recruits would train, she found three of them already sparring, the fourth reading in the corner. She already knew that she wouldn't be included this day and decided to make her way outside instead, climbing up to the roof.

(Y/n) had made it routine to take the leap of faith from the top of the hideout now. She knew that only formally initiated Assassins were supposed to take the leap of faith but she had performed it in an escape from a rooftop archer two weeks ago and loved the thrill that came with it.

Landing in the haystack below, she left Isola Tiberina and made her way further north in the city, scaling a wall once the buildings were close enough to start running over. She liked to challenge herself too: using flag poles, tightropes, ledges and balconies to really expand her potential routes.

Once the afternoon came about and the sun was beating down from overhead, she decided to take shelter on a platform that was fairly sheltered by the taller building beside it, casting her in shadows. The coos of pigeons joined the urban ambience of chatter from the streets below. (Y/n) sat down on and leaned her back against the wall, looking at the view around her. That's when she noticed that there was an irregularity in the shadow of the wall behind her: the straight line was interrupted by a rounded figure. She silently but quickly turned around, keeping in a crouch, suspecting that it was a guard. But what she was met with instead surprised her and she got to her feet as the figure jumped down to join her.

"Mentore," She greeted as his taller figure approached her, gesturing for her to sit back down. She did and he joined her, one of his knees propped up with his arm resting over it. It had been quite a while since the recruits had seen Ezio in more than just passing.

"Recruits aren't supposed to do the leap of faith, you know." He started and (Y/n) opened her mouth to apologise so quickly that she had missed the tone of amusement in his voice, "But you did it well, fearlessly, as it should be done."

"I actually wasn't as afraid as I thought I'd be the first time I did it." She started, glancing at him as he looked across the streets of Rome, "But that probably had something to do with that fact that the guard had already shot two arrows at my feet and I doubted that he would miss a third time." This made the man beside her laugh heartily, "I do think that the first time should be more ceremonial but desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Have you been following me all day or did you happen to find me again?" She questioned, now knowing that there was the chance she had actually been observed all day.

"You'll have to find out the next time this happens." He replied and (Y/n) set her eyes back on the streets, the hot sun climbing ever higher into the sky. "You're much better at freerunning than the rest of the recruits." He praised.

"I just spend more time doing it." She bit her cheek, "They don't seem to trust me enough to let me train with them as much as I'd like." She could see him turn to face her from the corner of her eyes.

"They just have a lot of questions."

"So do I. . ." She shifted the way that she was sitting, bringing her knees up enough to rest her arms over them. "I've been at a standstill for a while in terms of looking for answers and now I'm worried that I won't be able to find anymore." She confided.

"Journys like yours can be long and they can stop and start at times," He began, "Believe me, I would know. I spent years hunting all the men involved in my family's murder: I was acting as an Assassin without knowing that my father was one, that my brother was to take over for him while I minded the bank. Now I'm the Assassin and Claudia is the one who knows how to handle our finances. Sometimes you just need to let yourself sit out for a while before you're able to keep on going."

"I heard about your family in Florence. . . People still talk about you." He hummed, a smile teasing his face then vanishing again.

"I made some irrational decisions when I was young. My first major kill was out in the open and I announced myself to the crowd after. I've been a wanted man for a long time." There was a silence. "Just promise me that you won't let this take you down a path of vain revenge. It'll only hurt you more." She could hear in his voice that he was speaking from experience still.

"I'm not entirely sure that I can promise that. My own family killed my parents, essentially kidnapped me and lied to me for years. I'm not sure if I can forgive that and I'm not sure that I can face them again. I know that the day will come when I'll have to but I just don't know if I can."

"This life will toughen you up whether you want it to or not. When the time comes, you'll be ready." He patted her shoulder as he rose to his feet. "Andiamo."

"Where are we going?" (Y/n) asked as she followed him across an archway to another roof, continuing to lead her east.

"To teach you how to better use that blade!" He called from ahead of her and a smile painted her face.

#unwoven fate #Ezio #ezio auditore da firenze #ezio auditore #ezio's family #ezio auditore imagine #ezio auditore x reader #Ezio Auditore/ reader #ezio auditore da firenze/reader #ezio auditore da firenze x reader #ezio auditore da firenze imagine #brotherhood ezio #assassins creed #Assassins Creed Brotherhood #ACB #and the romance can finally begin

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hollenka99 · 4 years ago

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Not The Boy He Once Knew

Summary: Even if he’s not the best at always showing it, Phil cares about his sons. But when one leaves home and goes down a dark path, all Phil wants is for his little soldier boy to come home safely.

Warnings: Death, stabbing

This is based on Obscuritea’s Little Soldier Boy animatic. You can find them on Twitter at @/0bscuritea.

Phil remembered holding his children for the first time. He could have watched Techno's little snout twitch for as long as his eldest would allow him. Wilbur stared at everything, as if it was mandatory for him to visually absorb as much of the world around him as possible. This included the young pig boy hovering by door, unsure whether he wanted to meet the one who was had made him a big brother. Tommy was a wriggler, that was for sure, always trying to get into a better position within the blanket. Wilbur certainly didn't help things when he clambered onto the sofa in order to push himself through the space under Phil's free arm so he could get a better view of the baby.

Many summer afternoons were spent sitting in the shade of trees, watching his sons play with each other. Sometimes, he'd even be out there strumming on his guitar while doing so. The older Wilbur and Techno got, the more they liked to engage in rough play. More than once, Tommy would be happily sitting on his lap before finding himself caught up in the latest rough and tumble session.

One day while his two eldest are 12 and 9 respectively, Phil is horrified to see them return home from a night time adventure in the nearby woods with blood on their person. It would seem that they'd run into a number of zombies and skeletons. Wilbur had tripped and this had caused Techno to make use of his axe. Most of the blood wasn't even theirs so they argued it wasn't a big deal. As Phil retrieves the bread he has on hand for situations like these, he scolds his boys for being reckless. There wouldn't have even been any mobs about if they'd gone out in the day. Just because death was a three strikes and you're out kind of deal didn't mean they could risk injury or worse for the sake of fun. Now, were there any cuts or scrapes they wanted him to look at? Just the one on Techno's snout? Well alright, best get that sorted then off to bed.

During a week where his attention had been directed perhaps everywhere except towards Wilbur, he notices the light is still on in his room. Good. With a knock, he gets invited in. An apology is issued, after which Phil pulls out some wheat and cocoa beans he had lying around. The boy in his early teens acts as if his eyes don't momentarily light up once it clicks what those ingredients are for. When he makes excuses about being too old to be bribed with cookies as well as pointing out that it was getting late, Phil calls his bluff. Come on, let this be his way of saying sorry tonight then he promises tomorrow morning they can have a guitar session, just the two of them. Wilbur rolls his eyes but heads to the kitchen regardless. Phil's glad he does because that is the first time Wilbur plays an original song he was in the process of creating with him as the audience. It was only a shame that incidences like these were becoming few and far between. He wasn't going to catch every time Wilbur felt ignored, especially if the kid slowly stop attempting to get his attention as often in the first place.

It's an odd feeling when Wilbur says his goodbyes. The years have passed so quickly it's hard to believe his little boy isn't quite so little anymore. However, his second son had been a budding musician for as long as he'd had the dexterity for it. It would be impossible to forget how he had beamed with such intensity upon being gifted his first guitar, so much so that Phil had slightly worried he might injure his mouth or jaw somehow. He'll be fine. Phil had nothing to worry about. Besides, Tommy had already made the journey himself a few weeks ago and it sounded like he was already making friends.

Life carries on with Techno helping out with the farming and the occasional correspondence arriving from the other two. When he hears about drugs in a van, he rolls his eyes. Trust them to do something ridiculous like that. It's less humourous when the word 'war' begins to get thrown around. Then shortly afterwards, Techno is leaving to assist his brothers in their endeavours. This results in an argument as Techno packs. By all means, help Wilbur and Tommy but don't get involved in a war that wasn't his to fight. Phil's anxiety regarding his sons' wellbeing grows due to talk of plans to win back L'Manburg after a failed election resulted in an apparent dictatorship. The more days that passed, the stronger his desire to have all his boys back home safely with him grew.

He sits alone at a table that had once been abundant with life. Once again, Tommy has sent him a letter regarding the situation over there. He was getting scared of his brother's apparent obsession with potentially destroying the nation in a blast. Wilbur had even been heard wondering if Phil would be proud of him. Given the current circumstances, he wasn't so sure how to answer. Tommy had even confessed that both he and Wilbur were on their last lives which petrified Phil more than any of the bad news he'd gotten so far. However, his son was right. Enough was enough.

It was time for Phil to make his way to L'Manburg.

He almost finds it funny how Wilbur's voice immediately morphs into the defensiveness of a child as soon as he realises his father has entered his secret detonation room. It was honestly reminiscent of times such as when he got caught stalking a chicken to gain the egg necessary for a pumpkin pie, said pumpkin being dragged behind him by the stalk. However, his son wasn't 4 anymore. Wilbur was a grown man who had proven himself to maintain less than innocent thoughts and motivations.

But Phil was his father nevertheless. And he would talk him out of this 'blow up L'Manburg' plan like others such as Tommy had previously done. Besides, he knew Wilbur. Deep down, that boy didn't have it in him to cause that much destruction, let alone risk instigating any potential loss of life. All he had to do was calmly talk him down.

L'Manburg had been won back. Even with Wilbur yelling in frustration about the several times he came close to pressing the button, that could be seen as a sign of strength. They could agree to not do anything rash then gradually dismantle the vast quantity of TNT hidden in the walls. The notion that Wilbur would risk triggering the button to see if it was actually rigged is so absurd it makes Phil laugh aloud.

He's certainly not in the mood to laugh within a minute of that moment. By the time thirty or so seconds have elapsed, he is on top of his son, both of them on the ground with only dust and rubble left of what had been the secret underground room. Wilbur had been talking about Eret one second before uttering the infamous line of "it was never meant to be" the next. Phil doesn't think it had truly registered in his mind that the explosives were about to go off when he leapt to protect his son from them.

This couldn't be happening. He knew Wilbur, he knew that he would never be capable of blowing up L'Manburg. Except Wilbur was. He... he had.

It's as Wilbur is screaming into the sky about his unfinished symphony remaining forever unfinished that the reality of his personal mistake makes itself known to Phil. Tommy had warned him that Wilbur was going off the rails. He'd said that Phil shouldn't let his guard be lowered around his brother. The second born of their family was currently not to underestimated.

That grin, that sheer ecstasy upon achieving his goal, the way Wilbur revelled in his 'victory'. Well, what more proof did Phil need to know he'd done the exact things he'd been warned against?

He barely has the chance to acknowledge that before Wilbur is demanding the unimaginable from him. No, perhaps 'demand' isn't the right word. Begging might be more appropriate. A sword is tossed at his feet, an invitation for it to be used. He can't though. Not this. Anything but this. The punishment for reversing countless hours of dedicated hard work should not be a death sentence. That simply does not equate.

"God, you're- You're my son! No matter what you do, no matter what you act like, I can't..."

And it's true. This was the kid who would (along with Tommy most of the time) go on epic adventures to claim treats in chests which were placed high up for the exact purpose of deterring such behaviour. He was the one who'd be found sneaking off to the surrounding caves and mines for the sake of exploration. It was him who practised his rallying speech skills on his brothers and father. More than that, Wilbur was a talented musician who liked writing songs and loved his family. He wasn't some irredeemable criminal who deserved to die to pay for the pain he'd caused.

Phil was not going to give Wilbur what he wanted. At least, he was against it until he realised this was about more than punishment or penitence. This was him asking someone he trusted to free him from the burden of all his wrongdoings. Wilbur wanted peace in his life again. And what kind of father would he be if he couldn't give his son that?

He grabs the sword. If he's going to do this, he'd rather make it as fast as possible. The last thing he wants is the suffering of a loved one. Wilbur tenses as the blade finds its way into his chest then exits. The gasps and stuttered breaths are worse than his son begging for death a minute ago. It's okay, he mutters. Just breathe through it. It'll be alright in a moment. Phil doesn't know whether him stroking Wilbur's hair is helping at all but somehow, it's helping Phil himself so that's good enough. The hand gripping his side begins to lose strength. He lets out a grief-stricken groan as he holds his son as tightly as he can.

"You couldn't just let- you couldn't just win?" There is no response, not even a hint of it.

The walls blown apart, he knows everyone can see him. But what does he care? Wilbur's head rests against his father's chest, arms loosely drooping towards the floor and body slumping alongside it. When he inevitably forces himself to let go, to leave the remains of this godforsaken room and... and bury his son's body back home, he's aware he'll have to face the fact his lap is stained with blood. But that can wait for as long as he can delay it.

For now though, he'll sit here with his eyes closed. Maybe that way he can somehow convince himself he's just holding the little boy who loved finding his way into his father's arms whenever he was drowsy, albeit an enlarged version. It's all he can do to keep the tears and questions of how this could have been prevented at bay.

#dream smp #philza #wilbur soot #technoblade #tommyinnit #obscuritea #my writing #I wrote like 90% of this the day after discovering/the animatic coming out #but due to irl stuff I forgot to finish it until Ghostbur started talking about being resurrected #titling stuff is dumb #I have just sat here for like 15 minutes trying to think of a decent title that wasn't the wip one of 'little soldier boy' since it doesn't #fit this fic as well as it does the animatic #but never mind #tw death #tw stabbing #sorry forgot to add these when I first posted this

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ibijau · 4 years ago

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Deathbed wedding pt2

Wishing you again a happy new year. I’m starting mine with some xisang! :D

Nie Huaisang plots, but isn’t as careful as he’d thought

Nie Huaisang absolutely refused to come out of his room to have dinner that night, no matter how much Nie Zonghui and Meng Yao pleaded for him to be reasonable. For a full shichen, he also refused to have that dinner brought to him in his room, arguing through the door that he refused to eat anything until his brother apologised for what he’d said earlier. Then, because Nie Huaisang saw no reason to be kind to his brother, he also repeated Nie Mingjue’s exact words to them.

He could guess, already, that Nie Zonghui was probably going to have an argument of his own with Nie Mingjue on that subject. After all he’d been the one to personally train Nie Huaisang since he’d decided to finally take an interest in his sabre. Saying that Nie Huaisang hadn’t made any progress in the past year was to insult Nie Zonghui’s skill as a teacher, and being their cousin he shared that volatile temper of theirs. Busy handling two fights at the same time, Nie Mingjue was sure to be quite distracted in the days to come.

More importantly though, Meng Yao was going to be angry at Nie Mingjue too. Considering his background and his late start, he sometimes took it a bit personally when people spoke of someone having low skills. He had been very supportive of Nie Huaisang all along, even sometimes training with him when his other duties allowed, and he would not take kindly to hearing that Nie Mingjue thought some people couldn’t be taught at all. His anger would be less explosive than Nie Zonghui, and Nie Mingjue probably wouldn’t even consciously notice it, but it would still throw off their perfect balance, and that too would play to Nie Huaisang’s advantage when the time came.

Besides, he really was upset over what his brother had said, and so it really did feel good to complain about it.

When Meng Yao and Nie Zonghui gave up on making him eat that evening, Nie Huaisang dug into the secret stash of snacks that existed precisely because of this sort of arguments.

He went to bed early, and rose up again just as early, a habit he had taken up during his time in the Cloud Recesses. While most of the sect slept, Nie Huaisang set to work preparing some talismans.

With Chiwen, his sabre, Nie Huaisang knew that he was exactly as bad as everyone said, if not even worse. Using his spiritual energy directly was no good either, he just didn’t have enough, and it was too weak. But Nie Huaisang had found over the past year that he had a knack for talismans. Calligraphy had always been one of the few things he could focus on, even as a child, and he had a good steady hand when writing. On top of that, he had a great memory and a good eye for detail, which made it easy for him to learn and copy new talismans. It was really a shame that Qinghe Nie had no strong tradition of using those. He hard learned the basic ones everyone knew, but aside from that the few specialised he had found in their library were mostly meant to bait creatures, with very little to actually fight. If Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji hadn’t loaned him a few of their own sects’ talismans to learn, Nie Huaisang’s skill would have been quite useless.

That was the story of his life, of course. Nie Huaisang knew himself to be extremely talented, and in quite a few domains too. If he had been born in a non-cultivating family, he would have been considered a very accomplished and skilled young man fit to go serve the emperor, but alas, in the cultivation world none of the things he was good at mattered.

He had never really cared, until certain events had forced him to.

A good while after he’d woken up, Nie Huaisang heard the rest of his brother’s sect become more active as well. Without surprise, Nie Zonghui and Meng Yao came knocking at his door again. A scene very similar to that of the previous night played out, with Nie Huaisang still refusing to eat anything. Because they both had a lot to do, Nie Zonghui and Meng Yao informed him that they were leaving his breakfast on a tray in front of the door. Nie Huaisang ignored the food, snacking instead on some watermelon seeds while he wrote a letter informing a certain person that he would be at a certain place on a certain day. He gave the letter to one of his better trained birds, crossing his fingers that the animal would carry his message in time, hoping that he would be awaited even if his letter was missed. If he wanted to be at the agreed place in time, he would have to leave that very evening, and to fly faster than he was usually comfortable with. This gave him very little time to prepare everything, but it could be done if he played his cards right.

Between breakfast and lunch time, Nie Huaisang took care of his sabre and practised his forms for a while. Nie Xinfang would be furious if she knew that he was pushing his wounded wrist so much between talismans earlier and the weight of Chiwen now, but it truly wasn’t hurting that bad. Or at least, the pain wasn’t so distracting that he couldn’t bear with it.

At lunch time, Nie Huaisang still refused any food, and also announced he wouldn’t be talking to anyone anymore until Nie Mingjue came in person to apologise. Considering the intensity of the fight, that was unlikely to happen for at least another three days, so he felt quite safe in making that demand.

In the afternoon, Nie Huaisang tried to meditate, only to end up falling asleep. It was fine, he sheepishly decided when he awoke. He needed to be well rested, since he would be flying pretty far.

At dinner time he remained perfectly silent when Meng Yao and Nie Zonghui came to check on him, making no more noise than if he hadn't been there at all. As soon as they left, he brought inside the dinner they'd put on his doorstep and ate the whole thing. This, hopefully, would create the expectation that he was angry enough to skip a few meals, and so his absence would take longer to be noticed.

With this last part of his plan accomplished, Nie Huaisang only had to pack everything he'd be bringing with him and wait for darkness to fall.

A little after the sun had fully set, Nie Huaisang exited his room through a window and, carefully avoiding any patrols, any servants still going around, he made his way to a certain secret passage that led outside of the Unclean Realm.

Meng Yao caught Nie Huaisang at the exit of that secret passage.

How his brother’s deputy had managed to find that exit and to get there before him was a mystery, and one Nie Huaisang would need to solve… some other time.

“I swear I’ll fight you if you try to stop me,” he hissed. “Wen Chao invited me to a Night Hunt, I have to go. You know he always organises the best Night Hunts, they’ve got a bunch of awful monsters on their lands. I can’t let that chance pass me by! So let me go, or I’ll...”

“There’s little glory to be found in fighting me,” Meng Yao retorted calmly. “So don't even bother. And Nie gongzi needs to learn a little patience.”

Nie Huaisang huffed. “Not you too. You know they won’t let him have me even when he’s of age, not if I can’t prove I’m good enough! He’s too nice to go against his elders if they say no again, and then we’ll both be miserable for ever, and…”

Meng Yao laughed softly.

“This humble servant only meant that if you had waited another shichen to sneak away, he would not have seen you go out,” he explained, looking far too amused in the face of Nie Huaisang's despair. “Nie gongzi should have checked that nobody was still awake. Nie gongzi also should be aware that I’ll have this passage condemned, now that I know it. It’s a security hazard.”

“It’s not. Da-ge is aware it exists, there’s a bunch of protections over it.”

“Then I will have to warn Nie zongzhu that the protections must be strengthened, since that did not stop me from guessing where it leads.”

Nie Huaisang gritted his teeth, so frustrated that he felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He'd been so close to getting away with this.

And it wasn’t just about the Night Hunt itself. He knew that Lan Wangji was going, which meant a chance to finally get news from Lan Xichen, since they hadn’t been allowed to write to each other since that day. Nie Huaisang wanted to know how the boy he loved was doing, if Lan Xichen missed him too, if he hadn’t been forgotten, if his efforts to prove himself were working at all…

“Meng Yao, you have to let me go,” Nie Huaisang ordered, gripping the handle of his sabre in what he hoped would seem like a threat, even when they both knew Meng Yao had more skill than him. “It’ll be different this time, I’ll be more careful, but I really have to go. I don’t know how much more time I have!”

Pity flashed across Meng Yao’s face. He’d heard those worrying rumours too, of course. Meng Yao always kept track of all the gossip, he must have heard about this long before Nie Huaisang had.

Hopefully, none of it was true anyway.

“I’m not here to stop Nie gongzi,” Meng Yao announced. “I just wanted to make sure there was no breach to our defence, and to warn you it’ll be harder for you to leave next time. And did you take food?”

Relaxing a little, Nie Huaisang nodded, allowing himself a weak smile.

“Of course. Food, warning signals in case I get in trouble, a bunch of talismans… Da-ge taught me well. How much of an advance are you giving me?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see you leave, and unless your brother decides to visit you, I won’t ‘discover’ you’re gone until tomorrow afternoon. But you will owe me,” Meng Yao warned with a pleasant smile. “And next time, if I catch you, I will alert your brother.”

From anyone else, it would have been a threat to stop disobeying his brother already. Coming from Meng Yao though, Nie Huaisang took it more as advice to improve his sneakiness.

“There won’t be a next time,” Nie Huaisang promised, throwing himself at his brother’s deputy to hug him. “I’ll show them for sure this time, and then I’ll never have to go on a stupid Night Hunt again!”

Meng Yao huffed, clearly unconvinced, but allowed the hug for once in spite of his usual dislike for displays of affection. Nie Huaisang figured he must have looked pretty pathetic if Meng Yao was acting so nice.

He certainly felt very pathetic. It had been over a year since he had last seen Lan Xichen, and he had made so little progress toward proving himself.

This time really needed to be different. He couldn’t keep failing, or else Lan Xichen might start to share his father’s opinion.

Nie Huaisang had to show he was capable of more than anyone expected, no matter the cost.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin guangyao #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #deathbed wedding au #jau writes

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wonder-womans-ex · 4 years ago

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Curtain Call

Act One, Scene Three

It takes Sirius almost the whole week to decide whether or not to go back to the seminar. It’s a week filled with highlighting the wrong lines in his new script. It’s a week filled with closing the fridge door on James’s fingers. It’s a week filled with putting salt in his coffee; banging his head against his computer keyboard; and binge-watching all six seasons of Schitt’s Creek.

Finally, on Tuesday, James walks into the living room and drops the cat on his face. “Get up, loser, we’re going shopping.”

Sirius shrieks when Elvendork’s paw digs into his throat. “Was that a Mean Girls reference?”

“Yes. Now get up.”

Only now does Sirius realize he hasn’t left the apartment in six days. He’s almost forgotten how to dress for polite society.

Oh, wait. He’s a university student. He isn’t part of polite society.

But his leather jacket is still draped over the back of the couch where he left it, and his combat boots are still under his bed. He throws on a pair of ripped jeans—cuffed, of course—and a Queen t-shirt, pulling some of his hair back into a bun.

James sighs when he sees him. “Are you ever going to grow out of scrunchies?”

“I’ll grow out of them when you stop giving them to me for my birthday. And Christmas. And Holi. And Diwali. And—”

“I get the point. Touché.”

They bump shoulders good-naturedly, each petting Elvendork and telling her “We’ll be back soon, princess, don’t worry your pretty little ears about it,” and then James pushes him out into the hallway and locks the door of apartment 128 behind them.

“All right,” Sirius says once they’re outside, “Where to?”

James snaps his fingers and shoots a pair of finger guns his way. Sirius smiles, rolls his eyes, and does the same. “Frankie’s!” they exclaim together, James with, admittedly, a great deal more enthusiasm.

Frankie’s is their comfort space. It’s everyone at Glenrow University’s comfort space, really, but James and Sirius are the ones with the table that’s practically reserved for them and the waiters who all know what they mean when they order their ‘regular’—a root beer for Sirius, a Diet Pepsi for James (he’s not trying to cut back on sugar; he just prefers it) and a large fries to split between them.

In fact, when Sirius pushes the door open and the bell rings, the woman at the till looks up. “Sirius!” she says. “James! The regular, then?”

James grins. “Thanks, Marlene.”

(See? Their comfort space.)

They slide, one after the other, into booth four, and immediately James leans back and crosses his arms.

“So,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure.”

Sirius glares at him. “I swear, it’s nothing.”

For this, he gets one slow, practised eyebrow raise. “Sirius, you have eaten practically nothing but instant ramen since last Wednesday. You did not so much as touch the container of my mum’s curry that was in the fridge. You have not uploaded a single video of Elvendork to Instagram. There is decidedly something wrong.”

“Fine!” Sirius slumps forward onto the table, head in his hands. “Everything’s wrong.”

“Everything?”

“Shut up. Almost everything. My entire damn love life, anyway.”

“Remus?”

Of course James knows about Remus—they tell each other everything. Sometimes a little too much, actually, like when James was dating Regulus. Sirius had had no desire to know what it was like to kiss his little brother then, and he has no desire to know now.

Unfortunately, Sirius rarely gets what he wants.

Case in point: their food comes before he has the chance to say anything more, and when he tries to squirt ketchup over the fries (yes over; anyone who pours out a little puddle and dips is a heathen (cough, James, cough)) most of it gets on his jeans instead.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and grabs a napkin.

By the time he looks up again, ketchup mostly removed from his clothing, James has drained his Diet Pepsi and is already halfway through the fries to boot.

“Hey, hey,” he says. “Those are mine. Back off.”

James laughs, stealing another fry before grabbing the salt shaker and pouring some out into his palm. Sirius grabs two fries, both with a healthy dollop of ketchup, and stuffs them into his mouth. He practically moans out loud, which sends James into fits of laughter.

He can’t help it. The fries at Frankie’s are literal heaven, and this is the first time since the term started he’s gone more than two days without them.

“So,” he says once he’s devoured enough that he can’t make fun of James anymore. “You obviously brought me here for a reason. What is it?”

“Do I need a reason to eat Frankie’s fries?”

“You have a point.”

Still, however good the french fries may be, James definitely has a reason for bringing him here. It almost definitely has something to do with interrogating him on every life decision he’s made in his entire life since last Wednesday.

And, indeed, when James finally speaks, it’s to say, “What happened? Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not okay.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Really?”

He is hit with a sudden desire to hug his friend. People talk about soulmates like they’re always romantic, but they’re not—he and James are proof enough of that. They know each other better than they know themselves, sometimes, and they always know each other better than anyone else. James (well, and Regulus) is the only person Sirius ever told about Remus.

“I saw him.”

“You… saw him?”

“Yeah. At a course I went to—remember? The one Fischer made me go to.”

“Ah yes. The one that’s supposed to improve your acting skills.”

“Shut up. Well, he’s teaching it.”

James twiddles his finger in a ‘rewind’ motion. “Wait. I thought that class was taught by alumni. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yeah.”

“But Remus is our age. That’s what you said when the two of you started dating, anyway.”

With a roll of his eyes, Sirius tells him, “Not everyone took three gap years, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.”

Sometimes, even Sirius forgets that most of the people they go to school with are nineteen, not twenty-two. Maybe it’s because he and James still act like they’re eleven.

“That’s weird that he’s at Glenrow. I always thought he lived in, like, Toronto, or something.”

Sirius shrugs. “Well, he doesn’t.”

“Think about it, though. That girl’s phone number? The tumblr thing? And now this? The universe keeps throwing you two together, Padfoot.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes the universe is wrong.”

There’s a long pause, and Sirius thinks he’s finally managed to say something so profound James is left speechless. But it is not so.

“Mood,” James says, and they both burst out laughing.

***

They end up slumped together on the couch at nine that night, scrolling through Netflix. Every so often, one of them will suggest something, only for the other to quickly veto it.

“Queen’s Gambit looks good.”

“Seen it. Three times. Remember?”

“I don’t, but okay.”

“Nailed It?”

“I’m too depressed to laugh right now.”

“Miraculous Ladybug?”

“Fuck off, that was once.”

They finally settle on She-Ra, “because it’s gay,” and before their third episode is finished they’ve already reached the bottom of the bowl of popcorn. They have no use for the rest; Peter was the only one of them who didn’t mind the uncooked kernels, and Peter is not here.

Sirius protests when James stands up—he is not fond of being unceremoniously dumped from James’s lap to the floor—but he smiles when his friend returns with ice cream. (Vanilla, of course, because plain and simple is the best.) (Definitely not because they can’t afford anything else.)

When he leans back to check the clock, Sirius’s neck strains. He blinks at the time—1:04 in the morning—and wonders where did the time go? Unfortunately, he can’t move, because James is asleep on his shoulder and Elvendork is asleep on his feet. James he would have no problem waking, but to disturb the cat would be to commit a crime that stronger men than he cower at the thought of committing.

So, stifling a yawn and feeling his eyes droop, Sirius falls asleep.

He dreams of hazel-gold eyes and soft brown hair and being left on read.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #muggle au #university au #breakup fic #remus x sirius #no editing we die like men #another one??? I'm on a roll here aren't I

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milkybunbuns · 4 years ago

Text

smile → kita.s

Paying off debts - 1

wc: 1.3 k

warnings: swearing? i forgot if there was any, bad pick up line, bribing

a/n: This is one of my fics over on Wattpad that I’m going to continue here on Tumblr! :)) (if any of my wattpad readers are here, I’ll start posting new chapters that weren’t in my book in maybe like 3 days?)

SMILE MASTERLIST

3rd year students stood around the halls, holding brochures for their clubs and standing at their respective stalls. the school year had just started, along with your second year of high school, which meant it was time to either find a new club or stick with the club from the year before. it was mandatory to have a club as an extracurricular activity to gain life skills. last year, you had joined the art club, but recently it's been dying out and funds have been low, so that club was basically dead, making it better off for you to find a new club.

"y/n-chan!", a figure ran towards you, stopping in front of you and put her hands on her knees, panting. she held you by the shoulders staring into your eyes, "can you please please please carry on the role of manager, my parents are moving over to tokyo next week and i don't want to leave the boys without a manager, who knows what they could get up to. just please, fill in the role for me? it can just be for the rest of the year, as long as you find a new manager."

"eh, this is a bit sudden?", yui was the current manager of the inarizaki volleyball boys club and was in her third year. the two of you had never interacted much before, being in different grades, but she was the one who had shown you around in your first year, helping you get to classes and let's say,, she took quite the liking to you.

"take this as the repayment for the help i gave you in your first year."

'yuiii-senpaii, you cant just bribe me like that, now i feel obliged to do it."

"that's the whole point! now come on, I'm taking you over to the gym to show you the manager stuff and let you meet some of the players", she dragged you by your hand before you could even argue, heading towards the said place.

"i can walk yer know", you huffed, taking her grip off your hand as you began taking large strides to keep up with her fast-paced ones.

"ehehe, sorry y/n-chan."

"what do you even do as manager?" "you basically help around, setting up the nets, refilling bottles, finding practice matches and training camps for the boys and taking notes. it's not that hard i assure you."

"everything is easier said than done."

"oh shush, we're here anyways", yui slammed open the door with her foot, immediately gaining all the attention of the players.

"yui-san, don't slam the door open with your foot, you could hurt your foot or get sued for breaking the door."

"kita-san, stop being such a worry pants! anyways, here's your new manager, y/n-chan!", she pushed you forwards, turning all the attention to you. the miya twins paused from their practice, looking over to meet their new manager.

"she better not be a miya twin fan-", you heard a boy sitting on the ground grumbling, looking intently at his phone. ouch. that comment hurt.

you walked over to the said boy and looked down at him, hands on your hips with a dark aura surrounding you, you smiled sarcastically at him, "for yer info, I'm not ere' for the dumb miya twins, I'm simply repaying yui-senpai by having to deal with all yer dumbasses."

suna shivered internally, to having the balls to retort since not only did you emit 'evil' in capital letters, kita was also staring at him. you turned away from the boy at him, returning back to your spot next to yui who was discussing manager stuff with the coach. there was a little badge on his shirt which read 'kurosu norimune'.

"...and this is y/n-chan, she's a good kid, so i chose her to replace me as the next manager."

"is that so? well, welcome to inarizaki volleyball team, we hope you take good care of the players", he bowed down to you, which you did as well, "i'll do my best, thank you for giving me this opportunity."

"it's no problem at all, sometimes these boys are quite the handful. now hurry along and yui-san can teach you the basics of being a manager."

"yes, coach."

----

afternoon rolled around in a flash, the school bell dismissing everyone to head to their clubs. as soon as you step foot outside the classroom, an obnoxiously lowed voice called out to you from the stairs.

" heya y/n-chan! let's go, we don't wanna be late, especially on yer first day!"

"why are you making this seem like such a big deal?"

"it is a big deal! they say first impressions are very important y'know."

"eh, sure, lead the way yui-senpai."

the two of you burst in once again, except, this time everyone had been expecting it, so they continued to practise, ignoring the ruckus, until yui spoke up.

"alright yer fuckin' retards, listen up!", everyone turned their heads towards you two, there were many more faces compared to those in the gym at lunch. you turned your head away from the teenage boys and face palmed in embarrassment. "here's yer new manager, y/n-chan. i gotta leave next week, so make sure you idiots treat her well while im gone cause i have eyes everywhere. that mean's you, atsumu", she pointed at the said boy, as he shivered in fear and cowered under her gaze.

"thanks for having me", you murmured, bowing down slightly. generally, you were a quite social and jovial person, but it took you a while to be yourself around new and unfamiliar people, minus osamu who had been in your class last year.

a few moments of awkward silence passed by before yui spoke up again, "what are yer idiots waiting for, introduce yourselves for heaven's sake!", not even kita had the ability to scold or talk back to her...

kita stepped forwards first, being captain and all that shenanigans, "I'm kita shinsuke, captain of this team. it's a pleasure to meet you, y/n-san, we hope that you take good care of us", then he bowed before taking a step back.

then came omimi, "hello, i'm omimi ren, vice-captain and middle blocker, thank you for taking care of us", he bowed as well. okay, so far this team seemed pretty well-mannered, i mean what could go wrong? it's only 2 of all the members who act like total trash (the miya twins).

"hi! i'm ojiro aran, ace and third year. i look forward to being yer acquaintance and good luck dealing with the second years."

"hey, whaddya mean!?"

"shuddup tsumu!"

"Hey, Ginjima Hitoshi, wing spiker, the unfortunate second year."

"what is that supposed to mean!?"

"use your pea sized brain tsumu', he obviously means that you're the worst."

"we have literally the same DNA and crap."

"i seriously wish i wasn't related to yer, but hurry up and introduce herself, everyone's waiting for yer!"

"ah, okay okay, stop hitting me!"

"heyyy, miya atsumu, setter and gurl, are yer a setter? cause id hit that-"

"ow! samu', what was that for!?"

"for being an idiot, i'm doing us all a favour"

"osamu and atsumu, stop arguing, we dont have all day. anymore arguments from you two and you'll be running laps until i tell yer two to stop."

"yes kita-san!"

"suna rintarou, middle blocker."

"hey, i feel sorry that you have to deal with my twin, so im apologising on his behalf. y'already know me, miya osamu, wing spiker."

"hii! nice to meet yer, i'm akagi michinari, this team's libero. i look forward to working with you!"

"Ahh, it's nice to meet all of you as well! I hope we can all get along! Please treat me nicely!", you smiled brightly, blinding everyone while you were at it.

#kita #kita shinsuke #shinsuke #inarizaki #kita x reader #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#kita shinsuke x reader

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alit0my · 4 years ago

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You know those fanfics, 5 times (something) plus 1. So five times someone on the team taught Booker something. And since it was he who taught. (maybe with OT3) {for example: teaching a language, cooking, fighting with a sword}

hello anon! idek if you still want this fic bc its been so long... but i have finished it! no ot3 this time im afraid, just didnt fit well with where i took this... hope you enjoy!

1 - Russia, 1812

When they first found him in Russia, they barely understood one another and had to use Andromache’s passable French to communicate. The Asian woman beside her named Quynh stared at him, as if looking into his soul as he gasped out words of conversation as he recovered from another hypothermic shock. The two men were paired off, keeping a close eye on their surroundings and ignoring the conversation altogether as they did not understand.

”The first thing we will do,” Andy said, handing another wooly coat his way. ”Is teach you a language we can all speak.”

”Like hell you will. I’m to return to my family,” he replied, wrapping the coat around him tighter. Andy shook her head and huffed, glancing at Quynh beside her.

”When you return in fifty years, when your family is dead, we will teach you Russian.”

”Or you could learn better French,” Booker snapped, cursing the entire world under his breath as his limbs shook uncontrollably.

The corners of Andy’s lips curled upwards slightly.

(Back then, Booker paid no mind to this. But now, he knew it was the introduction to Andy’s competitive side.)

It was thirty-eight years later when Booker returned. Andy had gotten better at French, and Booker grumbled at the fact that he now had to learn Russian, as per their unofficial agreement.

He wasn’t half bad at Russian, but he wasn’t particularly good at it either.

~ 2 - Italy, 1850

As he returned to the group after the passing of his son, the last of his true family, Quynh pulled Booker aside and placed a bow in his hands. She watched as he pulled the bow string back slightly, testing the recoil of the weapon as if he was examining its limits. Booker was just trying to not break the thing.

Quynh was scary, and Booker did not want to mess with her.

”Now aim at the target,” she had told him, nodding her head to the tree as she placed an arrow in his other hand. ,em>”Aim, and fire.”

Booker did as he was told.

Booker missed the tree by a mile.

Quynh tutted and put her hands on her hips, before taking another arrow out of the quiver on her back.

”Try again,” she said, almost encouragingly. ”We have time. I’ll make sure you can handle a bow almost as good as me.”

Booker ended up being half as good as Quynh, which they both saw as an achievement.

(He could never be as good at archery as Quynh, but it was the thought that counted at the time. Really, Booker should have been grateful for the distraction.)

~ 3 - Japan, 1894

Nicky was sitting at the kitchen table cleaning his sniper rifle when Booker walked in, still half asleep. Pausing in his tracks, Booker rubbed at his eyes and looked at the weapon on the table, never having really seen it out of its case which Nicky kept stored under his bed in their various safehouses.

Nicky looked up at locked eyes with the youngest, beckoning him over to sit beside him.

”I will show you how to clean this, and then if you want, how to use it,” Nicky said, picking up the scope and rubbing the rag gently across the glass. Booker nodded and watched silently before Nicky handed him a part and a new rag. ”Gently, don’t rush or you may scratch the metal.”

Booker wasn’t sure how a piece of cloth would scratch metal, but he dared not say. Nicky was allowing him into his space, to help clean his most prized possession.

When the weapon was cleaned, Nicky showed Booker how to reassemble the rifle before picking it up and beckoning him outside.

”We will set up here, and I will teach you how to shoot,” Nicky explained as he set up the tripod that would hold the barrel steady. ”Come, look down the scope.”

Booker could not see a thing, and Nicky gently nudged his head until he gasped, suddenly seeing the tin can in the distance.

”Now line it up, and shoot.”

Booker missed, but Nicky’s eyes gleamed.

(It was something that Booker looked back on fondly as he sat in his French apartment surrounded by booze.)

~ 4 - Egypt, 1948

”Where is your sword, Booker?” Joe exclaimed whenever they were gearing up for a mission. Booker looked at him then the others, who all had a sword strapped to their bodies whereas he only had an assault rifle and a handgun.

”I.. Don’t have one?”

Joe scoffed. ”I will change that. When we are done I will teach you how to wield a sword.”

Booker objected, which fell upon dead ears as the team went back to gathering their gear. Furrowing his brow, Booker looked down at his assault rifle and started to feel anxious. Was knowing how to wield a sword some kind of necessity to be in this strange team of immortals?

(He found out later, the next day in fact, when Joe had woken him up at the break of dawn with his scimitar in one hand and a longsword in the other. Joe was always the early riser, and the most energetic. Booker missed him the most.)

”Here, I will train you the art of the sword,” Joe smiled, but Booker could see the excitement shining through his eyes. ”Try to strike me.”

Booker looked at him incredulously, but swung the blade at him.

He ended up on his ass with Joe standing above him, scimitar pressed lightly on his throat.

”You take too big of a swing, leaves too much gap for the enemy to strike,” Joe explained, removing the weapon from Booker’s neck and holding a hand out to help him up. ”This will be fun. Bonding, if you will.”

”Joe, no one even uses swords anymore?”

Booker ended up on his ass again, in record time.

~ +1 - France, 2020

Booker hadn’t heard from them in six months, as per their non-contact rule, but he hadn’t expected a package to arrive at his front door with his alias on it. Curious, he placed his glass of water (which still tasted of whiskey from the night before) on the counter and picked up the box, setting it down on his kitchen table.

He stared at it for a while, not sure what to make of it as he decided to rip open the box before he could change his mind. Inside were a bunch of letters each with his name written in different handwriting, a few pictures and five small magnets that represented each member of the team.

Booker picked up the first letter from Andy, skimming through the words quickly before the tears fell on the paper and ruined it for good.

’...miss you Book…...Nile’s idea to……..considered your biological family……….struggling to cope……..should have listened to you more, and for that I’m so sorry. You taught me that there is more to life than what we do, and I should have seen that back in the 1800’s and not belittled you for it. I love you Book, see you soon.’

Quynh’s letter was short as sweet, but mainly contained phrases in many languages calling him a dumbass and pictures of him practising with the bow.

’Next time, maybe try to be a perfect shot before you decide to cross us you moron…….I hope you have improved with your bow I gave you, oh wait you left it in England and some historian took it to the museum because it is so ancient…..You better get me my bow back you absolute- Nile has been reading over my shoulder this whole time and now I’m going to write some good things about you…

‘How to start? What is good about you, Booker? You reminded me that not everyone is good at something first go, and that they deserve the effort and time you put into them. You ended up being a good shot and it only took you ten years! The others took twice as long. We will have a competition when you return, so keep those archery skills sharp, my friend.’

The next letter was from both Joe and Nicky, and Booker smiled softly to himself. Never to be separated, those two, and he was a fool to think otherwise.

’Nicky does not want to write you a letter, so I will write for both of us. This was Nile’s idea, sending you this little ‘care-package’ as she called it, but do not think this is an olive branch. We are grateful for you, Book, and since you turned up our lives have been somewhat exciting. Our separate and joint experiences in teaching you things has brought us both enjoyable memories, and though somewhat tainted by your actions, upon your return we would like to teach you more new things as we teach Nile. Maybe you might actually improve on your skills for once.

We both love you dearly.’

Booker sniffled and separated the picture enclosed within the letter. It was a capture of when Nicky was teaching him how to cook proper spaghetti bolognese, after he found out that Booker was using jar sauce and packet pasta. Booker remembered getting scolded all night in Italian, and when he told Nicky he understood, the response he got was ”Good. I should hope so."

Nile didn’t write a letter, but she didn’t need to write one. They only knew each other for two weeks before shit hit the fan and Booker was sent away. Instead, in Nile’s envelope was a tiny slip of paper with a phone number on it, along with some fliers for activities to do around Paris.

’Call me anytime, I’m here to chat. Also, don’t mope about for a hundred years, do something! Learn a new skill! (Okay, that might be hard but just do it, maybe bake some sourdough? You love that stuff!)’

Booker took the magnets out of the box, walked over to his fridge and placed them in a circle with a small click!, his heart panging every time.

Bow and arrow, two swords, a labrys, and a handgun with a US flag.

AO3 Link

#the old guard #booker #booker centric #4 + 1 things

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