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nicestgirlonline · 2 years ago

Text

sneaky

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: None! Just fluff!

Summary: You and Bucky decide to keep your new relationship a secret with somewhat disastrous results…

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Here’s my entry for @the-slumberparty week 2 challenge blast from the past! I don’t really have an old WIPs, I was trying to jumpstart my writing again with this sleepover. So here’s a little sequel to dumb dumb, since you guys really really seemed to like that one! Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcome! <3

part 1

That Valentine's Day was possibly the best night of Bucky’s life. He had finally gotten to express everything he had been feeling for you. Friday night bled into Saturday morning, neither of you getting much sleep. The months of yearning and pining all finally erupted into passion, lust and love.

Saturday morning quickly became Saturday afternoon, with lots of pillow talk, telling each other little secrets about yourselves, sharing childhood stories. A simple Postmates order and quick text to Steve meant no one to bother you, and no reason for you to leave his bed.

Saturday night, or what Bucky was calling round two became Sunday morning and that brought about a little thing called the Sunday Scaries.

Amidst the bliss and happiness there was a lingering thought that kept bothering you. The two of you lounged in his bed, enjoying each other's quiet company, the moonlight of the early morning making the room glow blue.

You bit your lip. Time to rip the bandaid off. Real life was going to be starting too soon again.

“Bucky I’ve been thinking…about us.”

“Really? Me too.” He started to pepper your face with kisses. “I’ve been thinking about all the ways I can have fun with my girlfriend.” You giggled as he started to tickle your sides. You wiggled your way out of his grasp. You propped yourself up on your forearms and did your best to put on your serious face. Which was very hard when Bucky was being so cute.

“I mean it! I’ve been thinking, maybe we should keep this private? For a while?” You tried your best to keep your voice soft, the face Bucky made broke your heart, which was what you were afraid of. He looked extremely scared.

“What’s wrong, what’d I do? Was girlfriend too soon? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, ” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close against him.

“No, no, you’re my boyfriend now.” You assured him. You took his face in your hands and he leaned into your palm in relief. “I am really excited to be with you but we do work together. And there’s HR and office gossip and I don’t want that to affect us when we are still figuring out us. I guess I’ve never really thought about the power imbalance between us.”

Bucky nodded albeit a bit reluctantly. He untangled his arms around you so you were both lying on your side looking at each other.

“I mean…I understand. You know I don’t really think of myself as a big superhero or something, but it is a ‘power imbalance’. Does it…bother you?” He asked scratching his face to avoid eye contact. You sat up, suddenly very confused.

“What are you talking about, I’m the scientist who’s studying you? I’m the one abusing my authority here. It's all very unethical!” You exclaimed.

“I don’t feel taken advantage of here, Doll. If anything, people are going to think I’m taking advantage of you.” Bucky chuckled.

“Why?”

“I’m a bit older than you. I’m sort of famous for not so great reasons. I’m also literally more powerful than you?” He held up his left arm as if to show you proof. You dismissed it with a hand wave.

“You don’t know that you’re more famous than me. I’ve been published in many academic journals.” You pointed out. Bucky shook his head. Gosh he liked you so much. He couldn’t even believe this was really happening to him half the time.

“There were weeks of press coverage for my trial.” You just rolled your eyes at that. Bucky was always so afraid that everyone saw him as a villain, but you’d never once felt any sort of danger from this sweet man.

“Well, agree to disagree. But I still think maybe for the first two months we should just keep it quiet. So we don’t have to worry about anyone but each other. Just lowkey.” He pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Yeah. You’re right, you’re totally right. We will keep things low key.”

“Hey Steve, uhhh we’ve got a problem.” Bucky rushed into the breakfast room, thankful that Steve was the only one there. Steve queried his eyebrow at his panic stricken best friend.

“What’s up Buck?” He asked. Bucky, seemingly slightly out of breath grabbed the side of the cabinets, he closed his eyes to try and get his

“So you know how I told you about…on Valentines Day…and then we…so the weekend was…” He waved his hand to emphasis his pauses and Steve nodded along.

“Of course, I’m happy for you two, Bucky!” He said brightly, of course this must be some sort of post confession bliss the two of them were in making his friend act so strange.

“Well that's just the thing. Did you…tell anybody else about it?” He asked, his voice a bit strangled and his tone grim.

“Uhhh was I not supposed to?” Steve asked, his face falling immediately.

“Can you answer my question?”

“I told Sam about it. The two of you have been dancing around it for so long that we’re all just a little excited for you.” Steve started to explain but he could practically see the fury radiating off of Bucky in waves. His signature death stare was fixed on him.

“Look, I really appreciate the um, support for my relationship. But here’s the thing, she doesn’t want anyone to know we’re dating.” He ground out, his teeth still clenched. “So we are going to be low. key.”

“Look who it is. We were about to put out a missing person alert .” Natasha had slunk her way into the breakfast room, her voice dripping with self satisfied condescension. “Getting provisions for the love nest?”

“God damn it, you told her too?” He cried out. She shrugged, innocently looking away. Bucky grabbed his head, he was going to throttle Steve.

“Oh come on, Y/N loves Nat. I figured she already knew.” Steve held his hands up in surrender, the captain certainly hadn't thought this was how his morning was going to go. Bucky turned his attention back to the super spy who was a bit too pleased with the unfolding drama.

“Nat, did you tell anyone about this?”

“Please, I’m a spy. I don’t just go around giving out important gossip with nothing to gain.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Romanoff!” He snapped back.

“I’m still a bit confused why she doesn’t want anybody to know? Is that a modern dating thing, not telling people you’re dating?” Steve asked. It didn’t make much sense to him, what exactly did she think was going to happen if people found out?

“She just doesn’t want the gossip and the pressure of everyone knowing about us to color the beginning of our relationship.” Bucky explained but his tone belated his true feelings. He absolutely did not want to keep this a secret. “So I told her I wasn’t going to tell anybody but I forgot I already told the biggest blabbermouth on the team.” He quickly turned back to anger at his teammates.

“I’m not the biggest blabbermouth…hm crap wait I forgot, Clint knows too.” Steve closed his eyes, wincing, ready for the smack upside the head he sorely deserved.

“Loose lips sink ships asshole! ” Bucky was exasperated.

“I didn’t know this was top secret information!” Steve countered.

Nat stayed at the breakfast bar watching the two super soldiers argue, it was amusing but she had her limits. She had to intervene before Bucky had an aneurysm.

“It's not so bad, we can do damage control. Tell Sam and Clint to keep quiet about it.” Nat said before taking a sip of her coffee. “And Wanda.”

“AND WANDA--” Steve looped an arm around Bucky’s waist before he could lunge at Natasha.

Bucky Barnes: Hello Sam, I am texting to inform you that Y/N and I are NOT DATING and please disbelieve the rumors to the contrary. Yours, Bucky Barnes

Sam Wilson: please learn to text like a normal person

Sam Wilson: You know I saw you making out with her in the elevator on Friday right?

Bucky Barnes is typing…

Bucky Barnes: Sam, please disregard my previous message and meet me in the training gym on level 5 ASAP. Yours, Bucky Barnes

Sam Wilson: You don't have to sign your name I know it's you

Sam Wilson: forget it

Sam Wilson: yeah I’ll be there

X Something wasn’t quite right. Your love life had never been better, Bucky was an amazing boyfriend, it was all you could do to not spend all of your time with him. The two of you would meet up after work hours and spend blissful hours back in Bucky’s apartment. But the rest of your work life, well it was starting to feel like people were avoiding you.

Like the other day at lunch, you were sitting across from Bucky which wasn’t too unusual, you had been friends before you were seeing each other. The very tips of your shoes were touching, a special little secret way of holding hands. The two of you were discussing movies that were coming out, a totally neutral non flirty conversation. But then Steve walked in, looked at you then immediately spun on his heel and walked away. You furrowed your brow. That was a bit weird.

Or when you had bumped into Bucky at the gym on level 5. It had actually been a happy coincidence, you decided to do some yoga as you sorely needed to stretch your body out after being hunched over a microscope all day. Bucky had been working out with Sam, Bucky lifting weights with Sam on the treadmill. You waved to the two of them and made your way over to say hi and Sam without saying a word jumped off the treadmill and started to jog out of the gym.

Even Nat, which hurt the most, flaked on the movie night you’d wanted to have in the TV room. Then it was the domino effect, Steve dropped out then Wanda and Vis dropped out too and soon it was just You and Bucky.

“Oh nooo. What are we gonna do, watch the movie by ourselves? Just the two of us?” Bucky whispered in your ear as you were pouring popcorn into a large bowl. He grabbed you by the hips and waggled his eyebrows at you. You let out a little sigh and snatched the bowl before heading to the TV room. You weren’t in the mood to flirt with him. The tv room was ready for what you had thought would be a big group. The lights were already dimmed and there were plenty of blankets and pillows around.

You and Bucky settled next to each other on the couch. He grabbed a big fuzzy blue blanket and draped it over the two of your legs. He gave your leg a little squeeze beneath the blanket and winked. You just let out a sigh and grabbed the remote to fire up the Roku. Bucky frowned, this was certainly not what he thought their movie night would be like!

“What’s wrong Bambi? You seem down.” He asked, concerned. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his body. You let him cuddle you, resting your head on his chest

“It just feels like all of our friends are avoiding me. I mean I thought we were friends. Co-workers I guess, you know I’m not great at reading people.” You sighed and buried your face in his chest. Had you grown more annoying these past few weeks ? He grabbed your chin and tilted your head up so you were looking up at him.

“Honey, you’re great at reading people, don’t let your insecurity tell you otherwise. I’m not really a people person anyway so I was excited that it was going to be just us. Nobody’s avoiding you I promise. Want to just reschedule this night?” He offered.

You shook your head. Rescheduling wouldn’t make you feel any better. Besides it was nice to be able to spend time with Bucky out in the open like this. You still felt like your friends were all acting weird, but you trusted Bucky enough that you decided to let it go.

“Well since it’s just you and me, we still have to watch The Princess Bride.” You relaxed into the couch, already pulling it up on the screen.

“Sounds perfect.”

You were working away in the lab, it was a little past lunch time but you simply couldn’t stop in the middle of your project. You could push yourself just a little bit and finish this in time to actually leave at a normal time tonight. You had a date tonight. You smiled to yourself. A secret date.

You were deep in the process, so much so that you didn’t even notice the secret date, arriving hours early in the lab. He gave your sides a squeeze making you yelp. You spun around to see your smirking boyfriend.

“Bucky! Um, what are you doing here!” you asked, trying not to sound too excited.

“I'm here to help you out with those samples you had requested from me.” He projected his voice around the lab. But it was for the benefit of no one, you were the only two there. You smiled, happily playing along.

“Oh right! Those samples I requested.”

“Those spit samples.” He grabbed the back of your head and crushed his lips to yours in a sloppy wet kiss. You slapped his chest as you pulled away from him giggling.

“Ew! Bucky, that's so gross, why would you say it like that!” But you couldn’t stop giggling. He smiled, clearly feeding off the laughter.

“You’re the one who wants us to have this clandestine affair, I’m just trying to keep up appearances.”

“"Why are you even here? You’re a little early.”

“It's my lunch break and I wanted to say hi and give you a kiss.” He took one of your hands in his. You reached out and grabbed his vibranium hand as well so you were holding both. It made his heart flutter, how unperturbed by his arm you were. When he was with you it was like he was just a normal guy.

“Hi.” He murmured, rubbing his nose against yours.

“Hi.” you breathed back. This time when your lips met it was sweet and soft. He slowly moved his lips against yours, you opened your mouth just slightly enough that his tongue could slip inside and ---

“So I’m pretty sure the Erskine notes were in here.” It was Bruce! Bucky felt a sudden rush of fear. Bruce wasn’t one of the inner circle who would just pretend not to notice their closeness. They could actually get caught!

You quickly as hard as you could pushed Bucky away and he clamored backwards. You wiped your mouth, hoping somehow that would disguise yourself. Bruce poked his head in.

“Just looking for the Erskine notes. Uh, everything ok in here?” He took stock of each of you, freshly shoved apart.

“Yeah, just leaving!” Bucky cried as he raced out of the lab.

“I’m indifferent to him leaving! I’ll go grab the notes for you Dr. Banner!” You raced to the file cabinet not looking at anything but the ground.

Bruce cocked his head at the strange interaction he just encountered.

“Good morning Bucky!” You greeted cheerfully as he entered the breakfast room in the morning, Steve and Sam in tow. “Morning Steve! Morning Sam!” You quickly added as they filed in. As not to raise suspicion.

“I get a good morning? Wow. Don’t I feel special.” Sam said with a smirk.

“I say good morning to everyone. I’m just a morning person like that. How are you doing Sam? I feel like you’ve been so busy, I barely even see you these days.” You asked, trying to sound casual. You still felt like everyone was acting so weird around you.

“Oh you know, mission after mission. None of them were in Hawaii either, it's all been Nepal, Siberia, whatever frozen wasteland they can dump me in.” He sat down next to you. You nodded along as he continued talking about his missions, eager to connect with your friend again.

“Good morning troops. Ah and good morning Beaker. Didn’t think I’d see you this early on a Monday.” Tony Stark, sunglasses still on, his closes wrinkled like he’d just come in off a jet. It had been awhile since he was on at the Compound.

You hoped you weren’t blushing at the comment. Bucky had talked you into another Sunday night sleepover, you were trying to be subtle about it but you were a morning person, it didn't make sense to pretend to show up later.

‘I didn’t think I’d see you at all Mr. Stark. It's been awhile, since you’ve hunkered down with us mole people in the lab.” You always had a professional but good natured relationship with Tony. He was your boss after all, which is why you found it a little weird to call him Tony.

Tony let out a chuckle and started to make science small talk, about the lab and the projects you’d been working on.

Bucky and Tony were not great friends. They had buried the hatchet, sure, but it wasn’t like the two drank beer and watched the game together. Cordial coworkers are best.

Except Bucky didn't feel very cordial with Tony right now. Considering he had taken the only open seat next to you. He gruffly sat down at the table next to them with his coffee.

You wanted to invite Bucky to come sit with you, or go over to his table, but that would probably be a bit too much for just friends. You peered over Tony’s shoulder to your grumpy boyfriend darkly having breakfast. You tried not to make it too obvious and still listen to his anecdote about building a mini laser.

The two of your eyes would catch more often than not. Quickly turning back to whatever they were doing. Tony picked up on this immediately, he looked over his shoulder

“What do you keep looking at?” He spun around to look directly at Bucky who was frozen in place. “What’s going on here? Are you two fucking or something?”

It was like everything happened all at once.

“Tony -- out of line.” “Uh HR?” “No no no you misunderstand.” “Which one of you told Tony?”

Everyone burst into action, all speaking over each other. Wait what? You swung your head from pleading with Tony to your secret boyfriend. The three soldiers froze. Sam took a deep breath.

“I’ve had enough of this! Nobody told Tony. You two idiots are just so obvious that anyone could see it.” Sam said. As soon as he did Steve let out a huge sigh of relief, his shoulders rolling forward like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

“I won’t have this, no way, not on my watch. Y/N. My beloved employee. With Mancurian Candidate? Under my nose, in my own lab?” Tony said indignantly, putting his hand over his heart as if he was scandalized.

“Tony! That’s really not very funny. You shouldn’t call him that.” You said your face a hard frown. and Bucky felt his heart burst with happiness. But then your gaze turned to him and he felt your icy stare.

“I--I can explain. You see I had actually texted Steve before we decided to be lowkey. It was before so really if you think about it. I didn’t do anything wrong. And Steve and his big mouth told a few people. But it’s just the people in this room. And Nat. And Clint. And Wanda. But that’s all.” Bucky tried to explain to you as best he could. His eyes were pleading, he felt weak in the knees. You remained silent, your arms crossed.

“Yikes, you’re in troooouble.” Tony taunted.

“So basically everyone! Everyone I see on a daily basis. I can’t believe this. So they’ve all known the whole time?” You looked at Sam and Steve who both sheepishly nodded. You turned back to Bucky, you let out a shaky breath. People knew, and nothing bad had happened. Your friends had actually gone out of their way so you two could have some privacy. “Well I guess there's no point in keeping this up then.”

“Hm?”

“I'm having breakfast with my boyfriend now, so if you don’t mind gentlemen.” You grabbed your breakfast bowl and moved your chair so you were sitting next to Bucky. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your lap.

“Ugh, I'm nauseous you two are so fucking cute. Guess that’s my cue. Come on, Commandos, take a hint.” Tony got up signaling to the other two who also rushed out of the room, more than happy to get out of the tense atmosphere. Once you were completely alone, you finally spoke.

“I can’t believe everyone knows. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Bucky let out a deep sigh.

“I mean I kept it a secret from some people. Tony being one of them. I just…I wanted to give you what you wanted. But I mean to be completely honest I did want to tell everyone. I’m all in.”

“I’m all in too!” You cried clutching his hand and kissing his knuckles. “That's why I wanted to try and slow things down so I couldn’t mess anything up. Now it just all seems so silly. I tried so hard to be sneaky too!”

He took his hand off yours and gave your thigh a squeeze.

“I mean…we can still sneak around sometimes. If you want. ” He had a playful glint in his eyes. “I mean, I had plans, Doll, a lot of plans. I was fully prepared to take you on every inch of that lab table.”

“Sergeant Barnes! ” You gasped. “I think we may be a bit too loud for that level of sneakiness.” He took your chin in his hand and rubbed his thumb down your lip.

“I’m sure we can find a way to keep you quiet.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns x you #bucky fanfic #navy and roo's sleepover #bucky barnes #idiots to lovers #fluff #bucky x female reader #bucky fluff #winter solider #friday night posting baby #fanfiction

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gotham-daydreams · 1 year ago

Note

I absolutely LOVE the ‘Not’ series!

I’ve read a handful of the neglected reader trope (i.e. three) and so far, yours is the most detailed one in terms of how the batfam became yandere. Not to say that the others aren’t good– they’re great! They just don’t really show how and why.

Mostly they just show that the reason for their behavior is because of their guilt for neglecting the reader and their paranoia in finding the reader either dead or tortured (which is a valid reason), it just never convinced me(?) I mean, as far as I know, it’s normal to feel that way when a member of your family just vanishes without so much as a trace.

Which probably explains why I like part 2 so much, because not only did it showcase their own personal reasons as to why they turned out they way they are (borderline obsessive), but it showcased how badly the reader was neglected. I mean– you should’ve seen my face during the tapes part.

I guess I completely underestimated the neglect when I was reading part 1. And although, yes, I am aware of the fact that neglect is neglect, and there shouldn’t be a rate to determine when the neglect is bad enough because it already is bad–no matter how big or small the situation–I didn’t really feel (?? meaning, it didn’t touch me at first) it until reading part 2, where I saw the extent to the emotional abuse they put the reader through. At such a young age too? Jesus.

During the first part, I kept telling myself that this was fine and I’d probably be able to survive this and just be petty to my family if it were to happen, until I continued reading up to part 2. Only then did I realize how much I actually relate to the reader.

I’ve learned how to play the violin, done taekwondo, participated in school sports/events, and studied till my nose bled and I passed out (literally based on true events, was admitted to the hospital and was generally not a good time).

And you know what made all of that suck? I didn’t do it for myself, but for the validation of family (I’m from your stereotypical asian family who’s expectations are high and long enough to reach the moon and back).

And what made all of that even suckier was that there were times where my parents couldn’t even make it to the events, in which made me connect to the reader even more.

I know the feeling of standing up on a stage, desperately looking around the crowd for the two familiar dots which are your parents’ faces, only to be met with stacks of unfamiliar ones. Gosh, especially that heart crushing feeling where you just feel your heart drop to the pit of your stomach when you realize they aren’t there to see the work you’ve practiced so hard on, especially when you did it for them.

I felt that exact same feeling for the reader during the part where Bruce saw all the fliers for the performances he failed to attend, and that was the exact moment when you could hear my heart begin to crack. And you can just guess that the rest is just my heart beginning to crack even more.

But anyway, I absolutely love how you wrote everyone’s individual personalities and their personal relations to the reader. I can really tell that it’s well thought out! Looking forward to the confrontation in part 3!!

Thank you so much!!! I'm glad you enjoyed the second part, and were able to connect with the reader! :]

That was also generally the main focus of Part 2, as I did really want to delve into the nitty-gritty of what got the Batfam started on this hell train to yandere land. Though I wasn't able to see that idea out completely as, y'know, I don't really describe how Tim, Damian, Steph, and Babs ended up hopping onto that train.

The portion of the Batfam in the Manor, and coming to terms with how they've collectively neglected the reader in these little, individual parts, is rushed and does kind of just hop to the city and how the reader is currently doing - along with establishing a time period for how long they've been gone. Which that is mostly because the more I wrote - the more laggy tumblr would get, so I made a last minute decision to speed things along (and I also wanted to get Part 2 out as soon as possible).

Regardless, as you've said there are other neglected!reader posts that do at least mention how the Batfam turns yandere, but they don't really go into detail, or mention a 'how', and just mention the 'why'. (Which is okay! They're amazing, and enjoyable reads anyway :]!) So for Part 2, I really wanted to emphasize on those details, and at least show how the seeds of obsession have been planeted.

Again, as you said! Worrying over the reader's well being, and coming to terms with the crushing reality of what you did to someone — albeit mostly unintentionally in most cases — and what that could potentially lead them to do, and what it's already caused them to do- is a valid and understandable reason! I just wanted to show more than that, and almost make it more... personal?

I wanted to show how it wasn't just pure worry and guilt that started them on this path. I wanted to show the planting of the seeds, and later, how these little things will make the Batfam commit to treading down said path.

Like how Bruce starts off as worried and guilt-ridden, only to end up in love with all these small details and character traits he notices from the reader in their notebook — which turns him serious and cements his will and need to find the reader. Or how Dick starts off similarly, but with a bit more panic and disbelief, only to discover just how much personality the reader had, and how lovely of a person they could be through their voice messages to him, which does fuel his guilt - yes, but I think it adds just that little bit more to everything. Or Cass and Jason watching those birthday tapes, and even Tim falling in love with the reader's music (which isn't gone into much detail within Part 2 itself, but is implied a little, I believe).

I feel like their fall feels more personal to the reader in that way. Rather than just have them be worried about the reader's health in some way (physical or mental (which is still a valid concern, of course!!)), they fall in love with pieces of the reader, and notice small details within them that draw the family in. Furthering their need to find the reader.

And I'm glad you enjoyed the characters as well! Even if I am still a little worried that they may be a bit ooc, I did want these small, but personal discoveries, or small glimpses the family had into the reader's life, to be unique in some way. With their interpretations differing, and while their general reaction was the same, their 'drive' is a little different. If not, then a little similar to one another with odd, small parts not quite matching up inbetween. Not to mention that with a whole family that is so similar, and yet so different- it felt fitting to try and aim for that. Though I can't say much about how well that exactly got across, haha!

Besides, again, with their different personalities and everything, it makes sense that their connection or relationship — or lack thereof — to the reader is a bit different for each of them. Which is kind of implied, I suppose, as some did catch a few small things about the reader, while others didn't notice much at all and such, but I'd like to think that it was a nice touch.

Putting further emphasis on the extent of the neglect and such was also intended, of course, and I also think you and other folks finding out such things from the eyes of the Batfam, was a fun way to go about it as well. Since you not only learn more about events that have happened before the series, but also get the Batfam's thoughts on it and how said information impacts them as well. Though who knows, maybe I'm looking too deep into my own writing- but it was fun, I will say that!

Compared to the development of the Batfam as yanderes, I do consider the information about the reader's life both in and outside of the Manor, as icing on the cake, in a way. Since it gives you more of that flavor along side the cake it self, but that probably doesn't make sense. Lol!

Anyway, I really liked this ask, and thanks so much for sharing your feelings, anon! And once again, I'm very glad that you're enjoying the series so far :]

#talking daydreams #yandere batfam #platonic yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere dc x reader #gn reader #yandere batfam x reader

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goodnightmemes · 5 months ago

Text

LONGLEGS (2024) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ There she is, the Almost Birthday Girl. ❜

❛ That kid smelled like narcotics. ❜

❛ Just relax. I'll go take a look. All right? ❜

❛ Half-psychic is better than not psychic at all, I'd say. ❜

❛ You can read about it in the file. ❜

❛ I'm telling you, she's not ready for this. ❜

❛ It's hard to explain. It's like something tapping me on the shoulder, telling me where to look. ❜

❛ Anything like that ever happen to you before? ❜

❛ Well, maybe we'll just call you "highly intuitive". ❜

❛ You know, there's such a thing as looking too long. ❜

❛ I must have lost track of time. ❜

❛ You didn't call to say goodnight. ❜

❛ Even veals grow a little. ❜

❛ Is it scary being a lady FBI agent? ❜

❛ Do you have to let the phone ring so long? ❜

❛ I'm okay. I just can't sleep. A lot on my mind. ❜

❛ Somebody's birthday's coming up. ❜

❛ Still your only daughter. ❜

❛ I don't think the Bureau has a division for nice things. ❜

❛ Are you still saying your prayers? ❜

❛ Xs mark the spot. ❜

❛ I know you're not afraid of a little bit of dark...because you are the dark. ❜

❛ I don't know what that was supposed to be. ❜

❛ I've seen you before, ain't I? ❜

❛ Gosh, I don't ever wanna forget him. ❜

❛ If'n he told me to kill you right-right here in this room with my bare hand, I'd surely do. ❜

❛ Just happy as peaches to watch your heavy heart go pop-pop, and your eyeses to go all to blood. ❜

❛ Yeah, that couldn't be anything but a coincidence. ❜

❛ [name] is just a man, not a witch doctor. ❜

❛ What aren't you telling me? ❜

❛ I never said my prayers, never once. They scared me. ❜

❛ All our prayers don't help us. Prayers don't do a goddamn thing. ❜

❛ I can't believe it's gonna be your birthday again so soon. ❜

❛ What a day that was. I bled...bled... bled...bled… ❜

❛ No one ever came to visit us. Not any family. No strangers. No big, bad wolves. No anybody. ❜

❛ But these are things a little girl shouldn't know. ❜

❛ I'm not a child anymore. ❜

❛ You're not a child because you were allowed to grow up. ❜

❛ This is a cruel world. Especially for the little things. Not all of them are allowed to live. ❜

❛ I might have forgotten everything I possibly could, for both of our sakes, but I never threw anything away. ❜

❛ You really don't remember this guy? ❜

❛ You sure you wanna start a manhunt with this? ❜

❛ I mean, he worships the Devil, that's for sure, but in the United States of America, he's allowed to do that. ❜

❛ I'm more concerned about the fact that he knows who you are. ❜

❛ He's downstairs. Right under your feet. ❜

❛ I'm a friend of a friend. ❜

❛ We had such a big laugh about it. Although, it was only me who laughed, not she.❜

❛ You don't work alone, do you? Someone's been helping you. ❜

❛ I knew then that the work we were doing was immaculate. ❜

❛ But your work's over. It's done, and you're gonna be in here for the rest of your life. ❜

❛ Well...I'll let you get started now. ❜

❛ Hail Satan. ❜

❛ We had the guy, and now we got nothing! ❜

❛ You didn't have to come with me. ❜

❛ I wasn't gonna let you drive after what you saw today. ❜

❛ It's okay. It's...it's done now. ❜

❛ You could've made nice with me, but you didn't...and now that has led to all of this. ❜

❛ That was the deal that she made. ❜

❛ Why are you doing this? ❜

❛ If they don't die, then we will burn...and twist, and burn, and twist, in hell, forever and ever. ❜

❛ I'm doing this for you just like I've always done. ❜

#rp meme #rp prompt #sentence starters #sentence meme #inbox memes #roleplay prompts #roleplay meme #rp starters #*movie

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fraugwinska · 7 months ago

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Chapter 7 - Serendipity

Serendipity (noun) 1. an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident

Tags & Warnings: None If you see this symbol ♫, I strongly advice you to listen to 'Heart of Stone' from the musical SIX (Studio Cast Recording) There is a second song mentioned, but not named. If you like to know/listen to it, it's 'On trees and birds and fire' by I Am Oak

The stage was too wide for you. Too high. Too much room for disappointing expectations. Alastor had summoned chairs for everyone, and even Husk wanted to stay, sipping on his drink and observing you with cautious eyes. Charlie was elated, and you were sure if she had been a human, she would've been the biggest theater nerd. You saw her shaking Vaggie by her shoulders, who in return gave her a soft smile and patted her hands. Her gaze fell to you, and you could see a glimpse of wary curiosity in her eyes. Alastor really set you up, and he took childish joy in it too. He looked extraordinarily smug, sitting next to Charlie, and Niffty on his shoulders. You sat down, the white piano bench hard and stiff.

“I don't really have a big repertoire on the piano.... but I think I can do my last audition choice pretty well...”

“Whatever you want to play! Right guys?”, Charlie shouted up to you, cheeks red in giddy excitement.

“As long as it's not some old ass crappy song. We got that covered. Daily.” Angel sneered, crossing his arms and shooting Alastor a poignant look.

“Okay then...”

If you had no choice to do this, you had to at least do it right. He expected you to, and this was at least a relatively safe circumstance to cross your self-set boundaries temporarily – you had to perform. So, you took a deep breath and you closed your eyes. Even though you were scared to, you slowly allowed yourself to feel. The room fell silent, and in this silence you visualized the feelings of your chosen song. And how ironic that song turned out to be. It was the only one you remembered fully. It was beautiful. Tragic. Powerful. Sad. Strong. More than ever you resonated with it. Into the darkness of your mind bled lights, your skin prickled from the sudden intensity in which the calm numbness faded from your body. You felt heavy. And you felt hurt, pained, moved and twisted. Your breath staggered, your heart pumped achingly hard in your chest. Your fingers blindly found their starting position, and you pressed them down. ♫

♫You've got a good heart But I know it changes A restless tide, untamable...♫

„Gosh... her voice is beautiful...“, he heard the princes whisper in wonder. He nodded in silent agreement, but his eyes stayed fixated on his girl, that curious, wickedly talented little servant, as she elegantly moved her fingers over the keyboard. ♫You came my way, and I knew a storm could come too You'd lift me high, or let me fall♫

„Holy Shit.“ Husk breathed, barely audible, and Niffty vibrated on his shoulder, digging her little hands in his hair as she leaned even more in to watch with her big, wide eye.

♫But I took your hand, promised I'd withstand Any blaze you blew my way 'Cause something inside, it solidified And I knew I'd always stay♫

Her body stilled for a second over the piano, she looked almost angelic – her eyes closed, head slightly tilted, hands floating in the air. And Alastor smirked as he heard the others holding their breaths at the sight.

♫You can build me up, you can tear me down You can try but I'm unbreakable You can do your best, but I'll stand the test You'll find that I'm unshakeable When the fire's burnt When the wind has blown When the water's dried, you'll still find stone My heart of stone♫

Her voice sounded powerful, like a battle cry. Alastor's eyes burned in red and scarlet as he listened. It sounded like a prayer to him. In other ears, it was just an emotional ballad, maybe, as stunning as it was. But he believed it to be a confession or better: an open challenge. His shadows swirled and twisted underneath him, aroused and revived by his own rising exhilaration, not unlike the thrill of the chase he felt whenever he went on one of his carnages.

♫You say we're perfect A perfect family You hold us close, for the world to see

And when I say you're the only one I've ever loved I mean those words truthfully♫

Her tone became soft, almost broken but feathery light. Out of the corner of his sight he could see tears dwelling in the princesses eyes. Vaggie squeezed her partners hand in return. How pathetically emotional...

♫But I know Without my son your love could disappear I know it isn't fair, but I don't care 'Cause my love, will still be here♫

For a second, Alastor felt his breath hitch. His static cracked, just for a split second, but only Husk noticed – one too many to his liking. He felt the cat demon's suspicious eyes looking at him, but he instantly composed himself. He was irritated by this sudden... fit of misplacedemotion. He couldn't place it.

♫You can build me up, you can tear me down You can try but I'm unbreakable You can do your best, but I'll stand the test You'll find that I'm unshakeable 𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖'𝕤 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕟�� 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣'𝕤 𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕, you'll still find stone My heart of stone♫

„What the fuck was that?“, Angel whispered hoarsely to Husk, who shrugged wide-eyed in return. As it had already happened his own living room, when his kitten tried her hands on 'La vie en rose', her voice was inexplicably joined with other ones, as if there were more of her, backing her beguiling chanting. Alastor had been sure he didn't imagine it, and now he had his confirmation - The others had heard it, too. Charlie turned to him, a questioning look on her face, but he just shook his head. (Y/n) seemed to be detached from anything, a slight, iridescent glow around her...

♫Soon I'll have to go I'll never see him grow But I hope my son will know He'll never be alone♫

Her voice sent shivers down his spine. He strained his smile, analyzing her every feature as the others shifted in their seats, encapsulated by his servants siren song. Her whole body moved, like a wave on the ocean, flawless and elegantly, and her face was painted with bittersweet emotions that were so strange to her. Such a contrast to the detached facade she always forced herself into.

♫'Cause like a river runs dry And leaves it's scars behind I'll be by your side 'Cause my love Is set in stone♫

The soft, light chords struck by her echoed in the room. The prismatic glow around her pulsed, and Niffty gasped next to his ear, as did Charlie, Vaggie and Angel when (Y/n) took a deep trembling breath into the silence.

♫Yeahhh♫

In an explosion of shimmering light, shapes emerged from her body, translucent copies of her, like carved out of gemstones – one in a deep turqouise-blue, another in hot and vivid blood-red, then one in bright citrus, followed by an emerald green and a blush-pink one. Jeweled duplicates swirled around her, singing along with her like an angelic choir, breaking every ray of light in the vicinity into sparkles. Charlie jumped up from her seat, Vaggie stumbled up and against her. Alastor was enchanted. Finally. A power. ♫𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕓𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕 𝕞𝕖 𝕦𝕡, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕞𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟, 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕀'𝕞 Unbreakable 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕖𝕤𝕥, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕀'𝕝𝕝 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕖𝕤𝕥. 𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕝𝕝 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀'𝕞𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖'𝕤 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕥 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣'𝕤 𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕

you'll still find stone♫

And what a power it was. Her energy danced around them, he could taste it, raw and unrefined, pure and corrupted in one. He inhaled it, and it sent jolts of manic joys through him. He wanted to burst out laughing at this revelation. One of the puzzle pieces fitting so well in it's place, so obvious it was ridiculous he didn't see it before. Her power was based on his kittens emotions. What luck that the princess and the other fools were occupied in their own fear and wonder about what was happening on the stage, or else they would've seen his lunatic smile and the dials in his eyes as he imagined himself harnessing her power, reaping her like a ripe harvest – he only had to find a way how.

♫My heart of stone

Can't break me, Can't break meStoneCan't break me, Can't break me You'll still find stone♫

With the last chord struck, the copies of her shattered into sparks of glitter, vanishing as they fell. (Y/n) trembled visibly, the glow around her ceased and disappeared as she closed her eyes once more, barely withholding from passing out.

♫My heart of stone♫

“Charlie. I'm really fine. Please, don't make such a fuss.” You sighed, swatting the princesses hand away from your forehead for the fourth time. After you passed out – and that fact alone embarrassed you to no end – you've found yourself on your bed, with the princess of hell scurrying around like a nurse on steroids, checking your temperature, wringing out cold washcloths to put on your neck and general annoying pampering.

“Are you sure? I am totally free, you know? I've sent Al and Vaggie to take care of the hotel – Alastor was NOT happy to leave, let me tell you - but I figured you wouldn't want to, you know... he shouldn't have to undress... you'd probably prefer a girl to...” she gestured toward you, sitting on the bed in your leisure clothes, your uniform hanging over your vanity chair, “aaaanyway, he wanted to drop by later, when you are...” “...fine. And I am fine. Fit as a fiddle. Nothing wrong with me that a good hot shower can't fix.”, you declared, forcing yourself not to sound too aggravated. Charlie sighed and sat down next to you on your bed. “So... first time it happened huh?” “Yup. Honestly I'm kind of annoyed that I didn't really notice it. It was like I was in a trance, you know? Like an outer-body-experience. Is that... normal?” Charlie smiled a crooked smile, patting your hand. “It would've been a miracle if you remembered all of it. A demons initial, uncontrolled power release, especially one this strong, is super painful, so hellish forms tend to force some kind of... mmh... amnesia? A bit like human women who forget the pains of birth.”

You nodded, disappointed. Charlie nudged you softly. “Hey, cheer up. Now that you know what your power is, you can train it – bit by bit. It can still be painful, but if you control the circumstances, you'll be totally good. You have me, and Vaggie and.. Al, all here to help you! And you know – the ability to create autonomous gemstone duplicates of yourself is so dang swanky, even for hellish standards!” She giggled. You snorted and felt your ears twitch lazily. “Thanks Charlie.” “No problemo. Hey. Do... you want me to stay while you shower? Just in case, you know...” “No way, come on. Don't you have a hotel to run? I'm totally good. Promise. You need to worry more about Alastor and Vaggie working together without you as a buffer to prevent a killing spree.” Charlie laughed. “Yeah, you're probably right. I'll tag with Al, he'll want to check up on you too. But I'll tell him to wait until you're done. Rest well, okay? No more work for you today.” You gave her a thumbs up, and when the door closed, you went straight into the bathroom, locking the doors.

The lights flickered slightly as you took off your clothes. You ignored it, despite your resolute stance against Charlie your head still felt a little woozy, maybe it was just your eyes. Deep in thought, you folded them neatly and stacked them on the vanity. Somewhere along the line, your memory of what happened on stage went foggy. The last thing you definitely remembered was the feeling of tightness in your own skin when you hit the second chorus. Charlie told you to the best of her abilities what happened, still, it sounded insane – how could you split up into more versions of you? Versions that moved around like they were living creatures, even singing along with you? It disturbed you to no end, you felt like the secure control you maintained over your body had not only slipped away but it developed a mind of its own, and that was dangerous. You had to find out how you'd get back in charge, how to administer that strange power, and fast. The quicker the better.

You turned on the faucet and stepped into the shower. The water was scorching hot, exactly what you needed. You scrubbed your body numb, steam filling the small room, whirling in circles as you moved, and the air became thick with warmth. The gentle sound of running water echoed against the tiles and you allowed yourself to simply exist, to bask in this simple pleasure of hot water cascading over your cold skin. The sensation was both calming and sedating, a moment of respite from the chaos that was the last hours. As you stood there, enveloped in steam and solitude, you took your time to mend the breaks in your mental walls. Stone by stone, brick by brick you put them up, reinforced them, shutting in all the feelings that were the source of that chaos. You needed time to think with an unclouded head, and time to talk to Alastor about what to do. Alastor. Thinking about him sent shivers down your spine. What a disaster, what a fucking disgrace you must have been, to loose control over yourself like that, to faint like some weak damsel. And right after you thought you'd atoned for your blunder from the night before. You sighed, your skin tingling from the burning heat of the water, and you shut the shower off, wrapping a towel around you, feeling like a total failure. You pushed the shower curtain open and suppressed a scream. Ozul lingered on the wall, swishing nervously with a hum, his cyan maw open as if he was shocked to be caught. It ducked and compressed itself into a flat shape, it almost looked comical. You gripped the towel tighter and squinted your eyes at it. “Did Alastor send you?” The shadow slowly reformed, nodding slowly. You huffed. Little sleeze. “Okay. Let me rephrase. Does he know you peep on me while I shower?” It buzzed loudly, squishing down again, and it looked as if he shook his head, while his shadowy arms covered his visage. Was that thing... embarrassed? You tilted your head.

“Do... you like me?” Ozul let out another loud buzz, high pitched and swirled back and forth on the ground, like ink that was shaken in a bottle. Holy shit. This was a truly bizarre day. You squatted down to the shade, careful to cover anything improper, which in return stilled, looking up to you – if the cobalt orbs could be called eyes, they were looking wary. “How about we make a deal.”, you proposed, glaring at it with a hint of playfulness. “I won't tell Alastor about this peeping-tom-thing. In return, you'll stop being naughty and stay out of this bathroom when I'm indecent.” Ozul stared at you, then hummed and moved in circles over your feet, reaching for your hands. You lifted a brow and put a hand out, touching it – the sensation was nothing like you imagined. You thought it would be cold, instead, it felt like you were touching warm sand, it tickled your skin as Alastor's static sometimes did, but much less intense. Kind of... cute? “So we have an understanding?” Ozul fizzled happily? and, with a last brush of his shadow tendril over your hand, he swished under the door back out.

You were dried and in your leisure suit again. Your hair was still damp but you just put it into a loose bun. Your shadow companion had patiently waited on your mirror, humming lazily as you put up your hair. Now, it gestured to the door. When you opened it, you saw nothing, but heard a rustling sound and a small tinker. There was a plastic bag on your door handle. Your brows furrowed, and you took it off the handle, closing the door back again, bag in hand. Inside, there was just one thing: A small, yellow and pink bottle of something called 'Beezeljuice Light' with a note attached. “To get you going again. Now we're even.” The edges of your lips twitched – The hand writing was jaggered and wide, the small, yellowed paper stained with brown spots. You were sure this was from Husk. You put the flask into your nightstand. Alcohol was something you never got the hang of, the taste and burn from it made you feel sick, even the sickly-sweet or creamy cocktails made for lightweights didn't appeal to your tastes. More so, alcohol tended to turn usually lovable, nice people into drunken and irresponsible monsters, void of reason, manners and rationale, something you had experienced too much yourself to ignore. Better to not indulge at all, than to risk overstepping your own limits and turn into something you'd regret later. But the sentiment was nice, a sign of progress, and you wanted to safekeep it.

Ozul had crept over your canopy curtains next to you, stretching over your lap while fizzing lowly. You scoffed at him, shaking your head. Good overlord.

“You're really milking this, you know?” your blackened fingertips pet the shade, enveloping in this warm, gritty feeling again. It was oddly nice, comforting even, when it buzzed contently in return. You let yourself fall on your back, lying on your bed, stroking your new-found partner in crime. ♫ Like a record player, a song popped into your mind and you hummed along with it. You didn't remember the artist or the lyrics, it was some indie group thing, maybe? Still, the melody and the arrangement came easily to you, you remembered a soft banjo stringing, a drum like a heartbeat. You inhaled and exhaled deeply, humming the strangely familiar tune, chest vibrating and hands moving through the warm shadow, offering a gentle hint of resistance against your cold fingers.

Meditation, you thought, is what it was you were doing, what you needed. Clearing your mind, making room, decluttering. And how safe it felt, centering yourself, stripping your mind to it's barest state, regaining some sort of mental level ground. How nice it was, to stop being tainted and burdened by the pulls of irrational feelings, feeling the dizziness fading out of your head until you felt clear and clean again. Not being anchored in thick, suffocating memories emotions to drown in their heaviness...

The soothing feeling of Ozul left your hand in an instant, leaving only cold fingers and a feeling of loss. Your eyes shot open, confused where it had gone, just as there was a knock on the door. You pushed yourself up, quickly standing straight and face falling easily (thank satan) into indifference. You took the few firm steps to your door, opening it with a draw of your breath. You already knew who was on the other side. Red eyes found your golden ones, and his smile grew wider as he looked down to you. He let himself in, pushing you into your room, and closed the door silently behind him. “There's my special little gem. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

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#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #ao3 fanfic #method to madness #angel dust #charlie morningstar #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel niffty #habin hotel vaggie #metoma #radiogem

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dylan-rodrigues · 1 year ago

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My Man is Cupid, EP. 2: what is up with all these people? She's smelling a random stranger, he's literally stalking her, the murdered nurse was married and cheating on her husband with another married man, who had kids and was beating his mistress to the point she bled all over her clothes...

her heart is racing because they were lovers in their past life in Joseon ofc. I've watched enough kdramas to know what's up.

I relate to dog dude, I also feel like sleeping asleep in that guy's arms.

Love triangle with Cupid and police detective dude, yaaaaaay 🫤 So the detective was not only in the past life too, even this love triangle is a replay... Can we just have fun once in a while?

NOOO NOT THE RESTAURANT AJUMMA 😭😭 That sick bastard...

Yeah, the stalking is getting kinda creepy imo. This isn't romantic, it's just scary.

Gosh, this drama gets super weird and then super charming again. Im like, I want to drop this but it gets super funny and I'm like, next EP pls.

Obligatory kdrama ML saves FL scene but the comedy afterwards elevates it. The way she still lists every single possible injury and bro gets so scared, it's genuinely funny. He's also scared hamster.jpg when she gets close to him 💀💀these two actors are carrying the entire show

#my man is cupid #kdrama #my man is cupid kdrama #nana #jang dong yoon

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ruminate88 · 7 months ago

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Expectations in relationships, and betrayal trauma:

let’s be real… We all go into relationships with expectations. Expecting that person to love us back, to be good to us, to do things for us and to be there for us no matter what. We expect them to be honest, trustworthy, and basically just have our back! (It’s a two way street)

What happens though, when that person breaks your trust? Obviously, it’s devastating, especially if you’ve been with that person for any length of time or if you’ve been intimately close with them. That really hurts. The wost part is when you’ve given yourself to somebody whether it be physically, emotionally or if you’ve told them your secrets. (You expect them to keep your secrets and cherish them too)

When I was with my ex Cody, I told him a lot of my dark secrets. secrets that I probably wouldn’t have just shared with anybody, and he too, was giving me secrets as well telling me all about his childhood and his disorders that he struggled with. so, I believe he trusted me and I trusted him. I had no idea that he was only letting me get so close so he could use me and then when he was bored with me, he randomly dumped me. Cody said he needed “space” cuz we had been talking 24/7 (I had not ate or slept in weeks. I was sick.)

The sudden halt after we were getting so close and sharing so much, really stunned me. I really opened up to Cody in a way that I hadn’t before, and I was lying to myself saying that Cody was the most special person in the whole entire universe like I never met anyone so special before and I tried to take such good care of his heart. I really truly wanted him to be OK. When he’s telling me about all these disorders and all these different situations he’s facing, my heart truly bled for him but when he ran away and suddenly dumped me, oh gosh, I was just like what in the world???? How can you just randomly break up with me for no reason at all???? But then he took me BACK AGAIN and got even CLOSER with me and shared more with me!!!! Cody told me how he puts up walls and shuts people out, and it made sense to me why he randomly dumped me to start with, but it still sucked for me and then I felt like I had to work so hard to make him trust me enough to stay with me, but then after he ghosted me, my trust was alllllll out the window!! Cody was never getting me back. Once he had blocked me, I moved on. I did not try to reach out to him ever again. 🥺🥺🥺

I don’t even know how I was able to trust Andrew after that, the way I did. It makes no sense to me how I was able to open up my heart to Andrew; When Cody had left me so numb, isolated and shutting down. some reason, I believed Andrew was also very, very, important and special to me and I put him on a pedal-stool and I worshipped the ground he walked on. I don’t know why I did it though, it makes no sense to me when Andrew literally hates my guts and wants me to hurt myself. I believed Andrew was someone who gets pleasure out of my pain😓💔

After Andrew, I chose to turn my life around. I decided I didn’t want to live depressed or suicidal. I wanted to like my life and I wanted a husband so bad I wasn’t going to stop trying for a husband. I met my husband and truly believed he was the nicest guy that I had ever met , and I slowly started to open up to him and let him in, but I now have expectations again. I feel that OK, you now know what Cody and Andrew did to me, so you will NEVER do that to me too or it’s over!!!!! If my husband ever treated me the way my exes did, I know for sure I would probably never love again … 😖

however, no one is perfect and no one can live up to everyone’s standards or expectations. I have learned that my husband is who he is and he’s not going to change. Just like my exes are not going to change, but my husband is still a nice guy he just doesn’t do everything I want him to , and unfortunately, he can’t fix me or my past and he can’t remove the emotional barrier in front of me and these trust issues are all my own. There’s nothing no one else can do about it but me and God.

My husband has hurt my feelings a time or two as he’s human and everybody does. My own parents have hurt my feelings before too because it’s life. The problem is being betrayed by Cody and Andrew, it’s like I can’t hardly bear it. I can’t make my husband or anyone else understand that I don’t EVER want to be lied to again, used or abused ever again. I hate it for my husband because I feel like I’m pressuring him to just do everything right and he can’t and that’s not fair to him. Marrying my husband and being intimate with him, has been a really huge deal for me and I don’t know if he understands how big of a deal it’s been and I’ve been very very careful towards him but in the back of my mind it’s really sad because, why did my exes think it was OK hurt me the way that they did? When I felt like I gave them all of me and there was nothing left to give yet it wasn’t enough! I realize the problem is with them AND not with me, but it still sucks for me. I’ve still beat myself up thinking what could I have done better or different? It just makes no sense.

I know and believe everything happens for a reason. My exes deceived me, making me think that they could give love to me and that we could have something really wonderful together, but that’s far from the truth. Now, I’m trying so hard not to expect too much from my new man but some things ARE to be expected AND on my end too. My husband also has expectations and I try so hard to be a good wife but I battle inside my mind and it’s hard to express to him the pain and abuse because he’s never experienced that. Life in general, feels like a balancing act! Trying to balance out my feelings and choices. Not going to one extreme or another. Trying to be “perfect” when I can’t. Wanting to flip the narrative from my past and rewrite myself. Wanting to be a loving and genuine person. ONE DAY AT A TIME ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

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wearingaberetinparis · 2 years ago

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Hello gorgeous soul 🌻 26, 26, 27 please!

Hello amazingly wonderful @athenasparrow! I'm assuming you meant 25 to 27 here. My apologies for misunderstanding if this wasn't the case!

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

Gosh yes! My fics, honestly, are so angsty half of the time. I break my heart over and over again, and I have genuinely been close to tears or have wanted to scream at myself for coming up with half of the things I write.

I remember this passage from my fic no body, no crime in particularly being very upsetting as I wrote it:

She still remembered those first few moments. How her heart had not just broken, but torn into a thousand pieces. How she had fallen to her knees, screamed so loudly that she had lost her voice halfway through, a banshee as she wailed, weeping perpetually, causing her eyes to be continuously red and her auburn hair to stand out violently against her ghastly and pale complexion. She had not just fallen apart, she had ceased to exist. Lily Evans was no more, buried beside him, even though there had been no body for her to lie next to. Perhaps if there had been, it would have been easier. She could just have slit her wrists, bled out beside him, showing all those who were against her that her blood was exactly the same colour as theirs, that they’d spilled magic, soiled the earth with the power that they had wished to exterminate. He had left her and he had left her nothing. He might as well never have existed, have been a figment of her imagination, a dream that had turned far too quickly into her worst nightmare. Perhaps it would have been easier that way. Perhaps she would still have been able to breathe. Perhaps she wouldn’t have died too.

(Come to think of it, that entire fic is so painful!)

26. Is there something you’ve written that you would never want your family to see?

Any and all smut I've ever written. LOL! Having said that, I could get over my sisters reading it, if they would promise not to tease me endlessly for writing sex scenes. (I think they would be far more supportive than I imagine they would be, but the thought is terrifying!)

27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?

I already answered this, but in addition to being nervous about posting Gold-Plated Love, (You're So) Golden and RAKWME, one other fic that gave me loads of anxiety was it's all happening without me, a child that I'm actually very, very, very fond of!

#ask game #ritaskeetered answers #lovely tumblr people

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missmungoe · 2 years ago

Note

Not making any promises, buuuuuuut if you were to receive an illustration of one scene from Sea Songs, which would you pick? <3

!!! Oh gosh I'd be over the moon for an illustration of any scene from Sea Songs, but if I could pick, it would be something from Luffy's Pirate Summit, which is my favourite part<3

(from Sea Songs, fourth verse)

The gathering dark had leached the sun’s warmth out of the whitewashed stone, a long-awaited respite from the midday heat offered at last, along with the lengthening shadows ushered down the narrow corridors winding through the towering structure that had been appropriated for the occasion.

Shanks had no idea how Luffy had gotten his hands on a fortress, or who had owned it previously, but knew better than to ask.

“This looks more like a party than an assembly,” he told Ben, observing the people gathered. The ships had been coming in all week, and idled now along the wharf hugging the water’s edge, far above which sat the white-stone stronghold, perched on the steep cliff's high brow. Several hundred vessels and their crews, all having arrived for the summit. “Although it figures, given who issued the invitation.”

They were standing towards the far end of a large, square chamber, the high, vaulting ceiling invoking the ghosts of lavish feasts, heavy wooden beams wedged together to carry the weight of the structure, and slits of honeycombed glass opening up to the sky, bruising purple as the light bled out of the day. The room was well-lit, a hundred glowing lamps suspended from above casting a sheen of gold across glass and stonework, giving the illusion that everything was gilded.

All in all, a fitting setting for a gathering of pirates, the room full of hearts hungry for treasure, but they seemed to have settled for plundering the refreshments. There was enough food to feed several fleets. Again, not much of a surprise, given their host.

“It will be interesting to see what comes of this,” Ben said, sliding him a look. “Even if you are retired. The kid did appreciate the insight.”

“I don’t know how useful it was,” Shanks said, observing the pirates mingling, a colourful tapestry of different species and crews. He recognised some faces, but most were unfamiliar. And half his age. “This is a different world than ours was.”

Ben’s mouth quirked. Shanks watched as he lit himself a cigarette. “Maybe,” he said, gaze shifting across the room, ever-assessing. “But pirates will be pirates.”

Shanks’ agreement was a fleeting smile, and he followed Ben’s gaze, taking in the celebration with a curiously detached interest. A long life of piracy had seen many similar events, and he’d always had a ready heart for feasts of all kinds. If there was booze present, all the better. If there wasn’t, he was usually the one providing it.

But even with a party big enough to fill an entire stronghold and enough drink to put even his tolerance to the test, his thoughts kept fleeting back across the sea, to a warm hearth and his wife curled up against his side, a single bottle enough between them.

“Thinking about Makino?”

His smile was quick to chase the question, spoken in a way that told Shanks Ben already knew the answer. “I’m that obvious, huh?” He sighed, watching as someone made an elaborate toast, followed by laughter like the crack of thunder. “It’s just weird, her not being here. It was easier when we only saw each other a few weeks at a time.”

Ben took a long drag of his cigarette. “It’s the way of things.”

“Yeah?” Shanks asked. “What about you? Worried about your tobacco crop?”

“There was cold front coming,” Ben deadpanned, refusing to indulge his teasing. “And I have orders to meet.”

“Listen to you. And you give me grief for the barkeep thing.”

“I don’t wear an apron,” Ben pointed out.

“No, you don’t wear a shirt. And don’t tell me you’re not aware it’s the reason half the people on our island stop by your house every morning.”

“I’m just now hearing about this,” Ben said, smiling around his cigarette.

Shanks shook his head. “And I’m the indecent one,” he muttered. His eyes scanned the room again, before he stopped. “Wait a minute,” he said, frowning. “Is that Yasopp?”

Ben followed the direction of his gaze, brows drawing together. “Maybe he decided to come after all. It’s been a while since he saw his kid.”

Shanks was still frowning. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But it’s a little weird that he didn’t call ahead.”

Ben said nothing to that, but his silence held agreement, and Shanks tried not to let himself question the wisdom behind Yasopp’s decision to come.

It wasn’t that he was worried anything was going to happen while he was gone, but there’d been a guarantee in the knowledge that most of his crew was where his family was. It wasn’t a secret that he’d settled down there, and the thought that someone might take advantage of him leaving had crossed his mind, both before and after setting sail. Like it had done more than once, in the years he’d still been an active pirate.

But Blackbeard was an old memory, dulled like the scar on his chest. And there was still Lucky and the others. There was no reason for him to add more concerns to the ones he already had, what with Makino pregnant.

“There’s Lucky,” Ben said then, and Shanks’ head swivelled around. And there was no mistaking the familiar bulk, or the fact that he’d stationed himself next to one of the tables laden with food.

“What the hell,” Shanks muttered. But before either of them could walk over to ask the man himself, someone stepped up behind them, and Shanks turned, taking in the familiar mop of blond hair, and the lopsided smile.

“Red-Hair,” Marco said, inclining his head in a greeting. His eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “Been a few years.”

“Marco,” Shanks laughed. He stole a fleeting glance across the room, but Lucky had moved somewhere else. If it hadn’t been for Ben pointing him out, he might have thought he’d imagined it.

He looked back at Marco, hands in his pockets, and more at ease than when Shanks had seen him last. “I haven’t seen you since the war,” he said. “How are the guys?”

The smile crooked further, visibly amused. “Drinking,” Marco said. “I’m starting to wonder if that wasn’t why he called us here.”

Grinning, Shanks was wryly inclined to agree. “Been here long?”

“Just came in yesterday. You?”

“A week ago,” Shanks said, nodding to Ben. “Luffy wanted some advice. I thought it was for the open bar, but apparently it’s strategy and coordinating this whole event. Not really what I signed up for. I retired, you know?”

Marco smiled. “Welcome to the club. I heard you’re a barkeep now,” he said. “How’s that treating you?”

Shanks’ grin widened. “I’m always happy to be close to good booze. And my family, of course.”

“Yeah,” Marco said. “I just ran into your missus over by the refreshments.”

Ben lowered his cigarette, and Shanks blinked. “What?”

“Your missus,” Marco repeated. “Makino.”

Shanks’ mouth worked. “My—”

Marco nodded across the room. “Cute kid, by the way. That’s your youngest, yeah? Seems to have stolen the whole show. Not that His Majesty is complaining. He’s the one who’s been showing her off.”

Shanks followed the line of his gaze, still having trouble accepting what he was even saying, and there was a part of him that thought Marco had to be mistaken; that it couldn’t be her—that she couldn’t be here.

But then he found her—sought her out in a single breath where she stood among a group of pirates, the tiny shape of her emphasised by the crowd around her, but asserting herself with the same quiet authority she did in their bar, her presence at once unassuming and wholly, undeniably compelling. She wore Siren on her hip, Shanks saw, the blade quiet in her sheath but her presence as unmistakeable as her mistress', dressed in a loose blouse and breeches, her small shoulders at ease under a short cloak; a lovely thing he’d brought her years ago on a whim, supple folds of sea-green velvet threaded with silver at the collar, enclosed around her slender neck with silver clasps. Her thick braid coiled in a heavy bun at her nape, a familiar length of blood-red cloth braided through it, before it wrapped like a bandanna around her head, holding her hair back from her face. She looked like—

“A pirate,” Shanks said, dumbstruck.

She met his eyes then, as though she’d felt him looking, and her smile tilted her eyes at the corners, the earth after rain, and full of the pleasure that had always delighted in catching him off guard.

“I’ll be damned,” Ben barked a laugh. “She finally outdid herself.” He threw Shanks a look. “Do you need to sit down?”

“Am I not sitting down?”

Ben was grinning. “That explains the others,” he said, casting another glance around the room, seeking. “Did she bring them all?”

Shanks would have answered if he’d had his mind with him, or if he could have found his voice, but both eluded him, watching Makino pick her way across the chamber towards them, the soft soles of her boots leaving no sound on the stone. She stood out from the crowd, a small, gentle shadow of dark hair and ivory skin, and eyes that swallowed up the light.

And coming to a stop before them, “Hey,” she said, casually, as though there was nothing amiss with her presence here, in a fortress full of pirates, at the court of the reigning king.

His grin was still that stupid, wholly disbelieving thing, but, “Hey,” Shanks laughed, the script old and familiar, even as it felt like he was reciting it for the very first time. He thought he might have kissed her senseless, if he’d had any of his own senses with him.

Her pleased smile told him he was being rather obvious about the fact. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “The traffic getting here was terrible.”

His mouth worked, but he had nothing to offer but that half-gaping, gobsmacked expression.

As though she’d heard the question anyway, “I figured that since we make such a good team at the tavern, I would be remiss to leave you to do this alone,” Makino said, smiling.

Shanks was still scrambling to catch up. It was a feat deciding what to even say, all of his usual, quick-found wit failing him, along with his voice.

“I take it you answer to ‘Captain’ now?” Ben asked in his stead, warm amusement rolling off the words, and Makino’s smile brightened.

“Not only that,” she said. From across the room, Yasopp caught her eye, and raised his glass with a shout of ‘Bosslady!’ that had her raising her hand in a salute, and prompting an echoing chorus from the rest of his crew, who Shanks could now see intermingled with the other pirates.

“You usurped me,” he said, amazed.

Makino blinked, brows quirking innocently. “Aren’t you retired?”

Delighted grin bordering on being absolutely ridiculous, Shanks looked to Ben. “She usurped me.”

“We did warn you,” Ben said. “Repeatedly.” But his attempted dryness was ruined by the fact that he couldn’t stifle his own grin.

Shanks thought he should have managed a comeback to that, but the sight of her had him forgetting what Ben had even said. He was vaguely aware that he was still gaping.

Ben excused himself then, but when he passed her—“Captain,” he told Makino, and their shared grin told Shanks this was far from the end of it. None of them would ever let him forget this.

Somehow, he found himself quite without shits to give about the fact.

Inclining her head in a show of observing his reaction, her smile managed to somehow be both sweetly demure and utterly glib. Shanks just shook his head, although he didn’t rightly know just what he was refuting.

He reached up to cup her cheek, as though needing to touch her to convince himself that he hadn’t just conjured her from thin air (he didn’t know what was in the punch, but he doubted it was rum, and he wouldn’t have put it past himself—not to have drunk too much, or to have brought her into being like this, in full pirate regalia, an old, well-worn fantasy unearthed from a younger man’s memory).

But she was solid under his fingers, her skin warm and smooth, and he felt her smile when it lifted her cheeks, all the way to her eyes, to gather in the gentle lines at their corners.

“I brought your ship,” Makino said then.

He couldn't seem to stop grinning. “You brought more than that, from the looks of things.”

Makino looked over her shoulder, and Shanks followed, finding Luffy at the centre of the crowd. Spotting them, “Shanks!” he called loudly, waving. He had Emmy on his arm, and Shanks saw she was awake, small hands fisted in Luffy’s shirt.

Then he was making his way over, grin as bright as the lights overhead, which had claimed the baby’s attention, her mother’s eyes wide and enraptured as she craned her neck to look at them.

Shanks took them both in. And it was just two weeks since he’d last seen her, but the sight still left him short of breath, like someone had jabbed him sharply between the ribs.

“Why am I always finding my kids with you?” he asked, as Luffy strode up to where they were standing, the crowd parting to let him pass. “I don’t know if I like this trend. One of these days you’ll be calling me with a stowaway on your ship, and refuse to give them back.”

Luffy only grinned, and didn’t seem to find the insinuation at all unjustified. He had his arm wrapped around the baby twice, as though for good measure. Shanks noticed she didn’t seem to mind the fact, still distracted by the hanging lights.

He reached out to touch one small foot, claiming her attention. “You’ve flown a long way, swallow,” Shanks told her, rubbing his thumb along the arch of her foot. It got him a smile, wide and toothless, and that gurgly little giggle that was his favourite.

He brushed his fingers over the hem of her dress, noticing the little fish and the whorls of lace and seed pearls. “All dressed up for the occasion, too.” He looked at Makino, who met his eyes. The significance wasn’t lost, but it passed between them in silence, and what he said instead was, “Between the two of you, I feel like I should have made a bigger effort.”

Her smile was enduring. She very pointedly didn’t look at his pants. “Would you really?”

Shanks grinned. “Probably not.” He raised his brows suggestively. “I’m at my best without clothes, and you know it.”

Luffy made a grimace at that. “Ew,” he told the baby, before sticking his tongue out at Shanks. “I’m taking her to where there’s food. You can be gross over here.”

Before Shanks could get in another word, he’d whisked her away, but she went along for the ride, enduring the attention with staggering grace, despite the gathering crowd of curious onlookers taking shape around the Pirate King, who’d made straight for the food.

“Your daughter,” Makino mused. “A natural for the spotlight.”

Shanks watched the crowd, seeking the wide-eyed little face at its heart now. “Oh, I don’t know if it’s me she gets that from,” he said, looking back at Makino. “I’m not the only one with a penchant for dramatic entrances.”

At her delicately raised brow, he gestured to the room. “You commandeered my crew and you decided to make an appearance at the biggest outlawed event since the war. Without telling me.” He shook his head, marvelling. “This you give no warning.”

He remembered the moment he said it, the reminder as stark as the realisation that followed, and his gaze dropped to her stomach, but there was no visible indication of her condition.

He didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse. They were among allies—well, Luffy’s allies, but they were still pirates, and opportunism had little patience for loyalty. And even if Shanks had no real authority on this sea anymore, his name still carried weight, and Luffy wasn’t exactly making a secret of their connection, brandishing their daughter like a treasure.

And of course, there was the sea herself. He tried not to think about the long voyage, and all the things that could have gone wrong.

“I decided not to be afraid,” Makino said then, and Shanks lifted his eyes from her stomach to meet hers. “We were so careful, all those times, but it didn’t change anything. And I didn’t want to spend nine months sitting on my hands, fearing the worst.”

Shanks looked at her, firm in her quiet resolve. And she was right—they’d done everything they could to be safe during all her pregnancies, and in the end it hadn’t made a difference. Not for the three that had preceded their daughter, anyway.

Makino smiled then. “I have a good feeling,” she said, as though in answer to his thoughts. “And I brought Doc with me, just in case.”

The assurance was meant to ease his mind, he knew, but it was the look on her face that did it; that helped anchor his fleeting certainty, the one that had felt out of his reach ever since she’d called with the news.

Shanks held her eyes, his own smile wry. “Not just Doc.”

The far too innocent look he got in return wasn’t even remotely convincing. “I only asked for those who were willing,” Makino said.

“I’m sure you did. I’m also pretty sure they’d all sail to the ends of the ocean if you batted your eyes.”

They’d moved closer, the rest of the crowd parting to move around them. Shanks didn’t let it faze him. He had few thoughts left to spare the festivities, or why they were even there, with her standing so close. And they’d only been apart two weeks, but enough things had happened in the in-between that seeing her again, and before he’d counted on it, was almost too much.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked her. His hand hovered awkwardly at her hip, wanting to touch her, to see if he could feel a difference and if it would help solidify the news somehow, but something held him back, and he let it fall to his side.

Makino’s smile eased into understanding. “Everyone is fine,” she said. She swept her hand over her stomach once, a familiar ease in the gesture. There was a teasing light in her eyes when she added, wryly, “And I’ve been throwing up so much from the morning sickness, the seasickness barely even fazed me.”

He laughed, a soft and helpless sound. “That’s my girl.”

Lifting his hand, he curved his fingers around the back of her neck, tangling in the twist of her braid, a few loose strands escaping it. It felt coarser than usual. From wind and sea spray, he realised, with an awe that filled his chest whole. And she’d sailed the New World before, when Rayleigh had brought her from Fuschia, but that had been out of necessity. This—his ship, his crew, their daughter—was choice, wholly wilful, and just a little bit reckless. The kind of choice a pirate would make, for no other reason than because she could.

“I love you,” he told her then, seriously. “You wilful thing. You’ll give me a full head of grey hair one of these days pulling stunts like this.”

Her eyes were laughing, but the smile that softened her mouth looked suddenly unsure. “Would you rather I hadn’t come?”

“No,” Shanks said, without even a pause for breath. He brushed his thumb along her cheek, a tender arc. “I’ll take the grey hair.” He flashed her a grin, and saw how it chased the lingering doubt from her features, even before he added, “And now that you’re here, this just became a real party.”

Her laugh fell, a soft sigh over his fingers. “That’s quite the compliment, coming from you,” Makino said.

She glanced over to where Emmy was being passed around, Luffy hovering with a grin that had stretched so wide it was visible from across the full length of the chamber. “What did he call this summit for again?” she asked.

Shanks shook his head. “I forget, but now it’s apparently to show off his goddaughter.”

The baby changed hands again, and then Luffy was shouting for someone to come see. Like her brother before her, she seemed curiously accepting of his attentions, and those of the pirates who’d gathered around to watch the spectacle.

“Ace?” Shanks asked then, dragging his eyes away. “I’m going to assume you didn’t stow him away on the ship somewhere.”

Her smile made him wonder if that wasn't actually the case, but, “Only one stowaway,” Makino said, patting her stomach. At his startled grin, she said, “Dadan came over. She’s watching him. I thought about bringing him with me, but I figured it might be best if he stayed. I didn’t know what to expect from, well, this.” She gestured to the room. “And I was already bringing Emmy.”

She looked over at their daughter again, back in Luffy’s arms now. He wasn’t passing her around, seeming content to carry her, and with surprising care for a man who wasn’t exactly known for it.

“I couldn’t leave her,” Makino said. “She’s a little too young yet to be left with someone else. But I thought it would be okay. It’s not like she can run off.”

“No,” Shanks agreed, amused. “But I wouldn’t put it past the one holding her.” Shaking his head, the sigh that left him sounded suddenly old. “This is the second of our children who’s set out to sea before they’re a year old,” he told her. “And this time it’s our baby girl. I don’t know how I feel about this.”

“Hmm. Well, she’s been exemplary so far,” Makino said.

“Yeah?”

She met his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from the daughter of a former Emperor.”

“Former,” Shanks muttered, feigning affront. “I hope you know this continuous and belligerent use of the past tense is making me feel obsolete.” He looked at Luffy again, loudly delighted by the baby, and her bubbling laugh. “But on that note, His Majesty better be careful, or he’ll be the one without a throne next. Given her mother, I wouldn't put it past her."

His brows furrowed, before he muttered, "Look at them fawning." Then, "I should go over there.”

Her laughter stopped him before her hand on his arm. “Let him have his fun. It’s his first time seeing her. And he is her godfather.”

“That’s my daughter he’s passing around like a loaf of bread.”

“If that was all she was, he would have eaten her by now,” Makino said, prim, and entirely unhelpful. At his unamused look, she only smiled. “Shanks. He’s being very careful with her.”

“And the others?”

“The one with the face tattoos is making silly faces at her. I think we’re good.”

His dubious look held on for another second, but her persisting smile tempted it into yielding, his surrender punctuated by a sigh that dissolved into a laugh quite despite himself.

Shanks swept his gaze across her again, taking in the cloak and breeches. He tried to picture her on his ship, taking the helm with the same ease she took charge of things at the bar. The image came easily, and so quickly that he found he wasn’t at all surprised.

“Look at you,” he said. “My pirate wife.”

Makino smiled an odd little smile at that. “Don’t you mean pirate’s wife?”

Shanks only looked at her. “No,” he said, and she ducked her head with a grin. He touched his fingers to the bandanna, the red bright against the dark colour of her hair.

“So,” he said then, lifting his brows, and watched as her eyes flicked back up to meet his. “Do you prefer ‘Captain’ or ‘Bosslady’ now? I feel my usual endearments fall a bit short of what I’m feeling about you in this getup.”

The pleased flush in her cheeks was immensely gratifying. “Hmm,” she mused, failing spectacularly at pretending to be unaffected. “The first does have a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah? Well I know I what I’ll be calling you later.”

He traced the curve of her cheek, before echoing the touch along the embroidered silver at her neck, rough fingers brushing the soft fabric of her cloak, his callouses catching in the velvet. She was still watching him with that gently preening smile, and it took effort remembering they were in public, to not just pull her to him, as close as she'd get; to cage her small frame with his bigger one and forget everyone else.

“You know,” Shanks said, the low rumble of his voice meant only for her ears. “This is a pretty big place. And Face Tattoo is providing a very good distraction.” His smile curved, an edge full of wicked promise. “Want to sneak off?”

Makino laughed, that throaty, straight-to-the-bottom-of-his-gut sound that he’d been craving for weeks. Even high-quality whiskey couldn’t replicate that feeling. “The summit hasn’t even started yet.”

“Exactly. We have plenty of time. There’s bound to be some abandoned corner where we can get frisky.”

Her eyes curved, full of that familiar, teasing reluctance that always followed his suggestions of a quickie between their shifts at the bar. “Make a more compelling case, and I’ll consider it.”

Shanks grinned, delighted. “Always so hard to win over.” He stole a glance across the crowded room. “But if you need more incentive, Yasopp is giving us a thumbs up,” he told her, lifting his own hand in a vulgar gesture. “You should make him walk the plank for that. You have the authority to do that now.”

At her barely-contained smile, he winked. “Or you could make me walk the plank. I don’t even know what I mean by that, but with the way you look right now, I don’t really care. I’m up for anything if you keep that cloak on.”

Her smile broke through her pitiful attempt at schooling her expression, and he was grinning so badly he doubted he’d ever in his life been so painfully obvious.

They were standing so close they were almost embracing, but even if he ached with it, he didn’t reach down to kiss her, feeling the weight of the crowd around them, and knowing that for all her hard-earned ease in making a space for herself in it, there were some things she preferred to keep private. Or as private as she could, being married to him. But their crew and home was one thing; a room full of mostly strangers was another.

Reaching up, he settled his hand over her stomach instead, no awkward hesitation holding him back this time. And they had two children already, but he still struggled wrapping his mind around the thought of another one, even with the solid truth in front of him now, her skin warm through her blouse where he’d placed his hand. Under his palm, large where it spanned her small waist, her stomach curved gently, the bump barely noticeable, but he felt the implication; another little life, intricately woven into theirs.

“So, did you miss it?” Makino asked, making him look up. He’d lost himself to his thoughts, and her smile told him she’d realised as much. “The seafaring life,” she elaborated.

Someone breezed by them, the first notes of a familiar shanty rising up with their laughter, compelling more to join. Drunk off ale and saltwater, they were singing like they were moving across a tilting deck, feet unsteady and swaying on the solid stone. Like a good lover, the sea left her marks, in weak knees buckling, and a deep-seated longing for more that could never be sated. He’d known that longing intimately once.

But his feet were steady, and the only salt he longed for was the taste of her, and her hair slipping through his fingers, softer than water. It was years since the sea had left him weak in the knees, but the dainty little hands tucked over his knuckles could unravel him with a few touches. And she knew it, from the way she looked at him.

“No,” Shanks said, smiling, and when it sparked her own he lifted his hand to tuck some of her hair back into her bandanna, the thick folds of her braid gleaming, bottle-green greying at the roots, the veins of silver mirroring his, if not in sheer quantity. He touched the laugh-lines at the corners of her eyes, etched deep with self-satisfaction; the knowledge of the marks she’d left.

“That’s not what I’ve missed.”

#ahhhh how exciting!! but no worries if you don't end up feeling like it - I was just delighted to get this<3 #this fic is a few years old now but remains one of my dearest #but then it's the fic that got me back into writing for One Piece<3 #Shanks x Makino #opfanfic #Shanks #One Piece Makino #mungoe writes

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sylviareviar · 2 years ago

Note

Rightful God – Favorite boss in the series?

Gosh, it's so hard to say in Fire Emblem. I haven't actually played a lot of the games, to be honest; the only two games I've played to completion so far are Fire Emblem Fates: Birthright (and Revelation), and Fire Emblem Awakening. However, I know the story for more than half of the Fire Emblem series. I have an emulator to play an English translated version of FE: New Mystery of the Emblem, but I didn't complete it (I wanted to write a story alongside it and stopped before I got too far into the story of the game), and I still haven't finished Engage yet.

BUT. Out of ALL the Fire Emblem Bosses, so far, my favorite would have to be Awakening, despite Fates being my first FE game (and honestly I'm kinda biased towards it. People don't like Corrin for how utterly pacifistic and idealistic they are but when I played it as a kid, I genuinely thought my 3DS had somehow scanned my brain and programmed my personality into Corrin, that's how hard I related to her.)

In Awakening, the boss is the Fell Dragon Grima, and though I didn't relate to Robin nearly as hard as I did to Corrin, the story was still beautifully written and tugged at my heartstrings. Failing to save Emmeryn, defeating Walhard the Conqueror only to find out that it wasn't enough, and finally Lucina pulling her sword on you only to hesitate, because she just doesn't have it in her heart to kill her own mother... When Lucina approached my character and told her she'd figured out that I would be the one to betray Chrom, and that she asked me, if I truly loved him, to let her kill me, I immediately surrendered to her. I didn't want Chrom to die. I didn't want Lucina to lose her father a second time. But she hesitated too long, and her heart faltered. In the end, she was unable to kill me.

I became prepared, since that moment, that it might not be possible for my character to survive this. So when the ultimate choice arrived, as we finally approached Grima's battle, and my character didn't tell Chrom jack shit about their connection to the Fell Dragon, even after they learned the truth, it was only when Grima revealed to the rest of the army who I really was, and what my purpose was. Not just to be a vessel for the Fell Dragon-- to be the Fell Dragon. To be inextricably linked. One couldn't exist without the other. And so, one couldn't die without the other, either.

When that moment came, my only hesitation was leaving Chrom behind. He didn't deserve to lose a valuable ally and wife. Lucina didn't deserve to lose her mother. Neither did Morgan. But there was just no other way to save Ylisse. So I plunged my own sword through my stomach and bled out, giving my army a valuable opportunity to strike down Grima where he stood.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up in the field again, Grima's mark completely gone, and Chrom didn't look angry at me at all for dying in front of him! I was pretty happy with that ending. Awakening is an awesome game!

Sorry I got a little off track there... This is often what happens when I play a game; I can't help imagining I'm the one in the story, despite knowing I'm not. Maybe it's an autism empath thing? Or maybe I just have a wild imagination. I dunno... Sorry if that was weird. Anyway, that's my answer. Grima.

#🌸 ~ out of character ~ 🌸#:D thank you for the question #i'm still playing engage atm #so no engage spoilers pls

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kazucee · 1 month ago

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THE ENDING MADE MY HEART DROP?? KOUE? ARE YOU OK? IM AT THE EDGE OF MY DAMN BED AND YOU DROP THIS CLIFFHANGER???? Anyway besides that ending (internally I'm cursing at you but also kissing your feet because this was absolutely magnificent !)

your writting gets better every time I read one of your works. going piece by piece of my favourite bits (though lets be honest, every part is so well written I could write a whole book report on it despite it being the prologue and first chapter)

'It's like a piece of candy given to a wailing child, if all is devoured and nothing is on their palm, they would whine once more. Greed birthing upon greed like one hurricane of a sinful cycle. For a war cannot be ceased. No matter how much a pacifist begged and prayed and groveled till their knees bled beneath the stones.'

this part??????? hello? koue and political themes is something I didn't think I needed (but now I'm invested and I demand more) gosh this blurb got me by the throat, like my lungs stopped working type. political themes slap so hard when done properly and madam served so hard with this! 'knees bled beneath the stones?' felt. me begging koue to release any of their writing frfr.

'Tenderly, the boy brushes your feathers with his knuckles, inspecting closely. From the audience's seats, he didn't notice a single thing wrong about you, but up close, your colored plumages feel stiff and rough beneath his skin, untended and oily and not preened properly—the aspect of a halovian's wings are their basis of pride, divine innocence and most of all, freedom. It's their most cherished possession, ridding one of its feathers means cutting their life to the ground, to be helpless, to die flightless.'

THIS ONE MADE MY EYES GLASSY IF I'M BEING HONEST. had to stop, chat koue, reread it, and inhale. reread, inhale, wipe eyes, repeat. It sent me through a rollercoaster, and I got whiplash. READER MY BELOVED CHILD, SHE IS JUST A BABY. WHEN I FIND THE PEOPLE WHO DARE HURT HER. But koue? The emotion in this scene is so well delivered (articulated, presented, THE WORDS? THEEEE WORDSSSS) and I like how you included how sacred halovian wings are to them (yes. YES.) 'to be helpless, to die flightless.' my heart pinched, legit ached, did I mention how well written this part is? don't underestimate koue and their angst capabilities or you'll get shot.

"My dream will involve everyone. It will be a paradise where the weak will be protected and one day, when we are older, if you wish for a stage to perform I'll build you one, something more grander than Velvet house, where everyone will love you and your voice. Pain and harassment will not be a factor."

dare i say the best dialogue to ever dialogue. LIKE YES SIR GET YOUR DREAM ! I LOVED THIS PART. idk it shows how determined this young man is to give the people a better life (YES KOUE. YES. HIS CHARACTER IS JUST CHEFS KISS. guys its THE Sunday writer ever) i want nothing but to hug Sunday, you made him all rough edges and callouses at the ripe age of 15 (i hate that he's pushed to study so hard already, seething actually) yet despite his upbringing he still finds a way to be a gentle soul (and a total loser but we love him for it) 'if you wish for a stage to perform I'll build you one' OK? SIR? its giving 'if i cant run to you ill walk and if i cant walk ill crawl'

'It only took a day or two to realize how similar you two were; she dreamt about being a star one day, you responded kindly to the same notion, your child-like dreams of performance still small and conserved, passion growing like a flavorful fresh fruit.'

reader being best friends with Robin is everything to me ! i love them, two twin stars taking the world by storm >:.DD AND SUNDAY BEING HAPPY ABOUT IT? BUT ALSO NOT BEING ABLE TO JOIN THEM BECAUSE OF HIS STUDIES? IM SOBBING. GOPHER WHEN I CATCH YOUR ASS. but sunday being soft towards the two special ladies in his life??>>>>> SOBBING.

“Don’t leave yet, you don’t have to if you don’t want to—” You were quick to say, noticing the complicated expression caking his golden eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just been two weeks and I…I have been looking for a reason to approach you, this was the only thing I could come up with.”

IF THIS DIDNT MAKE YOU SOB. there's smth so innocent and pure about their relationship (living for it, I truly am holy shhhhhhh) and I AM LOVING THE PACING (CALLING IT, FRIENDS TO LOVERS, MAYBE ENEMIES ALONG THE WAY) but like their conversations >>> koue can really dialogue like no other. it's so in character? it's so animated and it really brings the entire story to life? i can't compliment you more my darling well done indeed.

'And as for Sunday, the young scholar boy continues to fall into the currents of your mannerisms, your bold trajectory, your hauntingly drawn smile, deeper than anyone can sink themselves into.'

gosh i honestly wish i could quote the entire book because !!! but. anyways. I'm in love with reader? like robin is, the children too and the sisters and sunday? LIKE COUNT ME IN BECAUSE READER IS SUCH A LOVELY DARLING GIRL I LUV EM SO MUCH. PROPS TO YOU FOR MAKING SUCH AN EASY TO LOVE CHARACTER.

end notes: yes i could rant about this till the next day, yes I'm serious about the book report part, yes idc if it is tldr because I needed to express my love for this series. i remember koue mentioning that they're afraid of posting because it was too long? but honestly the wc doesn't even matter to me especially if it is well written and paced nicely ! it's like I'm transported into the world and I get lost in it, to my beloved spouse, your writing is great, if you still doubt yourself then this entire ass reblog was for naught >:O. ALSO, I am doing this of my free will because I want to, not because I'm compelled to, I see a well-written story, I compliment the crap out of it, and that's it, nothing to it. KOUE DARLING, ONCE AGAIN, STANDING OVATION FOR YOU (PLS DROP THE NEXT CHAPTER SOON BEFORE I START CHEWING ON THE BARS)

CHAPTER ONE. HIS BECKONING SALVATION.

SERIES SYNOPSIS, “For his tongue reckon with the beggary and treachery of her.” The narrative of the sun-burnt boy towards the moon-bruised girl, wherein Aeons dare play them both like a sedative, bore them starved for a disastrous relationship.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Sunday x fem!halovian reader. mentions of physical abuse and mutilation, religious metaphors, world-building for Penacony, not canon-compliant to hsr lore. historical + semi-steampunk au! [8.1k wc]

𐔌౨ৎ 、 MASTERLIST ノ NEXT CHAPTER

“Hounds, seize the man in the red tailcoat. The girl is a victim." His young raspy tone coils around the audience like a snake, the pin drop silence, then the haunting allure of your voice comes to a decrepit halt.

Sunday tastes the chaos first before understanding what had happened, what he had just done.

The Hounds were on the move due to his command, undressing clear aggression towards the people in charge of tonight's show. The audience had jumped up from their seats, scattering and fleeing when they recognized the Bloodhound seals on their vest and the muted colors of their uniforms. Gopher Wood doesn't spare another second once his feet touch the stage, his long coat swishing through the cold air.

"In the name of Penacony's esteemed law, I hereby arrest the suspected perpetrators involved in Velvet House's illicit activities of child trafficking."

"Mister Chamberlain, sir!" The man in the red tailcoat stresses out, cries, struggles out of the grasps of a Hound tying him down like a shackle.

"Please have mercy! I was wrong, I was—"

"Your words have no power here." Gopher's tone is ice cold, his crow wings rustling sharply. "Save your pliant cries before the Judges, and pray that your punishment will be in your favor."

"No, please I cannot afford this! Please let me explain myself!"

"Take him away."

Gopher waves a hand at the Hounds, they simply nod their heads, dragging the hysterical man off the stage. Sunday is reluctant as he steps beside the Minister, fingertips trembling from anxious thrill.

"...What will become of him?" He asks.

"The man had committed a heavy crime in the Ménage, if all votes are in favor of punishment then he as well as the folks involved will be sentenced to death—each will take a silver cup of poison wine." Gopher doesn't dare sugarcoat his words, pin needles of guilt pricks at the flesh of Sunday's benign heart.

"And, if the votes go for the latter option?"

Gopher takes a glance at him. "The latter option is seeking atonement for their sins. If the President orders it, they will be exiled to the borders of the Reef where they will spend their remaining days begging for absolution, forced to train as soldiers, they will die valiantly trying to protect our Nation from the remaining Legion."

So death, still.

The guilt within the boy grows thick, enough for bitterness to settle heavy on his tongue. These men will be dead because of his command.

"That's horrible."

"Sunday, I'll speak candidly with you." The young boy is surprised when Gopher drops to a knee in front of him.

"You've done well speaking up." Gopher says. "Cease such sensitivity of yours. Sometimes, there will be a price for freedom. And to fight for goodness, there will be moral conflicts that will be sent to you as a challenge. To protect the weak, we could trample over those who take advantage of the downtrodden ones. It is difficult but it is still our duty, Sunday."

Protect the weak.

The man straightens, then once Sunday's name leaves his lips one last time, without awaiting the response of the young boy he saunters off to deal with the aftermath of the subjugated traffickers, telling Sunday to take a rest if he feels overwhelmed with the situation. What he had said was the truth, after all.

Sunday is not God, he cannot appease everyone, and not everyone will see his beliefs to be absolute, that's why law enforces such as the Hounds still exist even after the civil war—or any war even before that, even when the bold words of Independence happen to be pasted in every billboard and graffitied walls around the Capital—

It was simply just another appeasement.

Another reassurance for the public.

It's like a piece of candy given to a wailing child, if all is devoured and nothing is on their palm, they would whine once more. Greed birthing upon greed like one hurricane of a sinful cycle.

For a war cannot be ceased. No matter how much a pacifist begged and prayed and groveled till their knees bled beneath the stones.

Gopher Wood told him so during one of his studies, don't waste your time clinging to hope that can kill you, even with your selective ignorance on the matter the results will not change.

Even when he had uttered the command to send traffickers to death's door, it was supposed to be an accomplishment.

But Sunday's too bitter and guilt-ridden to feel a huff of pride from his achievement.

An hour has passed then, still, Sunday muddled on his transgression. Thirty minutes later, he pins his back straight; the theatre now is empty of audience, under the jurisdiction of the Bloodhounds, from the report given to them, there are roughly twenty-one children found in the backstage of the building, some former orphans from the war, others trafficked to be laboured as rising singers for on stage performances.

His leg couldn't stop bouncing. Restless, he's so restless all of a sudden. Sunday cannot help but let his thoughts wander to you, the young Halovian on the center stage that had such a grenadine syrup singing voice. He hasn't seen you since your call for help and his command to arrest. Did something happen?

"Would you like a drink, young lord?" A younger Hound had approached, a glass of water in hand.

Sunday takes it silently. "Where will the children go after this?"

"Well, it depends. First, we need to verify their identities before they are taken here. After that, they will be taken to the Great hall where parents with missing kids will come to pick up their kins."

"And, if the children have no parents nor identities?"

The dark cobalts of the Hound's eyes flicker briefly to him. "Then, the Governors will assign them a residence, they will be raised in comfort then trained to be military civil servants."

The young boy couldn't stop himself from feeling so utterly restless, he stood up. "May I ask where they are now?"

There was a brief hesitancy with the young Hound. "I believe they are still backstage, going through individual inspection."

Sunday thanks him and saunters off towards the direction pointed.

Once he opens the heavy flaps of red theatre curtains, he cuts through the small crowd, side-stepping with ease. Big, amber eyes fly quickly—he's trying to find you, a girl with wings and a ringed halo like scattered stars, wearing attire as bare white as sunlight, white ribbons that drag across the stage floor. He remembers your cocktail hat that rests like a crown above your head, the white veil that hides the elusiveness of your eyes, the curve of your lips as you smile. It's daunting to him, he doesn't know you and yet he still seeks you out.

Where could you have gone?

Eight minutes have passed, his footfalls take him to every nook and cranny of the Velvet House until he is certain he has reap the entire place. When the time bleeds five more minutes, his steps turn mild and he's heaving tired breaths, hand pressed against the wall supporting his weight.

For a split moment, he wondered if you ever existed at all—it's like you had vanished like a wisp of dainty smoke when your performance was interrupted prematurely. Sunday dabs his forehead with the edge of his sleeve,

Then, he hears a foreign noise.

It almost sounded like a chair creaking under heavy weight.

When the boy glances up, there's a sliver of moonlight spilling in from one of the open doors on the corridor he was on. Without thinking and with nowhere else to go, he approaches slowly, carefully, the door croaking loud when he pushes it open.

Under the dimly lit room he is greeted with the sight of a girl, standing on her tippy-toes up on a rickety chair, reaching for something that's clearly out of her reach at the top shelf of a bookcase. His sudden presence clearly alerts her and she spins, almost stumbling from her perfect stance—Sunday's eyes fly open and his heart stutters as she starts to lose her balance.

"Hey! Be careful—!"

The chair topples and a heavy thud resounds around the room, along with a few books that fell from its place in the case.

Sunday's chest and entire back blooms with a sudden rush of pain, his face crumpling on a wince.

"Oww..."

His amber eyes peered down and his eyes lock with you as he had you in his embrace to crush the fall of your impact.

The boy diverts his eyes, then looks back at you, clearly at the loss with what to do.

"Uhm." His hands come up to softly hold your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

A second of silence.

"I think so.."

With two of his hands on your own, he helps you up slowly. Then he leans down to brush the dust from your dress.

"Sorry." Sunday goes for an apology. "I didn't mean to startle you, I—"

"Wait a second."

He looks up at your cushiony voice, your eyes seem to hover on the shape of his halo under the candlelight.

Sunday could've sworn he saw wonderment within your eyes.

"You're that halovian boy with the large halo." You say, your enthused tone resting upon his ears and it seemed as if the world had stilled.

Sunday sees the expression on your face and finally he takes every inch of you. Gone was your stylish hat, what remains is a silky dress that seems to ebb and flow around your limbs and legs. Your eyes encased his in orphic merriment.

"Yes, hi." He almost scowls at himself, he hates how that sounded between his teeth. "You're...the one that performed today, your voice is very beautiful."

Your chuckle is feathery and tasted like sweet fruit. You turn away from him to pick up a notebook that fell on the floor, brushing your fingers against its leather cover.

"So why are you in this part of the building, lost?"

"Of that nature, yes."

He doesn't say that he's been looking for you, specifically. He doesn't even know why he felt that way. At the corner of his membrane, he vaguely wanted to ask if you were okay—or inquire why you had asked for his assistance, he wouldn't have made a move if you hadn't done that.

To the boy's misfortune, you see through his white lie.

"You know, if you hadn't called for the Bloodhounds earlier, I would have assumed you were really lost." You tell him with a hardened look. "You're not even supposed to be here in this room."

If you hadn't called for the Bloodhounds.

"So you knew I wasn't just some audience member from the start." He asks you, non-accusatory.

"It doesn't take a genius to see you are different from the rest." You start. "You were in one of the high balconies—only those in high positions are allowed to enter there."

Sunday doesn't know whether you said it as an insult or a compliment. He clears his throat, "Then I wanted to ask you something, why did you ask me to help you?"

Sunday remembers his own humming halo, before hearing your voice in his head. He wonders why you had chosen to converse with him of all people in the audience, you could've called for the Minister instead, but you chose him specifically.

"I just knew you would help." Your gentle smile doesn't leave too much for him to wonder. "I saw it in your eyes."

It takes a long time for you to answer, his amber eyes don't leave you as you brush past him, footsteps thudding softly against wooden planks to stare out the window that acts like a halo around your figure—like performance lights.

Skepticism is sewn between his brows. Everything is quiet now, Sunday doesn't know what to say or do but watch you. The room is too dark to completely see anything but for a split second when the curtains raise to invite street lamps to pour in the room—he notices something.

His heart stutters, then he closes the distance between the two of you. One hand weighs heavy on your shoulder, the other rips the curtains wide so the light has no choice but to cascade in.

Sunday's shock at the sight.

There are deep scars, clumsy and messy, almost like wine blemishes greeting him between the peaks of stylish fabric. Amber eyes then trace along the wounds, it stops closely at the deep scratches where your wings were, like someone had dug red in the root of it.

"What happened to your..."

Your smile is bitter but you dare not answer him. Despite being young and powerless, Sunday's not a fool. He instantly places two together.

The reason for your cry for help, the trafficked children, your injuries...

"You're not from Penacony, are you?" He touches your wrist, pulling you close then closer, breathing almost a whisper in case anyone else was listening.

"You're from New Ebondium."

Sunday's eyes are wide open now, grim and stiff with the revelation—a polar opposite from yours that remains passive, too calm for his liking.

"I guess."

"You guess?"

You chuckle then, it seems like the situation hasn't weighed down on you. Even if it did, you don't seem too concerned with it. "You're smart. I am a foreigner, I was trafficked from New Ebondium. It's easy to exploit a land that was defeated, no?"

Your eyes trail to the window, massaging a tentative finger to your wounded ear wings.

"They tried to cut it off with a pair of rusty old scissors a few days ago." You start, "to them, they didn't care what I am—I'm nothing but a scum from New Ebondium—they said. They also wondered if halovian wings would fetch a high price in the market. That's why I asked for help from you, I thought you'd do something about those bastards and you did."

Sunday's shock turns to fury.

"Blasphemous."

White hot anger rises from his throat and deeper within his veins, a surge of protectiveness. It didn't matter if war ceased three years ago. Whatever the outcome, the victors would always be aligned with honor, breeding pride and prejudice, a slow cycle for the absolute victors and punishment-bearers.

This was not the dream of victory Sunday honors.

Tenderly, the boy brushes your feathers with his knuckles, inspecting closely. From the audience's seats, he didn't notice a single thing wrong about you, but up close, your colored plumages feel stiff and rough beneath his skin, untended and oily and not preened properly—the aspect of a halovian's wings are their basis of pride, divine innocence and most of all, freedom. It's their most cherished possession, ridding one of its feathers means cutting their life to the ground, to be helpless, to die flightless.

It's the fact that your birth-given wings beneath your ears have already been threatened to be chopped off, you haven't even fully grown out your secondary wings yet...

Sunday pulls himself out of his own thoughts when he feels palms lifting his cheeks up.

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment the two of you stay like that, watching the other's folded expression closely.

"You're sad." You concluded after your inspection. "Why are you sad?"

Why were you asking this question?

"You think I shouldn't feel sad about this?"

"No one has." You answer him. "Not the Penaconian folks and definitely not someone like you."

Someone like me, you say. Sunday should feel insulted from such distinctions. But at the back of his head, he knows you're right.

He lets out a shaky exhale.

It's weird. The feeling tickling in his chest is different, there's a tentative pull that he feels towards you but he cannot quite understand why. Aside from Robin no one else had expressed trust in him, a trust that didn't have any basis or solid ground. You had trusted him the moment your eyes met from across the stage, trusted him of your origin and your wounds from harassment that mar the canvas of your body.

You trusted him despite not knowing him.

Sunday doesn't understand.

By the time the inspection was finished, Sunday had to leave the room and you were called back with the other kids. The night was dead and the rain had stopped pouring, mechanical carriages awaited outside as Bloodhounds ushered the children within.

"Where have you run off to?"

Sunday looks up at Gopher, the night rests peacefully upon his face, his arms crossed softly over his chest. The young boy avoids eye contact first, then looks back at his deep eyes, "I just wanted to take a look around the area."

"Hm." Gopher hums. "Next time, take someone from the Bloodhounds with you. You could've run into trouble."

Run into trouble. The man's deep voice invokes doubt, enough to pierce and stumble Sunday's self-morale.

He bites his tongue.

"Of course."

The young boy focuses on the line of children in front of them, he's reminded of you. Sunday knew that if these kids will grow up, they will be like lambs to a slaughter. To be entangled in a more governed and high atrocity the closer they get to the Capital.

And then there's you, a girl from the enemy land, the girl who loves to perform—born to be one. One mishap from you and your life would tumble down like a weed in a garden.

'Oh, aren't you that halovian boy with the large halo?' 'My instincts told me to trust you.' 'Why are you sad?'

Your voice is in Sunday's head, your tone absent of any sort of expectations or contempt.

It felt like petals falling, your voice that is.

Sunday wants to hear it again—he cares.

He felt like he had the responsibility to look after you now after that statement of yours, after relishing briefly in your company, the young boy cannot help but crave for more, like a moth to a flame.

So when you appear from the door, following the line to the carriage—he steps out from his place beside the Minister, he cannot help but reach out and circle your wrist, the line that flowed like a stream suddenly meeting its disturbance, the boy could feel many eyes on him, burning his skin. It almost makes him flush red with embarrassment, but your eyes appear gentle like he'd remember a few moments ago beneath that moonlight, encouraging, so he stills his determination.

"Son?" Gopher questions.

But Sunday's eyes are on you.

You're sad. Why are you sad?

You think I shouldn't feel sad about this?

No one has. Not the Penaconian folks and definitely not someone like you.

"You're wrong because I care." He tells you, he feels the warmth of your wrist, the pulse on his fingertip, pouring at a similar rhythm of his own heartbeat. "Pain is still pain. It does not discriminate, not with rugs or with riches."

From there on, he has made his final decision and turns to his guardian.

"Mr. Gopher Wood." Says Sunday, a tinge of weakness in his tone, he takes another breath, fists clenched.

"I want her." He says. "As a companion for Robin and I."

"Sunday." Gopher's eyes narrow. "If you demand something, speak with a voice of confidence, only then will I listen to you."

Sunday's eyes widened, this was the first time the Minister had given him a chance to explain himself. He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his palm.

He looks at you gingerly. "Will you come with me?"

You seem also shocked by his actions, but you're quick to recover. "Only if you allow it."

"Then, she'll be coming back with me to the Church, Mr. Gopher Wood."

There was a splotch of silence, then a small exhale from the tall man. "Alright then. If you wish for a friend, who am I to refuse my son's request?" Sunday's surprise of Gopher Wood's pliancy on the matter. Sunday beckons you to stand with him and watch as the last remaining kids enter the carriage. The Minister had his final say with some of the Bloodhound officers and Sunday diverted his attention, ready to take you to their carriage.

He stops when he notices you staring up at the Velvet House once more, you squeezed Sunday's hand. "You told me pain is still pain despite rugs or riches."

"Yes, I did."

"Then, do you truly understand my pain?"

Sunday notices the melancholy framing your irises and the lilt of your tone, he tilts his head and says your name for the first time that night. That garners your attention and you look back at him,

He releases your hand only to reach out and hold both your ear wings upon his cupped palms. He feels the feathers once again and remembers its touch of roughness—he hasn't told you this, but there was a time where both he and Robin had smoke rubble and tangy blood caking their feathers. It was such a long time ago, but Sunday would dare not forget his mother's caresses and final words.

He holds your face softly, "My dream will involve everyone. It will be a paradise where the weak will be protected and one day, when we are older, if you wish for a stage to perform I'll build you one, something more grander than Velvet house, where everyone will love you and your voice. Pain and harassment will not be a factor."

You stare dumbfounded at his bold statement, Sunday sees your eyes turn starry-eyed.

"You promise?" You asked him, hopeful.

The boy is still young, doe-eyed and ruddy-cheeked, skin still dewy from any tribulations, with the first touch of the sun on the tip of his tongue when he says,

"I promise you."

“Another dead Halovian, sir.” There is a strain in the officer's tone, the body before them covered with a plain sheet, concealing the corpse.

"She was a widowed baron's wife." Gopher Wood's brows knotted, conflicted. The night lamp from afar provides ample light, glittering the chain hanging from his glasses.

"Are there any leads?"

"The local detectives are on their way here. But it will take about a day or two to gather any concrete evidence."

"What a waste of precious time." the man chastises. "By the time the detectives finish their work, the perpetrator would have escaped the city."

"My apologies, Chamberlain. However with the issues of Lady Constance's funeral preparations, the missing merchants and the suspicious activities of New Ebondium our resources are running incredibly thin."

Gopher Wood cannot help but pinch the bridge of his nose, rarely does he show any pint of irritation but the ongoing problem has been thinning his patience. "I had told those ignoramus Family heads to handle this affair weeks ago. Time and time again they have proven to be incompet—"

He catches himself before insults can spill any further. The atmosphere hushes into silence, merely the humming of lamplight and the distance roars of mechanical gears fill the cracked air.

Gopher barely turns his head, fixing his gloves. "Sunday."

"Yes, Minister?"

"This situation shall be kept hidden from the public and there's nothing more for you to learn today, you may head back to the Church."

The boy tilts his head. "Then, I’ll take my leave."

The night is achingly cold, even with him bundled up in a woolen scarf. His chauffeur guides him back to the awaiting carriage at the end of the alleyway, the young boy gets in and they are set off. When Sunday leans his elbow by the window sill, the radio starts to sputter:

"Convicted suspects of the horrible discovery in the downtown sector of the Velvet House have already been sentenced to their execution a few system hours ago. Their punishment to drink a half-pint of foxglove from a silver goblet, they have been—"

Sunday closes his eyes.

"Coach."

"Yes, young lord?"

"Please turn the radio off."

"Right away, young lord." His eyes remain vacant on the moving road, his fingers thrumming on his lap. Aside from the silence from the lessening radio, he could hear the distant roars of mechanical wirings and cogs from the Industrial Capital, the clips of horses' hooves as his carriage continued to roll by the granite road.

And just like that, after two weeks of hearing about the trials, the judgment, following the Minister around, the people involved with the trafficking had met their tragic end.

Penacony's news and radios had been sputtering about the incident, coupling it with the gasps from passersby and locals of all the sectors that bore witness to such atrocities. Two weeks of nonstop rumors and gossip about the tainted downtowns of deepened black market connections running haywire, and how they had gone radio silent after the crimes had surfaced to the Capital and the Bloodhounds.

In a couple of weeks people will move on from the topic, and days will continue to ebb and flow like clockwork.

That also means it has been exactly two weeks since you came to the Church.

Two weeks since Sunday last spoke to you.

Your schedule doesn't seem to find a crossroad. On the night of your arrival to the Church, the Minister had pulled Sunday aside,

"You've matured, Sunday." Gopher Wood had a different expression on his face. "I will tell the Academy to change your general studies to something more befitting. It's about time you start learning how to be a leader of this Nation."

Sunday should've been more aware of this outcome. The price of the Minister's lack of scolding on the matter concerning you—was Sunday's obedience and devotion to his growing responsibility. And thus, more weight was added on his shoulders.

With more duties on his plate comes the sacrifice of spending less time with his sister or having leisure time for himself.

The carriage stops. "We have arrived, please watch your step when you exit, master."

Sunday straightens, picking up his textbooks and exiting the carriage, what greets him at the entrance of the Church was one of the sisters that raised him, her smile kind, "Welcome back, Sunday. You've done well today, allow me to take your textbooks to your room."

"Thank you but there's no need, Sister Ruth." Sunday hesitates. "Is Robin home already?"

"Yes, she finished her recitals earlier and is now singing for tonight's sermon—ah." Ruth's eyes brighten. "That young girl volunteered to sing tonight as well, both have such lovely voices. Miss Robin and her seem to be enjoying each other's company."

A small smile graces Sunday's lips. "I see."

During the short time busying himself with the Minister's demands, he has found how you and Robin had grown closer to one another each passing day.

It was an instant click of friendship, Robin warmed up to you first after hearing of your circumstances (of course, Sunday hid the fact that you were New Ebondium-borne).

It only took a day or two to realize how similar you two were; she dreamt about being a star one day, you responded kindly to the same notion, your child-like dreams of performance still small and conserved, passion growing like a flavorful fresh fruit. The other day, Sunday saw how Robin had enthusiastically pulled you to join her in her recitals and practices, sometimes during the lukewarm afternoon light, he would hear you both giggling over in Robin's room or he would see you two care for the other children, tidying up the dinette table together, talking and grinning, the kids offering you a wreath to crown your head, the sisters patting your head or cheek affectionately.

It always brings a smile to Sunday's face to see you getting along so well with the others, a little relieved that Robin has another companion of her age whenever the boy is too busy. But at the same time, Sunday cannot help but feel a bit left out, a type of bittersweetness on the duvet of his expression whenever he sees you and the others, a gaping ache of loneliness in his chest that continues to grow a ravine, but he swallows down his own emotions.

"Would you like to join them?" Ruth asks. "I can go ahead and—"

"No, it's alright. I…" Sunday hesitates a second too late. "The Academy is expecting me to do well for the next exams, I have to study. Please send my greetings to those two."

Ruth's smile is softer now, sad. "Okay. Be sure to take breaks in the middle, young lord." The boy feels a warm hand caressing his cheek, almost achingly akin to a mother's touch of concern. "You're still fifteen, you shouldn't be worked up over things like these so early."

"I know." Sunday sends her a kind smile, pivoting in his heel after bidding her a curt farewell.

But he can't help but worry about his future responsibilities as the future successor, too busy worrying to join you and Robin so leisurely,

And his loneliness is quickly filled with matters of the Ménage.

The night is growing colder by the minute and Sunday finds himself leafing through the pages of one of his books—he cannot find it in him to sleep with ease, deprived and muddled with so many troubles. The Academy has high hopes for him to rank one and sooner or later depending on how he performs, he will be introduced as the Chamberlain's successor at the next banquet in the heart of the Ménage.

Sunday closes his eyes for a moment, a headache rampant. It's too much.

He sighs heavily, leaning his head against his arm. A knock on the door pulls him from his own thoughts, he flinches at the unexpected disturbance.

"Who's there?" He calls out softly, his eyes wander to the clock, 2:34am. It's so late for someone to come over. Silence answers him at first, however Sunday could hear the heartbeat of the person on the opposite side of the door, a mellow whisper and a dainty shuffle of feet beneath the wood.

"Sunday?" His breath hitches at your soft voice. "May I come in?"

The chair is dragged back as he stands. When he reaches the door he cannot help but fleet his gaze to the mirror in the corner, he squints beneath the dim light, pressing his shirt flat from creases, making sure his cowlicks are tamed down and presentable; he fusses over his appearance for a while before he cracks the door open.

His eyes sought yours and just like that, his lethargy lessens. You greet him on the other hand, your familiar smile decorating your lips, head tilted to the side.

"Hi."

"Hey." Sunday pauses, eyes looking you up and down, a frown on his lips. "The night is getting chillier, why are you only wearing cotton?"

He reaches out, albeit reluctantly for your hand to tug you in—only to jolt from how icy your fingers feel.

He sighs then. “Take care of yourself.”

His kiss-warmth hands are firm over your own, the boy pulls out a wool blanket from his wardrobe, wrapping it generously around your shoulders. He closes the door to his room and asks you to follow him to the lounge where a fireplace rests. You both sit in front of the hearth as Sunday clumsily cracks fire embers on the wood, it took a minute or two before red crumbs grew bright, licking up charred wood and humming through the empty air.

"Thank you." You let out a puff of breath, inching your cold fingers near the fire, then you turn to him. "Sorry if I'm disturbing you, I just couldn't sleep."

"No, no—" He's quick to clear his throat. "It's alright, really. I couldn't sleep either." His golden eyes drop to the heavy book being cradled to your chest.

"Looks like the two of us have things on our minds."

When Sunday looks back at you, your eyes are tipped upward in a smile.

He looks away immediately.

He hasn't mentioned it but it still feels a little odd to see you walking around the Church like that; hair untied, dressed in a simple cotton fabric—maybe he was used to seeing you in that silk-priced performance dress back at Velvet House but as you walk around, there's something else that seem to change about you.

There's still an air of untouched sophistication about you, your steps feather-like and quiet, sometimes he feels like if there is any form of danger right around the corner you won't hesitate to up and vanish like a smoke. But now, there's grounded reassurance—with the light of the fire, your wings appear preened and fluffier than usual, like it's been taken care more, it susurrates as you flap it. You settle comfortably on the floor beside him, nose buried into the blanket around your shoulder, and Sunday thinks that you look domestic, more like a child now than before.

You open your eyes. "Robin mentioned how much of a scholar you are."

He chuckles. "I'm just alright."

"Really?" You tilt your head. "You seem to like spending more time with books and scriptures than wanting to spend time with us."

Sunday's lips curve into a thin smile, he jots down about your unexpected boldness in his head then he quietly takes the empty space beside you, the floor creaking under his light weight. His wings flap once, twice. peeved and troubled. "I don’t particularly like scriptures as much as you thought." He turns his attention to the book you have. "What do you have there?"

He sees you look at him, down at the book, then up again.

"Oh." Your fingers are tentative over the letters inked onto the book. "This is just a book from the library I found. I was wondering if you knew of this." A pause. "I just didn't know how to approach you."

Sunday shakes his head, then leans in. "What is it? I can teach you if you want."

The boy wasn't expecting you to inch closer to his face, he refrains his wings from expressing his fluster and surprise, tucking it beneath his ears daintily when he sees you cup a palm around your mouth, your voice becoming whispery and hushed on his ear.

"It's about the Reef."

"The Reef,” He echoes. “The one that borders Penacony and separates the land from New Ebondium?" Sunday swallows his bash and answers you in a scholarly tone.

You nod your head. "Yes."

"Why are you curious about it?"

"The folks from the Velvet House mentioned it a couple of times back then." There's a look of adamancy in your expression, something that stirs Sunday. "They mentioned how difficult it is to go through the Reef and cross the border, why is that?"

The young boy thinks about it for a moment, during his travels he finds himself picking up certain information not privy to the public ears—on one of his journey towards the Serenity District, the closest location to the Reef itself—he has heard of Bloodhound officers talking about a creature spotted in that zone, not exactly the Legion but something more sinister.

Sunday spares you a look, his amber eyes glowing beneath the late hour. He leans forward, enough that his lips are brushing the feathers of your wings.

"There's a mimema in there."

"What's a mimema?"

"A meme." He simply says. "A creature as big as the most priced stallions in the high districts, said to have multiple eyes, golden claws and a weird...inky proportion."

He can feel your long silence. Then you ask, "Like a monster almost?"

"Yeah, almost. People have been said to have disappeared whilst crossing the Reef, mostly verified merchants trading to and fro." Sunday pauses. "That's just a myth though."

"I see." Your fingertip runs across the page, tracing the lines of a map on the book. "Then, can you teach me more about Penacony? I barely know anything about it aside from the Velvet House."

Sunday blinks his amber eyes down at you, the fire continues to crackle and burn. "Why me?"

"Why not you?"

"I'm," he looks away, insecurity is quick to well up inside of him as he remembers Mister Gopher Wood’s critique. You still have a lot to learn, son. He told him one time, and the young boy is quick to believe it.

"I'm not that good yet.” He tells you, and a pang coils through the air at the sound of rejection, he readies himself to stand and return to his room. “Forgive me but it’s best if you ask Robin or the Sisters…”

“Sunday, wait.” You catch the palm of his hand in yours, stopping his pace completely.

Then and there, young Sunday realizes the issue. He starts to piece together your unexpected visit, your sudden interest about Penacony and your request for him to teach you.

Two weeks, he has busied himself with other matters that he hasn’t spoken to you in that long. He thought Robin’s company was enough to satiate you, or the presence of the Sisters and the other children that you don’t need him.

He thought you didn't need him, but here you were, reaching out to him first when he should’ve kept his promise to you the moment he intertwined his hands with yours and offered you to come live with him.

“I just want to spend more time with you.” He finally sees the look of loneliness in your eyes, your hand squeezes his own, a lingering yearning in your own eyes. “You were the one that helped me and took me away from that hell. I just want us to be friends at the very least.”

Sunday cannot help but stare at you simply. There's valiance pooling in your eyes, a shine that dares to overflow it makes his breath hitch. The young boy clears his throat, he turns away—the apple of his cheeks burning and not because of the hearth's warmth—he traces his steps back and occupies the space beside you once again, the action makes your shoulders slump in relief.

His amber eyes are akin to the fire in front of both of you, “You don’t need to say all of that, I already see you as a friend.”

Your eyes seem to sparkle at his reply, your hands are still latched, and the boy is hyper aware of the feel of your cool fingers and the mild calluses written on your palm. He reaches out to brush some rebellious strands from your face, “I should be the one to say sorry, I was the one who brought you here and I never gave you reassurance.”

You shake your head. “I knew there were other things that worried you. I saw it in your eyes when you were talking with that Minister,”

So, even you noticed that.

You continued, “Robin has told me a lot about you.” Sunday cannot help but feel bashful at your confession. “She’s worried about you too, you know. She wants you to lean on her when you feel overwhelmed.”

Sunday’s smiles thin and he replies to your statement, a light-hearted chuckle leaving his lips. The night continues to prolong and ink through the minutes, however the two of you find yourself staying in each other’s company in the lounge. You were an easy person to be around, you were willing to listen as conversation quickly fills the background. Your chatting ranged from random spurts of topics you wish to tell the other—talking about your days in the Church, what you liked and disliked—to in-depth talks about philosophies from Sunday, even if there was a lack of heartfelt conversations tonight, it didn’t matter. The boy had yearned to interact with you since he saw you in Velvet House, being able to chat with ease about anything and everything was all that he needed.

That night, Sunday learned more about you as you did with him. You didn’t realize how long you both lingered and talked that the fire had reached its lifetime, and the dregs of sleep had pulled you both under, conquering your consciousness. The enthusiastic chattering quickly shifts into silence and you both fall asleep on the lounge floor, huddled together with the blanket Sunday had lent you.

By the next morning, the young boy awakens with Robin poking his cheek. His drowsy amber eyes fall to his sister’s sly expression and only then did he realize how he had fallen asleep whilst chatting with you throughout the night, and how he had you close to him, an arm beneath your head to act like a cushion at the absence of a pillow and his other arm draped over the blanket like he’s shielding you from the cold.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Robin coos teasingly. “Seems like the two of you had fun without me last night.”

“It’s not like that.” Robin could only laugh sweetly which made Sunday’s ears brush red yet again. It seems as if his soft skin had melange with rud these days. The boy sits up, cradling your head as you continue to slumber and he looks down at you softly.

Robin sees this and gets up from her crouched position, her dress fluttering “Her room is just across from mine.” She tells him. “I’ll help make breakfast. Take care of her, brother. She’s been through a lot.”

With one last smile in his direction, Robin exits the lounge leaving Sunday to ponder. Take care of her, brother, the sentence resonates through him. Without sparing another second, Sunday winds a hand around your shoulder and the other under your knees to lift you up into his embrace. You seem to unconsciously drift closer to him, your cheek and tucked wing making home on the crook of his neck as Sunday takes you to your own room.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach it, struggling a little with you in his arms and juggling the doorknob open. Sunday hasn’t been inside your own space before, but as soon as he steps inside the boy cannot help but realize how much the room is akin to its owner—he was reminded of the room he found you in at the Velvet House. The honey gold spilling through the thin curtains and melting down the floor looked like performance lights. Your bed is a fluffy nest, with layers of caked beddings and duvets, he spots a vanity, a wardrobe, a desk with a singular notebook tucked by the corner. He diverts his attention and waddles his way to your mattress and slowly sinks you on its comfortable sheets.

He cannot help the smile from invading his lips when you let out a breathy sigh of comfort. His hand inches to brush your hair again but his fingertips stop just as it graces your forehead, “It should be me, thanking you.” He mutters out softly.

“If it weren’t for you…”

Sunday pauses briefly, amber eyes observing your peaceful expression. He ruminates upon his thoughts as the morning continues to float around the room in gentle waves.

Sunday had kept his promise to you. After the whole ordeal with you visiting him and asking him to teach you more about Penacony—he approached you the next few days and was more than willing to give you a few pointers of what he was taught by his tutors and the Academy. Ruth specifically was elated at how you two are getting along now. More importantly, looking at the gentle look Sister Ruth gave Sunday, the boy knew why she was relieved.

Ever since taking private lessons to be the head of the Church at thirteen, Sunday stopped acting like a child and had been making surface-level relationships. Aside from the people within the Church, Robin and Mister Gopher Wood—he never let anyone genuinely in.

You were the first in a long while that Sunday was letting into his life.

Of course, neither Sunday nor Sister Ruth mentioned that fact as he guides you to his room, books already stacked and ready at his desk for topic reviews.

Time passes in a blink of an eye.

After a few slices of moments together, Sunday came to a quick realization that you don't seem to hold a heavy amount of worry about the future like he does, and even if you did, it didn't seem to affect your person.

Bright, glittering, crystalline water—that's what he describes you as. With your grinning eyes, curves of your lips and alluring tone—it's easy for anyone to fall into your own little puddle, you seem to have a talent with that. By the next month since you've arrived in the Church, you have become the sweetheart of many. It's well known how much Robin had considered you her dear friend, or how the younger kids had called you their pretty older sister, or how the Sisters of the Church had called you their darling girl.

And as for Sunday, the young scholar boy continues to fall into the currents of your mannerisms, your bold trajectory, your hauntingly drawn smile, deeper than anyone can sink themselves into.

All those routine nights studying alone through wordy scriptures and heavy proverbs was simply replaced by your presence and the crackle of fire. That one late night visiting Sunday turned to two, then four—to the point the boy doesn’t question when he hears his door open and close because he knows it’s just you, another new book in your arms and questions ready to slip between your tongue.

You were easily Sunday's best student, you were quick to understand certain verses, can make analysis and theories on certain economic and political decisions of the Ménage, get into deep discussions with him in terms of Penaconian history and learn its linguistics. It had quickly become a study session for the two of you—one of the last things on his routine which Sunday favored the most. It was the only time you two got to spend time together since his mornings and afternoons were preoccupied by private tutoring.

"You learned the Penaconian language faster than I expected." Sunday's impressed at your written notes, they are all correct and easy to understand. Then he starts cleaning up the mess of cards and parchments from his room floor. The boy was too busy to notice your long stare. When he gathers up the last remaining notes, he barely sees you reach out your hand until he feels the touch of fingertips grazing the feathers of his wings, touching a nerve.

Sunday jolts back in surprise, curling his wings protectively beneath his gray hair. "...What is it?"

"Oh sorry. It’s nothing, I just..." You seem to be daydreaming, stagnant and saddened all of a sudden. "To Halovians, wings are their lifeline. Scriptures and textbooks have mentioned the divinity and the meaning of wings to Halovians so I still cannot understand why there will be people out there that desire to cut off our wings."

Sunday is quiet for a moment, he cannot help but sigh heavily. "Did you eavesdrop on the passing guards outside of our Church?"

Your silence is almost deafening. "What do you mean?"

"Did you hear about the recent serial murders of Halovians?" He asks. Your expression shifts: shocked, caught, then melancholic.

You nod slowly and the boy's shoulders droop.

A month has passed already, and that meant three more dead Halovians found in ditches and alleyways with no clue of the murderer behind it. The only alarming difference from the first found body—was that the recently murdered Halovians had ripped off wings and missing halos. Maybe the black market networks are finally making a bold move after the execution of their own? Sunday hasn't heard anything from Minister Gopher Wood in awhile since the first case.

The very thought of those mutilated Halovians twists ichor and sickness within Sunday.

Then for a moment, everything seems to stop.

The two of you hear clattering, then the door creaks open, Ruth emerges with a lantern in hand, her expression creased with panic and worry. Something felt wrong.

“What the matter?” Sunday is up on his feet, his pulse is racing.

Ruth is reluctant for a second, then she says. “It’s the young miss.” She says. “We can’t find her anywhere.”

Robin. Sunday felt like his whole world crashed for a momentary second.

𐔌౨ৎ 、 MASTERLIST ノ NEXT CHAPTER

taglist — @kazucee @3lectraheart @cakechase @swivi @justcallmemidnight

#this was so long im so sorry to my moots #anyways isnt it nice to have such a great storyteller and spouse?#yall missing out LMFAO GET WRECKED #but seriously youve outdone yourself #also sorry if there are any spellling mistakes or grmmar mistakes because it is currrently 12am and my brain is welllyeah #honkai star rail #📰 — icarus syndrome series #sunday hsr #re:fics 🌕

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goldentournesol · 2 years ago

Text

The Love Hypothesis (Eight)

(Spencer Reid x f!Reader)

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

A/N: this fic is ending soon :( i’m not ready

The words on the small screen bled into each other slowly as she stared at them. Her heart was beating too fast, her throat was working too slow to deal with the rapid drying of her mouth. The short breaths came too quick until her knees couldn’t keep her up anymore. She hit the mattress with a thud, clutching her phone tightly to her chest.

“Y/N/N, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Kira rushed to her side, taking a seat beside her on the bed.

Mark quickly got her a glass of water and she sipped on it. A few moments later, Y/N gathered her scattered sanity and looked at Kira.

“I need to tell you something, but I don’t want you to get mad.” She took a deep breath, bracing herself.

“What’s going on? You’re scaring me.” Kira grabbed Y/N’s hand in her own and squeezed it reassuringly.

“None of this is real. Spencer and I aren’t really dating and we aren’t in love.” Y/N said, her voice wobbly.

Kira scoffed, “The hell you aren’t. I’ve seen the way he looks at you and the way you look at him.”

Y/N shook her head, “I uh…I mean, well yes, I may have some...big feelings for him, but none of that was supposed to happen.”

“I don’t understand what you mean. Did you know about this?” Kira glanced at Mark, who stood before them.

“Yes. Okay, here’s the deal. Y/N and Reid aren’t actually dating. They were fake dating because Y/N wanted to convince you that she was over Andrew--which she was never really interested in him anyway, but you wouldn’t believe her. So, she lied and told you that she was dating Reid so that you could finally date Andrew in peace. I’m not sure what Reid’s getting out of it--I forgot to ask.” Mark rambled, explaining what she now realizes is a very ridiculous circumstance. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence while Kira was processing the information.

She very slowly turned to Y/N, “What?” she asked. “You fake dated Spencer Reid? Spencer. Fucking. Reid.”

Y/N cleared her throat and nodded. Kira suddenly burst into laughter, standing and putting her hands on her thighs to brace herself.

“This can’t be real life. No, this is a movie with D-list actors! Or...or a poorly written fanfiction!” She exclaimed.

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Kira…I didn’t think--”

“But you’ve kissed him! In front of the campus coffee shop when he disarmed that student!”

“Only because you forced me to--”

“But you sat in his lap in the lecture hall! And--and tended to his wounds and kissed him again--”

“Again because you forced me to, are we sensing a pattern here or what?”

Kira gulped and shook her head in disbelief, “I can’t believe this…you guys--you just made so much sense together. I thought it was so romantic because he had this reputation of being such a badass FBI agent but in reality he’s a sweetheart and you’re just so shy so I thought I was encouraging you to express your feelings. I never thought--gosh, I feel horrible!”

“Wait, you’re not mad at me?” Y/N said, her eyes big with wonder.

“Mad at you? No, if anything I’m mad at myself for making you do those things.” Kira frowned and pulled her in for a hug, “I do, however, think that this was a misguided, reckless decision on your part and frankly a little idiotic, but you’re my idiot and I love you. I’m truly flattered you’d do that for me. We’ll need to talk about this way more, but for now you still need to tell Reid about what happened with Carter. You were verbally harassed and sexually assaulted and you have audio proof. If the situation were reversed and something happened to Spencer, you’d want to know, right?” She had a point there.

Y/N sighed a deep, guttural sigh and shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. There was no way she could continue this fake relationship with Spencer. Not when it looked like she was sleeping her way up to the top. She was just starting her career in academia--three years is nothing in the long run. She can’t start it like this…no matter how much she loved Spencer. Besides, he doesn’t even need her anymore. His funds were unfrozen and he can start researching. The grant he needed was already there. After explaining to them why Spencer agreed to fake date her, it seemed ridiculous in hindsight.

About a half hour later, Mark and Kira had to leave to attend a talk they were both interested in--Y/N had so much on her mind that it was practically impossible to feign interest in the topic. They didn’t push her to join, thankfully. Despite her loss of appetite, she made sure to eat more of the breakfast that had been sent whenever she started feeling dizzy from her thoughts.

After forcing herself to wash her face and try to look presentable, she went down to the lobby and browsed around the convention. Small tables were lined up with people conducting and presenting all different kinds of research. It was endlessly fascinating what the human brain could come up with and it was such a shame that her spirits were so low. She would have reveled in discussing topics with fellow researchers, no matter how far their interests deviated.

It was relatively easy to kill time until she got the text from Spencer that he’d finished his meetings and rejoiced at the fact that he’d (finally) managed to send her his location without instructions. The location was a quaint restaurant near the hotel he had the meetings at.

A short Uber ride later and there he was, sat at a round table with red cloth and a charming candlelit centerpiece. Her heart squeezed in her chest more with each step she took to follow the host to where he was.

His face broke out into a grin as soon as he saw her, “Hey, you made it.” His smile was blinding and it shattered her.

She halfheartedly smiled when he squeezed her hand in greeting as she took her seat across from him. One squeeze and she pulled away, resorting to hiding her fidgeting hands under the table. If he thought her behavior was strange, his expression didn’t let on.

“How did your meetings go?” She stammered her way through the question, eager to get his attention onto anything else but her.

He shrugged, “Boring, standard meetings with higher-ups. I don’t remember people in academia being so pretentious when I was getting my degrees.” He quipped, the corners of his mouth raising. He seemed to be in a good mood. She hated to be the one to ruin it, so she stalled. They engaged in more small talk, but mostly she focused on trying not to bring the mood down.

But halfway through dinner, Spencer visibly tensed at her reserved behavior. Of course he’d noticed, nothing could get past him. He had let it slide, knowing that the day before had been difficult for her, but nothing he was saying was cheering her up. He couldn’t even get a smile to reach her eyes and it made concern pool in his gut.

After watching her toss a pea back and forth with a fork, he finally asked, “Is everything okay?”

Her heart got caught in her throat and no amount of swallowing could get rid of it, so she nodded and smiled a little. But Spencer, ever the profiler, saw right through her.

“It’s about the funds being released, isn’t it?” He was naively hoping that she’d forget about it--or pretend like it wasn’t a part of their deal. She released a sigh and her shoulders deflated, even if he wasn’t actively reading her body language he could tell that she didn’t want to have to talk about this.

“Our time is up. We made a deal. We both got what we wanted out of this…arrangement.” She was speaking pragmatically, trying her best to remove her feelings from the equation as if that made it any easier. She was made aware of what everyone thought of this relationship, and it was easy to say that people’s opinions of her didn’t matter, but in reality they did. She wanted to succeed in academia because of her hard work. Panic slid its way through her veins as she thought back to yesterday’s events and shivered slightly when she remembered the feeling of Carter’s slimy hands on her.

A certain emotion she couldn’t place passed over Spencer’s face a split second before a mask of indifference took its place, “Right…you’re right.”

His posture stiffened as he recognized the extent to which he’d lost his objectivity. He’d fallen for this woman. Hard. And now she was pretending like none of what they’ve been through ever mattered. He couldn’t show his emotions, but something deep, deep down in his gut felt off. His gut was always right. She wasn’t being genuine, her tells were too obvious but he didn’t push.

“I think it’s time we…uh, ‘break up’, which is a weird thing to say considering we were never actually together. But yeah, people will stop seeing us together and they’ll eventually think that things didn’t work out and there will be something new they can gossip about,” She shrugged like it was no big deal, but her shaking leg under the table told him otherwise. Spencer cast a cursory glance over the restaurant just to check that no one was using her to mess with him, just out of habit, and he found nothing.

“I’m so, so happy for you for finally being able to research non-pharmacological treatments methods for schizophrenia. And I want to thank you, for all you’ve done for me. All the dinners, the coffees, the moral support…” she paused, her eyes stinging and welling up with tears, “and just in general, everything. Thank you and I’m sorry. I really have to go right now.” She picked up a tissue from the table because she would unfurl into a sobbing mess as soon as she stepped foot outside the restaurant.

“Y/N,” he said softly, concern growing more in his chest with each second, “if you need anything, really, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I will always be there for you.” He reminded her softly.

On her way out, she selfishly tipped his head up to her new height and allowed their lips to meet for a few seconds. One last kiss. Before she left the man who owned her heart in the middle of a restaurant in a strange city.

---

Spencer never came back to the hotel she was staying at, where the convention was being held. She didn’t know for sure, but she assumed he’d stayed at the hotel where his meetings were held. Today was the last day in Boston, it had been exactly two days since she’d broken up with Spencer. Her days consisted of alternating between crying and convincing herself she was okay enough to converse with other humans. She thankfully didn’t have to stay far from home for much longer, but the overwhelming sadness was becoming too much to bear.

“You don’t look too good,” Kira said, affectionately grabbing her shoulder after she had spent the last 10 minutes conversing with another grad student from Oxford University at one of the many tables in the conference hall. Their research was similar and the other student offered some insight on what research was like in the UK and if it was any different. At least that’s what Y/N had caught from the conversation. She’d been living inside her own head and on her face was a permanent stony expression.

Y/N shook her head and whispered, “I-I can’t do this, I’m sorry. I thought I could try and be normal but I can’t.” Kira’s face crumpled in sympathy, but she didn’t want that anymore. All she wanted was completely off limits.

Devastation was hard to explain to someone who hasn’t felt it the way you have. Sure, everyone’s experienced some sort of it, but none like your own. Y/N’s devastation was unique only to her. Her annihilation was of her own doing, which only ruined her further. She could only helplessly follow Kira as she led her outside to a quiet courtyard. There was the sound of the soothing trickling of water from the fountain before them.

“Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.” Kira spoke softly as Y/N gripped the bench where they were sitting.

She took a shaky breath, “I feel…I feel like I can’t breathe right. I feel like I want to cry. I feel like I might never be happy in another relationship after him. I feel like I will never stop wanting to be with him. And…I can’t help but feel like breaking up with him was the worst thing I could have done.” A small sob escaped her as she confessed. She expected to feel lighter, but she didn’t.

“Keep going.” Kira prompted with a nod. She was always a good listener. Y/N’s fingertips hurt from gripping the bench so hard.

“I feel like some moments between us were real. At first it all began as a ruse to fool you and to fool the board. And it was so awkward at the beginning, believe me. But afterwards, it all came naturally. Being with him felt so natural, kind of how you don’t even think of breathing…it just happens. It just happened with Spencer. I didn’t have to think about it anymore. Eventually, I was kissing him because I wanted to, not because I wanted anyone to see us kissing. I wanted to hold his hand,” she choked on another small sob, “I wanted him to hug me. I wanted to tell him stupid little jokes to see his eyes roll before he’d counter with an even stupid-er joke. God--sorry, that’s so cheesy.” She hastily wiped her tear striped cheeks with the backs of her hands before tilting her head up to the sky and focusing on her breathing.

“Don’t be sorry, Y/N/N. You’re heartbroken and in love. You deserve to want those things, you deserve to have them.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever love anyone the same way again.” Y/N confessed, the tears leaking out like a faucet at this point, gravity taking them into her hairline as she rested her head against the back of the bench.

“What if you don’t have to?” Kira asked.

“What do you mean?” Y/N sniffled.

“What if you don’t have to love anyone else? Why’d you break up with him? How do you know he doesn’t feel the same way?” Kira’s questions felt like they were on their way to open a can of feelings she didn't really want to open. Y/N hesitated to answer before she sat upright and stared off into the distance.

“You don’t understand, if he doesn’t feel the same way, I would be beyond devastated. I’m just protecting myself. I don’t want to be the student that slept her way to the top. I want to earn it. And I feel so shaken up over the whole thing with Carter.” She explained, mostly to herself than to Kira.

“I get that, hun, what happened absolutely sucks, but you’re devastated now. How protected do you feel?” Kira asked and it felt like a jab in Y/N’s side, enough to make her chuckle a bit.

“Not at all.” She huffed in response.

“What did he say to you when you broke it off?”

“He…he told me that he would be there for me no matter what. And that I could always reach out to him.” Thankfully the tears have stopped, but the heaviness in her chest remained.

“Alright, let’s look at it from a different angle. The man has what--two PhD’s?”

“Three…and two BA’s.” Y/N provided.

“Okay, so we know he’s a scientist and scientists value proof. What else was he? An FBI agent. Not just any FBI agent, no. He was part of the BAU. You know, the people who analyze behavior for a living?? He has like over 15 years of experience in the FBI, you know what that means? It means he values justice. And we know he cares about you, enough to insist that if you ever needed him you could reach out. Guess what, Y/N? You need him.”

Y/N shook her head, “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I mean you need to tell him about what went down with Carter. You have hard evidence. You’ll feel less guilty over what happened and he’ll be able to help. Who’s better to have by your side?” She reasoned.

She was right, Y/N knew it. But she was still so ashamed and felt so guilty that those thoughts overrode anything else. Exhaling heavily and bouncing her knee, she ran through what would happen if and when she told him.

“You’re right, but…I don’t even know where he is--if he’s here or if he’s back in DC. I can’t exactly just call him up and ask him where he is.” Y/N moved onto the next phase of fidgeting and started picking at her nails.

“Well…does he use an online calendar or something?” Kira asked and Y/N shook her head.

“No, he doesn’t really need reminders for events. Although he can be a little bit scatterbrained at times, it wouldn’t hurt to use a calendar.” Y/N nervously rambled.

“You know who might have his location?” Y/N looked at Kira curiously, “Remember when I helped out this redhead, Kristen, track down a bunch of participants for her to interview in like our first year of grad school? Yeah, she’s the secretary of the psych department’s chair now and should know about the professors’ schedules. She owes me one. I can cash it in right now.” Kira raised her brows in an offer.

“You would do that for me?” Y/N stared at her.

“Please, you fake dated a professor and fell in love with him by accident for me, it’s the least I could do.” She laughed slightly, already tapping away at her phone.

A short phone call with Kristen later and a few minutes where they allowed her to check for any emails or reminders from Spencer and his location was sent.

He was at a dinner with a few professors from Princeton. And she absolutely had to go see him before she lost any steam.

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