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xxfromthestartxx · 1 year ago

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New Recruit? (Miguel O'Hara)

pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Filipino F!reader

summary: You're the Spider-woman in your universe and you recall the day when you met Miguel.

edit: I've added an accurate translation so you guys wouldn't google it anymore!!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 (COMING SOON)

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You could remember how you met him, how you met Miguel O'Hara. It was the usual day for you except it wasn't because it was your little cousin's birthday.

You were helping your tita's with cooking because they were throwing a big party that could pass into a charity program. The house is full of people who was switching between cooking and setting up the house for the party.

With a sigh, you chopped your 10th carrot of the day, shouting at your male older cousin to tone down the karaoke. It's nothing new to you, except last night you were fighting a villain who drained all your energy for today's celebration.

"Hoy! Ang aga aga pa ah! Marami pang tulog!!" You exclaimed, glaring at the young man before continuing your chopping. (Hey! It's early in the morning! There are a lot of people who are still sleeping!)

"Ay nako, ineng. Ang aga aga high blood ka." One of your tita's chirped, the one who was peeling the carrots beside you. (Oh my, child. It's early in the morning and your blood pressure is high already.)

"Ay nako, tita. Tottoo naman kasi. Ba't nga pala ang gara ng handaan netong pinsan ko eh 2 years old pa lang naman yan." You scoffed, chopping the carrots faster. (Oh my, Auntie. It's true, no lies. Anyways, why is my little cousin's birthday party so much when they're literally 2 years old.)

One of your older Tita's looked at your state, you look like you haven't had any sleep yet, dark circles around your eyes. "Ineng, halika ka nga dito." She ushered you, making a come here motion with her arms. (Child, come here.)

"Bili ka nga muna ng juice dun sa baba, kay na aling Bebang." She ordered, getting her coin purse in her pocket and giving you 50 pesos. (Buy some juice down the street, in the store of Bebang.)

"Tita naman, ako pa talaga uutusan, bakit ako?" You scratched your head before heading out, making sure you have your necklace with you. (Auntie, why am I always the one running errands?)

You passed by the karaoke and glared at your cousin before warning him. "Pag-alis ko dapat hindi ko maririnig yang boses mo na nakakabwiset ha." (When I leave I shouldn't hear that annoying voice of yours.)

You put on your slippers and exited the gate, walking towards where the sari-sari store is. You were halfway there when a string of loud shouting filled your ears. Your spider senses went crazy and you searched for a place to settle.

You went to the alleyway filled with garbage and tons of cartons before checking if there were any CCTV cameras. You smiled when you saw nothing and pressed your necklace, creating a holographic suit over you.

It was the one you used when an emergency happens like this. You shot a web from your wrist and swung away, finding the source of the screams. Your spider sense tingled when you saw a weird-colored guy who seemed to be glitching, he resembles one of your enemies but you can't get your mind to remember.

You swung your way there and began examining the area. You squinted your eyes at the sight and began evacuating people. "Hoy!" You shouted, shooting a web at the guy, your eyes widened when he turned around.

He looks like your tito, and it looks like he was the one causing the commotion. You gulped before you fixed your stance, readying yourself for a fight.

Your mind raced with questions, your tito was dead- why is there a carbon copy of him in front of you? You watched him die in front of you- you watched him get shot.

You pushed away your thoughts and remembered your job, swinging by the buildings and shooting webs at him. The man looked at you before he aimed at you with his fingers, lightning coming out of it.

You easily dodged it at first, swinging by trying to get him stuck. He continued shooting lightning toward you, dodging your webs.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance before you noticed that the electric post was hit by the lightning he shot. You quickly shot webs at the post and steadied it, saving the people near the post.

"Ano bayan?! Alam mo ba kung gaano katagal ayusin ni Meralco 'tong mga to?!" You huffed, looking at the damaged wirings. (What is that?! Don't you know how long it takes for Meralco to fix these things?!)

"Ilang araw na naman kami walang kuryente neto." You shook your head, shooting at the near building and lifting yourself up. (We won't have electricity for the incoming days.)

You thought twice about the situation, he seems to have the same ability as your enemy Electra but for some reason, has the same face as your uncle.

You watched as he started flying, you knew what to do when it comes to flying enemies. You smirked before swinging towards him, pouncing at him mid-air as he lost his balance.

"Hey! Get off me!" Your eyes widened when you heard him speak English. He shot lightning bolts everywhere, wrecking most of the building insight. You huffed and webbed his hands, only for him to zap you with the other.

You flinched at the lightning, making your whole body fall to the ground from the damage. Your fingertips were quite burned and most of the part holographic suit where he shot you was missing.

You grit your teeth together and tried to stand up, "Tangina naman." You swore, getting up from the ground, the missing suit was now materializing once again. (You son of a bitch.)

Just as you were about to stand up, a weird portal opened up, you furrowed your brows together as a person came out of it, he rushed towards your enemy and began fighting him.

The portal closed leaving you stunned, you watched as they wreck more of the buildings. Sighing you started evacuating the people whose houses were getting disintegrated. "Tangina! Ayusin n'yo naman!!" You shouted, swinging and dodging the falling cement. You saved all the people and decided to help the masked man. (Son of a bitch! At least be careful!!)

"Hell-O!!" Your voice screeched when a bolt of lightning was almost shot at your head, luckily you ducked just in time. "Focus on the fight." He groaned, hitting his back at the building.

Your ears perked up at his voice, "What?" You asked, your voice full of Tagalog accent. "What do you mean what? Don't you speak English?" He retorted, getting up and dusting his back.

'Aba, tangina neto ah.' you thought, "I can speakining in dollars just fine." You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. "Doesn't look like it." (Tsk, this son of a bitch.)

You shot him an irritated glare but decided to play along. "You are right. No habla engles." You said with a broken English and Spanish accent. (I don't speak English.)

"Tu hable español?" He asked, sounding amused at your broken Spanish accent. "Ah, eh, ih, oh, uh... Sí?" You replied, understanding his words. (You speak Spanish?) (Yes?)

"Maiintindihan mo talaga syempre, ikaw ba naman, sakupin yung bansa mo ng espania ng 333 na taon." You scoffed, joking to yourself. "What was that?" (Of course you will, imagine getting your country colonized by Spain for 333 years.)

"Mga Español nga naman. Nothing, I said nothing." You replied, shooting a web at your uncle look-alike's face. (Spanish people, am I right?)

Now that he was distracted by your web, you used the opportunity to start webbing him up, putting him in a cocoon-like web. You shot webs from the buildings and stuck him in the air.

Now that the both of you are side by side, you noticed how much taller he is than you, given that most Filipino has short genetics. "Tangkad mo naman..." You whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes. (You're so tall...)

"Okay, now that the fight is finished. Care to tell me who are you?" You asked, knowing that he isn't from here. "Isn't it obvious?" He asked back.

"Luh." You replied to his sassiness. "You're not from here, are you? I mean come on..." You squinted your eyes as he threw something at the enemy.

"Miguel, Miguel O'Hara." His voice scratched that part of your brain, making your guts flip. "Uhh- I'm Y/n, Y/n L/n." You introduced yourself with a smile.

"Hey! I was talking to you!" You glared at him, "I'm from another universe." He replied as a red screen like started forming around the enemy. "No shit." You scoffed, crossing your arms at him.

"You know, I was planning on recruiting you," He started "Recruit me?" You asked. "It's better if I just show you." He then clicked on his watch and a portal appeared.

You stayed silent, "I got trust issues." You simply stated, looking at the portal in front of you. "But... I don't want to prepare for my little cousin's birthday so I'm gonna go."

He hummed at your words, "Let's go then." He walked towards the portal, you following him behind. As soon as you entered the portal, it felt like you were sliding, your heart almost fell.

"PUTANGINA!" You shouted, traveling between the multiverse, shutting your eyes close as you tried to calm yourself. Repeating cursing and praying. "Lord, alam ko na masama akong tao pero wag n'yo pa po ako patayin." (SON OF A BITCH!) (Lord, I know that I'm a bad person but please don't kill me yet.)

"Lord, magsisimba na po ako araw-araw hindi na po ako mangbabackstab ng mga kapitbahay, hindi na ren po ako makikipag chismisan sa mga tita ko, Lord wag muna." You repeatedly prayed, doing the sign of the cross a lot. (Lord, I will attend mass everyday, I won't talk shit behind people's backs anymore, I won't gossip with my aunties anymore, Lord please just don't kill me yet.)

You fell with a thud, breaking you from the trance you are in. You slowly opened your eyes and immediately clasped your hand together. "Lord, salamat po Lord, kahit ilang beses na kita sinabihan na patayin n'yo nalang ako dati." (Lord, thank you so much Lord, even after many times of asking you to just kill me in the past.)

You nodded your head and raised your clasped hands. "Are you done now?" Miguel asked, amused by your antics. Your eyes trailed up at his, his mask long gone.

"Gago, gwapo ka pala." You covered your mouth instantly, getting up and patting your backside. "Did you just call me handsome?" (Oh, you're handsome, asshole.)

"Whaat??" You turned to him, "I didn't, you wish." You replied, making your mask disappear too. "So, where are-"

You stopped mid-sentence and were surprised at the number of spider people hanging around everywhere. "Wow." You muttered.

Miguel started at you, he knew how you looked way before he met you but this time you looked different, you looked way more tired than originally and your hair looks like you haven't taken a bath for weeks. He cleared his throat as spoke.

"I know you know about the multiverse, given that you have an experience with it, I decided to recruit you." He explained, his accent giving you chills. "How'd you know?" You raised an eyebrow at him. "I just do." He shrugged, "Oh, and welcome to Spider Society."

He started walking and you immediately followed, catching up to him. "I was creating a portal to the multiverse by the way, if I didn't meet you I'm sure I'll be finishing it in 4 months or more." You stated.

"Your suit. What is it made of?" He asked, seeing how you just made your mask disappear. "It's holographic, I use it for emergencies." You answered with a beam.

"I see." He kept his answers short, "What about yours?" You asked before you glitched, falling into the ground with a thud. "Aray ko." You muttered, putting a hand on your head. (Ouch, that hurt.)

Miguel looked back and realized he hadn't given you a day pass yet. He threw one at you before saying something. "That would keep you from glitching." You picked it up and wore it. "Thanks." You thanked him, standing up.

"My suit is also holographic." He answered your question before you glitched.

"There's a lot of spider people in here, huh?" You asked, in awe at the view. "Sure is. I'm sure you know a lot when it comes to the multiverse, I'm looking forward to working with you."

The way his voice sounds makes you feel weird, "Oh, uh- I don't know what you're talking about?" You felt unsure, "You graduated with flying colors, someone who has experience on and off the field, you'll be a perfect recruit for this." He said, walking towards the elevator.

"Thank you, really. I'll think about it." You said, walking upside down now because of the elevator. "So uhm... " You tried to talk but nothing came into your mind. "Who was he? You know, the man who came to my universe? He looks just like my uncle."

He looked at you, pressing the top floor. "As I said earlier, you have a fair share of knowledge about the multiverse. I know you know the answer." He answered, looking at your eyes that seemed to be darting everywhere.

"What universe is he from?" You asked, fiddling your fingers. "Earth - 36910," he answered as the elevator stopped. The both of you walked away from the elevator, a ton of spider people greeting Miguel and he just grunts or nods in reply.

As Miguel toured you in his universe, he explained and educated you more about what's happening in the multiverse, hours passed and you remembered the celebration.

"Shit, it's been 4 hours already?" You clicked your tongue as you made a part of your wrist into a holographic watch. Miguel looked at you before you spoke once again.

"It's been great and all, Miguel, and I really do appreciate the offer, but right now, I need to go back to my universe before my tita unleashes hell on everyone." Miguel nodded, getting something from his table and giving it to you.

"Come back to us when you're ready, we'll be waiting for you." He simply said, the warm tone of his voice makes your heart speed up.

"I will," you smiled, putting on the watch and typing your universe, opening up a portal. Walking towards the portal, you turned back at him last time. A smirk spreads on your face.

"Don't miss me too much, Gwapo!" You laughed, winking at him before the hologram covered your face. Running into the portal with a wide smile. (Handsome.)

Miguel was left in his office, a small smile forming on his lips as he recalled everything that happened. "Lyla." He called his AI.

"What now?" Lyla materialized in front of him, crossed arms and a small teasing smile on her face.

"When will her canon event happen?"

a/n: I'm accepting requests and so far I got one request and it's ongoing!!

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atopvisenyashill · 8 months ago

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In a scenario where Baela dies fighting in the war, how do you think she would have died? What impact would it have on the story or the other characters, in your opinion?

hey anon this answer wound up being a bit more rambly than i intended because there's just a lot of moving parts at the very end of the Dance so bare with me here-

now to be fair Baela almost DID die in her suicide swan dive against Aegon and Sunfyre - Aegon nearly died as well, Sunfyre died of his wounds a few days later, and Moondancer died on impact. So very likely, what happens is that Baela attempts to jump from Moondancer to spare her dragon and just lands worse than Aegon did. It’s possible Moondancer survives but since she always seemed to be a bit of a smaller dragon, I’m not sure it’s likely. Hopefully, Baela also dies on impact because if not she’s in for a slow, agonizing death just like Sunfyre.

How does this affect the Dance? Well for one thing, it means Corlys and Alyn have very little reason to stay loyal to the Greens when Alicent has Corlys brought up out of the dungeons; they don’t have a convenient hostage to keep him behaving besides Aegon the Younger (“do what i say or we kill your distant cousin and the only heir left to the throne” is an empty threat whereas “do what we say or we kill your granddaughter” is a real and present danger). I think there’s a not unlikely chance one of the left over Greens makes a more solid attempt at getting into the Vale to nab Rhaena and Morning to keep Corlys on his best behavior. I think it’s also possible that Aegon’s rage at Sunfyre’s death transfers to his nephew. Aegon the Younger wasn’t involved at all but Aegon is near inconsolable and completely irrational at this point. It’s not just the traumatizing loss of his dragon - a dragon he thought was safe back in KL! - but also being drugged up on milk of the poppy, and how completely fucked his legs are at this point. It’s really easy to imagine him turning on the Younger, which is dangerous for the Elder when there is a dearth of male heirs.

Especially because the biggest change here isn’t corlys, it’s ALYN. Alyn only joins the Greens and transports them to KL because Aegon threatens to kill Baela & Corlys sends word to stand down. If Baela is dead, and Alyn finds out that she died fighting Aegon, I think he starts screaming to high heaven that Aegon is a kinslayer and no true king. If Corlys figures Rhaena is safe and agrees with Alyn’s assessment that there can be no more peace with Aegon II because he killed Baela, well…the fighting stretches out a bit longer.

Alyn will attack Dragonstone and attempt to save Aegon the Younger. The Greens on Dragonstone have no way of escaping because all the dragons are dead. And while this attack is happening, what’s left of the Blacks are marching on KL.

So there’s two prongs here - either Alyn attacks or he doesn’t. If he does, and the war ends more clearly with Rhaenyra’s army winning, that might mean something important for the line of succession going forward, like Aegon the Younger being recorded as Rhaenyra’s heir. If Alyn can’t get Aegon III off Dragonstone - if he dies in the attack perhaps - Westeros faces a MASSIVE succession crisis bc there’s no CHOICE but to crown Baela or Rhaena as ruling QUEEN (bc they all think Viserys is dead) (bc Corlys didn’t let Aegon II live in the OG timeline, he’s not gonna let Aegon II live after Baela dies in a face off against Aegon. Aegon is DOOMED so long as Corlys lives and I don’t think Alicent would kill Corlys because he’s her only real shot at keeping the peace and not losing her own head when the Lads get to the capital, ntm she has Jaehaera to think of). The Aegons are Westeros’ get out of the dance free card - they can keep their absolute male primogeniture laws, they can justify whatever dumb decisions they made during the war, because they have these two alive when most of the fighting has stopped. If the fighting doesn’t stop, and it gets them killed, they’re fucked. They’re not inherently doomed to die at Dragonstone though - it’s barely being defended, so it’s possible Alyn takes it easily and forces II to give himself over, which is again a more clear win for Rhaenyra over Aegon. That might mean something - or it might mean nothing.

If Alyn doesn’t attack, the whole thing likely goes the same way just without Baela there. And what changes is the Velaryons - besides the close bond that formed during the war, Alyn’s attraction to Baela is rooted in the fact that she’s a true born Velaryon descendant and spent much of her life on Driftmark. Without her, i think Alyn may overcompensate a bit for his illegitimacy - maybe he takes fewer risks, maybe he marries one of Vaemond’s side of the family (pls not Daenaera i’m literally begging), maybe he tries to get close to Rhaena. Maybe he marries a nice Celtigar girl. Maybe his wife never has a living child so when he has his affair with Elaena, Jon Waters becomes Jon Velaryon.

I think we would see a Corlys, Aegon III, and Rhaena that are much more devastated by the war. Rhaena and Corlys seem more or less okay by the ending of F&B, with Corlys dying at an old age wjth much fanfare, and Rhaena still a respected noblewoman and dragonrider. Without Baela surviving, the end of the war for them looks especially bleak.

#asks #anons

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tiptapricot · 2 years ago

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Gonna wait a few weeks to post this on ao3 so any of my subs don’t get spoiled but had to get somth short out after JW4, so here that is. Please don’t read if you haven’t seen the movie/series thus far but plan to! It’s truly a masterpiece and adds such an interesting new entry to the JW franchise, and is best going into blind. With that, enjoy :-)

Epilogue: Epitaph

Summary: What is left behind after four chapters of life.

The headstone sits under the trees, simple and grey, side by side with its companion.

Loving husband, it reads. The name doesn’t matter, even if someone knows it.

Loving husband.

That’s all they need to know.

The headstone is greeted by a dog every afternoon, led on the end of a leash by a circling group of friends and employees. Some dress in uniforms, some in brown tweeds, some in silks and satin. They let the dog sniff around and lay in the grass, and it rolls over as if the sky itself could reach down to rub its belly. The dog is happy.

Visitors come on their own, too. Some in pairs, some alone.

A woman throws a bloody knife at the foot of the headstone one day, her eyes damp and angry, and mutters something about failure before turning towards the road and leaving. A man with a heavy backpack picks it up an hour later, dabbing the red from the glass like he’s cleaning a friend’s face. He brings a dog too. This man says nothing, but he sets his hand on the stone for a moment, thoughtful, before nodding in a quick goodbye.

Birds.

The lights of New York.

Night is dark and quiet, crickets chirping softly, the haze of car horns drifting across the water. The earth stays still, unmoving. The dead are gone.

Helen’s family visits, a few cousins and aunts and a handful of old friends. They bring flowers, and seem surprised to find she isn’t alone. They share a few solemn smiles, and pull some blooms out of the bouquet for him.

The sun is warm, orange and yellow as it seeps away, the nights getting longer.

New York experiences another war in the fall. Gang fights, the city calls it, but the table screams of insurrection. Hundreds visit the headstone during the chaos, some to whisper prayers, others to hiss threats of revenge and bloodshed, others still to plead for the blessing of an idea.

John Wick, they read.

A man is shot three paces from the graves. He dies before he can reach them.

John Wick, they mutter under their breath.

Someone presses their forehead so hard against the words it leaves red lines in their skin.

John Wick, the martyr.

The Table is picked off one by one, fresh meat hung before it can get appointed. Hundreds of pencils are stuck in the dirt as an offering, and aren’t plucked away nearly as fast.

John Wick, the traitor.

A person in grey spits on ground before the headstone, mouth curled in unimaginable distaste. They watch to see if he will be resurrected before their eyes, if he will spring to life and destroy the world once again. He does not.

John Wick, the one who could fight back.

The streets quiet. The universe is reborn.

Loving husband.

A pair of ladybugs make a meandering trail over the curve of the G, wings fluttering, shells bumping. Fallen leaves make soft homes on the granite.

The man with the backpack and the dog visits again. He talks about a plot of land in the countryside, a lake and a cabin and beautiful trees. He sounds breathless and happy as he laughs and worries the scar on his hand. “Thank you.” His dog sniffs around the edge of the stone and goes to pee against the tree, and the man ruffles her fur fondly. He waves before he goes, and he doesn’t come back.

It rains through winter, mud sticking to the shoe soles of passersby. Hardly anyone visits, besides two old friends, and an old dog. The umbrellas they hold make a pattering sound. They bring a drink to share on his birthday, and reminisce about the good times.

Someone plants daisies around the headstone just before spring. They sprout up against the rigid line where it meets the earth, and pillow out to connect to its partner.

Loving wife, the other reads.

The words lay there quietly, statements to no one in particular, and they rest warm in their flowerbed.

They rest.

#yeah…..#john wick 4 spoilers #john wick 4 #john wick #the fruit is talking again #my fic #my-fic

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cybermoonmoon · 7 months ago

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Life in the Big City.

A set-up, and a punchline.

Every item in this Geoffrey Biggs magazine illustration screams 1956! Thanks to my cousin Natasha Smith for posting this on her page. I remember each item shown.

The Philco TV in the upper corner with black, and white boxing on. That brown winter cap the guy is wearing in the far left corner…common on men, and boys of the time. Besides the rolled jeans. The gunsel...bad guy with pistol at the front door is in a cap with union membership buttons…two! Actual functioning labor unions! He probably had a job at a plant…we made things. We used to do that,…a lot.

The young woman’s blouse scarf skirt ponytail bracelet…and actual cigarettes! A whole history of the 50’s position of women in one shot. On left a fucking phone booth! 1935 store standard. The phone a late 1920’s two piece with cylindrical earphone to the guy's head.

The Wiseguy’s trench coat the .38 Roscoe!

The bar keep's bow tie, and mini apron. Near all the shop keepers of my childhood wore these. Them red vinyl swivel tripod stools bleeping ash trays! All the guys are wearing laced leather shoes like high school teachers still do.

Mind, we still have shot-dead bodies in barrooms by the metric ton. Like the one near camouflaged into the floor. ...See his shoes sticking out under the phone booth. Dirty paint faded walls are also still with us. The only thing that don’t belong at least in NYC or Boston is the phonebooth guy’s red scarf.

Men didn’t wear dress scarfs. Not even gay guys back then. Such times. Near full employment affordable homes for many. Cheap booze ashtrays, and legal Segregation for everybody.

The art piece illustrates the fun of a bar room multiple murder in progress. As I say we still have these. Goes back to the invention of wheat then beer. Been mayhem in pubs for 5000+ years and counting. Opium dens on the other hand have the advantage of everybody being passed out.

The punchline. Ganja …less guns more laffs.

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chaos-deimos-et-eris · 2 years ago

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It starts off slowly, a few blobs ghosts past midnight that need to be taken in before the Fenton's get to them. It's werid that Phantom doesn't show up to help, but there has been to occasional night where Skulker had to scream loudly enough to wake the entire street before Phantom could tear his gaze away from the night sky so they could fist fight in the streets. Valerie liked Phantom on days of promised clearer night skies, the excitement coursing through the ghost's body making him seem more alive than in the throes of battle.

Her far favorite was when the occasional news of a rare celestial show hit and Phantom could be seen staring at the sky since sun set, siting on a roof. He didn't react to anything other then attacks and ghosts tended to take a single look at him and go away. It allowed her to look at Dani's cousin and see all the good she saw in him despite on how he and his mutt ruined her life.

Little specks of light surfaced on tan skin in tandem with the stars in the nightsky, constellations glowing green. Pulps stretched out into cartoon stars and his harsh glow bleed into his hair, a soft reflection of silvery moonlight, no matter if the moon was even there.

Valerie liked to sit with him and watch. At first she had started to find out weaknesses, but the only things she had found was young he looked still and not fighting. She remembered when she was young and trusting and blind with hatred in times like that, watching the ghost do nothing but stare.

She remembered Dani slowly melting and how frighted she was. She remembered Phantom screaming while she stared, naively confident in the lie that he could not actually feel pain. She remembered how he begged for her to save Dani because she was human, like she would only help the living. She remembered and hated that back then, he had been right.

She thought of Dani and how she would run to her cousin at the first sign of trouble for comfort, but always leave at the end of the day. She thought of Phantom, who would never go with her. She thought of Plasmius who was half dead and half alive, and Dani who was too. She thought of Dani who was afraid of him more then she was angry, of Phantom who seemed to follow Plasmius where ever he went to throw down.

She remembers how the Fentons say that ghosts get stuck in patterns formed in life as while as obsessions formed in death and wonders if Phantom spent so much time in life protecting one little girl from a deranged man trying to create more of his kind that he couldn't stop being a shield even after he died. Valerie, on nights like that, would promise unseeing eyeing and unhearing ears that as soon as Masters lost his chockhold gripe on her life, she would expose him and allow a scared little girl to curl up to her protector as they both sat on the roof each night to watch the stars.

Those nights always made betrayal sting more when he got slam dunked into her desk at school the next morning.

Honestly, he's been dead for at least two years now, how hard was it to feel yourself go flying and go intangible?

Anyway, that's to say that no matter how much she had grown, the Red Huntress wasn't above taking potshots at Phantom when his little fights resulted in her whole class having to retake their pop quiz after school. He could take them. Her health quiz on the other hand, could not take being frozen, defrosted and then burned.

Their little game came to an end with a few shots of green light. It had immediately put Valerie on guard. The ghost had been captured, Phantom has more or less turned her little shooting secession into an improved sky wrestling match. She was pretty sure he let her win sometimes, and as much as it burned afterwards, sometimes a win of any kind was what she needed.

But their play fight had been high up, too high up for any humans to aim. Besides the Fentons would have created enough noise to run away the dead and the GIW had been run out by her classmates last week, rallied under Sam of all people, who apparently lost a rare rosebush to a stray explosion and had shown up to school with an echo gun in her hand, blood on her face and vengeance in her eyes.

Its all to say life had been trying recently and the Justice League's arrival had seemed like the break she had been waiting for. With their training, she could learn to fight better and finish fights quicker with less property damage. She could learn how to manage her time better so she could better keep up with school. She could use their connections to get her father a job that didn't rely on Masters and would have people in power that would believe her when she exposed him. She could find how the ghosts were coming or why they were so attracted to Amity and afford more nights where she didn't fight but instead tracked down two figures glowing sliver, concent with just looking above and lay down to look with them.

When the Justice League apologizes for distracting her from capturing Phantom, she stares at them slightly confused before replying that it was alright, Phantom would be back. By routine or obsession, Phantom would be back. But getting the League's attention, that was once in a lifetime. As much as she hated and pitied him in equal measures, her failure to capture him would not result in the same terror and tragedy then if she failed to capture any other fighting ghost. Even if it was a bummer she had lost this round of their little game.

Three days pass without worry. The fourth night meteors fall from the sky and as soon as her homework is done, she puts on her armor, becomes the Red Huntress and goes out to find the rooftop Phantom settled on for an relaxing night of star gazing.

Instead she has to settle down a screaming Ember that was demanding her Baby-Pop to come and fight her. A quick reminder of the meteor shower had the rock star paling and fading from view with a quick, "Don't tell Baby-Pop I forgot."

Red Huntress combs the sky all night. Valerie never finds Phantom.

The next morning, bleary-eyed, she runs though different plans on how to look for Phantom while still protecting the town instead of focusing on her lessons.

As Valerie takes her seat in a math class she won't remember, she makes a quick mental note to go visit the Fentons afterschool before starting her search. Danny been absent sick for a few days. A quick visit would be a welcome break before she dives in to rescue Phantom.

Prompt

The justice league FINALLY investigates Amity, and realizes that they’ve made a grave mistake by letting a burgeoning hero shoulder a large problem without any training or support. They rectify this immediately by offering a position in the JL along with an assortment of mentors and other teen heroes to bond with.

Red Huntress receives this invitation in front of Phantom, while actively trying to hunt him down.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #danny fenton #i feel like pre-dani valerie and post-dani valerie are two different people #i do believe they are both petty though #also i would like to remind people the Red Huntress helmet covers her whole face #so i can give her different emotions than what she is projecting #valerie gray #justice leauge too i guess #space obsession danny #also i forgot the prompt said she's actively hunting down danny #opps

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justaghostingon · 3 years ago

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The Ghost in the Walls

“If you leave this house, you’re dead to me!”

“I wish I was Dead!”

Slam!

Dolores jumped awake, cold sweat running down her back. Hazy with disorientation, she reached out a hand, hoping to grab on to a green parka. It came back empty.

But of course it did. It had been two weeks. Two weeks of silence at meals, two weeks of Mirabel crying, to weeks of Abuela’s simmering anger, two weeks since Tio Bruno had…had…

It was too silent.

Her room was designed for silence, to muffle any sound from outside no matter how small, to give a young Dolores a sanctuary as she adjusted to the loud, loud, loud her gift had given her. Usually, this was a blessing. A place she could hide away and not listen to the constant stream of noise that seemed to eminate from every direction. She loved silence. Most of the time.

But lately, it had grown to oppressive, to weighty, like the silence of the town when Mirabel hadn’t recieved a gift. Like the silence of Abuela as she refused to talk to Mirabel. Like the silence of Tio Bruno in his last days…before…

“I wish I was dead!”

She needed to get out. Toeing on her shoes, she hurried to the heavy padded door and turned the silent handle, slipping outside. The cool night air greeted her with a soft howl as she took a deep breath, and began to listen.

First she heard her mama and papa, soft snores accented by gentle breathing, a duet made all their own. Then she listened for Camilo, weezy breaths echoing in her ears. Next was Isabella’s gentle sighs, soft as the flowers she breathed into existence. And from beside her Lusia’s stready heartbeat plowed on like a drum. She could hear Mirabel’s own gentle rocking as Casita moved her bed in the nursery, so gentle with the sad girl that remained of her once bright cousin. Tia julietta and tio Augustine lay nearby, a loud rumble of snores and snorts from them both. Lastly Abuela, steady and flickering as their candle that always burned.

Everyone was safe, everyone was asleep. Dolores took another deep breath, letting the combined sounds wash over her, slowly relaxing her body as they grounded her.

Creak!

Dolores eyes shot open.

As she’d grown more comfortable with her gift, Dolores had come to know the every sound the animals made, from the clomp of a donkey, to the pitterpatter of the mice in the walls. That sound was far to loud to come from a mouse, and to angled to come from anything on four legs. That was a human’s footstep.

Someone was in the house!

Dolores froze, panic racing in her blood. Should she run? Should she scream? Were they after the candle?

The creak came again, farther away, like it was moving to the nursery. Mirabel! Dolores took off in a sprint, the rage of a 12 year old girl tired of seeing her little cousin hurt overruling any logic left in her brain.

The creaking must have heard her, because it too began to happen quicker, as whoever it was began to run. Together they raced across the house, matching in speed, but even as her ears told her the intruder should be right ahead, she still saw nothing. It was almost as if…

Dolores stopped dead.

Was it…a ghost?

A ghost in casita, she took a half step back, she was hardly prepared for a human intruder, what could she do against a ghost?

The creaking kept going, moving toward the painting on the wall, until a loud thud came through.

“Ahh mi!” Hissed the ghost.

But Dolores new that voice. Like she knew every voice in her family. She knew that heartbeat of erratic rythym, and the soft way he breathed, even now careful not to disturb her to much.

“Tio Bruno?” Dolores asked.

There was silence.

“I know your there,” Dolores took a step forward, all fear forgotten. Ghost or not this was her Tio, he’d never hurt her. “I can hear you.”

A pause, then a very scratchy voice went. “I’m not Bruno! I’m Hernandez! Just doing my duty, fixing walls! Sorry for waking you!”

Dolores giggled. It sounded like those silly voices Tio Bruno would do for her and Isabella when they’d been little and wanted a story, and then for Lusia, and then for Camillo and Mirabel. “Tio I’m not four anymore! I know your voice!”

Another pause and then, “bye.”

The creaking returned as tio bruno began to shuffle away.

“No!” Dolores threw up a hand. “Don’t leave!”

The creaking stopped. “Why aren’t you in bed Dolores?“ Tio Bruno said, voice tired.

“I had a nightmare,” Dolores admits. A nightmare about you. She doesn’t say. She wants to. She wants to tell him. To grab him and hold on until he promised to stay and not leave her, because she needed him! Who cares if no one else did!

But there was no body to grab hold of, no sleeve to pull and pull with all her strength.

She opens her mouth, to cry, to beg, she doesn’t know. But instead what comes out is: “Could you tell me a story?”

Tio bruno hesitates, and she knows they are both thinking of how he would tell her stories when he found her wandering around like this at night, until the nightmares went away.

Finally he speaks, voice soft and scratchy, “once upon a time there was a mouse…”

Dolores smiles.

Later her mother will find her, curled up in front of the portait, a table cloth covering her like a blanket. Later there will be questions and worries and parents to reassure. But for now, there is only Dolores, her favorite Tio and a brave little mouse to scare the nightmares away.

#encanto #bruno madrigal #tio bruno #dolores madrigal #disney has me again help #i love this movie #uncle/neice bonding #dolores always knew #bruno

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mingiswow · 3 years ago

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SKZ | They comfort you after a nightmare

Genre: Angst, fluff, slice of life

Warnings: mentions of cheating, death, and kidnapping, some curse words probably, some of the boys are older in their reactions. If I forgot anything let me know

⚠ English is not my first language, so sorry if there's any mistake, corrections are always welcomed.

➥ chan

It was rare the occasions where you went to the dorm, it was usually Chan who went to your house. Right then you were currently laid on the sofa of his studio, sleeping while he finished some songs. You started sweating, your body moving around uncomfortably, your breathing becoming erratic. “Y/N? Y/N! Babe… wake up. Babe, wake up!” your boyfriend started to shake you lightly, waking you up from the nightmare.

You looked around, grounding yourself and realizing where you were. Immediately you hugged the man in front of you. “Had a nightmare?”.

“You had left me because I was a waste of your time and you told me I was not good enough for you” you answered, not taking your head from his neck, a few tears leaving your eyes. “Hey! Don’t you dare think I’ll ever say those things to you! To think I’d think like that, okay? You are the most precious person in my life. Hell! I’d die to ever think about hurting you” his calloused thumb ever so gently caressing your cheek, wiping your tears.

You nodded. Kissing his lips. “C’mon. Let’s go home, aight? I’ll tuck us like a burrito and cuddle you all night and tell you how much I love you”.

“You’re cringe, Bang Chan”

“But you love me like that”.

➥ lee know

You couldn’t believe your eyes. It was him. It was your boyfriend kissing another girl right in front of you. You didn’t have a reaction, all you could do was cry. You fell to your knees, tears falling heavily from your eyes. Suddenly a hole opened on your feet and you fell into it like Alice fell into the rabbit hole.

Your body jolted from the bed, a silent scream leaving your mouth. “Y/N? Are you okay?” the raspy morning voice from your boyfriend sounded beside you, his hand caressing your back. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“You were cheating on me” you turned to look at him, his shirtless frame still lazily laid on the bed, a lazy smile on his lips. “You’re so cute when you’re pouty, you know?” he pulled you back on the bed, caging you on his arms, the warmth of his body soothing your own. “I love you, Y/N. Cheating you is the last thing I'd do to you. Now go back to sleep, and have wet dreams with me”.

“Lino-yah!” he giggled at your blushed form, kissing your lips before, bringing you back to his chest, and playing with your hair until you fell asleep.

➥ changbin

The warmth of his hand felt so comfortable against your cold ones. The snow was falling from the sky while you and your boyfriend decided to take a walk since everyone was in the comfort of their home, no one would see you.

But just as you turned a corner there they were, the paparazzi, the fansites, seasangs. Everyone was taking pictures of you two. Flashes got mixed with screams and you could barely see anything in front of you. You started calling your boyfriend’s name but with no answer.

And then you were naked. Naked in the cold winter air while everyone took pictures and laughed at you. “Changbin! Changbin! Changbin! CHANGBIN!”

“Babe… wake up. Y/N, love. I’m here. I’m here” the scene suddenly started to fade in your mind and you got back to your bedroom. The dim light coming from the bedside lamp barely illuminating your boyfriend, his broad silhouette being distinguished before he engulfed you in a hug. "’s okay. I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere”.

“They caught us, they were taking pictures” you whispered on his chest, feeling the way his body hugged you. “I don’t want to lose you” you felt his fingers start to caress your hair, giving you warmth and reassurance.

“Sh… You won’t lose me, okay? I’m here with you, no one will get us. And if they get I don’t fucking care. You’re my girlfriend and I love you. ‘Kay?” you nodded, laying your head on the pillow again, Changbin spooning you. “I love you too, Bin”

➥ Hyunjin

You fell asleep while watching your boyfriend practice the dance routine over and over again, the sound of his shoes rubbing and stepping on the floor flooding your ears and intoxicating your brains. The sound kept getting louder and louder as you opened your eyes and a giant version of your boyfriend was destroying the town with his dance moves.

You started to scream his name, trying to get his attention with no success. You decided the best way was to approach him like Ann Darrow did with King Kong. But when you tried to get to him, his left foot raised in the air and stepped on you, squashing you like in the cartoons.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH” you lifted your head fast from the ground, hitting Hyunjin’s head.

“Ouch!” he rubbed his head laughing a little bit. “Please don’t try to kill me, I’m just trying to help you here” he looked at you, a playful smile on his lips. “You just took a nap and had a nightmare?” you nodded.

“You had transformed into this giant dancer that was destroying the town and squished me dead” he laughed at your pout. “Ok, Let’s go home miss damsel in distress. It’s getting late anyway” he helped you to get up from the floor, giving him a hug and a peck on his nose.

“For a giant, you are pretty cute and soft” he laughed at your comment, shaking his head and grabbing his stuff.

➥ Jisung

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT! YOU ARE SO STUPID, Y/N!”

“I didn't do anything” you started crying, still not knowing why he was screaming at you. “Please tell me what I did. I…”

“Stop playing dumb! You know what you did!” Jisung kept screaming at you while your tears kept falling from your eyes, a pool starting to form on your feet. In mere seconds you were drowning in your own tears, the air becoming scarce as you forgot how to breathe.

You woke up scared, shaking, crying, barely breathing. You looked at the empty spot in your shared bed, the fear starting to build in your chest again. Slowly you got out of bed, searching for your boyfriend and finding him in the kitchen, sneakily eating ice cream. “Oh… Hi babes” the guilty smile on his lips made you breathe more normally, you weren’t stuck in your nightmare anymore. “You okay?” he asked, handing you another spoon so you could join him.

“Had a nightmare. You were screaming with me and calling me names” you put the spoon in your mouth, pouting as you spoke and ate. “When I woke up you weren’t there. Got scared” he grabbed your cheeks and kissed your lips and forehead, wrapping you in a hug after.

“Sorry I wasn’t there, I woke up craving some ice cream” he laughed at himself. “But I’m here now, and I’ll never call you anything but sweet and cheesy words of love, ok?” you nodded, scenting his cologne on his neck. “Want more ice cream or cuddles to sleep?”

“Cuddles” you answered, smiling at him once you left his neck. “Your wish is my command ma’am” he hugged you from behind, guiding you two back to the bedroom between giggles and laughs.

➥ felix

“Y/N! Wake up. Are you listening?” your eyes widened open when you heard your husband’s voice. “It’s okay. I got you” he hugged you tight, caressing your back. “It’s just a nightmare, it’s normal”

“I was so scared it was real” you cried on his chest. The pregnancy screwing with your hormones. “They had taken the baby from us. They had stolen from us” the tears kept staining his pajama shirt. “Sh… Y/N, the baby is here, no one will take them from us” he left your embrace and held your face.

Wiping away your tears, he kissed you gently, his hands caressing the little bump starting to grow in your belly. “It was just a nightmare. They are right here, inside your beautiful body, full of love from their mommy and daddy, ok?” you nodded, looking at his hand. “I love you” he kissed your lips “this is our little family”.

You nodded, the sad tears turning into happy ones with the amount of love and joy your husband gave to you. “I love you too, Lixie”.

➥ seungmin

You ran like your life depended on it. Because it did. You screamed for Seungmin as you tried to run away from your evil clone, the wicked face looked so much like you but at the same time so different. You stopped suddenly when you hit on something.

“Oh thank God it’s you Seugmin! Please tak- AHHHHHHHHHHHHH” you screamed at the top of your lungs when you felt him hit your chest with a knife.

“Y/N! What happened?” the boy by your side woke up with your scream, scared something bad might have happened to you.

“We shouldn’t have watched that movie” you hid your face in his neck, hugging his body and crying a little while he giggled at you. “Stop! It was scary! I was trying to get me and you were the one who hurt me” you pouted looking at the man, trying to do a puppy face.

“I told you we should not watch horror movies, you always get scared” he patted your head, kissing the top of it before bringing you both back to your lying position, hugging you tight to his chest. “And if I dare to hurt you one day, I will let you take revenge”.

➥ jeongin

You looked over at the people at your wedding reception, everyone having fun on the dance floor, your feet too hurt to actually move any longer. You watched as yours and Jeongin’s family got along, smiling at yourself for being so lucky.

Then your eyes landed on your now-husband and how he happily spoke to one of your cousins when he whispered in her ear, the woman giggling and nodding, her hands lingering a little too long on his arms, her long nails almost entering the fabric as she squeezed the place.

Tears started to fall from your eyes as you watched the scene unfold in front of your eyes and then you started running away from the place, from everyone. You could only hear the faint screams of your name by your husband. “Y/N! Y/N! Y/N! WAKE UP!”

Your eyes finally shot open, the place slowly starting to be visible in silhouettes by your eyes, the darkness of your bedroom embracing you. “Are you okay, sweetie?” the voice of your fiance sounding worried by your side. “Did you have a nightmare?” you nodded and hugged him.

“You and my cousin were flirting at our wedding and… and” you hiccuped the words as he soothed you.

“Y/N, I’d never do that. Do you hear me? You are my best friend, my lover, my partner,ever and the love of my life. I would never even do anything like that to hurt you”

“Promise?” you looked at him, not much being visible in the darkness. He nodded, whispering a soft promise against your lips, making your worries go away.

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1025cherrystreet · 4 years ago

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funeral

y/n attends a funeral and feels hopeless after losing her best friend until she meets her late bsf's cousin Harry.

a/n: this is for @harrystylescherry Playlist Fic Challenge!!! this is inspired by the song Funeral by Phoebe Bridgers. i used the name Phoebe in the story but i wasn't picturing Phoebe Bridgers when I was writing that character, i just liked the name and decided to go with it! but, y'all can picture her however y'all like lol. i went from loving this story to hating it, but i hope y'all like it! any feedback is appreciated!! <3

**despite it being surrounded by depressing matters, it's actually a cute and fluffy story lol! just wanted to point that out because i, myself, kinda avoid reading sad stories

warnings: a LOT of talk about death and dying and funerals, mentions depression/depressive episode?, mentions drugs and alcohol, swearing. i'm ceo of rushing the ending, soz <3 (also, gave up on proofreading lmao)

word count: 8k+ (this is the longest piece i've ever written lol)

Y/N has this dream. Where she's screaming underwater while her friends are waving at her from the shore. She's desperately calling for them, hoping and waiting for them to help, but, seemingly, her friends can't hear... and can't help. Submerged beneath the thrashing waters, her wails fall silent; her familiars deaf to her pleads. The more she struggles to get to the surface for air, the deeper she sinks. Her friends just waving at her as she drifts to the bottom. Every time she jolts awake from these dreams in a sweat stained bed and sticky clothes, she decides to brush it off. Not wanting to think about the problems she needs to face or what she needs to work on. Always concluding that she doesn't need anyone to tell her what it means or overanalyze her life through misplaced visions. Deciding to not believe assumptions made from vague, painful pictures.

As the familiar sinking feeling in her chest starts yet again, Y/N snaps her eyes up at the casket as the sound of her best friend's mother releasing a heart wrenching sob catches her focus.

The contrast of the white roses that lay on top of Phoebe's mahogany stained casket almost glow in the evening light, seeming like a mock to such a somber evening. The way the living looks so effervescent and bright, casting shadows on the less fortunate. The dead never celebrated in such light but rather mourned in dim grief and sadness.

Y/N doesn't like funerals, and not just because her best friend of 10 years is the recipient of this one. She's never cared for them. Believing they're just an excuse to get over the one they are to be honoring, they carry a stigma that everyone in attendance has to cry or you're seen as heartless, while the people who were never close to the deceased are presumed fake for showing emotion. Y/N thinks they're a big joke... with a cruel, cruel punchline.

The sound of despondent music playing and cries ring throughout the cemetery as Phoebe's casket is lowered six feet into the ground. The unchecked emotions start to boil inside of Y/N. Anger boiling deep inside of her quickly reaching its point, anger that stems from betrayal, that stems from hurt, that stems from...loss. She quietly scoffs, shaking her head with a stone cold look, before quickly getting up and walking away from the ceremony as her late friend's uncle, Bill, wraps up his poor excuse of a eulogy.

Phoebe wouldn't have wanted this. She wouldn't have wanted people to cry over her casket, stuck laying in a padded box while people who don't even know the real her, speak of her existence like they were the best of friends. They weren't. She was. Y/N was her best friend. These people don't... didn't know her like Y/N does. It's all bullshit.

In Y/N's quick pace away from the tent around the damp open ground, she spots a bigger gravestone with a stone bench built into it and takes a seat.

She inhales deeply, taking a moment to herself to look up at the sky. The clouds that overcast part of the blue sky drifting farther away from the graveyard as the sun starts making its way to set. She breathes in, the delightful scent of honeysuckle and dewy grass filling her nose before it's tainted by fumes of petrol from the road just on the other side of the cemetery gates behind her. It's so unfair; why of all people did Phoebe have to-

"It's all a joke," A deep accent says to her left.

She almost jumps out of her seat when she turns to the man who took the empty spot next to her. Jesus Christ, where the fuck did he come from? she thinks to herself. He had brown curly hair and green eyes (well, thinking green from what she can gather staring at the side of his face), wearing a black suit with a black button up shirt underneath. Rings clad his fingers and the sunset gleam shines off his cross necklace. She stares wide-eyed at him for a few moments before shaking her head to get out of her daze.

"Huh?" She says when she realizes he had spoken before.

"It's all a big joke," He repeats himself, the British accent more noticeable this time around. His head faced towards the funeral, having not spared a glance at her once this whole time.

She settles back into her seat, shifting her gaze to match his with the group of mourning people in the distance.

"Yeah." Y/N sighs in agreement.

The two of them sit in silence for a moment before Y/N decides to speak. Thinking to herself that if anyone would listen to her thoughts, a man who's also ditching the shitty eulogy would be her best bet.

"They all talk about her as if she was God." She chuckles humorlessly.

He scoffs with a small smirk, "Far from it."

Another wave of silence crashes over them, before Y/N breaks it once again.

"She would've hated this," She whispers, "People she barely even knows crying over her like they had any significance in her life. She probably only talked to five people here. She didn't even like her uncle." She laughs, referencing the man who gave the half-assed eulogy about how Phoebe being such an innocent, bright young girl.

"They're grieving her loss instead of celebrating her life, it's all fucked," He clears his throat before continuing, "Funerals are for the living."

"I hate funerals..." She says in reply.

Glancing at the boy beside her when she hears him digging through his jacket pocket, pulling out a flask. He takes a sip, and another, before gesturing it to her. Not overthinking it too much, she takes the cool metal bottle and takes a big gulp. Tasting the burn of vodka in her throat and mint from what she supposes is the mysterious strangers mouth.

Handing the flask back she says, "She would've wanted a party. Something where everyone was having fun in her honor, not some substandard funeral full of random people and careless words."

This time he's the one who chuckles humorlessly, "Yeah, she would've wanted everyone t'take shots and dress up in fancy clothes n' wreak havoc on this fucking town,"

Y/N smiles at this because Phoebe really would. Phoebe was the type of person who everyone wanted to be friends with, but also who everyone was scared of. She was mysterious and intimidating (a bit like the man next to her, Y/N thinks). Phoebe was a master at persuasion and could get almost anyone to go on crazy fucking adventures with her. One of Y/N's favorite memories with Phoebe was when they dressed up in wedding dresses they had gotten from a second-hand store and walked down the street yelling random things at strangers, taking turns drinking tequila from a metal water bottle.

"She really was something else, huh?" Y/N says a bit somberly, reminiscing on her late best friend.

"Definitely, a know-it-all," He laughs, bringing the flask up to his mouth.

"Oh, of course, she always thought she was right." She smirks.

"I mean, most of the time she was." He shrugs.

"Yeah, how did she always know everything?" The two of you laugh, taking turns drinking from the flask.

He shakes his head in disbelief, silence settling over the pair again.

"How did you know her?" He asks, still staring at the gathering of people in the distance.

"...She was my best friend," Y/N responds quietly, still staring out at the sunset.

He hums in return, "You?" She asks as she hands the flask over.

"Her cousin." His rough voice speaks out.

"You're Harry?" She says, less as a question and more in disbelief. Phoebe always mentioned her cousin Harry from England, always telling Y/N of stories they had together getting into reckless shit.

She turns her head to look at him just as he does, "And you're Y/N."

He offers a soft, knowing smile, both having heard countless stories of one another from Phoebe. He leans back and extends his arm on the top of the bench behind her, feeling the warmth of his body radiate off of him.

"I wonder what she'd say to me now. Sitting on a random gravestone in our hometown, drinking out of her cousin's flask, ditching what's supposed to be her remembrance." Y/N says, leaning back on the bench too.

"She would've said, 'quit y'crying, it's a sign of the times' and then would drag your arse t'the nearest pub." He laughs.

She joins in on the soft laughter, shaking her head because she knows that's exactly what she would've said. Phoebe was such a joy to be around, her presence unmatched.

"You know, she always talked about wanting to leave a legacy behind. Most of the time, I just laughed at her, thinking it was just another bizarre thing to come out of her mouth. But, she was always saying she wanted to be remembered as some enigma when she dies..." Y/N recalls the many memories of her and Phoebe staying up til 4am talking. Chills suddenly covering her body, not only from the cool Winter air but because of how Phoebe had talked about her death and now she's actually...dead.

She turns her head to look at Harry and he has a bittersweet smile on his face.

"I think she's accomplished that quite well, hasn't she?" He replies.

"How?" She questions softly with furrowed brows.

"Well, f'starters, her funeral is full of people who never even knew her, or frankly even cared about her, while two emotionless people just got up and stormed away from it t'drink vodka out of a flask on some random person's gravestone." He laughs before tacking on, "Trust me, the people over there are wondering who the hell she was and who she knew, right about now."

She turns her head from the (quite pretty, she thinks) boy to her left, looking at the wake, only to be met with a few people staring back at them.

"Well, I'll be damned," She scoffs. "Of course, the bitch did it." A smile bright on her face, probably the only real grin she's pulled since Phoebe's passing. Her best friends wishes coming true makes her heart warm just a tad, a relief to how cold losing her best friend made it.

"Always able t'make her life seem like an episode of Pretty Little Liars." He says shaking his head with a knowing smirk.

This comment makes Y/N laugh quite loudly, drawing a few — what she could only think were glares — back at her. Wiping a stray tear from her face that fell due to her laughing. The sweet sound coming from her lips only tacking on Harry to join her.

"Oh my god, she practically lived in an indie movie, always the role of the mysterious main character!" She chuckled out, creases forming at the corners of her eyes that Harry has taken a liking to.

As both of their laughter slowly dies out, another silence comes over them; only this time it's almost deafening. It's like the weight of the matter finally settled in.

Harry lets out a deep sigh, staring out at the never ending field of stone. Flowers accompany very few of the many graves; some wilted, some looking fresh, some long gone by now. Name placards littering the ground, all of these lost and forgotten people just decomposing underneath them. People coming and going to visit, only to be forgotten as time goes by, memories fading from their loved ones' mind. He wonders if he could ever forget Phoebe. No, I could never, he thinks to himself. He could never forget the only person that ever truly believed in him and embraced him for being himself.

Deciding he doesn't want to give anymore thought to the painful insight that one day he might forget Phoebe, he asks Y/N something instead.

"Y'wanna get out of here? M'starvin'."

The quiet girl next to him looks his way, his green eyes meeting her's that shine in the last few minutes of orange sunlight. Her eyes are so pretty, he tries to mentally shake that thought out of his head. He can't be hitting on his late cousin's best friend at her funeral, for fuck's sake.

Y/N only nods in response, gathering her bag and phone before standing from the bench. Harry towers over her when he gets up and the observation of how tall her his makes Y/N feel all giddy inside for some reason. Placing the flask back in his suit jacket pocket, he leads the way to a small restaurant nearby. She walks beside him the whole way there, the two of them just quietly observing everything around them.

***

The crisp, cool air passes through, goosebumps creeping up their arms as they sit in the outside seating of a small restaurant. Comfortable silence wraps them up and spits them out as their minds explore all the vast depths of their troubled minds, giving them time for their treacherous thoughts to eat at their sanity bit by bit.

"Phoebe told me once," Y/N cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the scratchy feeling from not using it. Harry's green eyes moved to her from his observance of the lonely street they're next to as she spoke softly. "She told me the only time she truly felt alive was when she made decisions that were reckless and spontaneous. She said living her life precariously was the only reason for her happiness, claiming that the perfect life is just an illusion. That dreaming of labor should not be the goal, but instead becoming your authentic self and living with no regrets..."

Harry stays quiet, reflection in his eyes as he stares at her from across the table, chewing the food in his mouth. Y/N plays around with the food on her plate with her fork and waits for his acknowledgment (although, she doesn't even know if he would say or do anything -- she doesn't know why she decided to tell him that)

"I mean, she's right, righ'? I never understood when people would ask what your 'dream job' is from a young age. No one's dream is t'work everyday 'til they die. They have to, t'make a living and survive, but what's the point in living if you aren't enjoyin' it. But, if y'workin' all the time, how do you make the time to really live?" He says, furrowing his brows as he talks.

Y/N takes in his words. The moonlight and street lamps casting a soft glow on his face, his carved features looking even more beautiful at night.

"Yeah... I guess, I guess I just envy how she viewed life, ya know?" She states, looking at the cars drive by as she tries to explain how she feels. "Always saying things to make you rethink your existence and purpose..." She looks back at Harry and whispers, "...She talked about life so much like she knew she was going to die."

"Well, we're all gonna die eventually." Harry rests his arms on the table with a quiet sigh, his features passive, but his mind is thinking of how he just wants to hug her and tell her everything is going to be alright.

"Yeah, but she just...she talked about it like she knew all the answers. She knew exactly what to say, when to say it. Sometimes, I feel like she was telling everyone around her how to live in complete happiness because she knew she didn't have much of her own, despite convincing everyone she was carefree and unbothered." Y/N shrugs and watches as they fall into a short silence.

"...I miss her." Harry breathes out after a moment, reaching his hand across the table to hold hers. Her skin is soft against his as he rubs his thumb against her hand in an attempt to comfort both of them.

Her eyes soaking in his softened expression, her cherry tinted lips whispering, "Me too."

They eat the rest of their dinner in silence, the only sounds reverberating from the road with the occasional car or pedestrian. Harry pays for the food, but not without many protests from Y/N.

As the two walk side by side down the street, back to the cemetery to pick up their cars, Y/N suddenly falls anxious. She doesn't want to be alone tonight, scared of being alone with her thoughts when she goes back to stay in her childhood home. Her parents, still living in the house they lived in since her youth, had to drive up to another town for a few nights to stay with her cousins because they planned to go there before the news broke about Phoebe. Leaving Y/N alone in the empty house since there wasn't room for her at her cousins.

The black cemetery gates coming into view, eeriness and gloom becoming more apparent when the sun is down, Y/N and Harry can see their two cars sitting idly on the side of the road. Y/N fidgets with her fingers as they grow close to departure.

"D-do you, maybe, wanna hang out for a little while longer?" She turns to face him, looking up at him nervously. "I just don't want to be alone right now." She rushes out when he doesn't respond.

"Yeah, I didn't really want t'go home alone right now either." He offers a sliver of a smile before unlocking his car, grabbing two brown paper bags that look to hold bottles, and gesturing his head, "C'mon, we'll pick up my car later. Let's go celebrate Pheebz, yeah?" He grins.

She smiles at him, unlocking her own car and waiting for him to get in, putting on a playlist full of Phoebe's favorite songs. She drives through her hometown, memories stirring up of her and her best friend smoking weed in the park the summer before graduation and jumping in the lake naked in the middle of winter. The two end up at her house sitting in her abandoned driveway, both unbuckling but neither making the move to get out of the parked car, the engine still running as they sit listening to the melodies playing from the speaker.

Harry suddenly pulls out two bottles from the brown paper bags at his feet, one of vodka and the other tequila.

"Pick y'poison." He says with a smirk.

She picks the vodka and Harry mutters, "Good choice, tequila is more m'speed."

"Weren't you drinking vodka at the funeral?" She laughs, unscrewing the cap.

"Yeah, figured I'd drink Phoebe's favorite since it was her party." He chuckles.

"To Phoebe." Y/N says, sorrow lacing her voice as she turns in her seat to face Harry.

"To living your life precariously." He says before the two of them take a big gulp of the sharp liquid, starting what will only be the beginning of a long night.

***

Light shines through the white curtains, the room glowing bright in the soft, yellow sunlight. The white comforter tangled up in bodies as birds chirp in the morning tranquility. Y/N's eyes flutter open, immediately feeling sweaty and clammy. The headache that sets in reminds her of the amount of alcohol she consumed last night. Waking up in her childhood bed after blacking out in the backseat of her car the night before doing very little for her sanity.

As she lays in bed, groggy, she needs to pee. She moves to get up and walk to the bathroom connected to her room, only to freeze when an arm wraps around her and pulls her closer. Warm breathes pant at the back of her neck, unintelligible murmurs coming from the person behind her. Her eyes widen, realizing Harry is the one she is snuggling with in the early morning (afternoon?) light. Despite needing to pee really badly, she finds herself only melting into his touch. She can't remember the last time someone held her like this, can't remember the last time she felt this content. In fact, she thinks the last time she cuddled with someone was with Phoebe when she slept over in her room at their apartment... Well, just Y/N's apartment now.

Y/N and Phoebe would have movie nights in Y/N's room and in the midst of the fun, they would grow tired. Phoebe would never want to leave the comfort of Y/N's warm bed, so she always asked, sleepover?, with a wide grin. To which Y/N never refused and the two would put on The Notebook and fall asleep spooning one another. The first time it happened, when they were children having sleepovers, she tensed a bit; thinking it weird for her friend to cuddle her because no one had ever done that. But, as the years went by and their friendship grew stronger, knowing that despite both of them being bisexual it wasn't an act of intimacy, but one of platonic comfort.

So, Y/N figured (in her touch deprived mind) that this was just an act of friendly, platonic intimacy...nothing else. After coming to that conclusion, she let herself relax into his touch, his warm embrace nodding her off to sleep once again.

What wakes her up the second time is the sound of a gravelly voice groaning. The arm around her waist squeezes tightly before the body it's attached to tenses up. Harry tries to take in the position they're in -- his arm snuggling her close to his bare chest and legs intertwined with hers -- but his hangover headache clouds his mind too much to think about it. Only registering that he's never felt this comfortable with someone before, never felt someone so warm and cozy. He's cuddled lots of girls (and guys), has spent many mornings waking up in someones hold or holding someone in his, but they've never been as addicting as her. Never being so relaxing, so soft. He's about to just say, fuck it, and fall back asleep as to spend as much time with her in his clutch, but Y/N had stirred awake from his groaning and she really has to pee!

She slowly turns in his arms, their legs shifting apart, and is met with probably the cutest sight she's ever seen. His eyes are glassy and the green of his irises shine in the soft light. His lips pink and his face holding a hesitant look, like he thinks she might yell at him for accidentally ending up in his arms throughout the night, but she can also sense the underlying feeling of content reading on his face. The way his eyes soften when they meet hers and the way his hand involuntarily squeezes at her side. The serene feeling almost tangible as her childhood room becomes their own little world. All the responsibilities and pain of the outside fall ceased at the door decorated with heights of a growing Y/N.

"G'morning," His gravelly voice going straight to her heart, melting it at the beautiful sound.

"Good morning," She says in a raspy whisper, her throat dry from the alcohol and singing at the top of her lungs the night before.

She takes the quiet moment to look at his body, her gaze drifting from tattoo to tattoo, not realizing how many he has. She knew he had some from the ones on his hands yesterday, but she didn't know he had so many. His long sleeve button up had covered the view of the ones adorning his arms, but she looks at them now in awe, thinking how pretty they are.

She's about to tell him how much she likes the butterfly tattoo on his chest, when her bladder has other plans.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to pee," She bashfully smiles as she looks at him.

"Oh, m'sorry. Probably should've told ya' I'm a cuddler." He gives a small smile with embarrassment soaking his words, thinking he's made her uncomfortable.

"No need to apologize," Her eyes light up at his out of character shyness, "I am too, I just really have to go to the bathroom." The harmonious sound of her giggles soothing every worry in Harry's body.

He playfully sighs, "Fine, I guess I'll let y'go piss."

A smirk pulls at his lips as she rolls her eyes and gets up, but he can see the corners of her lips turn up.

She goes to the bathroom, doing her business and washing her hands. She takes the time to brush her teeth and wash her face, cringing when she looks in the mirror. She feels gross that she looked like this when Harry woke up with the resemblance of an angel.

When she's finished, she walks out back into her room, excited to get back into the warm bed (and hopefully cuddle with Harry some more, but she would never admit that out loud), but she's met with abandoned sheets and panic consumes her. Did he leave? Did I make him uncomfortable by waking up in his arms? He was the one to cuddle me and he joked about it! But maybe he was just trying to be nice so he could escape? Her mind starts to race a mile a minute of anxious thoughts before they're all suddenly wiped away at the smell of coffee wafting in from the open doorway.

She throws on a sweatshirt and socks and makes her way down the stairs of the familiar, yet foreign after spending so long away from home, house. Her sock clad feet pad on the hardwood floors as she walks into the kitchen, spotting Harry silently staring at a spot on the wall with a cup of coffee in his hand (he's using the same pink and green mug with a little ceramic pig sitting on the top of the handle that Phoebe would use every time she'd sleepover in high school).

She walks in quietly, coming up behind him and grabbing a cup of coffee for herself, noticing the two pain killers next to the pot (which made her heart swell if she's honest). He had heard her coming down the stairs, but despite her presence his focus is still on the spot on the wall. Taking a sip of her pick-me-up and swallowing the pills, she takes up space next to Harry, following his eyes that stare intently at a picture frame hanging up and her eyes immediately soften.

"That was freshman year," Y/N spoke delicately, staring at the picture herself, "We had both been asked to prom by these senior guys. I was ecstatic because no one had ever shown any liking to me, but Phoebe had played it cool, of course." Harry lets out a quiet breathy laugh because of course Phoebe didn't care.

"We spent weeks planning out how prom night would be. Imagining how the senior parties would be like and if the boys would kiss us by the end of the night or not. She came over at 9am the morning of the dance and we spent all day getting ready and laughing with each other. She had even done my makeup all pretty and I helped her get into her dress. I remember I laughed when she decided she was going to wear converse under her dress, and she almost convinced me to do it too because she said 'you're not gonna be the one laughing when we're at all the after parties and your feet are killing you'." A genuine smile forms on Y/N's face as she reminisces on the cherished moment.

"But, two hours before the dance, our dates cancelled on us and told us they were going with these senior girls." Harry scoffs bitterly, understanding how cruel teenage boys are.

"I remember I was so upset because the one time I thought someone actually liked me or thought I was pretty enough to go to prom with, had just made me a second choice..." She recalls to Harry, who is now looking at the side of her face as she looks at the picture of Phoebe carrying Y/N on her back, piggy-back style, in long prom dresses, dirty white converse peaking out from under both girls' dresses.

"So, she grabbed me by the arms and looked me in the eyes and said 'Y/N L/N, we are deserving of the love we wish for. No senior boys are going to make us doubt that. We are not little freshmen girls who can be seen as cheap thrills and easy hookups. We are women, who demand respect and complete infatuation.' Then she took the tickets that the boys had pre-purchased for us, took my hand, and dragged me to that dance. We had been each other's date and made prom our bitch. She even got us into a party afterward...And we had one hell of a night."

She smiles fondly at the sweet memory. Harry's eyes flutter between the picture and the beautiful girl next to him. How could she ever think of herself as a second choice?, is all he can wonder to himself.

Letting his gaze fall to the picture one last time, he mumbles, "Well, those boys missed out on the best thing t'ever happen t'them."

He doesn't catch Y/N's blush that creeps up on her cheeks as he turns around, taking a sip from his little pig mug.

She shakes her head as to get out of the crushing haze she falls into, turning and walking to the countertop, leaning against it as Harry stands in front of her on the other side.

"Thank you. F'letting me stay the night, last night." He speaks up.

Y/N notices how he's still lacking a shirt, making her mouth dry up just a little at the sight of how fit he is. The tattoos stretching across his tan skin so perfectly, the black ink creating such a beautiful contrast on his body. He catches onto the not-so-subtle gawking and smirks.

"Uh, yeah. It's really no problem. There's no way I'd have let you drive home intoxicated and it was the least I could do after I made you practically spend the day with me." She blushes.

"Y'didn't make me," He shakes his head gently with a smile.

Y/N doesn't know to feel about how her cheeks heat up at his remark, shyly looking away as the teasing gleam in his eyes might make her combust.

"O-okay. Good to know." She squeaks out, the action only fueling Harry's ego and playful mood.

"I should go get m'car from the cemetery before it gets towed," He says almost disappointedly, like he doesn't want to leave yet. If she's being honest, she doesn't want him to leave yet either.

"Yeah, that wouldn't be good. I'll give you a ride." She says, shaking off the saddened feeling of his departure.

"Oh, you don't have t'do tha'." He shakes his head but Y/N quickly shoots him down.

"Nonsense, I'll take you. It's no big deal."

He smiles at her objection, nodding, and going upstairs to grab the rest of his clothes, feeling uncomfortable in his dress pants from the funeral that he had put back on when he got up this morning, not wanting to make Y/N feel weird by staying in only his boxers.

***

Vodka Lover: hey... are you up?

She chews on the skin around her thumb, a nervous habit that Phoebe had always teased her about, as she sends the text to Harry (having exchanged numbers when she had dropped him off at his car at the cemetery). Phoebe had always said, 'You're not gonna have any thumb left to chew, babes, if you keep at it'. To which Y/N just rolled her eyes, but in the deafening silence of 4am, she wishes she cherished those moments with her best friend more. Wishing she didn't take for granted in those little encounters of Phoebe's care and concern with her well-being. Y/N would give anything to be able to spend one more minute with her.

Butterfly Boy: yeah, everything okay?

Vodka Lover: um, can i call you?

Suddenly, breaking the bitter quiet with a ringtone, her phone she holds in her palm lights up with Harry's contact. A tear falls from her face onto the screen and she has to wipe it away before she presses accept.

"Y/N?" Harry's deep voice rings out, laced in worry, from the other line.

She chokes out a sob, not being able to hold it back anymore. The floodgate of her emotions she has been trying to keep at bay suddenly burst. Salty tears fall onto the blue fluffy blanket from her senior year she's wrapped up in.

"Hey, hey, s'everythin' okay? What's wrong?" Harry says, more alert now that he hears her in such a fragile and frantic state.

Y/N just cries harder, desperately trying to catch her breath, she feels like she's suffocating.

"Hey, love, just breathe. Just breathe, Y/N." He tries to coax her down in a soothing voice.

A raggedy breath is heard on Harry's side, making the worry dissipate just a little now that he knows she's breathing. Harry sits up in his bed, calling out to Y/N, repeatedly telling her to just keep breathing. He can't get to what's wrong if she hyperventilates.

He was laying restless in his bed when she had texted, lost in thoughts of life and replaying memories with his cousin. Trying to grasp everything she's ever told him before, hoping that by watching the moments he spent with her like a film reel in his mind would help him not forget them.

"Love, can y'tell me what's got you so upset? Please," He asks softly when she calms down enough where her breathing is regular and not sporadic inhales gasping for air.

"I-I-I miss her," She cries out into the phone, the thought of embarrassing herself by breaking down to Harry not on her mind; the only thought she has is how empty she feels.

"I know, I know, love. I miss her, too," He sighs out sadly, wishing he could take away her pain, hating the way her voice quivers with every word. "Do you want t'talk about it?"

She wipes the tears that sting her eyes and cascade down her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. The one she wore when Harry slept over, smelling a little like him still from the car ride to his car that day, three days ago.

They had been texting each other and talking every day since then, usually about light topics like asking how their day's were or what they were doing. However, tonight (or early morning), everything felt like it was crashing down on her. Y/N's strong front she had put up since the funeral for Phoebe's family finally collapsed, and she's found herself stuck under the rubble. She was trying so hard to keep it in because she shouldn't be feeling sorry for herself when someone's kid is dead.

She had bored herself to tears, not knowing what to do. The only thing that seemed right was to call Harry.

"Talk to me, babe." He begs her, running a hand through his disheveled curls.

"I-" She sniffles, "I feel like I'm fucking drowning,"

He hates how defeated her voice sounds and he wishes he could just be there to hug her and tell her everything's going to be okay, eventually.

"It-it feels like my whole life is in ruins. Harry, I miss her." Her face scrunches up again as she starts to sob, "Sh-She was my best friend, I d-did everything with her. How am I s-supposed to do this without her? How am I supposed t-to live without her?"

"Oh, darling. I know, but you will..and you can." He frowns, racking his brain for the right thing to tell her, "You got t'live so you can experience all those ways of life she always talked about. Y'haven't experienced all those feelings Pheebz would mention when she would live her life precariously. Don't y'want to know how she felt when she would talk of such a beautiful life she lived, yeah?"

He hears a hiccup and a quiet, albeit breathy, yeah, from the other side of the call.

"You are so strong, Y/N. I don't know how y'made it this far without breaking down..." He tells her whole-heartedly.

"D-don't know how you haven't either," She gets out, realizing how selfish she's probably being, bothering Harry with her grief when he has his own to deal with.

"Honestly," He breathes out through a somber smile, "The only reason I haven't is because I have you, love."

Y/N's heart swells tenfold, she thinks. She didn't realize Harry needed her just as much as she needed him.

"...I'm sorry for calling you, I know it's late." She says through sniffles when she notices the time.

"There's no reason to apologize. It's okay, love. It's okay to hurt or be angry or upset. No one expects you to be perfect all the time." He pauses, listening to her breathing.

"Ya know, one day, it won't hurt this much. One day, you'll be able t'look back at this moment and it won't break y'heart as much as it does now. You're just in the thick of it right now, pretty girl. But, the light's coming soon, I promise." He continues and Y/N feels her heart beat faster at the pet name.

"You promise?" Her voice barely above a whisper and Harry thinks his heart just broke at the sound.

"Promise." He says, wiping the stray tears rolling down his cheeks, "Phoebe wouldn't want y'to be this upset. She would want you to keep living your life and find out the ways to how she was so in love with it. If not for yourself, love, then for her...F'me."

She nods, despite knowing he can't see. Silence falls over the pair, only the sound of bated breaths assuring the other one is there.

"One summer," He speaks up, "One summer, my family had come t'visit them, partly because of the lake near her house. It was after we had moved t'the States from Cheshire, and Phoebe and I would go walk to the little pond near the park,"

"The one near Hope?" She asks quietly if they had gone to the park she had always played at as a little girl.

"Mhm. We would walk there in the blistering sun and when we got there she tried to convince me how fairies were real." He said in a calm voice.

He hears an airy puff of breath escape her mouth, which he takes as a small giggle -- making him want to continue his story as it's helping her cheer up, and because he'd probably do anything to hear her that sound from her.

"Yeah, fairies. She told me that they live at the pond and t'see them, I would have to find a pretty flower and then jump in the water with it in only m'underwear." He breathes out a laugh.

Y/N gasps, trying to keep quiet but fails when she lets out a loud laugh.

"Oh my, did you do it?" She asks bewildered, laying down so her head rests against the pillow.

"So, I told Phoebe 'no way', yeah? But, then she said she can't just tell me about them and not follow through with seeing them. Convinced me that it would bring bad luck." He scoffs, remembering the memory vividly.

"Bad luck, indeed." She giggles and it brings the dimple out on Harry's face.

"Yeah, so of course, me being like 8 or sum', I stripped down to m'pants in the middle of the day and jumped in the water." He smiles when he hears her laughing, even if it's at his expense. "Y'laughing, but I think I got ringworm after tha'!"

"I can't believe she got you to do that! I wish I'd been there." Y/N says, out of breath from laughing.

"Scarred me of ponds for the rest of m'life." He chuckles and a pause takes them both over as they settle back down.

"...Thank you, H." She whispers into the phone, adoration taking up all her features.

“F’what?”

“For being you, for being here. Just...Thank you.” She sighs.

They get lost in recalling stories of their loved one for the rest of the night, repainting her memories in gold. They laugh with each other until all the pain seems to disappear. The weight, of what felt like the world, lifting off of both their shoulders. Finally being able to breathe after days of endless battles of trying to stay strong for Phoebe's sake.

***

Days pass since the lonely 4am phone call and Y/N and Harry are still talking everyday.

She finds out he lives in her city, only a few blocks from her apartment she shared with Phoebe! She didn't believe him when he first told her, but he said he was always busy with college whenever Phoebe tried to meet up. Y/N's not going to lie, her heart picked up when she found out he'd be so close to her, wondering if he'd want to hang out with her when they leave her hometown.

Almost everyday of the last few days they have visiting, they've spent at Y/N's empty childhood home. Harry asking her to explain pictures and what she was like in high school, whenever he gets the chance. In turn, she's been picking his mind on what Holmes Chapel was like and how his family was growing up. She found out that he lived with his sister, Gemma, and his mom, Anne. They talked about everything, from their favorite things to every pet they've ever had (Y/N, particularly, falling in love with the pictures of his cat, Evie).

Just as the last few days have been spent, they are spending Y/N's last day in her hometown together before she goes back. Harry told her he had to stay a couple more nights with his family before he could leave, assuring her he would've gone back with her if he could've. That comment made her blush and she had to pray the butterflies growing in her tummy to relax.

That's another thing. Y/N had stopped lying to herself and denying the ache in her chest that would form when she was away from Harry, growing very fond of him since their first encounter at the headstone bench.

Harry, also, couldn't deny any longer the way his heart would flutter at every little thing she did. Just wondering to himself how everything about her was just so pretty. He loved the way her eyes would light up every time she saw him and how he would catch her checking him out whenever he took off his shirt.

He especially loved the way she let him sleepover a few times and how they would end up cuddling into the late hours of the morning. Both parties not minding one bit, the comfort and warmth actually preferred than sending Harry home to sleep in his own bed.

"Bet I can reach that branch right there," Harry shouts with a gleeful tone, a bit out of breath as he tries to stretch his legs far enough so his shoe brushes against the leaf on the end of the tree branch.

The two of them decided to go to Hope park, where they both held fond childhood memories at. They settled at the swingset, calm swaying in the seats quickly turning into a competition of who could swing the highest. Harry won of course, his legs being much longer than hers giving him the advantage. Playful giggles and sweet conversations of things occurring in that moment help distract them from both Phoebe and the fact that Y/N is leaving.

Y/N is distracting herself from worrying about if Harry will reach out to her when they get back to the city, if he even wants to talk to her again after this weekend or if this was all just out of politeness.

Harry, on the other hand, is distracting himself from wondering if she fancies him. He wonders if the cuddles and small touches meant as much to her as they did him, if after this weekend she would want to hang out again or if she was just being nice because he knows what she's going through.

"Bet I can reach it before you!" She giggles as her hair whips around in the wind she's created. Pumping her legs back and forth, desperately trying to get higher so she can beat Harry in her made up competition.

"Now, love, not everything has to be a competition," He huffs, really reaching out this time, "But, I wanna win, if we're playing a game, I wanna win." He grins, the cute dimple that Y/N has fallen for making an appearance on his face.

The two try their hardest to be the first ones to touch the tree branch hanging not too far from their swinging feet at their highest point. Harry, however, attempts a little too hard and flies off the swing when he lifted up his leg to make the two inch gap he was short of.

Tumbling to the woodchip covered ground, he ends up laying on his back. Groans spill out of his mouth and Y/N's eyes go wide with concern. She slows herself down just enough to safely jump off the swingset, rushing to Harry's side.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" She asks worriedly, trying to hold back the laugh that's trying to bust out. Crouching down to him, she runs her hand over his arm that's grabbing his leg.

He rubs his knee with a pained smile, "Yeah, just peachy, pet."

"Is anything hurting? Bruised?" She questions with a loving smile.

"Just my ego," He chuckles, looking up at her and admiring her caring nature.

She can't hold it in anymore, she laughs loudly at his comment, her carefree happiness making Harry's ears perk up and his heart warm.

"Yeah, love, just laugh at the crippled man." He jokes, smiling up at her happy face, wishing it could stay that way forever.

She lets out another laugh at his comment, delicately grabbing his arm to help him up, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It wasn't funny," She attempts to calm herself but fails, "Okay, it was a little bit funny!"

Giggles fall out of her mouth as Harry brushes off the mulch from his jeans, "See how much you're laughing when I push you out of the swing."

"I'm soo scared." She mocks fear.

"Oh, just wait, pet. You'll never be safe on another swing set again." He playfully grabs her sides to tickle her, but her fighting his tries just ends up bringing her closer in his hold.

Their laughs quickly die out when they realize he's holding her in his clutch, his hands at her waist, hers around his neck. Harry stares into her eyes as she stares back into his. The empty park is serene, no other noises besides the chirping of birds and the sounds of other animals sprawling about. The sweet moment causes Y/N's breath to hitch and her palms to sweat. They've only been this close when cuddling, she's never been this close to his face before. His features glow in the sunlight, his green irises complimenting the bounce of his skin and dark eyelashes. Her skin is soft and warm against his, and he just wants to lean in and-

Y/N's eyes flutter close as Harry's face comes closer, his lips meet hers in a gentle caress. With the sweet kiss, he takes note of how soft her lips are, how warm and fuzzy her intimate touch is making his head. While one hand is squeezing at her side, the other is brought up to cradle her face and she leans into his touch. Harry sucks on her bottom lip before peeling away so they can catch their breath.

Y/N lets out a whine at the loss of contact, her bottom lip jutting out as he pulls away.

"What are y'pouting for, pet? W-was that not okay? Should I not have done tha'?" The blood almost drains from his face at the pouty look on her beautiful face.

She shakes her head at him, "No, I liked it. I want more," She pants, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her lips.

He chuckles at her cute antics (and in relief of not fucking up his shot with her). He smiles against her lips as he melts back into her, her hand around his neck reaching up to tangle in his curly hair. He groans when her nimble fingers pull tenderly at the curls at the base of his neck, causing him to squeeze her side gently.

She breathlessly kissed him, slotting her lips between his and immediately opening her mouth in acceptance when he brushes his tongue against her bottom lip in a silent ask to take it further. As the kiss deepens, the need for air increases. They naturally separate, Harry sucking her bottom lip as he goes until it pops back.

Taking in her reddened swollen lips and her pretty flushed face, he presses one last chaste kiss on her lips, and one to her cheek and her nose.

A big, genuine grin adorns Y/N's face as she stares up at the man in front of her.

"Thank you f'letting me do tha'." He says with a gravelly voice.

"I've been thinking about you doing that since the first night you stayed at my house." She tells him bashfully.

"Me too, love. And it was better than I ever expected," He says whole-heartedly, leaning in to press one more quick kiss to her lips again.

"So, does this mean we're gonna hang out when we both go back home? Because I really want to do that again." Her glassy eyes blink at him with hope awaiting his answer.

He smiles and shakes his head, bewildered at how she could ever think that he could just ghost her after that, "I think Phoebe would come back just to slap me upside the head if I ever kissed her best friend and just never saw her again."

She chuckles at his comment, shyly looking down to her hand on his chest when he doesn't say anything else.

"Of course, I want to hang out when we get back. I want to take y'out on a real date, if you'd let me." He looks at her all starry eyed, squeezing her waist.

"I think Phoebe would come back and slap me upside the head if I ever kissed her cousin and just never saw him again," This time he's the one that laughs.

"I'd love that very much, Harry." She beams up at him.

Going back home couldn't come sooner to the both of them.

******************

ahhh i hope y’all liked that, i’d love feedback :) i’m thinking of making a series out of it, but only if that’s something y’all would like! so, pls let me know if you enjoyed it or if i should make a part 2 ??

anyways, stay safe and much love <3

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randomtwistedlife · 4 years ago

Text

Two Ghosts

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Female Reader

Summary: You are on a recon mission in Marley and run into Reiner. Little angsty.

Note: I just finished the anime and the manga and there are a lot of feelings and hence, this one shot was born. One huge spoiler regarding Reiner. If you know what I’m talking about, you can read this. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, spoiler ahead. POV shifts between reader and Reiner.

Based on Two Ghosts by Harry Styles

Feedback is appreciated.

We're not who we used to be

We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me

Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

You pulled the hood of your cape onto your head as you weaved across the sea of people. Glancing at the setting sun, you let out a curse. You were late. His letter, which was tightly clutched in your hands, had instructed you to meet him at the specified address tonight as soon as the sun set. Even though he hadn’t written a lot about himself, most likely afraid that the letter would fall into the wrong hands, you knew it was him from his handwriting and the way he wrote the words.

Jean was here. In Marley.

You had arrived in Marley a little over a month ago on a recon mission. The mission was simple — infiltrate Marley, specifically Liberio, because that’s where the Warrior program was, scout the high ranked officials, and understand the socio-political situation. It was the solitude and the feeling of otherness that was hard to deal with. Everyone on this side of the sea hated you. Well, not you specifically, but your kind. You just wanted to talk freely with someone. Though Eren was here as well, he wasn’t an option. He had been here almost as long as you, but visiting him at the hospital would raise too many eyebrows considering Eren’s secret identity was not supposed to have any family. And so you stayed away. But now Jean was here.

Your face hurt from smiling so much. It was hard to remember the last time you had been this happy. You would tell him all the information you had been able to gather till now and then, you would drink and eat and have fun with your friend. Just one night of fun - you deserved that after everything. You had already thought of all the questions you were going to throw at him. You wanted to know how everyone was doing back home — Armin, Mikasa, Connie, Sasha, Commander Hange, and Captain Levi. Thinking about your home and your friends left you with a sense of longing. Closing your eyes, you brushed aside the melancholic feeling. You will reunite soon. Walking a little faster, you looked up to locate the bar you were supposed to meet Jean at and that is when you bumped into him.

~~~

Reiner sighed. He had just dropped an enthusiastic Gabi at her home, and all he wanted to do now was get drunk and fall asleep. Sometimes, being around Gabi was tiring for him. The girl was hell-bent on inheriting his Armoured Titan thinking that it was the biggest honour in the world. How could he tell her otherwise? He himself didn’t know what he believed. He did, however, know that he didn’t want his cousin to go through what he did. But how does he explain all the anger, and the sadness, and the guilt that is buried deep inside of him to a 12-year-old when he himself couldn’t make any sense of his feelings?

If he hadn’t been lost in his thoughts and was watching where he was going, he probably would have avoided the collision altogether. When he finally realised what was happening, it was too late. There she was, her face covered behind her cape and walking straight towards him. The moment she crashes into him, Reiner holds her shoulders to help balance her. As he does so, he notices the piece of paper she was holding fall down on the road.

She apologises, so does he. As she walks past him, he bends down to pick up the piece of paper and calls out to her.

“You dropped something.”

She turns, and the world around him fades away.

~~~

You have been on enough battlefields to understand what people mean when they say, “Time moved slowly” but this was the first instance you fully understood what “Time stood still” meant. You don’t know how long you have been standing on the street. Jean’s letter left forgotten in his hands. He cannot have that letter; it could compromise the entire operation. But at this moment, you can’t seem to care. You should snatch the letter and run away, but you don’t. You just stand there staring into his hazel eyes.

Long gone is the young boy that you looked up to. His hair is longer and his sharp cheekbones are now slightly covered under his goatee. You had grown up in the last four years, but so had he. His eyes were wide and staring back into your own. You opened your mouth to say some something - anything - but words wouldn’t come out. You could hear a loud thudding - maybe it was your heart or maybe your head, you weren’t sure. Your mind was blank all because he was standing in front of you.

Reiner Braun. The boy you had fallen in love with. The boy who was responsible for the death of your family and friends. The boy - no, man - who could still make your heart flutter.

You had known that there was a high possibility of running into him, but you still volunteered to be a part of the infiltration. Maybe you wanted to run into him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Move! Speak! Do something! You screamed internally, but you felt frozen to your spot.

“Y/N,” he spoke, his voice shaky.

Your heart skips.

“Y/N,” he calls out to you.

The sound of his voice accelerated the already rampant pounding of your heart, and it felt like it would burst any second.

He took a step towards you. You took a step back.

“No,” your voice soft but firm.

You couldn’t face him after everything he had done.

~~~

The one thing Reiner had wanted more than anything in his life was to see you again. Of course, he never expected that to ever come true. Ever since his return from Paradis, he has spent a countless number of nights thinking about how if he ever met you again, he would tell you everything and you would forgive him. He never expected that to happen either, but isn’t that why they are called dreams? Late at night, he could hope to see you again. In his dreams, he could imagine spending a life with you.

And now here you were. Standing right in front of him.

The young girl he had fallen in love with was now a beautiful woman. Not that you weren’t beautiful before. Back when he was pretending to be a soldier of Paradis, he had seen you covered in blood, sweat and grime several times and you were still the most beautiful human to ever grace the planet in his eyes. Your hair, which looked much shorter than the last time he had seen you, was framing your face. Besides the guarded expression that you wore, your eyes were locked with his own.

“No,” you spoke as you stepped away from him.

His throat went dry. His palms moistened and he could hear the crinkle of the piece of paper he was holding as he clenched his hands. Reiner couldn't be certain that this wasn't a dream. His hands were itching to touch you, to feel the smoothness of your skin, and to confirm that you were indeed standing in front of him.

“I —” he spoke again, but stopped. What could he even say? That he was sorry? A simple ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t enough. He knew he could never atone for all the violence he had ensued; for all the people that were dead because of him. The apology that was stuck in his throat was too little, too late.

You tilted your head slightly, and Reiner saw how your guarded expression slowly changed into something else. Your eyebrows narrowed and your face flushed a deep shade of red.

“Reiner,” you spat out his name.

Although he was expecting it, the venom in your voice startled him. The air between the two of you had shifted, becoming much more tense. His glance flickered from you to his surroundings. He could feel their watchful gaze on the two of you. Everybody in Liberio knew who he was. The people walking by seemed quite interested in what was happening between the Armoured Titan and the woman he was with. Looking back at you, he realised things could go south quickly. Hastily, he reached for your arm, without giving you a chance to fight him, and dragged you to the nearest alley, away from prying eyes.

“Back off, Braun.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t have been at my home, but things don’t always happen according to plan now, do they?” you retorted.

“I know this doesn’t count for anything, but I’m sorry. If I could go back in time, I would do things differently,” he admitted.

You looked away, breaking off the eye contact, “Well, you can’t.”

The slanting rays of the setting sun shone on your face, making you seem more alluring than ever. He was so screwed.

~~~

His admission caught you off guard. Did he regret doing what he did? Was he genuinely sorry? He did apologise, but how could you trust what he said? You had trusted him once, with your life and your heart, and look what happened.

“Was any of it real?” you asked.

Your eyes were trained on the cat rummaging for scraps in the alley dumpster, but your ears were straining to hear his answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, specially if he confirmed he had merely used you for his mission.

“Yes. All of it. All of us,” he replied.

You turned your head and risked a peek in his direction.

“I — The mission was to break the wall, blend in, and bring the Founding Titan to Marley. You were never supposed to be a part of it.”

His eyes were focused on you.

“I tried really hard, you know. I tried not to fall in love with you. Annie and Bertolt realised what was happening as well and tried to keep me away from you, but we all know how that worked out,” he chuckled ruefully. “You were fierce when you protected and stood up for your friends. You were sweet and kind and understanding. You had been through so much —” his eyes cast downward “ — and yet you still could love and be kind.”

He looked back up at you. “By the time I realised what you meant to me, it was too late.”

You screwed your eyes shut. No, this couldn’t be happening. Four years. It had taken you four years to heal your heart and here he was breaking down your walls all over again.

“Stop,” you whispered.

“You deserve the truth, (Y/N)” he spoke softly.

You shook your head and opened your eyes. They burned with unshed tears.

“I never meant to hurt you, and I would spend the rest of my life making things right. I loved you.”

All this time you had been telling yourself that the bond you had shared with Reiner was nothing but a lie. He never cared about you. You were simply a means to an end for him. But the words spilling from his mouth were enough to turn your world upside down. You looked up as you felt the heat from his body. You could feel his breath on your face. Were you two standing this close before?

“I love you,” he whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes jumping from his lips to his eyes. Reiner leaned in and you let him. You parted your lips and felt him washing over you like a wave of warmth. Your entire body tingled. The kiss started soft and slow with your arms locked with his. He took a step back when the two of you came back for air.

“I’m sorry, I needed to do that —” he started speaking, but you placed your hands behind his neck and pulled him in.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding your body close. He pulled you in, claiming your mouth once again, this time hungry and intense, until your knees gave in. His hands were on your hips and he lifted you up as if you weighed nothing. He moved the two of you so your back touched the wall. His body was pressing into yours and you inhale his scent. He still smelled like the boy who won you over years ago.

The two of you come back for air and he presses his forehead against yours.

There were a million thoughts running through your head. Reiner couldn’t know why you were in Marley, he couldn’t know about your friends being in Marley either, and oh shit, you were supposed to meet up with Jean. But right now, none of that mattered to you. All that mattered was that Reiner was here, with you, kissing you.

“I love you too, Reiner.”

~~~

If an ex who killed your friends and family tries to walk back into your life, please run far, far away.

#reiner x reader #reiner x y/n #reiner fanfic #reiner oneshot #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk oneshot #aot oneshots #jean kirstein

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moonlit-ocs · 3 years ago

Text

The Circus Scheme

The Story of Young Justice’s Leila al Ghūl

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

—————

GOTHAM CITY

April 1, 15:34 EST

2006

Leila had dragged Bruce to the circus that stopped in town, which wasn’t really his scene, but it gave her a chance at a new experience that really brightened her up. The games, the music, the outfits, the scenery, even the food. It showed her what real fun was.

Of course, she won herself a stuffed animal and picked up the fair food, made Bruce carry her things as she took in all the action and attractions. That is, until showtime. “Bruce, come on! They’re starting in the big tent!” Lei dragged him along for the main event with a twinkle in her eye and a smile as big as the sun.

“You sure seem excited about this.” Bruce took a handful of her popcorn for himself as the music began to blare and a man appeared on stage, welcoming the crowd the Haly’s Circus. It was mesmerizing watching every act, especially the acrobats.

“I could do that.” She whispered to her dad and he chuckled at the claim.

“I could add some equipment to the gym if you’d like to prove that claim.” He whispered back and she nodded eagerly, obsessed with the thought. It was a shame that they’d already reached the final act, the Flying Graysons, but they were fantastic. The coordination, the stunts, the risk factor, Leila was mesmerized.

Until the room fell silent from the shock of the fall. A scream echoed through the tent. Everyone not believing the show’s tragic turn after the trapeze broke and the family of acrobats completed their final act. Leila stopped breathing as soon as it happened, turning this day from the greatest to the worst in just a few second’s time.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked her, who was just starting to open up to the idea of being a kid. This shocked her to her very core. Lei just silently nodded as Bruce grabbed her hand and walked towards the scene, ready to do whatever he could to help—Bruce Wayne or Batman.

Bruce and Leila took to the ring as paramedics swarmed in, Bruce immediately resonating with the young boy in matching attire to the rest of the Flying Graysons. He was all that was left of them, and Leila knew exactly what Bruce was thinking. “Are we gonna help him?” She tugged on Bruce’s suit jacket sleeve.

“If he’ll let us.” He answered and began to work his charm, offering his condolences and a hand to the boy in need. Dark days were ahead for him, anyone could see. His mother, father, aunt, and cousin were all DOA. His uncle was paralyzed and the boy was left all alone. Dick Grayson, age nine.

“Hi, Dick.” Leila sat beside him at the hospital, a complete stranger who he’d usually be in the mood to talk the ear off of, but now just didn’t feel right. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Go ahead.” He muttered while Bruce spoke to the adults, Haly and the cops in particular.

“I’m Leila.” She introduced herself. “I know you’re gonna get sick of hearing this, but I’m sorry for your loss.” Lei used some of the manners she’d been taught by her adoptive dad.

“Thanks.” His leg bounced up and down as he stared at the floor, completely shaken by his reality.

“Listen, my dad wants to make sure you have a safe and stable place to stay during all of this.” Lei cut to the chase, one messed up kid to another. “He’s been through a similar situation, he knows what you’re going through.”

“Really? You think he knows how this feels?” Dick snapped at her and sniffled, breaking down into tears as the beeping machinery at the hospital overwhelmed his ears. “I doubt anyone knows how this feels!”

“When my dad was eight, his parents were shot dead in an alley. He was standing right in between them. They were all he had.” Leila revealed, proving the mourning circus kid wrong. “You won’t be forced to do anything, I just wanted to give you a heads up, give you some more time to think about it. I’m sorry if I bothered you, it wasn’t my intention.” She stood up from her seat and reconvened with Bruce, letting him know what she just did. This boy looked so defeated, so much like Bruce the day his parents died. Some of the GCPD officers should know. They were there both days, just about 20 years apart.

—————

GOTHAM CITY

March 30, 12:01 EST

2007

Tomorrow it will have been a year since Dick had lost his family and gained a new one, one that wasn’t what he expected at all. On the outside, Leila and Bruce were two rich kids with a generational gap, never knew a bit of grief or struggle. But once Dick had learned the truth, turning back wasn’t an option he wanted to exercise. Why would he? He lived with the Batman, trained under his care, adopted a super-identity, and got closure from his family tragedy. He couldn’t change his past, but he could pursue his future.

It’d been a bit over two years since Leila retired the assassin gig and pursued her own future, too. For once, it wasn’t cut out ahead of her. She had options, opportunities, and a life. It was no surprise the League of Shadows tried to contact her several times in an attempt to get her back, guilt her into her “destiny,” but Lei had given up on that future completely. So each time they tried, Leila made sure Bruce knew. Keeping honest between her closest family members, it would solidify that trust she’d already earned.

“Thank you for telling me.” Bruce would tell his daughter, appreciating the information she would share. She had grown so much as a vigilante, but as an individual? It was yet to be seen. She hadn’t attended a school yet, hadn’t made a friend her own age besides her foster brother, Dick. And let’s face it, he was no “normal kid,” either. But they got along well, grew to love each other like family. Dick taught her his acrobatics, Leila taught him her espionage, etcetera. And Wayne Manor wasn’t so quiet anymore. It had laughter, joyful screams, music, heavy footsteps, all a father could want. But hide and seek was still banned, it got quite heated with the two children.

Leila was 11 now, 12 in a few more months. Ready for school. Which was discussed quite a bit between her and her father. The agreement was she’d be enrolled in seventh grade come fall, Gotham Academy. She was smart enough to skip a few grades, but for the sake of her identity, they’d have her skip sixth grade to support her impressive intellect. Lei would have no problem with the “work” part of school, but this was serious. She’d have to acclimate with her peers, separate the assassin from the girl. It was still her first instinct, she’d never be able to shake those original teachings completely, but she learned from her mentor and father that the first thought in her mind would be the way she was raised, the second thought would be the way she learned. And the second thought is always more important.

She had to prep early for the new school year, which was no problem for her. In just a few short months, she would be an academic student. Life was changing, evolving for her, but something else was on her mind.

—————

GOTHAM CITY

April 1, 00:14 EST

2007

They were out on patrol for the night, geared up and on the metaphorical clock. Some wore tights, some wore capes, but they all opted for a mask. It hid more than just their identities.

Batman had his own leads to follow, it was April Fool’s Day, after all. So Demonspawn and Robin called it a team-up for the night. Leila had a specialty in reading people, but anyone could have read this boy. “Are you okay, Robin?” She asked her partner.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Just a pretty boring night.” He sat on the ledge and looked over the city lights of Gotham, thinking about how this gloomy place was the final stop for his parents in their traveling circus. Lei sat beside him and put her arm around his shoulders.

“I’m not stupid.” Lei replied and Dick chuckled.

“Didn’t say you were.” He leaned on his sister’s shoulder and tried to keep his cool, but she was just one of the few people that could make him let his guard down without even trying. Damn Shadows.

“Then don’t act like it,” Leila pulled the goggles of her mask up to reveal her eyes, “I know what day it is. You do, too.” Dick gulped when she dared speak about it. “Anniversaries can be hard, but I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, Dee.” Dick sighed, still genuinely bored by tonight. April Fool’s Day, so many possibilities. Joker, Mad Hatter, Calendar Man. Could one of them pop up so he’d have someone to focus on.

“Are you glad you found him? Zucco?” Leila decided to ask about him, the man responsible for the curtain closing on the Flying Graysons. Dick was silent for a few moments as he pondered the question.

“I am. I needed justice for my family—my parents. I got it in a way that didn’t completely damage my psyche.” Dick explained and Lei nodded in agreement. “Do you have someone you need justice for, or from?”

“You’ve seen the case files for the League of Shadows, you know what I come from.” She became much more aware of the surroundings below now that she brought up her past, like she was trying to distract herself from all that pain she wasn’t even aware of until she was free. Cars drove by, people walking between their bar hops on a late Saturday night, or early Sunday morning. “I don’t think I could ever get justice from a specific person. Not my mother, not my grandfather. And dismantling the Shadows seems like the best way to go, and the most impossible way.” She secured her goggles over the rest of her face mask once again and laughed at herself a moment. “I think I want justice for my childhood. Well, I know I do. You know, going to the circus a year ago? That was supposed to be one of those things, experiencing something so juvenile and carefree, get some memories, be a kid, but…”

“That didn’t go as planned.” Dick got what she was saying and felt a bit of guilt that Leila had only gotten more damaged seeing his family perform.

“Hey, I got the coolest little brother out of it, though. I always wanted a sibling.” Lei nudged him with her elbow and cheered him up a bit. “You don’t need to hold all your grief about this in. It’s still pretty fresh, it’s okay to be sad, or angry, or confused. Just don’t let it destroy you.”

“I know, I know. You’re right. When we get home, I’ll try to get my mind off off of it.” Robin shrugged, but smirked at the same time. “Maybe you could help?”

“How so?” Demonspawn cocked an eyebrow.

“Movie night?”

“Absolutely.”

—————

#dc comics oc #batfamily #batfamily oc #leila al ghul oc #leila wayne oc #demonspawn oc #leila wayne al ghul oc #young justice oc #young justice #dc comics #robin #dick grayson #batman #bruce wayne

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zodiyack · 4 years ago

Text

Worse Things Than Hell

Requested by @cai-neki: Hello there! I just found your blog uwu. Am kinda ran out of Shelby!reader to read so yeah just want to thank ya for lovely writings. May I ask for a Sister!reader to the whole Shelby clan. Angst and some unexpected character death (maybe the reader or someone), an operation gone south or rescue op. Whatever may comfortable to you. Thankk you in advance. ^-^

Pairing: Shelby & Gray Family + Shelby!Female!Reader

Warnings: Death, swearing, angst, me not proofreading

Words: 994

Summary: (See Request)

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @peakysputain, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @thewarriorprincessxo

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

“Help her!” Tommy screamed at the nurses while Ada smoothed her younger sister’s hair back. She blinked away the tears as she tended to Y/n, trying as hard as she could to push through it and be grateful that nothing majorly bad had happened yet.

The nurse rushed to Y/n and lifted the cloth covering her torso. Her eyes widened at the sight before she let go of it and ran off in a panic, murmuring things under her breath incoherently. She returned with another nurse who began to push the family aside.

“No!” Polly shoved back, fighting to see her niece. She ignored the nurses’ pleading ”Ma’am”s and ran to Y/n, cradling her face and brushing her thumbs over her skin. “Y/n? Y/n, dear, please talk to me.”

The woman in the bed could only lie still and breathe. Her eyes drifted to her Aunt’s face and a stray tear slid down her cheek. Polly smiled softly and wiped it away.

“Pol. We...we need to give the doctor’s some space. Y/n will be alive and healthy when we come back. She’s...she’s a strong girl.” C’mon.” Tommy didn’t believe a thing he was saying, but it seemed to get Polly to do as he told her, so he was willing to pretend. Even for a second.

Polly nodded and rose slowly, leaning over Y/n and kissing her forehead gently. She paced to the door slowly, but stopped to glare at Tommy and give him a warning she meant from the heart. “If you’re lying to me, Thomas...” Her bottom lip trembled as her brows knitted. “I will show you worse things than hell.”

Her heels clacked through the halls until they faded into silence. Tommy looked apologetically at the nurses before turning to the rest of his family and nodding for them to leave as well. He stood by the door, watching as his cousin and each of his siblings bid Y/n goodbye.

Ada did just as her aunt did and placed a tender kiss upon her little sister’s forehead, Finn giving her the same sympathetic smirk and kissing her cheek. Arthur combed his hands over his hair, flattening it with a heavy sigh. He kneeled next to her bed and opened his mouth to speak. However, before any words could leave his parted lips, the tears started streaming.

John knelt beside Arthur and smacked his shoulder lightly. They both nodded and sat in the silence, thinking of what to say only to wipe away snot and tears with their sleeves. Michael crept up behind them and placed a hand on both their shoulders. They rose slowly, giving Y/n one last look before leaving.

Michael took his turn to kneel, taking his cousin’s hand and kissing it softly. “Please fight, Y/n. I believe in you.” He pressed his forehead against her unmoving fist before kissing it once more and setting it beside her again. Inhaling sharply, he staggered towards the door, blinking away tears.

Tommy waited to move to his sister’s bedside until Michael was fully out the door. He was the most successful with keeping a calm exterior, but it was only held up with false beliefs; lies he told himself to feel more sane- more serene than how he’d initially react.

He cupped his sister’s face, swallowing thickly yet keeping his expression blank. His thumb brushed over her cheek, “Don’t let me be wrong, Y/n/n.”

It was just a simple bullet wound. A shot that hit her in the chest. Had it been anywhere else, the Shelbys wouldn’t have brought Y/n to the hospital. They could’ve cared for it on their own. However, that wasn’t the case. The bullet was too close to her heart. Any wrong moves and it’d be flatline before they knew it.

Y/n was dead.

The hospital had the same result they would’ve had if they decided to do it on their own. Tommy was the first to be notified; and thank god for that. When he called a family meeting, everyone was cheering with the possibility of great news, perhaps Y/n was all better and would be standing with her older brother, a smile on both their faces.

But...when they entered the room to find it Y/n-less and Thomas holding a frown as his wall of steel crumbled bit by bit. John stared at his brother with red eyes, his mouth agape, as the realization hit him. “No- Tom-” He hugged Finn close to him. Arthur found interest in the floor, Michael rushing in after him and doing the same. Polly ran in next, and all hell broke loose.

She looked at John and Finn, then Arthur and Michael; all four avoided her eyes while swallowing to prevent the floods threatening to escape their eyes. Then, so fast her neck should’ve snapped, she turned to Tommy and stomped towards him. She gripped his color and pursed her lips.

“Tell me it’s not true.” He looked at her with sorrow and empathy, but no words left his mouth. Pol slapped him. “You fucking lied to me. You lied to me, Thomas! She’s dead, isn’t she.” Too caught up in the furry to wipe them away, the tears pushed past the gates of all five’s eyes. “You told me she’d be okay!”

Polly continued hitting Thomas, sliding down to his knees and crying into him heavily. He held her up as much as he could until she stood up and slapped his hands away. “You-you lied to me. And now? Now I’ll give you hell, Tom, I’ll give you fucking hell.”

She stomped out of the room, the four boys following behind quietly. Ada finally rushed in, confused by the crowd leaving the room. Then it hit her. Just as hard as she hit her brother.

Thomas caught her arms as they both broke down. Tommy held Ada as she cried into his chest, him crying into her hair, holding her tightly. “You bastard, Tom. She didn’t deserve this...”

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cybermoonmoon · 2 years ago

Photo

A set-up, and a punchline.

Every item in this Geoffrey Biggs magazine illustration screams 1956! Thanks to my cousin Natasha Smith for posting this on her page. I remember each item shown. The Philco TV in the upper corner with black, and white boxing on. That brown winter cap the guy is wearing in the far-left corner…common on men, and boys of the time. Besides the rolled jeans. The gunsel...bad guy with pistol at the front door is in a cap with union membership buttons…two! Actual functioning labor unions! He probably had a job at a plant…we made things. We used to do that, …a lot.

The young woman’s blouse scarf skirt ponytail bracelet, …and actual cigarettes! A whole history of the 50’s position of women in one shot. On left, ...a fucking phone booth! 1935 store standard. The phone a late 1920’s two piece with cylindrical earphone to the guy's head.

The Wiseguy’s trench coat the .38 Roscoe! The bar keep's bow tie, and mini apron. Near all the shop keepers of my childhood wore these. Them red vinyl swivel tripod stools, …bleeping ash trays! All the guys are wearing laced leather shoes, …like high school teachers still do.

Mind, ...we still have shot-dead bodies in barrooms by the metric ton. Like the one near camouflaged into the floor. ...See his shoes sticking out under the phone booth.

Dirty paint faded walls are also still with us. The only thing that don’t belong at least in NYC or Boston is the phonebooth guy’s red scarf. Men didn’t wear dress scarfs. Not even gay guys back then, …more of a Brit thing. Such times. Near full employment affordable homes, ...for some.

Cheap booze ashtrays, and legal Segregation for everybody.

The basic message. The art piece illustrates the fun of a bar room multiple murder in progress. As I say we still have these. Goes back to the invention of wheat then beer. In pubs for 5000+ years and counting. Opium dens on the other hand have the advantage of everybody already being passed out.

The punchline. Ganja, …less guns more laffs.

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kookie-doughs · 4 years ago

Text

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 17: I Swim For The First Time...?

It was Annabeth's idea. She loaded us into the back of a Vegas taxi as if we actually had money, and told the driver, "Los Angeles, please."

The cabbie chewed his cigar and sized us up. "That's three hundred miles. For that, you gotta pay up front." "You accept casino debit cards?" Annabeth asked. He shrugged. "Some of 'em. Same as credit cards. I gotta swipe 'em through first." Annabeth handed him her green Lotus Cash card. He looked at it skeptically. "Swipe it," Annabeth invited. He did.

His meter machine started rattling. The lights flashed. Finally an infinity symbol came up next to the dollar sign. The cigar fell out of the driver's mouth. He looked back at us, his eyes wide. "Where to in Los Angeles... uh, Your Highness?" "The Santa Monica Pier." Annabeth sat up a little straighter. I could tell she liked the "Your Highness" thing. "Get us there fast, and you can keep the change." Maybe she shouldn't have told him that. The cab's speedometer never dipped below ninety-five the whole way through the Mojave Desert. On the road, we had plenty of time to talk. Percy told us about his latest dream. The Lotus Casino seemed to have short-circuited my memory. I couldn't recall what the invisible servant's voice had sounded like, though I was sure it was somebody I knew. The servant had called the monster in the pit something other than "my lord" ... some special name or title.... "The Silent One?" Annabeth suggested. "The Rich One? Both of those are nicknames for Hades." "Maybe..." he said.

"That throne room sounds like Hades's," Grover said. "That's the way it's usually described." He shook my head. "Something's wrong. The throne room wasn't the main part of the dream. And that voice from the pit... I don't know. It just didn't feel like a god's voice."

The crooked one... Annabeth's eyes widened. And looked at Percy. Who had a look of realization. "What?" I asked. "Oh... nothing. I was just—No, it has to be Hades. Maybe he sent this thief, this invisible person, to get the master bolt, and something went wrong—" "Like what?" "I—I don't know," she said. "But if he stole Zeus's symbol of power from Olympus, and the gods were hunting him, I mean, a lot of things could go wrong. So this thief had to hide the bolt, or he lost it somehow. Anyway, he failed to bring it to Hades. That's what the voice said in your dream, right? The guy failed. That would explain what the Furies were searching for when they came after us on the bus. Maybe they thought we had retrieved the bolt." I wasn't sure what was wrong with her. She looked pale. "But if Percy already retrieved the bolt," I said, "why would we be traveling to the Underworld?" "To threaten Hades," Grover suggested. "To bribe or blackmail him into getting your parents back." I whistled. "You have evil thoughts for a goat." "Why, thank you."

"Only mine is there. I'd rather get Y/N's than mine." Percy said gripping my hand.

"Huh?"

"You lost them thanks to me." He smiled weakly. "A-Anyways, the thing in the pit said it was waiting for two items," I reminded. "If the master bolt is one, what's the other?" Grover shook his head, clearly mystified. Annabeth was looking at me as if she knew my next question, and was silently willing me not to ask it.

I have every answers. I could tell you. What do you wish to know? We are to help one another after all...

Could you tell me how I could save my parents?

Save them? As I told you only we could save them. Being there, you'd know your only option. Only you could do it. Do you wish to know more?

What's this quest?

A trap. Next one?

Who is my parent?

Hahaha, that is a question I shan't answer. Just believe in all gods. Befriend them and you'll know. You could trust them all.

Even Zeus, Hades and Poseidon? They kinda suck...

Unless you're positive they aren't your parent, you don’t have to.

Yeah, can I have like... I don't know... I kinda want Hephaestus. He seems coolest. I an NOT blessed in like singing and all that so I can’t be Apollo's.

I've already given you a parent. My apologies. The one I chose would be... quite a friend. Would you want to know more?

Well not re---

"Y/NN!! Ask more about the quest and Percy's dream!!!" I hear Annabeth scream at my ear.

"Oh my gods! Don't scream at my ear!" I yelled pushing her away. "What do you mean ask about Percy's dream? Who will I ask? The driver?"

"You----"

"She can't remember whenever that happens." Percy explained. "They already told us."

"What are you guys talking about??"

"Nothing. We were thinking about the pit..." Annabeth sighed.

"You have an idea what might be in that pit, don't you?" I asked her. "I mean, if it isn't Hades?" "Y/N... let's not talk about it. Because if it isn't Hades... No. It has to be Hades." Wasteland rolled by. We passed a sign that said CALIFORNIA STATE LINE, 12 MILES. The problem was: we were hurtling toward the Underworld at ninety-five miles an hour, betting that Hades had the master bolt. If we got there and found out we were wrong, we wouldn't have time to correct ourselves. The solstice deadline would pass and war would begin. "The answer is in the Underworld," Annabeth assured us. "You saw spirits of the dead, Percy. There's only one place that could be. We're doing the right thing." She tried to boost our morale by suggesting clever strategies for getting into the Land of the Dead, but my heart wasn't in it. There were just too many unknown factors. It was like cramming for a test without knowing the subject. And believe me, I'd done that enough times. The cab sped west. Every gust of wind through Death Valley sounded like a spirit of the dead. Every time the brakes hissed on an eighteen-wheeler, it reminded me of Echidna's reptilian voice. At sunset, the taxi dropped us at the beach in Santa Monica. It looked exactly the way L.A. beaches do in the movies, only it smelled worse. There were carnival rides lining the Pier, palm trees lining the sidewalks, homeless guys sleeping in the sand dunes, and surfer dudes waiting for the perfect wave. Grover, Annabeth, Percy, and I walked down to the edge of the surf. "What now?" Annabeth asked. The Pacific was turning gold in the setting sun. I thought about how long it had been since I'd stood on the beach at Montauk, on the opposite side of the country, looking out at a different sea. I felt anxious being near the water. Percy took my hand.

"What?" I said slowly pulling away from him.

"Trust me and come with me." He said looking at me in the eye. "Percy," Annabeth said. "That's stupid! She can barely stay alive up here!"

"If the water pulls her could you save her?" He glared at the two. "As long as she holds me she'll be safe." He gripped my hand.

"I-I'll trust you... But I have to make sure you won't let me drown... I-I need---" Annabeth then sighed and walked over to us taking our wrist.

"If she drowns I am totally not siding on you during the war." She hissed at Percy while tying Aphrodite's scarf on our wrist.

"how do you have that?" Percy asked.

"I forgot I gave it to her." With our wrist attached by a cloth, he held my hand tight then we kept walking, up to my waist, then my chest.

"I'm scared..." I gulped. Percy pulled me closer. That's when my head went under. I held my breath at first. It's difficult to intentionally inhale water. Finally I couldn't stand it anymore. I gasped. Sure enough, I could breathe normally. Percy was smiling at me, with his arms still around me. We walked down into the shoals. I shouldn't have been able to see through the murk, but somehow I could tell where everything was. I could sense the rolling texture of the bottom. I could make out sand-dollar colonies dotting the sandbars. I could even see the currents, warm and cold streams swirling together. I felt something rub against my leg. I looked down and almost shot out of the water like a ballistic missile. Sliding along beside me was a five-foot-long mako shark. I almost screamed until I saw how cute it was. The thing wasn't attacking. It was nuzzling me. Heeling like a dog. Tentatively, I touched its dorsal fin. It bucked a little, as if inviting me to hold tighter. Percy took my hand and wrapped it on the fin, he grabbed the fin with both hands, so I followed his actions. It took off, pulling us along. The shark carried us down into the darkness. It deposited us at the edge of the ocean proper, where the sand bank dropped off into a huge chasm. It was like standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon at midnight, not being able to see much, but knowing the void was right there. The surface shimmered maybe a hundred and fifty feet above. I knew I should've been crushed by the pressure. Then again, I shouldn't have been able to breathe. I wondered if there was a limit to how deep I could go, if I could sink straight to the bottom of the Pacific. Then I saw something glimmering in the darkness below, growing bigger and brighter as it rose toward me. A woman's voice, "Percy Jackson." As she got closer, her shape became clearer. She had flowing black hair, a dress made of green silk. Light flickered around her, and her eyes were so distractingly beautiful I hardly noticed the stallion-sized sea horse she was riding. She dismounted. The sea horse and the mako shark whisked off and started playing something that looked like tag. The underwater lady smiled at me. "You've come far, Percy Jackson. Well done. And you brought... a friend." I wasn't quite sure what to do, so I bowed. "H-Hello..."

"You're the woman who spoke to me in the Mississippi River." Percy said. "Yes, child. I am a Nereid, a spirit of the sea. It was not easy to appear so far upriver, but the naiads, my freshwater cousins, helped sustain my life force. They honor Lord Poseidon, though they do not serve in his court." "An... you serve in Poseidon's court?" She nodded. "It has been many years since a child of the Sea God has been born. We have watched you with great interest." I felt so out of placed being here so I wrapped my arms around Percy tighter. "If my father is so interested in me," Percy said, "why isn't he here? Why doesn't he speak to me?" A cold current rose out of the depths. "Do not judge the Lord of the Sea too harshly," the Nereid told him. "He stands at the brink of an unwanted war. He has much to occupy his time. Besides, he is forbidden to help you directly. The gods may not show such favoritism." "Even to their own children?" "Especially to them. The gods can work by indirect influence only. Why do you think they're trying to find who Y/N's parent is? They helped raising her, that's why her scent is gone."

"M-My Olympian parent raised me? I don't remember anyone... I'm pretty sure neither my mom or dad are Olympians... or Greek."

"Well that is what they're trying to figure out."

"Well, what's my father doing then?"

"That is why I give you a warning, and a gift."

She held out her hand. Three white pearls flashed in her palm. "I know you journey to Hades's realm," she said. "Few mortals have ever done this and survived: Orpheus, who had great music skill; Hercules, who had great strength; Houdini, who could escape even the depths of Tartarus. Do you have these talents?" "Urn... no, ma'am." "Ah, but you have something else, Percy. You have gifts you have only begun to know. The oracles have foretold a great and terrible future for you, should you survive to manhood. Poseidon would not have you die before your time. Therefore take these, and when you are in need, smash a pearl at your feet." "What will happen?" "That," she said, "depends on the need. But remember: what belongs to the sea will always return to the sea."

Percy took the three pearls and pocketed it. "Oh... but there are four of us. We'll need one more."

She looked at me and Percy. Then looked at her empty palm. "Your father..."

"I'm not leaving any of them if I need to use this." Percy said firmly.

She sighed and out came another pearl. Instead of handing it to Percy she handed it to me. "The lord does not like you. He's been firm and obvious of that fact. But... as his son refuse to leave you..."

I took the pearl reluctantly and thanked her. "What about the warning?" Her eyes flickered with green light. "Go with what your heart tells you, or you will lose all. Hades feeds on doubt and hopelessness. He will trick you if he can, make you mistrust your own judgment. Once you are in his realm, he will never willingly let you leave. Keep faith. Good luck, Percy Jackson." She summoned her sea horse and rode toward the void. "Wait!" Percy called. "At the river, you said not to trust the gifts. What gifts?" "Good-bye, young hero," she called back, her voice fading into the depths. "You must listen to your heart." She became a speck of glowing green, and then she was gone. "Your dad... must really hate me to leave me in Underworld when worse comes to worse..." I muttered burying my face on his neck.

"Don't worry... I won't let him hurt you, just because whoever your parent is raised you." He kicked upward toward the shore. When we reached the beach, our clothes dried instantly. Percy told Grover and Annabeth what had happened, and showed them the pearls. Annabeth grimaced. "No gift comes without a price. Not to mention Y/N is hated." "They were free." "No." She shook her head. "'There is no such thing as a free lunch.' That's an ancient Greek saying that translated pretty well into American. There will be a price. You wait." On that happy thought, we turned our backs on the sea. With some spare change from Ares's backpack, we took the bus into West Hollywood. We showed the driver the Underworld address slip we'd taken from Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium, but he'd never heard of DOA Recording Studios.

"You remind me of somebody I saw on TV," he told Percy. "You a child actor or something?" "Uh ... I'm a stunt double ... for a lot of child actors." "Oh! That explains it." We thanked him and got off quickly at the next stop. We wandered for miles on foot, looking for DOA. Nobody seemed to know where it was. It didn't appear in the phone book. Twice, we ducked into alleys to avoid cop cars. Percy froze in front of an appliance-store window because a television was playing an interview with somebody

"—my stepdad, Smelly Gabe." He explained.

He was talking to Barbara Walters—I mean, as if he were some kind of huge celebrity. She was interviewing him in our apartment, in the middle of a poker game, and there was a young blond lady sitting next to him, patting his hand. A fake tear glistened on his cheek. He was saying, "Honest, Ms. Walters, if it wasn't for Sugar here, my grief counselor, I'd be a wreck. My stepson took everything I cared about. My wife... my Camaro... I—I'm sorry. I have trouble talking about it." "There you have it, America." Barbara Walters turned to the camera. "A man torn apart. An adolescent boy with serious issues. Let me show you, again, the last known photo of this troubled young fugitive, taken a week ago in Denver. He has taken a young girl that goes by Y/N L/N with her." The screen cut to a grainy shot of me, Percy, Annabeth, and Grover standing outside the Colorado diner, talking to Ares. "Who are the two other children in this photo?" Barbara Walters asked dramatically. "Who is the man with them? Is Percy Jackson a delinquent, a terrorist, or perhaps the brainwashed victim of a frightening new cult? When we come back, we chat with a leading child psychologist. Stay tuned, America." "C'mon," Grover told me. He hauled us away.

It got dark, and hungry-looking characters started coming out on the streets to play. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm a New Yorker. I don't scare easy. But L.A. had a totally different feel from New York. Back home, everything seemed close. It didn't matter how big the city was, you could get anywhere without getting lost. The street pattern and the subway made sense. There was a system to how things worked. A kid could be safe as long as he wasn't stupid. L.A. wasn't like that. It was spread out, chaotic, hard to move around. It reminded me of Ares. It wasn't enough for L.A. to be big; it had to prove it was big by being loud and strange and difficult to navigate, too. I didn't know how we were ever going to find the entrance to the Underworld by tomorrow, the summer solstice. We walked past gangbangers, bums, and street hawkers, who looked at us like they were trying to figure if we were worth the trouble of mugging. As we hurried passed the entrance of an alley, a voice from the darkness said, "Hey, you." Like an idiot, I stopped. Before I knew it, we were surrounded. A gang of kids had circled us. Six of them in all—white kids with expensive clothes and mean faces. Like the kids at Yancy Academy: rich brats playing at being bad boys. Instinctively, I drew my knife. When the knife appeared out of nowhere, the kids backed off, but their leader was either really stupid or really brave, because he kept coming at me with a switchblade.

Percy then pulled me behind him and swung Riptide. The kid yelped. But he must've been one hundred percent mortal, because the blade passed harmlessly right through his chest. He looked down. "What the..." I figured I had about three seconds before his shock turned to anger. "Run!" I screamed taking Percy's hand. We pushed two kids out of the way and raced down the street, not knowing where we were going. We turned a sharp corner. "There!" Annabeth shouted. Only one store on the block looked open, its windows glaring with neon. The sign above the door said something like CRSTUY'S WATRE BDE ALPACE. "Crusty's Water Bed Palace?" Grover translated. It didn't sound like a place I'd ever go except in an emergency, but this definitely qualified. We burst through the doors, ran behind a water bed, and ducked. A split second later, the gang kids ran past outside. "I think we lost them," Grover panted. A voice behind us boomed, "Lost who?" We all jumped. Standing behind us was a guy who looked like a raptor in a leisure suit. He was at least seven feet tall, with absolutely no hair. He had gray, leathery skin, thick-lidded eyes, and a cold, reptilian smile. He moved toward us slowly, but I got the feeling he could move fast if he needed to. His suit might've come from the Lotus Casino. It belonged back in the seventies, big-time. The shirt was silk paisley, unbuttoned halfway down his hairless chest. The lapels on his velvet jacket were as wide as landing strips. The silver chains around his neck—I couldn't even count them. "I'm Crusty," he said, with a tartar-yellow smile. I resisted the urge to say, Yes, you are. "Sorry to barge in," Percy told him. "We were just, um, browsing." "You mean hiding from those no-good kids," he grumbled. "They hang around every night. I get a lot of people in here, thanks to them. Say, you want to look at a water bed?" I was about to say No, thanks, when he put a huge paw on my shoulder and steered me deeper into the showroom. There was every kind of water bed you could imagine: different kinds of wood, different patterns of sheets; queen-size, king-size, emperor-of-the-universe-size. "This is my most popular model." Crusty spread his hands proudly over a bed covered with black satin sheets, with built-in Lava Lamps on the headboard. The mattress vibrated, so it looked like oil-flavored Jell-O. "Million-hand massage," Crusty told us. "Go on, try it out. Shoot, take a nap. I don't care. No business today, any-way. "Um," Percy said, "I don't think..." "Million-hand massage!" Grover cried, and dove in. "Oh, you guys! This is cool." "Hmm," Crusty said, stroking his leathery chin. "Almost, almost." "Almost what?" I asked. He looked at Annabeth. "Do me a favor and try this one over here, honey. Might fit." Annabeth said, "But what—" He patted her reassuringly on the shoulder and led her over to the Safari Deluxe model with teakwood lions carved into the frame and a leopard-patterned comforter. When Annabeth didn't want to lie down, Crusty pushed her. "Hey!" she protested. Crusty snapped his fingers. "Ergo!" Ropes sprang from the sides of the bed, lashing around Annabeth, holding her to the mattress. Grover tried to get up, but ropes sprang from his black-satin bed, too, and lashed him down. "N-not c-c-cool!" he yelled, his voice vibrating from the million-hand massage. "N-not c-cool a-at all!" The giant looked at Annabeth, then turned toward me and Percy to grin. "Almost, darn it." I tried to step away, but his hand shot out and clamped around the back of my neck. "Whoa, kid. Don't worry. We'll find you one in a sec." "Let my friends go." "Oh, sure I will. But I got to make them fit, first." "What do you mean?" "All the beds are exactly six feet, see? Your friends are too short. Got to make them fit." Annabeth and Grover kept struggling. "Can't stand imperfect measurements," Crusty muttered. "Ergo!" A new set of ropes leaped out from the top and bottom of the beds, wrapping around Grover and Annabeth's ankles, then around their armpits. The ropes started tightening, pulling my friends from both ends. "Don't worry," Crusty told us, "These are stretching jobs. Maybe three extra inches on their spines. They might even live. Now why don't we find a bed you like, huh?" "Percy! Y/N!" Grover yelled. My mind was racing. I knew I couldn't take on this giant water-bed salesman alone. He would snap my neck before I ever got my sword out. "Your real name's not Crusty, is it?" Percy asked. "Legally, it's Procrustes," he admitted. "The Stretcher," I said. I remembered the story: the giant who'd tried to kill Theseus with excess hospitality on his way to Athens. "Yeah," the salesman said. "But who can pronounce Procrustes? Bad for business. Now 'Crusty,' anybody can say that." "You're right. It's got a good ring to it." His eyes lit up. "You think so?" "Oh, absolutely," I said. "And the workmanship on these beds? Fabulous!"

Percy looked at me weirdly. When I gave him a nod he must've understood. He got closer to hold my arm. Crusty grinned hugely, his fingers still didn't loosen on my neck. "I tell my customers that. Every time. Nobody bothers to look at the workmanship. How many built-in Lava Lamp headboards have you seen?" "Not too many." "That's right!" "Y/N!" Annabeth yelled. "What are you doing?" "Don't mind her," Percy told Procrustes. "She's impossible." The giant laughed. "All my customers are. Never six feet exactly. So inconsiderate. And then they complain about the fitting." "What do you do if they're longer than six feet?" "Oh, that happens all the time. It's a simple fix." He let go of my neck, but before I could react, he reached behind a nearby sales desk and brought out a huge double-bladed brass axe. He said, "I just center the subject as best I can and lop off whatever hangs over on either end." "Ah," Percy said, swallowing hard. "Sensible." "I'm so glad to come across an intelligent customer!" The ropes were really stretching my friends now. Annabeth was turning pale. Grover made gurgling sounds, like a strangled goose. "So, Crusty..." I said, trying to keep my voice light. I glanced at the sales tag on the valentine-shaped Honeymoon Special. "Does this one really have dynamic stabilizers to stop wave motion?" "Absolutely. Try it out." "Yeah, maybe I will. But would it work even for a big guy like you? No waves at all?" "Guaranteed." "No way." "Way." "Show me." He sat down eagerly on the bed, patted the mattress. "No waves. See?" I snapped my fingers. "Ergo." Ropes lashed around Crusty and flattened him against the mattress. "Hey!" he yelled. "Center him just right," I said. The ropes readjusted themselves at my command. Crusty's whole head stuck out the top. His feet stuck out the bottom. "No!" he said. "Wait! This is just a demo." Percy uncapped Riptide. "A few simple adjustments ..." "You drive a hard bargain," he told us. "I'll give you thirty percent off on selected floor models.'" "I think I'll start with the top." Percy raised my sword. "No money down! No interest for six months!" He swung the sword. Crusty stopped making offers. I cut the ropes on the other beds. Annabeth and Grover got to their feet, groaning and wincing and cursing me a lot. "You look taller," I said. "Very funny," Annabeth said. "Be faster next time."

Percy looked at the bulletin board behind Crusty's sales desk. There was an advertisement for Hermes Delivery Service, and another for the All-New Compendium of L.A. Area Monsters—"The only Monstrous Yellow Pages you'll ever need!" Under that, a bright orange flier for DOA Recording Studios, offering commissions for heroes' souls. "We are always looking for new talent!" DOA's address was right underneath with a map. "Come on," Percy said. "Give us a minute," Grover complained. "We were almost stretched to death.'" "Then you're ready for the Underworld," I said. "It's only a block from here."

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Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000 @katara720 @ynfics

#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #pjo #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #Lightning thief #Book 1 #Chapter 17 #fanfictions #Fanfiction

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meowdymista · 3 years ago

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For my first RDR2 event, I was paired with @sunspott / @polybigbang. Their art was for a playlist on spotify called Going’s All We Know, and I’ve tried to incorporate the mood of the playlist into my first impression of the art.

You can read my submission on AO3 or follow through with the read more :)

Still No Rest

Feet are itching again, plus it ain't like we can stick around much longer. Going is all we know, even if we ain't got nowhere else left.

Things had been too steady of late. They had been too safe, had slipped away far too easily, had pulled moneybags out of places that should have fought back but hadn't even batted an eye.

Arthur pushes back his hair, greasy and long, off his brow. The clouds above are smoky and dark - a storm, just as anticipated.

Maybe he jumped a little too far too fast today. Maybe if he hadn't been so on edge waiting for something to go wrong, they could have deescalated the situation. Maybe lives could have been spared, but it’s not like the guilt isn’t scratching the ridges of his brain like a dusty gramophone needle.

What makes you any different? You who's always scraping for a scrap of some sort. Them trying to do the right thing and crossing your path to do it. Better you than them, right? Like Daddy always said, if they didn’t want to die they should mind their own business.

A new start: isn't that what they had promised themselves? A new state, a new town, a new camp: a clean slate that he had managed to bloody in a record three days.

Every bullet that screamed past his ear left his bones ringing with that too familiar dull tired ache. Every blade that snagged his clothes instead of his skin embittered him. The tiniest of voices hummed with the thought that maybe, maybe, he should fight that craving for carelessness and even tell someone about it… but the beast he’s become scowls and reminds him with a low growl that then they would stop him. They would take him off the front line, teach the gangly adolescent John - who is a far worse shot - to replace him.

It's not even jealousy really, he reasons as he slips his journal away and stretches into a stand. They need him. Need his gun, his eye, his blade. Worrying them isn’t an option, especially right now. He doesn’t need to make them doubt his reliability, or question whether they’ve misplaced their trust. He knew in his heart that if anyone in the gang confessed the same, he would refuse their gun, even if he needed it - and afterwards? In the weeks, months, years to come? He would always pick someone else. Someone less vulnerable. Someone he never doubted or needed to protect.

Which is how he ended up going out with the feller Dutch had picked up when they were up North. He’s had a few too many close shaves under Hosea’s watchful eye of late as he struggled to conceal the beast's rearing head. The old man was onto him, his brown eyes still boring into him, even after Copper found his way to him.

Bill, on the other hand, is always game for a ruckus. He has as much of a temper as he does, and can match him drink for drink. Some of the stories he lets slip prickle him - like the beast recognising a party equal, a fellow host. He says nothing. Doesn't validate them, doesn't acknowledge them or aim to empathise, he just accepts the added weight of tar and grudges home with another bottle.

“Arthur?”

"M'tired," grunts Arthur, walking past Hosea, boots scuffing the dry red earth beneath them. “Besides, you know how it is. Sometimes bullets fly no matter what you do.”

Hosea doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, and despite the poker face, Arthur can feel the guilt twist a little tighter in his gut as he sets about washing his arms and face in the barrel by the food reserves. He knows nothing good would come from trying to explain the truth of the situation... How a glimpse of a little boy in his peripherals is as sure a sign of upcoming thunder as lightning flashing in the distance. His not-brown-not-blond tussle of hair brushing the wind with fat drops of rain… rain that never came, leaving Arthur to water the ground with blood, like somehow it could make him feel less like he’s drowning in the driest desert outside of New Mexico.

He pats his pockets for the cigarette he had rolled earlier, until, retracing his steps mentally, he sighs in disappointment. He had been about to light it when it all kicked off. Or rather… it had been in his mouth whilst he tried to align yet another match to the tobacco when he had caught the eye of another patron and decided to swap the nicotine for some adrenaline.

His fondness for Bill always grew at moments like this. Bastard heard one cross word and his guns were out before he found his balance.

Deflated, he uncaps a beer instead, emptying it, tossing it aside and grabbing another, before spotting the girl devouring a bowl of stew a stone's throw away.

"Who's she?" he asks before Hosea can try to raise the day’s events.

"Your new ward."

Arthur stops, scoffing, growing angry when the elder doesn’t back down. "Nuh uh! No way! I just got rid of Johnny! Get Williamson to do it!"

"You'd trust him with her?"

"Sure! Why not?" He glances back at the girl despite himself. His index finger is itching again. "Or get Marston on it. Ain't like he's doing much else."

"John is still learning how to take care of himself, and Bill…"

"He ain't gonna beat up a little girl." Restless, his feet shuffle beneath him, his beer swapping hands before touching his lips again. "And ain't like he's gonna have interest in her."

"You think he wouldn't do it just to prove a point?" Their eyes meet briefly before Arthur's gaze drops. "People who are insecure are far more dangerous than those comfortable in themselves, never forget that Arthur. Besides, I'd rather not expose her to the prejudices she can get any day of the week. She ought to feel safe here, don't you think?"

He finishes the dregs and tosses the bottle, preferring to change the subject than admit he’s right. "Where’d she come from? She got any family?"

"She left her cousin back east. Came this way looking for her mother but she’d passed meanwhile."

"So… what’s the plan? We taking her back east?"

"Sure as shit you ain't!"

The girl has stepped around the table, legs planted apart, hands folded across her flat chest, her hair as free and untamed as her temperament. She is glaring something fierce, making the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in a fight or flight instinct.

Hosea chuckles softly, eyes bright with pride. "I reckon she's one of us now."

"Well, does she have a name?" asks Arthur, incredulous.

"Jackson." She jerks her heart shaped face in a defensive greeting. "My name is Tilly Jackson."

"Well, Miss Tilly Jackson, you always so fierce?" He stalks the couple of steps to the nearest crate of whiskey and pulls one free.

"You always this stupid?"

"Hey now, Miss Jackson," interrupts Hosea before Arthur can bark. "We don't talk to each other like that here."

"He started it!"

"And you’re sitting with Mrs Matthews when you’re done so she can keep an eye on you!” He ushers her towards Bessie to keep her out of harm's way before turning back to his first product of adoption with a raised brow.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

"Try coming back just half soaked some time. Might make them go easier on you."

Arthur scoffs, his rebuttal dying in his throat. He dampens the ash with another swig.

"I want you to take her with you when you go out."

His scoff is solid. "No way."

Hosea straightens up, watching him, using his body language to ask the questions.

"I ain't taking her out. You want her shot?"

"You intend to shoot her?"

"No, course not-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Arthur's eyes roll in exasperation, his finger flexing around the neck of the bottle like it's a button that will win the argument if he squeezes tight enough. "The problem is other people shooting at us."

"You intend to get shot at?"

"No, but-"

"Then I see no problem."

"That don't mean we ain't gonna get shot at!"

"Why would you get shot at?"

'Cause that's what I set out to do most days, he wants to counter. And if I ain't likely to get shot, I'm likely in jail or black out drunk in a saloon someplace.

Instead he closes his mouth, any excuse dead before it passes his lips.

"I'm not asking you to take her with you to rob a bank, Arthur." Hosea's tone is firm but still soft - a talent of his. "But while you're out looking for leads, or even looting a homestead or something… She's nifty."

"Hosea, I-" He trails off, distracted by the clip of notes Hosea is picking through, and downright thrown when he passes him the thinned out clip. "What's this for? I gettin' paid to be a nanny now?"

“This-” Hosea holds up a couple of notes before putting them in his pocket. “-is for arguing with me. This is for the box, as it seems you’ve forgotten to pay the camp's share, and this-" He casually holds out the last few dollars to the side like he’s ashing a cigarette. A small brown hand slips it away as both Hosea and little Miss Tilly regard him smugly. "Is for a mark well scammed."

"You mean-?" He checks his pockets, ears growing hot. "You son of a-"

“Ah-ah! Language!” Dutch swaggers up with a smirk like he has been watching the introduction unfold in its entirety. “C’mon, Arthur, you have to give it to her. She’s talented!”

“Might finally have picked up a smart one, eh, Dutch?” winks Hosea. Arthur scowls and turns on his heel, leaving them laughing and praising their newest addition.

****

Arthur remains cool and calm the next few days, hunting local and sticking close to camp. Every time he approaches his horse, the little girl is waiting, watching him with her fierce brown eyes.

"Where we goin', Mr Arthur?" She asks as soon as he's within earshot. "Do I need anything bringing?"

Every time he offers to pay double what Hosea has offered her, and every time she refuses to discuss the terms of their negotiation. Every time he curses everything under his breath, keeping his language savoury for the child nearby. Every time he scowls, and every time he gives her a grunt of "naw, we ain't going far" before mounting up and lifting her onto the rear.

"I can ride myself, ya know?" She shoots one morning as Arthur leads his stead into a trot away from camp, heading towards the softer, greener terrain that’s barely visible on the horizon. "Properly. Not side saddle."

"Good for you."

"If I had a horse I would show you."

"And run off with the money we got, huh."

She bristles. "I ain't no snitch."

"Sounds like somethin' a snitch would say." He pops the cork from a half full bottle of rum and takes a swig. Replacing the bottle, he notices her scrunching her nose in disdain. “Got a problem? I can take you back to camp.”

“You sure don’t drink much water,” she comments drily. “You ain’t worried ‘bout heatstroke out here?”

“Liquor’s hydrating,” he scowls, pushing the horse into a canter.

“Pretty sure it ain’t, but you do you. Besides, I got dibs on your things. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

Arthur snorts angrily, adrenaline prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “You sure as hell do not, princess. I ain’t going nowhere!”

Miss Jackson hums sarcastically. “Sure you ain’t. You don’t eat, don’t drink anything under forty proof, don’t talk to no one-”

“If you don’t like it, I can drop you right here!”

“Go ahead.” Her tone is defiant, but it doesn’t escape his notice that she grips his sides a little tighter. “Mr Matthews was pretty explicit about what he’d do to you if you tried.”

He stews the next mile or more, not speaking up until he finally dismounts for a break at the change of terrain.

Wide open spaces always helped to ground him, even though it could make vanishing into thin air difficult. To some extent, it forced him to not be so careless. In others, it made it easier to kid himself that he had never crossed the threshold into civilisation, let alone crossed a kind faced waitress.

Listening out for creeping cougars and restless rattlesnakes, he crouches down by the water’s side and splashes his face, washing off the worst of the sweat and dust that’s caked itself into every pore available. The girl makes no move to dismount, so he takes it upon himself to refill her canteen as a gesture of goodwill.

“You don’t got to stick to us, you know.” She turns her big brown eyes from the sky onto Arthur’s face. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, focusing his attention on brushing out the biggest clumps of dust from the horse’s mane before they continue. “If you need me to take you somewhere-”

“And what’s a girl to do then? Hit the road with a couple dollars?” She fixes him with a look that is too old for her face. “Naw, I think I’ll stay with youse a little longer.”

“That’s alright, but we’re gonna have to be moving on real soon.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the unspoken reminder that it’s because of him and his actions. “It ain’t like we can promise to be back up this way any time in the near future. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t change my mind about them, Mr Morgan.” She shivers in a breeze that only seems to touch her. “No, sir. They had me bound real good for real long, but I don’t need ‘em. I won my freedom, Mr Morgan, an’ I ain’t going back.”

He risks a glance, curiosity getting the better of him. Her eyes are sparkling as bright as the water's surface, but her jaw is clenched tight. He debates riding further, doing what he can to get them set up at the fishing spot Hosea had heard about as they moved through the state to their current set up, but the child looked too old. Too tired. Too existentially exhausted.

Plus, when you get low enough, it's like some things will follow wherever you go.

“Let’s stop here a while.”

As predicted, Miss Jackson double takes. “Don’t you want to get to where we’re headed?”

Arthur shrugs. “Ain’t like there ain’t food to be foraged here. Nothing to come raising any hell or bother us into raising it for them. Reckon this spot’s as good as any.”

He turns his back to her as she dismounts warily, focusing his energy on starting a small campfire they can add to.

"I ain't goin' anywhere if you wanna swim." He grimaces as his words come out gruffer than intended. "I got clean clothes in the saddle bags here if you want 'em for the trip back or to swim in even. Can't imagine that skirt is the lightest when it gets wet."

"You ain't wrong, Mr Arthur, sir. Thank you for the offer but I think I'm just gonna stick to paddling for now."

"Sure."

It's not his first choice. This land is a little too dry for his liking, but that's what comes with being so close to the desert. Money means nothing to nature, besides she provides everything and more than what shops and butchers supply. Who needs civilisation when there's the wilds to retreat into? When there is wild carrots and rhubarb aplenty, fresh meat, shelter, all for the low cost of taking what you need as you need it?

The fire started, he sets out to look for fuel and food. Crouching down to check dung and disturbances in the foliage, he finds the damage is minimal. He swears again, taking a swig of whiskey from his satchel.

He doesn't really remember a time he didn't drink, but he knows this is different. He knows this isn't a choice on his behalf. The demon demands fuel as a child demands milk, and like the fool he is, he provides without much hesitation. Anything for a glimmer of peace from the screaming child in his mind.

He scoffs at himself and straightens up, looking around on the off chance some animal is dumb enough to be caught out in the open - and as luck would have it, a pronghorn buck is grazing a stones throw away.

He inhales deeply, taking aim with newfound focus, and fires.

The pronghorn bolts, but it's no contest for the bullet soaring his way. A mournful cry bleats through the undergrowth as it flees. He follows, as loud as he likes given the rip of the shot would have blasted a warning to anything within earshot. Breaking through a wall of cacti, he spots Miss Tilly aghast in the shallows as the buck splashes into the lake he had washed up in on their arrival.

He keeps going, realising the buck is heading for a wet escape. Shedding his guns as he runs, he wades in after it, shouting.

The buck is swimming in deep water, leaving behind a trail of blood behind with every baleful bleat, leaving Arthur with no option besides taking a spur of the moment swim or going home with an empty stomach.

"C'mere!" he cries, breaking into breaststroke. The buck is slowing, every cry growing more lamenting and mournful. "Stop! I can make it stop, just come a little closer."

It's crying weakly by the time he manages to reach it. He throws an arm over its neck and fumbles for his hunting knife, but the blood proves too thick and one small fumble sends it disappearing into the depths.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging the wounded animal with him as he kicks his way towards shore. "You ain't gonna get any lighter."

He struggles towards shore, gasping assurances every chance he gets. When his boots finally scrape the bottom, he whistles for his mount with the last of the air in his lungs.

He finally releases the animal, using both hands to search for a knife or a pistol - something to end its suffering quickly. Drowning the thing felt too callous, too slow, too-

"Will this be enough?"

Arthur, still gasping for breath, hair dripping into his blue eyes, pauses, surprised. A small hand is proferring a flip knife, her small face reflecting the distress of his own. Recovering, he nods quickly, thanking her as he takes the tool from her and advising her to look away and cover her ears. Obeying doesn’t lessen the heart wrenching last cry of the animal, but on opening her eyes again, she decides it is less painful than watching the poor thing struggle as it drowned.

Arthur is holding the animal, counting, as though held to some strange code to make sure it is dead before removing the tool of choice. He shakes the knife under the surface and folds it up, passing it back to her with a grunt of thanks. She takes it, still in shock at the unexpected show of violence.

He pushes the carcass out of the water, promising to be back soon before swimming back to where he caught the animal. Watching his head disappear under the surface, she is left with the silence of the cooling body nearby. It looks strangely peaceful staring off into the east.

Arthur swims back, pushing back the sodden mop of brown hair as he wades out with sopping boots and a shiny carving knife he must have dropped earlier. He advises her to leave him to it if she’s squeamish, and she refuses up until the animals guts plume onto the sand.

From a distance, she watches him carry them away from their makeshift camp, covering them up with some leaves and branches to disguise the worse of the mess but leave it readily available to the creatures due a feast. Returning to the body, he begins to carve with care, piling steaks onto canvas. He wastes as little as possible, even wrapping the exposed neck of the head in canvas before tying it onto the horse. He turns to the water, notices her watching and walks over.

“Reckon we’re almost done here,” he calls as he gets close enough. “Just gonna wash up and we can get going.”

“You always butcher your kill before going back?” she asks.

He huffs, a twinkle in his eye. “Sure, when I don’t plan on walking back. Figured you’d rather hitch a ride than straddle a dead deer.”

She shudders, making him laugh as he kicks off his boots and setting them aside to dry from earlier. He doesn’t remove his clothes, just pulls a bar of soap from the saddlebags and asks if she minds if he doesn’t dry off. She herself finally admits internally that she feels grubby. She had washed and washed and washed, and eventually came to accept the grime was not going to wash off her. Too much dirt, too ingrained, too repeated to ever shed properly…

She follows him, still keeping her distance. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrubbing suds under his nails, over his forearms, into every fibre of his shirt. When she finally feels brave enough to speak up, she takes a deep breath, and on a whim decides to splash him.

He turns around, frowning, before picking up on the giggles and grinning himself. His arms are stronger, thicker, longer - the retaliation engulfs her with a responding tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air. In the small glimpse she makes of him, she notes the guilt and the apology on his lips as he believes himself having gone too far, but she’s too quick. She pushes him in the chest and tries to swim away as quick as she can, squealing the whole way.

Their laughter disturbs the birds in the branches, and they take flight, not that either of them notice. They play until the sun lowers to kiss the leaves around them. They share the bar of soap, and Tilly takes refuge in his disinterest. He lets her wash. She lets him wash. Both of them keep their distance when appropriate.

“Perhaps we oughta ride back in the morning,” Arthur muses when he notices how much she is shivering. "It's only gonna get colder, and at least we've got a fire going here."

“I don’t mind making the ride.”

He chuckles, eyes soft. “Miss Tilly. You’re dead on your feet, and sure as hell will be dead in the saddle. I can fall asleep just about anywhere if you’re alright with the tent and bedroll? Hell, it’d make a nice change to waking up to Susan and Dutch arguing, huh?”

“You ain’t wrong...” She is still hesitating. Arthur tried to shake the thought of what she must have been through and instead tells himself that it's standard practice to be wary of new folk. She could feel safe in camp because there were more people to keep tabs on one another. Out here, it was just him, her and the stars, and since when did the stars ever do anything to help?

“Listen. Choice is yours. I’ll ride through the night if that’s what you want, but I promise you’re safe with me.” He checks the barrel of his revolver, counting the six bullets nestled inside before snapping it in place and holding it out by the barrel. “Here. I can’t give you both in case we get jumped, but I’ll stow the long arms on Wyn if that makes it easier.”

She sits in silence for a long while before nodding slowly.

“Alright then. You get to eating your fill while I set you up for the night.”

*****

She wakes up, well rested and warm. She takes a few minutes to lay there, watching the shadows of the flies buzzing on the canvas above before finally crawling out in search of fresh air.

Owain is grazing not so far away, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. His long arms are still stashed, the fire just ash now. Panic rises in her throat, torn between the fear of him being jumped and him abandoning her willingly.

She frets, pacing, checking their reserves. No, she has no clue where the hell he has taken her so she doesn’t know where to even start on trying to return to Mr Matthews and Mr Van der Linde. She curses him for being so spoilt as to be threatened by a little girl.

“Mornin’, Miss Jackson.” She flinches, immediately retreating from the greeting. Arthur is frowning under the brim of his hat as he dismounts the small bay coloured horse. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I thought you left me,” she admits, still choked up. He seems surprised, then bashful, trying to hide it by patting the neck of the horse he has with him.

“Naw. There was a herd moving through here early this morning and I remembered about you wantin’ a horse of your own.” He gives her an awkward nod. “Whaddaya reckon? She rides pretty nice. One of the smaller one, but she seems friendly enough. If you wanna keep her, I’ll set you up on mine until we can get this one broke in properly if tha’s alright?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He begins to pack their things away, tacking Owain and bribing both steads with sugar cubes.

“We going hunting again?”

Arthur puts away the brush and pats his horse’s neck. “Naw. Today we’re headed to Greyhound Station.”

“Why?”

“Boring stuff. Check to see if anyone’s tried to write us. Check for bounties and that we ain’t most of ‘em. See if there’s any jobs goin’, keep an ear to the ground in case there’s money to be had. You know, standard outlaw stuff.”

“I ain’t ever been on a wanted poster yet,” she muses. “That I know of anyhow. Knowing the Foreman Brothers, they’ll be tryin’ to frame me for something.”

“The Foreman Brothers?”

“The… gang. The ones I was with when Dutch and Hosea found me.” Arthur hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t press it. It’s like he knows it’s a big bruise still there after months of riding with them. “They was wrestlin’ to hang me or bury me alive. Never did find out which since I managed to wriggle off the wagon without them noticin’. So much for family.”

“Y’all were related?”

“Yeah.” She spits off the side. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

He hums. “If anybody tries to pull that with you again, you lemme know. I’ll get ‘em before they blink.” He rummages in his saddle bag and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid. She frowns as he takes a greedy few gulps before offering it to her.

“I ain’t much a fan of the bottle, Arthur.”

He throws her a look of befuddlement over his shoulder before understanding befalls him. “It weren’t my first choice, Miss Jackson, but I’ve yet to learn how best to store water if not in a bottle of some kind.”

“Water?”

“Water,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Whiskey’s the other side if you want some.”

“I’m good for now, Mr Morgan,” she smiles, raising the bottle to her lips, squinting at the sunburned strip that’s the back of his neck. “Maybe some other time.”

#rdr2 reverse big bang #rdr2 #rdrbigbang #rdrreversebang2021 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #tilly jackson #arthur morgan #sunspott

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imherongraystairstrash · 4 years ago

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Can you write prompt 32 or 65 for luciexjesse??

Ahh, I love Jesse and Luciee!! I tried really hard to do them justice in this fic, but I also wanted to write about Lucie’s new internal conflicts now that she’s separated from her family. I also thought I might as well use both prompts because I’m horrible at making decisions. Hope you enjoy!:

Prompts: “I’d rather be here” & “I was worried about you”

Ship: Lucie x Jesse

The thing about dreams is that they’re conjurings of the uncontrolled mind. Dreams are free and abide by no laws. They take strange forms, shifting and molding into things that can be beautiful or harrowing, lovely or tragic. They can be both based on fiction or reality; there are no limits when the mind is liberated to conjure as it desires. Lucie’s dreams have always been occult, abstract in the way one might describe a meticulous painting in a gallery hall. She usually got ideas for her novels from her dreams, as their strangeness is perfect inspiration. It was like a wooden table: the idea was there, all she had to do was sand it down, paint and varnish it.

Now, however, her dreams have taken a different form. Cruel, malicious, utterly wicked. Her dreams are whispers of her family, memories, corrupted by an unknown source of evil. Her father carried her on his shoulders, her mother kissed her feet when she was a baby, her brother held her hand as they walked barefoot through the mossy floor of the Brocelind forest, to go to their cousins’ houses.

But they were tainted with shadows. Will would suddenly let go of her and let her tumble to the floor, not caring if she was harmed. Tessa would look down at her in disappointment and walk away. James would tear his arm from her’s and run, trying to get away. She would run after him, but her legs wouldn’t let her. She’d reach Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel’s house only to have them slam the door in her face and shut the curtains. She'd run.

Away from her family that despised her so. She ran through time until, suddenly, she was thirteen. She was running in a meadow with Cordelia. Her dark red hair was like a proud, silk banner as it flew in the wind. Her strides were long and her brown skin glowed under the sunlight. She turned to Lucie and her face filled with pain.

“Why didn't you tell me? We were supposed to be sisters and parabatai.”

“We are, Daisy.” Lucie said through tears. “We are sisters.”

Cordelia shook her head, she began disappearing. “We used to be.”

Lucie screamed Cordelia’s name, but her glorious presence winked away in the blink of an eye.

She saw Thomas and Christopher in the distance, but they couldn’t see her. They were talking about her, about what horrible thing she’d done.

Lucie clasped her hands over her ears, willing their voices away until she was a shadow, without life or power.

She heard a song being sung by a soft, deep voice. She opened her eyes and saw a boy with sea green eyes and curling brown hair. He tucked a smaller boy who shared his same features into bed and kissed his cheek. She watched in wonder as he turned off the lights of other rooms, saying a final goodnight to three other children, all of which—minus another boy—shared a similar appearance to him. As he walked down the hall, Lucie followed, wondering where his parents were. He went into what she assumed was his room and closed the door. Lucie watched him stand there, staring at where his hands were, bracing against the wood. She watched him slowly turn and press his back to the door and slide down until he was sitting on the ground. And then, he began to choke on dry tears.

Lucie was taken aback. She looked at the young boy and wanted to do something. To help him. He was so lonely. She put her hand in his hair and he looked up quickly, in surprise.

Lucie wanted to kneel down next to the boy and tell him it was alright and that she would help him, but she was torn away from him. She cried out, not knowing why her heart cracked at the prospect of leaving this familiar looking boy alone. The pain was so great she slipped out of her unconscious state.

Lucie felt her eyes flutter open, light bursting across her vision, blinding her and causing her to close them again. She reached for her other senses. She could hear the sea birds squawking and waves crashing against each other and the sand. She felt the sunlight warm her right arm and the soft material of bedding under her. She smelled the salt in the air, that is found only by the seaside. She tasted nothing though.

Finally she began opening her eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light. She saw a pattern on the ceiling, of the beams that held the roof up. The walls were cream colored and the house (or cottage?, Lucie wasn’t quite sure.)

Her line of vision began descending down the walls and she noticed the house must be rounded and small. She saw a boy, bent over in worry, his hands pushing his crow, black hair back, eyes closed and elbows rested on the bed. His eyebrows were furrowed and he had bluish bags under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept well in a long time.

Lucie couldn’t help but admire how he was solid. She could almost reach out a touch the back of his neck—

His head shot up, and his vibrant green eyes danced as he saw her.

“Lucie,” Jesse said, coming close and leaning over her. There was relief written all over his face and his hands were soft and calloused as they brushed her hair away from her face. “I was worried about you.”

“I’m alright, Jesse.” Lucie said, her voice soft and raspy from disuse.

He kissed her forehead and murmured her name over and over. Lucie closed her eyes and breathed in his scent and basked in his presence.

She’d done it. Her Jesse was no longer a phantom, a whisper of life. He was living and breathing and he was healthy. He wasn’t disappearing, not anymore.

“Jesse,” She gasped, pressing her lips to his neck and feeling the pulse of his heart on them. “Jesse, I can’t believe you’re alive.”

He pulled back and looked into her face. He was so beautiful, she’d forgotten how beautiful he was until she saw him again. Her dreams, her imagination, paled to how he was in real life. The way his eyes softened and his shoulders seemed to lean in her direction, like he wanted to hold her in his arms until the end of time. Yes, she had shamefully omitted those things from her memory. But now, she could see them, now they were here for her to adore and love.

“I can’t believe you’re awake,” he replied.

Lucie felt her breath shudder. “Where are we?”

“Cornwall. We’re in Malcolm’s cottage.” Jesse said.

Lucie felt her eyebrows scrunch involuntarily.

“You want to leave, don’t you?” Jesse said quickly, despair clear in his voice. “You want to go back to London with everybody else, which makes complete sense. Of course you’d rather—”

“Jesse.” Lucie said, “I’d rather be with you.”

Jesse looked at her, confused which, Lucie couldn’t help but notice, was very adorable.

“Of course, I want to be with my family, but I want you to be with me. I don’t want to go back if you’re not there beside me.”

“Lucie, you don’t have to say that to spare my feelings. I understand why you’d want to go back—”

“Are you joking, Jesse Blackthorn?”

“What?”

“I literally raised you from the dead because I couldn’t stand the thought of not being with you, of you living a half life while I lived a full one. I did that because I love you! How could you imagine that I’d just abandon you after all of this?”

“If I come back to London, the entire enclave will know that you performed necromancy to bring me back to life and you’ll be imprisoned and I executed. And this time, we won’t come back from death. You could have a better life than this, Lucie.”

“A better life? How is that any better than being dead? I’ll be miserable and I’ll have to lie to everyone I know about what I did. And live with my parents until I die, because I know that I could never love anyone else if it’s not you.” Lucie felt drops of water on her skin and realized tears rolling down her face. “I love you, Jesse! How many times do I have to tell you that before you start believing it?”

Jesse reached out to brush her tears away. “I love you too, Lucie.” His voice thick, as though he were holding back his own tears.

“Then let us stay together, forever. No matter who tries to come between us, we remain by each other’s side. Because I can be scorned at and thrown into prison, and I will be happy, as long as you are by my side.”

Jesse leaned in and they shared the sweetest of kisses. Lucie felt something she’d never felt before; the start of a new beginning. A story where she’ll be the protagonist and not the narrator. Yes, this would be a fine adventure, even if it’ll be difficult.

...

Tagging:

@celias @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @hitheresomeoneusingthus @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @fictionally-fantastic @stxr-thxif @itsdaughterofthemoon @jordeliasupremacy @will-effing-herondale @cordelia-cardale

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

#coi spoilers #tsc #tsc fanfiction #jesse blackthorn #lucie herondale #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #will herondale #jesse x lucie #ghost!writer #tlh fanfiction #coi fanfiction #julian blackthorn #yes I couldn't resist making a jucie fanfic and not having him there #herondales #thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #chain of gold #chain of iron

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