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sunflowersteves · 4 years

Text

jealous thoughts || b.b.

summary || mob!au, you have to flirt with Bucky’s buyer and you were successful, however, Bucky was the least bit impressed.

author’s note || lmao i completely and utterly forgot to post this on tumblr but this was for the marvel x reader fic fest that @fandomsandxfiles had hosted!

warnings || jealousy, anger, smut!!, rough sex, fingering, [18+ only]

Main Masterlist

Bucky’s coming home today.

You sigh, taking a fluffy brush and placing some translucent powder onto your skin. Your fancy white dress felt like it was hugging you. You turned to see Alpine strutting into the bathroom and purring against your legs. Bucky had to deal with a couple of lackeys that turned out to be spies from the Russian Mob. He had to be in New Jersey as well, so it’s been an entire week without your sweet, loving husband.

You discovered that you had missed the little things. You missed how his arms would drape over your body, deep breaths fanning your neck, lips gently caressing your shoulder blade, and soft snores filling the silent air. You both would never miss a single night of cuddling, even when you were pissed off at each other.

Your nights grew colder each day under the bedsheets, Bucky’s warmth was completely absent. He would always have a plethora of water glasses sitting half-empty on the bedside table but now it was clutter-free and bare. Missing your husband was such an unpleasant and disrupting feeling. Every single night he had been gone, you rummaged through his side of the closet and wore one of his shirts to bed. You would relish in the smell and feel of him until the shirts started to lose the essence of him. It felt soul burning and heart wrenching that he wasn’t there right beside you.

You wanted his hot touched skin to radiate onto you. You wanted his hand to slowly slide down your stomach, inching closer and closer to your aching cunt. You wanted Bucky to run a bath after sex, gently cleaning each other. You would always watch Bucky with a swelled heart as each glance and touch that was placed upon your skin was filled with adoration and passion.

You laughed a bit at yourself for having these dramatic thoughts. It’s been only one single week and yet your fire burning ache for him only grew larger. You could survive perfectly in life without him, you knew that very well. You just didn’t want that life.

You try to shake the distracting thoughts from your head, concentrating on getting ready for the dinner party.

Tonight, you were supposed to attend this party with Bucky, however, he still wasn’t home. The party is hosted by one of Bucky’s buyers. Erik was very charming and handsome, he would always have a smile on his face until it turned into a frown. However, it was mostly never aimed at the two of you, as he always had worked well with you and Bucky. He would make sure that all the shipments would arrive on time and made sure that nobody would infiltrate them. He was Bucky’s favorite client to work with, minus the too long of a stare he would occasionally send your way.

The ping of your phone hit your ears and you quickly walked over to where it sat on the counter and took a peak.

Buckaroo: Stuck in traffic. Sorry, Doll.

You sigh, that burning sensation resonated deep within you. You tried to suppress it but you were getting so desperate to see your husband. He’s back in New York now with all of the traffic, he was so close to you yet not close enough. You grabbed your purse and swiftly walked out the door, telling Happy to drive to the venue.

The tall pale mansion with large open windows now became almost like a small house in the distance. Happy went on, talking about boxing the whole way. You never minded those conversations with Happy, however, tonight you just weren’t in the mood to indulge. You just wanted to be snuggled up at home next to Bucky.

You walked up the large stairs that ascended into the skyscraper. Your dress was long and elegant, shaping all of your curves in just the right way. If Bucky was right by your side, he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of you and suggest to leave or as he would put it, “fuck this shipment, let's go fuck each other’s brains out.”

You quietly thank the waiter and grab a glass of champagne off of the tray. You softly sip on the bubbly drink, watching people mingle here and there. You heard loud laughter, soft-spoken words, and chatter throughout the grand room.

“All alone, angel?” A light smile tipped itself onto your lips, as you turned towards the figure next to you. “Bucky had some business to take care of.” He smiled brightly at you, his charming twinkling eyes staring right at you. He opened his arm out, gesturing for you to follow. “Shall we do business then, y/n?” You giggled and nodded, interlocking your arms together, and walking towards a more private area.

You sat down at the end of the big round table, Erik was on the other side, and some of his men stood right behind him. He tapped the side of his whiskey occasionally, the ring on his finger making a soft clunk every time. You kept still, sipping your champagne and hoping the bubbles will make you lighten up a bit. You’ve done Bucky’s business countless times, Steve and Sam would always joke that you did it better than he did.

You purse your lips and cleared your throat which got his attention. “I would like to make an offer.” You pause, waiting for his approval of the matter. He nods and you open your mouth to continue. “You are well aware of Bucky’s territory, with also his recent take over of crown heights. We know you’re in control of the downtown area, Bedford Stuyvesant, and Sunset Park.” An eyebrow rose on Erik’s face, intrigue taking over his features. “We’ve noticed a couple of your men scoping out Williamsburg, Bushwick, and East New York. Those are very large neighborhoods to control.”

He nodded, taking a small sip of his whiskey before replying. “Especially with the larger amounts of the police force in those neighborhoods. It’ll be harder to control the police state.”

Now you nodded, “Exactly. So Bucky and I are proposing that we take over those neighborhoods together. With both of our resources, we’d be able to take control of the neighborhood and the police state. We’d both get the profit 50/50 and we can divide the neighborhoods evenly.”

There was a long silence, Erik’s knuckle was near his lips, and he was staring right at you. You, on the other hand, were getting obscenely nervous. Your hands started to become clammy and your mind was running through every possibility that he was thinking. You were hoping that he would at least consider it but the more amount of silence that was suffocating the air, the more nervous you became.

“I don’t think this offer is for me. Sorry, y/n.” You sigh, taking another sip of your almost empty glass. “You know, you’d be getting 50/50 of the profit.” He snapped his finger and one of his men ran to get a cigar. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit the cigar, taking big puffs that were released into the air.

“I think you and I both know that it’ll be much harder than that.” Your eyes locked with his and you knew he was right. What happened if one of Bucky’s men went into his territory and started a fight? What if it happened with Erik? There were a lot of possibilities that could end up in a war but you and Bucky had already thought about them.

Especially with you and Bucky trying to have a baby, you both have to eventually refrain from indulging yourselves in the normal mob business. You both already decided to give the business off to Sam and Steve. And knowing that they have the same moral compass as Bucky, there’s no way that they’d make a huge fuss over a new lackey getting in a fight with someone. The only time they’re dealt with is when they become disloyal.

You set down your glass onto the large table, “Bucky and I have elaborated every possibility we could think of.” Your eyes didn’t meet his. You knew that he was contemplating your decision but you looked over at the strong buff men right beside him. “We could also have altering schedules. That way, there would be no problems with fights or disputes. Communication is what makes this plan full proof and I don’t think NYPD realizes how much we’re willing to cooperate.” He raised an eyebrow. You could tell that he was interested and you were well aware that his concerns were valid. After all, the two biggest mob bosses working together would be tricky. “My answer is still no.”

For another five minutes, you two were going back and forth trying to convince the other to agree and disagree. “I’ve had enough of this game, y/n.” You cursed to yourself in your head. For whatever reason, he wouldn’t budge. You could tell your bargaining skills weren’t working and the two of you were getting more and more frustrating. You tried to only stare at the empty champagne glass, trying to think of another way to get his attention to agree.

A small sly smile reaches up on your face and you curtly walk over to where he was sitting. His bodyguards jumped towards you but he lifted his hand for them to stop. You could tell he was quite entertained by how you were acting this evening.

You placed yourself on his lap, the smirk still playing on your lips. His eyes were blown wide, he seemed quite surprised. You knew that that didn’t happen often, a little bit of pride swelled inside of you. You flirtatiously placed your hand on the peak of his shoulder, then making it move so slowly down his chest.

His eyebrows furrowed and he clicked his tongue, “you’re married.” you playfully shrugged, cringing a bit in your head but you knew it was only to play the part. You had to act like Bucky wasn’t enough. His hands then went to rest on your hips. Pre Bucky days this would make you become a flustered mess, your skin would almost tremble but now, you felt nothing as his fingers dipped right into your skin.

Your eyes twinkled as you whispered seductively in his ear. “I do what I want, Erik.” You nibbled slightly on his ear, making his breath crooked. Your other hand went down his chest again, swirling and feeling his tailored suit.

“We were both born in mafia families. It was arranged.” Technically, you weren’t lying. The two of you did have an arranged marriage, however, you ended up already being in love with Bucky. So, your parents and his parents went ahead and made the deal anyway. A smirk danced on his features, a fiery look in his eyes had ignited. “Alright. I’ll take you up on that offer, y/n. If it means I get to work with you more often.” You smile brightly at your success. Sure, he would try and advance himself at you again but you would cross that bridge when you go there. You were just happy that you got the deal. After doing some more business, you tell him that Bucky is supposed to be coming home and he offered to escort you out.

You took the offer and his men urged you to follow them. You stalked behind them, walking slowly while going through the long deserted hallway. You were looking ahead when right out of nowhere, you feel a pull to your arm. You were yanked over to the wall of the hallway and taken inside a dark room. You tried to scream but a hand quickly covered your mouth. You almost elbowed whoever the fuck was trying to kidnap you until you heard that soft silky voice you know all too well.

“Miss me, sweetheart? By the looks of it, you didn’t.” You ignored the last part of his comment, not caring about whatever he said. All you cared about was being back into his arms again. “Bucky!” You quickly get out of his kidnapping hold and enveloped him into a hug. You latched onto him so fast that his body rocked back a bit.

His light chuckles filled your ears but you could tell something was off. The chuckles didn’t meet his smile nor the crinkle in his eyes. It sounded too fake. You open your mouth to say something but he quickly stops it and detached himself from you. The loss of his body, especially being so close, made you shiver.

“I can’t believe you. Was our whole relationship a lie, then?” You shook your head, not understanding his comment. Furious about what? You didn’t understand it so you opened your mouth again but was swiftly interrupted. However, this time, his large booming voice made you jump.

“I mean, seriously! Cheating on me? How long have you been doing this, huh? Is that why Erik always wants to do business with us?” You almost slapped your forehead for not getting what Bucky was talking about sooner. He must’ve seen you with Erik, assuming that you were trying to get with him.

“Buck-” He harshly grabbed your wrists and pinned you up against the hard wall. His hot breath was fanning against your ear and his body was pressed against yours. Your heart rate skyrocketed at just his touch, electricity boiling over in your stomach. “I guess you need a reminder of who you belong to.”

You shouted out many protests as he yanked you off of the wall, into another small hallway, and right out the door. His face was stern, eyebrows were completely furrowed, and there was a glassy look of rage in his eyes. You could tell he was furious, his breaths were short and light, his tongue darted out to lick his dry lips, and his left hand would coil and uncoil.

So you shut yourself right up and let him take you to a sleek black car that was right outside the building. There was no point in arguing with him when you were already in deep shit for it looking like you were cheating. He opened the passenger side and shoved you into the seat. You quickly buckle your seatbelt as he gets into the driver's side, slamming the door behind him. He started the car and without a word, started to drive home.

His knuckles almost turned white with the grip he had on the steering wheel. If you didn’t think that angry Bucky was one of the hottest things to lay your eyes on then you would be lying to yourself. His muscles were bulging out of his pants and tight shirt, a couple of veins on his forehead were thick.

For the most part, you stared out the window, occasionally sighing. You were thinking about all the ways to explain to him your situation. You knew it would be best to explain yourself when he wasn’t angry but you wanted him to know that what you were doing was just a game, it wasn’t serious. You didn’t want him to start doubting himself. You didn’t want him to leave.

You were so engrossed in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Bucky’s hand resting on your thigh and inching closer to the edge of your underwear. By the time you fully noticed, his whole hand was down your pants. He quickly pushed your panties aside with his hand and ran the pads of his fingers up and down your entrance.

A little squeak emerged from your mouth as you peaked over to see a large playful smirk on his lips. Your juices ran up and down your entrance and his fingers moved to circle your clit. “Look at that. Look at how dripping wet you already are, doll.” A delicious moan escaped your mouth, you grabbed his forearm in urgency.

“Can Erik do this? Can Erik make you wet by just simply touching you?” You didn’t have time to react as he pushed a finger inside, slowly moving in and out of your throbbing pussy. “I need words, baby doll.”

You tried to form some kind of acknowledgment but it just turned into a stuttering mess, his movements growing faster. He tried to keep his eyes on the road but he turned towards you again, seeing as your eyes were screwed shut and your head was thrown back. You had opened your legs more as Bucky had pleasured you further.

“Answer the question or I stop.” You groaned at his gruff voice, it was demanding yet sweet. He had never acted like this before, controlling and pure wanting. You two have had a lot of sex but then again, he’s never thought you cheated either.

“Erik c-can’t make me feel t-this way.” You cried out in desperation as he inserted another finger and they curled just slightly. “Who does?” A burst of pleasure erupted in your stomach, his fingers now moving at a rapid pace and his thumb went to gently caress and circle your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You do!” You screamed, and he never took his eyes off of you. You were so close, the knot in your stomach was beginning to unfold. Everything felt like it was throbbing and tightening, your whines kept filling the air. Your pussy clenched around his fingers, letting him know that you were close.

However, then that feeling of pleasure was gone. Bucky had taken his fingers out and just left you sitting there. “Buck-”

You stared in awe as he placed his fingers in his mouth. He tasted your juices, you could almost imagine his wet tongue sucking on his fingers. He let go with a pop, placing the hand back onto the steering wheel. “You taste divine, doll. But we’re almost home.”

So, you did what you could only think of, beg. “Bucky, please. I-I need you. Please, I need your cock or your fingers, anything! Nobody compares to you, I-” his eyes flickered over towards you but he lightly shook his head. He opened his mouth but you continued, hoping that he’d stop the car and take you right here. “Please, Bucky. Nobody makes me so needy as you do. I need your fingers, your lips, and your cock. Please, I need them-”

You were whining still as he pulled up in the driveway. You were interrupted by his car door opening and you quickly got out as well. You were about to get his attention again until he threw you over his shoulder and took large steps, stalking into the house.

“You’ve forgotten how I make you feel, or else you wouldn’t have flirted with Erik.” He didn’t waste any time and he set you on top of the large kitchen island. He pushed you down onto it, the cold marble hitting your back. He quickly undid his belt and roughly ripped your panties off. His plump lips went to immediately attack your neck, sucking and biting.

A large, tight gasp lifted upon your lips, his thick cock was sliding back and forth, teasing your entrance. “Bucky, please!” Your body couldn’t help but writhe on the island as he slammed his thick cock into you. His pace was fast and hard, his fingers went to circle your clit again which made you squirm underneath him. “Fuck, babydoll.”

“Yes, yes, fuck,” You screamed out, grabbing the ends of the island your hands almost cramping from how tight you were holding on to it.

“You’re mine, you got that? My beautiful, sexy wife. I can’t live without you, doll.” the sound of skin on skin was loud and thick, you were moaning and whimpering as his cock filled you up just right. You started to feel that tight coil again, “You going to cum, baby? I want you to cum all over me, okay?”

He sounded desperate, almost begging for him to feel you orgasm all over him. You moaned his name over and over again, your mind only thinking about your husband. “Let it go, baby. I got you.” You let out a long cry, cumming all over his cock. Sloppy juices ran down your thighs and it covered Bucky whole. A low groan sounded from his throat, continuing to push himself in and out of you.

A long moan escaped his mouth. He was about to take himself out of you but you stopped him, urging for him to cum inside of you. “Doll, if you don’t want to-” You shook your head, pressing your forehead against his. “I want to, Buck. I want a baby with you.”

Just that sentence had hit him over the edge, his head was forced back and his eyes were snapped shut. You could feel his cum inside of you, he shouted your name over and over again. He continued shooting himself all in you, and your moans were mixed. You were both panting, no words were shared for quite some time. His hands then lowered from your stomach to your hips, squeezing them a bit.

He went to open his mouth, a concerned look was given your way but this time, you interrupted him. “I got the deal.” His hands still rested on your hips but his head cocked to the side in confusion. “What?”

You nodded, taking your hand and resting your palm against his cheek. He subconsciously leaned towards the warmth of your hand. “I’m so so sorry that you had to see what you did. I promise you though, you’re enough.” Tears had fully rolled down his face, his sniffles filling the air. After what he had seen earlier, he needed to hear that. “You’re more than enough, Buck—you’re the sunshine in my life.”

Your sobs punctured the air, your chest tightening even more at the thought of Bucky becoming insecure because of you. He lifts his lips into a small smile while you move your thumb up and down on his cheek.

His body became closer now, his torso between your thighs. “Erik wouldn’t budge when I offered him the deal. He kept refusing and it was getting to the point where we were both just so frustrated. I had a hunch that he found me attractive. So, I used that to my advantage and we got the 50/50 deal on territory and profits.” A large smile burst onto Bucky’s face, he seemed very relieved that what he saw wasn’t true.

“Oh, you flirt!” You slapped his chest, both of your bubbly laughter engulfing the kitchen. “Now that I know the truth, I’m not going to lie, you deceiving others is pretty hot.” His hand reached down and intertwined it with yours. A hum left his lips as the hand that was on your cheek moved to play with his hair.

“It’s hot, huh? Guess I should do it more often.” His forehead leaned down to touch yours, a light content sigh leaving his lips. “I’m serious, Buck. I love you more than anything.” His hand reached up and touched the shape of your nose, eyes flickering around your face almost like he was memorizing it. “I love you too, doll.”

He straightened up a bit, his sweet smile turning into a cocky smirk. “Well then, for getting the deal done, we should have victory sex.” You giggled, pressing a long-overdue kiss on his lips. “I think that’s a great idea. But this time, baby, I’m in charge.” He chuckled, lifting your torso so you were now wrapped around his body and he started walking towards the bedroom. “Anything for you, my beautiful wife.”

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cressasdbfanfics · 3 years

Text

Windblown

Paring: GoChi

Words: 2,051

Summary: Just me fulfilling a really old prompt request on Tumblr that I kinda forgot about. Whoops. Set about a year after Goku’s return post Buu’s defeat.

Prompt: The power goes out following (during) a windstorm. Also, it’s spring in the fic, not fall like the prompt list says.

Prompt list: The user deleted their whole account. Sad. I tried to link to the prompt list.

Fanfiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13868732/1/Windblown

Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30883772

Cool spring air floated in through our open living room window, bringing with it the nice sweet scents of blooming flowers. Fluffy little clouds dotted the blue sky visible out the window. Gohan and Videl enjoyed a little spar under the evening sunshine a ways away from our home. They deserved a break from studying for their upcoming finals.

The breeze carried in their distant laughter and grunts. Curled up on our living room sofa, I hummed enjoying the soft breeze while I browsed a home décor catalogue.

A weight settled in the empty cushion on the other end of our sofa. I smiled at my sweet husband who was on his knees on the sofa, hands braced on the windowsill, as he looked toward where our son and future daughter in law fought.

"Videl's gettin' really pissed," he said through a chuckle.

I set down my catalogue on the side table next to me and watched Gohan and Videl through the window. Gohan's eyes lit up with a familiar, playful smirk—the same smirk his father wore when he stayed just out of my reach. Gohan dodged Videl's kick with a big jump backwards. Videl flew toward Gohan, her growl floating in through the open kitchen window. That little smirk during a little spar was just as infuriating to her as it was to me.

Goku flashed that same playful little smirk in my direction before returning his attention to Gohan and Videl. I shook my head but couldn't help a smile.

I stood from our comfortable sofa and nodded toward the window. "Shall we, sweetheart?"

Goku's eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet. I giggled as he grabbed my hand and pulled me outside with him into the cool spring breeze.

+++

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and glared at Goku. Oh, he was really going to get it if I could just catch him. I rushed Goku with a snarl, my fist ready to smash into his cheek.

My fist passed through empty air.

A whisper of warm breath off to one side brushed the exposed skin of my arm. I swung my elbow toward the warm sensation with as much weight as I could put into it. My elbow did collide with flesh in a satisfying smack—though not my intended target. Goku caught my elbow with an open hand, which he dropped to hang limply at this side. I shook off the jarring impact and got ready to attack him again.

Goku dodged and wove through every kick and punch I threw at him. Sometimes he returned a light hit, exploiting the rare opening I left. That playful little smirk never left his face. The light, cooling breeze picked up as we fought and felt wonderful against my skin.

"You're really strong, mommy!" yelled a small voice from somewhere near the house.

I sprang backwards out of Goku's reach and could easily make out Goten's awed smile inside our brightly lit house.

I giggled. "Thank you, sweetie."

"Yeah, you are," said Goku with a wink.

My heart fluttered in my chest as a little extra heat spread across my cheeks.

The bright sunlight faded.

An imposing mass of dark grey clouds blotted out the golden sunlight of late evening.

"Huh. Looks like we're gettin' a storm," said Goku, his gaze toward the sky. Goku looked at me, his eyebrows raised.

I answered Goku's silent question with a smirk. I wasn't about to let a little weather stop me.

Goku grinned.

I lunged for him as the wind picked up and feigned a punch to one side while setting up my real attack. Goku caught onto my ploy and answered with simply springing backward just out of my reach. I growled under my breath.

Goku chuckled and winked. "Nice try, babe."

I sprang after Goku and again let loose a quick series of knife handed strikes but all of them, as usual, missed.

The increasing wind made things difficult to keep going but I pushed through it, anyway. Goku seemed unfazed by the wind pulling on his gi and simply bobbed and wove around my attempted strikes, still wearing that irritating smirk.

"Mom! Dad!" yelled Gohan.

I stopped my attacks against Goku as Gohan and Videl landed by the two of us, eyes wide.

"Uh-oh," said Goku, staring at something behind Gohan and Videl, across the yard.

I followed his gaze. A wall of very low, dark grey cloud rushed toward us, flattening the grass it passed over. The wind carried the fresh scent of rain. A deep rumble echoed through the mountains and a bright flash of light lit up the darkened sky.

Goku pulled me against him. "We have to get inside!"

Goku reached toward Gohan and Videl. "Goten's inside! Grab on!"

A few droplets of chilly rain hit my face and the skin of my arms exposed by my rolled up sleeves before our living room materialized around us. The wind howled through our house.

"Quick! Close the windows!" I yelled as I dove for the open window above our sofa. The window wouldn't budge. It was hard to close against the wind. Large, strong hands stopped my struggle and easily pulled the window closed. I grimaced at the high-pitched sound of shattering ceramic. "The kitchen!"

Goku jogged into the kitchen but not before another dish—likely from the drying rack above our sink—met its end with another loud crash.

The wind blowing through our house ceased. I sighed grabbed the broom out of the utility closet.

"I need to cover the firewood," said Goku as I swept up the razor sharp shards of white ceramic.

He didn't give me the time to tell him to be careful before he phased out and vanished from the kitchen.

Instead, I called out, "Boys! Go check your bedrooms!"

"We are!" called Gohan from down the hall.

I picked up a few kitchen utensils the wind knocked to the floor and put them in their places.

"I hope nothing broke in the boys' rooms," I murmured as I put away the broom.

I decided to check on them.

A few loose-leaf papers littered the hallway floor. I gathered the papers, recognizing Gohan's handwriting, and knocked on Gohan's half-open door before I pushed it open.

"These were in the hallway," I said holding out the papers I found.

Gohan's attention slid up to me from his cross-legged seat on the floor and settled on the papers in my hands. "Oh, thanks," said Gohan absently as he added the loose pages to the stack in his hands.

Videl—seated on the other side of the mess—handed Gohan other papers. "At least you keep everything well labeled."

Gohan's chuckle was only half-hearted as he thumbed through the stack in his hands. "Heh, yeah. All of this is—"

The lights flickered and then went out, engulfing us in darkness.

Gohan groaned.

"I'll find a flashlight," I said. "Goten?" I called toward my youngest son's room. "How's your room?"

"It's fine," came Goten's unconvincing response.

I sighed. "I'll go find a flashlight."

I turned and reached out into the pitch-black darkness. My fingers made contact with the textured paint of Gohan's bedroom wall. I patted my way along the wall and found Gohan's doorway. I didn't get much farther before a warm, dry hand grasped mine.

Goku led me down the hallway with more confidence in the darkness than I showed. Goku always did have excellent night vision but I was surprised even he could see in that perfect, inky darkness without so much as a moon.

"How can you see in this?" I asked.

Goku's giggle reverberated across a wider space than the hallway. "I can't see much more than fuzzy shapes right now. But I can see energy."

"Your fuzzy shapes are better than me. I can't see at all," I said.

Goku giggled again and gave my hand in his a light squeeze. "I gotcha."

Goku stopped walking. I walked into the solid muscle of his back with a soft grunt.

"Heh. Sorry," said Goku. He drew my hand down and off to the side where my fingers grazed the soft, fuzzy fabric of a throw blanket. "Here's the couch. I'll make a fire so we have some heat and light."

I made myself comfortable as Goku shuffled around the fireplace, clangs and scraping noises echoing around our living room, adding to the noise of the wind rattling our windows. A rustle of fabric sounded next to me. I reached toward the noise and felt a small arm.

"Hmm. I wonder who this is," I said, knowing full well.

I moved past his arm and tickled his side.

Goten laughed.

A bright, tiny pinpoint of white light floated on Goku's outstretched fingertip, highlighting Goku's silhouette. The light turned into a soft orange glow that quickly grew brighter. When Goku moved aside, I watched small flames consume the kindling and spread to the logs.

"That should be enough light to see by," said Goku, coming to sit at my other side.

Gohan and Videl emerged into the dim light from the hallway.

"Did you manage to organize your homework?" I asked, dreading his answer from the way his eyebrows pinched together.

Gohan shook his head.

I jumped out of my seat. "I'll find that flashlight and light some candles."

"Thanks, mom."

It took some time to help Gohan get his homework and lecture notes organized again and help Goten clean his room but we did. When we finished, we all sat in the living room, enjoying the heat from the cozy fire burning in our fireplace.

"So, now what?" asked Goku.

"Hmm. Well, we could roast some mochi in the fireplace."

"Yeah!" said Goten as he jumped out of his seat next to me on our sofa.

"Mmm!" hummed Goku.

"How about it, you two?" I asked turning toward Gohan and Videl.

Gohan and Videl answered with eager nods.

I giggled. "Okay."

Goku got up and followed me into the kitchen. I set five plates, five roasting sticks, the box of mochi, and a small bowl of sweetened soy sauce to dip the roasted mochi in all on the counter. Goku helped me carry everything into the living room with a sweet smile.

Gohan, Videl, and Goten all moved to the floor just in front of the fireplace and the burning fire. I readied our snack, spearing a piece of mochi on everyone's roasting sticks and passed them around. We settled into easy, pleasant chatter as we roasted our treat over the fire to a perfect golden brown.

The pleasant chatter died down after we finished our snack. It didn't take long to figure out why. Goten fell asleep curled up against Goku's side under a throw blanket. I reached over Goku's lap and ran my fingers through Goten's thick hair. Gohan and Videl fell asleep facing each other, their hands intertwined.

"Oh, Mr. Satan is going to be so worried about her," I murmured over the crackling fire.

Warm lips pressed against my temple. "Don't worry, babe," breathed Goku into my ear. He yawned and then said, "She's got a phone. She probably already told him." He nodded at Gohan and Videl asleep on the floor. "'Sides, just look at 'em. I don't have it in me to wake 'em up."

I smiled at how sweet Gohan and Videl looked together. "I don't, either."

Goku carefully shifted Goten off of him and grabbed a couple of logs off the small stack of firewood. He pushed them into the fire with a roasting stick. "Let's keep this going a little longer."

I nodded.

Goku wiped the little bit of soot off his hands with a rag, scooted next to me, and wrapped his strong, gentle arms around me. He pulled me down with him to the soft blanket covering our hardwood floor. I giggled softly and settled next to him, resting my head on his chest. Warm breath tickled my forehead. I hummed and snuggled closer.

The chilly spring storm raged on outside but it was so nice and warm inside our little home on Mt. Paozu, I forgot all about it.

My family was home safe and whole.

This was perfect.

#Cressafics #GoChi #HanVi #fluff #power outtage #spring time #storm

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milknette · 4 years

Text

day 11 - star-crossed lovers

if my love was just a curse, then i have only tears to shed.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

"PLEASE, dearest, tell me the truth."

Marinette doesn't even look up as he speaks, his voice echoing from the otherwise empty dungeon.

"For what reason?" She asks, instead. "It seems you've chosen your side." Marinette spares him a passing glance, and it's so cold he almost takes a step back. "Who to believe."

"I was given no other choice!" He argues, holding almost desperately onto the bars that prevented him from holding her directly. "Lila is trusted by the people— trusted by my father, even! She's—"

"The divine messenger," Marinette finishes for him, though her tone drips of venom and nothing of the kindness he had known from her prior. Had he truly been fooled? "The woman who claims to speak directly to God." She laughs to herself; bitterly, almost angrily. "And yet it is I who is considered the heretic."

At that point, Marinette keeps eye contact.

Her stare is sharp and icy; the warm ocean blue he had familiarized himself with nowhere to be seen.

"How foolish."

Adrien grips the bars tighter. "Then tell me she's wrong," he pleads. "Tell me that you hadn't… that you're not…"

"Not what?" Marinette asks, voice almost terrifyingly devoid of emotion. "Tell me, dearest, what crime you've accused me of." She rages with quiet ferocity. "Tell me what I've done that justifies being treated like a monster." Her tone borders on cruel. "Say it."

They stare at each other, neither willing to back down. Accusing her outright, he knows, means that there's no turning back. There's a finality that comes with speaking it aloud— a finality that quite clearly meant that whatever they had with each other (if anything) is over.

So, Adrien ends it.

"That you've enchanted me to fall in love with you."

The words hang in the air, becoming much heavier when said aloud. He continues, quiet. "That I've been cursed to give my heart to a witch."

Marinette's strangely silent.

Then, almost vulnerable, she asks it:

"Was the possibility of you loving me so outlandish that only a curse could make it so?"

For a moment, he almost sees his Marinette; kind, loving, honest, and who he had loved so purely.

"Do you despise me?"

The 'no' escapes his mouth before he can even register it, shocking both of them.

Adrien knows he should hate her; loathe her for the sins she's committed to the kingdom— to him.

But he also knows confidently that his feelings are the complete opposite.

The only question that remains is whether that feeling of love to her is genuine.

He sighs, dropping down to his knees. He leans his head against the prison bars, exhausted. "I could never despise you," Adrien mutters, almost as if he were saying it to himself. "And that's the problem."

"Adrien, I—"

Then he faces forward, staring directly at her. "And you misunderstood," he starts. "I never believed the curse because I could never love you."

He smiles, though all he can really feel is the crushing sadness that threatens to bury himself whole.

"I believed the curse because I never knew I could love someone that much."

The silence is deafening.

Then, a single tear rolling down a cheek.

And in a moment, it becomes an overwhelming torrent of them.

Marinette finally breaks down, collapsing onto the floor as her body's wracked with sobs.

Adrien's never wished so terribly that he had some cataclysmic power to destroy the cell holding her hostage, and to hold her in his arms.

So instead he watches, almost helplessly, as she puts herself back together.

It only takes a moment.

(She never did make it his business to see her vulnerable; Marinette believed it to be the most intense form of intimacy, and she had always been too scared to take that step.

Now he knew her fears weren't unfounded at all.)

"I'm sorry," she finally says, after what seems like an eternity. "I had never meant… for any of this to happen."

He laughs lightly. "I don't think anyone could have expected this outcome," he says. "I'd have thought our story would finish with a completely different ending, really."

Marinette smiles, wiping her cheeks with a tattered cloak. "And what would that be?"

"The palace," Adrien hums. "I take over my father, and rule on my rightful place as king."

"How wonderful." She says, features softening. "Though I do recall you saying this was our story? How would I fit in?"

"Every king needs his queen."

"Perhaps Lila can fill that role."

They both share a laugh.

"No… only one person can fill that role, truly." Adrien stares at her, almost nervous, as he speaks up. "And that woman—"

"— is someone you'll find someday," Marinette interrupts, before standing back up. "Whoever she is, I hope she realizes how lucky she is to have someone so lovely by her side."

Marinette cups his cheeks, and the warmth that spreads throughout his body only yells his deepest desires:

How could this be evil?

She smiles, then presses a kiss to his forehead.

"I now release you from this curse, Prince Adrien of the Agreste Kingdom," Marinette begins. "Now live and love freely, without this monstrous witch to hold you back."

"Wait, Marinette—"

"There he is!"

Lila comes bursting through the entrance to the dungeon, a string of guards on her trail.

She immediately runs to him, almost yanking him away from her cell.

"My dearest prince," Lila cries, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I've been so worried! I've prayed and spoken with God, who by His gracious heart, has told me where you've been kept captive."

A snort.

The nun seethes at that sound, suddenly turning to face Marinette, eyes glassy with anger. "And you!" She growls, walking forward to roughly grab Marinette by her dress' collar; almost strangling the girl as she's held up. "Release Adrien from his curse, you damned witch—"

"Lila, stop!" Adrien pulls her away, allowing Marinette to be thrown back; coughing and breathing deeply as she falls to the floor. "There's no need to be cruel."

She glares at Marinette, before letting go.

"Fine." Lila says, though the lack of remorse on her expression is evident. She reaches upward and holds the cross on her necklace, rubbing it almost too intensely. "I'm confident that the Lord will pass upon her fair judgment."

At that she latches on to Adrien, then grins. "Now come with me, I have some great rituals to help remove the horrid stench of that witch from you."

He only nods, silent, as he's led upstairs.

He turns back.

"Goodbye, Marinette."

It physically hurts him to see her smile.

"Goodbye, Prince Adrien."

"Marinette, you are henceforth being trialled as a witch. What say you to this claim?"

"If it is a sin to love, then I will gladly admit I am guilty of it."

"Then we shall take that as your acceptance of the accusation. Prince Adrien, as the victim, what say you?"

"..."

"Prince Adrien?"

"..."

"See, he is clearly under the spell of this witch! We must kill her now to free him! Do it now!"

"Here, here!"

"No…"

"Kill the witch!"

"Wait…"

"Burn her at the stake!"

"... Don't!"

Screams, fire, a vision of black, then—

Nothing.

She's gone.

A dark red scarf flying in the wind.

A hand outstretched, grabbing it from the air.

A woman, running over.

A man, falling in love.

Between them, something is lit.

It begins the same way it ends.

In flames.

#auyeah2020 #mlauyeahaugust2020 #auyeahaugust #auyeah august #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #lila rossi #lila rossi salt #??#adrinette #but make it angsty #ml #miraculous ladybug #milk writes #ml fic #ml fanfic

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carnalpleasure · 4 years

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this one turned out way longer than i expected and it’s too long to post under a cut??? idk how tumblr works ok. but you finally get a lil taste of warlock!richard🔥😏 or would it be hawthorne!richard ?

anyways i think this ones pretty cute and im even more excited to go write the next part <3 thank u to everyone thats read this far 🥺 ILY

Light My Fire

The Warlock Council had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of their newest student. They’d planned to meet Richard bright and early that morning, but Michael insisted on letting him sleep in and rest up. So Ariel reluctantly postponed the meeting until all the classes were done for the day. And yet, they still were late to arrive. The master warlocks were quickly losing patience as they sat in their usual conference hall, once again debating on whether or not Richard even belonged there.

“Baldwin, you’re being naive,” John Henry said, his frustration evident in his voice. “The boy doesn’t possess any powers, he is being possessed,” he urged.

“How can you be so sure, John Henry?” Ariel interjected. “You said the same thing about Michael and look at what an asset he’s turned out to be.”

“I’m still not convinced on that one yet either,” John Henry muttered.

They had been debating this ever since Ariel received the tape from a frightened nurse at the clinic. She didn’t want anything to do with Richard anymore after seeing that footage, but she didn’t have the heart to turn him into the authorities since they couldn’t prove he was responsible either. Ariel and Baldwin only wanted to believe that the young boy was a powerful, promising warlock. While John Henry and Behold were less optimistic, believing it to be just a typical case of demonic possession.

Just as John Henry was taking out his pocket watch again to check the time, the tall arched door creaked open, echoing through the halls of the hallow room. Michael walked in first while Richard stood hesitantly in the doorway, his messy bangs partially hiding his face. Michael turned back to him, nodding for him to follow. “Come on,” he said softly, coaxing him in. The quiet brunette rushed to his side, like a shy little kid clinging to his mom’s leg in the grocery store.

“Richard! We’re so glad you made it! How was the trip?” Ariel perked up as soon as he saw the boys, quickly forgetting all about the argument. He walked right up to Richard, putting his hands on the boys shoulders and giving him the biggest, fakest smile the pissed off boy had ever seen. He quickly took a step back, pulling away from Ariel’s grip and giving him a look of pure hate and disgust. He hated this guy already. He was so arrogant, the way he talked, treating him like an old friend when he’d never met this man. But putting his hands on him? That irritated him more than anything.

Ariel was either oblivious to his anger, or he was ignoring it. But he moved right on without skipping a beat. “Well then, gentlemen. Shall we proceed with the first test?” He looked back at the other three warlocks, as if waiting for applause. His voice was rich with excitement as he returned to his seat at the table. He seemed overeager and it made Richard uncomfortable. He scooted closer to Michael, shooting him a nervous look. The anxiety was nearly radiating off him at this point.

Michael put his hands behind his back, like how he always stood when he was observing something of importance. But he had a different reason for it this time. He snapped his fingers to discreetly get Richard’s attention, signaling him to take his hand. The brunette reached for his hand right away and the boys locked fingers behind Michael’s back without the other warlocks ever noticing. It helped a bit, Richard’s heart rate started to slow and some of the tension melted away.

The four master warlocks were sat at the table like a panel of judges. They all remained straight faced and silent as Ariel took over, proceeding with the test. “Now Richard, since it is your first time using magic, we’ll start small. Today’s test will be a simple one. Any level one warlock can eventually master this.” As if on cue, Baldwin produced a single candle and set it on the center of the table. Michael let go of his hand then. He moved his hand to the small of Richard’s back and lightly nudged him forward.

“Pyrokinesis,” Ariel announced, “The ability to-“

“I know what it means,” Richard interrupted.

Ariel paused, his enthusiastic smile turning cold. This boy was testing his patience, although he’d never show it. Ariel was a master of masking his emotions. “Such a smart boy,” he said dryly. “Well then, let’s see if you can figure out how it’s done. Light the candle.”

Richard froze. That’s it? No directions? No magic spell? How the hell do you start a fire with nothing? He wanted to find out how just so he could burn this ridiculous place down.

Michael’s hand returned to Richard’s lower back, the small touch assuring him he was still right by his side. “Concentrate,” Michael’s tone was soft and soothing. “Think of the wick as someone that’s hurting you, think about how you would focus your rage towards that person, then direct it there.” Richard tried to listen to his words but he couldn’t focus on the candle, or on Michael. All he could feel was the pressure building. These four powerful men had all eyes on him, waiting for him to practically perform a miracle. His heart started to pound again, his hands shaking, feeling like his skin was crawling.

Without thinking, he turned around and ran for the door, stumbling into the hallway and trying to remember which direction they came from. Michael immediately went after him, “Hey, wait. Come here,” he pleaded, reaching out to grab him gently by the arm. Richard tried to shake him off and pull away but Michael grabbed him with both hands and pulled him into his chest where the brunette collapsed in his arms instantly. He buried his face in Michael’s chest trying to hide his shame. His burning red cheeks and watery eyes gave it away. Richard never cried unless it was tears of rage.

“I’m not like you, I can’t..” he grumbled into Michael’s chest. The blonde had his arms wrapped around him, running a hand through his soft brown hair soothing him almost instantly. “You’re just nervous,” Michael replied, his tone soft and forgiving. “Let me help you,” he whispered pleading, his lips brushing against Richard’s ear lightly as he spoke. Richard’s whole body started trembling at the sensation. Feeling the boy’s sudden reaction gave Michael an idea.

He ran his hand carefully up Richard’s chest to his neck, slowly letting his fingers wrap around the boy’s throat. Richard’s eyes went wide, completely taken by surprise as he felt Michael’s grip tighten, forcing him to look up at the blonde. The look on Michael’s face was seductive yet sinister as he leaned in, painfully slow, pressing their lips together and kissing Richard for the first time. Ever. Richard had never been kissed before by anyone and the brand new sensation sent sparks flying. Literally.

Every candle in the entire corridor burst into flames and the whole room was suddenly illuminated in a bright orange glow. The chandeliers started to swing violently and the hallway was filled with warmth. They pulled away from the kiss just in time to see that last of the light show. The candles flickered wildly and the last sounds of crackling fire echoed through the halls.

“Did you do that?” Richard asked, looking up at Michael in shock. He started to get angry, feeling like he’d just fallen for a trick. But the blonde shook his head, beaming with pride as he looked back at the boy. “No, baby. That was all you.”

A look of confusion crossed the brunettes face, his brows furrowing together as he took a moment to process what just happened. After a minute his eyes shot up to meet Michael’s gaze again. “How did you know it would work?” he asked.

Michael smiled, “Magic is a feeling. I just needed to make you feel something.”

Richard thought about that answer for a moment before reaching up to steal another kiss, surprising Michael yet again. Then he grabbed the boy by the hand and dragged him back into the meeting room where the Wizard Council had begun packing up their things for the day.

“You came back,” John Henry said dryly. “We were beginning to think you checked back into the clinic.” Michael wanted to burn the guy’s face off for even saying such a thing. He shot John Henry a look that was just short of demonic, it was a warning more than an intimidation.

“I can do it now,” Richard professed. His body was still buzzing from the kiss and he felt more sure of himself than ever. The only thing that could possibly feel as good as this, would be wiping the smug looks of their faces now.

“You’re late, we don’t have time-“ Baldwin started to shut him down but Ariel waved a hand, signaling him to be silent. “Let’s be fair now, Baldwin. Give the boy another shot. Why not.” Ariel sounded sarcastic and uninterested, as if he didn’t believe Richard.

“Really, Ariel? What’s the point?” John Henry asked, taking out the pack of cigarettes he always carried in his breast pocket. He put one to his lips, but before he could even reach for his lighter, the tip of the cigarette sparked, lighting up and glowing cherry red. It took John Henry by surprise and he inhaled too quickly, sucking in a harsh cloud of smoke and coughing.

The other warlocks all turned immediately to look at Richard, looks of shock and disbelief on their faces. It wasn’t as big as the display Michael had just witnessed in the hall, that’s for sure. But it definitely got the point across and got their attention. Ariel’s face lit up and a smile formed from ear to ear.

“That was excellent, Richard! You passed your first test!” he said with a laugh, his ego skyrocketing as his suspicions about the boy were affirmed. It was a small display of power, yes. But it was a sure indicator that the power was there. And that was all Ariel needed to know to officially induct him into the prestigious school.

“It’s settled then! Tomorrow morning. You’ll start attending classes with Michael right away. The two of you have a lot of studying to do.” He put a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze and looking at both of them like a proud dad would stare into the eyes of his sons. It made Richard feel unsettled, and Michael feel adored.

He dismissed the meeting then, sending the boys back to their room to get plenty of rest for tomorrow’s next test. As soon as they were out in the hall, Michael snaked his arms around Richard’s waist, pulling the brunette in close for another kiss. Richard put his hands on the blonde’s face, running them up into his hair and grabbing a fistful of his blonde curls roughly. “Come on,” he mumbled between kisses, “let’s go make some magic.”

💕taglist: @sexwon131 @jimmason @whatcodysaid @theneverendinghunger @angelicmichael @langdons-butterfly @thewarriorprincessxo

#michael langdon #michael x richard #the last time i saw richard #ahs au #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon fic

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sharpen-jadescythe · 4 years

Text

Luxana Queenwing

I’d like to avoid creating a whole Tumblr page I won’t maintain for my Harpy character (in-game as a Night Elf Demon Hunter) Luxana. Maybe I will eventually create one if I have enough interest in it. But I wanted to at least share her TRP About tab because it’s really beautiful.

Harpy Queen

Art resembling Luxana

It is true that the longer harpies live, the more beautiful they become. If mortal races misunderstand and call me an Elf, then fine. I shall use them. Happily use their willful ignorance, or their fool lust, against them…

If mortals see my harpy markings? Or how my eyes and wings burned in the fires of Ashenvale? And how I claw enemies at ear-popped speed, then they insist I am a Demon Hunter instead? Yes, fine. All the better. I am a huntress, in a way. A hunter of men’s flesh…

Anything for my flock…

I miss the Song. High above Ashenvale, the very air was Song. I did not ever imagine air without movement, no breeze, and none of my sisters’ voices carried on the wind. How can the world be so deceptively silent…

I am a harpy queen with no kingdom, no territory. We were tumbled out of the canopy we called home, a jewel and feather-strewn empire high above Ashenvale. Sunshade was a beautiful world of glittering light and flowing shadows. The Awning was laced with true harpy magic and sacred wards gifted to us by Aviana. Our home was bathed in warm sun and rejoicing, casting the forest of Ashenvale beneath in faintest echoes of that—quiet and blue shadow. We kept Sunshade safe, and secret, for thousands of years. But in the end, we were beat out of it like taking a stick to a wasp nest. By the weapons and fires of mortal men…

Perhaps we were lax in our watch over the forest. Perhaps it is our folly...

First? I shall gather my clutch, my beautiful and brave daughters. I don’t know if there are other queens like me. But together, we must find our sacred flock. And if we, Aviana’s chosen, cannot fight our way back to Sunshade, then we will tear out a new Awning under which to live! And there, fly free. Have all our feathered sisters finally together. And fill the air with our Song.

It goes like this…

VrrAAAaaaaaawkk!!!

RP Hooks

- If you’ve heard of the mythical harpy kingdom of Sunshade, above parts of Ashenvale. You might have been told stories about it, or you might have dreamed of the place while in the area. Sometimes, harpies like Luxana give people beautiful dreams to inspire them to protect their forest.

- If Luxana gave you a harpy dream before you finally met her. Like a siren’s song, sometimes Luxana draws strangers to her for a purpose. (Or she may do it accidentally.)

- If you’re a fellow witch able to chat with Luxana about the secretive harpy magic she uses. Harpy magic is passed down from mother to daughter, but there’s a lot she would have in common with a witchdoctor, etc.

- You like to sing. Luxana can make her voice atonal and ugly, or sing beautifully if she chooses.

- You, too, enjoy hunting men.

- You like harpies!

((This is all based on a bit of my own, but mainly awesome harpy headcanon from other players. Check it out!))

The Harpy Queen Skrch on fanfiction.net

Harpy Wowhead.com article

#luxana-queenwing

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weshallc · 5 years

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Berns Night.

So we’ve had a lot of birthdays @thatginchygal @rahleeyah @wednesdaygilfillian (sorry I missed that one) @roguesnitch coming up and @ilovemushystuff is celebrating too! and @h4t08 finally joined Tumblr and @clonethemidwife has returned and there are lots of new folk. Sooo I felt like throwing a party and there ain’t nothing like a Crown Inn party!!!!

This was supposed to be a Crown Stoppy Back but had other ideas so I will post the first chapter tonight as people are still recovering from Burns Night. Don’t worry if you are not familiar with the Burns Night traditions they will be explained more in chapter two. Probably 3 in all. We shall see as they say!

As always, I would be lost without @lovetheturners endless patience and thanks to @roguesnitch for encoraging me. This is dedicated to the most bonniest of lads I hope you had a great birthday and Burns Night with the Bard himself this year😉😘🤗

CHAPTER ONE: FAIR FA’ YOUR HONEST, SONSIE FACE

“Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang's my arm.” Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns 1786.

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich!”

The room was swept in darkness apart from the light of the wolf moon and the north star penetrating the cold window panes. All eyes were facing towards a wooden table and the elderly man stood behind it. He was in his 60s and wiry, small for a man, but with a silver mess of what once must have been a bonnie head of fire red hair. The body may have looked weak, but the intensity in his bright blue eyes cut through the dimly lit surroundings.

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cut through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one as the incision was violently made. No one daring to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet the ceremony is over, it’s time for eating and drinking something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The kilted clergyman winked at an auburn-haired girl in the crowd and tipped his whisky tumbler toward her. She raised her own glass and winked back. Her companion at her table was much taller with dark hair styled in a tidy no-nonsense bob.

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition. It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. ”Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the kind of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face that she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior, and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

She knew her friend well and sensed more queries would follow. Not sure as a Scot brought up on Tweavenside and now living in London she could provide satisfying answers. Picking up their empty glasses and heading to the bar was a strange sort of refuge for a vicar's daughter and inner-city missionary.

There was a queue well sort of a queue. In London a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored and anyone who called the barmaid by name being bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those words.

All her life she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea, he had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah in your dreams, pal.”

She was starting to feel uncomfortable she hadn’t meant to jump the queue. Maybe she should go back to the table and let Peter get the drinks. A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts, it was quieter than Al’s but held an authority. It wasn’t a Tweavenside accent, but it had a northern softness.

“You serve our impatient friend Valerie, I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter,

“Yes, yes I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash and a pint of Buckles Best

and for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

“Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights, or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner, most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double it’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when me and the wife took over she was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one and now there was just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way, under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present, her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn't dream of it surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I've met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don't mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More's the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a...”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can't imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realizing the stranger was still watching her. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. As heat rose in her cheeks and she suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realizing her arse was in the air and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

Shelagh Bernadette Mannion don’t you dare look back and see if he is watching you he is recently widowed with a son, Da said. He is, what do they call them now, a bloomer or something like that. God has shown you his path for you and it certainly does not include the Crown Inn, Poplar-on-Tweaven.

He is still watching me, I can feel it.

#call the midwife #crown jewels #turnadette au #call the midwife au #paddy and bernie #and everyone else #al's fic

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halitophobia · 5 years

Text

Blind Eye - One

Pairings ⟶ OC x Hank's Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank's Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Hello! I'm a little new to the DBH world, but I'm in complete awe of the story and Connor haha....anyways, I have been thinking about writing a series for him for a while and decided to go for it. This is mainly for testing the water - I'm not new to writing fanfiction or Tumblr (at.all.), but sure am new to putting my own work out to the public. So here goes nothing...(P.S. I'd absolutely love feedback and constructive criticism ! Truly ! TRULY.) Uh.. P.P.S. This is basically chapter one - just want to see how it goes :)

Disclaimer ⟶ I for one, obviously do not own any of the characters from the DBH universe whatsoever

Warnings ⟶ (for this blurb specifically...) quite a handful lots of swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...? (for this series...) slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), all warnings from the blurb, angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3000

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

----

NOV 5th, 2038 - 11:53:07 PM

You hang up your phone, eyes covered from your damp palm, and let out a breath you hadn't realized was being withheld. Your hand sloppily drags down your face, and you squint out the car window. The streams of rainwater on the glass blur the scene, resulting in hues of spinning red and blue. You huff, narrowing your eyes at...seemingly nothing. You shouldn't even be here. You shouldn't have given in. If it weren't for the damn situation back at your apartment, you'd probably be enjoying a searing-hot shower; or better yet, shamelessly devouring an excessively large bowl of sugary cereal.

"Miss?"

You're pulled away from your somewhat pleasant thoughts by the gruff taxi driver sitting in front of you. You sniffle by accident, revealing other unwanted emotions, and swirl your hand in your bag. Silently praying to yourself, you wait for something circular and cold, or thin and crumpled to brush your fingers.

After a solid minute or two, your hand tightens on a cluster of bills. You yank them out, thrusting them toward the man. Avoiding his gaze, quite obviously, you knit your brows together, really hoping you don't have to say that famous line...

"S'all I have." your voice annoyingly childish.

He scoffs. "You're lucky I don't have enough energy to argue."

With your eyes still locked on the door cupholder, his hand slaps yours. You feel his chewed fingernails scrape your palm, the money following suit. He grumbles something about getting out of the vehicle, which you gladly act upon.

Entering the delightful weather, you squint your eyes and do your best to use your hand as a visor. Scurrying past members of the crew whining like toddlers, you stop before a line of familiar yellow tape that keeps you from your destination. An officer standing on the opposite side warns 'unauthorized persons aren't permitted past'. Tell me something I don't know...

Your lips part, a snappy remark waiting patiently at the back of your throat, when a short plump man waddles toward you.

"By God, is that actually you, Y/N?" he awkwardly chuckles, eyes halfway shut from the rain trickling down his forehead.

"Detective Collins," you reply, forming a tight smile.

"Let her in, the big man requested her." he smiles back.

Reluctantly, the officer lifts the tape, watching you swoop under. You straighten out and wait for the white-haired man to start blabbering about how long it's been.

"It's been a while, huh? Was just starting to get used to not having you around." he teasingly grins, bumping your shoulder.

Nodding, you follow him onto the porch of a house simply waiting to crumble apart. The detective continues to talk about what it had been like after your absence and you flutter the collar of your heavy coat. Feeling your throat physically invert from the horrid stench, you grimace, shaming yourself for forgetting about this part of the job. Your ears truly tune into his voice as he starts to talk about the case. The dusty clogs in your brain begin to turn, grasping at key facts such as 'presumed murder weapon is a kitchen knife', 'no sign of a break-in', and 'owning an android that is nowhere in sight'. You can't help but pull back your top lip in a hateful snarl. You don't like that word. You don't like that word at all. In fact, you never did. Shaking your head, you glance around, taking in both the chaotic environment you basically grew up in, and the evidence gleaming before you.

Lowering yourself eye-to-eye with the...late Carlos Ortiz, your gaze wanders over his abdomen. It's grimly decorated with multiple stab wounds which you can't help but study closer. Your eyebrows slightly lift, and one might think you were unimpressed, but you were just amazed at the rage embedded within the victim's gut.

"The victim fled to...the living room." a young voice claims, making your focus falter.

What's an intern doing at a place this brutal?

As the question floats through your mind, every muscle, pulsing vein, and wavering breath coursing through your body comes to a halt - for that is when you hear it. Or should you say him. No, I really shouldn't...

"And he tried to get away from the andro- what the fuck?" you close your eyes, preparing yourself for the new crime scene to unfold. Here we go...

"Y/N? What the...wh..." his knowing voice somewhat amuses you; you've never heard him this...speechless.

Steadily, you bring yourself to full height, still not having turned to see the Lieutenant. Feeling that instinctive mode envelope you, you tug a spiteful grin from your lips, finally shifting to see-

"Hi. Hank." his name crawls out of your mouth like a shiny, black beetle.

You watch his eyes widen, only to shrink into slivers. His mouth recoiling into that signature frown, and his breath creating angry puffs of steam. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" he spits, crossing his arms over his chest. Same old geezer.

You scoff. "That's no way to greet your little girl."

He glares harder and makes threatening strides toward you. "You are not my fucking little girl." he shoves a finger at you, "You better get out of my fucking way. This is my case, and you are not going to be involved." You raise your eyebrows, pretending to be shocked by his filthy mouth.

"And that's definitely no way to speak to your little girl."

His yellow teeth come to show and he growls at your ignorance. "Ben! Get your ass in here!" his words are poison. Within seconds, the round detective makes his way through, a knowing and pained expression pressed into the creases of his face.

"Hank?" a nervous crack in his voice says it all.

"Why on fucking earth would you let this snake onto the crime scene!" Hank fumes. You laugh and shake your head. Naturally, you sense fellow detectives and crew seep their way into the living room. Audience is right on time... "She's villainous, disastrous, manipulative, and downright fucking evil!"

You nod, shrivelling your nose, "You're one to speak, Hank." letting some loose hairs fall in front of your eyes.

He tousles his hair in disgust, "You really think they're just going to hand you your job back and everything will be fine and dandy?" Hank shouts, saliva shooting out between his teeth.

"Captain Fowler has been desperately trying to get me back on the team, calling me constantly like a horny frat boy!" you claim, making sure your voice comes level to his. "So, sorry to break it to you, but it's clearly already happened."

"I can't believe it! I can't believe it's happening again!" he turns away, circling back to you. "You just get to clip clop your fucking way back into my life and career without having to pass one goddamn obstacle!" his fingers tug at his grey locks, sweat collecting at his hairline.

"Oh yeah, life's tough, huh Dad? Not having to pass an obstacle, ever been kicked out of your own home with only thirty-two fucking bucks clutched in your hand and a bottle of beer in the other?" you bark, acknowledging the others in the room is long gone from now.

"How many times are you going to bring that up!? You decided to bring that absolute bag of shit in my house and have the audacity to let him stay!"

"You didn't have to throw us out!" your throat is stinging now. Your blood is scorching hot, and your jaw is nearly if not fully cemented together. "Drunk off your fucking mind, shoving us out the door and throwing glass bottles at our heads, I mean, what kind of father were you?!"

"You don't get to do that." his voice descends two octaves; dangerously steady. "Y/N Anderson, you do not get to fucking do that." your eyes have now burned into his and you find yourself digging crescent moons into your palms.

"Who's to say?" your words also deep and slow. You're leaning in to size him up, warn him, threaten him, whatever you want to call it.

"Lieutenant and Detective Anderson! If you two do not calm yourselves the fuck out, I'll have no choice but to remove both of you from this ca-" Ben's still here? Since when?

"I am not an Anderson." you correct.

Hank breaks the deathly-still eye contact and moves his head to inspect a crack in the wall. He shakes his head and mutters under his breath.

"You never were."

Your eyes pop open and that withering fire ignites inside you once again, electricity rippling down do the minuscule hairs on your fingers. "Fucking come again?" you yell, moving to get right into his face.

Let's just pause, shall we? This is the same pattern you two always fall into. You say something to sting him, he finds a way to bite you back, and you get offended. It's your stubbornness you've never gotten rid of. This mass of steel in the both of you, sitting at the bottom of your stomachs, never ever willing to budge. You've both a tree trunk up your asses and what's happened in the past has done quite the opposite than removing them. Just...come on, listen to this. This argument is a bicycle missing its back tire - going to go absolutely no where. This acid you throw back and forth, a cute duel of 'hot potato', engraves wounds to the both of you; it never ends. Honestly, you don't think it ever will. And what could have ever happened to cause a world war between the two of you? Let's just say these past few years have been utterly devastating and neither of you have taken it well.

Exactly four minutes and twelve seconds go by, and your hand is latched onto the Lieutenant's throat. His hands are suffocating your biceps, and in return, you decide to start kicking. Detective Collins wraps his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you away from your 'opponent'. You see a young man do the same to Hank - a little less effortlessly.

"Get the hell off me!" your father rages, whipping his arms from the brunette's grasp.

You sharpen your eyes and study Hank's ‘partner’. No. fucking. way. "This your little pet?" you rip your arms from your restrainer and proceed to enter the fighting arena. "After all that's happened, you end up getting a weasel to train. And even better, it's a fucking android?" your words are deadly now. You feel betrayed. Backstabbed. Run over by a damn bulldozer.

There's a slight hesitance in Hank's response, and to you, it only plasters upon his face, a large sign reading 'WARNING! I'm a loser!' "I wasn't-" he starts, but you're just too quick.

"An android!" you repeat, everyone already knowing the taste of your venom from the first time.

"Y/N dammit, will you let me-" Hank's voice is wavering, ever so slightly. Of course only you notice.

"This thing will corrupt the case! You really want to trust scraps of polished metal and plastic hair? It doesn't understand emotion or motive! How will it ever track down a suspect?" you growl, twisting your wrist within the steel rings holding you back.

"Telling me I had the audacity to invite a guy home," you continue, "yet you have the audacity to work alongside this piece of junk; the cause of-" you can't help it. It still hurts. Your words are discarded due to the contraction of your throat. Pull it together, no time for this shit. You cover it up, in the mere seconds of weakness. "I bet it’s got a name, huh? This your new so-"

"I did not agree to work with this thing!" his rotten finger is thrown at the bot, "I don't even remember the fuckin' name!" he says this as if he's defending himself.

"My name is Connor. I am the android sent by Cyb-"

"SHUT UP!" your voices in-sync, a combined evil no one would ever want to cross.

----

Satisfied by the first...'warning', Connor pivots away, wandering back toward the kitchen. Both your voices are woven with malice, he considers. Your blood is pumping at immense speed, and if it weren't for your human forms, you'd have already combusted by now. The emphasis on your sentences make it very difficult for him to differentiate swear words from others. Pausing for a beat, he peers over at you, deciding to analyze.

ANDERSON, Y/N

Born : D/M/2014 // Short Order Cook (currently unemployed)

Criminal record : Pick-pocketing, shop-lifting

Moving along small hints about you, Connor shifts his attention to your E/C eyes. Despite the low light, he notices the skin surrounding them is vaguely swollen and pink. Below them, your cheeks are gently stained - from rain? His processors scratch that thought. Probability claims...

Subject has been crying. (approximately 45 minutes ago)

Stress Level : 100%

Moving his attention directly across from you, Hank's level of stress is no lower. Connor sees Detective Collins making a phone call to Captain Fowler, only to be immediately rejected. It's midnight on the last day of the week, Captain Fowler doesn't give two shits.

Duty sprinkles itself back onto the android's head, and he turns directly toward various splatters of thirium. Easily, he drowns out your agitated argument, and continues on with solving the case.

----

You're out of breath. Completely and utterly out of breath. Your chest is heaving, your jaw is sore and your brain is dangerously pulsing in your skull. You've expectorated every single insult and swear your tainted ears had ever taken in. Your shoulders ache, for Detective Collins had restrained both of you a little while ago; either protecting you from each other, or the others daring to stay in the room. From the outside, you and your old man look like feral wolves, battling for the role of Alpha - except this is just family dinner; without the handcuffs of course.

The other officers have managed to have you on the opposite side of the living room, wraith still oozing from your pores. Hank looks as though he's on the brink of a stroke. He's drunk and probably already engaged for a second round of bickering. Bickering? Yeah..yeah we'll call it that.

This is why you shouldn't have come. You knew - every atom in your damn body knew something bad was going to happen. During the call before being dropped off, Captain Fowler insisted Hank wasn't going to show up. You'd gotten these calls over and over again. Your father's attendance had been downright awful. From what you've been told, people will find him hunched over bars, head low, and buzzing with alcohol. You laugh bitterly at the thought - nothing's changed. Hank Anderson everyone, yes, also known as the fucking prick of the year and Mr. My-Daughter-Can-Eat-Shit-For-All-I-Fucking-Care.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Whadd'ya doin' with that chair?" Hank's voice is harsh and dry.

Everyone's eyes are now drawn to the android that is currently shuffling a fucking chair out of the kitchen. Dumb fuck...

"I'm going to check something."

Wow. Its voice is annoying. Its walk is annoying. Its uniform is ugly. Its snappy remark is really just- I mean, how could he do this to you? You stare at your father and squint your eyes. He barely looks itched by that thing. In fact, he looks amused. By instinct, you're butthurt. In a different reality, happening at the same time, he's just shot you in your back and made out with your fifth grade teacher. At least, that's how you'd imagine it. Painful and disgusting.

Clearing your littering thoughts, you glance around. Most of the team had moved back outside. You're just leant on your right hip, arms still clipped behind your back and you realize your nose is getting pretty fucking itchy. Ruthlessly, you rub your nose against your shoulder, earning a snort from Detective Collins. Oh, so he finds this funny...

"That asshole got his hands back," chucking your temple toward Hank, "why can't I?" you challenge, prepping for an argument toward Ben.

You watch his double chin twitch, his lips parting and coming together. He's afraid of you. Weighing in the facts, you don't think it bugs you as much as it should. To keep it that way, you roll your eyes and shift to your other hip.

"Connor, what the fuck is going on up here?"

So the bitch calls it by its name. 'I don't remember its name' my ass...

A pause indicates its dead. Or gone. Both would be great. "Sounds like your puppy's ran away." you show an exaggerated pout, "Con Con's gone gone." The silver-haired man glares at you, brewing up a comeback.

"It's here, Lieutenant!"

Of course.

The next 10 minutes consist of crew members hustling in and contemplating what to do with the assailant. You're long forgotten, wrists still enveloped in crisp metal. You watch the scene unfold, seeing a dark-skinned bot sulk past you, its 'hands' in the same situation as yours. You could cut yours off, knowing you have something in common with it.

As the posse mosey's on by, you burn holes into the side of your dad's head. Thouroughly enjoying the bird he sends your way. Then, due to the flow of movement, you catch...eyes with it. Your face scrunches up and you hold back every nerve sizzling to attack - you know your limits; especially with cuffs.

It holds eye contact with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. That is, until you see the corners of its mouth lift ever so fucking slightly. And just as you glance down to examine the expression, it's completely gone before your eyes. Was...was that a fucking smile? This collection of plastic and wires has the fucking nerve to fucking smile at you?

Oh, you've just dug your own grave, Siri.

----

I think I’ll definitely start chapter two.

#connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh #detroit connor #dbh x reader #detroit become human #detroit connor x reader #connor #rk800 #dbh connor #hank anderson #hank x connor #hank’s daughter #bryan dechart

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longeyelashedtragedy · 5 years

Text

this has been the most wild fuckin year so let’s do a Year in Review shall we

in terms of internet and fandom life, that is. my real life has been atrociously boring but who cares about real life amirite folx

january probably the only calm month of the year. i spent the first day of the month watching the brazilian inauguration in burgos, spain with one headphone in, while ordering for my family in a restaurant where nobody spoke english (my sister speaks decent spanish, but my whole family has like 8194814 food restrictions so it kind of went past her level of ability). translating between spanish and english with portuguese in one year was kind of awesome. i watched bodyguard and it was amazing! what else...in january i briefly owned the issue of spanish GQ with Luka on the cover which i then forgot about until november. other than that...? nada. the calm before the storm. (fav music)

february was so long ago that i keep forgetting how insane its 28 days were. probably the wildest month of the year really. i got involved in an absolutely batshit and exclusive group chat with a famous person’s family member (which must remain confidential). it was all sunshine and rainbows for a week and a half and it then devolved into the most absolutely insane Lord of the Flies situation ever--it turned into 1 main chat and then 1 chat that was less puritanical than the main chat, and that chat spawned another chat that didn’t trust the previous chat, and then that chat had a massive argument and a like 6-person bitchy chat modded by a gay guy who does voodoo (shoutout to ALCIDES) spawned from that one. i made it into every level of group chat and was asked by the tiny bitchy chat to spy on the other bitchy chat (i did not lol). i was a member of the tiny bitchy chat until i got a new phone and was logged out of whatsapp for like a month. these words can’t even convey what this chat was like--oh and did i mention it was all conducted in only my 3rd-best language? it’s no wonder my weird ass survived middle school almost entirely unscathed. as this was winding down, on the very last day of the month, I found out about Justin’s involvement in the SNC-Lavalin scandal and decided to go public about my years-long boner for him; Lavscam definitely changed the course of the rest year ~ Oh, also i began helping to repair a friendship that had had some Drama go down so that was p cool ~ (fav music)

march was a Time. The insanity of lavscam helped me finally finish the macdeau I started writing the previous December when a bunch of tungelr people called me disgusting for writing it. i wrote my first straight-up serious explicit porn in years which has wound up being the third-longest thing i’ve ever published on ao3. Also, Hozier released Wasteland, Baby! which made a huge impact on me as well. i spent like half of march staying up till 3:30 am writing said Long Fic, and i was firmly in the closet about stanning manu. also justin almost got a vote of no confidence or something and he got busted for eating a chocolate bar during a parliamentary all-nighter. (fav music)

in april i wrote a ton of fanfic thanks to declining mental health(tm). i think this is when i started my emmanuyell insta account and became really into making weird edits (which i still love doing just...don’t anymore.) i started meeting some cool people thanks to macdeau. what else happened in april? i feel like it wasn’t actually too eventful other than writing a lot of fanfic and being Annoyed about manu. feel free to jog my memory lol. oh i think i wrote “Okay so who from the French national team are we gonna ship Manu with” on twitter after seeing photos of manu + antoine griezmann at the World Cup but nothing came of that...at that time... (fav music)

may saw me having to deal with my shit mental health and up my meds but that seems to have had a good effect because i seem to not be too depressed to write in the winter/fall anymore! it was the 2nd anniversary of manu’s election and at the Christchurch Call in paris, macdeau took that amazing fairytale princess photo together that was completely unrivalled in Gay Shippy Feels moments until ivan went out of his way to kiss luka during the el clásico gameplay last wednesday. someone wrote ao3′s first griezmanu drabble and at the end manu gets down on his knees in front of antoine, takes off his shoes for him, and sucks his dick, and i achieved another state of being entirely. my sister graduated from grad school and when we went down to DC for the weekend i went to eat at this restaurant manu famously ate at while there and ordered the same stuff he did and i have no idea how he consumed all that grease. i learned about the song O Come, O Come, Emmanuel *snort*. i feel like other things happened in may too? OH YES--i got the idea for my magnum opus, Trophy Boyfriend, and started to write it. the first scene i wrote was justin blowing manu in the hallway. then the same day i wrote the scene at the airport (which was the ending for a solid month and half till i realized it shouldn’t be), and the saddest scene in the fic--but we’ll stop to open presents. oh! and i stumbled across the macronists discord chat which is such a delightful little community *weepy sniffles* (fav music)

june was Eventful. a french neonazi on tumblr told me to go let manu fuck me in the ass because i was a fucking degenerate. what a start! then came the ceremony in which manu awarded everyone on the french national team the legion of honor medal and the way he and antoine looked at each other was truly...Wait it was the 3rd Gay Shippy Feels moment of the year. as soon as the ceremony was over i wrote a fic about it and haven’t looked back. between this + watching almost every 2018 World Cup game and the women’s world cup (during which I cried during argentina’s last game because of that miraculous penalty) i finally achieved my years-long goal of getting into Futbol(TM). Antoine dropped his spotify playlist and my crush on him turned into Intense Love (TM) and also he introduced me to some legit awesome artists. which led to (fav music)

july, in which i wrote “ça c’est ma dope” which is definitely the best thing i’ve written since i wrote “modernity towering in front of the sky” almost exactly 10 years before. got embroiled in Soccer Transfer Drama and learned its pain for the first time (unfortunately, since i wound up attaching my heart-wagon to barça’s Suddenly Least Favorite Player, the transfer drama pain has...never ended) became a full-fledged culé, O the joy O the honor. i wanted to ship antoine with someone on the team, which in their current chemistry-less season is a real challenge, but after seeing a few photos i decided it would be fun to casually ship antoine + ivan rakitic (partially because, ever since i went from Enemies to Lovers with the croatia NT during the World Cup, he was one of the only players i knew anything about other than messi, suárez, and piqué lmao). while looking on ao3 to see what kind of headcanons people had about him--and the fic is definitely in general better than what’s out there about antoine, which is perplexing because antoine is much easier to write than ivan--i found That Amazing Rakidric Fic and thought “oh wait that ship makes a lot of sense” and started also shipping ivan and luka with the fire of a thousand suns. oh and my air conditioner was broken for like 3 weeks. i worked on more fics, seriously outlining the path of Trophy Boyfriend, and my music taste was killer. (fav music)

in august i finished Trophy Boyfriend in my neighborhood Starbucks after writing the scene that was giving me the most trouble (the scene at the beginning where they’re organizing their book collection). the fic has made multiple people cry and people disagree on whether justin’s choice at the end was the right one and god i’m so proud of it. Instantly went on to write ‘i might not mind,’ a lively lighthearted Friends to Lovers ivantoine~ romp which was definitely going to be a one-off and i was definitely not going to get an extra celeb crush out of it,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, (fav music)

in september ivantoine became A Thing in my mind and it’s a whole ongoing slow-burn character-arcy series that has taken a very different turn than i had expected. i’m not saying it’s like, the most deep writing of all time, but it’s gone to some interesting places emotionally. honestly, ships and boners aside, the concept of a person who made some really stupid homophobia 101 comments many years ago slowly realizing over and over again that they have gay feelings for a man who seems rather comfortable with gayness is a fascinating one and one that’s really cool to explore in writing. Or at least, i think so. in many ways ivan is my most unreliable narrator because of the many layers of Discomfort, Emotion and Repression at play in the fic while he’s interacting with this pretty cheery and uncomplicated seeming-dude who’s still perceptive enough to sort of know what’s going on (and that’s not even adding in the star player/falling from grace former rockstar dynamic!!!) i know in the current climate it’s Not Allowed to write about someone who said a bad, but luckily i’m too old to give a Fuck. ivantoine is hard to write but it’s my bff’s favorite ship of mine and has a few other excited fans on ao3 which tbh is kind of an accomplishment considering i made it up out of thin air and it’s not something you’d ever think would be a thing. instantly also developed ‘getting called out about ivan by a child on the internet’ as a goal. and...i achieved my dream of leading high holiday services!!! (fav music)

october had more high holiday services and i worked a lot on certain fics (including d*janfic which would be fun to finish). i came up with the idea of a Very Long Rakidric Fic based on the translation of a gorgeous croatian folk song i sang in college (Janko fell asleep under the poplar/My dear and beloved/My beautiful dark eyes/Look at me/Under the poplar's golden branch/My dear and beloved/My beautiful dark eyes/Look at me/I tore off the golden branch/My dear and beloved/My beautiful dark eyes/Look at me--in which the golden branch is a reference to a way to get into the underworld). decided to start quarter-assedly learning croatian for fun. Fun...ha. other than fangirling a lot and watching the croatian NT play, october was pretty uneventful? i think? Justin got reelected and mauricio didn’t ;( (fav music)

in november i finally achieved my dream of having a literal child on the internet call me out about being attracted to a homophobe. (they were a madridista even!) accidentally started writing some more rakidric and now i’m seriously hooked. also accidentally came out of the closet about the secret crush i’d been harboring on luka modric and then one fateful day in the ihop on 14th st i realized i’d had this crush already and repressed it from my memory. Don’t do that kids! now it’s Hurting Really Bad. Ivan dropped the most pathetic and candid interview like...ever and i hope “¿Cómo puede disfrutar uno? Jugando al fútbol. ¿Cómo se siente mi hija pequeña cuando le quitan un juguete? Triste. Yo me siento igual. Me han quitado la pelota, me siento triste” goes down in the history of most epic futbol quotes of all time. (still haven’t actually been able to watch this because no one has uploaded it anywhere) What else...............Am i forgetting anything? i celebrated my birthday with @tender-vittles in epic fashion after two years of Not doing that, and turned 32 going on 15. enjoyed my first-ever “x reader” fic (zlatko dalic x reader LOL) and finished “drive your plow over the bones of the dead” which was real fucking good. i saw hozier live and it was a religious experience and i unexpectedly cried during nina cried power and then called myself “Luka B” when ordering at the classy taco bell across the street after getting a glimpse of alexxx ryan in the flesh. (fav music)

now it’s december and my seasonal depression is a little worse than it’s been the past few years but i’m managing. still shipping and writing and i just got called out about ivan again last week. i’m 2 for 2 here! el clásico was boring but also it was gay and my heart my heart my heart ! Anything could happen in the last 10 days of this year and honestly...I’m pretty sure I’m ready.

Most importantly this year, despite it being not that great in a lot of ways, I developed a lot more self confidence, made many important realizations, and became a lot more peaceful (despite how this post makes me sound) and wiser and less bitter and pessimistic. And i became outspoken enough about antisemitism on the left to lose friends over it...3 for 3. i can’t say i’m displeased with these developments.

Hasta 2020! <3

#about me #originals #GPOY #2k19 you were...wow #17 #there are def awkward omitted words here i apologize

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boogiewrites · 6 years

Text

Choking On Sapphires 64

Title & Song: Love Is Blindness

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 6400+

Summary: With the rest of their time in Paris spent in a dream, the harsh reality of their lives comes crashing back in as Gen and Alfie return home. The backlash to their coupling begins.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Canon-typical violence. Possessiveness. Fluff. Angst. Alfie and Gen teaming up against someone. Business turns personal. Defending each other.

**Chapter song is Love is Blindness by Jack White.**

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

You wake up in the dim morning light, his head to the side as you murmur and look up at him. The unfocused glow of the sun falling across his face, freckles that are barely visible across his nose and cheeks, the warm light making the red in his hair more prominent. It made him glow like the cinders of a dying fire, reminding you of the burning emotion that lay just beneath the surface.

You rise to turn your upper body to lay on his chest more so you can kiss his jaw. He grumbles and winces, nose twitching as his lips pout, pulling himself out of sleep. You kiss him again, your hand on his cheek, a simple press to his cheek, watching his eyes disappearing under his heavy hooded lids as his brow dips low, shifting before finally opening. A deep grunt rises from his chest.

"Mornin' love." his rumbling voice carries out into the breezy, open room.

"Matin, mon Fie." you coo, a kiss to his chest that makes him happily hum. You peck your way up to his cheek again, his arm moving taught around you, bringing you up against him. "Did we really finally say all those things last night?" you ask with a soft smile.

His brow shifts, narrowed eyes still heavy with sleep look down to you curled up like a kitten against him. "I dunno. Did we?" he smirks and reaches up to stroke your hair.

"You really do love me, Alfie?" you ask for purely selfish reasons, wanting to hear it, to see it on his face again.

"Do you love me?" he asks in rebuttal, a charismatic lazy smile playing across his plush lips.

"I asked you first." you say with a wrinkle of your nose.

He chest shakes with a laugh before it carries out of his mouth, stopping when he presses his lips to your head. "Bloody ridiculous." he chuckles. "Asked me first..." he muses and shakes his head, rubbing his face with his hand. "How could I not with that sort 'a response. Cheeky little girl." he grins and moves to squeeze you with both arms. "'Course I love you, you ridiculous creature." he hums happily as your fingers play in his beard, eyes closing again, his body relaxing under yours.

"I love you too." you whisper, nuzzling into his neck. You let out a content sigh against him, fingers lazily stroking his chest hair, setting the tone for the rest of your time in Paris.

------

Your days in Paris were spent in the most ideal of ways, together. You ate until it forces you back to your place to nap, you spent mornings in the marketplace, picking out ingredients for your meals, flowers for the apartment and browsing the young artists work, buying pieces to join your growing wall of paintings. You spend your nights at shows, taking in the opera and the Moulin Rouge. Which wasn't Alfie's cup of tea. You dance by the edge of the Seine to live music, violins accompanying your slow-moving feet as he dips you down in his arms, your laughter disrupting the kisses you share. You walk home across bridges and stopping to kiss at the peaks of their arches, taking your time to look out at the water, the reflections of the city in the moonlight upon it.

Almost every morning and night you make your declarations of love in some form. Some mornings your hands roam and you keep it simple, bringing each other over the edge sloAwly, staying warm under the covers. Your nights are varied, some fast and desperate, him taking you on top of your piano, in the tub before you make it to bed. Others are slow, some with a constant spinning of affectionate words between the two of you, others in silence and always ending in each other's arms as you fell asleep.

The last night he gives you to earrings he'd bought. You felt disappointed in yourself for not having the foresight to get him something in return. He expresses the symbolism of teardrop stones. He promises not to bring you any more tears, save for those made of precious stones. You put them on, and promptly take everything else off, and proceed to have him tell you all the things he wishes for you both. Everything he promises to do, the things he'll never do and ending with the things he wanted to do to you tonight.

The dreamlike escape had to come to an end, and after the long journey back you both crash in bed together for one more night at your home, the next morning the real world awaited you. You see him off to work like you used to and it felt right to spend your mornings together in such a way. You put his hat on his head before he walked out the door, sharing a kiss under the wide brim with both your hands on his face before you let him go. As you watched his car shrink into nothing you feel the weight of worry grow, as the gravity of reality set in once again.

It doesn’t take you long to get back into the swing of things, it wasn’t as if you’d been gone that long. The deep immersion you’d given yourselves over to had only led you to feel as if it’d been months when it was not even a full week. But the good it had done for you both couldn’t really be measured in any tangible way. A scale wouldn’t reflect the lightness you felt now, it could only be felt.

So as Abeille falls back into place, so does Alfies work. And with it, things started to move forward and you were now looking at the first job you’d be working together as a couple. And wasn’t it suited this job would be a dirty one.

You wait in Alfie's office, leaned against his desk as he oversees the placement of the tables for the false truce meeting that would be going down within the hour. You had all the routes ran, knew who was shooting who and all that was left was to set up was the meal and wait for the Greeks to arrive. You weren’t exactly nervous, but you weren’t unbothered by it either. Shooting the head of a crime family was never something to be taken lightly, even if it was premeditated by that heads son. You were placing a lot of trust in Niko to make sure this ran smoothly and that was what was making you apprehensive.

Alfie’s voice breaks your train of thought as your foot bounces with the crossing of your leg, sat back in his chair. “I ‘ave to say, I thought I was Alfie Solomons but it seems that innit right as a body is surely sittin' in the chair only he sits in, yeah?” He muses, shutting the door behind him as you give him a smirk and rise. “But I gotta say, Alfie, ya lookin' bloody good these days.” He lets out a chuckle as he greets you with a kiss to the cheek first, then the back of your hand. “‘Ello love.” He says in a softer voice. “Punctual as always.” He says in his more usual gruff voice.

“I could’ve been late but you wouldn't have known since you are.” you tease.

“Well, it's work innit?” He says in playful defense. “Someone’s gotta tell these boys what to do. Like they were raised by wolves, none can set a table.” He Shakes his head in disappointment.

“I could’ve overseen that, you know.” You offer, letting him take his rightful place in his chair, leaning on his desk next to him.

“I'll let ya next time, yeah? I ain't got the patience to when fuckin' deals like 'is are afoot.” He says with a vague gesturing of his hand.

“Do you want me to go deal with them now?” You offer.

“No, no, love.” He groans, reaching out and taking your hand to pull you closer. “Here’s where I need ya right now.” He says softly, pulling you into his lap.

“Has he had a rough day already?” You coo, scratching your fingers in his beard.

“Aye.” He nods.

“After this are you free? It’s not our usual night spent together but could we have some tea or something? I’d love a chance to give you a pick me up to get you through the rest of the week.” You speak sweetly, seeing his crows feet grow and shift, the weight of his brow low from worry and work.

“You wanna go to my place after 'is? Have a real meal 'n cozy up?” He replies with closed eyes as your soft fingertips work away at his temples and into his slicked back hair. He hums contently at the loving touch he’d missed this week.

“Sounds wonderful darling.” You kiss his temple first, then lightly on the mouth. He grunts and reaches up to hold your hand as it stroked the hair sticking out of his shirt. You're sharing a series of small affectionate kisses when you’re interrupted.

“They’re arriving.” Ollie announces, a head peeking through the door with an indifferent face to finding you two together. Everyone knew about you now, Alfie's men and anyone else who had their eyes and ears on the gossip of London it seemed. You couldn’t blame them for talking though, it wasn’t exactly a match anyone but the two of you had seen coming. A gangster and a businesswoman. Not a likely pairing with the social circles you ran but no one had anything bad to say. Not to your face anyway. Plenty of nosy questions at the gala you’d attended without him but you didn’t mind providing a thrill to the women who dared ask about being with a gangster. It shocked most, as you seemed so polite and well-bred within the art community but you curtly explained he was nothing but a gentleman to you, and as you saw it his business was just that, his, and you would keep to yours. The answer satisfied most of the gossips as it was just vague enough to make any further questions seem suspicious.

“Right.” Alfie grunts, patting the back of your hand. “Let’s get the evenin’ started shall we then Miss Durand?” He asks, his arm swooping out in an ‘after you’ gesture.

“Certainly Mr. Solomons.” You chuckle and rise.

“Ollie see em in 'n pat 'em down.” He gruffs out and nods for him to get to it.

He begins to walk past you out the door and you grab his wrist, causing him to turn towards you with a raised brow.

“Before we do something dangerous...” you begin, putting his hand behind your back. “I wanted to have a proper goodbye. Traditions are important. Can’t be too careful.” You playfully scold.

“Aren’t you just a soft little thing?” He teases.

“I love you darling.” You say with a single press of your lips to his.

“And I love you.” His voice is soft and sweet, the last of it being as such that you’ll hear tonight. “Rejoice not at thine enemy’s fall...” he begins with a smile.

“But don’t rush to pick him up either.” You finish the proverb and chuckle against his lips.

You leave his office and begin the walk towards the main door. “You are a quick mind, love. You’ll be havin’ that bat mitzvah any day now innit ya?” He says walking down the long dusty lane to greet the men at the other end.

“I have still have plenty left to learn.”

“Quick and brilliant as she knows she is not ever finished learning.” He says, his body language and face turning harder. You transform from his little Chanah to Miss Genevieve Durand. He evolved back into Alfie Solomons from your gentle mon Fie. His shoulders shift with guarded body language. All the traces of love wiped from your presentations as you meet the men with indifferent faces, ready to work.

Customary greetings ensue, a too tight hug from Demitri for either you or Alfies comfort. He had already been eager to off the man but the way he looked at you and touched you in his presence was so disrespectful he felt his fingers twitch to pull the trigger himself.

You stay in the back of the group and let Alfie lead the men into the other wing.

“You and Solomons huh?” Niko says, standing still and refusing to move on with the other men.

“He and I what?” You demand him to not be vague.

“You’re together. I’ve heard about it.”

“Yes, we are.” You give a nod of acknowledgment.

“So you were lying to me then?” his tone accusatory and you did not appreciate it one bit.

“What?” You ask with a tilt of your head and innocence to your voice.

“You said you couldn’t be with anyone when I tried to kiss you. Were you with him the whole time?” He asks flatly, his tone concerning.

“I have never lied to you Niko. We were not together when you accompanied me to those parties. Which I thank you for.” You give him a more friendly nod.

“Why him?” He bluntly asks, his eyes looking over you in a predatory way.

You’re surprised by the brashness of the question. “We are here on business tonight Niko, not pleasure. I’m a lady who doesn’t discuss her personal life. Especially in a setting like this. If you are worried about our being professional I assure you we take nothing as seriously as we do our work.” You say walking forward and trying to catch up to the other men.

“No, I know you do.” He says quietly. “But I thought we had something. Next thing I know I hear you’re with Solomons.” He says gesturing towards the doorway.

“It was not something that was foreseen by either of us. It just... happened.” You say with your lips in a tight line. “It is nothing personal against you. I hope you don’t take it so.” You say with bigger eyes to lure him into your softness.

“Hard not to...” He says with wandering eyes.

He was being so bloody difficult and leaving Alfie without you with the men was making you nervous. “You’re a lovely bloke Niko, but the heart wants what the hearts wants. That’s the saying, right? I wasn’t looking for anyone. That was not a lie. I never mislead you, or I tried my best not to. If I came off as anything but sincere you have my deepest apologies.” You say with your hands clasped and a polite nod.

“You have never lied in business I do not know why that would not translate to your personal life as well.”

“Thank you.” You kindly accept. “Shall we?” You ask motioning toward the doorway.

“I will ask only once... but is there any chance I could steal you away from him?” He comes close and leans in, the nerve of him surprising you but you don’t let it show. “You need a young man who can keep up with you. Someone coming up in the world, not sitting idle on bookies and... bread.” He says through gritted teeth.

You’d like to slap him for the insults on behalf of you and Alfie. But you do not, as it wouldn’t make for a good business relationship move. “I would like to say first and foremost I do not NEED a MAN at all.” You state clearly. “I would appreciate it if during business meetings you kept the conversation to business and not make assumptions about me or my personal life. It’s rude. And no. You may not steal me away as I am not a thing to be won or taken.” You say with more bite.

“God, you are feisty aren’t you?” He gives you a wolfish grin. “Solomons....” He says as he walks past you. “He’s a lucky man.” He lilts and you wrinkle up your nose at the tone.

As you follow him into the room he takes up as much space as he can, moving slowly to his seat. Alfie gives you a concerned glance that you can read in his eyes and you give him a nod and a polite smile to continue.

“Ah, lovely Genevieve!” Demitri says, moving his hand to point towards the seat in front of him. “Sit! Sit here so I may look at you it has been so long.” He says with a seemingly genuine smile. But you know his intentions. “I promise not to touch!” He laughs. “But even a blind man wouldn’t help but look eh?” He laughs loudly. “How are you little Genevieve? Is this man treating you well?”He says gesturing to Alfie who sits next to you.

“Yes, he is.” You say in a short time and a nod. “But I believe we are here to discuss business aren’t we Demitri?” You ask with a tilt of your head, your chin rating in your hand and a playful smile on your face. “I can’t have all my best boys fighting now can I?” You pout and play up to him. “You know it upsets me.”

“We must’ve upset the fairer sex must we? Fragile little flowers... they cannot stand the cruelty of the world bless them!” He speaks loudly, as usual, big lungs enclosed in a large barrel chest push his voice around the room.

“You were kind enough to spare Alfie for me before. And you have my endless thanks for that, you know this.” You nod and delicately touch his hand. “But might we come to something more permanent? Seems two minds as terribly clever as yours can see the benefits of a truce?”

“My sons have shown me these reasons yes.” He nods. ”But I am Afraid Solomons has gone beyond business and insulted me. I feel disrespected and I do not want to do business with someone who would speak to me in such a way.” His tone shifts, darker and playing the victim.

“Would an apology work? Could a peace offering be the first step to moving forward?” You ask sweetly.

“Perhaps.” He nods and his bottom lip pouts out over the salt and pepper stubble in his round face. “What would you like to offer?” He asks.

“A showing of peace as is customary for our people. You have the gift of bread and salt here, the best wine as well. We have a grand meal with a ceremonial sacrificial lamb to be prepared as well should you wish you accept the truce.”

“That is what you offer?” He asks almost literally turning his nose up at it.

“This is customary and symbolic of an agreement made.” You say earnestly. “It is sacred and very serious.” You add softly.

“It's a holy order of things to be done to show thanks. This thanks bein’ to you, from the Jews to the Greeks for not finishin’ the job with offin’ me ‘n and for agreein’ to peace between us. It is usually reserved for holy days but we made an exception as Genevieve here felt it was important to conduct the business before Passover.” Alfie chimes in.

“Ah. I see.” He nods.

“Could we agree to not destroy each other? You and Alfie can discuss your contracts under a new leaf turned. You can both conduct your fair business and nothing is lost.”

“Except a part of me fuckin’ shoulder bone. Thanks for that mate.” Alfie raises an eyebrow at the older man.

“I do not like the way he speaks, Geneveive. He is as disrespectful as ever!” He announces.

You were glad you were planning on killing him because it was clear he had no intentions of accepting. “It is a part of his personality and not personal.” You say with a dismissive shake of your head.

“Why are you with him?” He blatantly asks, Niko smirks and crosses his arms.

You can sense Alfie prickling up next to you. "What sort a fuckin' question is that?" he scoffs.

“I’m afraid that’s rather personal and not what we’re discussing here.” You say sheepishly.

“Answer me honestly and I might agree to this truce.” He declares haughtily.

You tap Alfie's foot to let him know you were ready. You look to Niko and he raises his brows and you mirror the gesture, letting him know these were the final moments. He nods and so do you. His eyes cast downward to the table and beginning to look miles away. You sit back in your chair and take a deep breath.

“Because unlike you, he has always been respectful of me Demitri.” You say with an entirely different, colder tone. The man’s face contorts in confusion. “He never once groped or pinched me like some animal with no manners. He never abused his status in society as a man to hold things over my head.” Your tone turns more biting and your face grows angrier. “He never insulted me, and never alluded to the insinuation I was lesser than in ANY way. He sees how smart I am. How clever and ruthless and manipulative. You only ever saw a little doll playing with boys toys and you laughed, never taking me seriously. But you should have Demitri. You should have and since you cannot play the game by the new rules... we’re kicking you out of the game altogether.” Your tone low and sinister.

“How dare you! I have done nothing but help you! A woman in a man’s game! I entertained your enthusiasm because you are clever and pretty but that mouth of yours! What’s the meaning of this?” his back straightening and his tone deeply offended.

“It’s time to step down, father.” Niko says, not making eye contact and shaking his head.

“Is that what this is about?! I’ll never do it! Over my dead body!”

“That can be arranged.” Alfie snidely says.

It all happens quickly. Demitri reaches into his boot for a gun, but his overgrown gut keeps him from executing the movement smoothly. The man standing behind you is set to shoot him, but as you watch Demitri's second, you see him doing the same. This was not part of the plan. You react quickly and pull the snub nose from your chest and shoot him in the face as his arm starts to whip around toward Alfie. The man behind you shoots quickly after that and its impact sprays you with blood and visceral, it wasn’t pleasant but it was part of the plan.

You stand immediately and point your gun at Niko's face. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” You demand, shouting at him.

“What was what?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Roma was pulling a gun on Alfie! I fucking saw it!” You shake the gun in anger. Then everyone, including Alfie stands and aims at the Greeks that were left. Alfie directly at Niko. They were severely outnumbered and would not be fast enough even if they did have guns.

“He was hesitant to the idea of him stepping down.” He says with broad gesturing hands, his voice too collected for your liking.

“So you were going to let him shoot him?! You conniving sack of shit! You don’t get your way and you think you can just go bloody shooting everyone? Did you think if you killed him you’d get me then? Did you, you blubbering fool?!” You shout and feel Alfie's hand on your back, grounding you. Even in the middle of you screaming threats at a man that had perhaps not actively tried to kill him, but also was all too casual in his acceptance of the fact, he felt protective over you. Letting you know you should consider what comes out of your mouth next.

Niko stands with his brother and the other second, both of which clearly weren’t in on the plan from the looks on their faces. “I didn’t PLAN it, no but I knew it might be possible he tried to retaliate. And you took care of it didn’t you?” He snarls back.

“Get the fuck out.” Alfie says gesturing to the back door with his gun. “Ya pay Ollie the rest of the fuckin' money and ya get the fuck out. Our workin' together is fuckin' over, you understand me?” He asks with that supernatural ability to intimidate. The two others are already at the door paying. Niko walks backward slowly. “You come anywhere near my Genevieve again and I’ll fucking shoot you. I don’t care if it’s in the middle of the fucking market in broad daylight. You don’t come near her.”

“Oh, you hear that Gen? You’re HIS now eh? Like some Property?” He tries to counter.

“THAT'S BECAUSE I FUCKING AM HIS!” You boom out before Alfie can respond with something besides a snort. “You wouldn’t know a thing about love though would you? You selfish dog.”

“Would I not Gen? Or perhaps I do and that’s the problem?” He counters before exiting.

”You aren’t capable of it! You have shown that tonight with no doubt! You have no one to blame but yourself for your loneliness now. You miserable, egotistical little prick!” You spit out, lowering your gun.

“As you wish sweetheart.” He says, bowing out of the door.

You hand the gun to the man who shot Demitri without taking your eyes off the doorway, your blood still boiling hot.

“Police are on their way.” He says with a solemn nod to you and Alfie puts his gun back into his trousers.

“Ya alright love?” He asks, holding your face. “What did that fucker say before you came in 'ere?”He asks with narrowed eyes, making your flushed, furious face focus.

You struggle to control the having of your chest. “He asked if he could steal me away from you.” You grit out.

“Fuck me.” He growls, staring at the now empty doorway. “I knew I couldn’t trust that little bastard.” He whispers. “I’m sorry love.” He says sincerely. There’s a bang at the metal doors. “Ya capable of doin' 'is?” He asks with a face that didn't show sweetness but of concern for business.

“Of course I fucking am.” You growl, jerking out of his grasp and he feels a thrill of lust surprise him. You take a deep breath, teeth bared as you let out a blood-curdling scream before collapsing to the ground in tears, hands touching your face and chest in disbelief as Alfie dropped to comfort you.

He gives the nod to the men to open the doors. “We was havin’ a meal together when they just bloody opened fire on us!” He exclaims. “Scared me missus absolutely silly. Poor things in fits! Look at her!” His voice inflecting high and wildly, gesturing to you as you sob and gasp and choke and look at your shaking hands and try to frantically wipe the blood off.

“Get her out of here, no lady should have to see this.” The policeman says as he helps you to your feet, and Alfie walks you back to his office with you stumbling along beside him. You sob and carry on until the doors are closed and he’s led you to the couch.

I will now wonder if anything you say or do again is genuine.” He says in a light-hearted way, placing a washcloth in the basin and wringing it out as he eyeballs you from across the table.

“I told you I could do it.” You say with a less angry face, taking the cloth offered and wiping your face.

“I never doubted ya.” He says, pulling a chair up as he helps pick pieces of brain and skull from your hair. You pick under your nails and he wipes the rest of your face off for you, rubbing at your pulled back hairline to clean you up. “There she is.” He says, resting the cloth back into the now pink water. “Although even covered in blood I admit you’re gorgeous.”

“Maybe even particularly covered in it.” You huffed out a small laugh.

“Now let's trudge through what happened back there, yeah?” He says more seriously. “Clearly somefin' happened before you came into 'at room.” He rests his elbows on his knees and leans in to speak quietly.

“Don’t you need to go talk to the police?” You ask, rubbing away at a spot on your dress.

“If they need me they’ll come get me. Best we play it safe while we can, eh? Now stop distractin' me and tell me.” his face wearing a knowing smirk at your attempts to avoid this conversation.

“He asked about us. It was simple really. He asked if you and I were together when he went to those parties with me.” You let out a heavy sigh. “Because he tried to kiss me” you begin.

“Fuckin' knew it” he groans and turns his head away, mouth in a tight line.

“He didn’t get anywhere near close to doing it. And we weren’t speaking so...” you scold him before he gets needlessly territorial.

“Don’t matter to me, love. Any man that tried to come at ya when I’s away is someone I’m gonna have my eye on, yeah?”

“Then add all the single Jewish men in London to that list.” You roll your eyes and slouch.

“Full of ourselves are we?” He asks with an amused expression.

“No, I mean that literally.” You say with pursed lips. “After I was in the paper and began speaking at places I received so many letters inquiring about courtship. The lines they wrote. Oi vey.” You stick out your tongue to show your distaste and sigh.

“Ya serious?” his brows raise with his inquiry.

“Yes! It was a free for all. They all descended with their flowers and their gifts and letters. Some even showed up to the house but I had Claire shoo them away for poor manners.” you shake your head in annoyance to the thought.

“Fuckin ell” he shakes his head. “And you didn’t reply to none of 'em?”

“Absolutely not.” You Shake your head fast. “I didn’t want them did I?” You tilt your head obviously at him.

He gives you a warm smile before tapping your nose. “You are trying to distract me with sweet words and it innit gonna work pet.” he pouts his lips at you.

“All of those men, I had Niko go with me on three occasions to events so I wouldn’t be bombarded like I was at my first because I was alone. The only other man that spoke to me of having me to my face was Cyrus Horne but you know how bloody disgusting that man is.” You wrinkle your nose.

“Horne? What the fuck did he do? Ya never mentioned no Horne before.” His eyes narrow.

“Because he was being entirely gross and I left the conversation when he tried to tell me he’d have me. And of course, he only had lovely things to say about you.” You roll your eyes.

“He’s dangerous love. If he speaks to you again you tell me, yeah? He’s a crafty bastard and I don’t want 'im anywhere near you.”

“Understood. I don’t want him near me either. He gives me a headache and nausea. He’s entirely awful.” your face a clear show of your distaste for the man.

“Entirely.” He says seriously. “Now what of the lad Niko? I need to know where we stand.”

“He told me I didn’t need you that I should be with him, all that sort of shite. I told him I never lied to him... and I did not. I was very clear and said I was not looking to be with anyone. But he seemed to take it personally when I told him. He thought I’d lied about being with you while I went out with him. And not “went out” You know what I mean. But why on earth would I go somewhere with him while with you? Makes no sense.” your voice shoots upward in your irritation.

“Seems the apple don't fall far from the tree in 'at family. Perhaps he’s not as level headed as he appeared.” his voice lower and more thoughtful.

“I’m disappointed in myself for not seeing it. But he behaved himself entirely when we went out. His behavior was very surprising to me tonight.” You enthuse. “I got a little carried away yelling at him but the thought of him trying to shoot you over me just made my blood boil something fierce.” your lips tense and your head shakes quickly.

“You were wild. I saw it in your eyes.” He nods.

“I won’t stand by while someone tries to hurt you darling. I won’t.” You say, taking his hands I to yours.

“And I you love. Believe me. If they’d pulled the gun on you instead we’d be knee deep in dead fuckin' Greeks.” He says with a quirk of his brow.

“So you see why I was so volatile. His words beforehand caught me off guard, but I’ll be damned if I don’t see a bastard twitch and try to draw.”

“I believe the reaction to not be past what was warranted. A bit strong from the get but...” he shrugs. “This is you we’re talking about. Raw heart you are.”

“The only way I know. Either open totally and exposed or closed entirely.”

“Ya okay now? Not goin' to have any spells of residual hysteria?” He asks, rubbing his hand across your cheek.

“The screaming and crying helped get it all out.” You nod. “I feel oddly calm for what happened back there.”

“Good.” He kisses your forehead. “Then might I say you were bloody brilliant out there?” He gives you a soft smile. “Better actin' than what he saw in Paris, that.” He grins.

“I have a flair for the dramatic.” you give a soft smile.

“I bloody know!” He chuckles. "At first I didn't' care that much for it, but then I saw it weren't comin' from a place of demandin' attention like a child. You are just naturally... big." he gestures with his hands. "A lot of heart to contain in such a small body." he says with an affectionate nod.

"It comes in handy in situations like these."

"And we will need it again." he nods. "Seems as though you being off the market has gathered more unwanted attention than I anticipated. I had assumed there would be other's in the life that wouldn't be happy about us."

"I was prepared for it as well," you say quietly. "Or I thought I was. I'll be raising my guard now." you say with a harder expression. "I've had to soften myself to allow the expression and acceptance of love. But I will need to work on separating the two."

"It is an unfortunate reality for us." he says in agreement. "Those that didn't care for me before, they certainly aren't gonna like that I'm with a woman like you." his lips purse and he looks out into the warehouse and sighs.

"A woman like me?"

"You have your money and power and skills. You have a name that can be used to influence and penetrate in places a man like me can't. You have the community on your side, and having a people behind you in a dangerous thing for your enemies. Especially when we share the same heritage, religion. It all forms strong bonds and if things were to happen to you, people would demand answers. You can't so easily be discarded."

"Ruling with love and fear." you say with a slow nod.

"Precisely. You are the love, I am the fear. And with that combination, we are a threat. Outside of the most basic instincts of men of jealousy. Which I will be happy to address alone, believe me." he raises his brows, the possessiveness he feels for you coming over his face. "Any bloke what thinks he can take you from me will be met with retaliation, darling. And it will be fuckin' heavy-handed." his voice dips lower, his nature to be dominant showing.

"We will now have the same shared enemies, Alfie. I will protect myself as well as you. People will try to tear us apart. You know this." you whisper, leaning in close.

"I do, love. I do." he nods solemnly. "It is nothin' I ain't already pondered." he sighs.

"But we are smarter. Stronger than they are together. They only know one way. The way of violence and fear. We have love. We have something more than they do. We have a women's intuition and the thousands of years of our ancestors surviving despite the odds. We have more than greed and lust to fuel us, things deeper than they understand." you speak with such certainty that he smiles and brushes his hand across your cheek. "As long as we have each other we'll never be defeated." you whisper, placing your hand over his on your cheek.

Ollie knocks before he enters, another poke of his head into the room to see you being so surprisingly tender with each other. He was warmed by it, Alfie was much easier to work with when he had you in his life. "The police have left. I'll have the boys clean up the mess then?" he asks.

"Yeah, mate, of course." Alfie nods and turns his face towards him.

"Should I call the car for you?" he inquires.

"Yeah, call it on up. I believe we've had enough for the night." he turns to face you. "'Aven't we love?"

"Certainly." you agree.

Ollie leaves with a polite bow out of the room.

"Let's go home, Genevieve." Alfie sighs out, kissing you softly on the lips.

"We can celebrate by doing the one thing all our enemies can't." you suggest sweetly.

"What's'at?" he asks with an amused purse of his lips.

"Be happy." you say with an almost childlike smile beaming at him.

"Then we shall do exactly that." he nods and stands, holding out his hand to help you up. "And allow me to indulge in workin' out me anger for what unplanned events went down tonight in ways that would make the offender weep." he lets out a dark chuckle, pulling you to his chest.

"Oh yes." you let out a girlish laugh at his flirting, his hand sliding down to cup your bum. "You are welcome to remind me how I am yours." you purr with a cheeky wrinkle of your nose. "And I insist you be heavy-handed." your voice dips low and you share a laugh that ends with a content hum against each other's lips.

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night@wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @anrm1 @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi @marvelgirl7 @they-are-not-just-stories

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 6 years

Text

Stella and the Wolf - Chapter 17

You can read it here on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here.

They take a back road out of the Preserve. Chris’s SUV handles it well, but Stiles can just imagine the thrashing that the undercarriage of Jackson’s Porsche is getting. He can’t bring himself to care though, because it’s Jackson.

He sits in the back seat with Derek, and swallows down two Advil from Chris’s first aid kit, and then hands the bottle back so that Chris can take some. Chris has been quietly bleeding this whole time too, and Derek doesn’t seem at all inclined to magic his pain away like he did with Stiles. Like he’s still doing, Stiles suspects, since their fingers are loosely linked together on the drive.

It takes a while, but they exit the Preserve a few miles down on Telegraph Road, and turn back towards Beacon Hills. On their way into town they pass a police cruiser, lights flashing and siren wailing, and Stiles knows that Dad’s car has been found, or is about to be.

He turns his face away and stares out the other window as the dark trees flash past.

The Beacon Hills Cemetery is on the edge of town. It overlooks the Preserve, but then so does most of the town. The Porsche turns off before they reach the cemetery, down a small road marked ‘Private’. Stiles has no idea where the road leads, and Peter pulls over before he can find out.

Chris pulls in behind him.

The night is colder, or Stiles’s previous burst of adrenaline has worn off enough that he can actually feel it, and the skin on his arms pebbles underneath the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Lydia, taking Peter’s hand as he helps her out of the Porsche, has her floaty silvery scarf thing wrapped around her shoulders.

A stole. Jesus. That’s what it’s called. A stole.

Stiles welcomes his brain back.

Jackson climbs out of the backseat.

“What’s the plan?” Chris Argent asks.

“You people distract her,” Peter says. “And I tear her throat out.”

Chris’s gaze is steady. “She came hunting an Alpha, Peter. She’ll be prepared. And she has hostages.”

Some of Stiles’s previous faith in Peter sours, and he shifts from foot to foot anxiously.

“Well then,” Peter says after a moment. “Let’s go and see where all the pieces are set up on this board, shall we?”

“Wait,” Chris says. “You kids, come over here.” He pops the back door on the SUV to reveal an arsenal. “Do you know how to use these?”

“Cop’s kid,” Stiles says, which doesn’t technically answer the question, but still. He reaches for the Colt Delta Elite. It’s nothing fancy, but that’s good. Stiles won’t get distracted by unnecessary bells and whistles.

Lydia and Jackson are a little less enthusiastic about taking theirs.

“Safety’s on,” Chris says. “Don’t point them at anyone unless you mean to shoot. It’s regular ammo, not wolfsbane.”

“Good,” Stiles says. “I’m not planning on shooting any wolves.”

He glances over to Peter, to see his approving smile.

***

The Beacon Hills Cemetery is over twelve acres of pristine, peaceful memorial gardens. Stiles remembers that from the brochure. The words have been burned into his brain since his mom’s funeral. He hated them then, and he hates them now. But what the brochure didn’t mention was how at night the grounds are less pristine and peaceful, and more creepy as actual fuck.

They enter via a side gate, sheltered from sight—hopefully—by a copse of trees. The bright moonlight that drew patterns for Stiles back at the Hale house seems like a hindrance now.

“Wait here,” Derek whispers, squeezing Stiles’s hand, and then he and Peter both morph into that strange half-shift and vanish into the cemetery grounds.

“It’s not going to be as simple as he says, is it?” Lydia asks softly.

Chris Argent shakes his head. “I doubt it.”

***

Kate and her hunter partner—buddy? compatriot? minion?—have Dad and Stella held at the Hale memorial. Stiles isn’t surprised. Neither are Peter and Derek when they return with the news. The Hale memorial, from what Stiles remembers of it from passing it to visit Mom’s grave, is a big granite block with the names of the family carved on it. They don’t have individual graves. Stiles used to think that was because there weren’t enough body parts to make it worth it. But that’s stupid, because people have buried less. Now, he thinks, it’s so they can be together always, like a pack should be.

He wonders if Laura’s name has been added to the memorial yet.

“The element of surprise,” Peter says, “such as it is, is Chris, and you three. She won’t be expecting you. Now even though I would personally love to rip her throat out, I’m not actually that much of an egotist.”

Chris snorts.

“If you get the chance to shoot her,” Peter tells them, “do it. She won’t be sporting enough to offer you a warning, so don’t make the same mistake with her. Derek and I will go back and get the car, and drive in the main gates. The four of you should circle around and pick your positions. Does that pass muster with a hunter, Christopher?”

Chris dips his chin. “It’s the best plan we’ve got.”

“Good,” says Peter. The moonlight gleams on his teeth when he smiles. “See you at the finish line then.”

And then he’s gone.

Derek holds Stiles’s gaze for a moment, the weight of his promise steady between them, and then he follows swiftly after Peter.

***

“This is not how I expected tonight to go,” Lydia whispers as she hunkers with Stiles behind an ominous stone angel.

“Right?” Stiles agrees, and checks he’s still got his gun.

***

“Shit,” says Chris Argent, and stops crawling.

Stiles bumps into him.

The Hale memorial is as huge as he remembers. It’s almost as big as the old family crypts on the other side of the cemetery. The memorial is a black granite block, almost a wall, and it stands a little apart from the surrounding graves on a slight hill. In the moonlight, Stiles can make out two figures sitting at the base of the memorial—one in khaki, and one smaller one in a plaid shirt.

Dad and Stella!

There’s a blonde woman standing over them. Kate Argent.

And there’s a man dressed in black fatigues rounding the base of the memorial as Stiles watches.

And… and then another man.

And another one.

Kate doesn’t just have one minion with her. She has three.

Chris was right.

Shit.

“There’s too many of them,” Chris says.

Stiles’s heart is thumping too fast. “Four of them, and six of us.”

“Three of us are high-schoolers,” Lydia hisses, which, point, but that’s Dad down there, and Stella. Stiles can’t just do nothing.

“We should call the police,” Jackson mutters.

Stiles balls his fists. “She is pointing a gun at my dad and my little sister!”

“Yeah, and if we fuck this up, she’ll fire it,” Jackson says.

Again, point, and Stiles feels the first threads of cold panic grip his chest. He doesn’t know what to do. There’s too much at stake, and he doesn’t know what to do. Lydia’s right. He’s just a high-schooler holding a gun he probably can’t hit a fucking thing with anyway.

He doesn’t know what to do.

And then he hears the roar of an enraged Alpha reverberating through the moonlit night. The hair stands up on the back of Stiles’s neck, and it doesn’t matter any more.

Peter’s made the decision for them.

***

Stiles doesn’t really know what happens after that. He’s there, and he’s taking part, but it’s like he’s suddenly incapable of making short-term memories or something, because he can’t put the pieces together. It’s like moving from A to B with no idea of how he’s doing it. He’s focused on following Chris, and on getting to Dad and Stella, and everything else—even the guys with the guns—somehow becomes background noise.

Three guys and Kate Argent.

The first guy goes down fast, because he’s looking at the direction the Alpha’s roar came from, and Chris shoots him in the back. He hits the ground, and he’s not even moving, and Jackson—who must’ve been watching some cop shows recently—stops to kick his weapons out of reach.

It’s like, okay, wow, they have a system and everything, and this could actually work.

Except it only works for that one guy, because that’s all it takes for the others to know they’re coming.

Stiles hears a pop, and Chris grunts and flinches back like he’s been punched, and it takes Stiles longer than it should to realize that no, he’s been shot. But Chris is a badass, because he just transfers his firearm into his other hand and keeps moving.

“Get down!” he says over his shoulder, and Stiles tumbles obediently into position behind a headstone.

Lydia lands beside him.

Jackson crawls behind the cover of the headstone over from them.

Stiles peers out from behind the headstone. Chris is still moving, and Peter and Derek are there now. Derek is still in his odd half-shift, but Peter—Peter is monstrous. The Alpha is a massive, misshapen beast, made of claws and fangs and fur, and as Stiles watches he digs those claws in under a hunter’s jaw, and snaps the guy’s head back.

Stiles should be horrified, maybe, but that’s two down.

Chris stumbles at last, and rolls behind a headstone. He sits up against it, clutching his shoulder.

So that’s one of the good guys—Stiles will set time aside later to figure out exactly how he feels about Chris Argent—down too.

Stiles can see Dad and Stella. Dad’s leaning over Stella, shielding her, and Stiles can’t see why they’re not taking shelter on the other side of the memorial. Why aren’t they moving? They need to be moving.

Stiles shoves his gun into the waistband of his dress pants.

“Stiles!” Lydia hisses.

But Stiles is already scrambling out from behind the headstone and running for Dad and Stella.

He hears a roar, and registers vaguely that it’s Derek. He glances over toward him, and sees him grappling with a hunter. Derek’s got this, right? He’s got this. Because Stiles has to get to Dad and Stella.

So that’s two hunters down, and Derek’s occupying one, which leaves Peter to attack Kate, just like he wanted.

It’s working, right?

It’s working.

“Stiles!” Dad yells at him, and somehow Stiles hears it as the warning it is, and hits the ground like he’s diving for home on the baseball diamond. There’s a strange sound right above him, a small whoosh like the sudden displacement of air, and holy fuck, she shot at him. She shot at him! Stiles really shouldn’t be so surprised, given what he knows about Kate Argent, but he’s sixteen years old, and this is the first time he’s ever been shot at.

It’s a learning curve, apparently.

He rolls to his feet somehow, still moving, and sprints up the slope of the hill towards the Hale memorial. He lands on his knees beside Dad and Stella, jarring every already-bruised bone in his body.

“Stiles,” Dad says, and raised his hands toward him.

His hands are cuffed. So, Stiles realizes, are his ankles. Stella isn’t cuffed, but she’s burrowed in to Dad like a tick, and Stiles figures she’ll be twice as difficult to dislodge.

Stiles pants for breath. He’s here. He made it.

Except Dad looks horrified to see him. “Stiles.”

And Stiles doesn’t need to have seen as many cop movies as Jackson to know what the sudden press of cold metal against the back of his skull is.

#Stella and the Wolf #sterek #discontentedwinter #my fics

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a-damson-in-distress · 6 years

Text

From Dusk Till Dawn - Chapter 5

Pairing: MadaSaku

Plot: Sakura was searching for a purpose. Madara was thirsting for revenge. Little do they know their fates intertwined centuries ago. Once he broke free from his banishment, he would usher in a new dusk. Until he realised that she was his dawn. Historical/mythological AU.

Note: Salutations, my lovelies. I’m back from the dead. So I know most of you will have probably forgotten this fic even exists (hell, even I forgot lol), but guess what - IT’S BACK BITCHES! I honestly have no idea what came over me today, but somehow I got reminded of this blog and the fics I started here, so I decided to dig it up out of the depths of my browser history, and you know what? I totally forgot how much fun I had writing these and that daaaaaaamn I had some good stories going on, which were in desperate need of updating, if only to ease my guilty conscience.

Speaking of which, I honestly have no excuses for going AWOL for so long. I know some of you may have been bummed, because I think this fic did have a teeny tiny bit of a following, but honestly guys, this writing blog was only one of my many hobbies and it was never meant to take up too much of my time. It was one of these things I occasionaly devote my time to, but that was always doomed to be second place to my life/relationship/university responsibilites. But on the bright side, I did finally get my Bachelor’s degree, whoooo! Buuuuuuuut I am still at uni doing my Master’s, sooooo ya know - still not going to be a regular thing here.

Anyways, TL;DR: I wanted to update this little nugget here out of pure nostalgia and curiosity to see how many of you will still remember the story, to see how many will appreciate and like this update and depending on your reaction, I might actually take up writing again. Goodie, I’m excited to be back. Have fun! :)

Oh also, please check out the first 4 chapters before reading this one, since - you know - I let so much dust settle on this story none of y’all will probably know what’s going on.

EDIT: I had to delete the links to the first 4 chapters, because this chapter wasn’t showing up under the madasaku tag or any of the other tags, but as soon as I deleted the links it did? Soooo yeah whatever, fuck you Tumblr links. You’re gonna have to scroll through my blog to get to the other chapters, I’m sorry. I’ll figure out a way to post all of it in one piece, promise. Have fun and let me know what you think! :)

500 years ago…

The heavens stood still.

Silence.

Death.

Victory.

Tsunade watched a tired Jiraiya fall to his knees and let out a pained groan. Allowing a nervous sigh to escape her lips, she closed her eyes.

They did it. They finally did it. After decades of warfare, bloodshed, and carnage, they finally managed to seal away the bane of their existence.

The last of the dusk gods had fallen.

Opening her eyes again, she let her tired gaze wander across the scene of their final battle. Slain gods lay scattered across the barren field, the ashen ground beneath them stained in the colour of their blood. Giant craters burning with the dreaded flames of the underworld tore through the otherwise idyllic scenery of the heavens like wounds from blade. The black flames of the dusk god’s feared Amaterasu eating up what little was left of the trees that once made this surrounding a forest.

It matters not, she kept telling herself. He is gone. And the dawn gods shall rebuild.

Just as Tsunade was about to join Jiraiya to take a look at his wounds, an ear-piercing screeching tore through her head, forcing her to her knees. Barely managing to open her eyes against the penetrating pain in her mind, she watched the other surviving gods around her writhe and hold their heads in agony.

All of a sudden, the screeching ebbed, giving way to a low hissing sound before a mysterious voice whispered into all of their ears:

At the fall of dusk, at the fall of old, spring shall bring forth his keeper,

who will call to him until his return at the night the darkness swallows the heavens.

Young and weak, the Eastern light shall seek out the old power in the West,

who will envelop her in darkness to unleash their true might.

Dawn will be his light, and dusk shall return.

It was only when the throbbing pain in her head finally dissipated that Tsunade dared to look up. The remaining gods looked at each other questioningly.

They were familiar with this pain, with this feeling. The hissing voice in their head. The dawn gods all knew what this was.

A prophecy. Foreshadowing the return of Madara.

The survivors did what they could to tend to the wounded on the battlefield. When no one else could be saved, the gods set them aflame and watched their bodies dissipate into golden dust, releasing their divine essence into the vast expanse of the universe, praying for them to be reborn again. Then, they retreated to their respective homes – or what was left of them – to lick their wounds, celebrate their survival, and grieve the death of the fallen.

Tsunade felt a heavy sadness weighing down her heart that night. Despite their unimaginable victory over the mightiest god to ever grace the face of the heavens, they had lost so many. She knew more peaceful times lay ahead of them now, and yet she felt restless. It had been ages since the universe had whispered a prophecy into their ears. And this one was particularly unsettling.

Dusk shall return.

But they sealed him, Tsunade reminded herself. And with one of Hashirama’s seals, no less. She was the one who studied the dusk god’s inscriptions, who knew his incantations like the back of her hand. She was certain Hashirama’s seal would be enough to imprison Madara for the rest of his miserable days.

And yet, mere minutes after the dawn gods managed the unthinkable and sealed away the last dusk god, the universe decided to warn them of his return. And prophecies always came true, the dawn goddess knew that much.

Not only that, but the prophecy also spoke of some Eastern light, who would supposedly help him unleash his true might. A cold shiver ran down Tsunade’s spine at the thought of Madara teaming up with such a force of nature that will grant him even more fearsome powers than he already had.

Yet the goddess of healing had no time to dwell on her worrisome thoughts, as her mind picked up the desperate prayer of a mortal couple. Never one to abandon the ones in need, the blonde goddess raced down into the mortal realm and materialised unseen in the living room of a small hut. She watched the couple on their knees, huddled together in front of the fire. They were rocking back and forth, with the woman holding a small bundle in her arms and the man raising one arm pleadingly into the air, calling out to the goddess of healing to save this poor baby.

This baby? Is that not their own child, Tsunade thought suspiciously. Babies do not just fall from the heavens.

Taking one step closer to the fire, the goddess suddenly felt a divine glow emanating from the bundle in the woman’s arms. Tsunade would recognise that anywhere – the essence of the gods. This was indeed not the mortal couple’s child, but a newborn of the dawn gods.

Still hidden from the mortal’s view, she leaned down and caught a glimpse of pink hair and emerald green eyes, staring knowingly, yet tiredly at her. As Tsunade stretched out a hand towards the babe to check its body temperature, a tiny chubby fist suddenly enclosed her index finger. This little touch was enough to flood the goddess with a feeling of warm motherly love.

Tsunade knew in that instant that this deity shall be hers to raise, care for, and love.

With her divine power, she mentally reached out to the mortals and willed them to lay the small bundle on the floor by the fire. She watched them carefully lower the baby and step back from the fire, worriedly glancing around the living room and waiting for something to happen.

In the blink of an eye, the small bundle was gone. The couple sighed in relief and fell into each other’s arms, knowing their beloved goddess of healing would take care of that weak little girl.

“Do you really think that was a wise choice?”

Tsunade ignored Jiraiya’s incessant nagging and kept bouncing the little babe on her arm. Immediately after taking the young goddess from the mortal’s hut, she returned home to her half-standing palace in the East, where some of the surviving gods have retreated to recuperate. One of them being Kakashi, the feared god of lightning, who was pinning her with a scrutinising gaze.

“Jiraiya’s right, you know. Tonight, of all nights, with this new prophecy looming above our heads… Have you even thought for a second that she could be this Eastern light, his keeper that was prophesised?”

Tsunade scoffed and shot him a challenging glare. “Please, Kakashi, don’t be paranoid. It was just one of the millions of prayers I receive every day. Only this time, it happened to involve a newly born dawn goddess, instead of a weak mortal. Just because she is one of us, does not mean she is tied to the prophecy. In fact, we should be thankful our pantheon is growing again after we lost so many.”

“The prophecy clearly said that at the fall of dusk some kind of keeper will emerge who is destined to help Madara unleash his full power upon the heavens. The fall of dusk was tonight, and after decades of no new deities, tonight is the night the universe decides to give us a new goddess, during spring no less? Coincidences like these might happen to the mortals but not in the heavens,” Shikamaru grumbled before taking a well-deserved puff from his ivory kiseru.

Rolling her eyes at the god of wisdom and strategy, Tsunade switched the little bundle to her other arm and kept bouncing her up and down, before she said, “What you all fail to see is that she cannot be the Easter light from the prophecy, since I found her in a mortal village in the middle of nowhere, not even remotely close to anywhere East. And don’t you think that if such a powerful force destined to be tied to Madara emerged that we would not have felt its birth? Elemental abnormalities, time standing still, earthquakes – anything that might indicate a new divine force has emerged. But there was absolutely nothing when this little goddess here was born. In fact, she is so tiny and weak, I honestly doubt that she will have a purpose grander than making flowers grow, that’s how harmless she is.”

Tsunade saw the uncertain faces around her, their doubtful gazes boring into her determination to keep the babe. She had to convince them, somehow. She could not just leave a part of her divine family, especially now that her kin was nearly wiped out. As soon as the young goddess had touched her, Tsunade felt responsible for her. She had to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her head screaming at her to listen to the prophecy.

Yes, there were too many coincidences, Tsunade had to admit that herself. The prophecy clearly talks of a female, emerging during this particular night, during spring. All of which applied to the little dawn goddess in her arms.

But there was no way she could be the Eastern light; the goddess was not tied to any particular region. And Tsunade could not – for the life of her – imagine this tiny, frail little thing would be capable of stoking the fire of Madara’s wrath to the point that she would be the one to unleash his true might.

Shaking away her doubts, Tsunade gazed into the tired emeralds of the little girl in her arms. A smile spread across her lips when the tiny goddess snuggled closer to her chest.

There was absolutely no way she would abandon this little thing, not now after she lost so many of her family.

Raising her head, she shot a determined glance at all of the surviving deities in her presence and exclaimed, “I will not resign this precious goddess to a prophecy we have not even fully deciphered yet. None of us know what half of that steaming pile of donkey dung even means, so nobody is going to determine her fate based on any of that. Besides, even if she really is this keeper of his, this way we can at least raise her on our side. Teach her our story, our ways, our kindness. She will never be corrupted by him if we have the power to tell her the things we want her know. If he really does come back and they really do cross paths, there is no way she will choose him. I will tie her to me as tightly as she tied me to her.”

Lowering her caramel eyes, she cast a loving glance at the newest addition to her family and whispered softly, “I will protect my daughter from him. No matter what.”

Went to him… willingly … kidnapped … she chose him … sacrifice …

Sakura’s muddled mind started picking up fragments of speech as she slowly started to wake from her slumber. Forcing her weak body to sit up, she cast a disoriented glance around her only to find herself in her chambers at her mother’s palace.

All of a sudden, memories started flooding her mind and she felt her heart rate pick up.

Madara.

She finally met him. She was in his palace. She was so close to getting some answers. A blush crept up her neck at the thought of his calloused fingers holding her chin in place as he was leaning closer to her, before… Before the dawn gods laid siege to his palace to take her away from him.

Wait, from him? Where did that thought come from? Since when did Sakura think she belonged by his side? She had only known him for a few moments and from what she had seen on the battlefields, he was not a god whose company she should be yearning for. And yet, she had never felt so strong, so alive as when being close to him.

And now that they were separated, her old familiar frailty had returned as well.

The young dawn goddess could feel frustration bubble up inside her. Rarely did she get mad at something or someone, but her constant state of weakness had been a source of anger for all of her short life. And the one being who could rectify that just had to be her mother’s mortal enemy and the one who had been waging war against her kin for the last weeks.

Sakura felt like throwing something against the wall. Alas, all the smashable things in her room were solid gold or heavy ivory, all of which was too difficult for her to even pick up now. In Madara’s presence, however, she felt like she could carry the entire heavens on her shoulders.

Her depressing thoughts were interrupted when she felt the voices on the other side of her door grow louder.

“Look what Tsunade’s tying down has brought us. She went to him, willingly. All that keeping her close was for nothing!”

“She is so weak, she cannot even open doors without struggling, and you really think she made that trip all the way to the Western end of the heavens on her own? He clearly kidnapped her. We are lucky he left her alive for whatever reason.”

“Then tell me why she was reaching out to him when I-“

The angry voices were silenced when her mother suddenly burst through the doors and stomped into her room, glowering at Sakura with a furious expression.

“What in the heavens were you thinking?!”

#madasaku #naruto #naruto fanfiction #Sakura Haruno #Uchiha Madara #madasaku fanfic #sakura uchiha #sakumada #sakura haruno fanfic #madara uchiha fanfic

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longsightmyth · 5 years

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Myth Reads the Naming, Chapter 21

PELLINOR

The chapter is called Council of Friends and I for one could use some more friendship is magic stuff in my life, bring it on.

Maerad has a nightmare and a voice speaks in something that is almost the Speech but fucked up. It says, “I am again, but none shall find my dwelling, for I live in every human heart.”

I just wanted friendship, book. You promised me friendship.

She wakes up and reassures herself, and then Hem knocks on her door having also had nightmares. They huddle together and fall back to sleep.

Maerad wakes up to a beautiful morning and Hem, eating bread in a corner. He’s been waiting for her to wake up. She asks how Cadvan is and Hem doesn’t seem to care much (which, fair) but says he’s probably still sleeping and Maerad should hurry up because there is food (I appreciate a lot about this interaction. If I forget to mention it in the comparison please bug me so I can talk about it in a reblog or something). Maerad kicks him out to get dressed and then they walk down to get lunch together.

When they get to the sitting room, Cadvan is awake and chatting with Saliman. Cadvan is the worse for wear still but he’s talking and awake and teasing Maerad a little bit, and Maerad almost cries with how happy she is that he’s alive, black eye and stitched up face cuts and all. He assures her when she asks that he feels great and sends her off to the food.

Appetite sated (Hem comes with her for seconds) the siblings return to Cadvan and Saliman, who are discussing Saliman’s journey. Turns out Saliman was attacked by three hulls and killed them, but not before they killed his horse. He’s pretty sad about it and so am I: horse death is sad. The horses are just doing their best okay.

Anyway, Nelac comes in while Maerad is looking out at the gardens and says that most of his flowers survived the storm. Maerad immediately likes him, not least because he fixed up Cadvan and reminds her of Cadvan.

Hem continues to eat as the adult bards convene and catch each other up on everything, and when they get to the part about the Kulag Cadvan admits he was in a hurry and not as careful as he should have been with magic or travel. He credits Maerad with getting them all out alive.

“I wondered…,” said Maerad, and then stopped.

“What, O my Deliverer?” said Cadvan.

Maerad blushed again at his teasing. “I wondered if the Landrost had hurt you, and that was why…” she faltered and stopped again.

“The Landrost did indeed hurt me,” said Cadvan. “And I was less in my power than I could be. But that is no excuse for rushed decisions and the mistakes that come with them. I judge myself at fault, and so I am; and it is a severe judgment, Maerad, because things very nearly were otherwise, and the result would have been terrible for many more than us.”

Maerad saw for an instant an implacable harshness in Cadvan’s face, and she shivered; she thought she would not like to be judged by Cadvan, had she done any real wrong.

They continue to catch up, and Nelac remembers hearing about the Treesong somewhere but he’ll have to look for it again, but Saliman Knows What’s Up and sings a verse from the poem at the beginning of chapter 17, which I will transcribe here so nobody has to search the hellscape that is my tumblr tags:

Grows a Lily on the Briar

Grows a Briar on the Wave

Triple-tongued its voice of Fire

Edil-Amarandh with save

True and false the cunning Flame

Burning in the darkest Night

False and true the secret Name

Quickened in the womb of Light

Where the Briar on the Foam?

Doth the Lily stemless stand?

Who will bring the Singing home?

Where the Harp? And whose the Hand?

Nelac is like ‘lol it almost sounds like you’re saying Maerad, who can speak common, Elidhu, and the Speech, is the Foretold’

Cadvan’s ACTUAL (specified as distracted and absent) RESPONSE: “Yes, yes, of course I am.”

Maybe warn a guy before you drop prophetic bombs in his lap, Cadvan.

Nelac thinks about it a minute and sorta soul searches Maerad with eye contact is like ‘okay fine you may have a point’. Also the Treesong is a super ancient song, he remembers.

Nelac ALSO wants to scry Hem. Hem is not having it rn and runs into the garde. Maerad chastises Nelac with all the vehemence of a sibling vs outsiders and heads after her brother. After assuring Hem that SHE believes him, obviously, and that Cadvan does, he agrees to come back inside, where Nelac straight up bribes him with food to be scried later. Hem is like ‘well if there’s FOOD’ and agrees, which, fair.

Further, Nelac says they have to figure out where Hem can go to bard school because Norloch is being Particularly Racist at the moment and Hem, unlike Maerad, looks very Pilanel. Cadvan says irritably that Hem would like other schools better anyway, fuck Norloch (okay not in quite those words but it’s close).

Saliman: hey no worries I’ll take the kid home with me where racist dickheads aren’t in charge. Sound good, Hem?

Hem: Boy does it!

Section paraphrased for clarity.

Also, Nelac adds, y’all haven’t been here in a while so let me tell you what else Enkir has fucked up: no more lady bards can train at Norloch.

The fuck, everyone in the room basically mouths in unison.

Nelac: so the flaw in our system is, if all of our elected officials are old white rich white dudes with The Right Families then it turns out they elect an old rich white dude with The Right Family as leader, which means even the relatively benevolent old rich white dudes get outvoted when it comes to civil rights and not destroying the world because these guys have no concept of doing anything for other people even in the name of self interest.

Not that we know anything about that in the States or anything.

Everybody agrees that a council must be called regarding world saving because they still labor under the delusion that old rich white dudes with The Right Families in power give a shit what happens to the world if it doesn’t affect them in the next five minutes. The poor saps.

Cadvan shows Maerad around Norloch and assures her once again that even if she isn’t the foretold it’s no biggie, he’ll take her to a good bard school.

“Would you stay there?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

He glanced at her quickly, his face unreadable. “For a time, until you were settled in,” he said.

When they get back, Hem wants Maerad there while he’s scried. Nelac says it’s unusual, but so is scrying a child so why not. There isn’t much to see since we aren’t in Hem’s PoV, but Nelac confirms that Hem is Maerad’s brother and everybody rejoices. Maerad offers to get them something to drink, does so, and leaves, feeling like she intruded.

At dinner, which Hem actually skips, they make a game plan for presenting Maerad-as-The-Foretold to the council. Nelac is going to do it alone for political reasons. That’s the end of the chapter.

THRONE OF GLASS

Three chapters of ToG is a fitting punishment for taking so long I guess. 46,47,48.

Dorian is hunting through the woods to ‘let the freezing air rush through him’ and burn off steam regarding Celaena, who apparently watches him like a cat watching a mouse, which is different from every single other woman ever, who otherwise look at him adoringly.

Dorian, I would think Kaltain fits that description. I’m just saying.

Apparently Celaena makes him want to be a better king or whatever by watching him and he’ll never be happy with any other woman now that he’s kissed her and he’s worried about her in the duel. Sure.

CELAENA’S POV.

She’s thinking about the duel, worries that Cain might be better because he has stamina (I mean this is a valid concern: Celaena can’t seem to do any sort of strenuous physical activity without throwing up, her stamina IS crap) and then that she might have to obey the King of Adarlan if she’s his Champion.

I’m not sure what you thought you were signing up for, Celaena?

Then she decides she wants to stay in the castle because Hot Dudes, I guess.

NEXT CHAPTER.

Kaltain drugs Celaena’s goblet(?) in the outside duel.

Swap to Celaena’s PoV, where she complains about the cold and thinks that she doesn’t know why they have to have the duels outside. Me neither, Celaena. Me neither.

She recognizes a couple of council members who hired her in the past, and then Nehemia shows up. For reasons?

Anyway, the king makes a speech, the duels start, Cain wins his. Celaena thinks that the other guys hadn’t even lasted three minutes, which, I mean. People generally greatly overestimate how long fights take, especially fights that aren’t specifically hemmed in for competition. Three minutes is a long time to fight one on one for your life?

Oh wait they aren’t fighting to the death. That would be too men for the demon infested king? I don’t know.

Chaol offers Celaena his sword to fight with, and Nehemia offers her Nehemia’s staff instead.

“If I may,” Nehemia said in Eyllwe, “I’d like to offer this to you instead.” The princess held out her beautifully carved iron-tipped staff. Celaena glanced between Chaol’s sword and her friend’s weapon. The sword, obviously, was the wiser choice—and for Chaol to offer his own weapon made her feel strangely lightheaded—but the staff…

Nehemia leaned in to whisper in Celaena’s ear. “Let it be with an Eyllwe weapon that you take them down.” Her voice hitched. “Let wood from the forests of Eyllwe defeat steel from Adarlan. Let the King’s Champion be someone who understands how the innocents suffer.”

So Celaena chooses the staff, which is actually a GREAT weapon vs a sword assuming you know how to use it for a myriad of reasons? Why would a sword be a wiser choice? Why is that obvious? Especially if it’s ‘iron-tipped’ by which I think she means capped, but whatever. We already knew very little research went into this, I’m lucky Celaena isn’t using that soap and hairpin thing.

She’s going to fight Grave. Don’t worry about it, we’ll get an explanation about him in the second book when he suddenly becomes relevant again.

Chaol squeezed her hand, his skin warm in the frigid air. “Give him hell,” he said. Grave entered the ring and drew his sword.

Pulling her hand from Chaol’s, Celaena straightened her spine as she stepped into the ring. She quickly bowed to the king, then to her opponent.

She met Grave’s stare and smiled as she bent her knees, holding the staff in two hands.

You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, little man.

NEXT CHAPTER.

Grave’s first move is to try to break her staff. I. I’m just. Whatever at this point.

His sword gets stuck in her staff when he hits, and she punches him in the nose. He gets angry and charges, “aiming a direct blow to her heart.” She knocks his legs out from underneath him and puts the staff to his throat, which ends the fight I guess, though he doesn’t yield and isn’t injured aside from a broken nose.

She brought her mouth close to his ear. “My name is Celaena Sardothien,” she whispered. “But it makes no difference if my name’s Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I’d still beat you, no matter what you call me.” She smiled at him as she stood. He just stared up at her, his bloody nose leaking down the side of his cheek. She took the handkerchief from her pocket and dropped it on his chest. “You can keep that,” she said before she walked off the veranda.

She intercepted Chaol as soon as she crossed the line of chalk. “How long did that take?” she asked. She found Nehemia beaming at her, and Celaena lifted her staff a little in salute.

“Two minutes.”

She grinned at the captain. She was hardly winded. “Better than Cain’s time.”

How slowly are these people moving? Why are we counting time? What is HAPPENING.

Anyway they have a toast.

“Out of good faith, and honor to the Great Goddess,” Kaltain said in a dramatic voice. Celaena wanted to punch her. “May it be your offering to the Mother who bore us all. Drink, and let Her bless you, and replenish your strength.”

I want that all noted for the record on the religion front.

Celaena is thrown directly into fighting Cain without any more of a rest and does not realize she’s been drugged.

The conqueror of Erilea raised his hands.

“Begin!” he roared, and Celaena shook her head, trying to clear her blurry vision. She steadied herself, wielding the staff like a sword as Cain began circling. Nausea flashed through her as his muscles flexed. For some reason, the world was still hazy. She clenched her teeth, blinking. She’d use his strength against him.

Cain charged faster than she anticipated. She caught his sword on the broad side with the staff, avoiding the sharp edges, and leapt back as she heard the wood groan.

He struck so quickly that she had to concede to the edge of his blade. It sank deep into the staff. Her arms ached from the impact. Before she could recover, Cain yanked his sword from her weapon and surged toward her. She could only bound back, deflecting the blow with the iron tip of the staff.

Given that Celaena is a, an assassin, b, just had a refresher course on poisons, and c, has been poisoned like this at least once before in the prequel novellas, I don’t know what to tell anybody here. Finally she gets it when she hears Kaltain laugh.

She had difficulty holding the staff. Cain came at her, and she had no choice but to meet his blows, barely having the strength to raise the weapon each time. How much bloodbane had they given her? The staff cracked, splintered, and groaned.

Did Nehemia give her a wimpy-ass staff or does Celaena just not know how to use it to deflect rather than just take the full force of a blade? His sword sinks into it, it splinters and cracks? Y’all. No.

She had to end this now, before the hallucinations started. She knew they’d be powerful: seers had once used bloodbane as a drug to view spirits from other worlds. Celaena shot forward with a sweep of the staff. Wood slammed into steel.

The staff snapped in two.

The iron-tipped head soared to the other side of the veranda, leaving Celaena with a piece of useless wood.

Y’all. Y’ALL. You don’t even know how much I’m despairing right now.

Anyway, we go through Dorian and Chaol’s PoVs in quick succession to show that they’re worried about her and are probably in love, because sure, that’s what’s important right now, why not.

Celaena starts seeing creatures from another world as Cain keeps beating her up and Chaol keeps telling her to get up. Apparently the eye of Elena actually was protecting her, because…

Cain reached for her throat, and she flung herself backward. All that he managed to grab was her amulet. With a resounding snap, the Eye of Elena ripped from her neck.

The sunlight disappeared, the bloodbane seizing control of her mind again, and Celaena found herself before an army of the dead. The shadowy figure that was Cain raised his arm, dropping the amulet upon the ground.

They came for her.

That’s the end of the chapter. Thank goodness.

COMPARISON

Say it with me: I despair.

These chapters are pretty different from each other, but I said I wanted to talk about Hem and food and I do.

Both Hem and Maerad have been deprived all their lives, and while Maerad is slightly less preoccupied with filling her stomach than Hem, she also does not in my memory refuse food when it is offered, and only ever delights in the fact that she has it. Hem, obviously, is a little more fixated, but Maerad usually got ENOUGH to eat by virtue of her musical talent and value and the whole superstition thing. Hem rarely did.

Celaena turns her nose up at salmon and complains when chicken is a little bit dry. It’s just not behavior I would expect from someone starved in a salt mine for a year.

Pellinor’s mythology and religion and society remains consistent. ToG’s still rolling with the one goddess lots of little gods thing for now.

I’m just glad that Celaena used an actual weapon (poorly) and didn’t try to get creative. God knows what she would have done with a blade of grass or something. Why are we timing our fights. How was Chaol watching the clock closely enough to know that AND watching the fight. This could all have been solved with some research.

STATS

Pages: 23

Fragments: 36

Em-Dashes: 50

Ellipses: 14

Pages: 22

Fragments: 6

Em-Dashes: 2

Ellipses: 13

#myth reads the books of Pellinor #myth reads the naming #myth rags on throne of glass #myth talks

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hi-im-secretly-satan · 6 years

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O Tannenbaum

Fandom: No.6 Pairing: NezuShi Word count: 1956 Warnings: Major character death, depression Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17184608 Summary: Post reunion. Nezumi died and Shion is left all alone. His life has become an endless cycle of waking up alone, surviving another day and going to back to bed. Karan's heart aches and in an attempt to cheer him up, she decides to help him decorate his place for Christmas. Written for the No.6 Secret Santa 2018 on tumblr. Notes: The fic I wrote for @allendraws for the No.6 Secret Santa! I’m allowed to post it to my own blog now so here it is! Amazing art by the lovely @musiusi!

It has been five months since Nezumi had died.

That’s what he was told. He had not even realised. Since his light had left his life every day had been the same. He woke up when morning had already turned to afternoon. His pillow would no longer be wet with tears, like it had been when he had first fallen to despair. He had already cried so much, his cheeks were dry and sensitive and his eyes were left red-rimmed and burning. There was nothing left but dull, aching nothingness. He would lie there in a bed that was too big for just one person; too cold, too foreign without Nezumi sleeping soundly next to him. The room was eerily quiet without his rhythmic breathing to soothe his weary heart, his arms itched to curl around the body missing next to him. If he managed to drag himself out of bed he would try to nibble on some of the fresh breads his mother had left in his living room, huddling under the blanket on the couch and staring into the distance. On days when the pain wasn’t as crippling, he would try to take a shower. It never really amounted to much. He usually ended up on the bathroom floor, the shampoo bottles knocked over and dry sobs wrecking his body. That was what had become of his life. Some days it was just nothingness, other days were a dull ache, but there was always the ever-present, suffocating loneliness.

It was rare but not uncommon to find his mother in the living room when he finally managed to get out of bed, so Shion wasn’t surprised to see her when he stumbled into the room. What was uncommon, however, was the small potted pine next to her. She looked up from her book when she heard her son come in and smiled. “Good afternoon sweetheart,” she said softly, not commenting on his disheveled and greasy appearance.

Shion rubbed his eyes, looking from his mom to the tree. “Hey mom. Why do you have a tree?”

Karan closed her book. “Oh honey, I thought it would be nice to help you decorate your place. Christmas is coming up after all.”

Christmas… Was it that time of the year already? Shion stared at the tree. He’d have to go see if the lovely lady from the flower shop already sold poinsettias. He had forgotten to buy them last year and the disappointed look on Nezumi’s face when he had to break the news that they were all sold out hurt more than he had expected. He had forgotten to place his order again this year; he hoped she still had them in stock. He couldn’t bear to disappoint Nezumi again.

Realisation hit him like a punch to the gut. Disappointing Nezumi was impossible.

Nezumi was gone.

“Shion, are you all right?” His mother’s concerned voice sounded so far away. Shion blinked, trying to clear his vision. His eyes burned and his lungs felt like they were on fire. Nezumi was gone. Nezumi was gone. He swallowed painfully and he clutched his shirt, right over his aching heart. Slowly, the room came back into focus and he saw his mother watching him carefully, no longer in her chair but standing right in front of him. It was only then that he felt the light but supportive weight of her hand on his shoulder.

He took a long shuddering breath and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He wiped his eyes, gritting his teeth as made his already aggravated skin sting, and looked up at her, giving her a watery smile. “I’m fine.”

Karan watched him for a few more seconds, not trusting his words. She knew him well enough to know when he was lying; he was her son after all. His eyes were filled with anguish; anguish she recognised only too well. She had seen those very same eyes whenever she had looked in the mirror after Shion was born and his father had left them.

“If you say so,” she said slowly. She pressed a loving kiss on his forehead. “I’ll go make us some tea. Would you get the decorations from the storage room?”

Shion sniffed and nodded. “Okay. Thanks mom.”

A quick shower, some rummaging in the storage room and a hot cup of tea later they found themselves in the living room again. The tree was propped up on a cloth-covered stand in the corner of the room and three boxes of christmas decorations stood next to the salon table. Karan knelt down in front of one and opened the lid. “Are there any specific pieces you want to hang?” She asked as she searched through the contents to see if there was anything she liked.

Shion slowly joined her on the floor and pulled another box close. “There are some ceramic mice that Nezumi liked,” he said tentatively as he opened his box. Every year they had stood proudly on the fireplace. He wasn’t sure if he should put them up again this time though. This entire apartment reminded him so much of Nezumi already, he wasn’t sure if he could take even more memories of him.

Karan paused her digging and shot her son another look. The distant look in his eyes frightened her. She had decided on this plan in an attempt to cheer him up, but she was starting to doubt whether this was a good idea after all. Trying to bring a smile on his face again, she held up a box of lights. “Let’s start with the lights, shall we? It’d be harder to put them on if we saved them for later.”

Stringing in the lights was considerately easier with his mother than it used to be with Nezumi, Shion found. Unlike Nezumi, she listened to his input and put the strings where Shion wanted them, even if he didn’t say much. He was trying though, for her sake more than his own. He was trying to stay in the present but his thoughts kept going back last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. How he and Nezumi would get in each other’s way and bicker about over what branches the strings should go.

A clap of Karan’s hands and her gleeful “There!” shook him from his thoughts. The tree beamed with light, the strings evenly divided over the branches. It was clear she had an eye for detail. Shion forced a smile. “It looks good, mom.”

She lovingly ruffled his hair and went back to her cardboard box to find decorations to put on the tree. After a moment Shion followed. Knelt in front of the box, he mindlessly rummaged through the contents. He found a case of fragile glass baubles; Nezumi had gone out to buy them after he had dropped and shattered the last baubles they had left from previous accidents in the years prior. He found a set of snowy ceramic houses. There were still some chocolates in one of them. Their neighbour, Ms. Fumiko, had gifted it to them three years ago. Nezumi thought they were hideous, but Shion had still put them under the tree to showcase them. After all, it would be disrespectful not to use a present someone had taken the time and money to gift them. There was a small plush snowman that Shion had found in a shop and gifted to Nezumi. Although he had pretended he didn’t like it, Shion had caught him petting it multiple times.

He numbly walked back and forth between the pile of decorations and the tree, carefully filling the branches. Baubles that used to break when Shion accidentally stepped on them during a spontaneous make out session, reindeer that Nezumi used to scoff at, plastic flowers that Nezumi liked, and red and silver tinsels that Nezumi used to sling around his shoulders as he pranced and danced like a diva, singing in his crystal clear voice.

Before long the tree was filled and stood proudly and colourfully, the branches hanging low, heavy with all the decorations. Shion stared at it until the lights became blurry. Last year he had stood at this very place. Nezumi had circled his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. They had stood there and admired their (admittedly messy) handiwork, simply enjoying the moment. Shion’s growling stomach had ruined the mood and with a laugh Nezumi had offered to order take-out.

Karan opened the third box and her face lit up. “Oh! Shion, there’s wreaths in here! We should hang some on the doors!”

Shion smiled tiredly. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” He could feel his energy draining. Reliving memories of better times was taking its toll. He watched as his mother excitedly picked a big wreath and went off to hang it on the front door. Now he was alone and he no longer had to uphold his façade of seeming okay, he let himself drop on the couch, limbs heavy and heart weary. He closed his eyes and let out a long and shuddering breath. Keep it together, he told himself. It’s only for a little longer.

Still, he was unable to deny he was a little curious about what was in the box that had made his mother so enthusiastic. Hesitantly he got off the couch and peered inside.

“Shion?! Shion, what’s wrong?!”

Karan had rushed back into the room when she heard an agonising scream come from inside. She found her son on the floor, hunched over and crying like a wounded animal. He tried to answer but no words came out. Only loud wails, sobs that tore through his entire body. He clutched the mistletoe to his chest like it was his very life source.

Nezumi. Nezumi, Nezumi, Nezumi.

Nezumi walking into the room with two plates of dinner.

Nezumi lying on the couch and reading Dickens’ Christmas Carols.

Nezumi tracing his scar and kissing him all over.

Nezumi waiting in the door post to kiss him under the mistletoe.

Another scream ripped from his throat. He was alone. So alone. Of all the times Nezumi could have died when he saved Shion from No.6, when they lived in the West Block, when they got caught in the Manhunt, when they infiltrated the Correctional Facility, when he had gone to travel and come back, he hadn’t been killed a single time. He had survived and come out stronger and more beautiful than he was before. Shion had thought he had lost him when he had left him to go on his travels. The relief he felt when he found Nezumi in his room again four years ago had been a euphoria he had never felt before. They both had had so many chances to die, but they had made it through everything life had thrown at them. He had always known Death would eventually come to claim Nezumi’s life, but after being spared so many times he had not expected to happen for a long time.

The years they had spent together were too short, interrupted as a stupid inattentive driver hit Nezumi with his car as he was crossing the street. He could still see the blood on the asphalt when he closed his eyes.

Suddenly all the memories, the pain and the rage had come to a tipping point and he was spilling over. He vaguely felt warm arms circling around him—the wrong arms, his body screamed—and he buried his face in his mother’s chest. “Nezumi!” He cried, his grip on Karan’s sweater almost strong enough to tear it. “Nezumi, Nezumi, why…”

Why did you leave me again?

#no.6 #no 6 #nezushi #fic #my writes #i am so proud of how this came out #i love this fic to bits and the art is so amazing????#oof this is definitely my favourite work so far

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hornsbeforehalos · 7 years

Text

Anytime, Sweetheart: Part 5

Pairing: JDM x OFC (RPF)

Features: Ackles & Padalecki Families, R2, Misha Collins & Vicky Vantoch, Norman Reedus, Andrew Lincoln, Kim Rhodes, Briana Buckmaster, Ruth Connell, Corey Taylor and other cast members & OFCs* *THIS IS AN RPF FIC**

Series Masterlist Summary: (I’m horrible at summaries, but let me try): Kylin Ackles runs to her brother’s house after leaving her abusive boyfriend of 3 years, where she meets Jeffrey. Events unfold that bring them together, as well as push them apart. Warnings: Emotional abuse, Physical Violence, mentions of rape, cursing, drinking, recreational drug use (weed), Strip Club, RPF, NSFW**, GIFs, implied smut, Age Difference, Slow burn, Emotional rollercoaster, poorly written smutt, etc… 18+ please

(A/N: This is strictly a work of fiction that I came up with off the top of my head. For fictional purposes his S/O & Son are not mentioned. I love him and his little family, though, so no hate intended. This is the first time posting anything on Tumblr, but I couldn’t get it out of my head since my ao3 fic is currently on hiatus because writers block. Feedback is appreciated. unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.)

TAGS: @jml509 @jesbakescookies @daddy-kink-confirmed @wayward-mirage

“Ho-Lee Shit, baby doll!” Jeffrey bellowed as I walked out of the bathroom from getting ready.

My red dress was floor length, but not overly formal. It was flowy with slits on the sides to show off my legs when walking, and had a scooping neckline that gathered around my belly, exposing some cleavage but not anything that would send me on the expressway to Hell. My black strappy heels lengthened my legs and showed off my calves. I had opted for loose curls in my hair and dramatic black eyes shadow and lashes but only gloss on my lips. There was even a nail salon below Jeffrey’s apartment complex so I had splurged on sharp black claws and a pedicure after lunch. I beamed at his praise again as I took in his ever-sexual form myself. He was in a button up shirt that had almost the exact same hue as my dress, which he assured me was a total coincidence, as well as nice dress slacks and the black blazer I had recently given back to him. He looked like a sex god on a stick. He quickly pulled me to his chest and ran his hands down my sides as he bent over to nuzzle his beard across the sensitive flesh that was my neck.

“You look divine, Ms. Ackles.” He growled as he rocked us side to side.

“Why thank you, Mr. J” I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Anytime, Sweetheart.“ There they were again, those two words. I couldn’t help the hum that rang through my chest.

He pulled away to look me up and down again, shaking is head as his eyes roamed with his tongue between his teeth. He kissed me on the forehead before turning and grabbing a box from his coffee table that I hadn’t noticed. It was wrapped in red sparkling wrapping paper and had a black bow. He held it out to me. "What’s this?” I questioned as I took the box from his hand. "I missed Christmas. And flowers aren’t the best birthday gift.“ he grinned and brushed his beard down. I smiled back at him and begun unwrapping the paper. I pulled it all off to reveal a black suede jewelry case. I looked up to Jeffrey and he had crossed an arm across his sternum to hold up his other arm at the elbow that was rubbing his chin. I opened the box to reveal the most beautiful chocolate diamond and rose gold owl pendant. I gasped as I touched it, words not forming in my brain.

"This is too much, Jeffrey. How much did this cost you?” tears formed in my eyes against my will. “Just a couple hundred thousand, nothing serious” he deadpanned as my eyes went wide, “I’m kidding, sweet heart. But don't worry about it. You deserve it.” He reached for the box in my hand and removed the necklace. He walked behind me as I held my hair to the side so he could place the necklace on me and fasten the clasp. He let his cool fingertips run down my neck and onto my shoulders, eliciting shivers down my spine. He bent down to nuzzle his beard into my hair again, causing my breath to catch in my throat once more. "Perfect,“ He breathed, dangerously close to my sensitive skin. He took advantage and let his lips drag themselves across the flesh of my exposed neck, "Always so perfect.” I looked down to gather myself from the haze that was provided by his words before returning my stare to him though my lashes. I smiled lightly as he moved in front of me again and put his hands on my shoulders. “You’re too good to me, Jeff.” "No one is ever too good for you. Always never good enough.“ He cupped my face into his hand and leaned in to kiss my forehead before extending his arm out for me, "Shall we?” “We shall” I laughed.

He had made special reservations at a very nice restaurant that neither of us could pronounce the name of. We sat in a back booth of the dimly lit area, sipping wine and laughing a little too loud about absolutely everything. “And then Dani just screeched at me as loud as she could ‘Get these fucking things outta me!’ while almost breaking my fucking hand! I swear to God if I ever have children then I want to be loaded up with the best drugs on the market. All that other bullshit is insane. I feel so bad for Gen right now.” I laughed, taking a sip from my glass. “Who in the hell would do that to themselves? Twins especially? And Genevieve should know any kid of Jared’s is already bound to be a fucking bowling ball.” He barked before taking a bite of his steak "That’s what I said!“ I huffed as I stabbed a piece of my own strip as well. "So,” I spoke, trying to swallow my bite as I brought my napkin to my mouth, “Where are we watching the fire works?” He narrowed his eyes at me and chuckled before looking down to his plate, “You can’t let anything be a surprise, can you?” My response was me rolling my eyes. “The roof.” he pointed upwards with a mouth full of potato.

We were standing on the roof of the building, surrounded by a bout a hundred other people, but the only person in my line of vision was Jeffrey. I looked up at him, arms around his neck, feeling his hands at my hips as he swayed us to the rhythm of the music being played.

"You’re so fucking beautiful.“ He breathed, leaning down to touch his for head to mine. I closed my eyes and smiled as the 10 second countdown began. I raised my eyes back to him as the seconds ticked by, and found myself lost in his irises. He rubbed his hands up my body and pushed them into my hair in the final seconds,

"3…2…1” he whispered, although at this point i was completely oblivious to anything else around me as he inched his face closer to mine. He tightened his grip on my hair as he closed the gap between our mouths, a long awaited moment finally erupting as fireworks took off in the background at the ball’s decent. My eyes squeezed shut tightly and a moan erupted from my lungs as I held onto his shirt under his blazer for dear life, praying I wasn’t dreaming. He eagerly parted my lips with his own and pushed his tongue past my teeth as I pushed my own tongue back against his in a violently dance for dominance. His hands left my hair so one could hold my neck lovingly and the other could drag itself down my body to the small of my back, then slightly lower, pulling me flush with his body. His fingertips kneaded into the waistband under my dress and he hummed into my mouth when he felt my breath hitch at his touch. When the shouts and celebratory screams had died down was when he finally pulled away from me and we both gasped in a breath of air before opening our eyes. And when I finally did let my eyes flutter open to be met with his intensity, I couldn’t stop the smile that spread over my face. He smiled back nervously, brought his hands up to my face again and searched my eyes. I threw my self forward and kissed him again, and he smiled into me while dipping me backwards, pulling me as close as possible to him. When we completely pulled apart again I wasn’t lost anymore. I wasn’t broken. I was just falling.

The Uber ride home was a blur. Neither of us could keep our hands away from each other, making the poor driver extremely uncomfortable. It was a haze of teeth and lips and limbs, and it wasn’t until we were back in his apartment that either one of us even attempted to compose ourselves. "Wanna drink?“ He asked as his lips were still pressed against mine as he pulled off his blazer. "Yes,” I replied, only pulling away to shrug off my own coat. He drug me over to the couch and sat me down, leaning over again to plant kiss on my forehead before smiling into my eyes. He pulled his hand out of my hair with a lingering touch that made my stomach warm and my heart flutter. He sauntered over to the bar cabinet with a new little swagger that I hadn’t noticed before. He grinned at me as he pulled out the bottle of whiskey and two glasses. His eyes only left me briefly as he looked down to pour our drinks. Once back over at the couch, he handed me my glass while sitting at the other end of the sofa. He pulled my feet into his lap with his free hand and rubbed my ankles. "So little, how do you walk in these things?“ He chuckled as he wrapped his whole hand around my left ankle and gave it a squeeze. I hummed a small laugh in response. He removed my shoes from my feet with one swift movement of his hand as he brought his glass to his lips. He began to massage my soles as his eyes danced up my legs and over my frame and back to my face. A smirk appeared as he leaned forward to place his glass on the coffee table. I eyed him suspiciously as I raised my own glass for a drink, almost finishing it in one gulp as the look in his eyes altered, causing my anxiety to rise from the pit. He leaned over side ways on the couch, rubbing both of his calloused hands up my legs to my thighs. I swallowed again as he lowered his mouth to the the tattooed flesh of my right leg below the hemline of my dress. His eyes never left mine as he leaned up slightly to push one of my legs forward to then pull it behind his back and lean forward again, now settling between my legs. My shaking hands brought the glass to my lips for the final sip before I sat it down to join Jeffrey’s on the table. One hand instinctively moved to my chest to finger the pendant resting against my cleavage as the other roamed through Jeffrey’s hair, feeling the softness. My breathing caught again as he pushed himself up by my hips, pulling himself up to place his hands on the couch above my shoulders, encasing me with his body. My thighs automatically wrapped themselves around the back of his legs to allow him more room as he rolled his hips forward and kissed me on the mouth again. "Mmmm, baby, you feel so good,” He groaned after a moment of shifting his body against mine. My mind was so hazy with lust and alcohol that all I could do was whimper and dig my nails into his shoulders. His lips moved from my mouth to my jaw, then down further to my neck, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh with his lips and teeth. My breathing was heavy as my chest heaved against him as he moved his mouth down to the valley between my breasts. He shifted his weight to hold himself up on one arm as the other roamed down to push the neckline of my dress away from my bra so he could have better access. He licked over the flesh pushing against the constricting lace, his scruff rubbing against the sensitive areas and leaving red marks that brought another moan from my lips and made my body shiver. I closed my eyes before they could roll to the back of my head and arched up into him, both hands tugging at his waves as the heat between us pooled and pooled. A low growl reverberated within him as he crashed his lips back to mine and bucked his hips forward again, seizing another whimper from me.

"So beautiful…“ he whispered into my neck as my own hips pushed upwards to grind against him. "Jeff,” I breathed, my anxiety and arousal mixing together to further dampen my ability to speak as we continued to move against each other. He let another deep groan ripple through him and it went straight to my soul as his hand on my side moved lower to grip behind my knee and lift my leg up further onto his hip. He ground down harder, sending another shot of ecstasy through my groin as his hardness pressed and rubbed against me. I couldn’t stop my erratic breathing or shaking hands, even as I pulled him back to my lips by his hair, digging my sharp nails into his scalp. He pulled away from me and leaned up to kneel between my legs, still letting his hands roam across my hips and thighs. My legs were parted and my dress had only risen up slightly, but he still brought his hands to the hemline to pull it back down further. He exhaled deeply, eyes hungrily taking in my disheveled appearance below him. “We’ve gotta stop or you’re gonna make me nut my pants.” He chuckled, fingers glancing over my thighs and knees. My hands met his strong thighs and he let me run my palms up them before stopping me when I shakily reached his belt buckle. "Not tonight, sweetheart.“ He breathed, closing his eyes and removing my hands. He leaned forward to wrap an arm around my waist before rolling back sideways to reposition us to where I was sitting in his lap, straddling him. I leaned forward to capture his lips with mine as my hair fell in our faces. He brought his hand that still held my wrists up to his chest before leaving them there to tangle his fingers back into my wrecked curls. "You’re so fucking beautiful,” He repeated before a heavy gasp against my open mouth. I licked his upper lip as he drew my bottom one into his teeth and nibbled gently, causing me to grind down on him and moan lightly. “Fuckkk.” He groaned, raising his hips to meet mine one last time before pulling away and holding my head still in front of his face as his eyes darted back and forth into mine, “How do you do this to me?” I smiled innocently while searching his irises myself and reaching up to cup his chin, letting my finger tips run through the coarse silver hair. I bit my lip gently before I whispered, “I don’t know.” He swallowed and licked his lips before speaking again, in a raspy almost-whisper, “I’m not gonna rush this thing with you. I know you’ve been hurt before, and I don’t want to be someone who does it to you again. I don’t know what this is, or what you want it to be. But I know I enjoy spending time with you, enjoy being around you, enjoy touching you,” he squeezed my hips and dug his fingers into the top of my ass, enticing a gasping laugh from me and another deep smile from him before he continued with a husky drawl, “I want you to know that you’re safe with me. That I’m not going to hurt you. That I don’t expect anything from you.” He moved his hand to push a fallen strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you, Jeff.” I whispered, trying to fight the emotion that the alcohol and mood threatened to push over my tear ducts. “Anytime, Sweetheart.” He grinned, and I instantly melted back into his kiss.

"I don’t want to go home tomorrow.“ I whined as we lay in his bed the next morning. We weren’t touching, but we were in mirrored positions on our backs, one hand above our heads and the other on our stomachs. "Then don’t go.” He hummed, turning his head to look at me. "I have to be at work by 8, silly, I got bills.“ I giggled, turning my own head to face him. He rolled his eyes, "I’ll pay your bills and I’m sure John knows how to order a case of booze and some beer.” I glared back at him sarcastically, ignoring the first half of his comment, “Yeah, because that’s the only thing I do.” I rolled my eyes, “I swear that man would burn that place to the fucking ground if I weren’t following him around with a fire extinguisher.” I looked back to the ceiling, “Plus, apparently I’m due for a promotion.” "Oh yeah?“ He rolled over onto his side and propped his head up with his knuckles. "Yeah, one of the vice managers managers moved to corporate so John’s unfortunately getting to take over his spot as dance manager. I’ll be getting his spot, apparently.” "Big boss lady in a suit, huh?“ He grinned, poking me in the sides. I giggled and smacked his hand away lightly. "Yeah, I guess so. I never expected it, honestly. Figured I’d be doomed to sling drinks for tips for the rest of my days, but apparently Cliff insisted.” I rolled over towards him as he moved his hand to my hip. "I’m sure Tom will miss staring at your tits all night.“ He smirked and I slapped his chest, "What? You tease that man too much.” "Please, he’ll prolly be up my ass more when he sees my tits in a vest.“ I shook my head at the thought and couldn’t contain my laughter. "I probably will be too.” He wagged his eyebrows up and down as he tightened his grip on my hip. I scooted over to him to give him a brief kiss before rolling out of the bed to stand up. I started towards the bathroom as I felt his hand come down with a soft 'smack’ on my cotton-short-clad ass. I gasped and spun back around to him looking away innocently. “What?” he grinned, returning his eyes to me, “I couldn’t help myself.”

We spent the morning lounging around his apartment drinking coffee and watching TV. I busted out in a fit of laughter when I was flipping through channels while he was in the bathroom and came across the tail end of the second season premiere of Supernatural. When he came back into the room I had tears rolling down my face and was clutching my sides. “What’s so funny, little girl?” He grinned, confused. I turned the volume on the television up and spoke John Winchester’s line at the same time as the TV, feigning the emotion that he had in the scene, “I just want you to know that I’m proud of you.” I looked up at him with watery eyes and reached for his hand. He instantly erupted in his own laughter as he plopped himself on the sofa beside me and stole the remote. “Enough of that, now.” He shook his head and flipped the channel. "You’re no fun.“ I pouted, crossing my arms over my chest as he tried to pull me into his side. "Pffft, I’m a riot.” he retorted, throwing his arm over my shoulder as I snuggled into his ribs. "Whatever, old man. Whatever you say.“ I poked his ribs and he jerked away from me. "Yeah, whatever I say goes.” He growled, bring his hand around my shoulder down to lightly smack me on the ass again. “Yes sir” I rolled my eyes sarcastically. He growled as he narrowed his eyes, “Don’t start that, Missy.” “Start what, Mr. J?” I smiled coyly, earning me another low grumble from him. “Lunchtime?” He asked as he heard the unmistakable rumble of my belly. “Always.”

Lunch was prepared by Chef Jeffrey Dean Morgan himself, and consisted of grilled chicken, garlic pasta, and mixed vegetables. My eyes rolled into the back of my head at the first bite. "Stick with me girl, we’ll get you thick in no time.“ He chuckled beside me at the table, poking at my stomach. "Please, I’ve attempted the whole 'gains’ thing with Jared, didn’t work. I gotta fucked up thyroid.” I shoveled more food in my mouth as he continued to giggle. Once I scarfed down the rest of my food I was back on the couch shifting through channels. Jeffrey was rinsing off the dishes in the kitchen when the doorbell rang, “Can you get that for me, sweet-pea?” he shouted to me. Anxiety instantly trembled through me, remembering the last time I’d answered the door to a home that wasn’t mine, "I’d rather not…“ Jeff appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, dishrag in his hand, and gave me a sympathetic look, repeating his previous words again, "You’re safe here, honey,” before heading towards the front door. “Who is it?” He hollered, wiping his hands with the towel while looking through the peep hole.

"Little pig, little pig! Let. Me. In!“ came from the other side of the door before the door bell rang again in short sporadic increments.

Jeffrey barked out a loud laugh as he pulled the door open and in marched Norman, two bottles of what I could only assume was liquor in his hands. "Who’s up for some fucking day drinking?- Oh hey, Ms. Ackles, I didn’t know you’d be here.” Norman lifted on of the bottles in salutation to me. "Hey, Norman" I said, feeling my nervousness shift away. ’No one can get me here.’ “How’re you doin’, girl?” He said as I stood up to give him a hug. "Good, you?“ I responded as I watched him pull the bottles out of their paper bags. "Better now! Came to get day drunk with my buddy and he’s got a hot girl here too? Winner Winner.” He laughed. "She’s been here all weekend, douche bag, you’ve known this.“ Jeffrey joined us at the table with three glasses, shaking his head. "Yeah, but I figured I’d give y'all a little alone time, if you know what I mean” Norman wiggled his eyebrows at the both of us as he popped open the bottle of Crown, “M’ Lady?” He held the bottle up to me as a question. “It’s 12:30 in the afternoon, Norman.” I giggled and shook my head. "A double she says!“ he barked out in an Irish accent as he poured a healthy glass before sliding it towards me. I shook my head again as I picked up the tumbler. "Happy fucking New Year!” Norman shouted as he pushed a drink into Jeff’s hand and raised his own in the air, a little bit splashing on the table. "Watch the mahogany, dick.“ Jeff jabbed before tossing his glass back and finishing it in two huge gulps. I lifted my own glass and took a sip, and Norman and Jeff both stared at me like I had an arrow sticking from my head. "What?” I asked, confused as hell. “I thought you were a professional drinker?” Norman teased. "Norman…“ a halfhearted growl came from Jeff, I just quirked my eyebrow. "Okay, then.” I shook my head once more as I tilted my head back and downed all the amber liquid in my glass in one gulp, not even cringing at the burn. Both the men’s eyes went wide. “Professional drinker” I pointed out as I exhaled the taste. "I like 'er, Jeff. Let’s keep her around.“ Norman beamed as he threw his arms over both mine and Jeff’s shoulders, pulling us in towards him. "Y'all have no idea what ya’ll’re getting yourselves into” I chuckled back, alcohol already bringing the twang out in my voice. "You know what they say 'bout them Texas girls, boy…wooo-weee" Norman poured us all another double. “That’ we’re all emotionally unstable, bat shit crazy bitches with drinking problems?” I asked, barking out my own laugh as I raised the second glass to my mouth. Norman and Jeff both looked at me with shocked expressions, “What? It’s the fucking truth?” I took a deep swallow of the liquid. “I think I can handle it” Jeff grinned, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me near him as he downed his whiskey.

By 5 o'clock we had finished the first bottle and were all pretty intoxicated. "You comin’ to the next convention with us, honey?“ Norman asked as he wedged his way between Jeff and I on the sofa. "There’s a perfectly good chair right there man” Jeffrey grumbled, motioning to the arm chair with his glass. "This spot is better. Anyways, darlin’, so, you gonna come see us?“ He asked again. "I have this thing called a job…” I laughed, taking a sip from the glass of whiskey I had cut with a coke I found in the fridge. “And?” Norman deadpanned. “And I need to work. What is with ya’ll?” I shook my head. "You know Jeff here will make sure your bills get paid,“ Norman stated, nodding his head towards the other man who just gave me a 'well, I would’ face. I rolled my eyes, "I’m not a sugar baby.” “Never said you were.” It was Jeff who replied. I narrowed my eyes at both of them before getting off the couch to pour me a stiffer drink.

The night wore on, and by the 10 o'clock the second bottle was halfway done, I was laying on the couch drifting in and out of sleep as Norman and Jeffrey talked in the dining room. "Man, she’s something else,“ Norman chuckled lowly, eyeing my tiny frame snoring softly on the sofa. "I think this is the first time I’ve actually outdrank her.” Jeff rasped jokingly as he brought his glass to his lips to take a sip. “Everything going alright?” Norman asked with a sideways glance. "Yeah, brother, everything is great so far. I feel like a 14 year old kid, though.“ Jeffrey sighed as he placed his glass on the table, "I don’t wanna do anything to trigger her, ya know?” “I get it man, but you’re not like that anyway.” "Obviously, but I’ve seen how that shit can affect someone. The first time I tried to touch her after that piece of shit got to her at Jensens’, damn, man…she was so broken" He trailed off, blinking away the emotions of the memory. “Well that’s why she needs you to help fix her, dude. duh” “I just don’t wanna push the poor girl into feeling like she says she did with that asshole.” “Then don’t.” Norman said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jeffrey simply nodded his head and turned to stare at me.

The next morning I was at the airport, sporting my baggy sweat pants, a tank top with my unzipped Heartagram hoodie, and one of Jeffrey’s beanies I’d stolen. My hangover was in full affect, and I felt like I was going to die from a headache at any moment. "Whyyyyyy?“ I whined, stomping my foot as I leaned my head into Jeffrey’s sternum, waiting on my bags to be checked. "It’ll be alright, sweetpea, just have a drink on the plane and get some sleep.” He curled his long arms around my shoulders and kissed the top of my beanie-clad head. “Just what I need, more booze” I grumbled as my stomach turned. Once my bag was checked and the plane was ready for boarding, Jeffrey engulfed me into his arms and leaned down to smother me in a passionate kiss. His tounge danced around with mine, exploring my mouth with urgency as he tangled a hand in my hair. I couldnt stop the tears from springing to my eyes as his other hand gripped my hip and pulled me as close as I could be to him. "Shh, baby doll, its okay. Dont cry.“ He whispered as he wiped the few stray tears away from my cheeks. "I can’t help it, I’m such a fucking pussy.” I laughed, shaking my head against his chest. “Then what the hell am I?” He looked down at me, his own watery eyes about to spill over. “A bigger pussy,” I sniffled before giving him the last kiss I could before god knows how long.

part six: https://hornsbeforehalos.tumblr.com/post/163863683399/anytime-sweetheart-part-6

#jeffrey dean morgan #jeffrey dean morgan rpf #jdm fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan fanfiction #jdm x oc #jdm x reader #jeffrey dean morgan x ofc #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #negan fanfiction #negan x oc #john winchester #john winchester fanfiction #actor rpf #norman reedus #norman reedus rpf

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ask-de-writer · 7 years

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FROM DARKNESS TO DAWN (Part 1 of 3), an MLP Fan Fiction of the TRUE HISTORY OF EQUESTRIA

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FROM DARKNESS TO DAWN

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

7096 words

Writing begun 02/11/14

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan activity is actively encouraged!

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Prologue: This tale takes place about 3000 years in the past of the modern MLP canon. During this time, Celestia and Luna are still fillies, though close to grown physically. The events here recorded are the foundation of the modern Hearthwarming Eve stories and pageants which were written by the winners of these events.

For those who have wondered how a Changeling-like creature like Heather Bloom O'Red Hoof could have been welcomed into the modern court of Celestia and Luna in Canterlot, it will be seen that it was the joyful reunion of fillyhood playmates.

For more background information please read:

De Writer and the Orb of the Ages: The first tale in the history of De Writer

De Writer's Tale (a narrative poem)

The Coming of Tam O'Canter and Heather Bloom O'Red Hoof to Ponyville

Hearthwarming Eve / Starvation's Night

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PART 2 is HERE Part 3 is HERE

Darkness Falls:

Celestia watched the smoke still rising from the charred ruins between the peaks of Red Hoof's Hill. She wept for the loss of friends and a wise ruler. Jarl Natchin of Red Hoof was buried in the embers of the Great Hall, trapped by a fallen beam and killed in the fire. At least, she knew that his Jarla and Jarlene had successfully led the survivors to the relative safety of the Everfree Forest. She wondered how badly the Heartkeeper, Jarla Peach Tree was injured in trying to save her Lord and husband from the fire set by the invaders.

Luna, wings trailing, tips to the ashes, pawed lightly at the remains of De Writer's School, where she and her sister had spent their young lives. She too wept. She was afraid that her foster father, De Writer might be there, as the Jarl was still in Red Hoof. Neither of them had seen him since he had roused them suddenly in the middle of the night and hastened them to the borders of the Everfree Forest and warned them not to return until full light. He had covered them with branches of pine trees for concealment and disappeared, literally.

A quiet voice behind them, on the edge of breaking into tears, said, “Come, my daughters. We must be gone from here and soon. I am sorry that I could not be with you through last night's horrors.

“I had to do all that was in my power to save as many as I could from the invasion. I am still getting used to the idea that the Orb of the Ages allows me to be any place at all on the instant that I desire it. Even so, I can only be in one place at a time. I wish greatly that I could have done more.”

Celestia looked at her shocked and trembling foster father, ready to collapse in tears, and asked hollowly, “I know about Red Hoof, father. We disobeyed you.

“I killed some of the invaders to allow Red Hoof's survivors to escape into the Everfree. The Great Hall was already ablaze.

“We found the survivors and helped to gather them together. Jarl Natchin is dead. Jarla Peach Tree is severely burned. She may have given all of her many years to try saving him. Jarlene Heather Bloom has the leading of the Red Hoof survivors.

“What of Bright Mane and Perchron? Do you know how they have fared?”

De Writer's legs folded under him as he collapsed to the browned grass that surrounded the charred remains of his school of writing. In tears and shuddering, he struggled to say, “I found them too late to save either of their Jarls or their families. I did gather and guide their survivors into the Everfree. They are on paths that will lead them to the Red Hoof refugees.”

Luna looked to the smoke arising from the destroyed town of Evanescence, not far away. She shuddered as she remembered flying over the burning village last night. In spite of her best efforts, there were so few that she had been able to save from flame and invader. She could only guess what her foster father was going through. He had been down in the thick of the battles.

She laid herself down next to her foster father, the only parent that she had ever known, and covered him with a wing. She could feel the shaking of his sobs though the feathers of her pinion.

Between the shock driven tears and shuddering she could hear his grief stricken words, “This is my fault! I could have at least warned the Jarls better. I trusted their judgment. I was wrong! So wrong!”

Luna looked an entreaty at her larger sister. “Father said that we need to be gone from here. He can guide us but he is in no sort of shape to even walk. Please help me to carry him.”

Celestia nodded her agreement. Her powerful but pale many hued magic enfolded both her foster father and her sister, lifting them both easily. “Keep father comforted, Luna. I will carry you both.

“Where shall we go, father? I can fly us all for a great distance before I tire.”

Her usually assured and dependable foster father, De Writer, looked about as if confused. Finally he said, “We need to go to the Great Southern Bay. We will have a few days that we can rest there along the shore. Then, when we are well rested, we can make for the Sunrise Isles.

“The invaders have no liking for the sea. I have looked at their plans and heard their councils. We will be safe in the Isles while you two continue to grow and gain both the strength and learn the limits of your magics.

“There is more to know but this will do for now. I am so tired. So heartsick. I wonder if I will ever be able to do anymore than weep.”

Luna, a few tears of her own falling into his mane, tightened her wing over her dear foster father and replied, “You must, Father. We are depending on you. We need your wisdom.”

Almost unnoticed, the soft delicate seeming many hued magic of Celestia lifted them both skyward. The only real sign that they were flying were the powerful thumping beats of her widespread wings driving them through the sky. She wisely took them by a devious route, low to the ground, where they would be hard to see and follow. Celestia remembered all too well the pegasus warriors that had spearheaded the last night's deadly attacks.

As she swerved with powerful wing strokes to dive into the cool concealment of a cloud, she asked, “Father, we are being pursued. I cannot see them well yet, but pegasi are after us. What shall we do?”

De Writer paused in his grief, the thought of risk to his precious foster daughters causing him to put all personal thoughts and fears aside. After a moment's reflection, he replied, “Far more important than what we do is what we do NOT do. We must defend ourselves as stoutly as necessary. We must NOT seek vengeance at all.

“That will lead to expanding conflict. Right now, we need to keep all thoughts of vengeance for a later time. Seek the means of defense that will do the least real harm.

“I am sorry that I do not know what it may be.”

Luna began to smile in a strange way. Speaking to her sister she said, “Can you tell how close the pursuers are now?”

An arrow flashing past through the foggy cloud answered her.

As Celestia was starting a dive, Luna called out, “No! Get us UP. They are in the range of my magic! I need to see them. Get above them if you can!”

Celestia's wings snapped out and tight to bring them around and up. Power strokes slammed the air as they burst up through the cloud, passing between the armed pegasi. Arrows and spears flew toward them.

Blue magic flared. Weapons passed wildly about them. Some did find targets . . . in their attackers. Those winged ponies fell fluttering earthward. Luna suddenly grinned savagely.

Midnight magic flared, encompassing the entire wing of pegasi. They fell away screaming and fluttering toward the safety of earth and trees below.

Celestia gave her sister a respectful look. “What in Our Mother's Name did you do to them, Luna?”

De Writer, still under the wing of his daughter, started to laugh in a broken way, but laughing for the first time since the enemy began the attack last night. Blue magic stroked both of his precious fillies on the mane.

“She gave them a waking nightmare! The falling dream! You both did this so perfectly.

“Now, Celestia, get us safely away from here. Luna, can you do that again?”

Both Celestia and De Writer were surprised at Luna's tears. “As often as we need it, Father. Nightmares, awake or asleep, hurt to send. They are two way things. To gage the force of it, I must feel what the receivers are feeling.

“To protect you or Celestia, I will do whatever I need to do.”

Celestia's wings carried them forward in silence as she realized what her sister had just endured to save them. De Writer's broken laughter stopped. Blue magic gently and comfortingly enfolded Luna.

Celestia found a wide ledge on the side of a tall mountain. It had a spring, trees to hide them and grass to eat. They took refuge under the trees as soon as they had a drink.

Celestia let Luna cover their father with her wing, as she had been doing all day. She knelt beside them both with De Writer between them and covered Luna with her large white wing. She said softly, “Sleep safely, dear sister. Father, I will keep the watch. You rest too. I will get us to the shore of the Great Southern Bay tomorrow.”

Luna looked up at her larger sibling and said brokenly, “I never used a dream as a weapon before. I have always tried to make good dreams. I am so sorry.”

Her father, De Writer, speaking from under her wing, said, “We have all three of us seen and done things that no pony should have to endure. Celestia too, though she was too late to save Jarl Natchin had to do battle with the invaders to get Red Hoof's refugees away safe.”

Celestia bowed her head, her pale rainbow of mane drifting with the breeze as she told her sister, “I had to kill six of the invaders to allow Jarlene Heather Bloom and her household to escape at all. Even with the blocked door bucked open, the invaders were laying in wait with spears and bows to slaughter our friends.

“I was afraid that I would have to kill more, but they broke and fled.” Her white head drooped to the moss of the forest as she added, “That is why I will take the watch. I am afraid to sleep. I am sure that I will dream it again and again. There is the blood of ponies on my heart and soul.”

Luna returned Celestia bleak stare and moved her wing to cover Celestia's. “Then rest, Sister. Sleep. I have already dreamed the nightmares. I will guard your sleep. You will be safe in your slumber because I will be there for you.”

Celestia snuggled closer to her father. Under Luna's compelling gaze, she dropped swiftly to sleep.

Quietly, De Writer said, “That was well done, my dear. Well indeed. I have to work now to ensure our safety.” The clear pale green Orb of the Ages sat before him on a small log that made a part of their hiding place. It was neatly balanced on its three short but intricately worked legs.

Luna looked at it in fascination. She had never before seen it up close. “What are you going to do, Father? Don't you need your rest?”

“No, my dear one, not now. You and Celestia carried me and comforted me all this long day. I have had a chance to rest and reflect on my failures. I have also realized an important truth, I think.”

“What is that, Father? I could use some wisdom right now.”

De Writer managed a weak smile. “It is this. The past is dead unless we give it life. We can do two things with the past. We can remember it as a source of hurt for our failures and club ourselves with it to our ruin. The other way is to reflect on the events and use them as a guide to learn how to better do what is needed when the time comes.”

Luna gave her father a long and reflective look. Her features smoothed from the distress of moments earlier. “The past is Dead. We give it life as pain or as lessons to better ourselves and those about us.”

She thought deeply for several minutes. Then with a half smile, said, “That is so simple, yet not at all easy. I have noticed that many of our writing lessons had similar thoughts as their basis. Still, it makes a solid goal, whether we succeed or not.

“If it helps, Father, it does help.” Luna actually managed a smile at her word play.

De Writer saw her smile and managed one of his own. Then he muttered under his breath, “The Future is Forbidden.” The Orb began to glow of its own light. Luna was transfixed by the glow. “Celestia and I saw that from under your sleeping stall door. So this is what it was. We wondered.”

Scenes began to appear and vanish with blinding speed. Every once in a while, a scene would freeze in place for a few moments. Once, she thought that her father beside her disappeared but if he did, he was back so swiftly that she was not sure if it really happened.

Then she saw and felt her father's reaction. His shuddering attempt to hold back tears. She recognized the same sort of shock that he had shown this morning. She instantly wrapped him in her midnight magic and let a quick but peaceful dream soothe him. She wished that somepony could do the same for her.

As if he was reading her mind, De Writer enfolded her in his blue magic and held her while she laid her head across his shoulder and let her cry.

When she was done, she asked, “Who got killed this time?”

//////// TO BE CONTINUED /////////

#FROM DARKNESS TO DAWN #Part 1 of 3 #MLP Fan Fiction #Alternate History #AU #written by De Writer

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