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carrotmakar · 4 years ago

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the weekend

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You get a lot more out of a songwriting session with Harry Styles than you ever bargained for.

Warning(s): cheating, explicit language, suggestive comments (nothing super explicit happens though), angst

A/N: this is a submission for nat’s ( @harrystylescherry ) song fic challenge!! this is based on “The Weekend” by SZA, so i’d recommend listening to that either before or while reading this so you get the gist of what this is about!!!

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You’re nervous.

Should you be? Not really. You’ve written songs with and for hundreds of fantastic artists before, but there’s something about helping Harry Styles write one that has your nerves on end. Maybe it’s his fanbase, how they pick and critique everything to get the full experience. Maybe it’s the expectations of another number one from the next new song. Maybe it’s the way that your sister had sent you text after text freaking out about how good he is at what he does (If he’s so good, why will he even need your help? What if he hates the fact that you’re there and that makes him despise you?). Or maybe, just maybe it’s the way that you run headfirst into him when you walk into the room.

Immediately, there’s a ring clad hand on your shoulder to help steady you. “Are you okay, love?” he asks, British accent thick through his words.

You nod, cheeks burning with the embarrassment of the mishap. At least he doesn’t seem to hate you, though. He seemed pretty chipper, so maybe he just likes to have a new set of eyes and ears every so often to aid in the songwriting process. That thought sets you at ease, and you immerse yourself in the routine of it all.

The entire day goes by faster than you’d like it to, honestly. It’s filled with suggestions, edits, and ideas thrown into the air. It’s all very smooth and you find yourself wishing that you worked with people more like Harry more often. He’s smart and talented but he isn’t stuck up about it. That’s something that you like about him, he knows that he’s capable of doing this but he’s not cocky.

More than once throughout the few hours that you’re around him, you find yourself looking over at his features. Really, how could you not? He’s undeniably attractive, and you’ve never been one to pretend that you don’t see something that you like when you do. As subtly as possible, you sneak glances at him. You admire the way that his cheekbones seem to have a natural highlight even in the dim, buttery light of the room. You take in the way that his curls fall loosely into his face, causing him to haphazardly push them away every few minutes. It’s a bit disturbing to you when you look over at him once and find yourself thinking about how cute the slope of his nose is.

You take it all in, but you don’t let yourself do anything else than that. You know that he has a girlfriend, and you’re not going to actively pursue a taken man. Besides, you’ve seen the girl he’s with, along with the girls that he’s been with and you’re pretty sure that you don’t compare, so even if he were single, you wouldn’t try anything.

Shaking the thought completely from your mind, you focus on the page in front of you and look over at Harry. “What if you just release Medicine? That'll be a number one for sure.”

He laughs, full on cackles at your words. He throws his head back and you can’t help but smile at the sound of his laugh. It takes him a minute for it to die down to giggles soft enough that he can get words out. “Never gonna happen, love.”

You greet your Pomeranian puppy, Daisy, as you walk through the door that night. She runs right towards you and trips on her paws. You chuckle at the memory of the first time that she did that. You were babysitting your niece and Daisy took a tumble and all you heard was an “Oopsie Daisy!” You hadn’t yet named her, so you decided that you could just go with Daisy, especially after she continued to trip all over the place. Picking her up, you make your way to the kitchen to feed her and top off her water bowl. As you’re sitting the bowl down, your phone dings with a notification from an unknown number.

Hey, it’s Harry. I hope it’s okay that I asked Jeff for your number.

You force the butterflies away the moment that they swarm your stomach; you can’t have feelings for a man that’s already in a relationship.

Hey, Harry! It’s completely fine, I don’t mind.

You’re a bit confused as to why Harry asked for your number, but you assume that it’s to ask some questions or tell you something about the song, so you let the thoughts leave your mind and you go back to petting Daisy until you get another text from him.

I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner? At my place?

You’re taken aback for a moment at the suggestion of dinner at his place, but then you realize that it’s probably just a thank you. Chances are that his girlfriend will be there and it will be completely formal. Plus, it’s probably just at his place because if he goes out then he’ll get swarmed by paparazzi and he’d most likely want to avoid that as much as possible.

You mull it over for a few more seconds before deciding that you’ll have dinner with him. There’s no reason for you not to, really.

Yeah, I’d love to! Just let me know when and send me your address!

Locking your phone, you place it on the counter before making your way to the bathroom to take a relaxing shower and then head to bed.

When you step into Harry's house, you’re hit with the overwhelming scent of cashmere and vanilla, and it smells unmistakably like Harry. When he sees you, his eyes take you in, and then he’s smiling. “You look great!” he says before pulling you into a hug that you didn’t expect.

Your cheeks heat up slightly at his words. It’s not like you even tried, honestly. You just threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater before leaving the house. His comment makes you smile, though, so you choose not to say anything about it.

He happily leads you towards the kitchen and you can’t help but let some of his excitement rub off on you. When you step through the threshold to the room, you expect to see his girlfriend sitting there, but instead, you're met with an empty room. He must see you looking around because he speaks up. “Amelia’s in Paris for some fashion show she’s doing.”

“Oh, that’s cool! Which show is it? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.” You run your hands along your sides nervously as you wait to see if you’ve crossed a line.

He gives you a small smile before shaking his head. “I would tell you if I knew. She hasn’t talked to me in a few weeks. It’s normally like this before shows. She gets even more distant than normal.” The both of you fall silent for a moment, but then he clears his throat and hands you a plate. “That doesn’t matter though, I wanted to thank you for helping me out today, so I made you pasta.” A warm smile graces your face as you take the plate from him. “You can head into the living room and make yourself comfortable if you want. I’m gonna get some wine. Would you like some?”

You nod and walk to the living room after he goes to get the wine. You do as he said and make yourself comfortable on his plush couch. It’s much softer than you expected it to be when you first saw it, and you’re pleasantly surprised.

Once he returns with two glasses and a bottle of wine, you quickly set your plate down on the wooden coffee table and help him set everything down so that he can go get his food and join you on the couch. You pour the wine into the glasses while he’s getting everything settled.

“Thank you for pouring those, I’m trying to make sure I have everything together, so I probably seem like a chicken with its head cut off.” His cheeks tint a slight pink at the admission and it makes you want to reach out and run your hand over his arm to reassure him that everything is alright, but that’s not something that you can do so you settle for trying to make him feel better with just your words.

“You’re fine, Harry. Honestly, this is a lot better than any other meal that I’ve probably ever had, so you’re doing great.” He gives a grateful smile at your words, and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s no longer feeling as embarrassed. There’s something about him that makes you want to make sure he’s nothing but happy.

“So,” you say, trying to rid your mind of thoughts like that, “did you like what we came up with today?”

“Yeah, I really did, honestly.” He nods as he takes a bite of his pasta and chews. “I think you’re really talented. The things that you came up with today were absolutely phenomenal.”

You feel your cheeks heating up under his gaze and you try to hide that by taking a drink of your wine, but if his smirk has anything to say about how well you hid it, you failed epically.

“Thank you, I think you’re really talented, too. You’re probably one of the most talented people that I’ve worked with, to be honest. And you’re really nice about it as well.”

“You flatter me.”

“Take the compliment, Styles.” You playfully point your fork at him and he laughs lightly.

“Fine, thank you, Y/N.” You both fall into a comfortable silence before he clears his throat and starts up the conversation again. “Tell me about yourself, wanna know you better.”

There’s an awkward tension in the air as you start telling him about yourself, but as the night goes on, you get more and more relaxed around him. It feels like you’re talking to an old friend, not someone that you just met.

And maybe that’s why you invite him to come hang out at your place sometime soon. After all, you could use another friend.

You’re much less nervous sitting beside him on your couch than you were a week prior on his. After you spent that evening at his house talking to him and getting to know him a bit better, you feel much more relaxed and comfortable around him. It’s a great feeling, really, because now that the awkward tension is out of the way, you can focus on just getting to know him even better.

Harry had suggested takeout for dinner just so it was easy and so you didn’t have to dirty up the kitchen just because he was coming over. You reluctantly agreed, even though you felt a bit bad for not giving him a home cooked meal like he did for you, so now you’re sitting beside him with Chinese takeout containers on the glass coffee table in front of you.

It seems like Harry’s a lot more relaxed as well because since he’s walked through the door, he’s been a bit more touchy than normal. You’ve heard that he’s a pretty touchy person, so you don’t think much of it. You revel in it, really, because he’s a really good hugger. He’s also great at cuddling and hand holding and everything else. There’s a part of you that questions why he’s being so cuddly with you, but you remind yourself repeatedly that it’s just in a platonic way.

Once you’re both finished with your meals, he insists that he’ll clean up, so he takes all of the containers to the trash and washes the forks that were used (the restaurant forgot the plastic ones when it was delivered).

“Hey, Harry?” you call into the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing?” The moment that the words leave your mouth, you know that they were worded wrong, so you rush to fix them. “I mean, I know what we’re doing, but why? Like why did you want to spend more time with me? We didn’t even talk really when we were writing the song, not more than anyone else, at least.”

He comes into the living room with a furrow between his brows. You refuse to make eye contact with him, so your gaze locks on the tea towel that he’s using to dry off his hands. “I just wanted to know you better, I don’t know really. There was just something about you that pulled me towards you and I couldn’t invite you to coffee or something like that as a thank you or a friend date because paparazzi would eat that up and I really don’t want to jeopardize your privacy like that. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way I should have probably eased more into it, that’s my bad—”

“It’s fine, Harry, I was just wondering,” you cut him off, finally meeting his eyes. “People don’t normally invite me to anything even for a thank you after our sessions, so I just wanted to know what caused you to do it.”

“I don’t see how anyone could pass up the opportunity to spend more time with you.” His words make you smile, and you’re suddenly aware of just how much he affects you. It’s a bit ridiculous, really. Nobody should make you care this much about them within three times of being around them.

Standing up off the couch, you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head into his chest. He immediately returns the embrace and you both melt into it like it’s the only thing that either of you needs to be happy.

After a few moments like that, he pulls back slightly and pulls you with him back to the couch. He discards the hand towel onto the coffee table and sits down with his arms outstretched. You climb onto the couch next to him and let him hold you close. “What movie do you want to watch, doll?”

Your heart flutters at the pet name, but you ignore it and just shrug. “I dunno, I’m tired anyway. You pick.”

As soon as he starts the movie, you settle into him further and feel your eyes begin to get a bit heavier. The second that you yawn for the first time, he pulls you closer to him. "Do you wanna take a little nap?” he asks, smoothing your hair down.

You nod, letting your eyes slip closed as you cuddle into him. It’s not really that late. He came over at around four and it hasn't been that long, so you assume it’s good to take a nap. Your naps normally only last for an hour or two anyway, so you’ll be up before the movie is even over.

Right before you drift off into a peaceful slumber, you feel a light kiss being pressed to your forehead. If you were completely lucid, you’d say something about it, but your foggy brain accepts it fully.

When you wake up the next morning, you try to stretch out as you normally would, but there are a pair of arms wrapped around you tight enough to hold you in place. It takes you a moment to realize that Harry’s the one that’s wrapping you up in his warmth. Almost immediately, your eyes widen and a gasp leaves you. Both of you fell asleep on the couch the night prior, which means that he didn’t go home. He didn’t go home to his girlfriend.

“Harry,” you say a little louder than you anticipated as you shake him awake. He groans and pulls you closer to him, groaning for just a bit more sleep, but you continue to shake him. “Wake up, Harry, you need to go home.”

“You’re kicking me out already?” he jokes, smirking slightly. His voice is at least an octave deeper than normal, the gravel in his tone sending a shiver down your spine that absolutely should not be happening. None of this should be happening.

“You need to go home and figure out what to tell your girlfriend about why you didn’t come home last night, Harry.”

He chuckles lightly and waves you off, eyes still closed. “Don��t worry about her, love. She doesn’t live with me. Not really, she just comes over to keep up the image. She won’t care where I am.” Squeezing you to him once again, he lets a content smile form on his face. “Now settle back down and go back to sleep, I’m still tired.”

Reluctantly, you settle into him again, your head on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, and you allow the soothing rhythm of it to lull you back to sleep.

The next time you wake up, Harry’s not there. The scent of him is still overwhelming and the couch is still warm where he was laying, but he’s not holding you like he was.

Before you can call out to see if he’s still there, he comes walking into the living room with two cups of tea. “I didn’t know if you were more of a coffee or tea type of person, but you had both, so I just made us both tea.” He reaches out the mug to you, and you sit up and take the cup from him.

“Thank you.,” you mumble as you bring the mug to your mouth and take a sip. The warm liquid washes over your taste buds and down your throat and you can’t help but think that this may be the best tea that you’ve ever had. “This is really good.”

“Thanks, my mum taught me how to make it.” You smile at the way his dimples carve into his cheeks when he mentions his mom.

You make light conversation with him, finding it easy to talk about any and everything with him. There’s something about him that soothes the nerves that you’d usually have with someone that you hadn’t known for all that long. There’s just something different between the two of you.

As you’re finishing up your tea, he takes both his own mug as well as yours to the kitchen and washes them before putting them up. When he returns, he leans down and places a friendly, very friendly, kiss to your cheek. “I’ve gotta go, love. Need to get into the studio, yeah?”

You nod, standing up to envelop him in a hug before watching him leave. For some reason, you find yourself longing for him to turn around and walk right back through the door the second that he closes it behind him. You quickly scold yourself for feeling this way, he has a girlfriend, before getting up to go take a shower and get ready for the day.

Three months later, you and Harry are inseparable. Throughout the time that you’ve known each other, you’ve cried in his arms, he’s screamed at the top of his lungs to get his anger out when something with the label isn’t going right, you’ve fallen asleep cuddled into him, and he’s taught you how to cook food that isn’t frozen.

Harry quickly became your best friend, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s the one person in your life that you know you can count on no matter what. He’s also the only person that knows everything about you, just like you know everything about him. Over the past few months, you’ve learned all about him, and it’s just made you fall a bit harder for him every time you think about it.

You know it’s wrong, you do. You shouldn’t have feelings for your best friend, who also happens to have a girlfriend. From what he’s told you, though, she’s not really his girlfriend anymore. Sure, they’re technically together, but she never talks to him unless she needs something or they have to go out to keep up appearances. There used to be something between the two of them, but that quickly changed when things with both of their careers began to pick up. Now it’s like he’s in a relationship with someone that doesn’t even want him.

It doesn’t matter if he’s in a relationship with someone that doesn’t really want him, you can’t be the reason that someone gets their heart broken, you think to yourself for umpteenth time today.

Sighing, you shake yourself from your thoughts and hop off the counter to come stand next to him as he sautés the asparagus. You lean your head on his arm once you come to a stop beside him, and he immediately lifts the arm and pulls you closer to him. You hum contentedly as you inhale the scent of his cologne. The hints of vanilla and sandalwood make your head spin in the most delightful way as you revel in the feeling of being completely enveloped by him.

After a few moments, you look up at him and watch the way that his jaw flexes every so often while he’s concentrating on cooking the asparagus just right. In reality, though, he’s just concentrating on not looking at you because he knows if he does, he’ll end up doing something that he may come to regret.

He doesn’t keep his eyes off of you for long, though, because as soon as he removes the pan from the heat and scoops the asparagus onto its plate, he’s turning slightly so that he can place his hands on your hips and pull you closer.

Your breath catches in your throat as you peer up into his sea glass green eyes and try to figure out what he’s thinking. Before you can say anything, he’s leaning closer to you and there’s a part of you that wants to tell him to stop, to tell him that this is wrong. The bigger part of you, however, is so caught up in the way that his breath feels fanning over your face that you couldn’t even fathom telling him no right now. He pauses for just a second when his nose is rubbing against yours and your breaths mixing together. You’re just about to make a move when he presses his lips to yours and pushes you back until you’re pressed against the counter. The kiss is eager, sloppy, needy. He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and you immediately open up for him, letting his tongue dance with yours.

Too soon, you have to pull away to breathe, and Harry mistakes it for you regretting it by the way that you harshly pull your face back. He rubs a hand over his face, “I’m so sorry. Fuck, that was so wrong of me, I don’t know what I was thinking I just don’t know how to act when I’m around you. I should have asked, I shouldn’t have done it at all really. I’m so sorry.”

You inhale sharply before chuckling. “Don’t apologize, H. I didn’t stop you. Fuck, I wouldn’t have stopped you, I just needed to breathe, but are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes. God, yes. I’ve wanted this since the moment you fell asleep in my arms. Probably before that.” With that, you place your hands on either side of his face and pull him closer to you, throwing all caution to the wind as his lips connect with yours.

You pull away from Harry, disconnecting your lips from his. He whines low in his throat as he immediately chases after your lips. You just giggle and shake your head no as he pouts. “We have to talk about what’s going to happen, Harry, “ you reason, and he just sighs as he sits up.

“I’ll try to find a way to get out of this relationship as soon as possible, okay?” You nod as you take in the words that he’s saying, ensuring that you understand exactly what the plan is. “I’ll have to find a nice way to do it so that nothing blows up in my face, but I will get out of this. And then after a few months, we can go public.” He brings his hand to your face and caresses the skin with the pad of his thumb. “We just have to keep it under wraps until then.”

You nod, taking in what he’s saying. “That sounds good. How fast do you think you can get out of this?”

“A month, tops,” he promises, sealing it with a sweet kiss to your lips that makes every doubt leave your mind.

That conversation happened almost six months ago, and Harry’s still with Amelia. You try to pretend that it doesn’t bother you, but it does. He told you that he was going to do something and he hasn’t. He promised. You know that you’re supposed to be patient, but quite frankly, you’re tired of sharing him with someone else. You’re tired of him telling you that he loves you so much right before he goes back to her.

So you decide that you’re done with it. You don’t want to be the one that’s hidden anymore. He swears that he loves you, so it’s time for him to act on it. If you were in his shoes, you would have left your partner as soon as you had feelings for Harry. You would have chosen Harry because you’re truly, madly, deeply in love with him. Which raises the question of whether or not he feels the same. Is he lying about that, too?

You shake that idea out of your head as soon as it enters. Of course he loves me, you tell yourself as he lets himself in the door. You don’t move from your spot at the kitchen table when you hear him make his way to you; you just sit there and wait for him to approach you. You know that as soon as he sees your face, he’s going to know that something’s up, and as much as you know it has to happen, you’d do just about anything to put off this conversation for a few more seconds.

This entire thing could blow up in your face, and if that’s the outcome then you want to savor the last few fleeting moments of your life with Harry.

You feel him rest his hands on your shoulder and lean down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Hey, baby.” He comes to sit next to you and you just give a weak greeting in return.

“What’s wrong?” You glance up at him briefly and see the way that his eyebrows are knitted together in concern.

“We have to talk,” you mumble, trying to get the words out without sounding weak. You have to come across strong or there’s no chance of anything going right tonight.

“Okay… what do we have to talk about?” he asks, voice shaky as he prepares himself for the worst.

“It’s been almost half a year, Harry,” you breathe, trying your best to meet his gaze to show him that you mean every word that you’re saying. “I want more than I have, and you promised that I wouldn’t have to share you for more than a month.”

“I know, but I don’t want everything to blow up in my face,” he tries, making yet another excuse that you don’t have the time, nor the patience, to hear.

“Nothing’s going to blow up in your face, Harry!” you say, slightly louder than you previously were. Pushing yourself to stand from your chair, you make your way over to the counter to put a bit of space between the two of you. “Nobody knows about me! The worst thing that happens is that you get blamed for the breakup, but who cares? Is that really more important than being with just me?”

He’s silent, and you have to stop yourself from crying. His silence is never a good thing. He just looks down at the table and rubs his hands through his hair while you try your best to steady your breathing.

“I want more than this, Harry,” you repeat. “I want more than two nights a week when I can call you mine. Sure, we’re technically together, you’re technically mine, but you’re hers too.” The thought alone makes your voice catch in your throat and you have to clear it before continuing. “You say that I’m the one that you want, but who’s the one who can be seen in public with you? Who’s the one that you can show off? Who’s the one that will be going on tour with him? Who’s the one that you’re going to look into the crowd and meet eyes with as you have that stupid heart stealing smile on your face?” He’s silent still and you scoff. He can’t even look at you. “Her. All of those things are her, they’re not me.”

He stands after a moment and reaches out for you, but you know that this isn’t something that can be fixed with a hug and a few light kisses, so you hold up a hand to stop him and say the words you know are either going to make or break your relationship. “I love you Harry, and I know you love me, too. But if you don’t love me enough to choose me, then I need you to go.”

Knowing that he can’t give you what you need, he hangs his head low and holds the tears back as he walks out your door without so much as a glance back at you.

#playlistficchallenge #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Title: Progression.

Pairing: Yandere!Best-Jeanist/Reader.

Commission for the lovely @99shadowcat99.

Word Count: 1.6k.

Synopsis: You’re sure Hakamada only has your best interests in mind. You came to him in a time of need, after all, and as a hero, it’s only natural that he’d want to see you improve. You’re sure he does, you only wish he didn’t have such a cold way of showing it.

TW: Toxic Relationships, Financial Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, and Slight Stockholm Syndrome.

It probably didn’t help that you’d been at such a low point, when Hakamada first found you.

It was something you couldn’t deny, something you didn’t try to deny, not when it had such a lasting impact on your relationship. He’d pitied you, back then, met you when you were broke and desperate and willing to do just about anything for a recommendation, a place to stay, a steady wage and all the stability he and his agency could provide, if you just managed to worm your way in. You could only be thankful he’d decided to interview you personally, despite his position. You never would’ve gotten the job, otherwise.

You’d never admitted that to him, not out loud, but that was something you liked about Hakamada - he picked up on little details, no matter how subtle. He noticed up on your willingness to work overtime, your erratic apologies whenever he called you into his office, regardless of the reason why. Your chronic lateness, your reliance on the charity of your coworkers whenever the staff went out for after-hour drinks. You’d never told him, but you never needed to. He was more than willing to help you, whether or not you let him know how much you appreciated it. He was a Hero, after all. It only made sense that he'd do whatever he could for someone in need.

The job hadn’t lasted, you weren’t really cut out for it, but Hakamada had.

Some days, you could even convince yourself he’d done it out of love.

Tonight, the task was easier than it usually was. In his penthouse, standing in front of the full-body mirror he’d had brought in and installed just for you, it was easy to fall into the idea that you were the object of his affections, the apple of his eye, someone he cared about and someone he cared about genuinely, especially when you were already dressed in clothes he’d bought, wearing the jewelry he’d been generous enough to pay for. You knew it wasn’t much, for him. Even if everything he gave you was designer, expensive enough to make your heart speed up and your throat go dry, it wouldn’t make a dent in his salary, and he seemed to like providing for you more than you liked being provided for, honestly. But, you couldn’t refuse. Hakamada had done so much for you, he was still doing so much for you. If he wanted someone to spoil, you couldn’t refuse. And, while you were on the topic…

“Are you ready, beautiful?”

You couldn’t let him know you were so reluctant, either.

You hadn’t heard him come in, but that didn’t stop you from leaning into his touch as you felt his hand cup your cheek, its twin coming to rest on your hip. He was gentle, if nothing else, his chest barely touching your back as he leaned forward, eyes scanning over your reflection, searching patiently for something to correct. You didn’t mind, submitting yourself to his scrutiny with minimal resistance. He was a perfectionist. He looked at everyone like a project, and you weren’t an exception.

Still, you tried to sound confident when you answered. Even if that meant lying through your teeth. “I think so,” You said, smoothing over your outfit one last time. “It’s a Hero’s gala, right? It’s not like anyone’s going to bother paying attention to me.”

“If you’re on my arm, they will.” He always sounded so stern. This wasn’t your first event, you’d gone plenty of times as his assistant and as his partner, but Hakamada liked to be thorough. Before, he’d dug the heel of his palm into the base of your spine, pinched your cheek whenever your attention started to drift, and even after his valet had already arrived, he’d still spend the better half of the drive searching for loose threads and stray hairs to aggressively correct. Now, to fix your posture, he was kind enough to stop at squeezing your hip, his free hand nudging gently at your shoulder. It was merciful, in comparison, but it was still difficult not to feel like a prized mutt, locked into a muzzle and dragged onto a pedestal. “Keep your back straight. You remember everything we went over, don’t you?”

Of course. He’d only spent the past three hours drilling it into you. “I do, Hakamada.”

There was a pause, just the slightest bit of hesitation. “Hakamada?”

To your credit, you caught your mistake a second after he did. “I mean, I do, Tsunagu--”

“You’re really going to address me like that in front of journalists?”

Your eyes dropped below the mirror. For whatever reason, you didn’t want to look at him, anymore. “I’m sorry, Tsun’.”

Luckily, that seemed to satisfy him. Hakamada let out a heavy sigh, and you could feel him shaking his head, more out of disappointment than genuine annoyance. The gesture was familiar, as was the anger-tinged guilt that accompanied it, but he still took his time, letting the feeling brew before he bothered to speak. Sometimes, you had to wonder if he did that on purpose, if he knew he was only making you feel worse by trying to act so forgiving. Most of the time, though, you pushed the thought out before you could dwell on it. You’d only be making things worse for yourself, if you started thinking about things like that. “I’m just trying to help,” He started, the mantra already engraved into your mind. “You’ve come so far since I first found you. All that progress shouldn’t go to waste.”

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need you to agree. It shouldn’t, and as far as Hakamada was concerned, you didn’t get a choice in the matter. “I know. I’ve come too far to backtrack.”

“You’ve come too far to throw it away.” That was something you didn’t like, when you’d worked for him. It was all or nothing, with Hakamada. A mission was either a success or a disaster. His newest sidekick was either a prodigy or a wash-out waiting to happen. Failure wasn’t an option, not when the slightest mistake meant disrepair. “Things have gotten better for you, haven’t they? You’ve enjoyed your time with me?” It was a question, this time, but he didn’t want an answer, even if he paused as gloved fingers trailed over your side, only leaving your skin for a moment before he cupped your jaw, tilting your head back just far enough for the change to be noticeable. Just far enough to force you to look at your reflection, whether or not you wanted to. “It’d be such a shame if all of this had to come to an end just because of a few insignificant, avoidable mistakes.”

Suddenly, your throat went dry, your heart drawing a little too tight in your chest. It'd been happening more than it should, lately, considering how careful Hakamada encouraged you to be with your health. “You’re… This is going to end?”

He always seemed to enjoy it, when you said things like that. Maybe it was your tone, the softened desperation you didn’t try to hide, or maybe he took it as a confession, a sign that you cared for him, or that you cared for what he could provide, at least. You hoped it was the latter. He liked it when you were desperate, and you liked to pretend that he didn’t. “Of course not, dear,” He soothed, his disappointment suddenly gone and replaced with something more assuring, something more sentimental. As sentimental as Hakamada was capable of being, anyway. “I’d sooner lock you up completely than ever let my little muse run off. Besides...” He trailed off, a light chuckle fading into a scoff. “Even if I did lose you, I wouldn’t be able to let you go, not entirely. It wouldn’t be fitting for my partner, past or present, to go back to living in some tiny apartment, struggling to make ends meet. It’d be embarrassing, for both of us, and I don’t know if I’d be able to stand the distance.”

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to. Hakamada was distracted, now, pressing a light kiss into the dip of your shoulder before he pulled away, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. “We’re already running late. When you’re ready, come find me. I’ll be waiting.”

You didn’t turn around. You heard the door to his bedroom close, his footsteps growing more distant as the seconds ticked by, but you didn’t feel the need to watch him, you didn’t want to see him, his face, how unaffected he was by the doubts that plagued you like some ever-lasting, unshakable waking nightmare. You knew it wasn’t healthy, objectively. You shouldn’t have to wonder if your boyfriend really likes you. You shouldn’t have to practice your smile, lower your voice, contort yourself to fit his standards of perfection, your needs be damned. It wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t even pleasant, but…

He was right. You didn’t go back to the way things used to be. Starving, working yourself to the bone to make rent, letting any Pro-Hero who showed an interest turn you into something soft and toothless and malleable. It was easier to be with Hakamada. It was easier to let him have his way.

It was easier to tell yourself that you’d still be allowed to leave, if you wanted to.

With that in mind, you turned on your heel, starting in the direction he’d gone off in. You would stay. You had to stay.

You wouldn’t know how to be yourself without him, anymore.

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 5 years ago

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Promises Not Kept Part 6

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 6: Tommy defends Leah. Polly (drunkenly) defends women all around the world

(gif isn’t mine)

Beth handed Leah a porcelain teacup with gold accents around the rim. Steam rose from the chamomile tea, the scent relaxing just enough for Leah to take a deep breath.

“Thank you.” She whispered and wrapped her hands around the warm cup.

Beth sat down across from her. “Can you tell me what’s going on or…” She had been born and raised in Birmingham. As a young girl, she had been warned about the Shelby boys. Especially when they came back from the war and began to gain power.

“If I knew I would tell you.” She pursed her lips together and held the tea close to her chest. Leah wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Beth about what she used to do in London. But past history aside, she didn’t know what she could tell her about Tommy. What could she say if she didn’t even know what was going on? Was she involved with him or was it just a fling? Despite the anxiety of Rosetta’s men at her apartment, Lizzie’s words still echoed in her brain. A man like Tommy wasn’t someone who enjoyed settling down into a subdued lifestyle. He made the choice to continue this dangerous streak of his. There was something about it that he enjoyed or the reward was worth the consequences. Or perhaps he was simply too far gone to get his head out from under the water.

Leah had no inkling and she had a feeling she might never understand. So did she just leave it? Pretend she didn’t have feelings for the man who practically rescued her from her own despair? He put an end to her self-destructive tendencies and told her she was deserving of much more. Could she really shake the memories of how softly he touched her?

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Beth said steadily. “But I can warn you that if you do interact with him…you’ll most likely pay a price. I mean Grace…”

“I know about Grace.” She interrupted her. Leah didn’t want to hear about Grace. She didn’t want to hear people blame Tommy for her death. Maybe it could be argued that she died because of him, but Leah knew that he never intended that to happen. “He’s not callous.”

“He’s a murderer.” Beth retorted. She leaned forward and touched Leah’s knee. “It’s a cycle, Lee, and I think he knows he’ll end up dead one of these days because of it. But until then, I don’t want you to be a victim of the Peaky Blinders.” She thought about all the young men in Birmingham who either crossed the gangsters’ paths and paid the price, or the ones who decided it was better to join them and got caught in the cross-fires.

Leah set her tea cup down and nodded slowly. “I understand your concern. You’re not the first one to warn me.” She informed her friend. “And I doubt you’ll be the last. But Beth, I don’t know what to tell you. My life, for the last few years, has been nothing but hell. After I lost Jonah I thought I’d never recover. But since I’ve met him…” Her eyes lowered. The things she accomplished in Birmingham listed off in her mind. She knew that night; she would be warm in a comfortable bed in her very own flat. She wouldn’t have to entertain a stranger, sell her body to make ends meet. There would be no marks on her skin the next morning from clients who abused their power over her. She wouldn’t have to pick up the pieces of her dignity every time she walked home from the hotel, the dawn rising behind her. Her self-esteem was building when before, it had only be crushed every single time she forced herself to act the part of an expensive whore. She remembered how Tommy held her close at that crucial turning point in London. When he promised to take her away from that cycle of misery, promised her everything and more. Promised to take care of her like he had told Jonah he would.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Beth’s voice was gentle with sympathy. She could only warn the woman of the potential, or in her eyes, inevitable dangers. Whatever Tommy had done had obviously affected her to the point she wouldn’t change her mind.

Leah swallowed her tears and nodded. “Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~`

“You lads looking for someone?” Tommy introduced his presence on the street. A few smart passersby turned around to avoid the scene altogether. It was never a good sign when all three Shelby men were striding down the street like soldiers entering a battle. With John and Arthur flanking him, Tommy looked positively menacing.

The three men turned to address him. “Waiting for a mate, ain’t none of your fucking business.” Andrew spat a bit of tobacco onto the sidewalk.

John smiled smugly and cracked his knuckles. He liked when people underestimated his brother. It was entertaining and usually meant they would be dealing out some punishments. No one spoke to Thomas Shelby like that in the streets of Birmingham.

Andrew’s cohorts looked uneasy. “That’s Tommy Shelby, let’s just go.” The youngest one decided it was too much to risk over a girl who defected from Rosetta’s harem of Midland girls.

But Andrew didn’t see the danger in front of him. “I ain’t afraid of some gypsies.” He scoffed.

Tommy slipped off his cap. He gripped it tightly in his hand and waited for a beat. Rosetta’s enforcer was a good bit taller than Tommy but that didn’t deter him. The bigger they were, the harder they fell.

And he did fall. A mangled scream left his mouth only moments after taunting the Blinder. His hands clutched over his last good eye, which had been slashed. Those who were willing to challenge the Shelbys in their own domain would receive their signature attack.

Blood seeped through Andrew’s fingers and dripped down his arm. He fell to his knees first before Tommy delivered a jaw-breaking punch and sent him to the ground.

Tommy’s ears rang with the familiar static noise that filled his brain when he flipped a switch. That switch that allowed him to crush a man’s very soul while looking him dead in the eyes. It was such an intense state of adrenaline that he couldn’t register the world around him. The numbness he felt on the daily was enhanced, allowing him to detach from the ruthless force he was inflicting. Every sensation was dulled. He didn’t notice his brothers subduing the other two men. He didn’t feel his teeth accidentally bite down on his own lip during the struggle. He couldn’t feel Andrew’s warm blood coating his hands as he grabbed the man’s collar.

The man was still shrieking in pain and fear while the last bit of vision he had left was slipping away.

Tommy pressed down on his throat to shut him up and keep him still. He leaned close, not disturbed by the blood. “You go back to Rosetta,” He breathed heavily from the anger that was fueling his strength. His voice was just barely above a deep, hissing whisper. “You tell her that if she even tries to harm Leah, she’ll have the Peaky Blinders to deal with.” He released his hold and stood up. Arthur had one of the men in a headlock while John had the other man on the ground, a foot pressing against his chest.

“Get him out of here.” He instructed Andrew’s colleagues. “If you come back here you’ll end up in the morgue.” He threatened and nodded for his brothers to release the men. He turned and dug in his pockets for a cigarette. The blood coating his hands stained his coat but he didn’t notice. He hardly even noticed his lip was opened up during the fight as it stained the cigarette red when he took the first drag. It would take a bit before the ringing in his ears died down.

~~~~~~~~~~

Beth was standing by the windows, anxiously watching the street. She wasn’t keen on having the Peaky Blinders around her home and shop but she didn’t want to kick out Leah either.

Not too long after Leah’s call, Beth spotted Tommy walking towards the storefront. His brothers had gone back to the betting shop so he was alone.

“Leah…” She turned to the woman who hadn’t moved from the couch the entire time.

Without a word, Leah stood and went downstairs. Beth didn’t follow but stayed by the window to keep an eye on them.

Tommy tossed his cigarette to the ground when Leah came out. Concern etched her brow. “You’re hurt.” She whispered.

He only shook his head. “No, isn’t my blood.” He assumed she was talking about his shirt, which had been spotted red.

Leah, in fact, was trying to ignore that fact. She didn’t want to know what Tommy had done but she hoped he had gotten the men to leave her alone. “No, your lip.” She approached him and pulled out a handkerchief from her skirt pocket. “You’re bleeding.”

He touched his chin where a trail of blood had trickled from his lip. “Oh…”

“It’s not too bad.” She carefully dabbed at the blood and cut.

His blue eyes were fixed on hers, the aftermath of the fight was starting to die down. The numbness subsided and he could finally feel her gentle touch. Maybe that was the only thing he would ever feel again. When she moved her hand back, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. He didn’t want her to let go.

So she didn’t. She used her free hand to touch his cheek and pocketed the stained handkerchief. The pads of her fingertips subtly rubbed over his cheekbone. He leaned into her touch, grateful for its sobering effect.

“The woman in your house this morning…”

Tommy sighed because he knew exactly what was coming. His assistant had gotten to her first, which was probably why she had left before seeing him that morning. “Lizzie.” He nodded. “What did she say to you?”

“She warned me about you.” She answered honestly. “She said you’d get tired of me eventually. Told me not to waste my time because I would only end up hurt.”

His eyes studied her face. She didn’t seem uneasy if anything she was longing for honesty. “Are you worried?”

She nodded slowly and moved her fingers to graze down his jawline. “For you? Yeah.” Her voice was quiet through her admission. “Maybe I’m naïve for thinking you felt the same way as I did.”

He shook his head and let his fingers loosen around her wrist, letting her go. She didn’t move her hand even when he released her. “You’re not.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“Because through everything I’ve been through, I feel much better with you.” He explained genuinely.

Leah bit her lip. “I want to know what kind of man you really are. I don’t want to keep hearing about what other people think of you. You tell me who you really are and I’ll do the same. I just need to know that I can trust you.” Because she had lost the last man she truly trusted. And she wasn’t foolish enough to blindly trust the next person who came along.

“I can prove that to you,” Tommy said with confidence. He knew there wouldn’t be anything he could do to harm her. Not when she knew exactly what he felt like. She knew what it felt to be numb. Neither of them wanted that anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Tommy entered the dress shop, Beth was with a client. The woman was the wife of one of his men. He tipped his hat to her before slipping it off.

“Afternoon, Mr. Shelby.” She greeted politely.

Beth wasn’t as welcoming. She was still highly suspicious of the Shelby. In her opinion, he had no right to her delicate friend. She didn’t know just how much Leah had fared. “She’s in the back.” Despite her doubts, she couldn’t tell him to piss off.

Tommy nodded and walked to the back storage room. It was a narrow hall stacked almost to the ceiling with fabric bolts and broken sewing machines. The man was so stealthy in his movements that he startled Leah.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Gave me a fright.”

He smiled and he held his hands up in apology. “Thought you heard me.”

She liked seeing him smile. Especially because he smiled when she turned around and his eyes settled on her face. At that moment he wasn’t the terrifying gangster that everyone else saw. He was just a man who was happy to see someone he was developing feelings for. These feelings were blossoming very slowly and tentatively. He was afraid of them for more than one reason, too many to count in fact, but he didn’t often shy away from things that scared him.

“While you’re here, can you hold this steady for me?” She dragged a rickety chair towards him.

“Sure.” He set his cap and newspaper aside to hold the back of the chair. Leah picked up her long skirt and stepped up onto the chair to reach a bolt of red satin. The aging wood creaked and he was concerned over a very loose looking leg. But it held up just fine and she stepped down without incident.

Her hair swept past him and he caught a whiff of her perfume. It was so alluring he lost his train of thought and the reason he was there.

“Up to no good today?” Her teasing reminded him he did have a purpose for being there. He wasn’t just there to see her, although that wasn’t a bad excuse either.

“I wouldn’t bring trouble to you.” He replied with deep fondness etched into his usually intense tone. “I’ve come to tell you I’ll be off to Warwickshire tomorrow. Be gone for the next few days.”

Leah tucked the bolt of fabric underneath her arm. “Little holiday?”

“You could say that.” He shrugged and leaned his shoulder against a nearby shelf. “Going hunting with me brothers.” He didn’t tell her about the letter he received from America about his father. His brothers didn’t even know yet so he didn’t think it was right to tell her before he told them.

“That should be fun.” It was nice to know he’d be away from business for a few days. Especially doing something that he enjoyed.

“You could come along.” He offered. “Get out of Birmingham for a bit. You’d get to meet Charlie.”

She sighed softly. “That does sound lovely, but I have to work.”

“Soon though.” He stepped closer to her. The space getting smaller in the cramped room. “You’ll be safe with me gone?” He asked and brushed a few stray wisps of hair from her face.

“I’ll be alright.” While Tommy was thinking of every possible thing that could go wrong, Leah was only thinking about how she would miss him.

“I’ll leave the number to Arrow House.” He let his hand cup her cheek. His eyes were soft on her. “Call if you need anything.”

“What if I just want to hear your voice?” A playful smile formed on her lips.

“Then you know who to ask for.” He replied with a chuckle.

“I’ll miss you.” The words surprised her even as they left her own mouth. But she let them remain between them without correcting herself.

“Only be a couple of days, maybe less. Be back before you know it, eh?” He tilted his head down slightly to be at her eye line.

Leah hadn’t realized how much she missed the way he looked at her. The way the ice in his iris melted significantly. “When you come back, can we spend time together?”

“You want to?” Tommy had a lot on his mind. Things with the Russians were getting more intense. He intended on creating a plan that afternoon and setting it into motion as soon as he was able to.

Her nod was a little timid. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” She admitted. “Beth thinks I’ve got my head in the clouds.”

“That such a bad thing?” The corner of his lips quirked up. At least he wasn’t the only one who was getting distracted by the relationship.

“S’pose not. Unless I’m being led along like a fool.”

Tommy shook his head and tilted his head to kiss her. He figured the gesture was better. He could talk his way out of any situation but he had trouble with deciding exactly what to say to Leah. It was much easier to show her physically than to have to trip over words like a schoolboy.

Leah kissed him back, focused on how gentle he was. One hand lightly touched her waist, his other hand combed through her hair, his long fingers slipping through her curls.

He was about to take the fabric from her hand and deepen the kiss but they were interrupted.

“Leah, did you find that red satin?” Beth called from the front of the store. “Want me to help you find it?”

Leah pulled back from Tommy. “Yeah, I found it!” She replied and gave him an apologetic look. “Have fun on your holiday, yeah? Try to relax.”

There was no promising that he could ever relax. That was something he was notably terrible at. “Give me a ring when you can.” He slipped on his cap again and reached into the inside of his coat to pull out his cigarette case.

“Okay.” She pecked his cheek and slipped by him.

Tommy’s hand slipped past the telegram about his father’s death. He sighed and went out the back exit of the shop.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that same day, there hadn’t been much activity in the store. Beth and Leah chatted idly but the conversation of Tommy never came up. In fact they both avoided it as well as they could.

The door finally opened and Georgia, a woman who worked as a typist a few shops down, entered. “What're you still doing here? Didn’t you two hear?”

“Hear 'bout what?” Beth looked up from her ledger at the counter.

“Jessie Eden’s having a rally. All the women at the wire cutting factory’ve walked out.”

“Really?” Leah raised an eyebrow. She was well aware of the women’s rights activists who often held rallies for better working conditions. They were active in London and sometimes Leah would linger in the back of the affairs just to listen in. But there was no chance she could ever participate. The Midland girls, or the ones at the brothel, could never demand better conditions. Either Rosetta would put them out on the street or have her henchmen bully them into submission. But it was lovely to think about getting respect as a human being.

“All the women in Birmingham are going down to the Bull Ring,” Georgia said. "Going to make a statement about the equal rights we fucking deserve."

Beth looked unsure. “S’just us two, we don’t have any men to complain about.” She and Leah chuckled.

“Then come and show support for your fellow woman,” Georgia replied with a hand on her hip. “Not all of us can be as lucky as you lot.”

“If all the women are there then they won’t be coming to get dresses.” Leah pointed out.

Beth smiled. “That’s a good point. Alright, let’s go support our fellow woman.”

~~~~~~~~~

Indeed, it seemed every woman in Birmingham had shown up to the rally. Already, there was a buzz of activity. At the center of the crowd, an older woman was standing on the back of a truck, shouting to the women.

“Oh dear.” Beth sighed. “That’s Tommy Shelby’s aunt.” She pointed to the woman.

“Up there?” Leah stood on her tiptoes to see over the crowd of women. “She seems passionate.”

Polly was yelling about a revolution, adding in curses every other word. She certainly spoke like a Shelby. But Leah wasn't sure that Shelbys were so actively public. They seemed to work behind the scenes to get what they wanted.

“She seems drunk as shit.” Beth shook her head and laughed. “Wonder what Jessie’s thinking 'bout what she's going on 'bout.”

“They seem to agree.” The women were calling out things that needed to change and how they agreed with Polly. "I think they really like her."

Beth grinned and shook her head. “Well, I’m glad we can get out for fresh air. Just glad we don’t have to deal with men in our own fucking shop. I’d hate to answer to some wanker who doesn’t know anything.”

Leah laughed and linked arms with her friend. “Maybe you should be up there yelling.”

“They’re good for fucking but not for thinking!” Beth hollered. They both burst into giggles and joined the women in demanding equal rights.

~~~~~~~~~~

Beth decided not to open the shop up again after the rally. Leah went home with a smile on her face. She enjoyed the sense of freedom she got from being there. No longer was she a working girl who had no voice. Men didn’t keep her quiet night after night. They didn’t look at her like she was nothing more than an object to be used.

As she passed through the door, the phone began to ring. Setting her things aside, Leah went to pick up the receiver. “Ward residence.”

“Were you at the rally this afternoon?” Tommy sounded tired but not angry.

“Beth and I went to watch.” She answered truthfully. “I can’t imagine anyone didn’t go, the Bull Ring was crowded. I saw your aunt.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, so I’ve heard.”

“They all seemed to like her.” Leah couldn’t help but smile. Polly only got more worked up the longer she stood preaching.

“She can be more pleasant when she’s drunk.”

She laughed softly. “Did you have fun hunting?”

“Shot a stag, so I can’t complain.” He wished she were there with him. Arrow House always felt unbearably empty after Grace passed. It was a little easier the more Charlie grew. He ran circles around his nanny but was a sweet little boy who always wanted to be outside with the horses. He made the house feel a little fuller. But there was an obvious gap where a mother figure would usually inhabit.

“Well, I’m glad you could get the time off.” She said softly.

Tommy nodded absent-mindedly although he had thought about nothing but business the moment he arrived in Warwickshire. And now there was a Bentley parked outside in the drive and he had an idea who might be in his office. “Can I take you out tomorrow night?” He asked.

“Sure. To the Garrison?”

“I was thinking somewhere for dinner? Somewhere quieter.” He offered. “That way we could talk.”

“I’d like that a lot.” Leah bit her lip as she smiled. “You can pick me up at my flat?”

“I’ll see you then.” Tommy couldn’t ignore what he had to do for much longer. There was information he needed and he knew how he could get it. “Have a good night, Leah.”

“You too, Tommy.”

He slowly replaced the receiver and took a deep breath. With another breath, he straightened his shirt cuffs and entered his office.

“I’m sorry I came unannounced.” Tatiana sat at Tommy’s desk, a playful look in her eyes.

Something, perhaps dread, settled into Tommy’s stomach like a deadweight. He had a feeling he was going to do something he would regret.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii

Tag list: @shelbyblinded

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Masterlist

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelbyxoc #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #ofc #oc #arthur shelby #john shelby #polly gray #tatiana romanov #season 3

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 4 years ago

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Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 40 – The Collaborators

“Sol, we have a job to do.”

The man she addressed turned around, looking somewhat short of a man due to his appearance – a face wrapped with metallic mask, not a single speck of skin visible.

It was the “man in the iron mask,” as dubbed by Frankenstein, now his mask void of golden lining, his face much sharper, and his physique larger and more edged, with slick curves under his lab coat.

Though such changes did nothing to invalidate the fact that he was nothing short of a mannequin’s head attached atop human shoulders, equipped with not a single hole that would allow vision or olfaction.

Had he not been given a voice, no one would have deemed him a human, let alone a man.

And he was debatable in terms of his biological classification, considering what he could do.

“How are you hanging in there? Would you say you’re adapted to your body?”

“I’m fine. There was no need for the adaptation in the first place. I was made this way; unlike other modified humans, my brain was cybernetized into a form of data, to settle into artificial bodies for survival.”

“But you’re no longer inhabiting the models you’ve been making use of. Now you’re sitting in an artificial body the Union manufactured for mass production of weapons against heads of noble clans. Which is not based off of a human body so rigorously cybernetized that it’s basically identical to a pure machine. Or emptied to house a cybernetized human brain, like in your case. It was constructed with alloy and machine parts in the first place, to implant with an AI. Your previous bodies would have allowed you somewhat human interactions – the sort you’d expect from daily life. But I doubt your body as of now is flawlessly coordinated by your brain. After all, the AI I just mentioned are but imitations of a biological brain, albeit well-made.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s true that my body must go through optimization tuning, which is never enough to perfectly optimize my body. Which is why each body does not last more than a week and a half. But instead, now I can finally take part in battles.”

“Still, if this keeps going we’ll have to lose our weapons to let you walk around. We already lost a good number of weapons in the werewolf realm, and we can’t produce more weapons as of now. So don’t you think it’d be better if you go through a long-term optimization? We can make use of that dog I brought in. Besides, that’s exactly why I decided to adopt that dog for the time being.”

“I suggest we use the time and resources for the job instead for our mission. And I see you give much credit for him, surprisingly.”

Helga held her tongue before she soon scoffed and smirked – the smirk she exhibited just before walking up to him.

“I know when to give spotlight when I have to. Though it doesn’t change the fact that he’s nothing but a dog.”

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d get to find such a talented researcher in biotechnology, especially in relation to brain biotechnology. The topic happens to be the most professional field in the...”

“Knock it off, Sol. Don’t forget – we are the Union. We are nothing like those amateurish scums pretending to be the gods that we are.”

After poking the air with her nose, her sky-blue eyes glinting, Helga cut to the point.

“We have an intel from the 3rd Elder. Frankenstein is suffering from a sleep disorder.”

“Sleep disorder?”

“There is this drink he’d regularly take, and its components include substances from wolfsbane, along with substances that prevent sleep.”

“Wolfsbane...? As far as I’m concerned, the species does not contain any substance that fends off sleep. Perhaps Frankenstein came up with the use.”

“Yup. But now we have found a way, don’t you think?”

Helga proudly placed her hands on her hips, and Sol silently stared at her as he cocked his head.

“You mean...”

“Yes. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“The Union harbors a technique of inducing a chemical effect the other way around. If we can apply such technique on that drink...”

“We can put the man to sleep for a certain period of time. Enough time for us to do whatever we want.”

“But the technique requires a chemical not available for purchase in public. Even if 3rd Elder gets the ingredients needed, I don’t believe he can cook it up on his own. The recipe is complicated, and it sure needs a lot of time.”

“True. Which means it’s up to us to deliver the complete product.”

Both of them fell quiet, as they could not come up with an answer.

“We’ll take our time and think about it. In the meantime, I shall get it ready.”

Sol turned on his heels to start the job, before he turned back halfway towards Helga.

“Speaking of which, how is that accomplice of ours doing?”

Immediately, Helga squeezed her brows, making it very conspicuous that she was in a foul mood.

“Which reminds me, I suddenly lost connection with him. If he’s avoiding me on purpose, I’d so very like to have a word with him later on.”

Though Sol’s face was invisible, he seemed cautious as he talked.

“Perhaps he withdrew his standing. After all, we promised each other a deal – not an alliance – because there were certain agreeing points in our motives. It wouldn’t be strange to find out that he was biding his time to stab us in the back, just like how we are waiting for a moment to let go of his hand from the cliff.”

Helga nodded as a sign of comprehension, but at the same time she raised a corner of her lips, as if reprimanding Sol for worrying for nothing.

“That vermin? Betraying us? Even if he does so, it won’t be long before he wails and breaks down in regret. That I can guarantee.”

Helga raised her head and stared into the air, wondering what her accomplice could be up to by now.

‘Go ahead. Try. Whatever it is that you want to do with that thing. And whatever is the reason why you’re not picking up, and whatever it is that you’re thinking, nothing will go as you wish. I never let my dogs loose without leash.’

*****

Meanwhile, in the werewolf realm...

Frankenstein emitted not a single sound as he gaped down at a monitor blinking with light.

There was no question the transmission was on its way as he stood, yet he could not abandon his anxiety.

He remained stiff from head to toe, until the monitor sparked with life and portrayed someone’s face.

And his face grew stony again, the moment he realized it was not the face he was picturing in his head.

<Sir? Why am I seeing you in the werewolf realm...?>

“Rael? And why am I seeing you in the Lukedonia’s communication chamber...? Where is Mr. Jang?”

The two blonde Adonis’s rolled their eyes and blabbered; neither of them was anticipating each other.

<Uh... I’m afraid he’s unavailable right now.>

Rael peeked behind, his countenance troubled.

“Your face tells me it’s not because he’s too occupied. Did he fall unconscious due to overload of work? Or did he step on a part rolling around in the middle of his battle against an uncooperative computer and hit his head in a corner or something?”

Rael instantly sealed his lips, and Frankenstein asked no more, having seen he was very close to the answer.

He instead decided to loosen up the Kertia’s shoulders, still rigid with fluster.

It was not because he wanted to applaud the boy; he wanted to divert his attention from the reason why he is sending transmission from the werewolf realm.

“I see you have a lot of work as well. You wound up in this project regardless of your will. And ended up babysitting a researcher. And you happen to be the head of the Kertias. Not that this is a disgrace for a head of a clan.”

Frankenstein meant nothing in particular, but his words brought upon Rael much bigger influence than he had imagined.

Rael zipped his mouth tighter instead of replying.

‘...Was it that obvious?’

Just like Frankenstein said, Rael was going through a lot.

He was bringing it upon himself.

Ever since Yuhyung was half-forced to stay longer in Lukedonia to give life to QuadraNet, Rael accompanied him wherever he went.

To make sure someone will be there in case he collapses again, according to him.

In reality, he wanted to be there when Yuhyung manages to pick up something in relation to his soul weapon.

He was so anxious that he was compelled to do something, including what is not mandatory.

And someone noticed his stance and came to see him that day.

After Frankenstein was gone, leaving a message for Yuhyung to please get back to him as soon as he can, Rael sighed.

And a familiar voice chimed in his ears even before his sigh dissipated into air.

“Sir.”

The voice was nothing close to loud, but Rael started as if he were static-shocked.

“...Lady Seira?”

“It’s been so long.”

Seira nodded calmly despite Rael’s reaction.

“What brings you here...?”

“I heard recently you could rarely take yourself out of this chamber.”

Seira provided no further explanation, as if that was a reason good enough for her to visit him.

Did she come to see me simply to see me?

There’s no reason for her to do that.

In the past Rael would have jumped in glee, like a schoolboy reciprocated by his first love.

However, he felt nothing but despair.

‘There’s no need for you to do that for someone like me.’

Now that he stood before Seira, he could feel exactly what he was.

Seira used to be evaluated as the head of a clan most not like one.

When her father was forced into eternal sleep, she had to take on his Death Scythe even before having her rite of passage.

Rael learned later on that for such reason even a human, once called the 10th Elder of the Union, sneered at her in her face.

Nonetheless, now she is worthy of being called a head of a clan, having fought valiantly in their warfare against the Union.

On the other hand, he used to label himself as more than worthy enough to be the head of his clan. And here he was, unable to call forth his soul weapon for a reason nobody could fathom, and wasting his time while obliging himself with a task that a nameless Central Knight can handle.

So Rael listened halfheartedly as Seira was offering him words of condolence, something he would not have dreamed of in the past.

Which is why he had no idea that Yuhyung finally woke up to rub his head, decorated with a huge bump for an unknown cause, to watch what he and Seira were doing.

And he had no idea how hard Deneb grit his teeth upon hearing Yuhung’s report before bedtime.

“Rael Kertia... I figured you’d be busy running errands outside Lukedonia, but here you are, working your way to Seira’s hand. But no, you don’t. Not if I can help it. You brought this upon yourself – just you wait. Since your soul weapon can’t help you now, I will take away your life by my own hands in days soon to come.”

(next chapter)

Like I said before, by “the man in the iron mask” I mean this guy. His name was never revealed in the original webtoon, so I decided to call him “Sol.” It was inspired by the fact that he can enter and leave artificial bodies as he’d like (though the exact mechanism he employs for the job was not revealed). That reminded me of “Project 2501″ from Ghost in the Shell (1995), and I alphabetized “501″ into “SOl,” from which his name for this fic derives. I’m not going to give much details about Project 2501, as it contains the key spoiler for this amazing work of cyberpunk film lol. Anyways, my fic is finally reaching the main event and the grand finale. I hope I can do a good job until the curtains are closed XD. I hope you’d stay tuned!

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #wolfsbane

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madasthesea · 6 years ago

Text

5 times Tony tries to tell Peter he loves him

+1 time Peter actually hears him

“What’s going on with you, kid?” Tony asks. Peter jerks, looking away from the window for the first time since he got in the car.

“What? Nothing,” Peter says unconvincingly. His hair is rumpled from where he was leaning against the head rest.

“You sure? You look...” Tony searches for a word and Peter raises his eyebrow, “sick.” He finally lands on, because that’s the best way to describe Peter’s thin face, pale cheeks, and dull eyes. Peter’s hand shakes as he rubs at his forehead. There’s something about it that makes Tony think ‘bone-deep exhausted’ might have been a better choice.

“’m fine,” Peter insists. “I can’t get sick.”

Tony has a vivid memory of a sweaty, delirious Peter curled up in his lap that contradicts that statement, but he bites it back. He stays quiet for a minute, maneuvering through traffic carefully.

“You know,” he finally starts. Peter jumps again like he’d forgotten where he was and who he was with. “If you need something, you can ask me. I want you to ask me.”

“What would I need?” Peter asks, the curve of his mouth a smile that is almost bitter in its resignation.

“You tell me,” Tony challenges. Peter just looks at him, unimpressed. Tony sighs.

“I mean if you need a solid meal that isn’t burnt, I can cook. If you need a nap, I’ve got a bed with your name on it. If you need to, I don’t know, blow some stuff up in an adult-supervised, high tech lab, we can do that.”

Peter’s mouth thins like he’s holding back words that are desperately trying to get out. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he whispers.

They get to Peter’s block and Tony wonders if Peter is out of it enough to not notice if they went around a few more times to give him time to say what he needs to. But instead he pulls up to the curb, puts the car in park.

Peter unbuckles his seatbelt and Tony fights the urge to drive off, to go back to the tower and bundle Peter up where he can watch him and make sure he’s ok.

“Maybe take tomorrow off school,” Tony suggests.

“I’ve got a test,” Peter says with a small grimace.

“I’m on your emergency list, I can sign you out.”

Peter looks like he honestly considers it, which is both an admission of how much he’s struggling and a small victory that some part of Tony’s lecture is getting through.

“I’m ok. Thank you, Mr. Stark.” His hair is still sticking up. Tony fiddles with the gear shift to avoid reaching out and smoothing it.

“Ok. Well, you know where to find me.”

Peter gives him a slightly more genuine smile and opens the door.

“Take care of yourself, kid. I l—” Tony cuts off, stunned at the word on the tip of his tongue.

“I’ll see you later,” he chokes out as Peter stares at him.

“Ok,” Peter says slowly. “Bye.”

Tony sits frozen at the curb as Peter enters his apartment building, then mechanically puts his car into drive and pulls away.

Had he seriously just almost told Peter he loves him? On accident?

He hasn’t done that since he was seven and he told his father he loved him. Howard had just stared at him for a moment and then shooed him from the room.

He had never pictured those words coming out of his mouth so easily in his life. It took him months of reminding himself to say it to Pepper before he became comfortable with it, and that was with the love of his life. What is it about this kid that erased all of his trauma, knocked down all of his walls?

He couldn’t place his finger on a single reason, but he knows, in a bone-deep way, that despite how unplanned the words were, they are true.

He loves Peter.

Even if he’s only just now realizing it.

ii.

When their captors come, Tony presses Peter into the corner, his back against Peter’s rapidly moving chest, and snarls. The men just laugh as they grab Tony by the hair and drag him away. Peter’s yelling behind him, but as Tony twists and struggles, he can see that he’s being left in the glass cell, two men guarding the door to make sure he doesn’t get out.

Even as his hair is pulling loose from his scalp, Tony breathes a sigh of relief.

The door to Peter’s cage locks behind Tony.

The man holding him bodily drags Tony until he’s standing on his own two feet.

“Look at him,” he sneers, his hot breath reeking as it fans over Tony’s face. But he obeys, because he wants to look at Peter one last time.

Peter, who’s still raging against the walls, pounding both fists against the reinforced glass as he looks frantically around for some hope of salvation.

“You’re never going to see him again, Stark. Any last words before we kill you?”

He has a lot of words: Stay in school and it’s ok to mess up sometimes and don’t get yourself killed, Pete.

But most of all he thinks my dad never told me he loved me.

He swallows hard and the man laughs. “No? Alright then.”

Another hand seizes his arm and he’s being jerked backwards, away from Peter, whose eyes go impossibly wider, his gestures getting more desperate.

“Peter.” The name is jerked out of him before he can stop it. “Peter.”

Even with the rough, unbalanced motion of being forced away, Tony can see still the first tears fall down Peter’s cheeks.

And what does pride matter when compared to the look on Peter’s face. So he’ll be mocked even more as he’s tortured and killed. It’s worth it for Peter to know.

“I love you.”

The men around him laugh, jostle him further.

Peter doesn’t react. Tony only now realizes that he’s yelling, has been yelling this whole time. The cell is soundproof. Peter can’t hear him.

He needs Peter to hear him.

He can’t die when Peter doesn’t even know that he was unquestionably, unconditionally loved.

“I love you! Peter, look at me!” he pleads, begs the kid to read his lips through the glass, but Peter is looking around too much, never focusing directly on Tony, still holding out for some last hope.

They reach the end of the hallway. Tony had been afraid to fight back before, worried that they would punish his bad behavior on Peter, but now he claws for just a few more moments with Peter in his sights.

“Look at me, Pete! I love you. I love you.”

Someone kicks his hand where he’s scrabbling at the wall. Another boot meets the back of his knee. He goes down hard, and Peter disappears as he’s dragged around the corner.

Later, when Tony wakes up in a hospital bed next to Peter’s, he watches the kid breathe and tells himself that he still has time.

iii.

Getting thrown into a cement wall hard enough to dent it would have broken anyone else’s spine, but thank the gods above, Peter isn’t anyone else. He’s able to hobble away with some bruises and stiff muscles.

It’s still enough to leave him nearly bedridden for days. Or should he say, couch-ridden, since Tony and Peter have been camped out on his sofa for going on eighteen hours. And even Peter’s impressive movie-watching stamina is starting to wear thin.

Tony is pretending to watch the movie, actually watching Peter out of the corner of his eye as Peter tries to shift into a more reclined position.

The hiss of pain through Peter’s teeth is the signal Tony was waiting for.

“Ok, easy,” Tony says hurriedly, reaching for Peter’s shoulders. “Let’s try something else, alright?”

Peter nods minutely, his eyes clenched in pain.

Tony scoots forward, wraps his arm around Peter’s waist and carefully tips the boy back against his chest. Peter’s muscles are tense under his touch, still too wary of the pain to find comfort in it.

Tony gently rubs a palm against Peter’s chest and stomach. “Relax,” he murmurs. Slowly, Peter sags into him, his injured back warm and solid against Tony. “There we go.”

Peter’s head lolls against Tony’s shoulder and he squirms just a bit, nestling himself further into Tony’s hold. Tony has never really been one for prolonged contact, but he finds himself resting his head against Peter’s, tightening his arms around Peter’s stomach, relishing the warmth and steady rise and fall as Peter breathes.

This means something, Tony thinks. There’s a reason you don’t mind when it’s Peter. Tell him.

Tony swallows, anxiety ripping through him.

It’d be weird, wouldn’t it? To just say it. For all Tony knows, Peter is accepting their pseudo-cuddling simply because he’s tired and his back is making it hard for him to sleep.

And besides, Peter probably already knows. It’s been an unspoken thing for months. Tony doesn’t need to say it in so many words.

Peter shivers lightly against him. Chuckling, Tony reaches out and pulls the blanket he keeps around for this very reason off the back of the couch, tucking it carefully around Peter. Affection is cutting through the hazy, fearful thoughts like a knife.

Tell him.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, his heart in his throat.

Silence greets him. Tony’s stomach twists in nerves and dread. Why wasn’t Peter saying anything? Should Tony take it back? Apologize?

He’s about to disentangle his arms from Peter’s and leave when he hears a soft snore.

Closing his eyes as he laughs to himself, Tony buries his smile in Peter’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I love you.” Even if you fall asleep when I’m trying to tell you.

iv.

Tony’s hands are covered in ash.

When Peter died, Tony didn’t say anything.

He didn’t say anything.

“Peter,” he gasps, hates that he’s addressing smeared dirt coated on bloody skin.

“Peter.” A tear drips onto his hand and he sucks in a breath. His heart is on his palms—he’s afraid it will wash off and disappear forever.

“I love you,” he confesses to the ether, the unreachable nothingness Peter is lost to. The red dirt shifts at his feet and there is no answer.

“It’s time to leave,” the daughter of Thanos says. She hauls him to his feet and he sways.

“I never told him I love him.”

“There’s no use telling him now,” she hisses. “He’s dead.”

Tony flinches, his lungs failing to pull in air.

The woman pauses, her mechanical face shifting like a glitch.

“Do you? Love him?” she asks, her robotic voice almost quiet, and Tony blinks in shock. He nods. He tries to say yes but no sound comes out. “Then you are better than my father.”

She turns away, leaving Tony to catch up.

“I will help you save him. So you can tell him.”

The first thing Tony tells himself he’ll do when Peter is once again alive and in his arms is finally tell the kid that Tony loves him more than he thought he was capable of loving anyone.

The first thing he actually does is pass out.

When he wakes up, ripping the IVs and oxygen mask off without a thought, he stumbles toward the couch Peter is sleeping on in the corner of the room, his vision tunneling until all he can see is Peter’s chest rising and falling.

He wants to shake him awake, wants to tug him into his lap and feel his heartbeat under his palms, a constant reminder that Peter is alive alivealivealive.

Instead, he kneels on the floor next to him. He traces cold fingers over the delicate bones of Peter’s hand, the one that partially hangs over the couch cushion.

“I love you,” he breathes.

He presses Peter’s hand to his cheek.

“I love you.”

He leans his head against the couch cushion, watching Peter’s face, lax with sleep. He tries to memorize the way his eyelashes lay over his cheeks, the freckles across the bridge of his nose, the exact curve of his jaw.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, his voice breaking.

He stays until a random nurse finds him and forces him back to bed.

Tony isn’t sure why they’re playing chess, other than that Peter had found the old set while digging through a closet and started setting it up. Tony didn’t even know they had a chess set, suspects it’s Steve’s, from the War judging by how cheap and beat up it is.

“So this should probably be in the Smithsonian, is what you’re saying,” Peter says when Tony tells him that.

“Probably,” Tony admits. Peter doesn’t stop setting up pieces, though, so Tony just sits down across from him.

He’s not very good at chess, never taken the time to practice, though he’s delighted to learn that Peter used to be on his junior high chess team.

“I’ve forgotten everything, though,” Peter mutters, glaring at his white pieces scattered over the board.

Tony moves his rook a couple spaces forward, only realizing after he does so that it opens up his queen to Peter’s knight.

Ah, well. He’s already losing. He sits back, content to watch Peter think.

It’s January and the kid is bundled up in Tony’s MIT sweater with a blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape. He bites his lip while he considers his options, his eyes bright and intelligent.

The rushing warmth in Tony’s chest is familiar by now. He looks back down at the board, staring at his doomed queen.

He’s tired of fighting it. Tired of overthinking it and feeling guilty.

“Peter,” he says. Peter hums.

Tony doesn’t look up at him, just watches as Peter’s hand hovers over the bishop that will capture his piece.

“I love you.”

There’s a beat, and then Peter’s voice, “If you think that’s going to distract me from taking your queen,” he says, knocking the black piece over with a flourish, “you’re wrong.”

Tony huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes a little.

“That’s not why I said it, but it would have been a nice bonus.”

Tony finally dares to glance up at Peter, is happy to find a content smile playing at the edges of his mouth, his cheeks lightly flushed as if he’s pleasantly embarrassed.

Biting the inside of his cheek so his own smile won’t be visible, Tony pulls his bishop back toward his king.

Peter plays again, a quick decisive action. Tony considers his next move—the kid left his queenside castle open, but Tony’s trying to predict if it’s a trap or not. He’s just about to reach for his piece when Peter speaks.

“Tony,” he murmurs, voice low and warm.

Tony looks up, meets Peter’s eyes.

Peter beams at him.

“I love you, too.”

And Tony melts. His heart is beating harder, his entire stomach erupting in ecstatic butterflies. A film of tears blurs his vision, and in an effort to distract Peter so he doesn’t see them, Tony quickly grabs a black pawn, moving it its designated space forward.

It isn’t until a moment later, after he’s blinked the tears away and can see the board again, that he remembers the undefended castle.

“Oh my gosh!”

Peter erupts into peals of laughter at Tony’s exclamation. Tony drops his forehead into his palm, exasperated at himself.

When he looks back up at Peter, the kid is grinning at him.

“That’s not why I said it,” Peter says, a laugh audible in his voice, “but it was a nice bonus.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grouses fondly, shaking his head at his own idiocy, but his smile gives away how little he actually cares about the game.

As he watches Peter quickly put Tony into checkmate, all he can think about is that’s not why I said it. Peter said it cause he meant it.

And Tony meant it, too. More than anything he’s ever said before.

#Irondad and Spiderson #Tony Stark #Peter Parker #MCU #fic #my writing #brotp: speaking of loyalty #the ending sucks but it's fine #how many times can I write Tony saying 'I love you' to a sleeping Peter?#who freaking knows #we're going on number four

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hotheadhero · 5 years ago

Text

Reconcile

“Perhaps you should go to the Goddess Tower and seek her council. Oh, don’t look at me like that! Yes, rumors abound about that place, but it’s also the most private place connected to your goddess here.”

Even as he stands before the entrance of the Goddess Tower with Celica’s advice still fresh on his mind, he can’t bring himself to climb those storied steps and seek divine counsel. For everyone else the tower represents joy, bears witness to fateful promises that will last a lifetime. He has nothing of the sort to make tonight; it would be something like heresy to climb up now. And so he remains at the foot of it, blankly staring up at its peak trying to listen for something he’s never sought out in his life before... and finding, to some distress, nothing at all.

Now, as ever, it would seem he has to muddle through things on his own.

For one normally so hyper, he stands almost statuesque, hand frozen in midair mere inches from the gilded knob. Minutes pass, hours, eons, before he heaves a sigh and, clenching fingers once into a fist, turns away. Exactly what he’d hoped to find here, he doesn’t know... It was stupid of him to even try. Perhaps he’d be better served hunting Linhardt down and apologizing tomorrow. It’s getting late, anyway. Neither of them should be up much longer; and coupling his friend’s general distaste for balls with his own epic (and public) outburst midway through one, chances were just as high the mage had already fled and turned in.

But of course, the goddess still loves her games and whiles. As he trudges back down the short flight of stairs across the cathedral bridge towards his dorm room, who should he find along the way but the very person he wanted most and could least avoid. He looks up precisely when Linhardt does. Their eyes meet. His composure breaks.

Seeing Linhardt again after what feels like ages tears a fresh hole into his psyche. He finds now that all he’s done tonight is delude himself, slap band-aids over his wounds without really assessing their depth. He’s never had any aptitude for healing his physical wounds; whatever made Caspar think he could handle his emotional ones any better? He’s run away from his problems as he always has, never confronting them unless forced; and how it shows when the matter involves someone he can’t run away from, his dear best friend, his fellow student and other half on this same goddess-forsaken campus! The injury is still there, fresh as if he’d torn it now rather than hours prior. It suffocates him, chokes out his power for speech. But speak he must! for he feels the weight of those incredulous accusing eyes on his, near withers under that ocean-ice gaze. Linhardt’s stare is almost frightening when not at their usual half-mast; it pins him like a vampire to the stake. How dare you renounce everything we had? those eyes demand. How dare you go and pretend as if all of this is normal?

“Linhardt, I—”

A wave of emotion crashes over him and drags him under with those two words, as if he’s opened a dam without first seeing how much water it held back. His perfectly rehearsed apology dies in his mouth. He wants to flee but finds himself rooted to drown under the weight of all their past memories. Acceptance. Laughter. Harmless exasperation at Linhardt’s many capricious antics; countless adventures with the other boy in tow. Innumerable times escaping Gilead’s wrath or even Lord Hevring’s. All underscored by an unshakable faith that no matter what he did, Linhardt would always have his back just as Caspar did his. Because they were best friends, brothers from another mother, and they’d never have to fight it out. Because theirs was an unbreakable bond… Up until the moment Linhardt broke it, and everything burned.

(Or was it he who had broken it from the start, and thus he who deserved all the blame? For hadn’t it been Linhardt who’d always had faith in him when even his brother and father did not? Who’d always helped him get back on his feet every time a fight or argument knocked him down? Who’d convinced him he had any shot at any of this when the whole of Enbarr seemed to believe otherwise?)

And he’s my friend besides. He would never lie to me without good reason… Right?

Words fail him as they never do; and Caspar is the first to divert his gaze. His eyes writhe with equal parts anger, guilt, and sorrow. He isn’t blind to the damage he’s done tonight, not at all. He simply doesn’t know how best to make amends.

I can’t deal with this right now.

Then when?

At least you still have the ability to talk to him now. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.

(It is Lloyd’s words that finally rouse him to action, his spiritual older brother with the wise haggard eyes. He can’t allow himself to go the way of Linus, to see Linhardt or himself part ways forever without ever learning the truth.)

“… Why?” he manages at last. It’s a loaded question, far weightier than its one syllable deserves. Why did you lie to me? Why did you break our promise?

Why did you go and leave me behind?

Narrow fingers clench tighter in his palms ‘til they blanche. It's a pain and atonement far too small, he thinks. Pathetic, something hisses inside. Seething with thoughts unvoiced, you dig your own grave even deeper. Did you ever think you deserved such a friend? Dare you think you deserve any at all, after what you yourself did to your best and first most faithful friend?

“I don’t understand.” Not you, not myself. He addresses the air, not his friend’s face; his words drag forth from him, quiet and ragged for what he fears he’s about to hear. ”I thought you wanted me to stay away from you. Grow up, since I haven’t with you always close by. Isn’t that why you left the Eagles for the Deer? Because I’ve done something seriously wrong?”

How it hurts to admit that aloud; but that’s the only thing that can explain all this. Why else would Linhardt dodge his questions and accuse him like that when all he’d done was listen to what he thought he wanted? Ten long years they’ve been friends; he’d thought by now he knew Linhardt’s mind like the back of his hand. Clearly he was in the wrong—and if he’d been wrong about that, what else had he been wrong about? Had he ever really known Linhardt at all?

“I…” Caspar sighs. Head unmoving, his eyes flick up towards the other’s face; but this position makes the back of his eyes ache and so he forces himself to properly meet the mage’s eyes. ”I still don’t think you gave me an honest answer back there, so tell me now. Obviously you didn’t leave the ball early like all the other ones back in Enbarr, so why are you here? Come to tell me off? Go on; I can take it.” Yet his gaze slips sideways again. ”It’s probably nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Oh, but can he? His own words conjure up all manner of past demons – just as they had with Celica, but worse. A formless beast, bearing at times his brother’s face, at others his father’s, appears in his mind’s eye, sinister, venomous. Spiteful. Even Linhardt’s face appears there once, he thinks; and that possibility terrifies him. Julian was right, you know, it whispered, words sinking into his mind like the poisoned claws sinking deep to his bones. You weak, stupid, reckless, irrational cunt. Unworthy of the peerage, let alone of your family’s coveted title. You will never make anything of yourself other than an abject mess. To convince yourself otherwise is the highest of follies. Desist, now. Everyone will be happier with you out of the way.

“If everything you’ve ever done for me was from some misguided sense of pity, then stop. I’m not worth it. Maybe I’ve never been. Not like you.” (Goddess damn it, his hands are shaking; but he can bear it all; he must!) “Just tell it to me straight whether you want me to leave or stay, because whatever we’re not telling each other definitely isn’t helping.”

Honestly, even contemplating the possibility that he could lose his decade-long friend, could already have lost him with his own foolishness, pains him terribly, but maybe things would be better that way. Even if the closure he so desires is spit in his face like his brother’s slander (and Linhardt would be justified in such after what he’s starting to think was an unjustified rant), surely it will be enough to let him move on. Caspar’s sure he can bounce back; he always has… But it will be a damn sight harder without his old friend at his side.

(He’s still not looking at him. He’s too afraid to see what's surely there.)

@linhcrdt

#toaball2020 #thread: reconcile #linhcrdt #length readmore #// here we gooo <w<#// theme song: nier automata's weight of the world #// first drafts this 4-11 waits until now to post #// delays it for your finals but also constantly nitpicks it #// opening celica blurb drafted prior to its appearance in the relevant thread and preapproved by nat

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lyricfulloflight · 5 years ago

Note

Ok, how about an angsty fic where Raven seduces Charles' boyfriends to "check they're faithful"

Okay, so my initial reaction to this prompt was: “horror, pure horror”, “Raven did what now?” “That bitch”. But then, I wrote about it anyway.

I am not yet at 400 followers, so this post will be a bit of a tease. I am at 398 followers though, so very very close. When I get to 400 maybe I’ll fill a happier prompt?

I am posting the start of this because what started as a drabble is now turning into a fic. So here’s the 2,500 + word ‘intro’ to the fic (dear lord what is wrong with me), that tackles this specific prompt. Note to readers: Erik is no where to be found in this part. I decided, for reasons, that Erik would, ever be fooled by Raven trying to get him to cheat on Charles. Never. (I think I decided this for my own sanity).

This fic will then continue, likely on AO3 at some point, as a fake-dating fic. I will include a few more notes at the end of this intro section to explain what will I have planned next.

The Fall

Charles tried to be angry at Raven. He really did. He knew (as a telepath, how could he not know?), that most people would have reacted with anger, or outright rage. Somehow, even all these years later with his mother and Kurt far away, hardly any influence left in his life, he could not help hearing their voices in his head; “You’ve brought this on yourself Charles.”, “This is all your own doing, young man.”. The anger, the shame, the pain of it all turned inward.

Charles slipped away from the door where he’d overheard Raven talking to Hank, tiptoeing without so much as a sound - thank goodness for thick carpets. The scene he’d just witnessed played over and over like a record stuck in an endless loop.

“Well I have to make sure don’t I? That they really care for him.” Raven had explained. “Charles is such a horrible judge of character. He really is the worst telepath of all time.”

“Still,” Hank had protested. “Luring his boyfriends away from him, tempting them to cheat, on purpose…that seems a bit much.”

“Look, two of those guys wanted to sleep with me when I was a woman and told me they weren’t even really gay. If Charles can’t pick boyfriends who know their own sexuality, then he obviously needs my help. You wouldn’t want him to actually keep dating these men would you? They all cheated on him!”

“With you. Because you intentionally tried to lure them away. What if you hadn’t intervened? You never know everything might have been fine!”

“It wouldn’t have been fine, Hank. They’re CHEATERS. If they didn’t cheat with me, or whoever I was pretending to be, they would have cheated on Charles with someone else. They are scum.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. I’m protecting my brother, like any good sister would.”

“I feel the ethics of this situation are rather…murky.”

“Whatever, Hank. I am a great sister. A loving, protective, thoughtful sister who wants only the best for Charles. And all his boyfriends have been awful, so I have no regrets.”

Had all his boyfriends been so awful, Charles wondered? Perhaps they had. Luke had been quite self-obsessed. Really any man who needed to go to the gym every single day, and complained when they weren’t open on Christmas morning, was likely not the best match for Charles. Oliver had clearly been more interested in Charles’ money than anything else – he’d always looked happier after Charles gave him a present than he did after sex, which had been more than a little depressing. Peter, well Peter had a small…appendage…and Charles was certain he would have broken things off with him even without Raven’s ‘helpful’ interference.

It was difficult to remember all the times he’d caught his boyfriend’s cheating, or had to listen to their admissions of having cheated, and realize that every single time his partner, the man he’d loved (or was at least hoping to love) had been kissing his sister. Best not to think about it too deeply.

Hank, of course, had a point – perhaps the cheating never would have occurred without Raven forcing the issue. Which, of course, was where the anger should have come in. But Raven had a point too, they may well have cheated anyway, they could have already cheated before Raven’s seductions for all Charles knew – and that, that was where the self doubt came crashing through.

It seemed, and really how had Charles not realized this before, that he simply was not very lovable. He was not worth someone’s commitment, their devotion, or their undivided affection. Charles, by himself, was not enough. His mother had certainly known, and his step-father. Apparently even Raven knew Charles was lacking, why else would she have done what she’d done? Why else would she have had such success?

Clearly, it was time to give up dating, to give up the fanciful idea of finding ‘the one’. It was simply a waste of his time.

Charles spent the next six months devoting himself to casual encounters, one-night stands, fuck buddies, and random hook-ups.

He also spent very little time with Raven, though if anyone asked he would have vehemently denied it was intentional.

Casual sex was…empty and meaningless. It burned at Charles’ heart and ate at his soul. To go through with it, to make himself into the person he needed to be to flirt outrageously and tempt men who would clearly otherwise overlook him, he drank. He drank a lot. He drank copious amounts of fruity drinks with little umbrellas and sexually charged names. He was reckless and wild.

It worked. Though, honestly he didn’t much like himself in the morning.

He still got up and did it all again the next weekend. And the weekend after that. And the weekend after that.

Eventually it had to start feeling right, either that or it had to end.

It ended. To be precise it crashed into a heap of of drunken excess and drug induced haziness.

It ended in with Charles being shaken awake by a troubled looking young woman in the very dirty bathroom of a club who’s name he couldn’t remember.

“Are you okay?”

Charles peered up at the young woman through heavy lids that couldn’t seem to open completely. His head was pounding, his telepathy muted to nothing more than a whisper, and he wasn’t completely sure he could stand if he tried.

“I’m fine.” He winced at the croak of his own voice.

“Yeah, I’m not buying that.” The young woman replied pointedly. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Charles felt at his pockets and found them empty.

“Would I be able to use your phone?” Charles asked with a wince. “I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“Took your stuff, huh? Assholes. Come out to the front, you can use the phone at the bar. I don’t really have much money I can lend you -”

“No, no, I don’t need any money.” Charles rushed to interrupt. “I…I’m sure someone can come and pick me up.”

“You know…” The women began hesitantly, “you should probably use my phone. You…you’re not going to want to go out there.”

“I look that bad, do I?” Charles said with an embarrassed smiled.

“Yeah. You look…well, make your call and see for yourself.”

She held out her phone and Charles took it. He dialed a number he hadn’t called in months, crossed his fingers and hoped for an answer.

Raven picked up after six long rings.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Raven. It’s Charles.”

“What the fuck are you calling me for at five in the morning?”

“I need you to come get me.”

“Come get you…are you in some kind of trouble Charles? Are you hurt?”

Charles could hear the sounds of movement through the phone and the edge of panic in Raven’s voice.

“I’m fine.” He answered. “I just…someone stole my phone and my wallet at a club and I need a ride home.”

“Where are you?”

Ah, good question. Charles took the phone away from his face momentarily and smiled his best charming smile at the young woman currently staring down at him.

“Where am I, exactly?” He whispered.

He wasn’t exactly surprised by the sad look the woman gave him as she recited the name of the club and its address. Charles was more than a little depressed to realize he was quite so far away from his home in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It would likely take Raven the better part of an hour to come get him. He sighed. There was nothing for it, he had no one else to turn to who cared enough to come get him and had a car.

Charles got back on the phone and gave Raven the address. He had to pull the phone away from his ear when she yelled at him for being an idiot and making ridiculous choices and why would go to some club that was almost outside the city, etc, etc.

“You’ll come get me though.” He ventured when her tirade ended.

“Yes, you fool. I’m almost down to the parking garage. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Charles hung up and handed the phone back to the young lady, and thanked her profusely for her kindness. She nodded, gave him one more sad, troubled look and then left.

Alone, Charles managed to heave himself up off the floor, though not without a great deal of effort. His limbs were stiff and sore as if he’d spent a good portion on the evening stuck in a very uncomfortable position, which frankly seemed quite likely.

One look in the mirror was all it took to understand why the young female employee had thought he might not want to come out of the bathroom. Charles was absolutely covered in…things. He was almost certain a great deal of the sticky, multicoloured stains on his shirt were from various types of alcohol. However, he also had to admit that the crunchy, dried substance in his hair was most certainly not alcohol. He immediately turned on the tap and stuck his head under the bathroom sink. There was no way in hell he was going to have Raven pick his up from a club with come stuck in his hair. He had some dignity after all.

After washing his hair as best he could, Charles decided it was best to try the same with his shirt. He winced as he struggled out of his white v-neck shirt, his muscles protesting each movement. He succeeded in the end, and ran the shirt under hot water for several minutes before wringing it out and sticking it under the hair dryer in an attempt to dry it out.

As he held his shirt under the air flow, he took a quick glance at his torso and discovered he was covered in bruises, many of which bore the distinct look of finger prints. His neck was worse than anything, absolutely covered in great purple bruise and teeth marks, one of which appeared to have broken the skin.

Charles found himself shaking at the sight and the realization he had no idea how he’d gotten any of the marks. A wave of nausea hit him like a freight train and he stumbled into the nearest stall and vomited violently.

What in the world had he done? How could have have let himself fall this far, spiral to such an incredible low point? Waking up in a bathroom with no memory of the night before was appalling and terrifying. As a telepath, he was generally cursed with excellent recall of people and events. He couldn’t remember anything about the night before beyond accepting a particularly large slushy drink from a man at the bar. Which meant, dammit, that he had more than likely been drugged. Lovely.

When Raven arrived he was going to get her to drive him directly home, where he could have a very, very hot shower, and he was immediately heading to the nearest clinic for testing. And he was never, ever doing this again. Ever.

Forty five minutes later, almost on the dot, the kind young lady from earlier poked her head into the bathroom and let him know his ride was here. By that time Charles shirt was still stained, but mostly dry and smelled slightly less of alcohol and…other things. Charles took one last look at himself, the damp hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the mass of bruises on his neck and prepared himself for an epic dressing down from his sister.

Her absolute stunned silence when she saw him was somehow a million times worse. Raven always had something to say and to think his behaviour had literally shocked her into silence was a clear message unto itself. Charles had crossed a line that even Raven had no response to.

The silence lasted almost until they reached Charles’ apartment building.

“Charles…” Raven’s voice was barely audible above the low level volume of the radio. “what are you…what do you need me to do?”

Charles sighed. “I’m going to go upstairs and clean myself up. Then I need to head to the clinic. You’re…” He closed his eyes, hesitant to make the offer, but determined to push onward, “you’re welcome to come with me if you like. But I’m fully capable of taking care of myself if you’re busy.”

“Fully capable…” Raven whipped her head around to stare at Charles as she parked down the street from his building. “Charles have you seen yourself? You look atrocious. You look…I’ve never seen you look like this in my life. I will take you to the clinic. I will take you to a therapist. I will take you anywhere and do anything that will guarantee I never, ever see you like this again. This is scary Charles. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry.” Charles said, reaching out to touch Raven’s hand. “I made a mistake. It’s not going to happen again.”

“I’ve barely seen you in six month Charles. Has it been six months worth mistakes? Six months of morning like this that I didn’t know about?”

Charles felt crushed under the helpless look in her eyes. The truth was the last six months had been full of out of character behaviour and more than a few risky choices. Nothing compared to the past 24 hours though.

“I…I’ve had a rough go of it lately. I was trying to be someone…else.” Charles said, meeting Raven’s gaze directly. “I was trying to be someone who’s sister didn’t feel she had to vet their boyfriends because they were a shit judge of character. I was trying to be someone who’s boyfriends didn’t all cheat on him with said shapeshifting sister.” He finally admitted.

“Oh. Oh, Charles.” Raven’s eyes teared up, though in typical fashion, she somehow held them at bay. “I didn’t know…you weren’t supposed to know.”

“I know. But I found out and I thought…I thought I should try something different.”

Raven huffed. “So you decided not to judge anyone’s character at all and just sleep with any man with a pulse. That’s a brilliant choice Charles.”

Charles winced as Raven struck him firmly on the arm.

“Promise me you will never do ‘casually reckless’ again Charles. Promise me you’ll just go back to being you. The real, genuine you that I, and anyone worth your time, will love.”

“I promise to never do casually reckless again.” Charles vowed.

They exited the car and walked slowly to Charles’ building where they were greeted by a surprised, but doing he best to hide it, doorman who had known Charles since he was sixteen and starting college. Charles felt himself flush from the roots of his to the collar of his shirt.

When Charles finally got upstairs and opened his front door he felt a wave of relief: home, safety, comfort.

Raven however, wasn’t quite done.

“You didn’t promise the last bit Charles. You didn’t promise to be your genuine lovable self again.” She said with a teasing smile.

“No I didn’t.” Charles agreed. “I think…I think after everything, the last six months, my inability to have a loving committed relationship with a man who won’t cheat on me, I think I can admit the truth: I am simply not fit for romantic consumption. That man, that ‘lovable’ man you think me to be? He doesn’t exist.”

Charles turned on his heel and headed for his room. He took a long hot shower. He went to the clinic and got tested and waited none too patiently before he finally received a clean bill of health. He moved on with his life. If that life was now a perpetually lonely single life, he told himself he simply didn’t care. He told himself he didn’t care so much, he almost believed it.

The End…so far

So this fic will turn into a fake dating situation where Raven and Hank are getting married. Charles, who has lived in last five years as a celibate monk is in need of a date. He knows how much it will mean to Raven if he starts dating again, especially for her wedding. He runs into Erik one day (literally because that’s how this trope works folks) and spontaneous asks him to pretend to be his boyfriend at his sisters wedding. Erik agrees. Fake dating commences.

Thank you @akasanata for putting this story in my brain with your prompt. I apologize for this first part being so…dark, but it really couldn’t be anything but I don’t think.

#lyric writes #400 followers drabble #its not a drabble #nor do i have 400 followers #i'm a liar #cherik fic?#sort of pre-cherik fic #promise of cherik to come

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silviasutton1989 · 5 years ago

Text

The Guest Ch.9 “It’s Going to be a Long Night.”

It was going to be a long night.

Candace figured as much, watching Drake's mother chug down the remains of her bottle. She carelessly flings it aside letting it roll to a family of abandoned others underneath the couch.

The Walker home was charming and cozy, the walls filled with pictures, each room had its on braided rug to to protect your feet from the cold hard wood floor. Nothing in the home seem to be decorative only necessary for comfort.

Mrs. Walker stayed on the floor. Her eyes closed to the world.

"How long did it take for you to find me this time?" the words slurred and she talked slowly to make sure she was understood.

"Two days." Drake responded sucking down his anger ...and embarrassment.

"Woah...you're getting good at this."

Candace forced herself to stare at the family portrait. Somehow the idea of looking at Drake's mother in her predicament seemed intrusive. So her eyes stayed to the family on the wall: a tall man who stood firm but proud his dark brown hair combed back but one unruly strand hung upfront, a young girl in a bright pink dress her two front teeth gone but she dawned cutest grin, a young boy spitting image from his father trying his best to mimic his stance and a woman between them all her smile warm and happy. What happened to them?

"Mom can you stand up? Let's go take a bath."

"Pshh...who's the parent here?!" Drake's mother squeals trying to stand to her feet but is pulled back down by her own weight. As she plops, she laughs.

Candace thought it was a laugh...at first. The sputtering chortles soon became painful wails. Her thoughts on privacy for the woman disappeared. She wanted to know how she got to this point. What happened to her?

"You know...I tried to call her to wish her a Happy Birthday. Did she tell you that?"

Candace and Drake stay silent. It was the most coherent thing she'd said all night, yet to Candace it made no sense.

"She?" the question flew out before she could stop it. Drake gives her a hard look and she wished she'd just left the room when he brought her.

"She's talking about my sister." informing with a huff.

"Drake, don't you dare act like you didn't know. She talks to you I know she does! But ...not me. I called her! I told her I loved her so much I...I'm so sorry for what I did to you...to both of you. I just can't get up. I can't get off this damn floor! I want to, I just can't--"

"I'm going to help you up, Momma." Lifting his mother from the floor carrying her body to the bathroom

"That's not what I meant." She says softly to her son who pretends he doesn't hear. He could only the fix the physical needs of his mother anything else would be too challenging.

What the hell was she thinking coming with him? Beating herself with the question over and over as she cleaned the kitchen. It was the only thing Candace could think to do while Drake was in the bathroom with his mother. She could hear them argue for a second before the water started to run. She decided to make herself useful and start a pot of coffee.

That's why you came right? To help?

"If you want to turn back now, I understand." Drake slouched on the couch his head tilted to the ceiling eyes shut. "It's going to be a long night tonight...."

"Do you usually detox her here or..." She wanted to tread lightly. Drake was hard to read. Sometimes he'd look at you with eyes that can hurt you or heal you and she wasn't sure how open he could be in this situation. "I just meant would she be going ba-"

"I could take her back now and she'd just leave a week or two later. but.. it's like New Year's when she sobers up. She gets into this health kick swearing she will be straight. And she does for a while. Then..."

Figuring the sentence didn't need finishing he lets the word hang there.

"So you have a sister. Does she comes to help with all of this."

His answer is a long yawn as he sinks lower into the couch, predicting this is the closest amount of sleep he'd be getting tonight. Drake rounds his neck and shoulders to relieve some tension."She stopped helping a while ago. With a baby to think about she needed a better environment."

"Oh..she has a baby?" Watching him trying to get comfortable, her hands, without a second thought, made their way to his shoulders working through his tense muscles pleased with herself as he grunts his appreciation.

"Yeah she lives in Paris now. The last time my mom relapsed I was away in college and Savannah was here with her. When she found out she was pregnant she took mom back to the center and moved out. She called me told me she had this affair with some guy but the relationship was over, she was pregnant but would be fine. I had to agree to allow her to make her own choices about her situation in order to be in her and Bartie's life. Ohh..." Candace could feel him soften in her hands and worked on the spot more. "But ...but she's doing so good I can't ask her to uproot her life."

"Yeah but you shouldn't have to do this on your on..."

Drake reaches up putting his hand onto hers . "You're here."

"Yeah but..."

"So. Tell me about you and Liam. I want to hear how this love story came to be." quickly changing the subject Drake took his hands away allowing Candace to continue to work on his tired body.

"Not much to tell. We worked together had a few dates and--"

"No no...I know there's a story there. I know Liam, and he's nothing short of grand romantic gestures. So what was it? Some horse drawn carriage ride to a candle light--."

"It was a funeral." Drake's silence made Candace chuckle and began her story.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" his deep brown eyes wide and hopeful his gaze never leaving hers.

"This is one of the most expensive restaurants in Queens. You can't afford this." Candace's smile was bubbly an bright but she couldn't help that. Her date had that effect on her.

"How do you know what I can afford?"

"Because I know where you work. And our drinks will probably be your entire check." they both chuckle .

"True..but you didn't answer my question."

"Yes, Drake I am enjoying myself."

The date went on with conversations filed with laughter and moments of silence when the two couldn't take their hungry eyes from each other. It all ended when her phone rang.

"Yes this is she....Oh my G--" Candace stands to her feet her body shudders in horror. When the call finishes she looks to her date. "I'm sorry I have to go."

He didn't say anything quickly taking her into his arms to calm her. She didn't hear him order the food to be bagged or for a cab to brought up front. Her mind was in a daze and it wasn't until she was in the cab and Drake asked her where they needed to go that she finally spoke.

"My foster mom passed away."

"I'm so sorry....should we go to the hospital?"

"No it was the funeral home that called me. Apparently she had everything arranged. I was listed as person of contact...

"Tell me where we need to go."

She gave him the address and in what seemed like minutes they were standing in front of her childhood home. Her hands still shook as she took out her keys. She was just there last week. Bridgette, her foster mother, insisted that she come by to helped her pick out the dress for her date tonight. She could have told her something was wrong. She could have helped.

"Is there family we need to call?" Drake hadn't left her side since the restaurant. His hand smoothing the shakes of her body. She didn't dare pretend to not want him there, figuring he would leave once he got tired of it all. It was nice to have someone, knowing that once he did eventually leave she would be completely alone.

"She has a brother in D.C. he needs to know."

"Ok anyone else?"

"No...other than the foster kids. But we all grew up and went our separate ways. I'm probably the only one who stayed in town...why didn't she tell me?"

The wave of tears were building up and she couldn't suppress them anymore. He's definitely leaving now. But then his hands were on her shoulders softly messaging. He let her cry and eventually when she calmed down they found a couch and she cried again.

She must have said something through all her blubbering because Drake responded with warm words of "You are not alone." and "I'm not going anywhere." until she fell asleep.

"And he didn't..." Candace hands still on Drake's shoulders her thoughts miles and years away. "While I was calling the church and trying to find all the kids she fostered and anyone who may want to attend the funeral, Liam was taking her dress to the dry cleaners checking on the flower arrangements. I don't know if you would call that a grand gesture but by the end of the funeral I was in love with him."

"If that's true why is your hands all over my son?!"

Candace jumped to find Mrs. Walker standing in front of them.

"I was just..." the words weren't forming as quickly as she needed them to so she stopped trying once the woman began to smile.

"I'm only teasing honey. Ohh you made coffee. I like you already."

Candace confused looks down to see Drake sound asleep.

"Let him sleep dear. My sobriety wont hit till morning so tonight he can rest."

Candace walks over to the kitchen making two cups of coffee.

"You know you've really made a name for yourself around here. “The guest who will be queen.” I wonder has the news hit that you left the palace."

Candace let the morning newspaper answer that placing it in front of her.

"Well I'll be. They think you went home? Ha the gals back at the center are going to have a field day when I get back to tell them the future Queen of Cordonia helped me detox."

Candace shifted in her seat. "I'm not..."

"Tell me honey what in blazes would make you leave a prince to fend off those hungry pack of she wolves alone."

"I wanted to help Drake." She had said it so many times but just now saying in front of his mother she finally heard the lie for what it really was "Honestly I had to get out of there. Those women are--"

"Evil...you should meet their mothers. Poisonous things they are! So I guess in a way you're detoxing too. Just don't be like me I was so wrapped up in that fear of not belonging to them I never realized that would be the worst thing for me."

Candace eyes widen to the drunken ladies wise words.

"That's 3 years of therapy for you. Ha!"

Mrs. Walker looked over Candace for a long moment. So are you in love with Drake too?"

"What?! I... what?!" the question so direct it almost knocked her off her chair. "No no no no ma'am. We are just friends."

"Yeah but Drake's never brought any other friends here before. So I've got to wonder. Because my son is plenty of things but an open book is not one of them. He's choosing to open up to you and I'm very curious as to why."

Not having an answer for her Candace makes only a quick look to the back of Drake's head. That would have to be a question for another day.

"So you think Liam is fending off the women?" Changing the subject.

"If he loves you he will for as long as he can..but honestly those girls have been trained to hook men. It's in their DNA they were raised in knowing that men in power are their goals. So best believe if you think they were vicious with you, now that you're gone the games have only just begun for the poor boy."

It's not every day when a man is escorted to his room...by a beautiful woman no less."

Liam flashes a quick grin to Kiara . It wasn't his best line but it made her smile hopefully that would be enough to get keep her happy. All he wanted to do was sop smiling a go to bed. He needed Kiara gone to do that though.

"Well you're not every man are you, my future King?" She bats her eyes at him picking up the speed in her steps as they reach his chambers.

"Well I think I've reached my stop." moving towards the door but Kiara dashes to block it with her body.

"No ...j'ai dit non! Now I have walked you to your room for the past 2 days..."

"Yes you've been very persistent." Kiara's smile is strained as she holds her stance.

"I wasn't finished... we have been doing this little tete-a-tete for too long now. Now I know that with Candace gone--"

"She'll be back soon."

"Sure she will. But a man..." her hands roaming his shoulders "A man like you deserves la petite mort from time to time..

"I should really be going ..." those were the words he spoke but he didn't move, one hand gripping the door knob the other glued on Kiara's waist . It only takes her a second to realize his struggle and she beams. Leaning in closer to him allowing her low voice to titillate his ear.

"I can keep a secret my king...If she comes back ...I would never tell her."

"If?!" that's all it took for his body to move allowing the door to slam in her face.

Resting his head on the door Liam closed his yes to the world . Taking deep breaths to calm his heart he repeated the words in his head over and over again like a mantra. ''She's coming back. She's coming back. She's coming back."

The wrap at the door forced him out of his prayer.

"Lady Kiara please go to your room. I 'm really tired."

"But I want to join the party too..." she calls from behind the door.

"The what?" Liam opens his eyes, it's then he notices the low light from his bedroom. Cautiously walking towards the light he can only hope it's Candace finally home in bed waiting for him. But as he spreads open the door the sight of them reassures her absence. There in his room, in his bed, were all the ladies of the court all in nothing but lingerie their wanting eyes directed towards him.

Liam takes a step back his body thinking ahead of his brain this time and ties to pivot out the room but Kiara catches him.

"Hey you all didn't say we were wearing lingerie"

"You were too busy trying to cheat." Madeleine quips.

"No matter...I always come prepared. " Standing in front her future king, she unzips her dress letting it fall to the floor, giggling as his eyes involuntarily scan over her black lace bra and panty set, slowly turning around so that he could take in every curve as she saunters over to find room in the full bed.

"Wha--" Liam's mouth tried to form words but his brain was not producing any. Clearing his throat to try again but his mouth went dry.

"Penelope!" Olivia orders " Fetch our kings some water. He's thirsty."

Penelope does as she's told handing him a glass and scurrying back to her place. Liam hadn't moved his eyes unable to leave the rainbow colors of bras before him, and skin he also could not unsee all the skin.

"Fuck..." was all he managed. the room filling with flirtatious giggles.

It would be a long night.

THE GUEST IS UPDATED ON MY MASTERLIST

@agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis@missevabean@blackcatkita@darley1101@jadedpixiescribbles@indiacater@umccall71@speedyoperarascalparty@findingdrake@stopforamoment@mrsdrakewalkerblog@bobasheebaby@itsmychoicebih@gardeningourmet

@hopefulmoonobject @smalltalk88@boneandfur@cordoniansqueen@choicesbyjade@ladynonsense@jovialyouthmusic @carabethpow@iloveliamrys@sarwin85 @innerpostmentality@kingliamchoices @smalltalk88 @indiacater

#king liam #mc x liam #choices fanfiction #trr fanfic

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wayward1967writings · 6 years ago

Text

When the Dust Settles

Steve x Reader, 8,563 words (might add some parts to this later)

You hear Natasha yell your name before throwing one of Thanos’s mutts your way. Yanking a vibranium dagger from your leg holster, you flip the weapon and shove the blade into its skull. Nat nods to you before turning violently on her heel and throwing herself back into the fight. As you try and recover your footing, you’re tackled at the waist by another one of the slimy, sharp-toothed beasts. Its size advantage and sheer ferocity awards it an angry bite into your side, effectively penetrating your stealth suit. Gritting your teeth and feeling your skin being ripped, a rush of adrenaline pumps through your veins and you manage to strike the beast’s neck hard enough to get it to release its jaw.

Effectively having pissed the thing off, it snarls and narrows its amber gaze, ready to go for your throat. But, just as it was about to break through your hold, a blue glow whips above you and takes the thing’s head clean off. You wish you could afford to be stunned, or at least assess the injuries you just got, but the situation requires you to haul yourself back to your feet as quickly as possible.

Looking across the bloodied Wakandan field, you find Thor catching a weapon that is not Mjölnir. Plus there’s lightning coming out of him. Looks like Point-Break got an upgrade.

“Bring me Thanos!”

Thor’s voice barrels out of him, and he brings his new battle axe to the ground with force enough to wipe out a few hundred of the mutts. You can see the Thanos’s children hesitate. You smile.

And for a fleeting moment you are free from attack, taking stock of where your other companions are. Natasha, Sam, Rhodey, Bucky, Okoye, T’Challa… Steve. There he is. Not that you doubted him, but going into a fight as big as this one, you were losing your mind worrying about him. Hell, on the quinjet to Wakanda you sat ten feet from him, not able to look with the intrusive thoughts of what could go wrong.

Those thoughts alone made you sick, but it also kept you fighting.

You grab your gun and start rapping off shots and taking more and more monsters down. Once you’re out, you switch in mags and draw different weapons to continue slashing through the hoard.

“Y/N!” Sam yells, pointing yours and Nat’s attention towards a bunch of alien machinery bulldozing its way towards you. He darts down, trying to find a way to help without getting shredded, but can’t find a window.

You, Natasha and Okoye don’t have much option but to plant your feet and brace yourselves. But then, before it can shred the three of you, a red glow entraps the discs and throws them to the side, eliminating even more threats. Looking up, you find Wanda present and ready to fight.

“Why was she up there all this time?” Okoye gestures with her spear, pointing back towards the palace.

You puff out a small laugh, a little relieved to see Wanda back with her head in the game.

Then, remembering that same feeling of relief from moments ago, you scan for Steve again. He’s heading into the forest after another one of Thanos’s children who drags Vision behind him. Bucky, wielding both an automatic rifle and a goddamn… raccoon? He is too deep in the fight to go back Steve up, and your gut takes an emotional hit— this scenario takes you back to the conversation you had with him while you were gearing up to fight.

“We got twenty until we ship out,” Steve calls from outside the helicarrier, addressing you, Natasha, and Bucky.

After reuniting with T’Challa and the newly named “White Wolf,” everyone broke off to gather themselves and their weapons. While the warriors went to their quarters, and T’Challa and Okoye showed Wanda and Vision to the lab, you few went to the helicarrier to retrieve your weapons.

Looking away from your locker you nod at his orders before returning your gaze and gluing it to the cold metal again. Pretending to scan over the bold letters of your last name, you wait until Steve’s steps are far enough away to show any kind of emotion. After he’s gone, that’s when you allow your eyes to go sad and vacant. You know what’s coming, and you’re not prepared for what it might cost you.

Behind you, Nat closes up her locker. She spares you a glance, having read your body language a mile away, but knows now isn’t the time to get into it. So, instead, she treks out of the aircraft to call Barton. Figures that she should talk to him and the kiddos, it being the end of the world and all.

Knowing full and well that Bucky is still there, his unit being two down from yours, the locker door serves as a shield that you hide behind. But, whether he can see you or not, Buck can hear your labored sigh clear as day. The two of you haven’t had too much time to spend together, but in the past few months you’ve called to check in on him and let him know how Steve was doing— the stubborn star-spangled ass would never be honest about what was going on with him, too worried about Bucky’s mental state to show any pain or hardship, so you served as that link in their relationship. At the same time though, you got to know Bucky a little bit better. It didn’t take long to understand why Steve would fight so hard for him.

Similarly, whether you liked it or not, Bucky got to know you a little better too. Between the way that you talked about Steve, to the way that you made sure to ask about himself, Buck understood how deeply you cared and how willing you were to push down your own feelings for the right cause. Made sense why Steve talked so fondly of you.

So, for the sake of his old friend and his new one, Bucky reaches up and curls his fingers around the top of your locker and swings it open a smidge wider. The metal creaks a little and covers up the weak sniffle you do before digging your teeth into your bottom lip. But, there’s no disguising the sadness and fear in your eyes. Bucky would know, he sees that shit in the mirror on the daily— What can he say? Nightmares are a bitch.

Feeling his gaze on you, there is a damaged smile that forces its way onto your face. You try to ignore his intentions, softly moving your hand to close up your locker, but Bucky holds his ground. It was a feeble attempt in the first place, because you knew you were never getting off that easy.

“C’mon,” Buck starts, “not an option. Talk to me.”

You’re surprised with how straight-forward he is, but there’s a part of you that should have known. For all the times you’ve gotten him to open up, it’d only be fair for the expectation to be the same on your end, at least every once in a while.

“I just, uh…” you start, but get stuck looking for the right words to cover up what your feelings and what it will take to get him to drop it.

Bucky waits.

“This fight’s the big one. Everything has led up to this, one way or another, and there’s a decent chance it may not go our way this time.” you say, as shortly as you can, and hope that’s enough for him.

It’s not.

“No offense, doll, but that’s some bullshit,” he nags, and his new and improved metal arm comes up to hold your shoulder. “Ya tell me what’s really goin’ on now?”

You sigh hard and can feel an ache in the back of your throat where the words should be. The burning in your eyes brings just a glint of a tear, but you withhold most of the emotion and speak up.

“It’s the big fight, and he only has one big fight move, ” you say, and your voice nearly breaks on your words. “We don’t even know what we’re walking into, but… but I know that I might watch him die trying to save us.”

Buck looks down to the steel floor, having thought about the exact same thing himself. The only difference is that Bucky knows what it’s like to have to live without him. He knows what it’s like to live with that pain, and he also knows how to survive it. And he doesn’t want that for you, or himself, again— not ever. After you stash another blade in the pocket lining the of your boot, Bucky relents, and this time when you go to close up your locker he lets you. Being able to read your jaded and calloused movements, he knows where and when to push or ease up.

As much as you would like to walk away, you know you owe him more than that. Instead you cross your arms over one another and look up at the man before you. He will know just what to say, and honestly at this point you need something good to get you through whatever is about to happen.

“You know that thing Steve and I always say to each other?”

You sigh.

“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line,” you recite, having heard it and appreciated the brotherhood it entailed, but have a certain resentment for it at this exact moment in time.

“Exactly. And I can tell ya, and you can believe me because I know a little somethin’ about dying, that this isn’t it. The little shit’s got too many swings left in him” Bucky says, evenly and with enough confidence to almost make you believe him. “Trust me, Rogers ain’t dying on my watch. The line ain’t up today, kid.”

To your surprise, as well as Bucky’s, when he finishes his little speech, he moves forward and wraps an arm over your shoulder and the other around your middle. Couple years ago, that action would have been impossible for him to do with his childhood best friend, let alone you. But, when you hug him back, it’d seem as though you had known him for your entire lives.

The words he says next also make it sound like he’s got a wire-tap in your own fucking head.

“Plus, I don’t think— even if he tried— that you’d let him off that easy. No way.”

And, of course, Buck was right. There’s no way Steve’s ever getting off that easy— not with Bucky, and not with you..

“Go help Spangles,” Nat says, having followed your gaze to the treeline. “I got her, don’t worry.”

You know her reassurance is in reference to Wanda, and you nod. Since Pietro died and Wanda has been an Avenger-in-training, you and Natasha had become mentors to the girl. With all of the power and emotional stress surrounding her, the two of you seemed to be a good fit.

Approaching the girl, you force a little smirk and blow a stray strand of hair from your face. Wanda looks distressed, no doubt worried about Vision, and you put your hand on her shoulder. Leveling your eyes with hers, you attempt to somehow pass on a hope that you’ll all walk away from this okay. She puffs out a little breath, knowing exactly what you’re doing, but it puts something close to a smile on her face. Once you see that, you nod towards the direction Steve just went in.

“You mind giving me a boost?” you ask.

“I don’t know if you can handle the superhero landing,” Wanda taunts, “Or did lover-boy show you how it’s done?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, lightly knocking her shoulder with yours before taking off at a sprint. Then, once you’ve hit your peak speed, you launch yourself upwards. Wanda manipulates the matter around your legs, propelling you further over the chaos below.

Where you land is about twenty feet from the brush, so you have time to slow your pace and analyze the situation. Moving slowly and calculatedly through between trees, you ping Steve’s tracker and find him another thirty feet out. You try and plan, considering the strengths and weaknesses of the “son” of Thanos. But, apparently Steve has other plans, because as you get closer to his location you can hear the fight start. So much for making a plan of attack.

Bursting through whatever leaves had been giving you cover, you don’t hesitate to attack from behind. Steve, having the monstrous-being distracted from the front, allows you that advantage. Coming in high you grab onto his shoulders, pulling your legs up and around his head, knocking his spear from his hands and delivering several blows to his skull. Angered, he draws a second, smaller blade and jams it into your thigh. This, making you loosen your grip, allows the alien to get his hands on your waist and throw you off. The strength the thing has sends you tumbling and smashing your back against a tree, essentially forcing all air from your lungs.

As you recover, Steve screams for Vision to go, to run, and charges again.

Lifting your gaze from the Wakandan forest floor, you find Vision staggering to his feet, following orders. You attempt to do the same, to protect him for Wanda’s sake and the Infinity Stone for the world’s, but your leg and the lack of air still have you reeling.

When you recover, you find Steve on the ground and Vision raising the assailant on the his own weapon, shoved clean through his chest.

With the threat taken care of, Steve gets to his feet and catches Visions wavering form.

“Thought I told you to go,”

“We don’t trade lives Captain Rogers,”

(True fucking that, Vis.)

After that quip between them, Steve sets Vision on his legs and goes to haul you up just the same. Between the mutt and this witchy-looking fucker, you’re taking your share of wounds already and this fight is just beginning. As you allow yourself to take his hand, drawing you onto your slightly wavering legs, you start the process of tricking your body into not feeling it.

“You okay?” Steve asks, holding your weight against his side. “How’s your leg? Can you walk?”

“I’m good,” you say, nodding, “put me down. I’m good.”

Steve does as you ask, trusting your word, and you stand on your own two feet. Shifting your weight and testing your strength, you feel good enough to keep going. You trained for this. You believed in this. You could do this.

“Thanks for the backup, Y/L/N.”

“You got it, Rogers.”

The exchange is small but familiar. You dust yourself off.

“Vis!”

Wanda comes through the same foliage that you had, and drops to where the man she loves has already re-collapsed. Behind her comes Nat, Okoye, T’Challa and Bucky. In the skies, you spot Sam and Rhodey. Wanda cups Vision’s face, and he’s more panicked than depleted.

“He’s here.”

You all look right, and a blue portal opens up, swirling with a black for. Deploying one of his new shields, Steve directs you all towards it. Thanos steps out. Big, purple, ugly Thanos with the gauntlet, all but one stone locked into it.

“Steve, that’s him.”

Banner attacks first, going in hard, but is easily maneuvered and locked up in the side of a cliff. Steve attacks next and, as easily as swatting a fly, Thanos flips him through the air in the opposite direction. Natasha and Okoye run after him, but are brushed aside and nearly locked into the ground by spikes raised from it. Rhodey attacks, shooting hundreds of bullets at the intruder; they have no impact, and the powers from the glove allow the well regarded military officer to be tossed aside like scrap metal. Then, Bucky comes from the ground-level with the same strategy, and is blasted backwards. T’Challa follows, but is ultimately taken by the neck and slammed hard into the ground. You are forced to hang back a moment, putting more people between Thanos and Vision.

This is it. Wanda has no choice but to kill him. Giving Vision a look, you urge him to convince her.

“Wanda, it’s time.”

You move towards Thanos, managing to land a hit to this shoulder with you foot, but he manipulates time and snags your leg in his hand. As opposed to crushing it, he raises it well above his head and reverses the momentum to whip the rest of your body into the ground. You can feel your ribs crack on the blow, a weak and pained noise defying the strength you try to show. This one you can’t get up from, not now anyway.

So you are forced to watch.

Steve goes back for more, same as always, and defends the people he cares about. Watching him, your heart drops to your stomach and you think you might be sick. Facing off with Thanos, he stops the gauntlet. Steve catches it with his goddamn bare hands, teeth bared and screaming. He pushes back. He fights back.

You hold your breath.

But it’s not enough.

Thanos raises his other fist and cracks Steve over the head with it. He goes down harder than you had.

Struggling and grunting, trying to get your body to cooperate, you can only manage an agonizing crawl forwards. You finally get to Steve and he’s disoriented, trying to shake the blow to his brain. Tugging his shoulder, you try and coax him back, all while raising your gun to Thanos’s back. The bullets barely seem to wound him, but the girl you consider a little sister is dividing her strength between holding back the end and destroying what could have been her new beginning.

And then it all explodes.

A yellow wave of energy erupts from where Vision kneels. It blasts everyone back, and you hear Wanda scream. Still, from this position, the most you can do is try and shield Steve from any more damage. Across the forest floor, you lock eyes with Bucky who looks a good deal concerned and also a good deal fucking pissed off.

When the dust settles, Thanos is standing and Wanda is crumpled on the ground in front of him. He is speaking to hear, and drops his hand gently on her head to pet her hair. Your ears are ringing too much to register what he is saying. But, even without your hearing, you can still see the horrified look on her face.

“Get the hell away from her!”

The command rips itself out of you as you release your last bullet. It does nothing, but, to your surprise, he backs off. Confusion comes over you, but you see Wanda pleading and shaking her head no. Panic hits your chest when Thanos raises the Midas-touched glove and employs the time stone. Right before your eyes, Vision is back. By this point, Steve is with you again, healing quickly and hauling himself up. Once he does, just as before, and he drags you up with him.

Reaching forward, like plucking a piece of fruit from a tree, Thanos rips the stone from Vision’s head, leaving him stone cold and a sickly pale blue as he drops to the ground. Dead. You are all rendered completely helpless to the situation, for the first time, as Thanos puts the final element into place. The power surges through him. You all are powerless, for the first time.

You think it’s over.

Until, just as it happened before, Thor’s weapon streaks across the sky— directly towards Thanos. For the first time, it feels like a win when it land itself deep in the monster’s chest. Thanos is taken aback and wounded, deeply. Even more so when Thor comes forward, thrusting it in even further. Vengeance.

On teetering limbs you move forward, confidence being raised again.

Then, just like Wanda’s had, Thor’s face drops is realization. Thanos raises the glove again. This time he snaps.

A cosmic boom.

You are all thrusted backwards with a second wave of bright yellow light, and the air is knocked hard out of your lungs. Gasping, your eyes roll and you turn on your side. Your ears are ringing, and you feel just about every wound you have reopen.

Fuck

“What did you do?!” Thor booms.

A portal opens, same as before, and Thanos is gone.

Steve, knocked back a couple feet from you has already managed to stand. Panicked, he steps towards Thor to investigate, but stops and looks to you. He wants to help, but you wave him forward. After a moment you get up on your own, but your head is spinning this time. Black specs invade your line of sight, and you attempt to shake them away.

“Where did he go?”

...

“Steve?”

All of your heads snap to Bucky. You blink once, and he has turned to a pile of ash, his gun hitting the cold forest floor. You jaw drops, a weak and quivering breath sucked in between your lips. Steve crouches over where the dust has settled.

“Y/N,”

Wanda.

She looks up, her hand over Visions chest, and disintegrates. Without even registering the sound, you scream and desperately stumble forward again. It is hopeless, because she is gone before you can even get to her.

“Sam, where you at?” Rhodey yells, turning and looking around above the trees.

On top of that, you can hear Natasha yelling for you. You go to respond, when an overwhelming rush of numbness hit your whole body. Your feet are cold, almost like they’re submerged in water. Your stomach drops, and tears well up in your eyes. You’re scared. You don’t want to go.

“Steve…”

He spins fast on his heels, then stops hard when he sees your face. You manage a tragic smile, and give him a little nod. This is it, but you’re okay, because it’s you. It’s you, and it’s not him, so you’re okay.

With that peace, you hit the ground.

When you wake up everything is blurry, and you have to squint to see around the room. It takes you a moment to realize your surroundings but, once you do, it’s surreal. You’re lying in the Avengers facility, in your old room.

You think it’s a dream. It’s been years since you had been there, so how could it be real?

Irritated with the synthetic happiness, you go to sit up.

But then you feel a weight in your lap. Looking down, you find an exhausted blonde haired, bearded man who has been with you since you collapsed in Wakanda. It’d scared the goddamn life out of him when you went down. Both here and back in the Wakandan medical wing, Steve sat at your bedside staring at the wall for hours, thinking about what he would have done if he lost you too, after Bucky and Sam. It would have killed him.

So, even though you “only” suffered from blood loss, he couldn’t leave you again. Even when Nat came in and offered to sit with you, Steve refused to leave. Just pulled up a chair next to your bed, and hasn’t gotten up since. Hell, he hasn’t even gotten out of his suit. But now, after a little over two days of zero sleep, Steve’s cashed out with his arms crossed over your legs, shielding you.

You’re not dead— holy shit, you’re not dead!

“Steve,”

You feel partially guilty for waking him, especially for how tired he looks even dead asleep, but you gotta see his eyes. You put your hand on his shoulder, and he wakes up with a start. Out of instinct his hand flips upwards and catches your wrist. But then, with those slightly imperfect baby blues wide as ever, he lets out a relieved breath.

“Oh my god,” Steve says, yanking you towards him and hugging your form close to his chest. “Thank god,”

Grunting a little on the impact, you try and cover it up with a light laugh, but it’s not enough to fool him. Apparently you’re still healing up from some injuries, and it was just a little too much force to cover your discomfort effectively. As he loosens his grip, his palm holds your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, slightly embarrassed by his actions, but not enough to pull away. “I just… you went down like that, and I thought...”

You grimace a little but also nod, understanding. Stealing a moment for just the two of you, sitting and looking at him, you struggle to put off the inevitable. Just for a few measly seconds, you appreciate the fact that you’re here and he’s here.

Then, bending to your own personal curiosity and sense of responsibility, you take his hand. Whether you like it or not, you gotta face what happened.

“Who all did we lose?”

His face falls like he’s reliving each of them behind his eyes.

“We’re still trying to figure some of that out. As far as we know, in Wakanda we lost Vision, T’Challa… Sam and… and you saw Bucky and— and Wanda,”

Steve’s voice hitches when his lists off his two best friends and the girl that was practically your sister. You bite your lip, attempting to keep your emotions at bay.

“Nat, is she okay?”

He nods, biting down on his lip.

“We still don’t know about Tony, but last location Friday has on him is getting on one of Thanos’s ships; Bruce and Shuri are working on a way to track him with some of the tech Thanos left behind. And, when we were still in Wakanda, May Parker called Pepper about Peter going missing… Friday last has him with Tony, but we’re waiting to reach out to her until we know more.”

You blink hard at the mention of the kid and his aunt. You always thought it was a bad idea to get him involved, but then again, if it were your choice you would have kept Wanda out of it too

“What about Lang?” you ask.

“Alive.”

“Barton?”

“He’s uh…” Steve hesitates, “He’s alive, but Laura and the kids are gone. It’s just him—Nat says he’s a mess. She’s said she was going down to get him and bring ‘em back here once you came to.”

Fuck.

Slowly, you retract your hand from his and adjust to a more firm, upright position, Instinctively he moves his chair closer, prepared to help if you need him.

“No, c’mon Y/N, you need to rest,” Steve pleads, tilting his head a little.

“I need to call her, Steve,” you sigh, leaning over to your bedside table for your phone. “If she doesn’t hear it from me she’ll come back, and she needs to get to Clint.”

The man nods, accepting it, but isn’t happy. You gaze travels up to him again after putting the phone to your ear. It seems as though his tired stature has resettled itself for the long haul, crossing his arms over on the side of your bed and resting his head on them once more. Tilting the microphone down and away from your voice, you put your hand on Steve’s shoulder. The largest response he can manage is to open his eyes sluggishly.

“Go take a shower and get some sleep,” you tell him, “We can talk more later,” Sitting back up sharply he shakes his head no, shrugging a little.

“I’m okay, I’m good here,” he insists.

“Steve,” you try, “just go clean yourself up and then come back.”

Before he can argue with you, Nat answers the phone. With your best puppy-dog-eyed look, you make one final attempt to sway him and he sighs. Steve gets to his feet, obviously stiff from being stuck in that damn chair for the past 48 hours, but stops to lean over you. The gesture comes as a little surprise when he kisses the top of your head and brushes some hair behind your ear.

“Ten minutes,” he whispers to you, then exits your bedroom.

After he’s well and gone, you remember that there’s someone on the other end of the phone, trying desperately to get some answers.

“Steve!? What is going on? I told you I would be back in an hour, how bad is it?”

Natasha is panicked, and for the first time in a while you hear her voice waver and her usual calm demeanor fail. Especially after losing Wanda, hearing Natasha sound like this throws you. Besides Steve, she’s really the last person you have left.

“Nat it’s me,”

Silence, and then—

“Oh thank god,” she sighs.

“Y’know, I’ve been gettin’ that a lot lately,” you laugh, your voice raspy. “How are you doing?”

“How and I doing?” she asks, incredulously, but then covers her feelings once again. “I mean, with all of this diplomacy running me ragged, I may be worse off than you are.”

You laugh through your teeth, looking down to the blankets and shaking your head a little. Nat, always with the jokes. It’s what you love about her. Countless nights, usually following a mission that left you all with bruised bodies and split lips, the two of you would sit around with glasses of rosé in hand and fuzzy grey afghans laid over your laps. After all of the stuff with Ultron, you and Natasha brought Wanda in on your little “girl’s nights.” Then, when you were on the run and going undercover, the movie nights simply shifted to the exchange of old stories while camping out in abandoned warehouses, and everything somehow managed to stay good. Well, they stayed good until everything got blown to hell; now, even the thought of those nights is overwhelmed with grief and longing for the girl that is no longer here. That fact makes you tear up a little. Not too much, but enough to give your eyes a watery glint.

“Nat, you go get Clint,” you say, with a tone more broken than before, “and then you come back, okay?”

She’s quiet again, all except for a somber breath. You continue.

“Just…with who we’ve got left, we gotta be together to figure all this stuff out. ”

“I know, Y/N/N, we will. Just take care of yourself and Nurse Rogers, all right? These past few days haven’t been easy on him either.”

You hum in agreement, and the two of you say short goodbyes before hanging up the phone.

As soon as the line is quiet, your skin begins to crawl. In the back of your distraught mind, there is a trace of a fear that as soon as you hit the “end call” button that everyone else on the earth disappeared. The feeling that you are alone is intoxicating, near enough to make your head spin.

Without a thought, let alone any consideration for the extent of your injuries, you’re hauling yourself out of bed. After the blankets fall from your form, you find that all coverage you now have is wrapped bandages around your torso and a soft pair of shorts. Before walking out, you grab a t-shirt from your dresser. Achingly, you lift your arms and pull it over your shoulders; it’s moments like this that you wish you had some of that super soldier serum.

Steve didn’t get into it with you, mostly because he knew that you would dismiss his concern for you and also because he didn’t want to relive the whole ordeal, but you lost nearly 40 percent of your blood content in Wakanda. It was difficult to see from outside your suit, but underneath you were goddamn painted in sticky, flowing crimson. In most cases you would be dead on the ground, but the Wakandan medical technology was enough to save your life.

Making your way into the elevator and descending to Steve’s floor, you think about the times before that you had done this same thing. Seeking him out at random hours, all for the comfort you can find in each other. Usually, after a nightmare or a shitty mission, you would find your way to his room to talk— even for as much of a tight ass as Steve is in the moment, he could always help you get your head on straight. He was honest, but still kind, even when you messed up. You appreciate that fact.

“Captain Rogers is in the shower, would you like me to tell him you’re coming?” Friday asks, over the elevator comms.

“No,” you answer, “it’s fine.”

The entire Avengers facility is rigged to allow silent mobility around it, so long as you were “preferred personnel.” In the event of emergency or infiltration, Friday alerts the entire building of the intruder but aids those approved to move without a trace until the threat is eliminated. There are also certain systems rigged to set off auditory distractions to throw off intruders, like stacks of books that are systematically pushed off shelves by metal arms.

But, you being you, there is no need for Friday to initiate any stealth or tactical measures. Really, the only reason she asked if she could alert Steve in the first place is because of numerous encounters where his reactions have been nothing less than combat-ready; this—to Steve’s credit— is not something exclusive to him, but there is a little more severity in an oversized, vibranium dinner-plate barreling towards your face.

Now though, since the shield had been confiscated by Stark, that is an unlikely outcome.

Without worry, you proceed deeper into his living-quarters. It’s a good ten degrees cooler than yours, set to counter how warm his super-soldier-body runs, and your bare feet absorb the chill from the wooden floors. Walking at a debilitated but purposeful pace, you make your way to Steve’s bedroom; it’s dimly lit, and smells like Irish Spring soap. As far as you would describe it, the “theme” Stark implemented for Steve’s floor was inspired by a classic, New York apartment. For as high tech as the rest of the facility was made, the playboy-billionaire-philanthropist kept the gadgets surrounding Steve at a minimum. You knew Steve appreciated that.

Still, aside from whatever vinyl records and scribbled notes he has sitting out, a majority of Steve’s personal-effects are tucked underneath his bed in an old shoe box. The rest of his space is majorly impersonal and, if you hadn’t spent so much time in there, it would seem straight out of a hotel. But, because of the safety he provides, the room gives you immediate reassurance.

Without a thought edgewise, you drop onto Steve’s bed and slide underneath his covers. It’s empty and still holds an icy feeling on the sheets, but they’re reassuring nonetheless. It takes no time at all before you begin to feel tired again. Hell, within the first two minutes you’re dozing off.

On the other side of a door, the one into Steve’s bathroom, the soldier steps out from underneath the water and grabs a white fluffy towel from its designated hook. After drying his skin, he ties it around his waist and places both palms face-down on the vanity. At this point, for the first time in a good while, his reflection represents how he’s seen himself: Grown. From the quarter-pint, short-stop kid that he began as, to the genetically enhanced “superhero,” to the first Avenger, to the bearded man he sees before him now. Steve has watched himself physically evolve so many times, and at several points it’s been hard for him to keep up— to feel like himself inside his own skin. To now really see himself in his own reflection is a warm, but foreign feeling.

Steve’s own comfort is quick to make him feel selfish and guilty, so much so that he considers pulling out the clippers. But not tonight— tonight he’s too tired to act on those feelings.

Instead, Steve turns his back on the mirror’s image and gets some comfortable clothes to sleep in. In the corner of the bathroom, his suit lies in a crumpled, dirty heap; especially after having worn it while he sat at your bedside, waiting, the t-shirt and sweats he changes into make his stiff body relax. Then, once more, Steve picks up his towel and hangs it back on the hook before walking out.

As soon as the light escapes the bathroom, the soldier takes notice of the form lying in his bed, and your brief doze is interrupted. Eyes connect, one pair slightly startled and the other a little dreamy, and you smirk. Within a second he shakes the initial shock, and sighs while reciprocating your expression.

Sitting up, you hum a little pained noise and tuck your legs into your body. Steve’s smirk falters and he approaches the bed, visibly worried about you, and runs a hand through his dampened hair. You like how he’s grown it out— not only because it looks good on him, but because it fits. As much as everyone else likes to talk about Steve being the golden boy, innocent and true, you don’t find that narrative to represent him entirely. The whole boy-scout archetype doesn’t consider all the hurt and healing that the man has had to endure in his lifetime. It’s nice to see him a little disheveled. To see him letting the smoke and mirrors fall away, and just be a person. Not Captain America, not the first Avenger. Just Steve. As good looking as the other versions of him have been, this one is your favorite— when all Steve feels he needs to be is himself.

While you watch over him, a pretty and thoughtful look about you, Steve sits down on the same side of his bed. Your back is against the headboard, but as soon as you settle into that position it appears as if your body is vibrating with unsettled feelings— knee bouncing and fingernails abrasively picking at one another, your agitation is not hard to pick up on. At this point, you don’t have the self control to cover up your vulnerability.

Steve notices immediately, and has the impulse to wrap himself around you. Whether you’ve needed it or not he’s always felt that urge, but has managed to hold that feeling at bay. But now, right now, resisting that seemingly simple action is becoming more and more of a fight.

“I thought I was coming to you, doll,” he nags, endearingly, but allows you your space. “You should be resting. Your body is recovering, and I know you’re still tired.”

“I am,” you concede, but cast your glance to the blankets.

It isn’t rocket science to know that your response is a loaded one, and Steve doesn’t hesitate to press you for more.

“But?”

“I, uh— I just…” you falter your gaze moving up to the ceiling, “I couldn’t be alone up there,”

A rosey blush overwhelms your color, and you chuckle lowly at yourself. You feel weak saying these things out loud, and the words taste bitter. There’s more to it than what you say, more about how you’re terrified that everyone else is going to disappear, but you can’t bring yourself to spit any more out. After a few minutes of that thought hanging in the air, and only once you manage to swallow your pride enough to look at him again, you’re met with an empathetic pair of eyes. It’s intense and makes you feel uneasy, like he can see right through you.

You shift, holding your knees tighter to your chest, and unintentionally make yourself look as small as you feel. Steve recognizes what you’re doing right away— he’s seen it before on the quinjet after a bad mission, and once before during a Stark party in a room crowded with people who presumed to know your story. Whether you like it or not, your discomfort makes you dwarf your appearance. It’s your tell.

Responsively, both trained to defuse situations and driven by his deep rooted care for you, Steve shifts closer. When you don’t flinch or shoot him a harsh look, he proceeds, and reaches over your knees to find your hand. You drop your legs, and some of your guard, and let him bring your intertwined fingers to rest in his lap. Steve’s eyes follow his own movements, and stick on your bruised knuckles. He gently traces over them while he speaks, returning some warmth to them as he does.

“These past few days Natasha has been running point on everything. With so many people disappearing, there’s a lot of recon to do. Between governments and criminal operations, we don’t know how much damage those losses have done,” Steve says, and then takes a hard pause. “And I’ve been completely useless to her— I mean, useless…”

He trails off for a moment, having the same trouble to get his words out as you had. Talking about feelings is hard, especially for a person in your guys’s shoes.

“But I couldn’t leave you,” Steve continues, “It’s nuts, because in every other situation I’ve been able to compartmentalize— push it down, stay on top of it, y’know?— But I… I have had just about everyone I care about die on me. My mom, the Commandos, Peg, Bucky, Sam…and I couldn’t do it anymore. For the life of me, I just couldn’t bring myself to leave you. No matter what else has happened in the past two days, I had to be here... And I can’t bring myself to be all that sorry about it, either.”

Making this point, Steve’s eyes retrace their path from your hand back to your face; after admitting to his mindset over these past two days, there is another layer of damage to his expression entirely. Neither of you have ever seen each other in this much pain, not ever, and that part of it is putting you both over the edge.

Steve is caught off guard by your following actions, to say the very least. Feeling a deep balance of grieving desperation and overwhelming warmth, you allow yourself to reach across Steve’s chest, grab his shoulders and maneuver yourself into his lap. There is nothing sexual about it, simply curling your arms around his back and your legs around his waist. You just want to hold him, and be held yourself— a means of comfort for the both of you. Despite his shock at your vulnerability, letting your body relax and lean into him, there is no delay in Steve hugging you back; he isn’t sure when he will have the same opportunity in the weeks to follow, knowing full and well that you’re going to build up your walls once you get your strength back. Emotional barricades on the rise, Steve will do what he can to be there for you right now.

So, he just sits. Holds you close, and pets your hair. Helps you breathe through the pain without completely breaking down because of it. Steve’s good at that kind of thing— being the silent sense of stability. He even goes to the lengths of pretending not to feel your few stray tears trail down your face and fade into his shirt. He knows that you’re pretending not to notice his, either.

After a while you gain enough composure to speak again and, when you do, it doesn’t disappoint.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re alive, you know that?”

Then Steve laughs, both with heart and painful understanding. It’s a laugh, despite any dual meanings, and it jostles both of your bodies. That aspect of it is enough to make you chuckle along with him. Light at first, but then loud enough to bounce around Steve’s empty room.

Eventually you need to pull back from where your head is resting on his chest, the laughter rattling you too much, and you turn your face up towards Steve’s. You’re kind of a mess, a section of hair stuck to your face where the tears had been, and new ones are practically forming over your complicated smile. Steve raises a hand and brushes the damp lock behind your ear, but halts his movements to cup the side of your face. The atmosphere between you two strickens, all laughter subsiding as if you can see the deaths of your friends in each other’s eyes. You bite hard into your lip as the heartache creeps back in.

Steve wants so badly to reassure you; he wants to tell you that everything is going to be okay, that you’ll get back everyone that was lost, and that things will go back to normal. The only problem is, he doesn’t entirely believe those things, himself. However, even in all his uncertainty about the present and about what will come next, Steve does know that he loves you. For a long time he’s known, and for a long time he has held his feelings at bay, all for too many fabricated reasons. But now, with the dust settled around the two of you and so many questions for how to move forward, this is just about the only thing Steve is certain of: he’s sure that he loves you.

So, instead of feeding you some half-hearted, bullshit talk about how it will all be fine, he does something definitive that surprises the both of you. He brushes his thumb against your temple, tilts his head, and he kisses you.

At first you’re too caught off guard to respond; for how long the two of you have been friends, and even for how close that friendship has become, you weren’t sure this would ever happen. With both of your difficult pasts, let alone the issues that come up in the present, it just seemed like the timing would never be right. You knew he cared for you, just as you always have for him, but you weren’t sure if it would be enough to surmount all the divisions founded in your circumstances. So, when he gives you that gentle and knowing look that he always does, but then follows it by softly pressing his rosey lips to yours, it’s safe to say that you’re initially a little shocked.

But then you kiss him back.

And for the next moments you don’t have to think. You’re simply there, locked in the present with the one person who seems to make sense of all your broken pieces; you’d never believe him, unwilling to ever give yourself that kind of credit, but you fit that healing role for Steve as well.

The kiss, as lovely and late as it is, isn’t exactly uncomplicated. With the tingles you feel up from your fingertips and down your spine, there’s an undeniable twinge that hits you right in the chest. It’s a hard feeling for you to place— the slight ache of it making you want to resist the connection, and the incredible relief pressing the question of if you’ll ever be able to walk away. On top of the physical contact, the raging war of emotions in your subconscious makes you warm and a little unhinged. For the first time in a while you are rendered completely incapable of running possible outcomes, and Steve is grateful for that fact— that you’re letting yourself have this time, short as it may be, to just to be a person.

The irony in how you want so many of the same wonderful things for each other, but also never feel deserving of those things yourselves, is enough to drive a person mad.

Eventually, whether reality is really a considered factor or not, you break the kiss — a mutually begrudged decision, but a necessary one. If you hadn’t, there would have been no stopping yourself from trying to taking it further; the last thing you need is the problematic and uncomfortable questions that would most definitely arise from having sex. And, despite your intimate understanding of Steve’s mind and heart, your knowledge of his experience in that category is pretty limited. You know he and Peggy never had the chance, but Natasha’s recollection of Steve’s “I’m 95, not dead” response to her prying questions made you wonder. Either way it didn’t really matter to you, whether Steve’s v-card has been swiped or not, because you know that there would still be a conversation about the act afterwards that you would probably never be prepared for.

So, you regain some self-control and pull away— not far, tilting to rest your forehead against his, but far enough to stop the kiss. Steve sighs and bites his bottom lip, kicking himself. Not because he did it, but because he didn’t do it before. Months ago, when there wasn’t grief surrounding the two of you, and it wouldn’t have feel misguided or selfish to make something of it. To build something from it.

“We should get some sleep,” you say, emotionally and physically exhausted.

Steve only nods in response, his forehead against yours still, and he presses a light kiss to your lips again. You’re right, and he knows it, but it’s hard to bring himself to move. Coiled around him like this, he knows he hasn’t lost you. That you aren’t going to leave, by another attack or your own accord.

“Stay the night,” Steve means to say it as a questions, but it’s more of a statement. Not like orders, but he’s telling you that he wants you there. He hopes you’ll stay there.

“Okay.”

With quiet understanding, you draw back further and crawl back off his lap same as you had gotten into it. Then, knowing Steve prefers the left side of the bed, against the wall with an unobstructed view of the door, you shuffle over to the right.

As opposed to any other night you had spent in Steve’s bed, this time he doesn’t hesitate to roll over and pull your back into his chest; normally he would wait until he was either too sleepy to stop himself or he was too awake to stay away. This time though, he doesn’t waste a second to regain some kind of contact with you— whether it was the silent barrier broken by the kiss, or the fact that he’s scared out of his fucking mind, he’s not sure. But, no matter the reason, it feels right for the both of you. To have him so close makes it all at least a little better.

The two of you settle in hard, both dead tired and damaged, but there’s still an anxious energy between you. There are things left unsaid, and things that still need to be handled, and the dutiful parts of you two Avengers is keeping you awake.

“Y/N/N,”

“Yeah, Rogers?”

“You— you know that I love you, right?.”

A tiny, pained smile hits your lips.

“I love you too.”

With that out there, hanging in the air for a comfortable time, you and Steve have enough mutual assurance to fall asleep. In the morning there will be enough problems, but for now you’re okay. For now, the two of you can sleep.

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mawritesbnha · 5 years ago

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How do writers write?? I can never seem to keep going. Either the work ends up reading like a pre teen wrote it or it doesn’t make sense.

I’m pretty sure there are some pro techniques and tips to be a good and consistent writer… But I can’t give them to you cause I am a veeeery messy one. Honestly I just love words and wanna have a good time. Sometimes I’ll have a thorough plan of how I want the story to go…but even then once I start writing my brain just does its thing and if I try and force it back to the original layout… well writer’s block happen. Ahh muses, such fickle creatures

So anyway that’s my relationship with writing, I can only help you by telling you what I try to be mindful of (I’m not saying I never fail at that cause boy do I…).

And I’ll do that under the cut cause I got carried away.

Now, when you say it doesn’t make sense, do you mean:

Out of character behaviours? If the characters aren’t yours then do you have a good understanding of them? It might help to reread/rewatch their scenes or look up some trivia about them. If the characters are yours are they fully fleshed out? Have you worked enough on them? Part of the work is writing about them so don’t worry if you haven’t nailed down their personality yet, they’ll grow into their own person the more you think and write about them. Either way be very careful to not use the characters as sole plot devices, you have to consider them actual people or else you might be tempted to change their personality or give them motivations that would normally not be theirs in order to serve your vision. Consistent writing is important, nothing matters or makes sense if the rules change with the wind. Writers are not puppet masters, you can only choose to put a certain character in a certain situation, once that’s done you should step back and let the character react and handle the situation in their own specific way. You can give little pushes in certain directions, but not drag them along a path their story and personality would normally not allow them to walk. If the characters do act differently than they usually do then it must be motivated by something. Character growth/development is an important thing and can be pretty lowkey, but you still got to drop some hints here and there that they are changing or else it’ll feel like it was just written for shock value. The opposite, characters reverting back to their former selves, can also happen (as it does in real life, we all have our relapses) but like any issue it needs to be at least acknowledged if not addressed.

It’s hard to understand what’s going on or what’s at stake? Try to keep things simple at first. Write smaller pieces. Don’t go crazy with the drama or the plot twists if you don’t feel comfortable with it. You have to know where you’re going with your story, but it doesn’t mean you have to go far. You can write about many things, it doesn’t need to be a big adventure, you can also describe a quiet and simple moment… If you want to write a big adventure though… Well that’s not exactly my strong suit but again I think you need to know where you’re going. Not every detail obviously, but a general understanding. If you’re confused about the plot or what’s at stake then your writing is going to be messy and confusing too. If you can’t pick a direction for your story why not write two? Also drafts are your friends. Write the structure, get rid of anything superfluous and focus on the core at first. Then add some depth and layers. Revise your work (looking at myself again), if it feels too bushy and complicated then cut down some unnecessary branches. Let it breath.

You know I used to write so freaking much when I was a pre teen, and I was pretty happy and proud of my work. After a while though, I realised that most of it was incredibly self indulgent and really just… cringey. The realisation hit hard and I was unable to write for a long time after that. I still struggle now, thinking stuff like “ugh self insert much?” “omg who cares?” “your wording is terrible but your pacing is worse” “that dialogue feels forced and unnatural” “stop pretending to be a writer you don’t know shit about writing” etc etc…

And you know what, that’s true I’m not a professional writer, but like I said I just want to have fun with something that brings me joy. I don’t know if cringe culture is a thing or not, but one thing is certain: we should be gentler with ourselves. I’m not saying we should never acknowledge the flaws in what we do, cause being critical is how you grow, but recognising that something can be improved doesn’t mean it’s all bad. We should learn to acknowledge the positive aspects, not just the negative ones.

What I’m saying is don’t put too much pressure on yourself, don’t look down on your efforts, nothing should ruin writing for you.

If it feels like a pre teen wrote it because:

The writing style seems simplistic? That’s not necessarely a bad thing. True, a bunch of short and straight to the point sentences can be a little boring, but overly complicated and fancy sentences that never seem to end or go anywhere can be confusing and tedious to read. Also it might feel like you’re either pretentious or trying to prove something to yourself (I’m looking at myself as I type this). What you want to be careful about though are repetitions. They break the flow and can take you out of the story. Expanding your vocabulary is always a good thing too but it’s important to not sacrifice consistancy for fanciness. What I’m saying is that your writing style can change from one work to another but not within the same work so be mindful to not switch from one level of language to another.

It’s self indulgent? Who cares? No really it’s okay if you want to indulge yourself, your writing your rules. Now if you don’t want it to be then analyse your work and see where you might be bending things to suit you. Are the characters acting like themselves? Is someone given more importance than necessary? Are the plot devices too cheap? etc…

Uh I feel like I rambled a lot and still forgot some important stuff (I really am an old lady)… So if any of you has some questions or things they’d like to discuss with this mess of a writer my inbox is always open!

TLTR: writing is the only way to get better at it

#manowrites #matalksaboutwriting #sorry I got carried away #I hope this helps a little #the important thing to remember really is to just write #never stop #first you write then you worry about how you write #being scared of poor writing can prevent you from writing all together and that's such a shame #I hope I was clear enough #sometimes I struggle to convey ideas in english #so again if you need more precisions or advices or whatever really #just shoot me an ask #I'm happy to talk with you guys #also if you want you can send me your work #either just to share it with someone or to have a critical yet gentle point of view on it #I am in no way saying that my work is perfect #far from it #I have an idea of what makes a good read #doesn't mean I know how to write it haha

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ripples-in-the-river · 5 years ago

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I was thinking, for my weird Miraculous fic that's probably a one-shot -- maybe I should cut off the first part? It was supposed to be about introducing the villain AKA the plot device that would force Marinette and Adrien to react to the whole Lila situation in school, with later chapters/paragraphs focusing more on the dynamic that the town has with akumas, how they react, how their lives change, etc. Bur well, the fight scene was nixe to write, and I love angsty battle scenes where everyone gets splashed with a good old dose of tears, and also battle sequences are so much fun to write, I had no idea but I apparently like the dynamism of a battle, the scenery that keeps changing, the characters that are thrown in an unexpected situation and need to resolve it, etc.

So I'm also thinking to cut off the fight scene because the akuma doesn't make sense. We have this weird eldritch eel thing that floats, then later on I was searching for a power and I liked the combination of like, pale fire and dark blue, a bit like those pictures of like, heat levels in the body -- and also because it was fun to have this creature from the deep sea spout flames like some kind of surface dragon thing. Then with that came the concept of making it into some sort of turtle/mammal thing that kind of looks like an angry turtle with bits of lava rolling on its back -- like, so hot it's almost yellow. The back design ended up looking more like a mountain with tall, slender grass and some dusty soil, like, the pale kind with some darker patches where it's more shadowy/cliffside-esque? And I had this idea that there was sort of a mountain thing on top of its carapace, and there's something in a little taiga thing between the mountains where Marinette needs to get to either fix the akuma, get rid of its weapons, or fix the damage it's causing. I thought of like, a combo between Audimatrix and a more element-themed villain like Weredad: there's the technology part that's like, controlling damage ans sort of scaring everyone down on the ground, while there's the eel thingy doing... Other stuff? Shooing people away? Shooing the technology away? I don't know at this point.

Like, the robot part was kind of a shot in the dark. I had this random idea of making robots appear, then that the robots were connected to the eel thing (that I had to physically force myself to picture as an eel and not a turtle because holy crap mental images are hard), and the lava was like, shot down from the robots. Since there was something shooting flames/lava/some weird acid thing that ended up being a weird liquid fire thing nonsense. So I thought, well, robots, right? Since they're easily something a villain can conjure -- or ar least, something you get to turn civilians into. The idea that you'd turn people into "cold" metal monsters by throwing them into lava felt kind of cool, too, if not completely disgusting to really think about. But it's an Akuma, and magic, so I guess it doesn't hurt. Deal? Deal. So now I just have to connect the pieces, but I'm kind of worried about the fic being weird or something. And I have to figure some kind of gimmick too.

The eel thing (I'm calling it Eldritch because why not, it might even be some sort of a villain name like Eldritch Metal or something) is really strong -- fic starts when it yanks Marinette off her feet while escaping her confused mess of yo-yo string/spaghetti/trap thing under the Eiffel tower. Tower collapses, Marinette hangs on for dear life, and since she'd just cast her Lucky Charm, things kind of suck. So she has to basically just hold on until Chat Noir comes back, and since she's there, she can fight a robot or two like why not, right? The fight is uneccessarily tense because honestly? I wanted to un-downplay how dangerous akumas are like, those kids are badass and akumas cause real danger, you know? And I wanted to show how Marinette reacted when she had to fight an Akuma on her own, like, we never really look into how scary it's gotta be to right these guys without your partner -- especially if you rely on them as much as Marinette does Chat Noir. Basically talk about how she depends on him -- the show stated how important Chat was to her, and honestly, I think it's gotta be something to talk about sooner or later. Ladybug's position is basically like being the bomb technician in a war zone. Like, sure, you have some field knowledge, but seriously? Go try to defuse a bomb when the whole tagteam is shooting at you and also THEY HAVE BOMBS and you're the only technician and you really can't unfuse a bomb without someone making sure you don't get murdered in the face. So I wanted to talk about that! I thought it might be something Marinette really needs to realize, and also people in general, because like, Chat is cool, nobody says he isn't, or should say. So yeah.

But the thing is, I hadnt planned for the fic to be taking that direction. It kind of turned into commentary on their characters/relationship when honestly, I meant to talk about like -- how does the town handle akumas? Can they do better? How can people handle bullying better? Is Chat being bullied/disvalued? Should something be done? How do the people handle akumatization/bullying? Basically, rhe fic started with this premise that yes, sometimes, you really WANT to believe in the people you're supposed to have faith in -- yourself, others, teachers or friends, God, parents, whatever. But sometimes you just stop pretending and you allow yourself to be dissappiinted, and angry, and it sucks. I wanted to delve into that. Into the premise of the show, into how some characters did things that others considered good but sometimes made horrible decisions that didn't get addressed or that were swept under the rug because you just wanted to believe so badly that they were good and you didn't want to stop believing in them.

Like Caline Bustier, I wanted to believe she was super sweet and all, but well, sometimes it's just no, and Mme Mendeleïev is supposed to be rude, there's stuff happening all over the place between Chloé and Sabrina and you just have no idea???? And I felt like maybe it's really freaking stupid to say this, like, isnt it the point of every fanfic ever to expand on canon and say that you're angry about things? But, I dunno. I guess I just kind of wanted to see stuff the way they are.

And I might or might now have talked about the bullying, and Lila, and how Chloé bullied basically everyone in the past and how that affected them, and also like, criminally, what is everyone's crimes? What would you sue them for? That's kind of what I wanted to explore. Kind of take of this blanket of "they're a good person, of course they wouldn't do that", like. I guess, stop taking people for better people than they are just because you want to believe they're a good model or something.

So yeah. I might post the start here? I don't know.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #writing

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forkanna · 5 years ago

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[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTES: Sorry for that delay! Holidays got a bit crazy, and I've been sorting out my life since then. Will try to get this posted a bit more regularly from now on!

Also, the theme song for this chapter is "Feeling Of Falling" by Cheat Codes and Kim Petras.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The corners of my mouth lifted up the tiniest bit. "So… this counts as a date?"

"UGH!" Miss Kawakami got up from the table and crossed to lean against the kitchen bar. Seeing her framed there, between the mini water cooler and the espresso machine, her dress revealing just enough of her back to make my fingertips tingle and my mouth run dry…

'No, Makoto,' I thought to myself. 'Focus. Don't let your weird new gay feelings distract you from helping her.'

"Look. It doesn't have to be a date. This was just the kind of dinner you deserve from a date. Not specifically from me. Not me being your date, I mean, um… if that makes sense."

"Well, why not? I'm already a maid for two of my students. Gave you a bath and let you massage me, put on this dress for you. Why shouldn't I just say 'fuck it all' and throw myself into your arms? Huh?"

There was anger and frustration bleeding through now, and it made me duck my head in fear. "I'm sorry. Y-you can leave, I won't tell anybody you left early. I d-don't want to keep you here if you-"

"No, that's exactly what you want. Right?" Finally, she turned, and she was shaking with anger. "I told you already that this can't happen, and here it is. Happening. What gives you the right to just ignore my wishes? Like I'm not the grown up here!"

"O-oh," I breathed softly, shutting down. Like a puppet with its strings cut. "You're right. I apologise."

"Makoto, what…?" Then she sighed in exasperation, throwing up both hands. "See? You act like a little kid getting yelled at! Why aren't you yelling right back at me? This is not how it would work if we were equals in this relationship! What the hell am I saying? We're not even in one! Oh my GOD…"

"Hey, it's alright," I said, finally rising from the table as I kept my voice low. "Listen. I'm… I'll go to my bedroom for a few minutes. Please enjoy your meal, and… if you're gone when I come back out, I'll underst- understand."

My voice had broken on the last word but I tried to recover quickly as I strode away from the table, the room spinning. Sadayo didn't do anything, but she did watch me go, trembling as she stood there trying to weather the blunt force of a million different emotions buffeting her all at once.

Something I could relate to.

I had only been laying on my bed for a minute or two, tears rolling down into the pillow silently as I stared at the wall, when I heard a soft knock at the door. "Come in," I said as I hastily blotted at my eyes with the tissue in my hands.

"Hey," she breathed. My lights were off, so all I could see was the halo of her slightly messy hair from the backlighting. "I, um… I seem to have lost my appetite."

"That's fine. I'll clean it up later, and… Sae and I can have the leftovers. She'll just wonder why I made duck. I'll get your money in a m-"

"I'm not leaving yet," she reassured me. "Can I sit?" I nodded, so she sat on the very edge of my bed, not quite far enough back so that we were touching. "So… now it's my turn to apologise."

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong."

"No, I did. I really overreacted out there, I… don't know why I did that. Well, I do, but it doesn't make it okay."

Eyes still blurry, I glanced up at her face that I could see a tiny bit better now. She looked pale, and scared, but not nearly as two-steps-from-crazy as she did before. Her eyes closed for a moment as she contemplated the situation, chose her next words carefully.

"You aren't… the only one."

"Hm?"

"You aren't the only one who feels this… pull toward each other." Another breath to steel herself. "I couldn't tell you when it started, or why, or how I could actually feel anything this strong for a girl in my class. But it's real and it's there."

Now I sat up a little more on my elbows. "What are you saying? Do you-"

"Wait," she bade me with a hand raised. "The thing is, that doesn't change the situation. You're a kid! And my student - and my boss when you request me through the agency. It's so messy… and I'm straight, so even if we did anything with these crazy feelings, it's probably not going to work out in a 'happily ever after' way. When I sit there and picture my ideal future, it's married to a husband who's providing for me, whose big, strong arms can comfort me when I'm sad or stressed out." Then she snorted. "Not that I'm gonna meet one at the rate I'm going, as my mom would say."

"Oh."

Her lips pulled into a little sad smile. "But I will admit you got to me way more than I thought. Just something really special about you, Niijima-san."

"And there's something special about you, too, Kawakami-san." At the term of address, she did raise an eyebrow and laugh a tiny bit, but let me continue instead of interrupting. "I've done a lot of thinking, about… what you said. Your bath and all that."

"Don't remind me," she sighed. "And how much thinking could you have done in five minutes?"

"No, not just now. The whole week." I sat up a little more as I continued, "You're my first in a lot of ways. But honestly? I don't think it matters that much. Because I know how I feel about you even without those things. Maybe I already did, because…"

When I didn't continue right away, she prompted, "Because?"

"You were the teacher I looked forward to seeing the most every day," I confided. "Probably because you were attractive to me, even though I didn't understand that until the hotel room. But it must have already been there, because… you flirting with me shocked me, but not enough. I should have been a lot more scared - I should have wanted to run screaming from the room. Instead, it almost felt… natural. And that scared me the most."

Miss Kawakami frowned. "But that flirting was just part of the job. You know that, right? I didn't… I thought you were a young man who paid to have me flirt with him. That isn't disgusting to you?"

"Like you said, it's your job. I think it would be pretty stupid and narrow-minded of me to judge you for that. Really, the way you're working so hard to pay that student back only makes me admire you more."

"Oh," she breathed, staring down at where her hands lay in her lap. As she watched, one of mine came to rest atop them, and she looked over to see my face was a lot closer. "M-Makoto, wait…"

"For what?" I whispered - and I could barely believe I was doing any of this. But it was too late to turn back; that ship had sailed. "I think you need to know right now how serious I am. Sadayo…"

Her eyes closed. "Shit. You say my name like that, and I can't…"

"Can't what? Sadayo?" That time, I was teasing a little.

"Can't resist you. Can't fight back against this huge mistake."

The last word gave me pause. Enough so that I changed my tactic; my lips pushed into her cheek instead of her mouth. But it was still a kiss. I had never kissed anyone before, and now I had, and it was my Japanese teacher. Life really is crazy. For that moment, however, we were just two women who didn't know how to handle their feelings, and it was more powerful than I ever dreamed.

"Oooooh, okay," she let out in a shaky sigh a few seconds later, when I had drawn back to rest my chin on her soft, warm shoulder. "Wow. That was nicer than a little peck on the cheek has any right to be. God…"

"Yeah?" I breathed cautiously. "I figured I should start small. Not push too much."

"So you're all in now, huh?" she asked with a bitter chuckle, despite the warmth in her eyes as she gazed down at the floor. "Totally gay, and totally gay for your teacher?"

I shrugged as I pet along her back, and she melted. It was almost comical except it was too inflaming to be laughed at. "Guess so. I'm as confused as you, but it just seems silly to pretend I'm not interested."

"Makoto… your moves are like… A+ level moves. How are you only eighteen? How are you a girl?!"

"Do you want me to put the mustache back on?" I laughed.

"No!" We both chuckled for a moment, even though halfway through she shivered and arched her back. "Oh my GOD, you are barely doing anything and I'm ready to go."

"Ready to go?"

Fearful eyes turned on me. "Wait - forget I said that. Shit, why did I say that?!"

"Do you mean…" My eyes widened, and I felt heat explode within my cheeks. "Oh."

"I said forget I said it, so stop thinking about it! Wow, I really am a mess - I need to see a therapist or something!"

My teacher was turned on. Was this really happening? Despite the fact that, as she said, I was barely doing anything to her, apparently it was getting her aroused and ready for me to explore further. Only question was…

Was I as ready to explore as she was to be explored?

"It's okay," I reassured her, petting a little more firmly and hoping it would help. "I, um, I don't remember you saying anything. Just that I have some good moves. Did you say something after that?"

Her embarrassed laugh spoke volumes. "Nice try, kid. Ugh, I'm such a loser."

"Why? Because having someone focused on you feels good? Because this…" I pet a single finger down the middle of her back - not even sure how I knew to do that, running purely on instinct - and she shook and shivered. "…feels good?"

"Stop, please…"

"Really?" My hand came to rest in the middle of her back, staying totally still. "I will if you want me to."

"Yes. I do." So I took the hand away. Her eyes were sad, but what she said was, "Thank you."

Swallowing hard, trying to ignore the pinprick of fear in my stomach, I whispered, "Of course. I'm sorry, I just… I thought I could make you feel nice, and you might feel less… mad at yourself? Scared?"

"You did, in a way. But you also made it way worse." She turned to gaze at me. "Because it worked. You got me all revved up by barely doing anything - and I only felt that with the best of the dates I've been on. Even then, most of the guys had to work harder to get me there."

"Except… you don't want it from me. I'm a student, and a girl." She nodded, and I sighed. "I understand."

"Well, I don't," she blustered, folding her arms over her chest. My hand was resting on her thighs now, but I tried to keep it still so as not to draw attention to that. "This is nuts! I feel like I'm being pranked, except it's way too real to be a prank, so…"

"How do you think I feel? You're my teacher, and so beautiful. And a woman - which I think I'm somehow more comfortable with that than you are. But it doesn't mean I'm not panicking."

"You're panicking?" she asked, and I could tell she was almost grateful to think about me instead of her own feelings. "But you seem so cool with it all. Like, other than when I scream at you like an idiot."

My lips split in a smile. "Not an idiot. You just weren't expecting any of this. We're both trying to figure it out." I pet her thigh a little now, and she shivered. "Is this alright?"

"N-no." I stopped. "God… I can't believe how different it is with girls."

"Hm?"

"I ask you to stop, and you actually do it. No 'Aww, c'mon' first, no telling me I'm some big tease if I get less comfortable."

"Oh," I chuckled softly. "Do you want me to do that instead? I probably could learn."

"GOD NO!" Then we both laughed. "It's one of the only clear advantages. But, um… anyway, yeah. How do you keep from blowing your stack while I'm over here, sweating enough to fill a bucket?"

"You are not sweating," I snorted as I thought the question over. Finally, I sat up completely, my legs out and to the side behind her as my face rested against her shoulder. She didn't seem to mind me there, even if my touches were too much for her to handle at the present.

"Miss Kawakami, I wish I knew what to tell you. But I've always been like this under pressure. I'm still freaking out and trying to figure out what to do, but it's like… there isn't any point in letting the panic turn me into a mess, so I just… don't. And I can't explain to you why I'm like that, either."

"Lucky," she pouted.

"I feel lucky. You're not yelling at me for all this, and… I do keep worrying about what you said."

"Which thing I said?"

"That I'll go too far and you won't tell me to stop, and I'll hurt you. That's why I keep taking such… small chances." I kissed her shoulder again, and she sighed. "Like that one."

Humming her pleasure at the next kiss, she finally whispered, "They're small but they aren't small. My brain is telling me 'no', but my body…"

After the next kiss, when she still hadn't finished her thought, I whispered, "Tell me."

"My body wants this. Needs it - and that's all I'm going to say, because it's already really terrible that I told that to any student. I deserve everything that's happened to me in the past few years. Scummy old woman."

"Hey." I reached up and gently moved her chin so she was facing me, and her eyes grew wide and fearful. "Don't talk about yourself like that. It's not fair. Those two are wrong."

"How are they wrong? I got a student killed, and now I'm feeling way too much for another. I'm a monster, Makoto-chan."

Smiling, I leaned a little closer. "Don't you mean 'Niijima-san'?"

"Right. That thing."

"You aren't a monster. And you aren't scummy. You're a beautiful, smart-"

"I can't take any more compliments," she laughed shakily as my face got closer. "I can't take any more of this, no matter how much I…"

"What? No matter how much… you want it?" I guessed.

All she could do was nod before our lips made contact.

Kissing Sadayo was both everything I had ever dreamed it could be, and nothing like I expected. Which didn't seem to fit together very neatly, since those feelings were such different shapes. It was warmth, and softness, and openness… passion and comfort mixing like fire and water. And now that I had tried it…

I could no longer imagine kissing a man. That easily. As much as I still couldn't believe I was with a woman, it felt so right that I didn't want to question it anymore; didn't think it was necessary. Her mouth was sweet and warm and open to me, and as our lips kneaded each other, I craved more, I leaned up harder against her, my arm wrapping around her back to keep her close.

"Shit," she breathed when we finally broke apart. Only then did I realise her hand had come to rest on my upper arm, another around my waist.

"Huh? I mean… hey."

"Hey." Swallowing hard, eyes swimming with the threat of tears, she went on, "I'm… just… it's not fair."

"What isn't fair?"

"That a little girl just gave me the best kiss of my life."

Blushing though I was, I managed to protest, "I'm not a little girl. I'm a grown woman; I just so happen to be in school, that's all."

"You'll be 'grown' when you can order that wine at a restaurant," she muttered, and I couldn't help smiling. "This is still a really… terrible idea, but…"

"It's good, though?" I insisted on knowing. "You're not just flattering me? I've never kissed anyone before."

"Stop reminding me how young you are," she whined. But when she saw me biting my lip, she closed her eyes and whispered, "The best. You just barely beat out Katsuya from my high school; he was really good, too. Like, legendary."

"Wow, high school must have been a really long time ago. How do you even remember?" When her eyes flew open, I dipped my head. "Teasing. O-or trying to. You really shouldn't shame yourself so much for this happening; it was… fate."

Her hand began to caress up and down my arm, and I felt the goosebumps dimpling and shifting under the light touch. "You believe in that stuff? Like fate? Oh - right, you still owe me a reading."

"Reading?" Her heeled foot raised up and waggled just in the corner of my vision, and I smiled bashfully. "Oh yeah… I don't know why I thought that would work."

"Honestly, I wasn't sure why you were asking about my shoe size until I saw the heels in the bathroom. So it did work; it just was very suspicious. Like, what is solestry, anyway?!"

"It's a real practice!" When she squinted at me, I shrugged and admitted, "So maybe it's not very widespread…"

"If you wanna play with my feet again, just ask. You don't have to make up fortune-telling excuses; I don't even believe in tarot cards or any of that."

Sure I was beet red by now, I whispered, "Wh-why are you so sure I'm some pervert? I just liked giving you a massage!"

"You did kiss them," she laughed. "And I'm teasing. But you keep getting all flustered, so if you want me to stop my teasing and let you play with them… just say the word and I will. I mean it."

"But you freaked out when we kissed. Why would that be any different? Because they're only feet?"

"In a word… yeah?" We both laughed. "Okay, okay, so you're not into it. I just… I don't know, I'm trying to think outside the box. Things that won't be as dangerous as that kiss was a few seconds ago. Do you want to take another bath?"

"Only if we're both naked."

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Sadayo was still gulping and gaping at me when I hastily averted my gaze to stare at the wall, my fingers flexing where they rested against her shoulderblade. Seconds ticked by in silence as we tried to figure out how to recover from that line.

"So…"

"Maybe we should go back to eating," Sadayo whispered.

"I thought you lost your appetite."

"I did. But um… that kiss kind of… woke it back up. So either I satisfy it that way, or…"

My eyes lifted to meet hers, and I was aware of how close our mouths still were. "Or we could do it in a fun way?"

"No. We really shouldn't do that. I want to, I… guess there's no point pretending I don't, but it's still a bad idea."

"I'm sorry I said such a stupid thing," I suddenly blurted. "I thought it would be funny, or flirty, but instead it sounded… kind of… scary."

"Yeah," she agreed with a hard swallow as she pulled me tighter against her side. "But I know you weren't doing that on purpose; I'm… this is why you don't date somebody nine years younger than you, right? They don't have the same experiences you do. I've been around the block a few times; you just got to the neighbourhood."

"Then show me. You're already my teacher at Shujin; teach me this, too. How to do it right instead of… of messing up and making you feel bad."

"This is not what 'sex education' is supposed to mean, you know," she chuckled. I smiled a little along with her.

"Let's finish dinner. I feel like you don't want to try more because you're worried about too many things, so maybe it's smarter if… we don't keep sitting on my bed."

A long whine issued from her mouth. "I kissed a teenager. On her goddamn bed, I must be out of my mind!"

"Yeah, but… think of it this way." I couldn't help smiling up at her as I whispered playfully, "You're hot enough to get a teenager to kiss you. On her goddamn bed. Has to count for something."

That did at least earn a giddy laugh from her as she facepalmed. "Sure. It means I'm a real vixen for a predator, right?"

"Hey, don't call yourself that," I scolded her, eyes darkening a little. I saw her blink in surprise at how insistent I was. "Not ever again. I'm the one who's been chasing you, not the other way around; that makes you an herbivore, I think."

"Well… I… sure, yeah," she admitted with a weary nod. "You're right, let's go eat. That duck was really good and I feel terrible that we kind of flirted our way out of finishing it."

"You really like my cooking?" I asked as we stood up, arms still loosely around each other. Now I was a lot shorter than her again - only because she was still wearing the heels. Which was at my insistence, so I had no one to blame but myself.

"Makoto, it was amazing. Where did you get that recipe?! Not that I can cook anything besides curry and instant ramen, anyway… what a failure of an adult I am."

"I think you're perfect," I breathed as we left the room. That only made her groan.

To Be Continued…

#Queen Of Temperance #persona 5 fanfiction #p5 fanfic #makoto niijima #sadayo kawakami #forkanna writes #jess the writer

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wilddriud · 5 years ago

Text

The things we sacrifice

((Warning: Graphic violence, gore ))

There had been a string of violence as of late against the Kaldorei. Getting rather annoyed with hearing and seeing it through her vines, Tasca needed to step in, felt the need to see what she could do about addressing this violence. This seemed to be a growing pattern, particularly with humans. A group would be without and the humans would cast them out, aid in small ways, or start insinuating that these beings are a problem and begin to retaliate against them. They had done this with the Orcs, the Undead, the Sin'dorei, the worgan, the people of Westfall. A chuckle from her throat came as she thought upon how they had even done so to their own kind. Right now, however, it was to the people she was portraying herself as. A sigh as she waited her mind drifting on. Of course, knowing very well others have done hate unto others thus why there is Horde and Alliance, she can't say they have all been kind unto each other. The Kaldorei themselves have faults and have had issues with others. This was just...more apparent. Plus kicking a horse when it's down is just uncalled for. Besides, these were Kul Tirans, if they wanted to be part of the Alliance they need to learn their place. That being as a people that work with others and this island seemed to be the worse of the lot. For now, something was to be done. Following through the net work of roots and greenery on the island it'd take her a couple days or so to track down a small group. Her timing seemed to have been blessed as she learned this group was going to hold a rally. With the pull over Bel'sharia she had, Tasca sent the Ilidari off to crash the party so to speak. Telling her to do as she wished so long as the leader was brought to herself. Knowing full well the Ilidari would likely be lenient, giving only a couple broken bones here and there, cuts and mostly bruises she knew she'd have to step up the game. Tasca would also know that Bel'sharia was almost as good as a rogue when it came to infiltration, covering her scent and using various tools, such as the tear gas Tasca provided to cover the womans trail more so. The moon hung in over head, its light bright in the clear sky. A soft touch of starlight stretched out over the world on a blanket of darkness. It would do. Tasca's only thought lingering on the hope that Elune, nor her beloved Ysera, was to see what was to come. Save to perhaps to forgive her of the crime she would commit. Bel'sharia had done her work well, as expected of the demon huntress. Her tracking and sight were most helpful at such times. Holding things over the others head made things easier. This night she was not in her usual state, dressed for such a special occasion, her gown was a deep forest green. A high collar came in to her neck to hide the scales she couldnt hide as she was still weak. Antler like horns branching out from her forehead arching up and around seeming to create a crown. The sleeves long enough to cover half of her hands. The long, wide skirt covering her tail. Deep emerald eyes watching on as one of the men she was targeting was dragged down along the grassland. Bel'sharia had done a good job beating the human to near death. Racist carved onto his forehead. His body managed and beaten. Blood seeming to cover him well as it faded on and matched the arrange of bruising upon his form. This wouldn't be enough however. She had been slighted. What she guarded and protected had been insulted enough and had gone through enough without having one more insect bite into it's crumbling life. Her head turned upwards towards the sky, looking to the moon for a single moment before her ears flicked as the illidari spoke, "Brought the leader, I think the others know better now." She seemed smug over her work, which granted was earned. However the druidess wasn’t satisfied. "Release him and step away." Tascas tone was sharp and hot. Not something the illidari would ignore and so she stepped away, leaving the man on the spot. "Pl-please. No more. We-we wont do it again." Of course the man would sputter such, begging for any mercy. Tasca would take a step forward. "Did my friend scare you? Illidari are quite mean and scary aren’t they?" She would give him a soft smile, "but you know druids aren’t like that, right?" The man would look back, almost seeming confused before trying for a smile. "Uh right...yes..i-i see that now. Your people are good." He'd give a nervous laugh. "You have me mistaken. But that is fine. Your thoughts aren’t going to matter anymore. Your breath wont matter. Your life doesn’t matter. You...are just food for my babies now." As she spoke, vines and roots of the various plant life would begin to sprout and worm their way through the soil towards the man. Wrapping in around his body, pulling him in down to the dirt as sharp points would pierce his flesh. Threading under his skin as thistle needles dragged along flesh and scraping into muscle fiber. Twisting in through his being, shredding through flesh, muscle, and bone. Slowly seeming to rip small pieces of his being away into the soils below. Blood seeping out, overflowing as the dirt seemed to grow drunk off the amount, spilling it over grass and stone. The males screams were cut short as one vine shoved in through his mouth, digging on down through his throat, his intestines, down and down until finally it reached an exit point. Tears ran down his cheeks, body jerking, twitching and the pain burned heavily through his being. Finally, it would come to an end for him. A single vine would curl through his form, reaching around his heart. Wrapping in around and around as it would begin to squeeze. Pressing in harder and harder, till finally...POP! What remained of his body would go limp and soon the grass around him would be seen eating at his flesh, muscle and bone as the earth would reclaim him to be nothing more than a stain of blood. Bel'sharia had turned her back, even to her sigh such a thing was too much for her to endure as she gagged. The scent forcing her to cover her mouth as the air reeked of fecal matter, blood and the rot of death. "You could have just told him to fuck off. That...that was..." she couldn't even think of the words. "Cat got your tongue, dog? People like him don’t deserve the air trees create. They deserve nothing more then to be the fertilizer for them. If I had my way, that whole lot would be dead like this but I trust you did enough to remind them elves don’t take things lightly." She didn't have an answer. What could she possibly say to a woman who had just done....this. "I'm going home...to cleanse myself of...of this." The illidari would leave and Tasca would remain under the pale moonlight.

The smell of hot burning sand would soon fill the air as her sister would begin to appear out of a portal.

"You say i don't do enough and when i do something you come knocking on my door to complain, what do you want now, Nor?" Tasca would call to her in a dry tone, not turning to face her sibling behind her.

Nortanus was a taller kaldorei, a little too tall for females. Her body was thin, almost wiry. Her features slightly sharp and pointed. The very image of a librarian. A small pair of monocles rested on her nose, a slim silver chain hanging down on side before going up over her shoulder and around her neck in a loose necklace, adding to the other larger chained necklace she wore with a Magus symbol. Her robes were of silk, the finest clothing one could buy would be the first off the shelf every time for this woman. Four rings showing her schools of magic have mastered, many more rings of various schools would be at home, choosing four different rings at random each day. Her shoulder length purple hair was pulled back into a small bun, seeming to copy a style by the Pandarian people today.

"You act too much like one of them and strain yourself for them. You don't pace yourself." Nortaunus would say in a rather friendly soft voice as she approached, reaching to take the elder siblings hand to push back the sleeve to reveal the green scales, before Tasca would pull her hand away and shake her arm down so the fabric fell over once more.

"Ysera did it, why can't i?

That seemed to gain a chuckle from the Bronze, "Oh please. Don't pretend you do things to follow in her footstep, we both know out of the three of us you are the most foul minded. You'll come up with any excuse to have people forgive you for the things you pull."

Tasca shook her head, "I still think it's annoying how you think you know me, how you think you can read me like one of your books and understand me so well. You don't. And i'll say that for the rest of my life."

The younger of the two would shake her head and sigh, before pulling out a vial and pass it over. "Here, this will help you recover faster. I'm...just tired of seeing you either be a drunk on the side of the road or being the one who almost kills herself while saving a couple other people, not to mention how much to stretch yourself to watch over the areas you are in. How much of the plant life here hasn't been used or blessed by you?"

Tasca accepts the vial and drinks its contents without question, "Mm...i'd still say about thirty percent, maybe even forty. It's hard to tell with some of the reaches between the islands, plus...the forest of Drusvar is still...sick, it's hard tapping into there properly. I keep having to reclaim pieces of it."

"That's too much and no where near where you need to watch. Honestly." A sigh came from Nortanus, her hands folding in before her lap as she stood. "Thank you for having those commissions done by Liza, i think she really needed something different to tackle. I don't know how to help her. I feel like...maybe i'm getting through to her and then...we take three steps back. The kids are doing well though, Elruna is keeping them busy, she loves kids so it works out well."

"I think she'll break through." A chuckle came from Tasca before she went on, "I think it's funny. You'll bend over backwards for the people that have proven to be worth your time and i...just make people feel like they owe me their lives to win their adoration."

"Now whose being the cynical one?" Nortanus would say almost amused before placing a hand to her siblings shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. "You are loved Tasca, and if you open up to people they'll get to know you for who you are."

Tasca wouldn't reply, silent would pass over them and soon the younger of the pair would make her leave, stepping through another portal to return to her garrison. The green dragon would look up to the sky once more before making her leave back to the brothel.

#random story #wra #original characters #kaldorei #ilidari #druid #mage #bronze dragon #green dragon #ic

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