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haileyyanneupton · 4 years ago

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🎆intertwined🎆

burzek oneshot

warnings: mention of miscarriage

masterlist | series masterlist

When the pregnancy test came back with two defined lines staring back at her, Kim had no idea what to do or how to feel. After losing her first pregnancy, the doctors had told her that the likelihood of her being able to conceive again after sustaining such trauma was slim to none. Standing inside of one of the stalls in the district bathrooms wasn't where she had ever imagined having a bombshell like this unleashed upon her, but alas — there she was. The world had stopped to a halt around her; how could this be possible?

"Hey Burgess! You in here?"

The sound of Hailey's voice snapped the brunette back to reality, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she kept her eyes trained on the plastic object in her hand. Despite being able to hear Hailey's footsteps growing closer, Kim was at a loss for words. It was as if her vocal cords had spontaneously paralysed themselves — no matter how much she wanted to force out the words, she was in too much shock to be able to do some. "Sarge is looking for you upstairs. Something about —" Hailey cut herself off as she pushed open the unlocked door to the stall Kim was in without warning. The panel hit her arm — hard — but Kim was too numb to feel it. That's gonna bruise, she thought. "Shit, sorry!" Hailey's face contorted into one of guilt as she raised a hand to her mouth, but the guilt was quickly replaced with concern as she caught a glimpse of her friend's expression. "Kim? What's wrong?"

There was a piercing silence for a few moments before Kim finally raised her head to look away from the object in hand and instead at Hailey. Her eyes locked with the blue eyed girl and in the same second, the words spilled out of her lips without any warning. "I'm pregnant." Hailey's eyes widened. "You — You're — What?" "I'm pregnant, Hailey. I'm. . . I'm pregnant." Hailey wasted no time in pushing her way into the stall, standing beside Kim as she craned her neck over to see the test. As soon as she too saw the two lines, no matter how faint they may have been, a grin burst out onto her lips as she grabbed her friend's arm excitedly. "Kim! You're pregnant!" Hailey exclaimed in a hushed tone. "This is good, right?!" Kim stared numbly. "I — I don't know. This wasn't meant to be able to happen. It wasn't — I don't . . ." Despite it coming as a shock, both Adam and Kim were overjoyed at the news once it finally hit each of them. Kim was quick to go on leave; she didn't want to get herself in the same situation she had gotten herself into last time. Adam wasn't opposed either, especially with her pregnancy being marked as high risk from the moment the test came up positive. She was bored and miserable the whole time, but that all went away the very second that her baby girl was placed into her arms, wrapped in a pastel purple blanket and looking more beautiful than either of her parents could have ever imagined. Born at 4:17am on the 22nd of April, Baby Grace Nicole Burgess-Ruzek was Kim and Adam's new pride and joy. The first few days (and nights) were rough. After being discharged from the hospital, acclimating themselves to what living with a newborn was like. Sleep was quickly slipping away from them, and despite the fact that they could stare at their child for hours and hours on end — Grace was a particularly colicky baby even at just a few days old. Kim was tired, sore and frustrated. Rocking Grace in her arms, the crying baby only ten days old, her eyes were barely staying open. "Kim." Adam entered the room yawning. "Give her to me so you can get some sleep — God knows you need it." Kim shook her head stubbornly, still rocking side to side with the newborn. "I'm okay. I just can't get her to stop crying." "You just gave birth and you've barely slept for the last week. You can go rest, babe — I've got her." Adam came up behind the woman and their new daughter, wrapping his arms around them from behind as he kissed Kim's neck affectionately. His touch was warm and more than welcome to the woman whose mind and body had been to hell and back to say the least. "I don't wanna leave her," Kim mumbled into Adam's arm, her head resting against him as she let her eyes flutter shut. "She's crying." "She's not upset, babe. Remember? The doctor said some babies just cry a lot." "Adam, I'm biologically inclined to feel the need to respond and help the baby — I can't ignore it. You and your man brain can just tune it out." "My man brain?" "Yes. Your stupid man brain." "I think that might be the sleep deprivation talking," Adam laughed as he planted a kiss on his fiancée's neck, rocking the three of them back and forth comfortingly until they all could get even just a little bit more sleep. 🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆 Kim and Adam got married just after Grace's second birthday. Little Grace was the flower girl and practically stole the show away from the couple, winning over everybody's hearts when she stole the microphone from Hailey at the ceremony to sing about Minnie Mouse. "Hey, little miss! Give your Aunty Hailey back the microphone! She was actually saying something nice about me for once!" "Uh uh!" Grace cackled loudly, a grin on her face as she held the microphone close to her chest. "My turn!" Anybody in that room could see the love that Adam possessed for his little girl as he scooped her up into his arms, his face lighting up at the sound of her infectious laughter. Everything that man did was for Grace and for Kim — he loved them more than anything in the world. By the time Grace was four, Kim was the one to take her to her first day of preschool. She would be lying if she said she wasn't a little bit emotional at seeing her only child off, but she kept a brave face as she knelt down in front of her and held Grace's tiny hands in her own. "You feeling good about today, Gracie?" Kim asked, a small smile on her face. "Duh! I'm gonna make so many new friends, Mommy!" Grace rocked back on her heels with a grin. "I just wish Daddy could'a come with us." "Surprise!" Both Kim and Grace looked up to see Adam standing behind them with a lopsided smile. He was still in his uniform after working a patrol shift, both girl's faces lighting up with joy. "Daddy!" Grace ran up to her father and hugged his leg, giggling happily to herself. Kim was relieved to have her husband there with her as she too gave him a quick peck on the lips, looping one arm in with Adam's while the other hand rested on her daughter's shoulder. "What are you doing here, Daddy?" Adam glanced over at Kim with a chuckle. "I figured your mom might need some emotional support. . . and I couldn't not come for your first day of school, kiddo!" "It's gonna be so great. I'm gonna play with so many toys and I'm gonna paint and play in the sand and swing on the swing and use the building blocks and —" "Okay, Grace," Adam let out a hearty laugh at the four year old's enthusiasm. "Take a breath. You don't want to lose your voice before you even go in there." As their daughter bounced up and down on the spot while waiting for the doors to her classroom to open, Kim couldn't help but find it difficult to stop herself from choking up slightly, her hand finding Adam's for comfort as he gave it a light squeeze, knowing how she was feeling all too well. She wouldn't ever admit it, but Kim had definitely taken her time in getting Grace ready that morning, slowly doing her hair and taking in every second so that it wouldn't feel like her baby was growing up as fast as she was. It seemed like just a few months ago she was holding a little infant in her arms —now, she had an independent, headstrong and ever-so-stubborn four year old with dark brown hair and eyes that resembled honey. She was a perfect mixture of both of her parents, both in looks and personality, leaving those who met her in a spin to say the least. It took all of Adam to let go of Grace's hand that morning, and even more of Kim to stop herself from weeping as she peppered her daughter's face with kisses to hide her bittersweet sadness. "You make sure you be nice to the other kids, okay?" Kim told her daughter sternly between kisses. "And if you need anything, Mommy took the day off of work today so you can call me and I'll answer, okay? And make sure you eat all of your lunch! Oh, and for the love of God — don't take your shoes off and lose one again, baby — just don't take them off at all. And if anybody is mean to you or —" "Mommy." "Yeah, Gracie?" "Stop talking now. My class is goin' in." Kim let out a strained chuckle as she nodded lightly, giving Grace's arms one last rub as she stood back up. "Mommy and Daddy love you very much, okay?” Adam grinned from beside his wife. "And we hope your first day of big school is a good day." As her teacher made the last call for students and both Adam and Kim watched their daughter walk inside of the classroom, time sped up even more than they ever could have though from that moment on. Next thing they knew, Grace was turning eleven and about to start middle school. She spent most days after school helping out Trudy at the front desk for some pocket money, and although at first her parents had been opposed to it, it became apparent very quickly that Grace and her Aunt Trudy got along like a house on fire. Grace was a hard worker — Trudy liked that about her — and after the eleven year old had gotten a hold of the ropes, she wasted no time in putting her to work. Grace loved it too — there was something about the chaos that comforted her (just another way that she was like Kim and Adam). The twenty-first district was practically Grace's second home, and she wouldn't have had it any other way. "Whatcha doin, Grace?" Adam had asked as he came downstairs to check on his daughter midway into his shift. "Having fun?" "Oh, tons of fun! I'm sorting out these papers and answering the phones. See? These ones with the red dots in the corners go into the 'important' pile, these ones with the purple dots go into the 'tomorrow' pile and the ones with the blue dots go into the 'not worth anybody's time' pile!" "I bet your Aunt Trudy taught you that last one, huh?" A face-eating grin exploded onto Grace's lips. "Duh." "Alrighty," Adam gave a small chuckle at his daughter's endless enthusiasm for the tasks that he would rather smash his head into the wall than do. "Your mom and I will be finished around eight, and then we'll head home, alright? You can order yourself food if you want, otherwise we'll pick something up on the way home and have a late dinner." "Kay. I love you." "I love you more, kiddo." Her father gave a quick ruffle of the hair before jogging back up the stairs to Intelligence, causing her to make a face as she smoothed it back down before getting to work once more, ever determined to make everybody proud. 🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆 It was nearing on one in the morning, and after working on a particularly difficult case, Kim had come home to Adam and her daughter who was sleeping soundly in her bed. Kim would be lying if she said that the kidnapping case they had just closed hadn't shaken her to her core — two kids, one of them Grace's age; it was a lot for her to handle. Walking towards her daughter's bedroom, Kim stood in the doorway as the ground gave a subtle creek beneath her weight, the woman staring and watching Grace just to calm herself down. "You okay?" The sound of Adam's voice had come as a shock to Kim, who quickly swung around in surprise before relaxing as she realised who had crept up behind her. His hair was stuck up and across his face in every direction by the hands of what looked to Kim like sweat; the hot Chicago summer had done a good job at keeping the house at an uncomfortably warm temperature all day and all night. "Did I wake you?" Kim whispered back to Adam, her hand finding his which had perched itself up onto her shoulder softly. She had purposely dodged his question, in fear that she wouldn't have an answer to provide him with. "No, you're fine," he shook his head in response. "I was still up. You know I can't sleep when you're not home." Kim gave a small, partially forced smile. "I know." There was silence for a few more seconds as both Kim and Adam listened to their daughter's light snores, the sight of her brown hair strewn across the pillow while holding a purple toy in her hands somewhat consoling for the two of them before Kim finally spoke up. "I just . . . I had to see her. Hear her. Today was so — it was. . . " "I know." Adam wrapped his arms around Kim, pulling her closer into him as her head found its regular place on his chest. "They were the same age as her, you know? It's just . . . It's so scary to think that — that . . . " Kim's voice had trailed off, but nothing more needed to be said. The unspoken words were enough, and standing there all together provided each of them with enough comfort to ease their aching hearts, even if they didn't know it. Adam's hand had found Kim's at some point, their fingers intertwined perfectly in with one another as if each crack and crevice had been purposefully placed so that the other hand would simply snap into position. Their little family wasn't much — but it was theirs. Beautifully and indescribably so.

a/n: honestly the thing i’m looking forward to most right now is annie’s reaction to this lmao girl’s gonna lose her shit

tagging: @detective-buttercup @ruzek-halstead @lissethsrojas

#burzek #burzek baby #adam ruzek #kim burgess #chicago pd #one chicago #burzek family #hailey upton #trudy platt

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greyias · 4 years ago

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Time to go Full Gravedrog

Hey guys. You know what we haven’t done in a while? That’s right! Put on our tinfoil hats, get tangled up in an entire spool of red string, and do a ridiculous deep dive on lore and make up wild insane theories about the upcoming story drop!

That’s right we’ve got some--

First up. If you haven’t watched it already, here’s the trailer for the 6.2 story drop, specifically for the storyline we’ll be doing our deep dive on, Echoes of Oblivion.

youtube

Are you pumped? I’M PUMPED. Let’s do this!

Okay, so there’s a lot to unpack here, and I’m going to state outright, that the chances of this being on the money like Gravedrog is... well. I’ve got no lottery numbers for you this time around. I can’t believe no one took me up on that offer. There’s always the possibility the storyline has absolutely nothing to do with any previously established lore, and they create something wholly new. And hey, if that’s the case, this is just free fanfic fodder for the masses.

But Charles did mention, I believe on the forums(?), that he’s seen one person guess what’s going on. The real question is... WHO GUESSED IT. HMM.

So I’ve been wanting to actually do a post on this a while, at least since Arcann’s voice actor accidentally made the slip up about Thexan being in this story drop. A large part of this theory/discovery goes to the lovely @confettininjabean, who found this piece of lore when we were getting tangled up in red string back in the Gravedrog days, pre-Nathema Conspiracy. Let’s just say, there was a... certain interaction on Twitter that had us thinking this had something to do with NC, and when it didn’t pan out we were like “Oh, weird, guess that wasn’t on the right track” and forgot about it.

Well, sort of. Because we were like, “that really seemed significant considering”, but hey, sometimes you hit upon a Gravedrog, sometimes you think Indo Zal is an evil mastermind playing 4D chess. In other words, when it comes to red string theories, you win some. You lose some.

Anyway. I forget why, but I went perusing on Wookieepedia a few months ago, looking back up this sort of obscure piece of lore for some reason. And something about it was.... FAMILIAR.

The article in question: https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Thought_bomb

May I direct your attention, to this part:

Hey. Where have I heard that before?

Aw. Aw shit. Well I mean, that can’t be right though, right? Because it’s Satele and a bunch of Jedi/like-minded Force users that are being possessed right? And besides this is an an ancient Sith ritual thought to be created by...

Oh.

Oh wait.

But that’s a plague right? Not the same thing as a thought bomb. I mean it’s not like anyone in SWTOR has dealt with a Force plague--

Oh. huh. But you might say, “But Grey, that plague was invented by Terrak Morrhage, not Vitiate.” And you would be right! What I can’t seem to find confirmation of, thus far, is exactly when Terrak Morrhage lived, but by me and Jayde’s current reckoning, it seems like he may have been around possibly during the Great Hyperspace War, the end of which Vitiate used in his mad grab for immortality and power, manipulating what was probably a majority of the remaining Sith Lords into his brand spanking new ritual that he just needed a little help with.

Okay, and this is where we leave lore land, and enter into speculation land. I, um, just got sidetracked on Jedipedia (I’ll get to that), trying to find a codex entry regarding Vitiate I know I’ve read but I lost at some point. So, we’re going off memory here, but I’m fairly certain it’s stated in canon somewhere that prior to his ascension, Vitiate was obsessed with Sith alchemy and ancient Sith rituals. So if Morrhage pre-dated him, or was a peer, it’s possible Vitiate was able to learn about his plague, and adapt it to some of his other experiments.

Okay, back to the thought bomb for a moment. Full disclosure, I haven’t read the Darth Bane novels, so I’m going off of Wookiepeedia here instead of the source material (which is always a dicey affair), it says Bane adapted the thought bomb from notes on the ritual Vitiate performed. So, it’s possible the thought bomb is not a 100% Vitiate original, just a bastardization of it. But it’s interesting that the ritual itself gathers up and shreds the Force essence/soul of everyone in its path. Well, I mean, horrifying. But in this theory’s perspective, interesting in that when Vitiate used Zildrog as part of his ritual--where did all of the Force go exactly?

Because as you wander around Nathema, you hear the tortured whispers of every soul obliterated during that ritual.

This is talked about a little in the Revan novel, and it’s been a few years since I read it so I’m kind of going off memory again, but he basically created a void in the Force there. And remember... in the KOTET chapter we went to Nathema, he was actually visibly afraid a few times. Hmm... now why would that be? Was it Vaylin he was afraid of? Was it something else?

If memory serves, there wasn’t an actual explosion like as described with the thought bomb--because he wasn’t using the ritual as a weapon. He was using it to gather power, to shuffle off this mortal coil and live eternal as an annoying spirit who you just can’t quite squash out no matter how many mind mazes you build to keep him locked up. So, and again, this is speculation land, but all of that swirling Force and dead energy had to go somewhere right? I mean, Zildrog had his snack and went omnomnom, but where did the Force power go? And why was there a Void that constantly pulled at him and sapped away his power on Nathema?

Is it because the Force didn’t explode? Is it because he bound it up in his old disgusting decaying old man flesh? And the only reason he was alive because he basically made himself a little flesh horcrux that was destroyed at the exact moment we sent him off to the Void that he feared so much?

Hmm. Interesting.

Wait. Wait a second... I think there was something else he mentioned. Now, what was it?

You know, I had always assumed he was talking about Gravedrog being unleashed, since the whole reason he went to Zakuul was likely to find the Gravestone so he could pair it with Zildrog back on Nathema, and enact his galaxy-wide extinction event.

And maybe he was.

Or was he talking about his failsafe.

The one he knew would happen if someone destroyed his old, withered, icky body?

So... if the ritual/plague is some take on the thought bomb, and it infects any Force user like some prescient, who could have realized this is what 2020 held in store for us pandemic that spread rapidly and consumed everyone who touched it, until it made manifest what was once just thought...

Is the whole entire point of this to bring Valky back from the dead? Or is it just his last revenge? And what on earth would that last revenge be? Well... and just hear me out. Say there was this guy. Kind of an asshole. And he had this whole schtick about killing every single living thing in the galaxy and liked to consume whole planets in a single gulp just for funsies. Wouldn’t it be so funny if he, say, in the unlikely event he possessed some Outlander who happened to go “get out and get a job loser!” and booted him off to the beyond, and at the same time his old indentured servant and that chick he once possessed found his horcrux and destroyed that, wouldn’t it be a kick if that somehow kicked off a plague that consumed every single Force user in the entire galaxy until it had enough power and then exploded and completely wiped out all life in the galaxy, so that if the asshole who’s name totally isn’t Valkorion couldn’t live forever then neither could any. single. thing. in. the. galaxy.

I mean, that or it’s just a ploy to get him into one final boss fight.

But i dunno... I kind of just found the entire cast list of who’s in the Echoes of Oblivion storyline (warning, major spoilers and datamining on that link, and yes, that’s what distracted me on Jedipedia) and I’m kind of thinking. Having to keep the entire galaxy from being consumed by a sociopath’s final revenge kind of sounds like a pretty epic finale, don’t you?

And hey, if not. Free fanfic idea for anyone who wants it.

Oh yeah, also predicting the following:

We’re going on another mindscape adventure like in KOTET Chapter 9, but it’s Satele’s mind we’re in

It’s not actually Valkorion/Vitiate/Tenebrae, but a remnant/essence of him that’s made manifest by the ritual. Also he needs a combo nickname because I’m tired of having to pick one of three names. I shall call you Valkiatebrae. It’s a beautiful name. I know he’ll love it.

Vaylin and Thexan who we see in the trailer are probably also manifestations conjured by the quasi- Valkiatebrae

We’re going to Ossus? Or Ossus in Satele’s mind?

The Knight and crew missed a few of the death cult back in the storyline, and that’s who was either watching Tenebrae’s body, or who hijacked Satele’s ship OR they have some part in the ritual (perhaps the part to physically manifest Valkiatebrae). We see them in the trailer above.

Regardless if any single one of these predictions is right I’m going to die of feels

Because I think Satele and Theron may have a scene together????? OMG

I’m screaming again

I’ll stop now

I’m sorry Charles I hope I didn’t do it to you again I couldn’t help myself, but hey at least I kept it in this long

EDITED TO ADD: Okay guys, I’ve been looking more at Jedipedia. I think I can safely hazard a guess that a LOT of fans of different characters are going to be super happy with this update. Just saying.

#the return of spoilers grey #swtor spoilers #spoilers and speculation #swtor 6.2 spoilers #swtor 6.2 #honestly there's a lot more #but i've been thinking about this for so long #i know i've forgotten to include half of it #and i haven't had time to find all of my source #but here you go guys!#one last hurrah #and i even found a way to shoehorn gravedrog in there for you!

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itsgrishaverse · 4 years ago

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SINS.

♧. A thing for vampyre!Michael, this was one of my first writing and I’ve seen I never really posted it here!

♧. Summary: Michael is shown his past or future, an inevitable death laced with a romance he hadn’t met yet.

♧. Word count: 2169.

♧. warnings. blood and death.

drvgonspells.

There were tragedies disguised as dreams and dreams that tasted of heaven in the form of tragedies. An oasis for the starving soul, that one man who dared to look for the forbidden fruit, greedy enough to keep it for himself. Doomed by, it was told that he was the walking sun. Rumors referred to the golden long curls which, remarkably, complimented his pale features. Others dared to be blind to such expectations of a striking beauty and swore it had nothing to do with it, but his corrupt soul. Someone who burnt their surroundings without a second blink. An intelligent and vital serpent, one of them exclaimed with wide eyes and one hand clung to his heavy chest, after leaving the mansion that belonged to Langdon. Claiming he’d prefer to meet death than dealing with such a man again. The guests laughed it off, believing his thoughts were clouded by jealousy or a possible rejection coming from the man himself, it wasn’t a secret that Michael took a certain liking for men as much as they did for ladies. After all, it was Langdon's name that was spoken with respect and admiration, not theirs.

Three days later, he was found dead by the lake, blood drained. No one else kept laughing.

Death respected no youth or innocence, but it had a certain liking for its son. Michael Langdon was not only favored by occultism, but people that followed him, looking forward to their approval by the smallest of things. It was the attention he bathed in, superficially. In the presence of ladies or gentlemen, he wore a bright smile as if painted by the sun itself. A glint within eyes and the eye contact which he, desperately, held to others. Often coming as intimidating. His manners were often shown, having a particular liking for the guest’s pleasure. If they were pleased so was he. In every sense.

And how deeply he relished in the feeling.

“Mr. Langdon. Pardon my boldness, but this is the first time I have seen someone,” The young lady, dressed in a silk white dress, held the wine bottle closer to the bathtub. Until emptied inside. It was the last one after awhile, and now a reddish liquid filled it. “Someone taking a bath with no water, but wine.”

As if a joke itself, her response was a gentle yet deep in tone chuckle from the standing male in front of the mirror. Amused blues didn’t bother to look at her, but her gaze didn’t bother to look away from him either.

There was something about him that made such a common thing as unbuttoning the ends of sleeves, interesting. Perhaps alluring to keep looking — for sight of skin. For sight of all of him.

Thoughts read. Langdon’s gaze lifted from his hands, gazing at her through the crystal. The ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.

“I do it because no one else does.” He answered with a lighter tone. Obvious from its own perspective. As soon as his white shirt was discarded, he turned to face her. A not-so-true answer, with hints of a lie. “But you’re not here to see me bathing, are you? Your gaze speaks of curiosity.”

She shook her head, rising to her feet. Once again he had found a way to get in her thoughts.

“I’ve heard things.” Added shortly after. “About you, Mr. Langdon.”

“Where would be the fun if people didn’t speak my name? That’s what they were made for, after all. To be spoken.”

He knew where this conversation would lead, neither did he have the mood or time to unleash all the questions that came with it. In other circumstances, Michael would’ve found himself bothering to go with this process alone, but this wasn’t it. He was stuck in a long mirror which held surrow and confusion. Something that began as a feeling a couple of weeks ago. Out of nowhere. At the beginning assumptions that it would leave made him not pay attention to it, but it didn’t happen. It became worse. Such an odd feeling that would send an certain shiver through his spine was soon followed by mornings without sleep. It was clinging. Clutching. Digging inside in pain. It felt as if mourning, but there was no face or name he could make sense of. There was no one he would care enough about other than himself.

And so with the uncertainty of what would happen after he attempted to do a reserved spell in an attempt to look for answers, the odds of being lost in time or inside his mind crossed his thoughts. The spell was destined to only see and live the past— not the future. The past was no use to be unburied, but the future was promising.

However, the feeling was heavily known. It was a loss. Langdon’s heart was mourning and he didn’t know why. Not yet. Tonight the decision to look for unknown answers was made.

“And you haven’t denied them either.” Her voice brought him back to reality, blinking from himself ( how did he get inside the tub without noticing, lost in thought? ) upon the female, now sitting in the nearest chair. One long deserved minute was taken to stare, tracing the curve of her body, complemented by silk. He noticed it was shorter — and in fact, she has rolled up the ends of it, folding it into her lap. Allowing him the sight of inner thighs. “Is it true about the things you make us do?”

He shouldn’t have allowed himself this distraction and yet there he was, with a tilt of head ( long blond curls falling over one shoulder ) daring her to continue. “Why don’t you find out by yourself, if you’re so interested?”

“Even those rumors. That you encourage them to do questioning ways to please you?”

The glint shown without oceans of blue, clouded by either lust or warning made her swallow. One hand had already reached out for her top buttons, unbuttoning one by one. There was no shame in revealing herself to him, for she already felt bare before him long ago. He undressed her in his mind or so that’s what he wanted her to believe.

“I never make them do anything they don’t want to.” An inner mocking gesture. The young male took another minute to admire her figure. “Close your eyes for me, will you?” Upon noticing the confusion on her face, he added. “I will not touch you until you do it yourself. You want me to crave you, but nothing will make me crave it more than a woman who knows how to please herself. Show me that you don’t actually need me to do such a thing for you, that you just want me to.”

Anything else would make her believe he was playing around, wasn’t so everyone? A gentle squeeze was given to her left breast by herself, it was small enough to fit perfectly into the palm of her hand as the tracing of her free hand lowered to her bare core. Was it a little pleasant show he desired? The thought made her release a low breath, legs spreading for him. Intimate and bare before him, like a delicate petal, yearning to be touched and admired. Fluttered closed eyes allowed to picture herself laying on the silk white blankets, with dim light shadows above her. Figures in the dark when she’d take the time to spoil, love and touch herself like no other man did. There was no shame in it, why would she feel sorry for the lack of others? Fingertips, slowly, circled around her folds. Finding that pleasure spot easily. It was the deep gaze that Mr. Langdon often had on her that encouraged that tingling feeling inside, hips raising to chase and seek her own bliss. By then lips had parted, soft whimpers followed.

How sensible they felt.

“Use your fingers.” His huskier voice didn’t make it less pleasant. It felt close enough to her ear, breathing in her neck— but she knew that was not the case. He remained inside, leaning back against the material of the cold marble. Two delicate fingers slid in, pleasing his sight. “Come on, love. How do my fingers feel inside you?”

Her teeth caught her bottom lip, preventing any further noise. The female’s body kept on seeking her reach, clouded by arousal. “It feels —“ It gave her chills. The form of his name came out in the sweetest of low moans, mind attempting to settle as a wave of satisfaction greeted her. There was no time to recover by the moment someone else’s steps walking in the bathroom were heard, startling her. Her eyes opened to meet Langdon’s gaze. He wore a grin. As satisfied as she felt.

“Well?” He inquired. Unbothered by third one in the room.

“Satisfying.”

Only then, his attention turned to the male around his thirties, who didn’t seem phased by such an event before his eyes. His strong accent arose with short words. “It’s time.” And it was indeed time to know the truth. Part of him wanted to, the other part just wanted to ignore it all and move on.

“Very well. You have been entertained enough. Why don’t you lead the way towards the lady’s room?”

It was spoken towards the male with stubble, who was interrupted by the female as soon as she arose, already dressed. “I know my way, as every night. Thank you, Michael.” These little games they often played between them ( often initiated by her ) whenever she’d feel herself unsatisfied by others. Michael never touched her himself, but he made it easier for her to feel as if he had. Neither side complained. Instead of taking steps towards the main door, she did the expected for him. Finding herself by the side of the bathtub, she brought her wrist close to his lips. An invitation. His gaze spoke of amusement and yet, desire wrapped up as one. Sharp teeth dug into the skin yet before he could find himself attached to it, she withdrew. Holding her hand out; drops of blood fell onto the man’s bare chest. As a response, a sound of pleasure came from him. His head tilted backwards; waiting. Tasting on his tongue now the blood tainting his lips.

A moment that was shared simply by glances and deep thoughts. When the room was left alone, except for himself, he took a deep breath. The little games between them would perk his interest, but not tonight. He couldn’t stop thinking. Assuming. Overthinking. If the truth was known, where would it lead him?

Both hands gripped both sides of the bathtub. The moonlight through curtains bathed most of the room, making the reddish liquid seem darker. Matched with dilated pupils. Once someone asked “Is it blood or wine?”

He never answered it.

“Father. May I arise with your guidance, your wisdom. Open my eyes to the unknown, let me see what has been hidden from me.”

The self made cut along the palm of his hand through praying made him release a brief grunt, his own blood dripping into the darker water.

He sank.

[ ... ]

It felt like a blurry dream, only that he was allowed to take his own path. Surrounded by nothing, but blackness, Michael found himself stepping forward. Aimlessly. It wasn’t the sight that would lead him, but the feeling inside his chest. One hand held up, slightly, as if attempting to prevent himself from bumping into something — nothing. It was the brief yet remarkable sound of a whimper that caught his attention seconds later. From behind. Turning on his heels, he was caught off guard by the sight of himself on his knees, holding a smaller body on his lap. The other boy in agony choked on his own blood.

Walking around the scene, he caught the glimpse of the boy’s face. A younger-looking Michael Langdon laid out, being chased by death. The current Langdon, watching both versions of himself, found himself confused. Shown in the way his eyebrows furrowed.

“Take me.” A lighter tone, drowning in pain. Blues widened almost innocent-alike. It wasn’t innocence, but fear in the younger one. “to the house. With you. Forever.”

The view changed within the blink of an eye, and he was struck by the same pain in its fullest. Worse than the pain which didn’t let him sleep at mornings or had his paranoia carrying along. It was surrow, in its truest nature, blooming with loss. Taken caught off guard, the older Langdon fell to his knees, mimicking the sight before him.

This time, it was him in the vision who found himself crying. Another Michael. Just the same way he looked currently, dressed with the same silk clothes. He held another body in his arms. It was no longer another young verse of himself, but a stranger. Something blocked out the sight of their face, no matter how hard he attempted to focus, he was only allowed to see their hair. Such a person gripped the other Michael’s clothes, a small gesture. They were bleeding out, also chased by death itself.

He rolled fingers into a fist against his chest as if it would erase the pain he felt and yet didn’t understand. It didn’t. That other Michael loved whoever they were and they mourned, cried in surrow. Shared pain which was interrupted by a softer tone reaching his ears, it came from the stranger. Barely a whisper. Feminine, young, lovingly. No words were caught. Another blink made him notice the vision of him was bleeding as well — and that they weren’t clinging to his clothes. It was the stranger’s hand burying a dagger into his chest.

Everything else faded.

[...]

“Michael.”

An known voice echoed in the room, but the young male found himself too occupied catching his breath to acknowledge it, leaning against the side of the bathtub. His friend hunched down, worry in his tone within the same second he helped him out. “What did you see?”

He wasn’t certain about it.

“Someone’s death.” Langdon spoke between breaths, the effect of the spell had forced his true nature out, dilated eyes cast by darkness, highlighted veins beneath, scars that erased the sight of a youthful beauty. “And mine.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #cody fern #michael langdon imagine #duncan shepherd #ahs fandom #michael langdon x you #ahs apocalypse #ahs fic #writing #duncan shepherd imagine #michael langdon fic

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peppersonironi · 4 years ago

Text

Siblings: The Truth of the Matter

For @duketectivecomics‘s Duke Week Day Six: All in Batfamily

Summary: Duke had a strange family. Two of his siblings had been raised from birth to be assassins. One was born in a circus. One had been a crime lord for a time. Yet another was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company by the age of seventeen. All of them dressed up in spandex every night to punch bad guys.So when he was woken up by icy water being splashed in his face, tied to a chair in nothing but his boxers, he wasn't surprised. Now, that's not to say he wasn't worried. Duke was definitely worried. Especially since it was these two. AKA Duke gets tied up and questioned by his siblings, all while drugged with Truth Serum!

Notes: I’ve had this for a while (it was going to be a chapter of my Batfam/Avengers Crossover), and figured I might as well submit it! What’s family without pranks, right? I might do a new one later on, but we’ll see!

Duke had a strange family. Two of his siblings had been raised from birth to be assassins. One was born in a circus. One had been a crime lord for a time. Yet another was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company by the age of seventeen. All of them dressed up in spandex every night to punch bad guys.

So when he was woken up by icy water being splashed in his face, tied to a chair in nothing but his boxers, he wasn't surprised. Now, that's not to say he wasn't worried. Duke was definitely worried. Especially since it was these two.

“Now, Thomas,” Damian said, setting a now empty water bucket to the side, “we have a few questions for you-”

“And since we loaded you up with truth serum, there's no way you're getting out of it!” Jason finished. He had an evil grin on his face as he fiddled with a hanging lightbulb that provided light to the otherwise pitch-dark room.

“Of course, the results of this session will go straight to Father. I'm sure he will take them into account with your training.” Damian had produced a clipboard from somewhere, and began to write on it with a… was that a feather quill? Gosh, Duke's brothers were so extra. “Todd, you may now commence.”

Duke could have sworn he heard water drip slowly into a pool as Jason bent over into Duke's face.

“Okay Duchess, what did you do with my power puff girls guillotine? I know you were next to it last week.”

“Umm …” Duke didn't quite know what to say. This was not what he was expecting from The Red Hood. How could he even keep a straight face?! “Jay, do you know how weird that sounded?”

Jason did not find that funny. He stood up straight. “I guess we're doing this the hard way.”

“Wait, what?” Duke started to panic. Knowing Jason, 'the hard way' would probably involve lots of guns. “I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't know you even had a guillotine, let alone a power puff girls one!” Duke couldn't hide the upturn of his lip at the end of his speech. That was one sentence he never thought he would say.

“You saw it when you were in my room last Thursday!” Jason paused, and Duke once again heard the ominous drip. Drip. Drip. Of the water. “Say, Duchess, why were you in my room last Thursday?”

Duke thought back. “I think I was looking for you,” he began, “Dick wanted everyone together for a movie night.”

Jason shook his head. “That may add up, but you've still been around my stuff an awful lot, lately.”

“Like what?” Duke asked, honestly confused.

“MY CANDY STASH!” Jason blew up. He waved his hands around, almost hitting the hanging lightbulb. “In the kitchen! You got into it, I know you did!”

“Do you mean the single Snicker's in the bottom cabinet?” Duke had found it just yesterday, but didn't touch it for fear of a glitter bomb booby trap. “I'm sorry, if there were more, I didn't touch them. I'm not your perp!”

“That Snicker's is my stash, duchess! And you looked at it funny! I know you were thinking about taking it!”

“Do you know what happens to people in this house when they eat the last of something?” Duke was filled with horrible memories of things he wished he could unsee. “There was all out war when Steph finished Dick's Captain Crunch cereal!”

Damian nodded his head as he kept writing. “Avoiding the questions and denying blame. Good, Thomas. I didn't think you had it in you.”

Jason glared at his partner in crime while Duke denied the … compliment?

“No I'm not! I'm answering the questions honestly!”

Damian gave Duke a look that was eerily similar to Dick's 'oh, honey' face.

“What about my rubber bullets, kid?” Jason once again leaned down over Duke, and rested his hand on the back of the chair. “You took them. Thought using a vacuum would be sneaky, did'ja?”

Ah, now Duke was in trouble. He and Stephanie had been teamed up for a prank war, part of which involved stealing Jason's ammo. “That's what was all over the floor in the living room?” Thank goodness Bruce had taught him how to evade truth serum.

“What the f*** did you think they were?!” Jason was leaning in close now, his glare boring into Duke's soul. Drip. Drip. Drip. Went the water, its pace ever steady. Damian stood to the side, a small smirk on his face as he wrote down every twitch in Duke's face, every breath. Duke began to sweat from the pressure.

“What's going on?”

All three of the rooms occupants looked over to the sudden intruder. Stephanie stood in the now open doorway, flooding the room with light. She looked very confused.

Duke pulled his eyes away from his savior long enough to take in his now revealed surroundings, and was quite surprised.

Instead of some dark, dank corner of the Batcave, or some KGB torture cell, Damian and Jason had set up shop in one of Alfred's drawing rooms. The windows had been blocked off to limit to the light, and the furniture had been pulled to the sides of the room the only other thing on the floor was a large bowl of water. The lone lightbulb swung precariously from a wire pulled from the chandelier. The Chandelier itself seemed normal, except for -

“Dick?” Duke was open-mouthed at the 20-something year old man wrapped around the gold and crystal, an eyedropper in hand, which he seemed to be using to produce those ominous dripping noises.

“Uh,” Dick laughed nervously, “hi?”

Stephanie laughed, grabbing the doorframe to steady herself. “Oh, this is gold! What are you even doing?”

Jason grinned, standing straight. He hit his head on the light bulb, but didn't seem that bothered. “We're interrogating Duke. Wanna join in?”

“Truth serum?”

“You know it.”

Stephanie beamed as she skipped over to the others. Before she could join in on the Duke-torture, however, Dick dropped down from his perch and put a hand out to stop the purple-clothed terror.

“Wait, you gotta be in character.”

Crap, Duke thought, as Stephanie nodded solemnly before shutting the door. Once the room was back to darkness, Dick retreated into the shadows, and the dripping continued.

Stephanie walked up toward Duke, pausing to take a deep breath. She put her hands in front of her face, drawing them down as she let out the air. Within moments, Stephanie Brown became a whole other person. A much, much scarier person.

Jason cursed as Steph stalked forward, giving Duke small satisfaction that he wasn't the only one scared. “Duke,” Stephanie drawled as she bent down, “Pancakes or Waffles?”

“I …” Duke looked around, searching for help. Some kind of help. Anything that could get him out of this mess. H***, he'd even take Bruce at this point.

“Duuuuuuke?” Jason asked. “Why don't you answer the lady? Surely old Alfred has taught you some manners while living here?”

“I …” Duke closed his eyes. “My answer is … yes.”

A small snicker floated from the darkness. Great, at least Dick found this amusing.

Stephanie, however, did not. She unleashed upon her prisoner the full brunt of her own batglare(TM). It was different than Bruce's. More Vicious. She accessorized it with a tight smile.

“Which you prefer, Duke?”

“I … I couldn't tell you.” Not if he wanted to live. “I … haven't had them in a while …” Ah, there you go Duke, he thought, beating the system.

Stephanie looked to Jason, and they both grinned. “Oh, I think we can help with that.” From somewhere behind her, Steph pulled two plates, one with a stack of pancakes, the other with waffles. Somehow, they were both warm. “Which do you like better Duke? Pancakes, with their light, fluffiness?” Stephanie waved the plate of pancakes under Duke's nose, and he had to admit they smelled divine. “Waffles, with their crisp exteriors, eggy interiors?” She switched the plates, and her smirk grew as Duke began to tremble. “One is clearly superior.”

“Stay strong, Thomas.” Damian said. The little gremlin had a small grimace on his face. Ah, so he was perfectly fine with stabbing his siblings, but Stephanie's emotional torture was now inhumane?

Yeah, it really was.

Duke smashed his lips together, the only part of his body that wasn't trembling. He wasn't going to tell Steph he preferred pancakes. He'd rather die.

“He's close.” Steph said, deadpan. “He just needs a bit of a push.”

“I got it!” Jason pulled out a syringe from his cargo pants. “One more dose of truth serum. This'll get him singin' like a bird!”

“But I was never Robin!” Duke blurted out before he could stop himself. Jason, Damian, and Stephanie looked unimpressed. “it's true ….” Duke muttered.

“Poor banter,” Damian said as he took another note on his clipboard. “And to think you were doing rather well. Unlike Todd.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jason said as he tried to inject the dosage into Duke's neck.

“Jason, please!” Duke begged. “Don't! This is too much, even for you!”

“Duchess,” Jason said, shaking his head, “I've killed, maimed, and tortured people. Do you really think this is too much for me?”

“Damian?” Duke turned as much as he could in his restraints to look at his little brother. “Please, have pity! I thought we were good? We play video games together! You've told me I'm acceptable!”

The former assassin turned his head aside . “I apologize Thomas. This must be done.”

“Dick!” Duke was almost to tears at this point. “You're supposed to be the nice one! You're supposed protect your brothers! Protect me!”

Dick's voice trailed from the shadows, full of regret. But also … excitement? “Sorry, Duke, but I also have some questions for you.”

Duke wailed in horror as Jason launched himself forward, jabbing the needle into Duke. “Three minutes should do it.”

“BETRAYAL!” Duke called. Hopefully Alfred would hear. But Alfred knew everything that occurred in his house, so the chances that he wasn't already aware, were slim. Heck, the butler probably approved!

“Once again, Duke.” Stephanie announced, once the allotted time for the serum to start working had passed. She tented her fingers. “Do you prefer Waffles or Pancakes?”

Duke tried to stay quiet, he really did. But none of Bruce's training had prepared him for the horrendous, unstoppable force that was Batman's children.

Just then, Tim Drake opened the door to see a strange scene before him. Duke, tied to a chair wearing nothing but boxers. Jason, standing to the side with an empty syringe, a maniacal gleam in his eye. Stephanie, looking much like the super villains that they fought, her fingers tented, her face dark. Dick, once again wrapped in between the coils of the chandelier, eyedropper in hand.

His eyes were wide and unblinking as his mouth opened and closed, trying to form words.

Unfortunately, fate was not with the captive that day. Duke Thomas couldn't help but blurt out the words that sealed his fate: “I like pancakes better! The texture of waffles is just weird!”

“Uh …” Tim began before cringing as he heard Duke's words, then saw Stephanie's face. He looked to the heavens, as if begging for strength. “You guys look like you need some privacy. I didn't see anything.”

“No!” Duke called. “Tim, don't leave me!”

Tim shut the door behind him, but not before calling out: “Sorry dude, but I value my life.”

Stephanie tutted, shaking her head. “I'm sorry Duke,” she did not look sorry, “But no one's coming to save you.”

Jason whistled. “Wouldn't want to be you right now, Duchess.”

Duke slunk down in his chair. “Me neither.”

Stephanie opened her mouth, about to start a rant on the glories of waffles, when Dick leapt down from the chandelier and handed Steph his eyedropper. “Nuh-uh, it's my turn!”

The purple patron saint of waffles harrumphed, but retreated into the shadows. “I'm not doing that freaky contortion stuff on the chandelier though!”

Dick grinned as he sat down in front of Duke. From a pocket of his jeans, he pulled out an envelope. Out of which he plucked a piece of paper.

“Now, Duke, I have collected some fan-questions for you. All are completely harmless. Do us all a favor and answer … truthfully, eh?”

Duke groaned. “That was just bad, Dick.”

The acrobat didn't seem discouraged. He then unleashed a barrage of questions, completely unrelenting. Luckily, Duke was prepared.

“Best prank you ever pulled?”

“Was prepared.”

“Worst punishment you ever received?”

“Dolled out by Alfred.”

“Most embarrassing memory?”

“Not worth me telling you.”

Jason laughed appreciatively. “He's good.”

Dick narrowed his eyes slightly. “Your funniest pun was …?”

“Better than yours.”

Stephanie, Jason, and even Damian let out a laugh at that.

“Kid, you are now my favorite brother.”

“Hey!” Damian and Dick said, simultaneously.

“Thanks Jay,” Duke said, “If only you felt this way before you drugged me!”

Jason laughed. “You're funny, Duchess.”

Once again, the door opened. This time, Harper Row stood in the doorway, and she did not look happy.

“What's this that Tim told me about you tying up Duke?”

“It's not what you think!” Dick began.

“Yes it is!” Duke cut in. “They gave me truth serum and are interrogating me!”

There was a war going on in Harper's eyes. On one hand, she seemed to be trying to be the responsible sister. On the other, Harper loved chaos.

In the end, she sighed. “You guys really shouldn't be doing this. And you, Dick! You're supposed to stop these kinds of shenanigans!”

“That's what I said,” Duke muttered.

Once everyone looked properly remorseful – or at least pretending to be – Harper nodded. “I'm going to go now. This is your only chance.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, and Duke's last hope left, Jason let out a sigh. “That was close. Let's continue, shall we?”

Duke let out a moan, “I thought you were going to stop!”

Stephanie's voice was gleeful as it came from above: “Aw heck no, Duke! This is the most fun I've had in ages!”

“Better hurry up,” Jason said, “B will be home soon.”

Dick nodded sagely. “Of course.” He turned to Duke. “Okay, middle D, one last question for you.” Duke cringed. “It involves ducks.”

Duke’s eyes widened. “NO!” He yelled, knowing exactly what Dick was going to ask. “NO! You can’t make me!

Dick shook his head. “Aw, come on!” Duke continued to shake. “Duke Thomas, how many times have you-”

“What on earth is going on here?” Duke let out a relieved sigh as Bruce opened the door and strowed in. He glared at everyone, and even though every single member of the batfam was immune to Batman’s glare, it still gave Duke’s attackers siblings pause.

“Just some brotherly bonding, B.” Dick said tentatively. “You know, what you’re always trying to get us to do?”

Jason snorted. “Nothing harmful going on here,” he said, “and that’s the truth.”

Dick chuckled. “Ah, that pun was good, little wing.”

Bruce was not impressed. “Stephanie?”

“We’re having fun!” She said, dropping from the chandelier. “And we’ll clean it up.”

Bruce let out a long, suffering sigh. “Damian, will you tell me what all this yelling is about?”

Damian frowned at his father, before glancing around at his accomplices. “Todd and Grayson insisted on drugging Thomas with Truth serum. I was roped into assisting. I believed that I could keep them from going too far.”

Bruce rubbed his temples and sighed once more.

“If I may, father, Thomas performed admirably under the pressure. You may refer to my notes.”

“Little brat,” Jason muttered, and Stephanie and Dick nodded along.

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t need to see that Damian. Right now I want all of you to go to your rooms. As soon as Alfred is back from the grocery store, He and I will be having a discussion about your cookie privileges.”

Dick, Stephanie, and Jason deflated all at once and filed out of the room. Damian nodded to Duke, then stalked out. Huh, maybe the kid did feel bad.

Once the room was clear, Bruce untied Duke. "I'm sorry about them. If it happens again, come tell me or Alfred."

Duke nodded, "Thanks, B."

Bruce paused at the door on his way out. “The cure is in the cave. Or you can just wait it out.” He frowned, then sighed. “Also, I hope you don’t need me to say this, but please don’t attempt vengeance.”

Duke nodded solemnly as Bruce walked out. Then he smirked. He may be comparatively saner than his family, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t up for a bit of payback.

“Maybe Cass will help me,” Duke muttered to himself. “That’ll be fun.”

#dukeweek2020 #duke thomas #batfam #batfam shenanigans #batfam crack #humor #truth serum #damian wayne #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #stephanie brown #tim drake #harper row #bruce wayne #gen fic

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nalufever · 5 years ago

Note

do you have any more nalu fic recs?

Sorry, not sorry - you’ve unleashed more than you could’ve guessed. ^^ Always happy to Recommend a List of Fics ~ And thank you for asking! Admittedly there’s a few Recs that aren’t Nalu - I got excited to share my favs. ;)

A Girl Worth Fighting For: Natsu navigates unspeakable horrors to win Lucy’s love or Natsu goes shopping, looking for the perfect white day gift.

A Lesson: Natsu and Lucy can’t keep themselves from expressing their passions - and the results are bed breaking. Short but smutty - smexy in fact. ;P

A Solidly Constructed Kiss: Erza strong-arms Lucy and Natsu into working the Kissing Booth to raise funds for a school trip. Lucy’s never been kissed and Natsu acts like he’s never entertained even the idea of kissing another person. Things naturally come to a head when Lucy and Natsu are given the task to build the actual booth; will they fight over construction or build themselves some kind of relationship?

Fairy Tail Week: A collection of drabbles from tumblr prompts to celebrate Fairy Tail. Fairy, Ladies, Lads, Magic, Guild, Ultimate Team, Stronger, Mashima, Tail. Only rated teen to err on the side of caution, family friendly content featuring most of the Fairy Tail Guild!

Feathers and Scales: Angel/Demon AU. Devils are more than they seem and Angels no less. Pitted against each other in a never-ending battle for souls, a single Angel and Devil trade mercies and fall in love. Warning: major character death(s).

Full Moon Secret: Natsu had wanted to tell Lucy his secrets, to share his family history with the fey…it had just never been the right time. Tonight the truth was going to be revealed, one way or another.

Okay, I could just keep hyping all of my own fics individually - but I won’t - other than to just put in a link to ALL OF THEM. ;) Fair warning, I have a few other fandoms works in all the Fairy Tail stories - from Brooklyn 99 to The Flash, Snow White with the Red Hair, RWBY, Blue Exorcist, Teen Titans and some Hakuouki. Yes, I’m a shameless self-promoter. Speaking of that - one more I need to rec! Natsu’s Stars in Lucy’s Sky. I swear Imma finish this.

I also have more than a few favourite authors who write for Fairy Tail (and other fandoms) ~ some have not contributed lately to Fairy Tail or chosen to concentrate on other fandoms - but I like them and their excellent writing.

ObsessedwithNalu: One of my first fandom friends and pretty much any of her FT stories is gold. @obsessedwithnalu

Christmas Treats: Admittedly a gift to me and very cherished for that fact - and - it’s frigging awesome. Lucy does a little holiday baking at home before Fairy Tail’s Christmas party. Natsu, as always, is there. One thing leads to another…

Thanks, Krov: When Krov decided to relax at his favorite bar after work, he never imagined that he’d be seeing some of his old guild members, especially since he thought they had died long ago. Nalu fluff.

Edo-Nalu love fest: Submissions for the Nalu love fest week of 2014. But instead of regular Nalu, these ones feature Edo-Nalu. Smut-tastic and delightfully mature.

ImpracticalDemon: Another early fandom friend who’s still writing this, that and the other thing - and she’s just GREAT. Again, a link to all her works and a few that are special to me follow. XOXOX @impracticaldemon

May the Best Man Survive: “Gray would never have in a million years thought he’d host Natsu’s bachelor party (Nalu pairing). Why is it his job to herd the bunch of rowdy mages from bar to bar, ending up at the guild where the real surprise party is? Oh yeah, the idiot had asked him to be the best man at his wedding. Hijinks, chaos and hilarity ensue.” ^^ A prompt supplied by me and I’m smirking so wide because the fic Imp came up with delivered more awesomeness than I could have hoped for!

A Star At His Side: “Accidentally Fall Asleep Together” for Endragoneel on tumblr. Natsu and Lucy spend the day together at a festival in Magnolia. Natsu ends up watching more than just the stars when the festival is over…

Christmas Gifts: When Erza walks Wendy home from the Guild’s Christmas Party, Wendy realizes how alone her friend and mentor is feeling. She sets out to recruit Lucy, Natsu and the rest to break Jellal out of prison for just one night, as a Christmas gift for Erza. Meanwhile, Natsu has accidentally burned some of Lucy’s writing. Will she forgive him?

Dark Shining Light: One of the best and most welcoming writers I have ever interacted with! I’m still gobsmacked she’s a friend! She’s a legend and I don’t know what else I could add to any discourse about her writing - but the classics are classic for a reason, yeah? Here’s a few of my personal favourites of her works and just know there’s too many to list them all! AKA @ff-darkshininglight

Mischievous Cat: Let’s just say there have been a few incidents where Happy has come in at a bad time.

What Belongs to a Demon: Everyone knew she belonged to the great demon lord and she would prove that she deserved to stand by his side.

The Truth Revealing Cards: Lucy should have known if there was a card that would reveal her secrets, Natsu would want it.

Eliz1369: Got introduced to her for her Hakuoki fics but she’d dipped her toes into FT as well ~ and this is a great fic. ^^ @eliz1369

The Light of Fairy Tail: The members of Fairy Tail may be their own brand of crazy, but their hearts are always in the right place.

rougescribe: Shame on me for not reading more of this author’s works! @rougescribe

Fire Sprite No 5: For him, Heaven wasn’t a place or a single moment in time. It was a feeling built on memories upon memories, past and present and a hope for future ones all tied down together. All sharing one common denominator: Her. Nalu. Tumblr Valentine’s Event.

Fallen Ark Angel: Admittedly I only have interacted from afar with this writer. I mainly read Nalu fics but I love her take on Mira and Laxus and her next gen offspring characters. She’s got a lot to offer and it’s all superb. @fallen029

Loving Satan: Loving Satan is never easy. But when she loves you back, its twice as bad.

Madartiste: Another one-sided love affair with someone else’s writing. And her stories are all wonderful and prolly appear on hundreds of Fic Rec Lists - but here’s one of my Favs! @madartiste

Hoarding: Getting interrupted gets old fast.

UranoMetria: I added her to my stable of fav authors 05-03-2014. Wow. Eons ago and even if I’m not sure she’s still active in the fandom, I salute her. Kudos.

The Goddess Gate: With six years of partnership, Natsu and Lucy are torn apart by a mysterious visit from a secret magic council. Lucy is kidnapped and her memories suppressed. She fights her way back home to regain her life - with a startling secret revealed as she begins to remember. The lives of all Earthland hang in the balance. **Okay, this is a wicked old fic - but amazingly written and fuelled my own desires for writing. Last updated in 2018 but who knows? Some current attention may slay any demons on her back in regards to writing - and even if not - the hours of enjoyment reading this is worth giving a comment just to say, ‘thank you for writing.‘

Wild Rhov: Do I even need to say anything about this author? Famous, famous, famous. Excellent. Writes a lot of pairings and fleshes every relationship into something REAL. I Can’t Even. @wildrhov

Beastly Possession: Something is murdering people in Magnolia. When Lucy is attacked, Natsu goes on a rampage to find the culprit, and everyone in Fairy Tail wants revenge. But could this bloodthirsty attacker be someone they know? Warning: High octane nightmare fuel! Do not read while eating, and beware of red eyes in the dark!

Shell1331: Introduced via Imp. This writer is in a few fandoms and is worth reading. @shell-senji

Juicy: Impulsivity and poorly chosen words get Natsu into more trouble than he’d expected, which is saying something for him.

AbsentAngel: Everyone should know this writer. Been stalking her since 2014 so that says something. Tho, it’s prolly just that I’m creepy. ;) My suggested fic here is being re-written/has been? into something original and worth being purchased when it becomes available and re-read over and over. No, I am not being paid to shill but I am open to having senpai notice me. @absent-angel

To the Flame: She stares, transfixed, as the blood runs down his fingers and begins to pool in his palm. He holds his hand up to her lips in offering, and she tears her eyes away from the blood to study his face. He is smiling softly. “Go on Luce, I didn’t cut them for nothing.” [Vamp AU]

HawkofNavarre: Loved for awesome and delightful Gruvia content. Looks like there’s a tumblr but I can’t manage to link it. :(

You Stole the Rain: He just wanted to be friends; fine, she just needed to change his mind. Gray x Juvia

Ricardian Scholar Clark-Weasley: Not sure I spelled that right even after checking three times! I usually short hand that to RS-CW in my head. And she’s prolific - has a tonne of fandoms and is a tower of talent. Is anyone reading all my fangirl gushing? 'Cause she follows one of my fics and comments (sorry I haven’t updated that fic in a while) and it’s a source of happiness that someone who writes so well happens to enjoy some of my content. Okay, bragging over - back to the Recs!

Tales of Fairies: A collection of oneshots exploring different friendships, ideas, sad themes, comical scenarios, and lots and lots of pairings…but mainly Nalu.

snogfairy: Another giant in the FT fandom. Impressive talent. @lineffability

naughty nalus: smutty nalu oneshots B) ***Mature content!***

Rivendell101: Another giant in FT and other fandoms. This author would be considered required reading if I ran a fandom course in a University setting. Just sayin’ @rivendell101

Crave: /krāv/ Verb. To feel a powerful desire for (something). They crave each other. And satiation doesn’t come easily. He growls against her again. “Beg for it,” he demands, lips ghosting against her.

Lakerae aka @hidetheremote : Did you think I’d forgotten you? Ha! Gotcha good! You’re an inspiration to me because you’re working so hard to publish your children’s books. Kudos to you li'l sis! You’re busy but still make it a point to talk to me and I love you for that and everything.

The Gift of the Magi: A Gajevy Twist: A retelling of the classic Christmas story “The Gift of the Magi,” with your favorite Fairy Tail couple Gajeel and Levy! It’s Christmas time and Gajeel and Levy exchange gifts. They both are surprised what they receive and learn a lesson of the true meaning of Christmas.

I could add more and more as I search my saved favs on FF.net ~ and I’m sorry to not include all of them - but this is crazy long as it is. If you read and like any of the recommended fics, please be sure to let the author know. To the authors of these and all fanfics, Thanks for everything.

#fic list #rec fic list #fan fics galore #mainly Nalu rec'd fics #sorry not sorry #asks #answered #more than poor anon bargained for

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nonsensicalobsessions · 5 years ago

Text

But You Are Mine

Prompt: Loki/OFC AU, nurse

Author’s Note: So, after an incredibly long hiatus, the Muse returned and left this story with me, so I could respond to the mystery prompt challenge as posed by Little Darlin’s AU Mystery Challenge. It was an interesting set up: I chose the pairing, and the prompt I wanted (song, dialogue prompt, or a nonverbal prompt, or AU) which would was then selected by Little Darlin. I will let you, the reader, decide how well I fulfilled the prompt I chose and drew...

Tired. So unbelievably tired, I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer, nor could I come up with a reason to do so.

The bath water was warm, and deep, my head was so heavy, and my eyes burned...what was the point? Rest, a persuasive voice whispered inside my head. Just close your eyes for awhile, what harm will it do? You are finally warm, after feeling so cold and miserable.

The humidity felt so good in my aching throat and the scent of almonds and honey soothed me further as I allowed myself to drift off.

Come now, Little One. You need to shake this lethargy off, and sit up.

I need to do no such thing. This voice was new, and unwelcome, and it could piss off.

Hearing voices in my head wasn’t nearly as upsetting as it might seem on the surface. They weren’t true auditory hallucinations...most of the time. I knew I had an active imagination. Usually it was a source of comfort for me and my solitary, sheltered existence. The more upsetting mono- or dialogues I had become disciplined enough to shut out. Therapy is a wonderful thing.

You most certainly do, or else the consequences will be most dire.

Oh? Such as?

Such as, I am the only thing keeping you from falling asleep, and as such slipping under the surface of the water and drowning.

The voice was quiet, and firm. Curiously enough, it was male. Huh. A lovely baritone, come to that. Most of my voices were either female, or asexual.

I somehow think my first inhalation of water would be sufficient to wake me up, but thank you for reinforcing your poor opinion of me, whoever you are. You may go now. Just...so tired...

You are tired because you haven’t eaten in three days, nor had anything to drink for two. And you are also tired because you are barely conscious. You are quite ill and in dire need of medical assistance. Does the thought of impending death not move you at all?

Voice, who are you and why should I even care? Voices come and voices go. None of them speak truth, they simply tell stories or say what I want to hear. Just leave me to some god damned rest for a change.

No. This god will not let you have the rest of the damned.

Oh bullshit. There are no gods. And if there are, none of them speak to me, or care enough to make their presence known. I’ve tried.

Can you not hear me answer you?

I’m dreaming. That’s all this is. And I challenge you, Nameless God—who are you, and why would you come to me now anyway? Why can’t you just let me go in peace?

Because I have been watching over you, my dear. I’ve heard you calling out to me in joy, in mischievous laughter, in rage, in despair, but most delightfully in passion...and yet, your calls have dwindled, and your supplications grown smaller, and finally silent. I came to see about you, and find you on the verge of passing beyond even my reach...why? Why have you allowed yourself to fail so grievously ill?

I repeat—who are you?

Beautiful mortal. I’m your Loki. Open your eyes.

Struggling, I managed to force my eyelids to open. It was time to force myself out of this reverie that was bound to sink my soul deeper into the mire of depression should I continue. There would be no one there, because there was never anyone there.

Crouched besides my tub, was...someone. A male figure, in armor that was casually unfastened at his throat. His index finger lightly supported my chin, as my body had in fact slipped a lot lower than I realized. Careless of modesty, I struggled to sit up, but my head felt poorly supported by my neck, and I leaned it heavily against the side of the bath. I blearily realized perhaps I was sicker than I realized, as my imagination had now exploded into full blown delusions. Auditory, visual, tactile...whee, such fun...

“You do not seem overly distressed to find me here.”

“Begging your pardon, but I fear you are not. Clearly I am spiking a temperature and am delirious. I knew I was feeling ill beforehand but had no idea...”

“Oh, you skeptical woman. You are indeed sick, in fact I am still unsure what can be done for you, but none of my favored will slip away in a bath if I can give at least some assistance to aid their passage.” And with that, I found myself being lifted, and tenderly brought to my bed, instantly dry and clad in the loveliest nightdress I’d ever seen. Certainly finer than anything I had in my possession.

“What...?”

“Darling, you deserve something beautiful. But right now, I fear your body is shutting down. You should not have neglected yourself so sorely. Why have you?”

At this point, I decided to just go with it.

“Are you then, truly...”

“Yes, I am the same Loki you’ve called out to many, many times. Your very own.”

“Why do you say it like that? ‘My very own’? Surely there can only be one of you...?”

“Little One, have you no idea how many multiverses exist? For whatever reason, I have found you, and therefore I have claimed you as mine. I do not share easily, if at all. Should another incarnation of myself suddenly appear, he would have quite a fight on his hands. You are mine. I know everything about you...how you read well past your bedtime. The many, many hundreds of thousands of words you have written, but have never shared with anyone—why? You’ve created entire universes of your own, woven wondrous tapestries filled with richness and delight, but have locked them away in secret...composed anthologies of poems...” Long fingers played with my hair as I stared into his eyes, struck dumb by his revelations as he looked pointedly at my stacks of journals that were perched on my nightstand, leaned on shelves, and even sat on the floor.

His face was a confusion for me. He wasn’t as described in the eddas, nor was he the mirror image of the MCU character.

“Of course not,” he laughed, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “I am me, and no one else. Just as you are yourself.” Drat the man, he was even reading my mind now, or at least reading my expressions...

His eyes were almost a kaleidoscope of green and blue, and his hair a rich black waterfall of wavy locks, his lips neither thin nor thick, and his teeth...I had to shake myself from getting lost in his physical magnetism.

“I don’t know what to say,” I murmured. “If you know so much, why are you asking me these questions, and why are you coming now, when everything has gotten so bad?”

“When I saw you last, things weren’t so dire, pet,” he confessed. “I wasn’t going to manifest myself unless I thought you truly needed me. You were content, I thought—you had your life with your friends, your activities...why should I upset everything? God of Chaos and Mischief I am, but I had no desire to destroy your life for no purpose. I adore mischief and pranks. I would bring pain to you.”

“Loki, everything is gone,” I whispered, trying to contain my grief. “Everything I was striving for...I’m never going to get better, you know, the physical therapists told me I’ve hit my maximum potential. The only thing I can do is have surgery, which will be expensive, painful, and risky with uncertain outcome. There will be no one to help me recuperate, to further complicate matters. My job is at risk because I can’t keep up any longer. I’ve worked so long to help everyone else, but...”

“Now you need help, and everyone has disappeared, aye,” he concluded sadly. “I am sorry. I know you have struggled with this for a long time.”

“I never felt like I wanted outlandish things. I wanted to have a family of my own. A husband who loved me, found me physically desirable...”

“You are incredibly desirable,” Loki growled fiercely. “By the Nine, I’ve watched you as you have lain in your narrow bed of nights, wondering what ails the men of this realm that you have had to take care of your needs alone. Your body in passion has inflamed me in ways I can barely tolerate without slipping through and ravishing you without so much as a by your leave...!”

“But you didn’t” I hotly interrupted. “For whatever reason, you didn’t. Whether I was too old, too disabled, too fragile, too mortal, too unattractive...you like every other male found your pleasures elsewhere, and...”

“Be very careful,” Loki hissed. “You are close to unleashing something you know nothing of...”

“Well of course I know nothing of it, I just want a family, babies, children, I just wanted to be loved, and yet you find me about to drown in my own bathtub! And come to it, why didn’t you just leave me be? At least the pain and the loneliness and the aching would be over! What is the point, or are you going to be just as distant as all the other gods in the pantheon...!”

I didn’t say anymore, because speech was no longer possible. Loki had swooped down, crushed my body to his, and was kissing me with a thoroughness I never dreamed possible.

What need for breath had I, when there were such kisses to be had? My head was spinning, my heart was pounding, and the edges of my vision were growing dark as I lost myself in him, my hands slowly then more confidently pressing him even closer to me, so I could feel his silky locks in my fingers, his chest rising and falling.

“I warned you,” he said at last, allowing me to greedily inhale at last. “You taunt me, showing me where I may have failed in the past, but I will refuse myself no longer. I thought by denying myself the pleasure of being in your company, I was doing what was best for you, but no more! You are mine, and I will be the one to give you all, whether you wish it or not. No mortal men for you, my darling. I will have Eir herself if necessary at your bedside, and what Eir cannot heal, I shall unleash my seidr upon, and what magic cannot improve, I swear I will fetch and carry and give to you whatever you need so you will be comfortable and happy. No healer will be as dedicated. No handmaiden as constant.”

I sat back. “You...really care? You care that much?”

“Sweetling? I may be your Loki...but you?”

He leaned forward and cradled my body against his, his voice husky and tantalizing, his breath barely brushing against my ear.

“...you are my Ástvinur. I cannot, will not be without you another moment. I refuse. Seeing you about to slip away...no. I have chosen you, and you are mine.”

@sourpatchkidsandacokecan @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @hopelessromanticspoonie @winterisakiller @redfoxwritesstuff @ciaodarknessmyheart @villainousshakespeare @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @vodka-and-some-sass @theheartofpenelope @sabine-leo @wegingerangelica @the-insomniac-cat2 @alexakeyloveloki @myoxisbroken @ladyfluff @toomanystoriessolittletime

#it #ldamc #loki x ofc #loki imagine #look Christine I did a thing #Nonsensical Writes

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Sanctuary -Chapter 25

Warnings: none really

Tagging: @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @thorsbathroomchicken

It's seven thirty in the evening when they park three blocks away from the Slainte pub; sidewalks crawling with pedestrians, streets packed with cars, restaurant patios standing room only and offering up not only booze and traditional Irish and American dishes, but live music as well. At first neither of them move or speak. The only sounds the clicking of the cooling engine and the muffled sounds of conversations and laughter filtering in from the outside world. Tyler grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white; his eyes dark and stormy, brow furrowed, lips set in a thin, stern line. Everything is telling him that this is a bad idea; that aching pit in his stomach, the tightness in his throat, the anxiety that sits heavily on his chest. He's tempted to just say 'fuck it' and turn the car back on and return to the hotel. Or to actually accompany her to her destination; sitting inside as opposed to being separated by hundreds of feet and walls of brick and glass.

“You have to trust me. Tyler.”

Her voice plays over and over in his head. It isn't that he doesn't trust her. He trusts her with his life. With his children's lives. It's that the threat of losing her is becoming all too terrifyingly real. The thought that anything could happen while she was in there alone. Someone in that bar could have seen her at the hotel or with him out on the street or at the airport and 'make her' as soon as she stepped through the door. If they know who she is...who she is tied to...it's game over. There is no coming back from what will happen to her. They will beat her. Rape her. Torture her. For days on end until they finally got their fill. And then they'd kill her. It has happened before; women tied to mercenaries captured and unbelievably savagery and brutality unleashed on them. Even if they did manage to survive, the effects and the trauma were long lasting. Life altering. And it's fate that is just too painful to consider.

He thinks of his kids. At the thought of actually having to do it alone. Raise them as a single father. And it makes him nauseous. His head pounds; sweat gathers at his temples and upon his brow. And he reaches into the side pocket of his cargo pants and takes out a bottle of anti anxiety meds; twisting open the cap and dumping four into his mouth.

Esme notices but says nothing. Simply resting her hand on his thigh and and giving it a tight squeeze. She never judges him; she knows his struggles with mental illness. The effects of his PTSD and depression. The often crippling anxiety. All seemingly kept at bay until McCann had stepped into their lives and torn it all to shit.

She moves beside him now; grabbing the laptop bag that rests between her feet, pulling those fake eyeglasses from a side pocket and slipping them onto her face. “Well?” she inquires, and turns to face him. “What do you think?”

He can't help but smile. She looks years younger. With that fresh face devoid of any make up and shimmering red hair and those freckles across the bridge of her nose. Looking the part of the working girl in a simple pair of black dress slacks and a cream short sleeved blouse that plunges just far enough to both capture attention and send any mortal man's curiosity into overdrive.

“I think you should get glasses for real,” he replies, and leans across the front seat to kiss her. He can taste her tinted lip gloss; a mix of coconut and strawberry. And he wishes he could keep kissing her forever. “Are you sure about this?” he asks. “I need you to be sure about this.

“I'm good,” she assures her. “Are you sure about this?”

“No,” he admits. “I'm not.”

“I'll be okay,” she promises, laying a hand on the side of his face and pecking his lips. “I've got this. I know what I'm doing. Just hold up your end of the bargain, okay? You only come in if you hear something going wrong.”

“It'll be too late if I wait that long.”

“Give me a chance,” she implores. “If I'm not out in twenty minutes, then come in and get me. Don't talk to anyone, don't make every contact. Just walk in and grab me and we leave. But I need at least twenty to get anything out of these people. Even if it's just names of other people to talk to.”

“There's a restaurant across the street. I'll be waiting there. On the patio. When I see you come out, I'll wait until you've turned the corner and then I'll catch up. Okay?”

She nods.

“I don't like this. Not one fucking bit.”

“It's going to be okay, Tyler. You just have to trust me.”

He nods, then presses a kiss to her forehead. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” she vows, a gentle smile curving her lips, so much love and adoration in her eyes and written all over her face as she reaches up to push his hair away from his eyes. She gives him on last peck on the lips and then opens the car door, stepping out on the street and slinging the laptop bag over her shoulder. Shooting him a smile and a small wave of the fingertips before crossing the busy street.

He watches through the rear view mirror as she goes. Then waits until she disappears around the next corner before climbing out himself.

****

He arrives first; his gait longer and quicker. And he takes a seat at one of the remaining tables on the restaurant patio. A table for four; sitting in the very middle, facing the other side of the street and the busy pub that is their target. Taking in the surroundings; the bouncer at the door, several couples sitting outside under umbrellas emblazoned with the Guinness logo, an acoustic guitar player completing the equipment set up before his gig. Through the pub's front window he can see the wet bar that stretches all the way from front to back; a handful of customers on the stools, a waitress moving around with notepad and pen in hand, a lone bartender tending to thirsty patrons.

He orders a beer and pretends to be interested in seeing a a menu. Even the littlest things can spark suspicion,and it's better to be safe than sorry. And he's just slipped his sunglasses onto his face when Esme finally rounds the corner, and he sees the nervous way she tucks her hair behind her ears and constantly looks over her shoulder. It's been a long time since she's done something like this. Walked into the unknown and lied and conned to get her way. But it's like riding a bike; once you hit the right stride and your confidence comes back

She pauses before approaching the door, casting a glance in his direction. A tiny smile tugging at her lips.

He raises his hand in a small wave, then gives her a reassuring smile of his own, followed by a stiff nod. Sipping his beer, watching over the rim of the glass as she briefly engages with the bouncer, flashing the hulking man a dazzling smile before reaching into the pocket on her pants and pulling out one of the fictitious business cards that Nik had made up. Chatting amicably, gesturing animatedly with her hands, cocking her head to the side and giving that flirtatious little grin that he knows so well. He hates it. Seeing her that way with other men, Whether it's for a job or not. And he'd never considered himself a jealous or possessive man. Until her. And he actually frowns when she lays a hand on the other man's bicep. Legitimately angry at how the younger man is so obviously checking her out; the way he gallantly opens the door for her and then his eyes focus on her ass as she steps inside.

Gulping down a mouthful of beer, he takes his SAT from the side pocket of his pants and sends Nik a quick and simple text.

SHE'S IN.

*****

The wooden floors are scuffed and bowed; peanut shells and wood shavings cracking under the soles of her heels. It fits every stereotype that her mind has ever held of an Irish pub; Guinness on tap, the smell of fish and chips hanging heavily in the air, polished wood tables and booths, chairs and stools and benches clad in rich green vinyl. The Tiffany glass swag lamps that hang over diners as they eat, the dart pools and pool tables taken up by the young and old alike.

She notices the attention she attracts; a fairly young woman clad in modest business attire, the black patent pumps and the vibrant hair. She feels the eyes on her with each patron she passes; the curious, the intrigued, the suspicious. A fresh face in a place like this is bound to turn some heads, and puts an extra sway in her hips as she walks, licking her lips and making them glisten, shy smiles for the men her age and younger, broader and more friendly ones for the elderly gents. It's been a hell of a long time she's had to play that game; lure men in, giving them a false sense of confidence, encouraging them to approach yet not wanting to come across as too eager. She's missed it. The sense of satisfaction that you get when you know you've got someone on the hook and you just keep reeling them in until they're eating out of the palm of your hand.

“May I?” she address an older man as he drinks at the bar, casting a glance down at the overcoat and the copy of that day's paper that sits on the stool beside him.

“Of course, love. My apologies,” he hurriedly removes the items, then gallantly offers a hand to help her up onto the stool.

“A gentleman,” she muses, and curls her fingers around him, accepting the gesture with a smile.

“Can I buy you a drink, love?” he sounds a little too eager. But he's encouraged by the fact that a woman more than half his age has chosen the seat beside him...out of all the empty stools remaining at the bar...to perch herself upon.

“I'd love to accept, but I'm actually on the job.”

“Something non alcoholic, then. Just to quench your thirst.”

She relents, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Billy!” he calls down to the bar keep, a younger man that leans against the end of the bar, watching soccer on the flat screen mounted on the nearby wall.

Esme estimates his age; twenty five, thirty at the most. Tall and and thin but blessed with broad shoulders and a wide back. Rowing perhaps. Maybe even swimming. A brush cut that draws attention to the thick silver hoops in each ear lobe and the tribal tattoos that decorate each side of his thick, strong neck. Faded and well fitting blue jeans. Doc Marten boots. A black and red button down plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and a white tee underneath. Casual, yet well put together. And he regards her suspiciously as he wanders towards them, both hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

“Something for my new friend here,” the older gentleman says. “And another for me. “

“Just a diet coke,” she orders with a smile. Not too broad. Not too dazzling. Just right to break the ice. It's a process; some people are more easily charmed than others. She can tell he's going to be more of a challenge. If she seemed too friendly and chatty, it would turn him off from continuing a conversation. Too standoffish and he won't even engage. “Busy in here tonight. Is it always like this?”

“One of our most busy Thursdays,” the bartender confirms, as he moves way to gather their drinks.

“I'm sorry love,” the man beside her speaks up. “But I didn't catch your name,”

“That's because I didn't give it to you. Patience is a virtue, after all.” She pulls out her cell phone...her personal line...and uses the front facing camera as a ruse to fix her make up and touch up her hair, sneaking a picture of the young bar keep as he pours a stein of Guinness. She slips her phone back into the laptop bag, then turns to the older man with her hand out. “I'm Meghan. Meghan Young.”

“George,” he says in return, politely shaking her hand and then going the extra step of pressing his lips against the top of it. “You're not from around these parts, are you? An outsider. What brings a pretty young lass like yourself to these neck of the woods?”

“Business,” she offers a smile of gratitude as the bar keep places her drink in front of her, then takes the plastic straw behind her thumb and forefinger and places just the tip between her lips, eyes never leaving Billy's as she takes a long pull. “I'm here for work,” she continues, and removes one of the business cards from the side pouch on the laptop bag, placing it on the top of the bar and then sliding it across with the tip of her finger.

“What kind of business?” George inquires, sitting sideways on his stool now, leaning towards her ever so slightly.

Billy picks up the card, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he reads the information. “Journalist.”

“For the Chicago Tribune.”

“And they send you all the way here on business?”

“They send me everywhere. Nothing can stop a reporter from chasing a good story. And I've stumbled upon quite the winner, here. I was hoping maybe you gentleman could help me. Give me a little information. Or at least point me in the right direction.”

Billy slips the business card into the breast pocket of his shirt, then leans back against the bar, arms folded across his chest. “What kind of information?”

She leans forward, elbows on the bar, hands clasped around the glass of soda. “I received an anonymous tip. From someone in Chicago that has connections. To the IRA.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the way George's eyebrows shoot up, mug of beer pressed to his lips. “Is it true. That this place is owned by a member.”

George is more forthcoming with the information, eager to please and impress. “Indeed it is. Been in the same family for more than fifty years. All of them in the IRA. What makes you so interested?”

“I've heard there's some trouble brewing.” she keeps her voice low. “Between the IRA and one of their ex members. Who has ties to a New Zealand crime family.”

George nods enthusiastically, then looks at the young bar keep. “She's talking about McMann.”

“How do you know of him?” Billy asks her.

“I already said. An anonymous source with his ties to the IRA.”

“What's his name?”

“A journalist never, ever gives up her sources. I'm sure it's the same way with you. I'm sure you'd never out one of your informants would you.”

His smirk grows.

“Look,” she sips at her drink, then taps her fingernails against the glass. “Journalism is a dying art these days. Everything is on the web. There's no substance. No spice. There's no one out there delving into the hard topics and writing truly valuable human interest stories. I want to bring that back. I want to bring back the passion for the written word. A story like this could launch my career. I could really make a name for myself. And I'd really appreciate if you'd help me out. If not now, then maybe we can arrange something? Talk in private?”

He nods down at her wedding band. “You're married?”

“Separated. He's out of the picture. Chose work over me. What's the saying? His loss is another man's game? I really, really, really want this,” she adds a slight plea to her voice. “Badly. And there's nothing I wouldn't do to get the information I need. Is it true? That the IRA kidnapped McMann's wife and son's?”

Billy shakes his head. “Rumour. We...they...had nothing to do with it. It's that crime family you mentioned. Trying to stir up trouble.”

“Do you think we could arrange something? Perhaps I could come back after hours? Or during the day when it isn't as busy?”

He nods, a slow grin spreading across his face. “We can definitely arrange something.”

“And I was thinking...” she runs the sides of her fingers along her straw, her eyes never leaving his. “...it would really help if I could get more than one perspective on things. Perhaps someone higher up the chain of command? A boss? Someone with a little more...pull?”

“I could arrange something.”

“You're a life saver, William,” she shoots him a wink, and she sees the slight blush that creeps into his cheeks at the use of his full name. “Here...give me your hand...” she motions for him to do as asked, and when he steps forward, palm down, she turns it out to face her. Then fetches a pen from her back and scrawls her SAT number into his skin. “This is a better, more private line to reach me on. Non work related. If you catch my drift.”

“Oh I catch your drift alright,” he says, and then gives her hand a squeeze before she pulls it away.

She pulls her cell phone from her back, gasping dramatically when she checks the time. “I'm running late. I have another place to be. More people to talk to. It was a pleasure, William. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Pleasure was all mine,” he declares. “I'll be in touch.”

She flashes him a dazzling smile. “I hope so. George...” she lays a hand on the older man's back, rubbing softly as she slides off the stool. “You're a gentleman. And incredibly charming. Thank you for the drink.”

“Hope to see you again,” he calls after her, as she slings the laptop bag over her shoulder and heads for the door,

******

Tyler glances down at his cell phone.

Five minutes to go.

He sips his beer, leans back in his chair, nervously rubs his palms against his thighs. The world continues around him; despite the fact that fifteen minutes ago his entire life...his heart...disappeared through the front door of the pub across the street. He hasn't felt the effects of the booze and the anxiety meds; his nerves and senses still on high alert. Eyes always watching. Ears pricked for any hint of trouble across the street. His stomach in knots, chest tight. He can't sit still. He drums his fingers against the table top, nervously shakes his legs or taps his foot, runs his hands through his hair, chews absentmindedly on the corner of his thumb nail. A frown crossing his face when someone deliberately plants their body in front of him. And he's about to look up and ask them what the fuck when a voice beats him do it.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

What in the actual fuck? He thinks, and glances up. Nostrils flaring. Brow furrowing. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Thought I'd pop by,” Mark says, hands shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “Esme's inside, isn't she,” he nods in the direction of the pub across the street.

“What the hell do you want? Why are you here? How the hell did you find me?””

“I know how to tap cell phones. You used your private one about ten minutes ago. This is where I tracked you to.”

Oh for fucks sakes.

“What's she doing in there? Intel?”

“Would you shut the fuck up?” Tyler hisses. “What is wrong with you? Keep your fucking voice down.”

“How long she been in there?”

“I said shut the fuck up. Are you trying to get her caught? Now sit down and keep your mouth shut.”

“She's a feisty one, huh? I can imagine how hard she had to talk you into this.”

“I said sit the fuck down. Now.”

He finally relents, slipping into the chair across from Tyler.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mark? What the hell is going on? How'd you know where I was?”

“Who do you think Nik came to for help? To arrange all the secret meeting stuff back at the hotel? The secure satellite feed? The new SAT phones. The fake Ids. You really think she pulled all that off on her own?”

“Why you? What the hell do you have to do with any of this?”

“Come on now, you honestly didn't know I was FBI.”

Tyler frowns. “You're a Fed? Are you serious right now?”

“I'm surprised Esme didn't tell you. She probably didn't tell you the rest, either. About asking me for help.”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“She was worried about you. Said you'd got mixed up into some mess with the IRA. Asked me to tap your phones and trace your whereabouts. In case something happened to you. I told her she probably didn't need to be so concerned. You're a big boy. You can take care of yourself. But you know how she gets. All worked up and anxious. A real mother hen.”

“Are you always this big of an asshole? Is it a gift or...?”

“I'm actually quite flattered. That she'd even think of me. Guess maybe she's still hanging onto some of the past. Just can't quite seem to let me go.”

“You're about five seconds away from getting my foot up your ass, mate. Now either shut up or fuck off. I don't have time for your shit.”

“Ever the busy man,” he smirks. “Always running off to solve everyone elses problems but never dealing with your own.”

“Mark, I swear to Christ, if you don't shut the fuck up...”

“Bitter pill to swallow, huh? Knowing she still thinks about me.”

“Listen you little shit...” Tyler leans across the table. “...I don't know what you want or why you're here, but either keep your mouth shut or I shut it for you. I don't have the time or the fucking patience for this.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I'm just here to help...mate.”

Tyler's blood boils. But he refuses to take the bait. The games won't work on him, no matter how hard the other man tries.

“Kind if a shitty move on your part, don't you think?” Mark asks. “Getting her mixed up in all this? Considering how she thinks of you as her hero. Her knight in shining armour. The one that came along and helped her get over me. That one that was able to give her the life that she really wanted. A happy marriage, a bunch of kids, nice place to live. That's kind of a bitch thing to do, Rake. Give her all of that and play the role of her hero and then fuck it all up like this. You'd think you'd want to keep her away from all of this. You know, seeing as you are always going on and on about how much you love her and would never hurt her. Not exactly walking the walk, huh?”

“I will fucking kill you, Mark. If you don't keep your goddamn mouth shut, I will bury you. Do you honestly believe the shit that is coming out of your mouth right now? Or do you just like to hear yourself talk? You know nothing about my marriage. About my wife. About our lives together. So just sit there and keep your mouth shut,” he glances down at his phone. It's well past the twenty minute mark. “Fuck,” he mutters, and stands up, taking money out of his wallet and tossing it down on the table.

“Sleeping on the job, huh? Not quite on the ball when it comes to keeping an eye on her, are you.”

“Just...stop...just shut the fuck up and...” he notices the door to the pub open up and Esme finally step out, watching as she exchanges parting pleasantries with the bouncer before hurrying off down the sidewalk. “I gotta go.”

“Are you serious right now?” Mark asks incredulously. “You're going to leave her in there while you chase after another woman?”

“You idiot. That's Esme. She dyed her hair. You absolute fucking idiot. Stay here. Don't follow me.”

“Like hell I'll stay here,” Mark says, and stands up as well. “What are you going to do, Rake? Stop me?”

“Don't fucking tempt me,” Tyler retorts, eyes on Esme until she rounds the corner and disappear. “Let's go. If you're coming, let's go. Now.”

****

They reach the car first, Tyler using the keyless entry to unlock the vehicle, then tossing open the back passenger door.

“Get in,” he orders.

“I don't get to call shotgun?”

“Just get in,” he snarls, and then slams the door shut when the other man finally complies. Pacing by the side of the car until he finally hears the hurried click of heels against the payment. Relief washing through him when she finally comes around the corner, pausing momentarily to lean a hand against a building in order to remove her heels. Now in her bare feet, shoes in her hand.

“That was twenty five minutes,” he informs her.

“It took a little longer than expected,” she admits, as he lays a hand on her hip and kisses her softly. “They were chatty. Not particularly helpful, but chatty. My feet were killing. These things are bullshit. Remind me never to wear heels again.”

He takes the shoes from her, a hand on the back as he escorts her to her side of the car. Pausing before opening her door, instead tossing open the back one and tossing the heels into the back seat with enough force to catch Mark on the side of the head and leave some damage.

“I'm starving,” she announces, as her husband opens her door. “Let's go and get something to eat. We'll have to drive pretty far out of the way so no one recognizes you or sees us together. Do you think they sell tacos somewhere?”

“Just get in,” Tyler says, and gives her one last peck on the lips before she slips into the car. “Let's just the fuck out of here, yeah?”

She nods in agreement, and reaches for her seat belt as he closes her door.

“Hi Esme,” Mark greets her from the backseat, and she nearly jumps clear out of her skin.

“What the hell?!”she shrieks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“He's here to help,” Tyler says, as he slips behind the wheel and starts the ignition, tires squealing as he peels away from the curb. “You know. Like you asked him to.”

She glares at her ex husband. “You dumb ass motherf-...”

“Like the man just said, you asked.”

“You weren't supposed to show up here!” she hisses. “You were supposed to send someone! This is not what we agreed to!”

“I had some time off coming. I figured why not to the deed myself? I could use a little excitement.”

“You're going to get a little excitement when I come back there and beat your ass!” she threatens. “What is wrong with you? I told you not to tell Tyler. I told you...”

“Uhhh...excuse me...” her husband speaks up. “...Tyler is right here. Tyler can fucking hear you.”

“It's not what you think,” she says. “I did not ask Mark to come here. I asked him for help. But I never told him to come here.”

“Why didn't you just leave it alone? After I told you McMann? I told you all of that in confidence.”

“In her defence,” Mark pipes up. “She was just worried about you.”

“You shut up. I''m not talking to you. I'm talking to my wife. You know, your ex wife.”

“Okay...guys...take it down a notch...” Esme insists. “....there's too much ego in this car right now. Mark, shut up and mind your business, okay? This doesn't involve you.”

“Well it does considering you're the one who asked me for help.”

“Just...shut...up...” she spits out every word. “Or I'll have Tyler stop this car and get him to toss your ass out in the middle of the road.”

“I can stop right here,” Tyler suggests. “Throw him right out into traffic.”

“You'd like that wouldn't you,” Mark snorts.

“You know what? I actually would. I would love to toss your arrogant ass right in the path of an eighteen wheeler.”

“Simmer down...please...” Esme begs. “Yes. I asked him for help. I told him about McMann. Because I don't trust him and I was worried about you.”

“It was between us. In confidence.”

“I was worried about you, Tyler. You were walking into this blind with nothing but McMann's word to go on. Maybe I overreacted...”

“You think, Esme? You really think?”

“...but I wanted to help you and keep you safe and that was the only way I knew how.”

“You had my phone and my SAT traced? Are you serious?”

“I wanted someone to have your back. To keep an eye on you,” she reasons. “I didn't do it to betray your confidence. I did it because I was worried. That's all. I'm sorry. I didn't meant to upset you, Tyler. I did it because I love you and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He sighs heavily, shaking his head.

“I'd be pissed too,” Mark says, and Tyler glares at him through the rear view mirror. “Just saying.”

“You really need to just shut up and stay that way,” Esme tells him. “See that vein throbbing in the side of his neck? That's the vein that throbs when he's about to impale someone with a garden rake. So just...shhhh...”

There's finally blissful silence. Tyler's head pounds ferociously, his stomach growls. “How'd it go?” he asks.

“It was like taking candy from a baby. They just bought it hook, line, and sinker. The bartender is definitely IRA. No doubt about it. I gave him my card. He says he's going to call. And pass my name and number around to other people that can give me info. They honestly think I'm here to write an article about the what's going on between the IRA and the Buckman's. And McCann's wife and kids. It was so easy, Tyler. You would have been so proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” he says, and she smiles.

“You guys realize I'm still back here, right?” Mark speaks up. “And that we're now about half an hour from where I left my car?”

“For fucks sakes!” Tyler bellows, and makes an erratic U turn in the middle of oncoming traffic.

“You might want to do up your seat belt,” Esme suggests to her ex. “Tyler doesn't know what stop signs and red lights mean.”

It takes half the time to get back into town. The blatant and dangerous traffic violations making for a quick, yet nerve wracking trip. And Tyler pulls up in front of the restaurant he'd ran into Mark at.

“Get out!” he orders. “Just get out! Now!”

Mark puts up little resistance. “Your shoes,” he says, to Esme, holding out the heels.

“You're a real fucking tool,” she declares, as he drops them into his lap.

“We'll be in touch,” Mark says, more to Tyler than her. “I look forward to working with you, Rake.”

Tyler smirks. Then floors the gas.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #chris hemsworth character #sanctuary

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nebulawritings · 4 years ago

Text

A MISTAKE AND A CHOICE PART 4

Part four. Final part? I guess? Anymore think it would be a full blown fic. I need to stop my head running amok and write some fluff instead. Angsty ending ahead, you have been warned. Enjoy

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Four (and a bit)

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 [Choices Stories You Play]

Pairing: M!DrValentinexEthan M!DrValentinexBryce

Reading Time: ~ 5 minutes

Warning: None. Angst? So angsty. ____________________________________________________

The first week was hard, but manageable. Ethan threw himself into work, taking extra shifts when he could get them and staying at the office to work on the diagnostic teams cases. The other staff members put this down to him trying to make up for the length of time he had been away, but the real reason was much closer to home. Because, when he ran out of things to do, his mind wandered to Casey and his last words. “What I really want”. The senior Doctor had repeated that phrase over and over, almost as if it were a mantra. He realised, not too soon after saying goodbye to Dr Valentine, that the time he had spent in in the Amazon had not been remotely helpful in guiding him to what he really, truly, wanted. He’d spent far too much time trying to hide from his feelings, not entertain the thought of embracing them.

Often, when he allowed himself a walk to the local coffee shop, he would attempt to imagine his life with, and without, Casey Valentine. The ironic thing was, that every time he went to the coffee shop, he would be reminded of the other Doctor, their times together and conversations. His walks started to take him a different route, and he began to frequent standing in front of a small, inconspicuous jewellery shop. They had very pretty rings and necklaces, and elegant headpieces and bracelets. He would stare at them, not really taking in the sight, as he thought about what it would be like to live with Casey as his partner. Embrace his feelings. To show him off, take him to fancy dinners and introduce him to his father, formally, all the things a good partner would do. He made his mind up quickly, within 48 hours, so he was relatively calm as the week rolled to an end, although he subconsciously checked his phone one too many times. But the following Monday morning came, and no contact from Casey followed. One weeks silence rolled into two, and two soon turned into four. He, of course, questioned Naveen almost endlessly about where Casey was, but he would be told that Mass Kenmore still needed him, and to be patient, and they hadn’t agreed an end date. So Ethan waited. Every day that ticked by, he would walk by the jewellery shop. Week three he went inside. Week five, and he left with a box. It was inconspicuous enough, but he hid it in his pocket none the less, until he was back at his office. He opened it, slowly, and regarded the simple platinum watch inside. It was handsome yet refined, and Ethan had chosen it specifically for the practicality. After all, he couldn’t have a flashy watch around the hospital. He then pulled up his sleeve, and looked upon the watch already sitting on his wrist. In fact, it had been there since he’d received it at his graduation; a gift from his father. The watch had belonged to his father, and his father before him and before him, who was gifted it by some sort of British royal family member for bravery or some such as Ethan understood it. It wasn’t shiny and new, although it was beautiful and intricate. You wouldn’t know looking at it, but the single item was more valuable to Ethan than anything else could be, from a sentimental point of view. For a man who was not overly enamoured with the idea of sentimentality and material items, it really was priceless. It represented courage, and reminded him of how proud he was when he graduated. How happy he was to see his father smile. It represented history casting back decades, his family, and it was timeless. Unending. He supposed it could be referred to as an heirloom. The watched slipped from his wrist, and he placed it in the box, now labelled with a simple red card. ‘To Casey’ it read, ‘My Choice’. He’d told the other Doctor once of how much the watch meant to him and the history of it, after the young diagnostician had enquired as he enquired of all things that piqued his interest. Ethan hoped that, by giving over the item most valuable to him, that his feelings would be understood not just through words, but by actions. How Ethan intended to commit to Casey, and him only. Of course, he still hadn’t heard Casey’s answer…He could only pray. As if on cue, after five and a half weeks, his phone suddenly lit up with a notification. Ethan practically leapt for his phone when he saw the name. Sorry it’s taken so long. He smiled at the simplicity. I have been unbelievably crazy at Mass Kenmore, and I promised myself I wouldn’t rush my decision but… I hate to admit how difficult it’s been not being able to vent to you. Ethan relaxed in his chair, reading the words as if they were gospel. Oh, and…please don’t respond to these messages. Ethan deleted the small amount of text he’d already written. But, I’ve made my choice. I suppose it’s good, in a way, it’s taken so long. It’s given you plenty of time to decide. I hope? “You have no idea” Ethan replied softly, wishing he could tell Casey everything there and then. Anyway, I’ll give you my answer at the following address. I’ve checked your diary online and can see you’re free, so don’t even try and chicken out okay? If you’re there at 7pm, this Friday, you’ll find out my answer. If you’re not there…I’ll know yours. See you? He waited, but no more text came. It was Wednesday, so he had two days. “I’ll be there, Casey” he said, firmly, clutching the box with his watch in. “Christ, nothing could stop me”.

Thursday and Friday seemed to drag on longer than the previous five weeks. Every minute was agonisingly slow, and at night sleep didn’t come to him easily at all. It was 6pm on Friday, at last, and he was finished for the day. Ethan made a straight beeline for his office, and quickly changed out of his work clothes into something, he hoped, would be pleasing to the eye. He was never one for fashion, but he had sought the guidance of a helpful shop clerk, and bought a new dark blue shirt that was slim-fitted, and a pair of black jeans which, in his opinion, were far too tight. The clerk said he looked ‘hot as hell’, so Ethan had purchased them. He was questioning it a little as he fastened a pair of cufflinks on to match the new watch he’d purchased himself and laced his shoes. 18:22. The motel address Casey had given him was 31 minutes away, on the outskirts of town. Traffic would be quiet going out of town on a Friday night, so if he took the back roads and picked up the main road at junction 7…His train of thought was cut off by a sharp rapping on his door. He cursed under his breath. Ethan had been very thorough and straight that, tonight, he was not to be disturbed. That he had an important meeting, and he was unavailable to anyone from 6pm. So, whomever was at his door now was about to get ‘unavailable’ seriously explained to them. Grumbling, and one arm in his coat, he opened the door; already poised to unleash. “Dr Emery!” he exclaimed, quickly stepping back from the woman outside his office.

“Dr…Ramsey…”.

Her voice was strained and her eyes red, as if she’d been crying heavily. “How, um, sorry”. He composed himself and opened the door a little wider. “How can I help?”. He still had time…Just.

She looked awkward, like being with him was the last thing she wanted. “I need to talk to you. Urgently”.

“Sorry, Harper, but-“

“I know, I know, you’ve got some top secret meeting to attend. Don’t think I came here lightly, I know how many extra hours you’ve given recently but this can’t wait, Ethan”.

Her tone was so severe that he automatically stepped aside. She let herself into his office, and he closed the door behind them.

“So, how can I help?”. His eyes darted to the clock on the far wall. 18:27.

Harper turned towards him, fresh tears brimming in her eyes. “You have to believe that I didn’t think…I mean I didn’t know-I didn’t mean for it, Ethan!”. Her tone was almost desperate.

The senior doctor furrowed his eyebrows, concern evident. This was entirely unlike the stoic Harper he knew, so it must be something serious. “What’s happened, Harper?”.

The other doctor didn’t say anything, just reached one shaky hand into her purse and pulled out a small item.

Ethan’s eyes widened and his words caught in his throat, sickness rushing to his stomach. There was no need to be a Doctor to recognise what was in her hand. Hell, as long as you could read instructions you’d know. “You can’t be serious” he whispered, a torrent of emotions swamping him at the sight of the two small, red lines.

“You think I’d joke about this!?” she snapped, tears streaming freely. “Please, Ethan, I need…We need to talk about this”.

Anything that he had felt, or known, or decided up until that moment suddenly seemed pointless. Like there was never going to be an option, or a point, to everything he’d prepared up for this day. For Casey. His arm dropped, coat slipping off of his arm to the floor with a clatter, the sound of the box meant for Casey hitting the floor. On auto-piolet, he gestured to the couch in his office and Harper moved towards it, as Ethan slowly closed the door to the room, shutting out the world…And his world. He knew that if Casey had chosen him, that his mind was made up. One thing the older doctor admired about the younger was his tenacity, and his unwillingness to shift on any decision he’d made. But if Ethan didn’t show…What would that do to Casey? But if Harper really was...If he was going to be...He couldn’t leave her. He couldn’t abandon her. It took two of them to tango after all and there was no was he would turn into his mother. Click. The door locked, and Ethan stepped towards Dr Emery.

Casey had been at the motel for a few hours, anxious. He’d made sure to leave plenty of time to get ready, to leave Mass Kenmore and sort out the few patients he’d picked up responsibility for. It had been a rough, long few weeks but the day was finally here and he wasn’t going to let anything, or anyone, spoil it. 7pm rolled around, and his eyes were fixated on the motel door. He sat at the end of the bed, in plain sight of the clock on the wall by the door. Candles were dotted around the whole place, and he’d made an effort to look as good as he could. Showered, freshly laundered clothes, new cologne. He was wearing an oversized jumper that he knew Ethan liked and jeans. Simple, but Casey was hoping they wouldn’t be too focused on clothes…If he turned up. “He’ll be here” the doctor repeated for the hundredth time. 7:15 came and went, and Casey looked out the window. Again. “It’s fine…The traffics bad. That’s all”. He checked his phone just in case. 8pm. He checked his phones history. Checked the address he’d sent earlier in the week. 9pm. The candles started to snuff out, one by one. 11pm. Casey was laying on the motel bed, feeling…He could only describe it as numb. His eyes hurt, and had long since run out of tears. Casey Valentine has chosen Ethan Ramsey, and Ethan Ramsey had chosen someone else. A thousand scenarios had run through his head to try and explain why Ethan didn’t show but none of them made sense. Not this late. Not with no text, no call. His hands were shaking as he lay in the now dark room, the few candles still burning not enough to light the room. Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and dialled a number that had become foreign in the last few weeks.

“Casey! Man it’s been a long time! How’s Mass Kenmore treating you!”.

“…”.

“…Case? You there, dude?”.

“Bryce…”.

The others tone changed entirely as he heard Casey’s voice. “Hey, I’m here…What’s going on? You sound like you’ve been screaming for hours”.

“I…I need you. Sorry, no I don’t I just…What’s that noise?”

“Oh, I’m out with some college buddies. Doesn’t matter. Where are you, Casey?”.

“Oh, no, Bryce go and enjoy yourself. I’m sorry I called”.

“Hey! Don’t you dare go, Casey”.

“Why?”

“Because I want to know where you are”.

“Why? It doesn’t matter, you’re busy”.

“Tough. It does matter”.

“Why?”.

“Because you matter, Casey. You sound like hell”.

The diagnostician laughed, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “I feel like hell”.

“Where are you?”.

Casey told Bryce the address, and after a quick ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can’ they hung up. The sound of someone else’s voice managed to pull Casey out of his stupor, and he started wrapping things up at the motel. He gathered the candles, and left an envelope on the side with cash along with the key. He called the reception, told them his plans had changed and the room would be empty for the night. He picked up his other bits, pushed them all into a bag just as he heard a car pulling up outside. This late, it was pretty safe to assume it was Bryce…If it wasn’t Ethan. “It’s not him you idiot” the young doctor muttered bitterly. As he gathered his things and left the room, looking around at the cold, empty space, he realised that as soon as that door closed he would be shutting it forever. As in, Ethan Ramsey…Forever. “Goodbye, Doctor” he whispered, before the door clicked shut, and he met Bryce halfway to the car. The surgeon was out of breath and panicked. “Take me home” Casey practically begged , as he felt warm arms wrap around him, soothing and safe.He buried his his into Bryce’s chest, squeezed his eyes shut.

“Whatever you need” came a gentle reply. No questions, no explanation required as to why the hell Casey was crying in a motel in the early hours of the morning. Just comfort. “I’m here, Case. I’ll always be here for you”.

#bryce lahela #mc x ethan #mc x bryce #choices oph #open heart #oph #casey valentine #ethan ramsey #fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices #choices stories you play

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flamingo-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Stitches — Zoro x Reader

Summary: After meeting Roronoa Zoro by chance, and after helping you stitch up your wounds, the two of you connect rather quickly. Not only becoming friends, but lovers in the process. However, there is something he’s hiding. And eventually, you fear that he might be in danger.

Word count: 3.5K

A/N: I have a lot to say, so I’ll be breaking it in different bullets so...

It’s been almost three weeks since I last posted something. I’m not sure what exactly happened there, I found it very hard to write despite the endless ideas flooding my mind.

I intended this to be longer, but I’ve been having trouble writing, god knows why? I’m still glad I got to finish this since I’ve been trying to write any things before but ditched them halfway.

There aren’t explicit spoilers in this. However, if you look through the details, you might come across small spoilers, not regarding the main plot, but regarding details about Wano in general.

Also, I got asked by @misslongcep to tag them when this was done, so, here it is!!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, violence, mentions of blood and cuts.

The first night in Wano felt surreal to the half of the crew who had just arrived to the island. After receiving instructions from Kin'emon to keep a fake identity, stay in character and keep a low profile, Zoro didn't think much of it. How hard could it be, anyways?

However, as colorful and cheerful the Wano Country was during the day, at night there was a certain somber atmosphere to it. The cool wind, the moon shining bright on top of the sky, and the ominous clouds moving across like fish in the sea. Followed by the silence surrounding the town.

Distant noises broke the cold silence as Zoro tried to make his way, but got lost in the process. The sound of metal cutting flesh, followed by a smell Zoro knew all too well.

Turning on the next corner, where everything sounded closer, he saw a cloaked figure cutting another one in front of it. The second shadow was ready to cut the cloaked one when Zoro quickly stood between them.

"Bold of you to try to cut a woman in half" Zoro growled, stopping the cloaked man's katana with his Wado Ichimonji.

"I suggest you mind your own business, sir. That insolent girl owes me" Growled the cloaked man.

"Bullshit, I paid my part of the deal" The girl behind Zoro snapped at once "you're just trying to take advantage of—"

"You little bitch!" The cloaked man yielded his katana once more, ready to cut Zoro in the process to get to you.

Before Zoro could stop him a second time, you jumped over Zoro's shoulder, stabbing the man on the throat with a small dagger. Your weight falling on his sharp shoulder blade made you hiss painfully, as not o long ago, the man cut you across your belly.

"Fuck, woman!" Zoro hissed surprised and wrapping his arm around your waist as you fell over his shoulder and with his other hand stopping the man's katana as the cloaked man fell heavily on his knees covering his bleeding neck.

"Let go of me!" You growled "We have to get out before someone sees us!" You demanded as Zoro glared at you and put you down.

Before you could run back to your place, Zoro noticed how your clothes were bleeding heavily. From both your stomach and your shoulder.

"Wait, you're bleeding" Zoro barked

"Yeah, no shit!" You said trying your best to cover the open wound on your belly with your arm, and stopping the bleeding from your shoulder with your free hand. "I have to patch myself up before I fai—" you stopped,letting go of your shoulder and holding your head and shutting your eyes closed tightly. "Shit, I'm feeling dizzy"

"Let me help you" Zoro said getting closer to you.

"Just answer me something, stranger" you said peeking at him through your eyelashes. Feeling yourself get paler, you thought about your chances of surviving. Was trusting a stranger worth it? You were about to find out. "By any chance, are you the Pirate Hunter, Roronoa Zoro?"

Zoro's eyes widened in surprise, not sure how to react. He knew for a fact that the news from across the world didn't reach Wano, and yet, you recognized him at the spot. His silence, confirming your question.

"Take me home, big guy...gotta tell you something important" you whispered as you pointed in the general direction towards your place.

Zoro, howeer, didn’t move at first. You gazed at him from the corner of your eye.

“I won’t bite, I promise” You joked pulling a cocky smile, even when your body ached and you felt dizzy.

On the outskirts of the city your house awaited for you. It was small, and looked quite ordinary. Once inside, Zoro offered to help you clean your wounds and stitch you up. Your face, paler than the moon threatened the both of you, as you could pass out any time now due to the loss of blood.

"Look, Roronoa” You began sitting on the floor next to the door “You should be grateful that Wano doesn't receive news from the outside, otherwise you'd been caught by shogun's army already" you hissed painfully. "The first aid kid is under the sink"

"How did you know?" Zoro said walking to the sink and looking for a small metal box before returning to the living room.

"I've been hiding here in Wano for a while" you began. "I am as much if an outsider as you are" loosening off your yukata, revealing you belly all covered in blood at Zoro who was quickly started cleaning your wound and the skin around it "You have to learn how to blend in…" you groaned painfully, not really minding that you were practically wearing nothing but underwear in front of a stranger.

"How do I do that exactly?" He asked, his eyes fixed on your wound. "This is gonna burn real bad" he warned you before pouring alcohol on your belly.

"Aw, mother fuck—" you groaned painfully, feeling how not just the wound burned but your entire body stung awfully "Got a fake identity?" Growling, you looked at Zoro who was amused looking at your reactions."What? Do I have monkeys on my face?"

"No, sorry” The swordsman laughed loudly “It's just, you're a tough one, aren't you?" You nodded, shutting your eyes closed as Zoro dried the alcohol off your skin "Zorojuro is my fake name, I'm a ronin"

"Have you tried talking with an accent or a filler?" You hissed, feeling the needle piercing your skin.

"A filler?" Zoro asked slightly confused, as he kept stitching you up.

"Something to add either..." you gasped, taking in the pain. "...at the end of your sentences or during a pause…" Zoro was trying his best to be gentle, and you could tell since I'm the past you've also been stitched up by other people who made a worse job than Zoro did "...you should try 'gozaru' I keep hearing that every now and then...trust me, it'll work"

Zoro kept stitching the wound and once he finished the biggest wound, he moved to the one on your shoulder. Doing the same, he cleaned the blood and poured alcohol on it. Biting your lip, you kept yourself from yelling obscene words. The swordsman, in the meantime, was amused by how you tried to remain tough.

"Can I help you with something else?" He asked once he finished with your shoulder.

"Be a darling and bring that bottle of sake over there…" you said breathless, gesturing with your head.

"Should you be drinking sake after losing this much blood?" He said looking over his shoulder, tainted with your blood when you jumped over his shoulder.

"Let's find out. But if you're that worried about me, you can pass me an apple too…" Zoro chuckled at how laid back you remained even after all that happened.

"What's your name, anyway?" Zoro said standing up and walking back to the kitche, grabbing a white bottle.

"[Name]" you whispered "Nice meetin'ya" You said as Zoro handed you the bottle and sat next to you.

"Who was that asshole?"

"Who cares? He's dead now. No one will miss him" Opening the bottle you raised it high. "Cheers" You drank several big gulps, feeling the sweet taste burning your throat.

Then, you handed Zoro the bottle and both of you drank for a while. Having a quite pleasant talk with Zoro, the two of you exchanged stories on how you’d ended up in Wano. Zoro avoiding details on the real reason why he was there, and disguising it as “business that has to be dealt with”. You knew he was hiding something, but honestly, you didn’t care that much.

Soon, that casual talk turned into subtle flirting the more you kept drinking. That casual flirting the two of you had soon got out of hand. You realized you were pressing the right buttons, and god, you loved seeing the looks Zoro gave you. And in a turn of events, the swordsman pulled you over his lap, his nose barely brushing yours as his eyes devoured you with a lust that was contagious. His breath hitting your neck unleashed all sorts of wild sensations in your core.

"Is this what you wanted?" Zoro growled in a low voice.

"Probably…" chuckling, you ran your fingers through his hair, holding it tightly in you grip.

"Probably" He repeated, gazing at you hungrily. "Your flirting is cutting short my patience"

"Is it, though?" You leaned closer, brushing your lips against his. "Now what? Will you show me what the legendary Pirate Hunter is made of?" Upon noticing how he was leaning forward to steal a kiss from you, you backed off as he breathed heavily in disapproval.

"Is that what you want, darling?" He purred.

"Do your worst" you hissed, stealing quick kiss from his lips.

Zoro’s hands grabbed your yukata and easily pulled it off as it pooled on your waist, leaving your chest exposed. One of his hands reached your hair, pulling it back stretching your neck at him as he ran his lips very gently over your skin. Teasing, burning his way to your jaw as a gasp escaped your mouth. As he made his way higher and higher, you became eager to finally taste his lips, however it didn’t happen.

Brushing his lips over yours, you felt your heart skiped a beat. Then, he playfully held your lower lip on his teeth, teasingly. Yet, he still refused to kiss you. Your desperation was growing, and got worse when you felt his tongue soothing the skin where he bit you.

"Fucking kiss me already" you hissed breathless.

"You took too long to beg for it" his breath against your neck kept sending electrifying chills down your back.

Crashing his lips against yours, he harshly stole your breath right away. His fingers clawed to your back desperately as you kissed him back. Your tongue trying to fight for dominance against his.

His mind clouded, not with alcohol, but with pent up frustrations set ablaze. He pushed you gently to the ground, holding your back tightly. The fall wasn’t harsh, however, you were still very susceptible to the pain. And as a reaction, you groaned. Serving as a reminder that you were injured.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" He gazed at you, suddenly, his stare softening.

"Its okay” You breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him closer “Don't stop" You purred kissing him, your head dizzy from the blood loss.

"If I hurt you, don't hesitate to stop me" He whispered between kisses.

"What a gentleman you are, Roronoa"

The next morning, Zoro came to the realization that both of you had fallen asleep on the living room. Of course, after such a busy night, the two of you ended exhausted. Quick flashes from last night’s events came to his mind. Chills running through his back at the memories of your voice calling his name in delicious moans. The feel of your skin getting chills by his touch.

Upon realising last night memories were triggering his erection, he thought maybe re living those memories wasn't a good idea. Especially since you weren’t by his side, and instead, cooking in a rather cheerful mood.

The house smelled of freshly cooked rice along with many more delicious smells Zoro could hardly identify.

“How are you feeling?” Zoro asked, his voice still dripping with sleep as he sat up.

“Pretty good” You almost sang “How did you sleep? I hope the ground wasn’t so hard…”

“Don’t worry” He yawned. “I’m used to it…”

“Breakfast is ready” You announces, your voice dreamy, as you grabbed a bowl.

“Thank you, it wasn’t necessary”

“But it is. You helped me last night, and on top of that, you kept me company. Besides, I stained your yukata, and I feel terribly sorry for that…” You peeked at him over your shoulder with an apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry about that, I can get another one…” You said walking out of the kitchen and handing him a bowl of rice with a lot of chopped fresh vegetables. “Thanks” He gazed at his bowl briefly “....I’m...not complaining but no protein?”

“I would’ve put fish into it, but the fish here is poisoned...So, no. But there’s edamame, and that’s rich in protein, so, don’t worry, your gorgeous muscles won’t deflate” Zoro laughed softly as you sat in front of him with your rice bowl.

“Thank you for the food” He said almost savoring his meal as he grabbed the chopsticks you handed him as well.

“Is the least I can do…” you winked at him and proceeded to eat cheerfully.

Days went by as you kept updating Zoro on everything you knew about Wano. Most of what you told him, he'd heard before from Kin'emon. You also told him a lot of the social context surrounding the streets and the townspeople. And even showed him around town.

The two of you soon realized how easy was to trust each other. The undeniable chemistry between the both of you shone by itself, as if you two knew each other your whole lives. Something was pulling you towards Zoro, so strongly, like magnetic field. And just like you, Zoro felt it too, in the same way.

Every night for several days, Zoro basically stayed at your place. The same story as the first night. Starting with subtle flirting, ending up with moans and loud heartbeats. However, the rough lustful sex was slowly turning slower and gentler. The growing softer side of him began sparking in you confusing feelings towards him. And you wondered, if he felt them too.

By the time you had to take off your stitches, Zoro offered you his help. That afternoon, Zoro had been awfully quiet as he cut off your stitches. You looked at him as he carefully took the last stitch from the wide cut of your stomach, now turned into a long pink scar. His fingers lingered on your skin, as his stare was fixed on the bright pink. You felt yourself blush lightly, but tried to ignore the increasing heartbeat inside your chest.

“We have to talk” Zoro whispered.

“Alright, shoot…” You murmured back at him as he now sat up straight and was looking at your shoulder as you pulled your yukata back up, covering your belly, and pulling down the sleeve. The second cut, the one on our shoulder was now exposed to him as he leaned closer, holding the small knife on his fingers as he carefully proceeded to cut the stitches.

“You have to leave this place” He said dryly.

“Come again?”

“My business here can blow up out of proportion. I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire. We cannot keep seeing each other, its dangerous” It was obvious how he was avoiding your stare.

“What is it exactly your business here” You asked for the first time since he’d mentioned it.

“I can’t tell you”

“Alright…” You sighed.

“I-I’m…” He stuttered, “I’m starting to develop feelings for you, [Name]. I’d hate it if you end up wounded because of me”

“Wait, what?” You said as his words kept going around your skull, looking at him, begging for him to finally meet your stare.

“I want to keep you safe” He said dryly again.

“But you said that you...” Your voice was lower than before “have feelings for me?” Zoro didn’t say anything, and finally met your stare “Zoro...kiss me”

Without needing to be told twice, Zoro leaned closer and crashed his lips against yours. At first harsh, but then, the kiss softened. Wrapping your arms quickly around his neck, you brought him closer to you. With his hands holding your waist, he pulled you on top of him, so you were sitting on his lap. His hands then made their way up your back and held you tightly, squeezing you against his hot body.

An unnamed feeling suddenly overwhelmed you. Was it fondness? Endearment? You knew Zoro for a short time, but the chemistry between ou was undeniable. How did you become so attached to him in a few days? Suddenly, you were afraid of losing him. And you wished to have met him in another set of circumstances, possibly with more time at your disposal.

“Zoro…” You gasped for air, breaking the kiss. “Zoro, please, tell me. What’s this ‘pending business’ you have here, that could possibly end with me hurt?”

“I’m sorry, darling...I—”

“I need to know the chances of you dying or living. I need to know if I’ll see you again” You begged.

“I-I...My crew and I will try to take Kaido down…” Your jaw dropped and your eyes widened.

“You what? You can’t possibly do that, that’s suicide” Snapping at him, you looked at him incredulous.

“We’ll have to make it through. There is no option” his voice was firm and left no place for doubt.

“You’ll never be able to take him down, the freaking guy is immortal” You hissed.

“We’ll die then. But we can’t be sure until we try. That’s why you need to get away from here before things get ugly”

“Go where, exactly?” you chuckled sourly.

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here. If fate allows me to, I’ll look out for you once this is all over”

“If fate allows you?” Repeating his words, you stared at him attentively.

“I’ve never had feelings for someone before. You must be something really special for me to feel this way about you. And possibly the only one. I can’t allow myself to let you go. But I have priorities. Once Luffy becomes the King of the Pirates, and I become the strongest swordsman in the world, then I will look out for you” As he spoke, very much against your will, your eyes became teary.

“That sounds like a lot” You sighed frowning softly.

“It is. But it’s not impossible, we're more than halfway there" the amount of confidence in his grin only made your heart beat faster "You’ll have to trust me on this. I give you my word”

“Okay, I trust you”

“Thank you, [Name]”

“On one condition” Zoro stared at you. “Stay here with me tonight”

Zoro gazed briefly into your eyes, and moved one of his hands from your back to your cheek. Brushing away the small tear falling from your eye, he pulled you closer, pressing his lips against yours so gently. And kissing him back, he could taste your fear, which he tried to tone down by kissing you sweetly.

“I’m going to be fine, darling” He purred between one kiss and the other, as your hands clung to him, afraid that he was going to be taken away from you.

His hand on your cheek went down your neck, caressing your skin so deliciously until his hand found one of your breasts and cupped it gently over your yukata. His other hand drawing patterns on your back with his fingers.

You moaned into his mouth so softly, tugging tighter on his hair. Loosening your grip, you let go of his hair, and cupped his face in your hands, sliding your hands down his neck.

Zoro broke the kiss, but his lips travelled down your jaw and neck, kissing very delicately your skin. Very gently he grabbed your yukata and pulled it off. Proceeding to kiss your now bare shoulders, he lingered on your fresh pink scar.

Feeling flustered by the way he was kissing you so delicately, you hummed softly.

"Zoro" You gasped

"Yes, darling?" He purred kissing your shoulder, moving to your neck.

"I have feelings for you too"

He looked up at you, and his lips curved in a small gentle smile. Closing his eye, he leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours.

"I know" he whispered before kissing your lips in the softest kiss, as his arms wrapped around your back.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and squeezed him against you. His warm skin, against yours, sparked all sorts of feelings in you. His chest against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist. You became aware of how you felt his skin all around you. Embracing you in a delicious way.

One of his hand moved lower down your back. And breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours.

"Hold on tight" he murmured as he then leaned over.

Using his legs and one of his arms, he placed you gently on the floor. Your legs were still around his waist, trapping him closer to you. However, Zoro didn't complain. He then rested his weight on his elbows against the floor.

Scanning his face, you traced your fingers over his features.

"You better take Kaido down. You and Luffy better find the One Piece. And you better become the greatest swordsman. Otherwise, I'm going to be very pissed" Zoro chuckled softly as you spoke.

"Less than a year" he whispered kissing you gently.

"Less? You think that high of yourself" you said with some degree of amazement in your voice

"I don't think that high of myself. I know that much about myself" he answered proudly.

"Cocky" Your sweet laugh caressed his ears.

"Shut up and kiss me" he chuckled once more, as he stole a kiss from your giggling lips.

#one piece #one piece zoro #One Piece Fanfiction #one piece imagines #zoro #roronoa zoro #Pirate Hunter Zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro imagine #zoro x reader

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ramblings-of-a-cavill-lover · 4 years ago

Text

Dust, Earth & Ash pt. 3

Summary: As you daydream of sad blue eyes, helping a stranger takes an unexpected turn. Clark deals with his grief as best as he can.

Warnings: canon typical violence

Word count: 2,3k

A/N: It’s been 84 years but he’s back. Thank you all who love this story for your patience. I hope I don’t let you down. Thank you to the always lovely @shellbilee for having my back, being my beta and my editor at the same time. 💜

Divider by @writeyourmindaway

The days remained rainy in the weeks after meeting him.

You focused on work in the diner, doubling the attention you gave to your customers, helping in the kitchen - where you didn’t really have to be at all - and you mostly managed, but time and time again you caught your thoughts flashing back to those distraught, blue eyes that haunted your dreams and every waking moment.

You even earned a bonus for working that much.

Marla, noticed you spacing out one evening. Dinner rush had long dwindled and you two could chat for a bit, as you normally used to, the only problem being that you hardly initiated conversation anymore.

“Hey, you ok?” came her soft voice and warm touch on your shoulder.

You sighed deeply before you answered, “Yes, just fine. You need anything?”

Looking deep into your eyes she pursed her lips.

“I’m worried about you kid. I’ve been watching you working like crazy and everything is apparently going swell, but, somehow, it feels like you’re miles away and not at a resort in Aruba. Spill.”

She crossed her arms as if to tell you you wouldn’t escape this one. You lightly chuckled.

“Remember the day you missed work?” Marla nodded. “Well, that morning someone was here.”

You pause and remember as you debate telling her about his physical attributes. You decide against it and sigh once more.

“Well? Did the person treat you bad? Good? Was it a man or a woman?”

You smiled at Marla’s impatience and continued.

“He treated me… ok, I guess.” Marla frowned and opened her mouth but, before she could say anything you hurried to reassure her. “He didn’t treat me badly. He just wanted to be left alone.”

“And why didn’t you leave him alone?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Because when I poured the coffee for him, I saw the look in his eyes and it was clear that he’d been crying, you know. I couldn’t help it. I had to try and make it better.”

“And did you?” she insisted.

“I don’t think so.” you mumble, as you think about the cake barely eaten and the untouched coffee. “He took my hankie with him.”

“The one your mother embroidered?” her question was amplified by the long gasp.

“Yes."

The fact you couldn’t help the stranger coupled with losing one of the things you valued the most ate away at you, making you feel like you had failed everyone.

She touched your shoulder and pulled you in for a hug. Patting the back of your head lightly, she said it was going to be okay, though you were not so sure yourself.

As you left the diner that night, all your thoughts were focused on your conversation with the handsome stranger. Clark.

No news of any murder involving him had surfaced, so you were even more baffled as to what he could have meant by saying he had killed his wife.

He had left such an impression on you that you had dreamed about him more than once. Those nights were not the most pleasant; you’d wake up with a start, feeling a presence in your room, but upon turning the lights on, it was empty, just as you had left it before going to bed.

That same week you learned that your favorite customer unfortunately had passed, making things a little sadder. Her funeral was attended by a host of people, not only those who had worked with her, but who admired her work and wished to pay their respects.

The hot topic, however, was the absence of her husband, the not so famous, but equally well known, Clark Kent.

The buzz reached you from several sources and all of them told you a reason why he wasn’t there. Most of them, not so respectful. Even the newspaper they worked for, the Daily Planet, mentioned the fact.

Your customers talked about it, brought clippings to show you; it was on the radio, even on the tv news broadcasts. "Metropolis in Mourning” read one of the headlines, not really mourning but gossiping about the attendees at the funeral.

Your reaction was to always smile and let them gossip. You had never met the man, Lois was the one to come buy coffee almost every day. She was kind and always stayed for a while to talk to you. She bothered to ask you questions, as if you were an important person she just had to interview. She never failed to make you smile. A kind person through and through. But those were details you preferred to keep to yourself.

The walk back home wasn’t long, just a few blocks, but lost in your thoughts, you missed the fact that you were being followed.

The hand landed heavily on your shoulder and turning you didn’t know if you were more startled by the fact that someone got that close to you without you noticing, or the fact that the person whose hand had felt like a bag of potatoes on your muscles was such a small and frail-looking old lady.

“I’m sorry if I startled you.” she apologized in a feeble voice, that again, had such jarring contrast to the touch. “I called out, but you were on another planet!”

She laughed then, showing her blackened teeth, and you smiled awkwardly, not really knowing what she wanted.

She was repugnant. It wasn’t a mean observation, it was a fact. Her world-weary face was mostly wrinkles and you could tell life hadn’t been kind to her so far. She reminded you of fairy tale witches with the hooked noses and cunning eyes. The unease only increased as you took in the state of her clothes. She wore what looked like a voluminous tunic, of thick and frayed fabric. It stunk, but nothing like the city stench you were used to. It was something akin to the smell in the crypt where your mother’s remains were buried.

You shuddered and shook your head slightly to dispel the disturbing thoughts. The woman, thankfully concentrated on the movement of the cars on the street, didn’t witness your discomfort.

“Would you be a dear and help me with these?” she half requested, half complained, looking down at two very heavy looking shopping bags full of groceries, that you could swear she hadn’t been carrying when you first looked at her.

“Sure.” you replied, noticing your labored breathing as you picked the bags from her hands.

They were indeed very heavy. You wondered if she bought bricks and put them in the bottom, just for the exercise.

“Do you live far?” you asked her, as the light turned green, but she just started crossing the street without a single glance back at you.

She walked briskly, and the extra weight had you struggling to keep up.

“No, just three blocks that way.” her hand pointed to nowhere in particular ahead of you both.

“Okay.” was all you could add.

You didn’t know how you got yourself into this, but now that you were in, all that was left was to see it through. Even if you had to see the worst side of town along with it.

It wasn’t easy catching up with her, she seemed to be always a few steps ahead of you. But when you were about to give up, she stopped in front of a derelict house that looked abandoned.

She opened the door and asked you to put the groceries on the frail looking table in the middle of the living room, walking off further into the house.

You did as she asked, relieved not to be carrying them anymore, and looked back at the corridor where she had disappeared to, jumping when you saw her already next to you. It was as if she had the ability to simply materialize wherever she wanted.

“Forgive me, I didn’t want to startle you. Again.” she mumbled with a chuckle. “I have something for you. It is not money, for I do not carry such mundane things. I do believe you’ll find it useful. Eventually.”

From her pocket she pulled a leather cord, tied around a vivid, red crystal.

“You don’t have to repay me. It’s alright.” you said, taking a step back.

She merely grabbed your wrist and thrust the necklace into the palm of your hand. It was warm, and when your two hands connected around it, a blinding light emanated from it, blinking out almost immediately.

You felt heavy and sleepy, and the last thing you saw was her gruesome smile and the shears in her other hand.

Ever since Diana left, Clark had been alone with his thoughts in the silent, and aptly named, Fortress of Solitude. She had stayed for four days. They didn’t talk much, they didn’t eat or drink.

“Why did you bring me here? I told you to take me to Barda’s!” he didn’t mean to yell, but that direction wouldn’t take him where he wanted to go. He needed to blow off some steam, all of the steam, inside his head. “Kal-El, I know you are grieving, but that does not give you the right to slaughter an entire planet…” “I don’t…” he interjected, impatient. “Do not interrupt me. It’s quite rude.” she said, calmly. He hung his head, grinding his teeth. She was right, he knew it. But he was not in the mood to give her the satisfaction. “You know yourself.” she continued. “Right now, all that pain and anger at nothing and no one in particular will unleash the full force of your power on whatever enemy you have in front of you. And then what? How will you feel when you stop seeing red and all that’s left is the utter loneliness, the memory of what Lois would have thought of that, and the blood of a planet on your hands?”

The stillness in her voice had disturbed him. He hated her for it, for being right.

He actually hated himself. All the more for thinking ill of a friend. Another friend who put it all on hold to help him.

In Metropolis, Bruce would be taking care of everything. He contacted Ma Kent and was dealing with the funeral arrangements. He called the Lanes. He was the friend Clark knew he could be under that tough exterior.

“Give me all you’ve got.” he asked her. She then flew away, making him follow her, and put at least a hundred miles between them and the plane. “If you put the slightest dent on my plane I’ll never speak to you again.” she said with a shake of her head. “How would you know?” he scoffed. “It’s invisible.” He had had enough of talking and charged her. “Believe me, I’d know!” she said through gritted teeth absorbing the impact easily. “C'mon. Give me your worst.” she shouted. “You can’t handle my worst!” he shouted back, shooting up and hovering high above her. “We’ll see.” she exclaimed and attacked.

The blows coming from her fists hurt.

He couldn’t complain, as her stubbornness and willingness to beat him into venting his frustration had truly helped.

She had offered to take him back, as the funeral had been scheduled for the next day. He refused.

Now, a week after she left, after getting tired of Kelex’s updates on the state of the world outside, and not really knowing what to do with himself anymore, he decided to go back to the only thing that made sense.

Metropolis. Catching bad guys, frustrating their plans. Helping humanity in any way he could. Anything to fill the void that she left. Maybe making Bruce really mad by hunting down and putting an end to the Injustice League single handedly, or finally catching Joker… He couldn’t decide.

Indecision and life after Lois were frightening, even for the man of steel, and without her beside him to face humanity, he didn’t know what was left to ground him.

Despite that, he found a calming monotony in rounding up bad guys and had been quite effective in the short time after coming back.

He didn’t go back to work, telling Perry he needed more time, but he could now think about her and remember without all that anger taking over his every thought. He was able to feel the pain, really feel it, feel her absence, but not be consumed by it.

Metropolis had become a much safer city and he was tempted to tell Bruce he could do the same for Gotham. Slightly.

He checked on her a few times, thinking he should go back and return the handkerchief he absentmindedly took and perhaps try that pastry Lois loved so much.

The thought was dismissed as quickly as it came. It was still too soon for that kind of ritual. Her memory was still fresh in his head.

The kind woman went on with her life, and the few times he had observed her, he noticed that she went out of her way to make sure her customers were happy.

He regretted not asking her name.

He could have overheard the conversations in the diner if he wanted to, but that felt wrong somehow.

Now, flying over the area he listened for her heartbeat; it had become a habit.

She wasn’t at the diner where he had expected to hear it.

Frowning, he flew high into the clouds and concentrated.

Her heartbeat was slow, almost faint, and not in the region he knew she lived.

Speeding to the area where the faltering beating was coming from, he found her lying on the ground of a closed junk yard, still in her uniform, and a shimmering red pendant lying on her chest.

Using his x-ray vision to assess she was unharmed, he picked her up and not knowing what else to do, shot into the sky straight towards the batcave.

#clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark kent fanfiction #superman fanfiction #musings sans muse

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 5 years ago

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Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 2 - The Story Behind the Scenes

Seriously, you should see the look on your face.

Frankenstein amusedly murmured to himself as he peeked at the werewolf scanning her surroundings with astonishment.

Her rich pink eyes were busily buzzing around every single natural shape and composition within the vicinity, including emerald-hued leaves and bushes, petals of thousand colors waltzing in the wind, and streams set ablaze with orange gradient reflections of the sky.

Frankenstein could not help speaking up, rather fascinated at how much the normally composed and cool-headed werewolf warrior resembled a little girl who found herself in the Disney World for the first time ever.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve never been to a no man’s land.”

“I wouldn’t call this island a no man’s land. Not with you and the 3rd Elder occupying it.”

“I wasn’t asking for a literal interpretation.”

“I was told this island is a perfectly remote piece of land without any man-made structure, except for a biotechnological lab that also serves as a safehouse. So what I had in mind was a sandless desert with a gigantic cement appendage jutting out of ground, prisoned by water at all sides. But lo and behold, I’m seeing beautiful scenery in every corner.”

Lunark did not even glance at her host as she spoke, captivated by a horde of butterflies flashing their mesmerizing natural dyes.

“What a shame you have to play blind to all this feast for the eyes. Uh, no offense. I’m not saying that your duty fades in importance against this landscape. It’s just that...”

“This place is so beautiful it should be illegal to stay indoors. I get it. In fact, the owner of this island was in for a surprise upon move-in. And yes, that was an autobiographical description. However, neither of us is here for sightseeing, remember?”

Frankenstein’s jocular yet solemn reminder was all it took for Lunark to balance her attention and attitude in a strikingly professional manner.

“Allow me to pick up from where my lord left off.”

Noticing how her terminology for Muzaka changed, Frankenstein urged her to begin with a nod.

“He told you that his body saved him, didn’t he?”

“Yes. And then he just had to put a cliffhanger on his story.”

“Actually, that’s all there is to it. When the missile was inches away from my lord’s face, he was drawing out his power to maximum, as did the Noblesse right next to him. But ‘at the moment when there was no doubt his next inhale and exhale will be the last of his respiratory action,’ according to him...”

Lunark slightly creased the corner of her eyes, as if she were steeling herself to spill the most embarrassing memory from her childhood.

“...At that moment, my lord’s body moved on its own and fled from the scene.”

Frankenstein immediately retorted with an intensely questioning gaze.

“In case you’re wondering, it’s not a metaphor. At the very last moment, his body fled from the scene. But he failed to run from the aftermath of the protective impact against the missile, so he lost conscious as he watched the Noblesse being scattered to blood-red mass of sparkles.”

“...Are you sure you heard him right?”

“I’ve no reason to lie to you or distract myself when my lord is speaking. I’m relaying to you every word he unleashed to me in the most authentic form.”

Frankenstein has thought Muzaka died at the scene but somehow reenacted the resurrection of Christ, along with his master. But Lunark shed a new light upon the story behind the scenes – contrary to his belief, Muzaka has never died.

The blonde human was glued to his spot, stunned by the not-at-all-expected turnout of the event.

“Did it happen even before Lord Muzaka could attempt something, if anything?”

“Yes. He added that it felt like his body suddenly developed a mind of its own.”

“...So what he wants me to do isn’t to simply check if there is anything wrong with him. He wants me to diagnose the underlying cause of his behavior and perform whatever treatment that is deemed appropriate.”

“...Precisely.”

Hit by the reality that this project will be much more complicated than he had thought, Frankenstein pressed his forehead with the palm of his hand. Lunark started to speak once again, her facial profile littered with hurried concern.

“I’m so sorry about this. I know this is no easy task. I know how neither the situation nor resources are cooperative for either of us. I know you’re terribly busy. However, I give you my word – I will do anything in my power to provide you with everything you need. So...”

“Relax. I’ve no intention to call the deal off. The mystery with Lord Muzaka could have risen the moment he and my master were about to come in direct contact with the missile. Which means I can’t rule out the theory that the phenomenon you just informed me about is related to my master’s return. Which is why there’s nothing I can’t or won’t do in order to unveil the truth.”

Straight away, the curves along Lunark’s cloaked shoulders sluggishly waxed and waned in the air, perhaps from a sigh of relief.

“But how come Lord Muzaka didn’t share with me his secret so far? He had plenty of time to talk to me before returning to the throne.”

Lunark softly snorted in understanding as she watched puzzlement settling on Frankenstein’s eyes. She remembered how five days after the missile launch orchestrated by Crombell, her current audience contacted the mourning werewolves to let them know the squad of five souls who were supposed to be lost rang his doorbell. She remembered how mischievous and pleased Muzaka looked as he told her Tao and Frankenstein were tremendously close to punching themselves in their faces the second they recognized him, Raizel, Lascrea, Kei, and Rosaria.

Most importantly, she remembered how for three days following their return, the five saviors went through recovery rehab packed with Frankenstein’s examinations and therapies as well as separate sessions for them to share and piece together their last memories and latest knowledges, which revealed that none of them had the faintest idea of how they got second chances in life.

“Was he scared the rest would call him a scaredy-cat or something?”

“As far as I know, he didn’t want to stir up a new trouble when they were just freed from the weight of the battle for all lives on Earth.”

“Which tells me he has been planning this ever since then. By the way, are you sure he was knocked out on the spot?”

“You know, there’s something he suggested me to tell you if you keep refusing to buy it.”

Lunark halted briefly with quivering lips, as if she could not believe she was brewing the subsequent comment with a sober mind.

“‘I’d rather cuddle you than lie to you about this.’”

To Lunark’s bewilderment and disbelief, Frankenstein instantaneously let assurance sink into his blue eyes.

“Fine. You can tell him that his sale was a success, albeit a disappointment. I was hoping he could provide me even the smallest of a hint, when my master can’t recollect what kind of miracle was there for him... But then again, maybe I should’ve expected it. After all, he lured me with ‘potential clue to my master’s return,’ not ‘the secret behind my master’s return.’”

Frankenstein remarked in a highly displeased tone, but Lunark did not complain about his attitude, for she could detect strong bitterness in his voice.

“Anyways, thank you for the details on the past. Now I’d like some details on the present,” said Frankenstein, clearly not wishing to waste any minute for this secret project.

Lunark reciprocated by silently dispensing a considerably bulky folder from her white cape, causing a slant in Frankenstein’s eyebrows.

“What’s this?”

“It’s part of the data and files I’ll start bringing to you from now on. You could say it’s the legacy left behind by the one who probably had been studying my lord for the greatest amount of time and depth.”

Frankenstein momentarily pondered whom Lunark could be talking about, before his mind was drawn to the fact that she referred to the folder as “the legacy left behind.” He then remembered who used to be Muzaka’s possessor for the past centuries.

It took less than a second for him to react by wearing the face of an enraged lion.

Perhaps Lunark foresaw such reaction. Or perhaps she was afraid that Frankenstein will turn his anger towards her, for forcing on him a totally unappreciated and unwelcome reminder. Whatever her reason was, she lost no time in explaining.

“As you’d know, when my lord was in slumber as the Union’s specimen, Ignes was practically in charge of all experiments and studies that featured him, with the 9thElder’s help. I’m sure you could obtain the latest data on my lord when he stayed at your personal lab, but I figured it’d be best to give you the files that will tell you what exactly the Union had done with his body.”

Lunark did not notice that she unconsciously quieted her own voice for the duration of her comment, due to the level of hostility on Frankenstein’s face, heavy enough to turn the natural glamor of their settings into the visual calm before the storm.

To Lunark’s relief, Frankenstein eventually loosened his facial muscles and sighed.

“You’ve got a point, though it’s a hideous idea for me to even lay my hands on that psychopath’s productions. But let me ask you – how come you have Ignes’s data?”

“She used to stay in my kind’s territory and run her studies, remember? The lab that was temporarily assigned to her to use was destroyed during the battle that took place not long after her appearance, and it’s still going through maintenance and reconstruction. And recently when we were rebuilding the database for our labs, Dr. Adne landed upon Ignes’s data. It turned out she hid her own data in our database, though it’s obvious that she hid only a tip of the iceberg of data she had collected for her lifetime.”

“How very generous of her to demonstrate two golden quotes at once: never put your eggs in one basket, and vultures never scavenge at their own nests.”

“The thing is, she did take care in hiding her data. There are security locks placed on all her files and data, separately designed for each piece. So it’s gonna take a while for us to unlock them one by one. And I plan on fetching each of them as soon as Dr. Adne breaks down the locks.”

Frankenstein nodded and scanned the pack of papers through the half-open folder, before he asked, “Okay, but did you have to bring them in printed copies? It’d be much more convenient for both of us if you simply borrow a USB drive from one of your researchers.”

“It’s the best way to prevent possible hack or leak of information, given that you take good care of it. And I plan to keep it in hard-copy format.”

Frankenstein was not expecting her to be so serious, for he posed his question halfheartedly. That was when he realized they never moved from the spot where he first stopped short. Lunark did not appear to be eager to move either, based on which Frankenstein could register what was going on.

“You don’t trust the 3rd Elder. And you chose to stick to this place to chat because you are wary that he might eavesdrop once we get ourselves to the safehouse.”

As if she were waiting for him to bring up the former enemy, Lunark furiously rolled her eyes. Frankenstein marveled at the fact that she managed to accomplish the feat without generating any squeak or screech in her eye muscles.

“Well, duh. There’s no telling what he’s keeping in that head of his. When Maduke was still breathing, in a way he was considered much more dangerous than the 1st Elder for various reasons. I know you’re smart enough to handle any threat that may arise, but you’d better watch it. Crombell is gone, and without a common enemy I wouldn’t be surprised to see him picking a fight with you again.”

“Noted. Which reminds me, why would Lord Muzaka want to keep all of this a secret?”

His question quenched the flurry of not-so-friendly emotions on Lunark’s face. Perhaps a little dispirited, she dropped her head as she unzipped her lips.

“I assume my lord already mentioned this, but my kind has just barely graduated from the training wheels in terms of renewal and restoration. Even with our centuries-old material and technological resources put aside, we had the Union technology and resources to support us. Both of them were made irrelevant to us, however, ever since I left the Union. So we have to start again from ashes and dust, especially since 1st Elder had demolished our territory. But I doubt things would have been better for us even if we had not cut ties from the Union, considering its current condition.”

Frankenstein needed no more from Lunark. After all, he was the David that severed the head of the Goliath named the Union. And he was positive not even the remaining body of the Union would be of better use than an unorganized stack of rocks, now with its topmost seats in the pyramid completely empty. Moreover, Frankenstein could swear the name of the Union will not be able to induce as much fear as it used to – not without the devilishly gifted scientist who was in command of Union technologies and researches.

‘And since the only living elders have either permanently renounced the elder’s chair or checked in under my hospitality for the time being, Union is virtually devoid of its best artisans of combat,’ thought Frankenstein, as he patiently kept his voice box frozen.

“The latest mission I have been assigned with was vigilance and espionage against the Union. Well, actually, it’s something I’ve been working on even before Lord Muzaka returned to reign. And not too long ago, in the course of my duties, I picked up valid evidence from more than a handful of countries over the world that the Union’s power is growing weaker. Some countries even informally stated they will maintain no more connection to the Union. But...”

“Taking out the alpha dogs doesn’t necessarily bring the eradication of a pack. Especially in this case, since we’re dealing with cancer cells that have grown over centuries, rooted in every corner and face of the planet, we shouldn’t expect to open the champagne so fast.”

“You hit the nail on the head. The Union’s delta and lesser dogs still live, and Union’s facilities and institutions still stand. Which means our enemy has yet to enter its coffin for good. So it wouldn’t be strange at all if the Union’s underlings commence a mass raid into our territory for vengeance, don’t you think? And need I remind you, my kind is going through the darkest era in history in terms of power.”

“I thought the precise location of the werewolf clan is a classified information, available only to agents and personnel with privileges as good as those of the elders.”

“The Union’s system is presumably meaningless now, with the elders gone. We’re suspecting anybody can reach any information regardless of rank.”

“I see. So did the Union ever...”

“No. Not yet. And it’s all thanks to my lord – or the fact that my lord has risen again – that we can stay untouched.”

“I thought the guy didn’t even die in the first place.”

“But that’s not the case for anyone not included in this secret project of ours. And you have no idea how sturdy is the protection that this news alone provides for all of us. The reason why what remains of the Union can’t even dare to approach our land is because of this rumor that my lord triumphed even death in order to protect the wolfkind. Only a lunatic would ever dream of trespassing our ground, when it is protected by the one and only werewolf that conquered a Union elder AND the death itself. Plus, the pure fact that my lord has returned serves as a huge assurance for my people.”

Frankenstein caught how Lunark’s eyes were sparked with not-so-faint pride and excitement as she continued.

“So imagine what would happen when the word spreads that something is wrong with my lord at a time like this. Dread and alarm would be least of our worries. We didn’t even get to complete the maintenance and redesign of our security system. And imagine what would happen if the Union learns that my lord might have to return to the hospital. Or worse, to a lab tank.”

“Still, I doubt the Union will do anything reckless. Not with its top dogs gone. Furthermore, there’s no way you and the rest of your warriors would let the Union pick up any latest information on your kind.”

“It is always better safe than sorry. Particularly at a time like this, says my lord.”

In response to her utterance, Frankenstein could only express understanding in his face.

He then recalled what Muzaka told him about Lunark the day before – that she “gladly” accepted his request when she has been “running here and there, doing this and that all at once.”

With his brain fully updated with details from Lunark, Frankenstein could guess what she has been up to until she walked into his island only moments ago.

“Part of your duties immediately before this one must have been deliberately spreading the words that Lord Muzaka has returned victorious from his so-called death match against death.”

“Not bad. That was fast.”

“Espionage is not limited to elusive collection of intelligence. And as of now, the best personnel for werewolves to make use of would be you, because you happened to be one of the hearts of the Union.”

“Indeed. As a matter of fact, that’s part of the reason why my lord appointed me as the secret agent for this job. In case you need intelligence on things that happened within the Union boundaries, I’ll be able to fill you in.”

Frankenstein nodded, with Lunark wordlessly staring at him, as if protesting she has run out of things to say.

“Is that all?”

“I guess so.”

“Then how about a walk? You’d want to know what you can find on this island. After all, you’d be our constant visitor from now on.”

Taking it as a cue that she can move, Lunark finally unbolted the joints of her lower body and paced along Frankenstein.

“Looks like I’ll owe you huge for a while.”

“No, we are in your debt. What you will do from now on will benefit all of us to an unimaginable degree.”

“God, thanks a lot for the pressure.”

Lunark held back a snicker as Frankenstein half-jokingly grumbled.

“Pressure? You? Do you realize you just made yourself sound like the 8th Elder when he had his rear end handed to you?”

“Thanks again for refreshing my memories on that idiot. And aside from that, I think you trust me too much.”

“Of course I do. I know what you’re capable of.” Said Lunark without a moment of hesitation.

Frankenstein sighed, his expression not clear enough to show whether it was from pleasure or pressure.

“Thank you SO MUCH for the pressure.”

As he finished his sentence, Frankenstein rummaged the inner side of his jacket.

He soon produced a metallic ponk with something he retracted, and Lunark watched him taking a silver hip flask to his lips.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I think this is the first time I ever got to see you taking something to your mouth to digest. And my nose tells me it’s not water or alcohol.”

“Let’s just say it’s like coffee to me.”

Frankenstein, to Lunark’s wonder, kept his answer terse and with an expertise tucked his flask back where it was hidden.

‘I can’t help noticing how he looks kind of tired. Is he getting any sleep these days?’

‘It’s about time to refill this stuff. I should set an alarm or something.’

Their minds housing different concerns, the werewolf and the human brushed through grassy trail now embedded with glow of the evening.

*****

The misty gleam of the dawn ghosting over his bedside table caught his attention when he opened his eyes, which taught him he woke up much too early. The only ones awake at this hour would be servants tasked with breakfast in his mansion.

Nevertheless, Rael Kertia decided to rise and keep his mind as sharp as the blade of the warlord about to march off to war.

For today, for the first time ever he would get to stand in the Lord’s Hall as the head of the Kertia clan.

(next chapter)

Aaaaand next up we’ll be stopping by Lukedonia! Yes, of course I’ll be talking about what happens in Lukedonia, too, as this fanfic is a post-ending story.

And yes, the Lukedonia part will mainly center on Rael. Though Rael is a native Lukedonian, he has seen how the human world has changed as it entered 21st century and reached inner growth, so I figured he’d be the best character to show what happens to Lukedonia and its people, both within and outside its boundaries (and also partially because he is my third favorite character from the series lol).

Hope you stay tuned for more!

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

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eleanor-writes-stuff · 7 years ago

Text

tell me how this story ends [one-shot]

moodboard courtesy of @reylocalligraphy

In a world where you have to earn your soulmate, Rey has spent the last two years waiting for the day she and Kylo wake up with each other’s marks, waiting for the day the universe tells them they’re meant to be. The mark never shows up, but even the knowledge that they’re just not meant for each other doesn’t make their break up any easier on Rey.

Nearly three years later, Kylo suddenly reappears in her life with a request to help him become the man he once was, the man Rey has always secretly suspected to be her true soulmate.

For Day 6 - Soulmates of @reylo-week-2018

Ten thousands words of soulmate stuff, for the prompt ‘identifying marks’. As always, this spiraled wildly out of control and I have no idea what the hell I’ve unleashed upon the unsuspecting masses. Sorry!

Also available on AO3.

Rey’s third year of college gets off to a spectacularly bad start, and it’s all thanks to her two best friends finding out they’re soulmates.

It’s not that she isn’t happy for Finn and Poe because she is – she’s seen this coming for years, and they really do fit each other perfectly. If it hadn’t been for the… collateral damage, she’d probably be over the moon for her friends right now. But the fact is that Finn, completely oblivious to his connection with Poe, had started dating her roommate less than two months into their first year of college, and now Rey finds herself trying desperately to comfort an inconsolable Rose Tico in a bar on a Tuesday night.

“It’s not even that I’m not happy for them,” Rose hiccups, downing the last of some electric blue cocktail Rey has yet to learn the name of. “Because it just… it makes sense, you know? If the theory about earning each other and becoming soulmates is correct, then I see it. They’ve always been so close, but then summer happened and I was gone and they had all that time together…” She chokes out a sob, shoulders shaking as she falls forward into Rey’s arms.

Rey, who isn’t the best at comforting people, who doesn’t know the first thing about having your heart broken, who absolutely hates all of this soulmate bullshit. “It’s okay, honey,” she rests her chin on top of Rose’s head and hopes the way she’s patting her distraught friend’s back is at least some source of comfort. “I know you wish them well, but it’s okay to be hurt and angry. You don’t deserve this, Rose. This is just… bullshit, all of it. Where do the fates get off, ruining perfectly good relationships just because they think they have a better idea?”

“It really was a perfect relationship,” Rose wails into her shoulder, and for what has to be the tenth time this evening, Rey winces and wonders how the fuck she of all people had ended up being the one to comfort Rose. At least Paige is on her way to spend the week with her little sister, but until the older Tico arrives Rose is stuck with Rey and her pathetic attempts at being a supportive friend.

As Rose mourns all the plans and dreams she’d so carefully come up with over the past two years, Rey casts her eyes about to make sure no one they know is watching her roommate break down in public. The next few weeks will be hard enough without some asshole classmates constantly reminding her of the break up or mocking her for crying about it.

There are no familiar faces, thankfully, and nearly everyone there is too caught up in their own business to so much as look Rose’s way, but right at the end of the bar Rey’s eyes snag on someone already looking at her.

The man momentarily drops his gaze to Rose before giving Rey an empathetic look, one that holds all the discomfort she’s internally dealing with right now. It’s not that she doesn’t love Rose, and it’s definitely not that she doesn’t want to do everything within her power to make things better. But growing up bounced around from one home to another, with no actual friends until she met Finn at age fifteen, means that Rey is woefully inexperienced when it comes to dealing with emotional humans other than herself. And Rose is nothing if not an emotional human, even on the best of days; Rey should’ve known that someone with the capacity for such joy would also be capable of immense grief.

Rose pulls away then, and Rey acknowledges the stranger with a nod before she turns her attention back to her friend. “I’m sorry,” Rose says, snagging a napkin from the bar to wipe away her tears and blow her nose. “I know it’s got to be hard for you to be trapped in the middle of all this, but I’m so grateful you’re here, Rey. It means a lot to me.”

“I’ll always be here,” Rey assures her. “Even if… even if you two can’t stay friends after this, I’ll still be here for you, okay?” Finn is drowning in guilt and Rose is the sweetest person she knows, so at least neither of them would make her pick a side even if they go their separate ways after this.

Eyeing Rose’s empty glass, Rey turns to get the bartender’s attention. It’ll be her fourth drink tonight, but even if she does get drunk Paige will be there to take care of her. Besides, Rose will probably be grateful for a distraction in the morning, even if it comes in the form of a hangover.

Before she can flag down the bartender, however, she appears with a new round for both of them. “Courtesy of my friend over there,” the woman tells them, pointing out the man Rey had noticed earlier. “He knows what it’s like to go through a rough night.”

The man is studiously avoiding them – sure, he could just be busy with his phone right now, but something tells Rey that’s not the case – but Rose doesn’t let that stop her. “Hey! Hey, bartender’s friend!” she hollers, and Rey starts to reconsider allowing her to have a fourth drink.

The bartender merely leans back and watches with an amused glint in her eyes as her friend is forced to drop his act and look up.

“Thank you, nice stranger!” Rose says, raising her glass at him. The man’s lips twitch with a smile, and he raises his own glass in return, nodding at them before he goes back to his phone once more. Rey thinks maybe he was looking directly at her when he nodded, but she can’t be sure.

“Thanks,” she tells the bartender once Rose has settled down and is happily sipping at her drink. “And sorry about my friend. She’s just…”

“Drinking her sorrows away?” the woman supplies knowingly. “We’ve all been there. I’m Phasma, by the way.”

It’s an unusual name but then again, this is an unusual bar. There’s a reason they’re here in this fancy, overpriced place instead of their usual spot, and it’s because no one in their social circle would ever set foot in a hipster bar. “I’m Rey,” she says, holding her hand out with a smile. “And that’s Rose.”

“Nice to meet you,” Phasma shakes her hand firmly. “And that,” she points at her friend, “is Kylo. In case you were wondering,” she shrugs.

“Right,” Rey says faintly, her eyes lingering on the man a tad too long. She quickly turns away just as he begins to lift his head. “Um, thanks again,” she tells Phasma, and the woman flashes her one last smile before she gets back to work.

Rey turns back to Rose, and they spend a good hour trash-talking the soulmate system and cursing the fates for being such busybodies. Occasionally, when Rose lapses into a moment of silence, Rey finds herself looking at the man – Kylo. He’s still there, and every time she turns to look at him he catches her in the act. After the third time she offers him a sheepish smile, one he returns with a smile of his own. The sight of his lips slowly curving into something promising warms her in a way even the alcohol doesn’t.

Eventually Paige arrives to pick up her sister, and Rey isn’t the slightest bit surprised when Kylo approaches her as soon as the Ticos are gone.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” he asks, the slightest note of uncertainty in his voice belying his confident mask.

He’s incredibly tall, she realizes with a jolt, and even more interesting to look at up close. Rey’s not even going to pretend to be coy; she’s already out late on a school night, might as well get some fun out of it. “Sure,” she tells him with a smile, gesturing to Rose’s abandoned seat. “I’m Rey.”

“Kylo,” he offers in return, holding out his hand once he’s seated. His skin is warm to the touch, and the way her hand is utterly dwarfed by his puts the oddest thought into her head: this man will swallow you whole.

It feels like a prophecy, like a warning, like the fates trying to meddle in her business the way they do with everyone else’s.

Rey ignores all of it and goes home with him that night.

She sneaks out the next morning while he’s sleeping, and that should be that.

But then they start running into each other literally everywhere – the library where she works, the hole-in-the-wall place she gets takeout from, even the rarely-used trail she prefers for her morning runs.

Eventually, it gets too ridiculous to ignore. “This feels like a sign, doesn’t it?” Kylo asks when they find each other in line at a food truck on campus, one month after they first met.

“Fucking universe can’t keep its nose out of our business,” Rey mutters as Kylo’s shoulder bumps into hers. “At least it’s better than those death sentences,” she sighs, digging through her pockets for change.

“You mean soulmate marks?” He sounds amused, which is the total opposite of the horror Rey usually faces when she shares her less than favorable thoughts on something most people hold sacred. They find themselves at the front of the line before she can reply, and Kylo gestures for her to go first. He jumps in and adds his order before Rey can hand over her fistful of crumpled-up dollar bills, and ignores her protests as he pays for both their orders.

“Look,” Kylo tells her patiently, quieting her complaints as he places a hand on the small of her back to guide her away from the truck. “If the universe is throwing us together for a reason, I don’t really mind. I had a good time with you the other night, and clearly you’re as much of a believer in soulmate marks as I am so really, I have no complaints.”

“Wait, you hate the marks too?” Rey asks, the small matter of repayment forgotten as Kylo hands over her food and leads her to a nearby bench.

He shrugs, unwrapping his sandwich. “I wouldn’t say hate, but I’m definitely not a big fan of them. I’ve seen them in action up close and I’m just not convinced, you know?”

“They seem to be working out for the people I know,” Rey says after the first bite of her burger. “But it all feels so unnecessary to me. Why can’t we just figure things out ourselves? And sometimes it seems like they cause more hurt than anything. Remember my friend, the one I was with the night we met?”

“Soulmate match gone wrong?” Kylo guesses, not the least bit surprised. She’s never actually known soulmates who didn’t eventually work out, but there are stories out there of the occasional match ending in flames.

“No, just the fates fucking a perfectly great person over,” she huffs. “She’d been dating my other friend, Finn, for almost two years, and they were ridiculously happy together. Like ‘disgustingly in love, most likely to get married after college’ happy. And then one day Finn found out he’s soulmates with his best friend, and suddenly Rose was left with nothing.”

Kylo makes a noise of sympathy, occupied with his food for the moment. “How’s it working out for Finn and his buddy?” he asks a moment later.

“Surprisingly well,” Rey grudgingly admits. “I’ve kinda always known they were meant to be though, so no surprises there. But it would have been nice of the fates to either let them know from the beginning or just stay out of it and let them figure it out in a less painful way, you know? I’m happy for them, but why did Rose have to go through that?”

“Wouldn’t that be even more of a death sentence, though?” Kylo wonders, turning to her. “If we were all just born with marks,” he clarifies. “Imagine growing up your whole life feeling like you can’t date anyone else because you’ve got your soulmate’s name right there, so what’s the point even if you’re in love with someone? And wouldn’t it suck, not knowing your soulmate at all? What if you finally meet them and they turn out to be a total asshole, but you can’t do anything about it because you’re meant to be and all that?”

Rey stares at him until Kylo ducks his head and makes a show of focusing on his sandwich. Clearly he’s put some thought into this. “Yeah,” she says after a while. “Yeah, that would suck too. See, this is what I mean. Aren’t we all just better off without the marks? Say you and I decide to date, and we end up being really happy together – why can’t that be enough? Even if we suddenly get our marks and it’s someone else, why can’t we just be happy with what we have instead of breaking each other’s hearts for the slightest possibility that someone else could make us happier?”

Now it’s his turn to stare at her, and Rey finds herself fiddling with the edge of her burger wrapper as she waits for him to respond. “Would you do that, though?” Kylo asks, his voice unusually soft. “Would you give up a sure thing – a perfect match – to fight for what you’ve already got in hand, even though there’s no guarantee it’ll last the way soulmate bonds do?”

As a child, Rey was fascinated with the idea of soulmates, with the idea of having at least one person who’s supposed to stay with you forever. A sure thing, Kylo calls it, and of course some part of her craves the stability of that, the assurance of something known and permanent. But– “I don’t think I could ever walk away from someone I love, soulmate or not,” she tells him quietly, thinking of the longing glances Finn and Rose still exchange sometimes, of the way some feelings don’t ever leave you. She’d regret it for the rest of her life, if she had to walk away from someone without knowing how things would have turned out otherwise.

“Yeah,” Kylo says, just… looking at her. “Yeah, I see what you mean,” he shakes it off and gives her a grin. “I’d much rather be thrown together like this than wear a death sentence on my skin.”

Rey laughs when he playfully bumps his shoulder against hers. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but Kylo would’ve been a weird name to have on me anyway.”

He shrugs and finishes up what’s left of his sandwich, balling the wrapper up and tossing it into the bin next to them before he speaks. “I don’t know if that’s even what it would say, actually.”

“What do you mean?” Rey frowns, digging through her bag for a bottle of water to wash down her lunch. “What else would it say if not your name?”

“My birth name, maybe,” Kylo answers, a study in fake nonchalance as he takes the bottle she’s offering him and turns away from her as he drinks.

“Kylo Ren isn’t your–” Rey starts before she rolls her eyes at herself. “Of course Kylo Ren isn’t your real name. Why am I even surprised?” She waits for him to turn back to her before asking, “So what’s your actual name? You know, so that I don’t wake up one day and think I’ve been matched up with some asshole of a stranger.”

“You’d still be stuck with an asshole,” he smirks, letting out a cross between a gasp and a surprised laugh when Rey slaps him on the arm. “It’s, um, it’s Ben Solo. Just in case.”

One hand moves to run through his hair while he angles his body away from her. Rey can’t tell whether he’s nervous to run with her implication of them possibly being soulmates or uncomfortable with sharing such a personal detail. “That’s a nice name,” she offers quietly, leaning forward to catch his eye and give him a smile.

“I don’t really like it,” Kylo mumbles, avoiding her eyes.

There’s a story there, in the way his shoulders have gone tense, in the way he tugs at his hair and restlessly taps his right foot and curls his hands into fists. Rey decides it’s a story for some other day, if they make it that far.

“Okay, Kylo,” she says, pulling out her phone. “Now give me your number. If anyone’s going to be planning our next run-in, I’d rather it be us than the fates.”

They have their second date – I paid for your food and I told you uncomfortably personal stuff, it totally counts as a first date – later that week, and by the time winter rolls around they’re officially together.

And at some point between Christmas and New Year’s, Rey finds herself thinking she wouldn’t mind too much if the fates do decide to make him her soulmate after all.

Kylo speaks rarely and briefly about Ben Solo, about the man he used to be, but it’s enough for Rey to realize that he isn’t as dead as Kylo would like him to be.

He’s there in the way Kylo’s eyes go soft when they see her, in the way he comforts her on her so-called birthday – the day she was found, not born –, in the way he automatically tucks errant locks of hair behind her ear and always makes sure she’s eaten no matter how busy he is and holds her in their sleep even though he runs too warm to find cuddling comfortable.

“I just don’t understand how you can like Kylo Ren,” Finn huffs in exasperation the day she tells her friends about their relationship. There’s history there, a brief overlap in their internships at some place called the First Order, and the man Finn describes to her sounds nothing like the man she knows, so much so that Rey begins to wonder if she’s even in a relationship with Kylo Ren at all.

She never calls him Ben, never reveals any of her thoughts to him, but privately Rey starts to think maybe the man she knows is Ben Solo after all. Just in case, Kylo had said all those months ago when he gave her his true name, but with every passing day Rey grows more certain that the only name that could ever belong on her skin is Ben.

And that’s another can of worms entirely, the fact that she’s started actively wanting a mark – his mark. They’ve spoken of it only once since that day on the bench, when Kylo told her about his parents and how the mark made it so that they couldn’t live without each other but their personalities made it such that they couldn’t live with each other. It’s the reason he’s not totally sold on the concept, the reason he’d rather have her than a mark, but why can’t he have both? Why can’t they have each other for good?

On their first anniversary, Rey decides she’ll bring it up, just casually float the idea that maybe they could start waiting for their marks the way most couples do. It won’t actually change anything or speed up the process, but she thinks she’s ready for Kylo to know how she feels about him, about them.

But then– “Hey,” Kylo says tiredly, stumbling into the apartment that’s only recently gone from being his to theirs. He’s paler than ever, hair a mess and clothes all wrinkled, the bags under his eyes worse than those Rey sees on students camped out in the library during finals week.

Immediately, she knows he’s spent the day juggling classes and Snoke’s errands.

“Babe,” Rey sighs, meeting him at the door to help him set his things down and shrug off his jacket. “You can’t keep going like this. You’re going to work yourself into the ground.”

Kylo pulls her close and rests his chin on top of her head. “It’s just another year,” he mumbles into her hair. “Once I have my master’s, Snoke will finally offer me a permanent position and we’ll be set.”

She loves that he’s thinking about their future and not just his, but Rey wishes Snoke and his awful company didn’t have to be a part of it. Kylo is insistent though, says he’s known he belongs at First Order ever since he first interned for them the summer before college, says he owes everything about the man he is today to Snoke.

“But does he have to take advantage of you like this in the meantime?” Rey asks, leading him to the kitchen. “You’re not even working for him right now, and he still has you doing a million things a day. You’re in grad school, Kylo. You don’t have time for this.”

It’s an old argument – the only one they ever have, really – and she knows he’s just as tired of it as she is. “Can we not do this tonight, please?” Kylo murmurs, brushing his lips across her temple. “I’m exhausted, and I just want to spend what little time we have before I fall asleep celebrating our anniversary.”

“Okay,” Rey relents, carding her fingers through his hair as he leans down to rest his head on her shoulder. “Okay, not tonight. C’mon, I got us dinner.”

He’s the chef between the two of them, so her idea of preparing dinner is just getting all their favorite takeout dishes. Kylo smiles at the sight and mumbles this is great, thank you against her lips anyway, and after dinner they manage to hang out on the couch for a whole thirty minutes before he starts dozing off.

She brushes her teeth while he’s in the shower, mainly just to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep on his feet. Kylo’s in bed by the time she’s dressed, and he apologizes constantly and profusely for ruining the evening. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, reaching out to draw Rey into his arms. “We can do anything you want this weekend.”

“I just want to be together,” she murmurs, brushing hair out of his face before resting her hand on his cheek. “We’ve both been so busy lately, it feels like we haven’t spent any time together since school started.”

Kylo winces. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he turns and presses a kiss to her palm. “I’ll make the time, I promise.” His words are beginning to run together, and he punctuates his promise with a yawn.

“I know,” Rey smiles, running her hand through his hair. “Go to sleep now, Kylo. You need it.”

He kisses her good night and shifts his head so that it’s cradled between her neck and shoulder, and Rey holds him close as his breathing evens out and his form grows soft and pliant in her arms, the stress of the day leaking out of his tense frame. She doesn’t get much sleep that night, thinking about Kylo and Ben, about Kylo and Snoke, about Kylo and her.

When he wakes in the morning his dark circles are even more pronounced in the light of day, and Rey watches in quiet concern as he stumbles bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived through his morning routine, barely stopping for a piece of toast before he’s reaching for his things.

She can’t let him go on like this, can’t let him head into another busy day just like all the others, and so Rey finds herself reaching for him before he can leave the kitchen.

“I love you,” she tells Kylo, the first time she’s ever done so.

He smiles, the first sign of life she’s seen in him all morning, and all the stress and exhaustion on his face seems to melt away as his eyes light up. “I love you too,” Kylo murmurs right before he kisses her, his hands warm around her waist and his shoulders loose under her hands.

When they finally pull apart for air he looks at her for the longest time, opens his mouth to speak just as Rey blurts out, “I take back everything I ever said about not wanting a mark. I wish I had one. I wish I had yours.”

His smile grows dim, and Rey’s heart grows heavy. Being in love doesn’t necessarily equal wanting to be together forever, right? “I’m sorry, that was too much–” She moves to step out of Kylo’s arms, only for him to shake his head and tighten his grip on her.

“No, no, that’s not–” He sighs and leans down to press his forehead to hers, both of their eyes fluttering shut at the soothing gesture. “I wish you had my mark too,” Kylo whispers right before he kisses her again.

Later, once he’s gone and she’s getting ready for the day, Rey gives in to the silly urge to check her reflection in the mirror before she gets dressed, just a cursory sweep for anything new. It just feels like the time is right, like everything has fallen into place, like they’re finally on the same page the way soulmates are supposed to be.

It becomes a daily routine, one that she keeps up even long after things are over.

Two weeks before graduation, everything goes wrong.

Maybe it’s Rey’s fault, maybe she’s destroyed them by constantly seeking out things that aren’t there, by searching for glimpses of Ben the way she desperately studies her own reflection each morning.

Maybe in trying to secure their future she’s completely destroyed their present, but the same could easily be said of Kylo.

“Rey, you don’t understand! Look at the starting salary!” Kylo picks up the letter she’d found on their coffee table just minutes ago, the letter she’d confronted him with. “Do you even understand what this could do for us? I could give you everything you deserve, everything we’ve ever wanted.”

“For fuck’s sake, I don’t care about the money, Kylo,” she tells him for what feels like the millionth time, a scream of frustration lodged in her throat. “This man is going to use you until he kills you, and I can’t bear to watch it!”

Kylo softens, and for one beautiful moment she thinks she’s won. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” he says, shattering the illusion in one fell swoop even as he steps forward to gently rest his hands on her neck. “I told you things will get easier once school is done and it’s just the job. I might have to put in a lot of hours for the first few years–” At this she steps away from him, but he keeps going anyway. “Snoke said it’s the fastest way to a promotion, and once that happens I’ll be able to take it slow–”

“Not if you die first,” Rey snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “He says jump and you ask how high, and he knows it, Kylo. He’s been taking advantage of it for six years, and there’s no way he’s going to stop anytime soon. It just keeps getting worse, and I’m so worried, Ben–” A sob rises past her chest as tears pool in her eyes, clouding her vision so that she can’t see the scowl on his face.

“What did you just call me?”

It takes Rey a while to blink away her tears, to realize her mistake. “I just...” She shakes off her doubt and decides to go for it, to try the only option she has left. “I called you Ben, because that’s who you are to me. The man I love is kind, and gentle, and caring, and I won’t let Snoke change that, I won’t let him hollow you out and turn you into some kind of monster like him–”

Kylo’s face hardens, his eyes cold as he glares at her. “The man you love,” he says quietly, his hands forming fists at his side, “doesn’t exist, Rey. And if you’ve spent the last two years thinking… if you’ve spent all this time hoping… fuck, do you even know what love is, Rey?”

“Of course I–”

“No,” Kylo cuts her off firmly. “No, you don’t. Love is about accepting someone the way they are, not trying to change them. And that’s why you’ll never get a mark, sweetheart,” he sneers, and finally, finally, she sees the man Finn warned her about, “because you don’t even know what love is.”

“I love you,” Rey insists, stepping forward to take his hand even when all she wants to do is flinch away from his cruel words. “I love you, and that’s why I can’t stand to see you this way, that’s why I’m trying to keep you away from Snoke–”

Kylo shakes his head. “You’re in love with a ghost, Rey, not me.” He doesn’t give her a chance to reply, snatches up his keys from the table and slams the door on his way out without so much as a goodbye.

Not that she would’ve been capable of a reply anyway, his accusation stinging like a slap to the face. And the worst part is that it’s true, isn’t it? Everything she loves about him she’s told herself is Ben, and everything she can’t stand she’s attributed to Kylo, to Snoke’s creation.

She goes to bed that night knowing she won’t get a wink of sleep, and when he finally comes back he slips under the covers wordlessly and turns his back to her. Neither of them sleep; neither of them speak.

There’s nothing left to say, nothing other than perfunctory pleasantries and the occasional question about misplaced items.

The day before graduation, Kylo grabs some leftovers she’s set out on the kitchen counter and joins her at the table. They eat in silence, as they have for the past two weeks, until he sets his food down and looks at her.

“I took the job,” he says, and it takes all her effort not to let her fork clatter to the ground. She nods, makes some kind of sound in acknowledgement, and pushes her barely-touched plate away.

Kylo stares at her for the longest time, and then he sighs. “It’s over, isn’t it?” he asks, and more than anything it’s the resignation in his voice that breaks her.

A cry rips past her throat, and Rey claps a hand to her mouth as she starts sobbing in earnest, her shoulders shaking and her lungs short of breath and everything, everything hurts with the knowledge that there’s no fixing this, that Kylo won’t even try to fix this.

His chair scrapes against the floor as he gets up to cross the table, and she doesn’t even have it in her to fight when he picks her up and holds her close. They slide down to the floor, and he leans his back against the wall as she curls up in his arms and cries into his shoulder.

“Shh, it’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” he tells her, his voice thick with tears of his own. “You’re going to be okay. Maybe it’s for the best, maybe there’s a reason you never got my mark.”

She shakes her head at that, chokes on a sob at the reminder and tries to protest it. “No, listen to me, Rey,” Kylo moves, coaxes her to straighten up so that she’s looking at him. “You deserve so much better than me, okay? You deserve someone who won’t pick a stupid job over you, and I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t be that person for you, sweetheart,” he whispers, his face wet with tears as he leans down to rest his forehead against hers one last time. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the person you want me to be.”

“I’m sorry we weren’t enough,” Rey tells him in return, her voice small and shaky and unfamiliar to her own ears. She wishes, god how she wishes, she had never heard the name Ben Solo to begin with, wishes she could have loved Kylo from the start, the good and the bad and everything in between.

But a part of her has always known, even from that first day, that she was never meant to wear Kylo Ren on her skin. He will swallow you whole, the universe had warned her, and in her arrogance she’d thought to defy the fates, to prove them wrong.

The day after graduation, when she wakes up to packed boxes and an empty apartment, she knows what it means to be swallowed whole, to be so consumed by love and regret and grief that nothing else exists anymore.

“I left two boxes on the dining table,” Kylo tells her quietly, his voice just as hoarse as hers from all the crying they’ve done in the last few days. “It’s all the stuff that we got together. I thought maybe…maybe you’d like to look through it and see what you want to keep.”

Two boxes. Nearly two years together and that’s all they have to show for the life they’d made, the life they’d shared.

Rey shakes her head, careful to avoid his eyes in the mirror as she gathers her toiletries. “You take it. Just… take all of it. You’ll have more space than me, anyway.”

“Right,” Kylo mutters. “Chandrila, right? It’s kinda known for shoebox apartments.”

It’s also where he was born, where his family lives, where she’s moving to work with his father.

“Yeah, things are gonna be pretty cramped,” Rey says weakly, slow to form the unfamiliar words shared between strangers, acquaintances at best.

Kylo nods and disappears from the mirror, and in the living room she hears him resume his task of separating their boxes into two distinct piles.

When she comes out of the bedroom with one last box in her hands, he’s taping the ones in the kitchen shut. She doesn’t move closer to inspect the contents, doesn’t say goodbye to what’s left of their life together.

Instead she sits on the couch, dazed and numb as he makes multiple trips down to the rental he’s parked outside their building, moving his life box by box away from their apartment. Her own boxes remain in a corner; Finn and Poe are coming by later with a truck, the truck they’ll use to drive her and her life to Chandrila.

Finally, there’s only one box left, one last trip upstairs.

She follows him to the door, barely aware of her own movements.

“Rey…”

Against all reason, she finds herself laughing through tears. “You know, I’m usually very good at saying goodbye,” she tells him.

“That’s… good?” Kylo asks, and the way his brow furrows in confusion is so painfully endearing, so achingly familiar, that it wipes all traces of humor off her face.

She shakes her head, a fresh wave of tears hitting her. “But I don’t know how to say goodbye to you,” Rey cries, allowing him to hold her. “I don’t know how to say goodbye forever to someone I love.”

A lifetime ago she’d told him she could never walk away from someone she love, and now here they are.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Kylo murmurs, his lips brushing against her hair. “It’s going to be okay,” he says for both their sakes, even if neither of them believe it. For a while they stand right before the threshold of their old apartment, of their new lives, and they hold each other up.

When he pulls back to give her a reassuring smile, Kylo’s eyes are red. “I should get going,” he says, picking up the box he’d carelessly dropped to the ground to hold her. “I’m pretty sure I’m parked illegally, so...”

They linger - his eyes on her, her hands still around him, the air between them thick with a thousand things they’ll never get to say.

“Okay,” Kylo says, nodding to himself. “Okay, I should go.”

Rey lets go of him just as he lets go of her, and they each take a step backwards to put some distance between them, the beginning of a great chasm.

“Take care of yourself, Kylo,” she pleads. Now that I can’t anymore.

He nods and offers her a thin-lipped smile. “You too, Rey.”

And then she watches the man she loves walk away from her.

Sometimes life settles down just enough for Rey to forget how much she hates the meddlesome fates… only for a reminder to sucker punch her out of the blue.

It’s been two years since graduation, two years since she moved to Chandrila and started working at Han Solo’s garage. Maybe it’s a waste of her engineering degree, but it’s a good job, and it pays well, and maybe… maybe she’s just enough of a masochist that she craves the small reminders of Kylo she gets from being around his family so much.

If anyone asks though, it’s because Han’s shop specializes in restoring vintage cars and she loves getting the chance to work on them.

It’s the answer she gives Kylo the day she literally bumps into him in the garage.

She’s holding a loosely-capped bottle of motor oil, her face turned to the side to address Chewie, when she bumps into him and gets oil all over his shirt. It’s black, so it doesn’t really matter, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s soaked through.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry–”

And that’s when she sees him.

“Hi, Rey,” Kylo says, smiling at her as if he isn’t dripping motor oil, as if this isn’t the first time they’ve seen each other in two years.

She stutters out an apology, and then a comment on his shirt, and then an order to follow her to the back office where they keep a few spare tees, all the while painfully aware of Chewie’s eyes on them. Thank god Han is out getting lunch.

Kylo asks about her job while she digs through a drawer for a shirt that’ll fit him, and after she’s given her standard reply she hesitantly turns the same question on him.

“Oh, I, uh… I quit. Last week, actually.”

“You…” She turns around to face him, paint-stained shirt gripped tightly in her hands. “You quit your job?”

“Yeah,” Kylo drops his eyes to the ground and runs a hand through his hair, and her free hand twitches with the phantom impulse to do the same. “You… you were right. About Snoke, about the job, about everything. I guess it only took me two years to see that,” he mutters with a scowl.

“Better late than never,” Rey says for lack of something better, something thoughtful, something more suited to the fact that he’s finally quit the job that had torn them apart in the first place. She hands the shirt to him abruptly, her movements sudden and jerky. “I’ll just,” she turns her back to Kylo to give him some privacy, and remembers too late that the window in Han’s office is tinted and highly reflective.

She should close her eyes, she should squeeze them tight and count to twenty just in case, but… he’s got his back turned to her too, and he’ll never know, and she just… Rey doesn’t know what she’s thinking, but she can’t bring herself to close her eyes.

In the mirror-window, she watches him pull at the back of his shirt, watches his hair get caught in the bunched-up fabric to reveal the smallest glimpse of the back of his neck.

And there, on his nape, is the unmistakable sign of a mark.

His hair falls back down to cover it before Rey can even process her discovery, much less take a closer look, but she knows what she saw, knows that Kylo carries a name in solid black ink on the back of his neck.

And there it is, the sucker punch. The fates have brought him back into her life just long enough to show her that she was never meant for him, that all the time she’s spent hoping against hope to wake up with his mark on her is time that he’s spent earning someone else.

“So, um,” Kylo turns around. “I’m staying with my parents for a while, until I figure something out, and I was wondering if maybe–”

Is that why he finally quit his job? Because his soulmate convinced him to?

“I have to go,” she croaks, already reaching for the door. “I’m sorry, I forgot something important, something…” Hot tears prick at her eyes, and Rey pulls the door open.

“Rey, is everything–”

She keeps her back to him. “I have to go,” Rey mumbles again, stepping out of the office and closing the door behind her. It only takes him seconds to open it and follow her out, but it’s enough to hide her from view as she dashes down the hallway and out the back door.

For the first time since she started working for Han, Rey decides to take some time off. When she gets back to work a week later she’s forced to explain everything to him, to come clean about the true nature of her relationship with his son where previously she’d only claimed a brief friendship, but at least Kylo’s long gone by then.

Months pass, but the hole that brief encounter tore in her doesn’t seem any closer to healing. The day he left her in their empty apartment Rey had bottled up all of her tears, all of her grief and pain and regret, because she had no intention of breaking down in front of his father.

Rey should have known that would come back to bite her in the ass someday.

Her life narrows down to work-hurt-sleep, rinse and repeat, and Rey ignores the voice inside her head that tells her she has no right to feel this way about him, about someone else’s soulmate.

So life goes on, and somehow she makes it all the way to December before Han decides to crash her pity party and burn it to the ground.

“It’s Christmas, and I know you don’t have any plans, so you’re coming to Leia’s party,” he announces one day, slapping an invitation down on her table.

“Han, thank you for inviting me but–”

“Nope. No buts. Either you come to the party, or Leia drags you to the party,” Han warns her, flashing her a triumphant grin when she gives in with a wordless nod.

Three days later she finds herself at Leia Organa’s Christmas party, a lively and crowded affair that threatens to suffocate her within her first thirty minutes of being there. Leia catches sight of her, pale and panicked, and ushers her to an upstairs balcony.

“Some air will be good for you,” she tells Rey, pressing a glass of wine into her hands. “And also this, to calm you down. Now you stay here as long as you need to, but I’d really like it if you could come down and socialize at some point, okay?”

She’s kind, and warm, and understanding, and Rey doesn’t understand how Kylo could ever have walked away from this family. She’s only met Leia a handful of times and already the woman treats her like family, has even been extra kind ever since she revealed the truth about her relationship with Kylo.

“Okay,” Rey says quietly, curling her fingers around the stem of the glass. “Thank you so much, Leia. I’m sorry for doing this here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Leia frowns at her. “It’s my own damn party, and even I get overwhelmed by the crowd sometimes.”

They both know full well that’s not what’s happening here.

Leia pats her hand. “If you’re not down in an hour, I’ll come check on you and bring more wine, okay?” she offers, and with one last kind smile she leaves Rey alone.

So far removed from it all, Rey realizes that it’s probably really nice downstairs. It’s a big crowd but almost everyone knows each other, so much so that it feels more like a reunion than a party. The house is warm but not uncomfortably so, the decorations are beautiful without being over the top, and the company is all pleasant enough. It should have been the perfect opportunity for her to end her self-imposed isolation.

Instead, it just reminds her that even in a sea of people she has no one.

Finn and Poe are spending Christmas with the Damerons, and the Tico sisters are off backpacking around Europe for two months. She’s friends with Han and Chewie, of course, but how much of their friendship stems from her past with Kylo? Would Rey ever have applied for a job at Han’s garage if she hadn’t been desperate to find some way to help him reconnect with his parents?

This, she thinks to herself, this is why you didn’t deserve to be his soulmate.

Kylo was never hers to fix, to redeem, to change. He was hers to love and support and encourage, but nothing more. Just like him quitting his job, her realization is about two years too late.

She loses track of time, up here on Leia’s balcony, all alone save for the stars, the universe, and the fates. When the door opens she assumes her hour is up and Leia is here to check on her and offer her more wine, but of course that’s not the case.

“Hi,” Kylo says, coming to sit down in the chair next to hers. He offers her a glass of wine. “My mom said she was supposed to bring this to you.”

“Thanks,” Rey mumbles, careful not to make even the slightest contact with his hand as she takes the glass from him. “I… I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I wasn’t sure if I’d make it,” he tells her without meeting her eye. “I’ve kinda been all over the place these past few months, trying to figure out where I belong. Eventually I realized Chandrila will always be home, and so here I am.”

She feels sick – her heart is heavy and her stomach is churning and her mind is spinning. “So you’re moving here. For good?”

Kylo shrugs. “No concrete plans yet, but I think so.”

“That’s nice,” Rey murmurs absently, busying herself with her wine. “I’m sure Leia will be happy. And is your–” She stops herself in the nick of time, but it’s too late.

“Is my…?” Kylo prompts.

“Nothing,” she turns away from him completely and returns her focus to the stars. “Forget I said that.”

They lapse into silence, and when she finishes her second glass Kylo wordlessly offers her his own, the one he hasn’t touched at all. “Thanks,” she mutters, not even caring if she comes across as the distraught ex who has to drink her sorrows away in order to tolerate his presence.

Time passes – maybe another hour of it – with them just sitting there, cold and quiet and staring at the night sky. Finally, perhaps driven mad by the silence or encouraged by the alcohol in her bloodstream, Rey turns to Kylo.

“Who is she?” she asks, setting her glass down on the table between them. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Kylo meets her eyes with evident confusion in his. She’d forgotten that he doesn’t know she knows. “Who is who?”

But he has to know who she’s talking about, right? There’s only one she. “Your… you know,” Rey gestures at the back of her own neck.

His hand immediately flies to the back of his neck. “How did you–”

“I saw it when you were changing the other day. I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t mean to, the window is just really, really reflective and–”

“Rey, wait,” Kylo holds up a hand to put a stop to her babbling, his forehead creased with confusion. “What do you mean, who is she?”

“I saw the mark, but not the name,” Rey admits. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me it’s fine, I totally understand that, it’s not like I have a right to know or anything so,” she shrugs, keeping her eyes fixed on her empty wineglass while the weight of Kylo’s gaze burns her skin.

Kylo rests his hand on the table, mere inches away from hers. “But you do,” he whispers, drawing her attention. “You do have a right to know.” Before she can think of something to say, he’s turning around and lifting up his hair, and Rey has a split-second to decide whether she’s ready to see it with her own two eyes.

She should close her eyes, she wants to close her eyes, but instead she finds herself staring at something incomprehensible, something impossible.

“When?” she whispers, her fingers hesitantly reaching out to trace the delicate letters printed behind Kylo’s neck.

He lets his hair fall, and she retracts her hand as he turns to face her. “Three months after we met,” he reveals quietly. “I woke up in the middle of the night because I felt something strange on my neck, and when I checked the next morning it was you.” Even after everything, he smiles at the memory.

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Rey can feel her breathing hitch, can hear how shaky her voice is, but there’s nothing she can do about the tears that have started to pool in her eyes. So many tears, endless tears for Kylo Ren, and she’s so sick of it but they keep coming anyway because again and again this man seems determined to tear her to pieces. “If you’d just said something–”

“At first I thought it would scare you,” he tells her, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “We’d only been dating for two months, and you’d made your feelings on this pretty clear. Later on, when you stopped ranting about the marks, I thought maybe you’d changed your mind for a reason, maybe you’d gotten it too or you would soon. So then I thought I’d wait for you to say something, because even after everything I was terrified that you wouldn’t be happy about this.”

“And when… when I said I love you, and told you I wished…”

Kylo’s eyes fall close for a moment, and when he looks at her again there’s so much grief in them it pulls at its counterpart in her heart. “I’d had the mark for ten months by then. When you… when you told me you loved me, I thought maybe finally–” He shakes his head, blinks away the grief. “I started wondering why it was taking you so long to get the mark, but then I remembered how they work. Getting your mark meant that you were perfect for me, that you were everything, but the fact that you never got mine… I meant what I said, Rey: you deserve someone better than me. And that’s the real reason you never got my mark. I was never worthy of you.”

“But that’s not… that can’t be right,” Rey insists. In all her years she’s never heard of one-sided bonds. She’s heard of bonds that fade, of bonds that don’t work, but never of one half-formed.

“It’s the truth,” Kylo tells her. “As Kylo Ren, I was never going to be good enough for anyone, let alone you. Which is,” he pauses, sneaking a glance at her before he goes on, “which is why I’m here. I need your help, Rey.”

Anything, she wants to say. Even after everything, she’d do anything to help him. It’s only fair, given how she’d failed him the last time.

“What do you mean?” she asks him instead, holding herself back.

“I’ve been thinking about Ben Solo,” he confesses. “About the man I used to be, about the man I might someday become. I’ve been thinking about how little I know about him, and how hard it is to remember someone you never were. And then I thought about you.”

Rey stills. “Me?”

Kylo nods. “You know Ben Solo better than anyone else, Rey. And I was hoping that… that maybe you could teach me.”

“You… want me to help you become Ben Solo?” Wasn’t this everything she’d dreamed of, just two short years ago? She shies away from it now, flinches from the thought of trying again to turn the man in front of her into someone he isn’t.

But he’s the one asking this time, he’s the one tentatively inching his hand closer to hers on the table and looking her in the eye. “Please, Rey. I’m not asking for forgiveness, or anything more from you. I just need your help to become Ben again.”

In his wide, earnest eyes, she sees a glimpse of the man she used to wake up to, of the man only she knew.

“Okay,” Rey hears herself saying against her better judgement, against all sense of self preservation. It’s been two years and still she hasn’t fallen out of love with the mere ghost of Ben Solo; how the hell is she supposed to survive resurrecting him?

She won’t, Rey knows. And yet – “Okay,” she tells him again, firmer this time.

He smiles. It’s a far cry from the sleepy smiles he used to greet her with in the mornings, but it’s genuine all the same.

They meet in a café somewhere between Leia’s office and Han’s shop two weeks later.

“It’s just,” Kylo struggles to explain what his plan is. “I don’t know how you did it, but you always brought out the best in me. So I thought maybe if we… I don’t know, hang out or something…”

Hang out. The man has her name on his skin and her traitorous heart is back to spending every night praying she gets his on hers, and he thinks they can hang out.

“Okay,” Rey says, because what does she have to lose at this point?

They start slow, meeting every other day for lunch as he settles into his new job at Leia’s foundation. By his third week she’s convinced him to actually play nice with his colleagues, and to join Leia and Han for family dinner every Sunday.

The next week he decides to go to therapy of his own volition, to figure out some things about his childhood and his parents and his time with Snoke. She tells him she’s proud of him, and when they part ways she hugs him and almost feels like everything is okay again.

At night she lies awake thinking of the man she knows now, and she realizes it doesn’t matter to her whether it’s Kylo or Ben on her skin anymore. He just… he is who he is now. He’s growing into the person he was always meant to be, and it doesn’t really matter which name that person chooses to go by.

She tells him as much five weeks into their arrangement, finally sits down with him to have the talk they should have had all those years ago about the way she’d failed him, about the way she’d seen him being torn into two and had contributed to it rather than put a stop to it.

He holds her on a bench much like the one they had their first date on, tells her he never really blamed her for it, reminds her that despite it all she was good enough for the fates to mark him with her name anyway.

“Besides,” he says, rubbing soothing circles into her back as they watch the sunset, “if you look at this from Ben’s point of view instead of Kylo’s, you saved me. If I thought Ben was truly gone, I never would have been so conflicted about you, and I never would have found the courage to quit my job, and I never would have reached out to you for help. So really, the fates knew what they were doing when they gave me the mark. They knew I needed you.”

She doesn’t forgive herself overnight, but she does feel less guilty about hoping he’ll still be hers after everything they’ve gone through – not that she ever tells him that, not that she’ll ever tell him that. If, after everything is said and done, he chooses to move on from her, to go live his best life somewhere else with someone else… well, she’ll be damned if he lets something as stupid as a half-formed bond or some misplaced sense of gratitude or obligation or destiny hold him back.

But sometimes… sometimes she wonders if there’s a reason he’s working so hard to be the man she wanted him to be once.

Four months after that first meeting at the café, nearly three months of family dinners and therapy sessions later, she finds herself walking around town with Kylo on a Saturday afternoon. They hadn’t made plans or anything; they just… like being together. It reminds her of days whiled away in each other’s presence, of how the novelty of living together had never really worn off for them, of how they could be perfectly happy doing laundry or the dishes as long as they were together.

There’s that quiet sense of contentment now, weaving between them as they draw peace from each other’s presence, occasionally bumping shoulders as they walk around.

At some point their hands graze and they meet each other’s eyes sheepishly, and Rey darts her eyes away in search of a distraction only to find–

“Kylo, look!” she gasps, turning back to him with a wide smile.

A fond smile tugs at his own lips as he stares at her, his eyes bright and warm, and after a while he takes her hand and says, “Actually, I’ve been thinking… I think I’m ready to be Ben again.”

It’s been a while since she last cried over Ben Solo, but if she still had tears for him she’d probably shed a few now. Instead she laces their fingers together and, like she had on that bench all those years ago, she simply says, “Okay, Ben.”

He smiles at her, and it takes Rey a good while to remember what it is she’d been so eager to show him. “Now come on, we need to go see those puppies!”

“What puppies?” Ben asks as she tugs him across the street and towards the park, laughing at her excitement when she heads straight for a playpen set up in the middle of the adoption drive they’ve apparently stumbled upon.

Rey drags him down to kneel on the grass with her, and sticks her free hand in between the bars of the playpen. Most of the puppies are occupied with the children on the other side of the pen, but two tiny ones – one a golden, almost orange, color and the other black – rush to her immediately.

“Ben, look!” Rey giggles as the pups lick at her ticklish palm. “They like me!”

“Everyone likes you,” he points out with a grin, placing his own free hand within the pen. The orange puppy remains fully focused on Rey, but to his surprise the black one comes over to sniff at his hand and proceeds to nuzzle into it.

“I see you’ve found the last two BBs,” a woman says as she approaches them with a clipboard. “We’ve been hoping to find a nice couple to adopt them together, so that they don’t have to be separated,” she hints.

“Oh, we’re… um,” Ben turns to her with a question Rey isn’t quite ready to answer.

“We’re just here to play,” Rey tells the woman. “They’re really cute though. You called them BBs?”

The woman nods, kneeling down alongside them. “That’s how we labelled the whole litter. This one here,” she reaches in to scratch behind the orange one’s ear, “is BB-8, the eighth in his litter. And that little cutie is his sister and the youngest, BB-9.”

“Where are BBs 1 to 7?” Rey asks, glancing at the puppy pile on the other end of the pen to see if she can spot the rest of the litter.

“Oh, they’re long gone. See, they’re purebred, so they were snapped up pretty early. But I’m afraid Mama BB got a little frisky last mating season,” the woman chuckles. “These two are a little younger than the others, and they’re only half-siblings. We haven’t been able to pin down what their dad is, so it’s been a bit harder to find a home for them.”

“Poor BBs,” Rey murmurs as the woman excuses herself to tend to a family. She turns to see Ben absent-mindedly scratching BB-9’s chin with a small smile on his face as he looks around the park, and her mind is made up. “Ben… we have to. Look at them! They’re all they’ve got in this world. We can’t let them be separated.”

Ben stares at her. She stares back at him. The BBs start yelping for attention.

“Okay,” he sighs, and that’s how they end up with puppies.

A week later, Rey and BB-8 are over at Ben’s place for the puppies’ almost-daily playdate. The BBs tire each other out within the first hour, and are happy to cuddle up together in a corner of the living room and nap.

It’s been a very long, very exhausting first week of puppy parenting, and even as Ben puts on a movie Rey can tell she won’t last long. With the puppies happily dozing in a corner and Ben’s familiar warmth pressed up against her, she finds herself drifting off just minutes into the movie.

When Rey wakes a while later the TV is on mute, the puppies are still sleeping, and Ben has moved them so they’re stretched out along the length of the couch, his arm curled around her waist to keep her on top of him and away from the edge. For the longest while Rey can’t figure out exactly why she’s woken up, but then she feels it again.

An odd, tingling sensation on the back of her neck, only mildly uncomfortable but life-changing enough to wake her up. With her heart pounding and her throat dry, Rey carefully extricates herself from Ben’s arms and slowly tiptoes to his bathroom.

BB-9 wakes to find her making her way down the hall, but quickly goes back to sleep after a little yawn.

In the bathroom, Rey splashes cold water on her face and takes several deep breaths before she lifts her hair up in one hand. Slowly, very slowly, she cranes her neck this way and that to get a glimpse.

She spies familiar handwriting from a lifetime ago, from little love notes scrawled on post-its and grocery lists stuck to the fridge.

Rey runs back into the living room, waking both the puppies and Ben as she practically launches herself into his arms. “Babe, look!” she calls out in her excitement, speeding up the process by shaking him awake. The puppies have gathered at the foot of the couch, letting out tiny little barks as they get swept up in Rey’s contagious excitement.

“Rey, what–”

She wastes no time in presenting the back of her neck to him, sweeping her hair aside as Ben slowly pulls himself upright and moves in for a closer look.

“Is this…” One hand hovers uncertainly above her neck. “Rey, is this–” She shivers when his hand finally makes contact, when he traces the mark with a shaky finger.

There, on the back of her neck, is the matching Ben to his Rey.

Rey waits for him to drop his hand before she turns around. “Tell me you still want this, Ben,” she whispers, searching his eyes. “Tell me you still love me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ben smiles, one hand reaching up to cup her cheek while the other rests on the back of her neck, his thumb stroking the mark. “I never stopped.”

And finally – for the first time in years, for the first time in her life – Rey kisses her soulmate.

Every time. Every damn time I tell myself I'm gonna stick to my projected word count, I'm gonna keep a tight leash on the fic. And every damn time I end up subjecting you guys to god knows what.

As usual, I'm sorry, thanks for reading, and if you liked it please don't hesitate to like/reblog/comment. I love y'all, you're so encouraging and supportive of my verbose bullshit.

#reyloweek2018 #reylo #kylo ren x rey #ben solo x rey #soulmate au #modern au #reyben #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #star wars #fic: tell me how this story ends #fic archive #my fics

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goforwardgreenwriter-blog · 6 years ago

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The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 42 - 43

I AM ACTUALLY SPEECHLESS HOLY FUCKING SHIT

Manon Blackbeak cracked open eyelids that were too heavy, too burning, and squinted against the flickering lantern light that swayed upon the wood panels of the room in which she lay.

HHHH I’VE BEEN DREADING THIS. Please kiss the Manon we know goodbye, because we’re likely gonna never see her again after this chapter.

[Manon] bolted upright. Abraxos. Where was Abraxos—

Unghhh their relationship is too pure and wholesome for this shitty novel. I seriously want Manon to leave this series and go to HTTYD, it’s what she deserves.

(...) the chains now around Manon’s wrists, around her ankles—anchored into the walls with what appeared to be freshly drilled holes.

FRESHLY DRILLED HOLES. What did they use to drill those holes? Don’t tell me they popped down to Home Depot and picked up a brand new screw gun I am l aughing

Alien is there and already I’m seeing red please SJM i am begging u keep Alien’s crusty ass 100000 miles away from Manon

[Aelin] jerked her chin toward the floor. A pitcher and cup lay there. “Water’s next to the bed. If you can reach it.”

YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE YOU’RE GOING TO LET MANON DIE OF HYDRATION IF SHE CAN’T REACH THE WATER?? FUCK YOU, ALIEN, YOU MASSIVE PIECE OF SHIT.

And as it turns out, Manon can’t reach the water and passes out soon afterwards. Fuck Alien I can’t think of one character I hate more than her fucking selfish ass.

Even unconscious, Manon’s every breath, every twitch, was a reminder that she was a born predator, her agonizingly beautiful face a careful mask to lure the unwary to their doom.

idk this seems weird... Manon is passed out from pain but they’re all splooging over how hot and dangerous she is... idk...

They were nearing Banjali now—and Dorian had tried and failed not to think of his dead friend with every league closer to the lovely city. Tried and failed not to consider if Nehemia would have been with them on this very ship had things not gone so terribly wrong.

*sobs* I miss Nehemia.... she deserved so much better....

“Hello, witchling,” [Dorian] said. [Manon’s] full, sensuous mouth tightened slightly, either in a repressed grimace or smile, he couldn’t tell.

What the fuck is up with SJM making all her men horny for the women’s lips during situations that are in no way sexual?? Like Manon is a prisoner tied up and dying of hydration, why is Dorian thinking about her mouth this is so fucking weird

Dorian didn’t feel like mentioning that he’d been the one who’d jumped into the water [to save Manon]. He’d just … acted, as Manon had acted when she’d saved him in his tower. He owed her nothing less.

Ungh SJM is totally gonna make this a thing ain’t she. Like Dorian is just repaying her here but you know, you just know SJM is gonna use this for them to hook up.

Manon asks Dorian about Elide and the Thirteen and Dorian is like “who the hell are those guys” and Manon gets all sad and I’m :(((((

Whatever had happened, whatever [Manon] had endured … Dorian draped an arm along the back of his chair. “It’s coming in a few minutes. I’d hate for you to waste away into nothing. It’d be a shame to lose the most beautiful woman in the world so soon into her immortal, wicked life.”

Heh, that’s typical Dorian for you. Hey, maybe this ship won’t be so bad! Maybe they’ll become really good supportive friends who bond over all the trauma they went through and-

“I am not a woman,” was all [Manon] said. But hot temper laced those molten gold eyes. [Dorian] gave her an indolent shrug, perhaps only because she was indeed in chains, perhaps because, even though the death she radiated thrilled him, it did not strike a chord of fear. “Witch, woman … as long as the parts that matter are there, what difference does it make?”

WHAT

THE

ACTUAL

FUCK

SJM. ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING KIDDING ME. DO YOU KNOW TRANSGENDER PEOPLE EXIST?? THAT NOT ALL WOMEN HAVE VAGINAS??? ARE YOU FUCKING SAYING TRANS WOMEN ARE LESS OF WOMEN IF THEY DON’T HAVE BREASTS AND VAGINAS??? BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT IT FUCKING LOOKS LIKE TO ME.

I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE THIS IS IN AN EPIC FANTASY SERIES. SJM WROTE THIS, EDITORS EDITED IT, AND THEN IT WAS PUBLISHED, AND NOBODY THOUGHT “oh hey, the implications of this are reaaaally bad, let’s cut it”

DJFHSJDFHAFJ THIS IS SO BAD THIS IS REALLY REALLY BAD HOLY SHIT I THOUGHT THIS WAS JUST A BOOK WITH SHITTY PLOT AND WRITING AND CHARACTERS BUT NOW WE CAN ADD TRANSPHOBIA TO THE LIST THATS JUST GREAT.

Sorry about that little tangent but my jaw actually hung wide open when I read that line. Holy fucking shit this novel is going to put me in the ground six feet under.

Dorian offered a lazy grin in return. “Believe it or not, this ship has an unnatural number of attractive men and women on board. You’ll fit right in. And fit in with the cranky immortals, I suppose.”

I’m so heartbroken but... I have to disown my baby boy. Dorian was once one of my few favorite characters but SJM has killed him and replaced him with a transphobic asshole. I’m so sorry my baby boy, you flew too close to the sun. You are hereby demoted to Dorito.

Assdion rears his ugly ass head to be rude to Manon and kiss Alien’s ass before leaving. Bye bitch, hope you fall off the ship and drown.

“Then I suppose you and I are both heirs without crowns.”

Remember last time Alien said this and I defended Dorito, saying he deserved his crown? Oh, how I took those earlier chapters for granted......

The rest of the chapter is Manon angsting about all the shit she’s been through lately. Since I like Manon and she has reason to be upset, I don’t have anything to make snarks about so next chapter.

Lorcan was still wondering what the hell he was doing three days later

Oh fucking great, I just witnessed the murder of my son Dorian and now I gotta read in Lorcan’s POV? Just keep kicking me while I’m down why don’t you, SJM.

“It’s going to rain.” [Elide] slid a flat glance at him. “I do know what thunder means.”

Just fucking stop. This isn’t entertaining at all to watch two people bicker and made snarky remarks 100% of the time to one another and yet we’re supposed to believe they’re bonding I want to d ie

“Drink,” Elide commanded him. Lorcan debated telling her not to give him orders, but … he liked seeing this small, fine-boned creature in action.

What the fuck does that mean?? Fine boned?? Is that really a way people describe others???? What the fuck am I reading???

So Lorcan drank and watched [Elide] while she watched others. So many calculating thoughts beneath that pale face, so many lies ready to spill from those rosebud lips.

I’m so tired like. You guys have done nothing but argue and avoid each other and now Lorass is getting horny at the sight of Elide’s lips I’m so tired.

[Elide] was going to leave. Tomorrow, whenever the carnival rolled out. She’d likely hire one of these boats to take her northward, and [Lorcan] … he would go south. To Morath.

:(( the girl I emotionally abuse is going to leave after we both lied to one another :((( this is so sad can we get 100 likes

Elide talks to some people inside a tavern about Alien.

“Seems like the queen has a habit of showing up where she’s least expected, unleashing chaos, and vanishing again.

FINISH HER

Elide walked out of the third tavern, Lorcan on her heels. They hadn’t spoken once since she’d gone into that first inn. He’d been too lost in contemplating what it would be like to suddenly travel on his own again. To leave her … and never see her again.

I am utterly baffled you two have been nothing but assholes to each other!!! Like seriously you haven’t done anything nice for each other!!! Like wtf SJM is trying make us all :’((( about them splitting up but I can’t wait until this stupid subplot ends!

Elide reveals she can’t read to Lorass and he tries to compliment her, but...?

He wondered if he would have ever noticed if she hadn’t told him. “You seem to have survived rather impressively without it.”

I mean, good on him for not judging her, but like, she was locked up in a tower doing maid work? Reading skills really wouldn’t have made much of a difference there.

Turns out their carnival co workers ratted them out and sent guards after them. Lorass hauls Elide over his shoulder and makes a run for it.

“The gates at the city entrance,” [Elide] gasped as muscle and bone pummeled into her gut. “They’ll be there, too.”

Holy shit that sounds painful. She’s not a sack of potatoes Lorass, try some gentleness.

Lorcan pocketed the axe he’d thumbed free

You literally just took out your axe like two paragraphs ago on the same page. What was the point of this?

They find some rando and force him to get them the hell out of dodge on his boat. Elide hears a splash but doesn’t think anything of it until she sees Lorass again.

[Elide] glanced at the hatchet at [Lorcan’s] side as he strode out of the cabin. “You killed him, didn’t you?” That was what the splash had been. A body being dumped over the side.

So, just to recap, according to Lorass.... killing an innocent man who helped you escape the guards; completely justifiable. Stealing something you suspect is bad from a woman you don’t even like; evil, unacceptable, crossing a line.

“He might have had a family depending on him.” [Elide]’d seen no wedding ring, but it didn’t mean anything.

I was about to get tilted but SJM corrected herself. I hate the mentality that if you don’t have a spouse, you clearly can’t have a family who depends on you. Kids from previous relationships, parents, grandparents, siblings, they’re family too y’know.

Lorass finds out the Wyrdkey he carried is a fake and loses his shit.

Then Lorcan flung open the door, so violently it nearly ripped off its hinges, and hurled what looked to be the shards of a broken amulet into the river. Or he tried to. Lorcan threw it hard enough that it cleared the river entirely and slammed into a tree, gouging out a chunk of wood.

I enjoy his misery tbh. Lorass is so pissy he reveals to Elide that Alien was Celaena, or as I like to call her Celery, at one point.

“You knew, and you didn’t tell me. Why?” “You still haven’t told me your secrets. I don’t see why I should tell all of mine, either.”

I mean, yeah, hate to agree with Lorass but fair enough. You’ve both done nothing but lie to each other’s faces, why would he tell you that? I want to like Elide but all this shitty drama and bickering is making my affection for her wear thin.

Then - holy fucking shit, there’s like a bunch of huuuuuuge paragraphs of Lorass and Elide bickering and they’re so fucking big. This hurts my eyes to look at. I’m gonna screencap one of them, just to show you how fucking huge they are.

HOLY SHIT SJM BREAK UP YOUR BIG ASS BRICKS OF TEXT PLEASE. My eyes started to cross trying to read this, it took me like three tries.

tl;dr because of some bullshit Lorass is staying with Elide because they both have business with Alien. Fuckin’ great, I love everyone’s agendas revolving around the main special snowflake, just fuckin’ great.

There’d been nothing inside the amulet but one of those rings—an utterly useless Wyrdstone ring, wrapped in a bit of parchment. And on it was written in a feminine scrawl: Here’s hoping you discover more creative terms than “bitch” to call me when you find this. With all my love, A.A.G.

Maybe I’d find this amusing if Alien wasn’t a walking shitstain, but... I’m tired. I’m so goddamn tired.

[Lorcan]’d kill [Aelin]. Slowly. Creatively.

Damn wish you would fam, but Alien’s got plot armor bigger than her fuckin’ ego. Lorass ends the chapter by saying he’ll kill Alien, which we all know won’t happen. I’m betting money that there’ll probably be a Lorass/Rowboat/Alien love triangle once Lorass sees what an ~uhmazing~ queen Alien is. Don’t give me that look, you know SJM would.

#the worm talks #the worm reads: eos #anti sjm #anti tog #anti eos

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years ago

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Kieran Culkin's Shirt Is Off

https://fashion-trendin.com/kieran-culkins-shirt-is-off/

Kieran Culkin's Shirt Is Off

When Kieran Culkin first started reading the script for “Succession,” he wondered whether it had been sent to the wrong person. The HBO powers that be originally thought he’d be a good fit for the character of Greg, a bumbling nitwit who gets high in his first scene and spends the rest of the first season failing to sidle his way up the ladder of a massive media and entertainment conglomerate owned by his great-uncle, Logan Roy.

Almost from Greg’s first line, Culkin knew he was wrong for the part. “He’s already a lot younger than I am, and just the voice ― I was, like, this is not me. I am not right for this.”

When I met Culkin at a small restaurant in the Noho neighborhood of Manhattan last Monday, it was just as clear to me as it was to him that he’s too old to play a character like Greg. But something in the Roy family’s dark saga held Culkin’s attention anyway. He said he kept reading the script, which follows the foibles of the billionaire Roy clan as its individual members vie for power within. A few pages later, Logan’s overconfident third son, Roman, appears, led into a meeting by a man hired explicitly to burn sage.

“Hey, hey, motherfuckers!” Roman proclaims to a room full of his father’s business associates.

“And I was, like, ‘Oh, who’s this fucking guy?’” Culkin said.

Culkin eventually got the part of Roman, an incompetent and lazy man-child who believes he wholly deserves the title of chief operating officer, even though he has little interest in doing any of the work that comes with it. Among the many nefarious faces that make up Logan’s Waystar Royco empire, Roman stands out as perhaps its most cynical ― a ratings-obsessed media executive motivated solely by profit. At one point, in his interpretation of corporate disruption, he takes off his shirt in a meeting, flexing and joyfully screaming “Blood!” at the thought of layoffs. During another, he gleefully tells his sister about a new viral video that is “evidence of precisely the kind of disgusting, liberal, metro butt-love that makes our viewership angry enough to buy pharmaceuticals.” To Roman, nothing could be better.

Culkin can’t say exactly what drew him to the morally depraved heir, described by his father as a “moron” and his brother as a “walking fucking lawsuit.” But it’s not hard to imagine some small part of Culkin was intrigued by the idea of playing such a sneering member of a media empire.

After all, Culkin’s distaste for the tabloid industry is beyond well-established. (“No matter what’s written there, it’s a total lie, even the person’s name, lie, lie, lie, lie, everything’s a lie,” he once told New York Magazine.)

But let’s not lump Culkin into that hyperpartisan Level 10 “FAKE NEWS” category of 2018 American paranoia. Mostly because when he told me “Now it’s a thing, ‘fake news,’” and I said, jokingly, “Fake news. You’re a believer,” he got nervous and pushed out a quick “no,” immediately realizing the millions of different ways such a quote could be aggregated, recirculated, quoted out of context and otherwise misinterpreted. You can almost see it now, can’t you? “Kieran Culkin Joins the Chorus: Media Is ‘Fake News.’”

Culkin’s distrust is of a more justifiable form, born out of a lifetime of his surname showing up in headline-grabbing tabloid fodder. From the moment his parents, Kit “The father from hell” Culkin and Patricia Brentrup, entered into an ugly, obsessively covered custody battle to when the National Enquirer proclaimed his eternally famous brother, Macaulay, had “6 Months to Live” in 2012 (he’s still alive), Culkin’s last name has served as a way to move and make paper ― the most intimate moments of his life repackaged as factually questionable entertainment content to sell ads against.

Ron Galella via Getty Images

Macaulay and Kieran Culkin at the fifth annual American Comedy Awards back in 1991, just months after the release of the blockbuster hit “Home Alone.”

“There are things that are out there in the world as fact because it was written in print that are just completely false. My brother did not divorce his parents. They did not fight over his money,” he said. “But that’s out in the world as fact.

“I learned at a very young age to be, like, ‘Oh, I get it: It’s bullshit,’ shit that’s written in print.”

In person, Culkin ticks most of the boxes of adulthood: In his 30s. Takes his coffee black. Enjoys talking about his favorite East Village dives. Married five years. Nice watch. Clothes that fit. Hair slicked around his head just so. Like Roman, Culkin drops a “fuck” or “shit” every ninth word or so, as when he said to me, “Hold on, I’m going to eat the fuck out of these pickles. You say something for a minute, ’cause I’ve got a mouth full of shit.”

But no matter how many fucks he lets out ― and by my count, he let out around 25 over 40 minutes ― Culkin remains stuck with a membership to the official Former Child Actors club. Macaulay, or Mac, if you’re in the know, was always the main draw ― history’s most famous kid actor without a drink named after him. But Kieran was there too, in “Home Alone” and “Home Alone 2.” He found himself on the stage of “Saturday Night Live” before the age of 10, and schmoozed with Jay Leno on “The Tonight Show” before his voice dropped.

Which is probably why ― and here I’m guessing ― Culkin might have been a bit annoyed when HBO suggested he audition for Greg.

But after 10 episodes of watching Culkin-as-Roman take part in his family’s imperious game of human chess, it’s hard to imagine the actor playing anyone else. If Jeremy Strong ― who plays Kendall, Logan’s cocaine-addicted second son ― is the show’s tragic star, Culkin is its nervous energy. There’s something in the way he pushes out a phrase like “What a pathetic beta cuck,” or belittles doctors and waiters alike.

What sealed Culkin’s interest in his character came in the first episode during a family softball game, when Roman points to a kid on the sidelines, the son of the site’s groundskeeper. Everyone grows quiet as Roman whips out his checkbook and starts writing a check for $1 million. Hit a home run in their game, Roman tells the boy, and the money is his. For the child and his family, it’s a potentially life-changing moment. For Roman, the child is nothing but a momentary subhuman toy to mess with and cast aside. After the child is tagged out at home, Roman can’t control his laughter. “I’m sorry, I can’t give it to you,” he says as he tears up the check. It is a degrading, truly awful moment of television.

“Oh, I get it,” Culkin remembered thinking, “he’s a fuck face.”

When Culkin filmed the scene, he embodied evil, letting out a cackle so cruel it sets the show’s moral compass for the remaining season. Culkin himself is not sure where his ability to play somebody like that came from.

“Being able to connect to some degree, not in a positive way, with these characters is odd to me because I don’t know the multimillionaires, I don’t know the super-rich, yet I know assholes like that,” he said. “I can’t even quite specifically pick out who I know that is exactly like that, but it’s weird that you can still, for me, relate.”

“Succession” suffered from a slow start, only truly hitting its stride around Episode 6, when Kendall leads the board in a tense vote of no confidence against Logan, who’s recently suffered a stroke, unleashing a sequence of events within the Roy family that are both comical and horrifying.

Culkin owns up to that. “The first three episodes to me, it’s not like they’re unwatchable,” he said, “but it’s not quite the show yet.”

Which, according to him, is fine. Some shows don’t grab you on first watch, and one in particular in his opinion: “I probably shouldn’t even say this on record. The example I have is actually [the British comedy] ‘Peep Show,’” which was coincidentally also developed by “Succession” creator Jesse Armstrong.

But the first season of “Succession” gained enough momentum before concluding Sunday evening for HBO to pick it up for another season ― making this the first time Culkin has ever been part of a television show that made it to Season 2, according to his IMDB page, a small victory in his more than two decades on-screen.

Culkin’s most acclaimed role came in 2002, when he earned a Golden Globe nomination for his role in “Igby Goes Down.” But that time the victory led to a full-blown existential crisis.

United Artists via Getty Images

Claire Danes and Kieran Culkin talk at a coffee shop for a scene from “Igby Goes Down.” Culkin entered an existential crisis after the film and took a breaking from acting.

“[I] found myself at the age of 20 with a career I never chose, [and I] freaked out,” Culkin said. “I think everybody around that age has some sort of crisis. Usually, it’s like a straight-up ‘Oh, I don’t know what I want to do.’ Mine is, ‘I don’t know what I want to do with my life, yet here I am doing it.’”

Culkin took a break before eventually returning to acting, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else to do. “I was just sort of doing it in the meantime,” he says now. He took parts in movies like “Lymelife” and “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World.” Did two episodes of “Fargo.” Performed multiple versions of a stage play he loved, Kenneth Lonergan’s “This Is Our Youth.” In 2014, he was still apprehensive. “I often think about getting out of this job, but I’m terrified that there’s nothing else,” he told The Daily Beast.

Since then, Culkin said, something clicked. He remembered coming home from work one day and thinking, “Oh, I think I’m actually enjoying this.”

“I think I know what I want to do now,” he said to himself. “I think I should do this.”

Now deep into his 30s, Culkin has established himself as a stronger and more serious actor than the “essentially retired” Macaulay ever did. And in Roman, Culkin has stumbled upon something as special as it is sinister. TV Guide described Roman as “the very definition of the hate-f―k,” but he’s probably more accurately categorized as sexual overcompensation personified. He tells his brother that his “face is drowning in pussy,” despite the fact that his various partners claim he rarely wants to have sex. He masturbates to his office view of New York City while a string of emails piles up behind him. (“It’s to gain some sort of control,” Culkin surmised.)

More interesting than his sex life, though, is Roman’s complex relationship with his manipulative and emotionally abusive father. While most people want to prove their competence to the people around them, “Roman, for the most part, doesn’t give a fuck about that,” Culkin said, adding, “If his girlfriend says, ‘No, but you did a great job,’ it’s like: ‘Fuck you. Don’t patronize me.’” What he wants, Culkin said, is his dad’s approval: “That’s the only person that can get him, the only person that can look at him and make him nervous.”

Logan does exactly that when Roman prepares to stand against the tycoon in the vote of no confidence. With his father staring down at him, Roman can only muster a meek “maybe” before he slouches into his chair like an admonished child and votes with his father. Thanks to Roman, Logan lives to fight another day atop his dynasty, while Kendall is forced, temporarily, to surrender.

Earlier, in Episode 2, Roman finds himself watching as the world repackages his family’s tragedy into viral content. He and his family are huddled together in a New York hospital, awaiting information about their famous father’s deteriorating health post-stroke, like characters in a Gothic novel, when Roman starts scrolling through Twitter. His sister, Shiv, asks what people are saying.

“Eh, rumors, you know,” Roman replies matter-of-factly. “Some of Twitter says he’s dead ― and also a good deal of rejoicing at our father’s potential demise.” He notices a short video of the “South Park” kids yelling, “Oh my God, we’ve killed Logan! We’re bastards!” and asks an employee to “find out who these fuckers are and report them or screen grab their shit.”

When Culkin’s own father was hospitalized after suffering a stroke in 2014, TMZ, The Daily Mail, Perez Hilton all repackaged the tragedy as well. The National Enquirer pounced, too, running a headline that read, “Macaulay Culkin Rejects Dying Dad: ‘Rot in Hell!’” But unlike Roman, Culkin wouldn’t have been sifting through Twitter. “That would never be something that I would do willingly,” he says of social media more generally. “Because already at a young age, there was a public perception of me.”

Francis Apesteguy via Getty Images

Kit Culkin, Macaulay Culkin, Kieran Culkin and Patricia Bretnup pose for a photo one month after the release of “Home Alone.” The father is now estranged from his children.

Like Roman, however, Culkin and his siblings have a less than ideal relationship with his father. By all accounts, they have been mostly if not entirely estranged from Kit ever since their mother won custody of the children in the 1990s. Patricia, the mother, claimed during the custody battle that Kit had been abusive, and Culkin’s brother Macaulay has continued to do so throughout his life.

“He was a bad man,” Macaulay Culkin told comedian Marc Maron earlier this year.

When I asked Kieran Culkin if he has spoken with his father recently, he answered with two no’s so quickly that I couldn’t bring myself to ask a follow-up question, only saying, for reasons still unbeknownst to me, “Fuck ’em.”

“Fuck ’em,” Culkin agreed. “I’ll go on record: Yeah, fuck ’em.”

After a lifetime of his last name being splattered across the front pages of tabloids, Culkin seemed ready to move on from the controversies that have dogged him since he was a child actor with moppy hair and oversized clothes. That’s not him anymore.

What we’re looking at instead is Kieran Culkin, age 35 ― no longer a Greg and fully embracing life as Roman.

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