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jasperwhitcock · 4 years ago

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equinox | chapter 07 –– “a cruel god, a wrathful goddess”

here is chapter six of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag. but it seems 10/10 times my tag does not work, so that is a fun mystery for me to solve.

oof... sometimes u get distracted and then ur sister gets married and then u get unmotivated & d*pressed and forget to update ur fanfic for over three months... my bad y'all... sorry for the wait hehe. i hope it is worth it. again, i'm so thankful for the comments & i read them all. i get too shy to respond, but i WILL. i just need to talk myself up first. i love u. thank u. hehe. ♡♡♡ merry christmas/happy holidays if i fail u again before the 25th. i WANT to update more frequently. my catchphrase these days is "i'm trying my best," so... i'm trying my best.

this is for the sweet anons who slide into my ask box & ask me questions abt my fanfic. and for taryn, who consistently reminds me that there are people wanting to read this seeing as she is one of those people, kim, who i am so desperate to impress that i began working on a new chapter once she started to read my fanfic, and kae, because without her, this fanfic would never have existed in the first place. i love how i'm writing this as though it's the intro to an actual book when it's literally just chapter seven. ok, i will shut up now so u can read. love u. again.

07 A CRUEL GOD, A WRATHFUL GODDESS

In great contrast to the noisy ambience of the other students in the hallway, we were silent on our walk to our shared biology class. I wondered how conscious Edward was of the stares and whispers focused on our proximity to one another, but my guess was that he was very much conscious of it. I intentionally ignored glancing in any direction that I sensed one of my siblings’ presence, although I figured it was mostly paranoia driving me to feel as though we were about to cross paths. Holding my breath to more easily walk beside Edward left my senses impaired to the ability to pinpoint their location.

I was lucky that for the majority of my immortal life, I’d managed to escape unwanted attention. But now, it seemed that precious luck had finally run out. Maybe embarrassment had been creeping up on me, maliciously building itself up all these years, waiting until just the right moment to rear its ugly head and exact revenge that immorality had stolen its favorite object of humiliation to torment. But here it was, ensuring that I was finally catching up on feeling awkward and out of step, a feeling I experienced for what seemed like the entirety of my human life. I thought once I’d been changed, I’d never feel this way again, but becoming misaligned with my family made me feel bashful to parade my defiance in their faces. I had operated better under no scrutiny as a mortal and was surprised to realize that that still held true as an immortal as well. Because though there was now never a struggle of staying upright or a risk of tripping over my own feet, that didn’t prevent me from feeling self-conscious as I walked beside Edward. Although for different reasons –– it was too mortifying to consider what my family might make of what my actions suggested about my feelings towards Edward.

And yet still, I would put up with the ridicule and disapproval of my siblings if it meant I could listen to Edward speak his silly philosophical theology, his questioning of god and existence, for just a few more hours. If I were going to be teased over Alice’s visions regardless, I might as well find out what I can about this pretentious boy before I leave him alone forever. If only to understand why his moving to this small town threatened to warp my own future so much. In losing night and in losing death, there were so very little anomalies in the endless amount of time I’d been given. So what would it hurt to allow myself to fixate on this minuscule difference in my life for just awhile?

It could hurt Edward, a more selfless part of myself reminded me. If indulging myself was playing with fire, I was being justly punished with the way flames were efflorescing the inside of my dry, burning throat.

If a god did exist, why would it make sense for such a being to craft someone like Edward with his perceptivity, and send him off to this small town, home to a secret such as ours? If a god did exist, why it would be fair for such a being to craft someone like Edward, someone who tempted me both in bloodlust and in curiosity, and send him off to this small town, home to the very vampire who desperately wished to kill him most? If a god did exist, if our kind had fallen short of heaven, I could understand why sending Edward into our path –– and more specifically, my path –– could be some kind of punishment. But what I couldn’t understand is why a god would allow someone as innocent as Edward to be endangered for the sake of bringing a sinful, undead creature to justice. It seemed the only reasonable explanation would be that a god probably did not exist.

And how could there be? I was on the precipice of falling into temptation with every step further in the hallway and every question he asked and answered. I could never not be very much aware of the fact –– especially now with his body merely inches from my side and his sweet fragrance blooming both deliciously and relentlessly in the air. And even as I impossibly withstood the lure of his blood, how was I meant to ignore the irresistibility of his mind and how inexplicably concerned I was to understand it? It seemed like a very cruel experiment of free will and knowledge –– far too cruel to allow much room for the kind of god Edward hoped for.

I frowned as I realized that this experiment wasn’t that of a cruel god’s but that of a cruel vampire, and I felt very much like a vampire as the sound of his heartbeat was so appealing that it made my mouth water.

“Do the stares bother you?” Edward spoke quietly to me as we weaved throughout the hallway. Easily distracted, his question was able to pull the more civilized parts of myself together, though this was probably also in thanks to my choosing not to utilize my sense of smell. I found it funny that at least one of his thoughts had been in a similar vicinity. But of course, the rest of his thoughts were probably free of all consuming agony and struggle. For all his curiosity about morality, to inflict this existence upon him would probably devour him in misery. At least as a human, despite whatever conclusions he may come to, there was still some hope to be had for an afterlife. This thought should have been dark and depressing, but because it made Alice’s vision seem like a complete hoax, I almost found it funny. How would Edward ever end up like me?

“Oh, no,” I swallowed the venom in my mouth. “I live for attention.” I watched from the corner of my eyes as his gaze flickered over to me, the ever present half smile appearing on his face at my joke. My answer came out so comfortably as though I was used to this, when in reality, the student body for the most part had grown accustomed to ignoring me. And, of course, there was nothing comfortable about the demanding, aching dryness in my mouth or the burning in my nostrils. “How about you?”

“Likewise,” he joked, laughing. “This is interesting –– their fascination. I understood their interest on my first day because I’d guess a new addition to the student body in a town this small is something of a rarity, but today, walking by your side is garnering even more attention. Is it a once in a lifetime opportunity to have Bella Cullen walk you to class?”

“You’re just so observant, aren’t you?” I rolled my eyes, though the corners of my mouths pulled up despite myself. “And I’m not walking you to class. I’m walking to a class I just so happen to share with you, so don’t get the wrong idea. I think they’re just surprised because they’re probably under the impression that I don’t play nice with others.”

“And do you?”

“You tell me,” I replied, pausing to face him beside a wall of lockers next to the entrance of our biology classroom. As he stopped beside me, a gust of air from a passing student walking hastily down the hallway sent his scent reeling into me at an unfortunate moment where I’d chosen to breathe in. My muscles tensed to spring, and I desperately anchored myself to the floor as my mind fell into disarray.

“Nicely enough,” Edward winked naturally as though we’d been the best of friends since his first day. The demanding thirst was intruding on my awareness, and the desperation for something wet and hot and delicious in my desiccated throat was so dizzying that his voice sounded as though it were underwater. With an effort as though I were swimming through drying cement, I resurfaced, just barely proving my dominion over the desire. I focused on his voice so that it’d become clearer, forcing myself to take another excruciating breath in and exhale the fire out. “I will say I am honored to be the exception –– to be plucked from the masses by the renowned, reclusive Bella Cullen.”

With torturous effort, I snorted as though I wasn’t fighting everything within me to keep him alive. I breathed in again heavily, allowing my body to become a pyre so that I could speak. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop saying my name like that. And you’ve lost the privilege. I am never walking you to class again,” I rolled my eyes even though my joke could very much be the truth. The bunching of my muscles, the twitching of my hands, and the fierce pain in my throat reminded me of the fact. Before he could point out the contradiction of what I’d previously clarified, I sighed. “Let’s take this quiz.”

His pretty green eyes were alive with mischief and enlightened with what must be more answers to questions he hadn’t outright asked me as he turned to enter the classroom. I followed behind him towards our shared table.

Air from the vent rushed out, thrusting the scent of his blood wafting into my face again. I paused for an indistinguishable moment as I battled agony, murderousness, monstrosity. Holy fuck. What was I trying to prove! Was it really worth this? Swallowing hard, I sat beside him as though nothing happened. My suffering was so great that Emmett could have brutally ripped my arm off, he could have beat me with it, and I wouldn’t have noticed nor felt a thing. I could have been set on fire, and it’d feel like sinking into a cool pool of water on an even cooler day. I was already burning alive, my body acting as a furnace, and I was imprisoned inside it.

Without intending to, I sighed aloud, exhaling as though it would smother the flames. It was a stupid, attention seeking thing to do. Humans sighed to expel air or express some sadness or relief or exhaustion, so when my family emitted an audible breath, we did so as a means of blending in. But to breath out in a way to clue Edward into the fact something was plaguing me… it was a stupid invitation for more questions. And these were questions I had no intention of sharing the answers to. I felt his eyes on me, but before he could say anything, Mr. Molina began passing out quizzes face down on our lab tables as students continued to pile in from lunch.

“Alright, class. Today we have a pop quiz–– oh, come on, guys, don’t groan. You will have the opportunity to make corrections after these have been graded. This is just an assessment of what you’ve retained from this unit so far. You will have the entire period to complete–– thanks for joining us, Mr. Patterson, glad you could fit my class into your busy schedule. Why don’t you take your seat? –– You will have the entire period to complete your quiz. If you finish early, feel free to get a head start on this weekend’s homework! I’ve written the reading down on the board. Aw, I’m sure you’re all moaning because you’re disappointed at how light of an assignment it is because I just know how very excited you all are to continue your passionate pursuit of studying biology. Alright, now that everyone’s settled–– wait a minute––” Mr. Molina paused, raising his pointer finger in the air, his eyes squinted in anticipation. Three seconds later, the bell signaled the beginning of class. “Begin!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward reluctantly turn away from me. In an elegant script, he wrote his name at the top of the paper and began his quiz. I turned away from him to look at my own paper, preparing myself to uncomfortably hold my breath for the next hour. The difference this made in my thirst was almost insignificant, but enough so that it gave me a tiny more leverage in my control. I smoothed out the pucker on my forehead with the eraser from my pencil, accidentally snapping the rubber off against my face.

Absentmindedly, I began to breeze through the assessment, circling the correct answers, but my mind was more absorbed in the warmth of sitting beside Edward. Aside from the affliction of doing so, it was too pleasurable to have sat beside him so often and for so long today. I enjoyed the toastiness like a lizard basking in the sun. It made me recall the muddy human memory of laying out on a blanket in my backyard beneath my beloved blue Arizona sky, hiding beneath the small shade of a book. Not the blistering heat of a summertime Phoenix sun, but the warmth of the first day of spring. But the heat of Edward’s body alone was enough to fill my mouth with venom, so I tried to refocus my attention onto my quiz.

When I turned to the last page of questions, a motion beside me diverted my concentration once again. I peeked over, turning my head slightly in Edward’s direction to see what it was. As he thought over one of the questions, his right hand was moving peculiarly as he lifted and dropped down his long fingers almost as though he were impatiently tapping each digit one by one along the tabletop. Except the movement was more exact and calculatingly random. Engrossed, I watched as his his soft, fragile skin rippled over the muscle, the tendons appearing and disappearing with every bizarre movement. It took me a moment to make the connection between the large grand piano in his home and the motion of his hands. I realized he was miming piano movements while he thought through his answers. There was something both weird, funny, and endearing about this. I smiled to myself, not having the required oxygen to quietly laugh.

I felt his curious eyes flicker over to me and watched peripherally as he raised his eyebrows. I shook my head, biting down on my lip to unsuccessfully fight the smile, and returned to completing my quiz.

I finished a moment later and impatiently waited another ten minutes or so before I could turn in my work. I tried to ignore Edward for this small period of time at least, mentally reading myself the opening chapter to Wuthering Heights. Even though the words were committed to my memory, it was still never as good as actually reading from the book itself.

Once I’d decided an appropriate enough time had passed, I stood up to walk my quiz to the completed basket on Mr. Molina’s desk. Even having waited, I was still the first to finish the examination.

“Thank you,” the teacher whispered without breaking his focus away from the crossword puzzle he peered through his glasses at. I breathed in now that I’d placed some distance between myself and Edward, gladly facing the cool, fresh air from the vent.

“Neophyte,” I whispered back now that I’d replenished my oxygen supply.

“Excuse me?” He glanced up, his slightly aged face confused.

“Neophyte,” I repeated. “Eight across, two down.”

I took in one last clean breath and walked back to my seat as he tapped his pen across the squares of the space, mouthing his count of the letters to check if the word fit.

As soon as I took my place in my seat again, Edward stood up to walk his own quiz to the basket.

I wanted to watch him, but instead I forced myself to unzip my backpack and retrieve the biology textbook.

Busying myself with the assigned chapters, deciding to actually read them so as to not feed into my invasive Edward obsession, I couldn’t help but listen as Edward too placed his own textbook on the countertop.

I heard the scribble of pen on paper as he began to write what I imagined were notes until his large hand slid the paper over to me beneath the wall of my hair spilling over the desk. Well, I wouldn’t ignore him if he was the one deciding to bother me.

You know I’m pretty certain that cheating is a violation of the student handbook, but I’ll let you get away with it just this once.

I turned to glance at his face to see if he were serious. His eyes were warm and inviting, his mouth in the same crooked smile.

I took the piece of paper and looked around for my writing utensil that had gone missing somehow. My eyes zeroed in on a suspicious, tiny pile of wood dust on my side of the desk. When had I brutalized my pencil? He held his hand out to offer his own pen, and I accepted it, carefully plucking it from his fingers without making contact.

I wasn’t cheating. You were doing something funny. And what do you know about the student handbook? You’re new.

I slid the paper and pen back to him and watched as he combed a hand through his bronze hair, reading my response. The smile grew wider as he construed the biting tone of my note.

Can I be let in on the joke? Edward wrote, turning to look at me once he was done. Again I was prisoner, though this time not to my own body. I was momentarily held hostage by the beauty and warmth of his light green eyes. I was understanding more and more the attraction the other students had for him. If I had a soul, it was as though he were staring straight into it.

I recovered, placing my hand atop the desk and then wiggling my fingers as though I were weaving my way through a very complicated piano piece.

Oh, Edward mouthed, immediately understanding. He silently laughed and placed his left hand to his forehead briefly as if to hide his face in mock embarrassment. The ink from the pen spilled onto the paper as he began to write again.

In my defense, there’s research that supports classical music puts students in a heightened emotional state, making them more receptive to information and helping them focus.

That’s very nerdy of you. I scribbled back, the corners of my lips pulled upwards.

I know. As I read the words on the notebook paper, we both laughed a little too loudly for the quietness of the room.

“Please remain silent for your classmates still working,” Mr. Molina stage-whispered from his desk, his eyes still fixated on the crossword puzzle.

It’s a bad habit. Edward tacked on to his message. I beamed. I knew a thing or two about bad habits today. I was appreciative of this silent conversation on paper; it made it easier to be beside him without needing to breathe to speak aloud.

What were you playing? I scrawled.

Clair de Lune. Edward wrote back. His thick eyebrows raised as my eyes lit up, and he continued writing. You know Debussy?

My mother used to play a lot of classical music around the house. It was one of my favorites.

It’s one of my favorites, too. Edward’s eyes were a little sad and lost in thought, and he smiled softly.

I was shocked by the change in expression and weirdly desperate to return the brightness back to his eyes. The burn in my throat was almost forgettable in the face of my concern. Almost, but not quite. He turned his head down to write on the paper again.

You said Rosalie played piano. You never learned? He turned to look at me, his expression curious. I shook my head and shrugged, reaching for the pen.

I didn’t think I had the coordination for it. While this was true for the time I was human, it wasn’t true now. Still, even though my days stretched into endless nights, I hadn’t yet devoted time to any instrument as an immortal.

Edward read the paper, his long pointer finger tracing the line beneath the words as he did so. He held his large hand out, and I dropped the pen into it.

I’ll show you sometime. Edward half smiled at me, his eyes sweet and earnest.

Knowing I shouldn’t be allowing him to think making a plans with me was an option, I reached for the pen to tell him that it was alright, but I froze as he suddenly moved to drop the pen and take my hand. Though he should have been the one hesitant and cautious as though approaching a dangerous, wounded animal, I held perfectly still as though he were the danger, and I needed to play dead for protection. You can’t play dead if you are dead, I thought to myself.

My body tensed as my hand was enveloped in the heat of his much larger palm, uncertain as to what he was doing. My muscles screamed at me as I clenched my free hand into a tight fist, terrified of myself.

A shiver rippled through him as he felt the chill of my frozen fingers, and I twitched the hand in his possession, wanting to yank it away to protect him from the iciness but not wanting to alert him with the swiftness of the motion.

He smiled mysteriously at the spasm as though he somehow expected it. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking but didn’t want to risk breathing. My control could too easily be lost. Besides, I was scared that if I were to open my mouth, I’d end up screaming.

I felt him push slightly and realized he wished for me to curl my fingers, so with great concentration and the acute awareness of his fragility, I moved my stony hand into the shape he directed, my fingers curved slightly beneath his like a relaxed talon. I didn’t like the shape; it was odd and inhuman and made me think of the violence I could cause.

But it wasn’t a claw. Because once my hand was positioned the way he wanted, he began to slowly place pressure on my fingers, and I dipped and rose them accordingly to carefully move with his. I watched as the two of our hands together played what I imagined must be the opening chords to Clair de Lune.

The disconcerting emptiness in my chest soared at the bizarre pleasure of this touch, and a weird sensation tickled my scalp, moving swiftly down my spine to my entire body.

My muscles tightened violently and then relaxed, sending a shiver to ripple through me. It was too much pleasure and too much pain as my throat ached and I leaned into the warmth.

Embarrassed and not wanting to push my luck, I cautiously pulled my hand slowly away. He lifted his hand to allow me to escape as though I couldn’t just break his hand to do so, a half-smile pulling on his lips. I pretended not to notice the goosebumps on his arms.

See? he mouthed before deciding to whisper. “You could do it.”

I forced myself to smile and then turned away for the rest of the hour, trying to keep from doing anything stupid like looking at him or killing him. I’d completely forgotten where we were.

When the bell finally rung, I collected my things atop the desk hastily. Edward reached for my backpack and held it up for me.

“Thanks,” I murmured as I dumped my books into the bag. Before I could take it from him, he slid it onto his back and nodded his head once for me to go forward.

Feeling awkward, I turned and allowed him to follow me to the door. I was lucky to walk in front of him, taking the opportunity to breath again as the vent blew out in front of my face.

Exiting the classroom, I paused for a second when I saw Emmett waiting for me across the hallway rather than his typical spot beside the wall of lockers next to our shared Spanish classroom. Even though I was well aware of the fact I’d been dangling my irresponsibility in their faces all day, I still felt as though I was being caught in the act.

Emmett’s eyebrows raised as his golden eyes watched Edward follow behind me, carrying my backpack. I crossed the hallway reluctantly towards my big brother.

“Hello,” I greeted him, avoiding his eyes. I felt smaller than ever beside him with my head down, and yet not small enough as I wished to disappear.

“Hey, little sis,” Emmett began uncertainly, though I glanced up to see his full lips were beginning to stretch into a smile that I didn’t like. “Who’s that with you?”

“Uh…”

“I’m Edward Masen,” the lanky human boy introduced himself confidently as he stopped beside me. “And you must be––”

“Emmett,” my brother interrupted, grinning as though he always so comfortably interacted with humans. This was all too weird, but he looked to be enjoying it far too much. His desire to mess with me and his confidence in Alice’s visions seemed to override the abnormality of speaking to a student so amicably. I watched as he breathed in and shot me a meaningful look. I grimaced.

I opened my mouth to put an end to this torturously awkward interaction, but Emmett interrupted again.

“It’s nice to see you made a friend,” he began, an evil glint in his eyes as he watched my face. I was confused as to where he was going with this because our entire family would come across as misanthropic to the rest of the school, so why should it matter to him. He turned his attention to look at Edward who was closer in height to him. “You know, we worry about her––”

“Okay, let’s go to Spanish,” I cut him off quickly. “Edward, can I have my bag, please?”

Without looking at him, I reached for my backpack as he offered it and threw it over my shoulder, heading down the hallway. It was a massive relief to put some distance between myself and Edward. My thoughts were clearer, and I could breathe freely.

Emmett burst into laughter, his guffaws booming in the hallway. Several students paused in fear making me concerned about Edward’s reaction to my giant of a sibling, but I relaxed when I heard Edward chuckling along with him.

“Um, see you,” Emmett said to Edward before his steady, near silent footfall followed after me.

Even moving at a lethargic human pace, he caught up to me quickly.

“That wasn’t funny,” I grumbled.

“What the hell are you doing?” Emmett chuckled, ignoring my question.

“What the hell are you doing? What was that back there?”

“I don’t know. That was weird, but not as weird as you playing with your food.”

I hissed quietly.

“Damn, I’m kidding, Bells. But seriously, what are you doing? What happened to your high and noble speech about doing the right thing and staying away from the kid? I thought Esme was about to produce real tears. It even softened Rose.”

“Ugh, don’t talk to me about Rosalie right now. She’s been giving me dirty looks all day. It makes me feel awful. I already feel bad!”

“Well, I don’t really care what you do either way so––” I looked at him questionably. “I mean, sure, I want you to do the right thing, whatever that means. I don’t want you to feel miserable. But on one end, I didn’t really mind so much what happened to me.”

“Rosalie did,” I countered.

“Yeah, Rose did,” he acquiesced quietly.

“Anyways, I’m not having that conversation. I wasn’t talking to him today to test whether or not he’s worth it. That’s… unethical.”

“So what were you doing?”

“I don’t know,” I groaned in answer.

Emmett laughed.

“You’re weird these days, Bella.”

“You’re weird everyday,” I quipped back before sighing. “I don’t know. He’s weird, too. I guess… I’m not making any decisions, at all, but if Alice told you what she told me… wouldn’t you be curious?”

Emmett thought it over. “Yeah, I think so. But I also don’t think I’d have even made it to this point,” he admitted. I winced.

“It’s kind of unfair for me to care more about satiating my curiosity and dance with the devil this way, right?”

“Well…he may not know it, but isn’t it more so that Edward’s the one dancing with the devil?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, frowning as we walked into our Spanish class. “I guess it is.”

I made the decision to avoid thinking of Edward for the remaining hour of school. I paid very little attention in Spanish, returning to the familiar mind-numbing boredom that classes had been prior to the last few days. Now that it was in stark contrast to the sudden life breathed into my time at Forks High School by my fixation with Edward, the tedium was no longer something dealt with indifferently and sluggishly. Now, it left me feeling restless, and it almost pained me how laborious it was to sit through a life I wasn’t an active participant in. It was nowhere near the pain of dealing with the excruciating thirst I had around my bronze-haired lab partner, but it almost tampered with my thoughts more knowing I’d feel less miserable if I spent this time analyzing every word Edward shared with me, every fluctuation of his tone, every glint in his perceptive eyes, every expression on his pretty face… But I was becoming too obsessive. The same hunger for adventure that made me fall in love with reading must be what was leading me to so treacherously, so impetuously dive into exploring this insignificant and yet cataclysmic difference in my life.

As though it had a personal vendetta against me, time moved even more lethargically than it ever had before, but finally, the bell signaling the end of school rang. Emmett’s eyes shot a concerned look at me as I rose from my seat too quickly, and I immediately felt embarrassed again. The cautious reminder in his expression made me feel childish as Emmett was never one to care much about bending the rules.

“See you at home, I guess,” he shook his head, giving me one last look that seemed to suggest I’d lost it.

“See you,” I mumbled, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Leaving Emmett behind to wait for Rosalie, I weaved through the crowded hallway and out to the parking lot. Students were bundling together and squealing at the chilling air as tiny, fluffy snowflakes fluttered down from the overcast sky. The floor of the parking lot was almost as glassy as yesterday as the rain from this afternoon had melted into a thin layer of icy mush. Though there was hardly enough snow for a decent snowball fight, some of the rowdier students were bundling up a pitiful pile of snow to form pathetic snowballs in their fists.

I nearly skipped to the pearly white vehicle parked beside Rosalie’s overly conspicuous crimson car which was forming a small crowd of admirers. Leaning against the trunk of the car, I watched the front doors of the school to look for Edward.

The tangle of reddish-brown hair was easy to spot because of its strange metallic tint as he strolled out of the building with Naomi, the student who’d provided him with the information about my family on his first day. He had his coat folded over his arm, revealing how form fitting his light tan turtleneck was. He truly was a very attractive boy. It was odd that I hadn’t really paid much attention initially. With his dazzling face and tall, lean frame, Edward was pretty enough that for the vampires who searched for exquisitely beautiful humans to create into even more stunning immortals, he could probably be a contender for someone to collect.

Thinking of how Emmett questioned my motives today, I quickly banished the idea of Edward as an immortal from my mind, even if it was only a hypothetical inspired by my observation.

Edward paused, asking Naomi if she could hold on to his backpack for a moment. When she grabbed it, he pulled on his long black coat, and fiddled with the collar. Recollecting his backpack, he slid it onto one shoulder, then rubbed his hands together, blowing the warm air from his mouth to heat them up. Thinking of the sweetness of the smell of his breath made me remember to take in swallows of fresh air before he made his way over to me.

As he was distracted momentarily, I watched as a stray snowball flew towards Edward’s head. I was overcome with the urge to intercept it in the event it may hit him too harshly and knock him to the pavement, but flying across the parking lot inhumanly fast twice in one week was probably not the way to go about correcting my mistakes.

The soggy snowball crashed into Edward’s hair, exploding into shards of ice and water that slid down his prominent cheekbone. I laughed aloud at his shocked expression as the curtain bangs framing his face were immediately drenched, darkening his hair into a brown color. Once he’d realized what happened, his face broke into a good-humored smile.

“Holy shit! Sorry, Edward!” The classmate who had thrown the snowball with poor aim called out.

“No worries!” Edward called back. He shook his head, chuckling as he wiped the water from his face. As he laughed, his eyes found the space where I waited and brightened seeing that I, too, was enjoying the moment.

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told Naomi, who was too beside herself in tears of laughter to reply.

Edward sauntered over towards me, and I inhaled deeply as a fortuitous whisper of wind blew from the tree line. I held onto the notes of crisp eucalyptus, fresh snow, and cedar wood, trying to distract my mind from the offensively mouthwatering scents approaching me.

Edward was a coordinated human, but even he lost his footing on the icy pavement. His body slid forward for a moment, but I stepped towards him to close the space between us and caught him by the elbow.

He looked up from his boots against the frozen parking lot into my eyes, startled momentarily at the swiftness in which I had appeared. Then, his full lips lifted into a crooked smile that creased his astonishing green eyes into half moons. I let go immediately and took a big step back to ensure a safer distance between myself and the warmth of his fragile body. It had been a risky movement, but somehow in comparison to yesterday, it didn’t seem to matter as much. I figured our classmates were too involved in their gawking at the details of my sister’s car or their feeble, slushy snowball fight to notice, and oddly, I didn’t care that Edward had seen. It was beginning to feel too late to keep up certain pretenses.

Although, it wasn’t too late, and it shouldn’t feel that way. I reminded myself I still had every intention of leaving Edward alone once I’d figured out what was so compelling about our paths crossing that had Alice’s visions spiraling in a confusing jumble. I took another step back slowly.

“Thank you,” Edward said, his eyes humored with another secret he didn’t seem willing to share. “You keep saving me.”

“Well, let’s not make this damsel in distress thing habitual,” I snorted, turning so that he couldn’t see the smile forming on my face. I felt shy about showcasing any comfort or happiness in his presence now that I was reminded of how fleeting this experimental friendship was, but I wondered if subconsciously I wanted him to catch me in my misery and ask me to explain, though I wasn’t certain why I wanted to sabotage myself like that. I opened my door and turned to look at him again. “You coming?”

Before he could answer, I dipped into the driver’s seat, and breathed in one last time. Well, once this was all over, I could finally stop inhaling dramatically as though they were truly my last, dying breaths. The air was mostly clean of his scent, but I knew that regardless, the heat of his body would be enough to disrupt my comfort and control. As the thought crossed my mind, I painfully swallowed back the venom pooling beneath my tongue.

Edward swerved through the crowd obsessing over Rosalie’s car and opened the passenger door, sliding into his seat. As he placed his backpack on the floor and fiddled with his seatbelt, I made sure to adjust the air conditioning so that the heat could warm Edward from the frigid Forks air. Though for me, just being in his presence made the intimate interior of the car feel as though I were again sitting by his fireplace.

“That’s a beautiful car,” he murmured. “Is it an M8?”

“Uh, it’s a BMW?” I asked uncertainly as though he’d spoken another language.

Edward grinned as though he wanted to laugh but didn’t want to make me angry. Rosalie would have loved to answer all his questions if he too had an interest in cars. Would have loved to, if she wasn’t deeply offended by my actions or if I had any intention of Edward meeting any more of my family members.

“Ready?” I bit my lip as I forced out any inconsiderate plots of murder that threatened to distract me from being a defensive driver.

“Mhm,” Edward answered.

I reversed out of the parking slot slowly, but as I looked in the rearview once I’d straightened out, I saw the fleeting image of Rosalie’s exquisitely beautiful and exceptionally angry face. I quickly readjusted the mirror to remove my sister’s reflection and sped out of the parking lot in a way that could have taken out a few unlucky students if I didn’t have above average years of driving experience.

Peripherally, I watched as Edward’s thick eyebrows raised, but he decided not to question me. Once we’d reached the main road, I slowed my speed so as not to rush through this time, even though I knew for his safety and my sanity, I should. As I drove, his right hand moved in odd shapes again against the arm rest of the passenger side door as though he were playing piano once more.

I decided to bite and use up some of my limited air supply.

“What are you playing?”

“Clair de Lune again,” he replied. Then, he began to hum the melody aloud for me as he moved his hand.

I thought to offer to play the song for him through the speakers, but I decided against it as I listened to Edward’s soft, velvety voice hum beautifully through the song, breaking the silence.

The ugly, slush-like falling of snow transformed into a falling of rainwater, and Edward’s voice was orchestrated by a lovely symphony of raindrops.

Before his voice could weave into the more involved moments of the piece, Edward stopped.

I looked over at him, curious for the reason as to why. His face was turned away from me so that all I could see was his untidy bronze hair as he gazed out the window. I pulled in front of his driveway and parked against the curb.

Miraculously, I’d made it again. Carefully, I inhaled through my nose to experiment with my control. The sweet bouquet of the boy’s blood was potent and even more mouthwatering than usual from the snow turned rain that’d wet his hair. I hadn’t considered the possibility that he could smell better than before, and I kept myself from groaning aloud as I dug my nails into my own palms. The tingling sensation in my nose was as though I’d sniffed some powerful chemical, the burning sensation in my throat as though I’d taken a long drag of a cigarette. But more painful. More demanding. Desire, need flew from my core out towards my extremities, and the beating of his heart pumping the blood through his body drummed loudly in my ears. It seemed to move through me, my frigid body almost twitching with every pulse, ready to lunge forward and crush his neck to my lips.

“What was your mother like?” He asked me suddenly, his voice soft. Edward turned from the window to face me, and I was bewildered by the intensity of his expression. His eyes were light and beautiful against the gloomy grey of the sky, and they squinted slightly as though studying my face like this information was absolutely essential. But this was not what stunned me, as I’d already seen the severity of this expression before in our ephemeral time together. It was the unexpected vulnerability of his stunning face. The more time I spent looking at him, the more I realized how beautiful this human boy really was. And it seemed a great tragedy for this beautiful boy to harbor such devastation in his eyes.

Whereas previously in his presence, my thoughts had become incoherent due to a lapse in control, now my thoughts were incoherent in distress and desperation to understand what had gone wrong and how I could fix it. I was momentarily dumbfounded, but I pulled myself together after the soft sound of a few droplets of rain against the roof reminded me that he was waiting for an answer.

“Well, she looked a lot like me, but prettier,” I began stupidly. He raised his eyebrows. “Or at least, she used to look a lot like me, and I used to look a lot like her. I don’t so much anymore.” It’d been so long since I’d really spoken about my mom, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. I knew I should have made some comment about whether or not she looked like Esme or Emmett since our story made us siblings, but I didn’t want to taint the rarity of sharing who she was with a lie.

“She was more outgoing than I am,” I continued, thinking through the foggy memories I held onto from my human life.

“That’s difficult to believe,” Edward teased quietly, his lips curving into a half smile.

I laughed, listening to the melodic sound of it, thinking of how it symbolized how very much different I was now from the human girl my mother knew.

“I was always very shy,” I smiled, before speaking up again, caught in the echoes of my past. “She was brave and irresponsible and slightly eccentric. And she was a very unpredictable cook!”

I laughed aloud again thinking of some minor explosions in our tiny kitchen and some questionable dishes. Edward laughed too, but when our laughter faded into the falling of the rain, my smile faded.

“She wasn’t perfect,” I admitted. “I think I recognize now that she was very fallible. I worshipped her when I was younger, but when I think back, I do see how in some of the ways she raised me, I was done a disservice… I grew up too fast. When she died––“ I sighed, feeling insincere and guilty about perpetuating this lie when I really should have said when I died, “––Esme became more of a mother to me, and even Rosalie’s been more traditionally nurturing than my mom ever was… But still, she was my best friend.”

“You miss her,” he murmured simply. I met his gentle eyes.

“Yes,” I bit my lip.

“How old are you, Bella?” Edward asked. “And not the formulaic, theorized version where you were born in your thirties. How old are you really?”

I tensed, wondering if he was asking this again because he’d taken note of how I didn’t directly answer this question the last time he asked.

“Seventeen,” I answered automatically.

“You don’t seem seventeen,” he responded, reproachful.

The tension left my body at the tone of his voice. I smiled again easily.

“Sorry?” I asked, biting my lip to hide the smile, unsure of how to respond.

Edward chuckled and the subtle crinkles by his eyes lit up his face. “Well, I wish you’d been given a happier, normal childhood.”

“I’m fine,” I shrugged, brushing it off. “I hardly remember most of it, and what I do remember reminds me that I probably didn’t have much chance at a normal childhood to begin with. I was terribly shy, remember.

“I did do girl scouts, though….Oh, and ballet briefly,” I admitted, unsure as to why I was volunteering so much information about myself. Wasn’t the purpose of me sitting here to uncover information about him?

“Why does that make you… embarrassed?” Edward’s eyebrows pulled up.

For an odd moment, I felt betrayed by the flush of my cheeks before I realized there was no blood rushing to my face. I blinked, bewildered by the peculiarity of this long buried instinct to become frustrated with my easy blushes when I hadn’t blushed for years. I felt self conscious as I wondered what Edward saw reading my expression to so perfectly decipher my feelings.

“I was very uncoordinated,” I dismissed his question as I fought the urge for my hand to flutter to touch my cool cheek.

“Now that truly is difficult to believe,” Edward half-smiled. “I can’t imagine I’ve seen anyone as graceful as you.”

I laughed aloud at his compliment, though I didn’t doubt his sincerity. I knew this was true of myself. It was true of all of our kind to appear fluid and effortless, but still, no one had ever applied the word to me. My vampiric poise was irrelevant and unimpressive to my family, and the very few humans brave enough to overcome their nerves to compliment me typically found their words to fail them.

“You’re very odd,” I beamed.

“What do you mean?” The bronze-haired boy asked, again wanting to be let in on the secret. While I had an insatiable thirst, it seemed he had an insatiable curiosity.

“How old are you really? Your word choice is bizarre for someone your age, you know.”

“Oh,” he laughed easily. “Well, I’m actually not seventeen. I’m eighteen. But I’ll try to strictly adhere to a more teenage vernacular, so I can compliment you in a more acceptable way from now on.”

I looked out at the dim light of the brewing storm, my smile fading as I decided that I should probably allow him to escape me before I did something I’d regret. But I knew I wasn’t resolved enough to completely leave him alone. He made me monopolize too much of the conversation, and I wasn’t satisfied with what I knew about him yet.

I sighed aloud, and Edward, too, looked out at the rain darkened sky.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked hopefully, making the assumption that our conversation was coming to an end.

“Yes,” I promised reluctantly. My eyes flickered back over to his pretty face, studying the lines of his strong jaw, his chiseled cheekbones, his full lips, committing this inconsequential face to memory as I silently resolved that this should be –– and would be –– one of the last times I’d allow myself to be this close to him. Tomorrow may well be the very last.

Likewise, as though his thoughts were in the same vein, his beautiful green eyes studied my face as well, though he did so in that mysterious way of his where he looked at me as though hoping to read my mind.

He sighed, then collected his backpack. Edward opened the door, stepping out into the bitterly cold weather. A shiver ran through his lanky body, making my body tense with perverse excitement. I cringed away from the deadly instinct and swallowed against the dryness of my yearning throat.

Edward’s tall, lean frame leaned down to peek into the car.

“Goodnight, Bella,” he spoke softly.

“Goodnight, Edward,” I almost whispered, gazing into the beauty of his dazzling green eyes.

Edward smiled his half smile, and closed the door, escaping into the building torrent of rain.

I gasped in relief at his absence, then stiffened realizing how the cab of the car was still heavily perfumed with his scent. I took in another deep breath, forcing myself to confront the burning thirst again, willing myself to manage it. I sighed as I hit the gas, making Edward disappear behind me.

Both my control and the rain pour strengthened significantly as I turned onto the long drive leading to my house. I grimaced as I wondered how I’d face my family and explain the complete reversal of what I’d promised to do. I didn’t have time to consider for much longer as suddenly, a figure appeared instantaneously in the drive. I slammed my foot on the brake immediately in shock at its appearance, not wanting to total yet another car against one of my siblings.

I peered through the windshield, unable to see through the complete downpour that submerged my vehicle as though it were underwater. It was annoying for my perfect sight to be obstructed by anything, rainwater or even the transparent windshield because of my eyes’ desire to focus on the microscopic scratches.

The car violently screeched against the muddy pavement, and it looked as though we would have to bid this car goodbye until the figure hidden by the storm placed their hands out on the car roughly and forced it to a stop. The tires screamed in protest, and the metal groaned as it warped into the shape of the palms. I listened as it unnaturally bent again in a piercing moan as the figure fixed the indentions they’d created.

My windshield wipers swatted away a flood of water. Finally, I could make out my sister Rosalie, her hair dripping wet down her back like a supermodel who’d just emerged from a pool on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Her exquisite face was absolutely furious.

I gulped, feeling like a child who’d just been discovered sneaking home past curfew.

I felt uncertain as to what to do and why she’d chosen to stop me here. Surely she could wait for us to be under the cover of the garage before she chastised me. Not wanting to be drenched by the rain, I revved the engine to ask her to move aside, but the car didn’t inch forward against her strength. Beginning to feel annoyed, I revved the engine again loudly and for longer, but still, she didn’t move.

“Rose,” I hissed as I hit the brake again so that the car could roar viciously in the storm, only to be cut off by the voice of my adopted mother.

“Girls!” I couldn’t see Esme through the obscured glass behind the downpour, but even with the barrage of the rain, I could hear her lithe steps run furiously to the front porch. “Please!”

Rose’s head snapped up to look in Esme’s direction before turning to glance unhappily back at me. She stepped aside, and I sped into the garage, parking the car hastily.

I exited immediately and went to expect the damage to the front of the hood. It was only a minuscule bend from having been pushed and prodded back and forth, and I was positive Rosalie could make it look like new, though why it had been necessary to punish the car was beyond me. It wasn’t even mine.

I wheeled around once I’d heard the near-silent steps of her run, a wave of anger making me forget my guilt.

“Are you insane?!” I demanded.

“I could ask the same of you, Bella!” Now free from the obscurity of the rain, I could see in perfect detail the stunning fury of her glorious face. Her golden hair had been darkened by the rain, and it was slicked back effortlessly, like a glittering waterfall down to the middle of her back. She looked like a wrathful god, but I couldn’t find it in my stubbornness to care about how valid her anger may be.

“Okay, but did you have to take it out on the car? What did it ever do to you! You couldn’t have waited another twenty seconds to confront me? Well, you have my attention now, Rosalie, so say whatever it is you want to say!”

“You’re just unbelievable, Bella!”

“He’s not going to say anything, Rose! We already talked about this yesterday. You heard Alice! He’s not a threat to you and Emmett, so I don’t understand why you’re taking this so personally.”

“Exactly, Bella. I heard Alice. Which is precisely why I fail to understand as to why you wouldn’t understand why I’d take it so personally. After all these years of sisterhood, how can you not understand how I feel about this?”

I frowned, my forehead puckering, but still, I retained my anger. She huffed, continuing.

“If it was an inevitability, I’d understand. However, it hurts me deeply that you recognize the choice that you have. The choice that Edward has. And still, you’re willing to play with his mortality as though it were a game, when I never had that choice.”

I froze, the realization dawning on me that she was right. No matter the ways in which I tried to justify my actions or spin my intentions, she was right. Another part of my mind acknowledged that while I was aware of right and wrong, I wasn’t certain that what was right would be enough to keep me away anymore.

We stared each other down much like we had yesterday. Only today, rather than anger, her face was contorted in hurt, and mine was contorted in hopelessness.

“But… you found Emmett when he was still human…” I weakly protested, selfishly trying to highlight the irony, though I knew it was pointless as I wasn’t advocating for Edward to be changed either. That was too complicated a thought to wrap my mind around. But whatever may happen –– and I was still very much aware of the worst of possibilities –– I didn’t want my sister to hate me for it.

“He was dying, Bella,” Rosalie whispered. The anger on her face had completely faded, and in its place, pain marked her eyebrows, her full lips, her golden, sad eyes. In her sadness, she looked like a work of art, like one of those paintings of a weeping saint. “It’s not the same.”

I didn’t have a response to that, and I felt as though I was at an impasse, both with myself and with Rosalie. Because I knew the promises I’d made and broken, but I knew the promise I’d made to Edward today, and I had no willpower, no desire, and no intention to break that promise.

“You may not feel anything for him now,” Rosalie began, her eyes intently fierce as they bore into mine to warn me. Only this warning felt significantly more horrible than I’d imagined it may be, because it wasn’t made in anger, but in desperation and love. “But if Alice is right, you will. And it seems to me a horrible way to repay someone you love to steal their life, their future, their soul from them. You should leave him alone now while you still can, because once you love him… it’ll only hurt more one way or another. And you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your existence. I know I have.”

And with that, Rose turned, her face cold and sad, and she left the garage.

#equinoxjw #twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #twilight au #twilight fanfic #the twilight saga #twilight saga #twilight #edbella #edward cullen #bella swan #edbella fanfic

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kitaychan · 3 years ago

Text

White flame

Chapter 18

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, Psychological horror

General Summary: As their two Kingdoms get closer to a war, the past keeps on hovering around their choices. Prince Ivan has a hard time controlling his magical powers while being tormented by a mysterious ghost and Prince Alfred embarcs in seeking a revenge that might cost more than it’s worth it.

Preview: A fire started, the coals turning bright red, the flame was white, dancing rapidly. Chun Yan gasped, grasping his shoulders and shoving him back.

Ivan’s hands trembled, his heart hammering on his chest. “I’m sorry, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said, retrieving her hands. “I think I've just ruined your coat.”

Ivan paused, shaking his head, there were black fingertips imprinted on the fabric. A chuckle escaped him. “I can’t believe you’re worried about the coat.”

“I’ve only seen blue flames,” She said, observing the fire and reaching out her hand, pausing. “What did you think about to make it white?”

Chapter 18: Family

The sunlight emanating from the window was warm, strange, though she would not complain about the weather, this year the winter seemed to be kinder to them. Yekaterina smiled as she observed her penmanship, the soft traces of ink were perfect, she was proud of her doing, Maddeline had praised her writing before and Katya was happy to provide her with a poem so she could keep it as a gift.

Looking over the desk, she saw that old looking silver clock, holding it lightly, she observed the hour, 2 o´clock, it couldn’t be that late, she woke up early in order to finish the letter, it couldn’t be possible. A soft chuckle escaped her as she noticed the clock was still, maybe that’s why her brother had left it there, the window opened harshly, a cold breeze moving the curtains.

She straightened her posture, her back aching from slouching over the desk, her feet were cold and her hands were messy, splotches of ink on her fingers. She approached the window, the gardens were vibrant green, a bit wet from the early coldness, she could see her brother fooling around by the fountain, dragging along Tolys.

Some days, she wished she could have been born a boy, she would have been happier like that, her father would have probably taught her how to ride a horse properly, she wouldn’t have to wear heavy dresses on the ceremonies and she would tag along with her brother, perhaps he’d listen to her.

Other days, she was happy with who she was, there was peacefulness in knowing she wouldn’t partake in conflicts, likewise, she couldn’t picture how she’d look if she were a male, it was beyond her thoughts, maybe she’d be taller but what was the appeal of that, she already struggled with it when the tailors took her measurements. Why would she wish for her life to be different?

“You would be the one ruling.”

Katya shook her head, those couldn’t be her thoughts, it was almost like a whisper, the voice was familiar too, not her own, it couldn’t be, it was probably her tiredness.

She turned around slowly, holding the clock in her hands, her lips quivering slightly. Her eyes widened at the sight in front of her, on the chair where she was a few seconds ago, a figure sat, lifting the letter and examining it.

Yekaterina faltered, her voice shaking. “Father?”

The man turned to her, leaving the letter on the desk. “Ah yes, Katya, Vanya and Natasha, this youth has not yet chosen a path, I wonder who will take the lead.”

“I don’t understand, what lead?” she asked, stepping back.

“How naive. You look like someone I knew, but younger.” The figure loomed around her, a cold hand caressing her cheek, a wide smile spread on his face. “Yekaterina, you want to rule but there’s a nuance on your way, there has always been someone eclipsing you.”

“That’s not true!” Yekaterina gasped, moving the hand away from her, letting the clock fall from her hands and stumbling to the door. She gripped the door frame tightly as if that could prevent her from listening to that voice whispering in her ear.

“Selfless, naive Yekaterina sent the crown to greedy, obedient Natalya, I haven’t spoken to any of you as I should. Svetlana was a good listener, diligent, if only she were braver, but neither are you Katya, I’m afraid you'll end up being another pawn.”

The window closed with a thud, Katya opened her eyes slowly, a sigh escaping her as she found herself alone, she retrieved the clock from the floor, a crack had formed on the glass, her hands were shaking. Was she going mad?

---

Natalya tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, layer by layer of heavy covers embraced her, the stone walls didn’t keep the warmth, she huffed, shifting another page from the old book as she squinted her eyes, the penmanship was messier now, she had to observe the words carefully to understand what they said.

She tossed the book aside, rubbing her eyes, a headache was starting to nag her. What if this wasn’t the information Ivan wanted? She was wasting her time, reading this nonsensical book, requesting that scholar Feliks recommended and freezing on this awful fortress.

Natalya stood up, making her way to her dresser, her feet cold, the wood shrieking as she opened the delicate box, the silver glint of the crown greeting her, she placed it on her head, heavy, cold, soothing.

The light from her candle ran out, darkness surrounding her, she reached for the night stand dropping the crown with a thud. Sighing, she lit the candle, only for it to die out again. She stumbled on the dark, reaching the wall, following it until she felt the soft fabric, she opened the curtains, the dim moonlight illuminating softly the inside of her room.

She gasped at the sight of someone observing her, the door was opened, a figure stood there, holding a bundle of white fur, Natalya let out a breath. “Mother, what are you doing here?”

“I thought you were cold.” she said, entering her room slowly and lifting the crown from the floor.

“Thank you” Natalya nodded, approaching, her mother smiled as she enveloped her with the coat.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” she said, her eyes focusing on the book on the bed as a small smile settled on her face. “My father used to read me that tale.”

“What tale?” Natalya asked, retrieving the book swiftly in her drawer. “You should be resting.”

“General winter was my friend until our mother died,” she said, sitting on Natalya’s bed, tracing the crown with her fingers. “I never understood...he didn't choose me, he just stopped talking to me, but I know my brother could see it too.”

“There is no general winter in that book,” Natalya said, taking a seat beside her. “It’s father frost, remember? the children’s tale.”

“It’s not a tale, how else do you think my brother could freeze those armies, didn’t you see? Our father used to drop us into the forest, said we had to pass a test, and we always managed to find the way back.” She held the crown closer to her chest, chuckling. “I mentioned the dare to my mother and she followed us once, my father was so mad that day.”

“I don’t understand.” Natalya said, pursuing her lips.

Her mother frowned, placing the crown on Natalya’s head. “You should have seen him, all he could say was Svetlana! Svetlana! What have you done? how could you!” She laughed, clenching her hands on the skirt of her dress. “That’s what the clock is for, I was not the one to blame, my brother was mean to the general, it wasn’t my fault.”

Natalya knitted her eyebrows, taking her hand lightly. "Mother, what are you talking about?"

"The forest, the hare, isn't that what you are reading?" Her grip on Natalya’s hand was tight, she shook her head. " My brother said Ivan was cursed too, the poor child, but if you stay close to him, you will be..." She gasped, running her hand through the white fur enveloping Natalya. "You'll have to… to…”

Snatching the crown from her, Natalya flinched, her mother pulled her into the hallway walking hastily. “Natasha, my dear, we have to leave, this place is cursed, we can't stay, I don't want you to be the hare."

"Hare?" she asked, trying to keep up with her pace, she whined. “Mother, you are hurting my wrist.”

"My brother killed a hare, I cried for days, he chose to kill it because he knew I loved her. He knew our father loved her. He loved her." Svetlana’s voice grew frantic, she stopped, throwing the crown away and embracing Natalya tightly. "We have to leave, you said that Ivan liked to hunt. Natalya, the hare!"

Natalya struggled on her hold until hurried steps echoed on the hallway, she merely observed as her father took her mother away, she was shaking her head, tears running down her face as she repeated. “Natalya, the hare!”

The words echoed in her mind for the rest of the night, it was nonsense, she couldn't help but feel uneasy. Natalya pried herself on being brave, braver than most girls but there was always a shadow casted upon her family, looming over them in the form of whispers, madness ran in her family but it always seemed far, in the form of that faceless grandfather nobody talked about, yet everyone knew somehow. In the form of her dying uncle, though Yekaterina made sure of hiding it from others.

Tonight, Natalya had encountered said shadow, grasping on her shoulders and nailing nonsensical words on her mind, the forest, the clock, the hare. She stood up, making her way on the empty hallway, her feet cold, the wood shrieking as she kneeled to retrieve the silver crown, placing it on her head again, heavy, cold, soothing.

“Poor Svetlana, she never got to wear the crown.”

Such cruel words, Natalya thought. That wasn’t her, it couldn’t be. She didn’t sound like that, she wouldn’t talk like that about her own mother. A sob escaped her and she snatched the crown from her head, glaring at the object, hidden, in the silver glint there was a dark spot, burnt, the opaque shadow on it seemed to mock her.

“Poor Svetlana, she never got to wear the crown.”

---

The neighing from the horses was visible as the exalations of the animal disturbed the otherwise cold air. Ivan smiled as soft laughter emanated from the boys, though it was a bit unfair of him to call them that, they were probably twelve, thirteen, perhaps fourteen, he was sure Kiku was the youngest.

Yekaterina was late, strange, the neat line of children had broken their formation long ago, some were chatting, others sat on the grass and pointed at the palace, he spotted Feliciano caressing one of the horses’ crests while Kiku observed, boredom showing on his face.

It was odd, Kiku seemed so distant from the place, he was accustomed to the palace hallways and the ornamental gardens. Instead of awe as in the other children’s faces, Kiku displayed apathy, Ivan dared to say a bit of hatred towards the whole situation.

He approached Kiku and Feliciano, the latter stiffening his posture and smiling politely, Kiku greeted him, lowering his head.

“Is there something wrong?”

Feliciano shook his head quickly, giving a sheepish smile. “Everything’s fine, your majesty, we were admiring the horses.”

Kiku nodded, shifting his feet and patting the horse lightly.

“He’s scared of going alone.” Feliciano blurted, gaining a glare from Kiku.

“You are not going alone, Feliciano will go with you,” Ivan chuckled but Kiku didn’t meet his gaze. “Part of the appeal of this exchange is for you to make new friends. If you see Ludwig around, talk to him about the star chart, or rather ask him about it, he knows a lot.”

“Feliciano has an uncle in the middle kingdom, Elizabetha’s father is going to meet her there and a lot of the others will travel with their parents.” Kiku frowned, lowering his voice. “I don’t even know how I will contact my sister while I’m there.”

“You’ll have to write her some letters.” Ivan hummed.

Kiku raised his head, a slight trace of a glare appearing on his face before vanishing, he sighed. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that.” he said, it was almost a grumble, the boy turned away.

“I’m sorry,” Feliciano laughed nervously, taking a step back. “He’s like that sometimes, it was the same when the teacher told him that he was a slow reader but just like with that, I’m sure Kiku will go past that, he just needs a bit of time.”

Ivan nodded, Feliciano trailed after Kiku with hurried steps. A slow reader? that had to be a lie, with the quantity of books he had seen in their small house. Ivan wanted to slap himself, Kiku had read to him in that foreign language, that’s why he used the dictionaries and that’s why Chun Yan struggled with letters. No wonder why Kiku was frustrated with his suggestion.

When Katya arrived she was pale, stumbling over her words during the speech and looking around as if looking for someone, Ivan took over her speech in an attempt to ease her nerves, though she seemed to grow restless. As the scholars were dispatched, and the horses started their run, Katya enveloped him in a tight hug. “I am a horrible sister, a bewitched woman.” she said, burying her head on his shoulder.

“Don’t say that, Katya. What has gotten into you?”

She shook her head, reaching for her pocket. “I broke it, I saw…. I... I was dumb and I broke it.” she said, handing him the clock. “I sent Natalya the crown, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine, I don’t like that clock anyways. Katya, our father said it was bad luck to have that crown around,” Ivan said, pushing her away a bit, giving her a small smile. “but he said a lot of things, I’m sure Natalya’s happy.”

Yekaterina nodded. “I’m sure she liked it. She made it clear in her letter. Why don’t you write to her? She wrote a couple of.... interesting things” She took a deep breath. “I will hand you her letters.”

Ivan nodded absentmindedly, a prickle of anger was nagging at him to reprimand Katya for going through his correspondence, for acting without asking him but her nervous demeanour kept him from doing so.

When the sky grew darker, Ivan approached the gardens again, fumbling with the clock, the crack it had before had turned into several, he frowned, that glass was about to break.He walked around for a bit, rubbing his hands together, his fingers were growing numb, perhaps he should have brought gloves, the sunny weather of the morning had deceived him.

He glanced around, there was smoke coming out of one of the chimneys, probably from the kitchen, a bit of whatever they were cooking would surely provide him some warmth.

Approaching the kitchen, heat emanating from the place, he ducked his head, on one side of the room there was a large cauldron, boiling, probably water, as the meal had been served about an hour ago, he could see Sadik, the cook, slicing the meat and seasoning it.

On the other side of the kitchen, the chimney had a lower flame, Chun Yan was retrieving the heated coal with a ladle. Ivan stayed silent, observing her as she finished her task, her gaze focused on the oven, reaching out her hand as if testing the heat, she smiled, rubbing her hands, stained with the black powder of the coal.

Her smile faltered as she turned around, she took swift steps towards him, her voice hushed. “What are you doing here?”

“I grew bored of waiting and I want to eat something.” Ivan hummed. “I thought you’d be there to bid goodbye to your brother.”

“No, if I bid him goodbye, he won’t come back.” She frowned, fidgeting with the hem of her apron. “You shouldn’t ask for more food, the meal was served not long ago.”

“He will come back, he was doubting as he left, thinking on how to contact you once he arrived.” Ivan placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please, I am starving.”

“No” She shook her head, moving his hand away, she paused, sighing, returning to the kitchen, retrieving some water and washing her hands. “Sadik, can I leave? I finished my tasks.”

Sadik spared Ivan a glance, giving her a slight nod before chuckling. “Of course, every day I grow more convinced that you are your father’s daughter, Chun Yan. He managed to boss around a few royals too.”

“I’m going to need a couple of those coals.” She hummed, taking off the apron.

“You just washed your hands, I don’t think you should touch that again.” Ivan said, standing in the entrance awkwardly, shifting on his feet as Chun Yan and Sadik stared at him, a small smile forming on her face.

“Very well, Ivan, could you retrieve them for me?”

He nodded, approaching them hesitantly, why were they staring at him? He reached out his hand but she pulled it away, chuckling. “I thought you would refuse.” she said, scooping a handful of coals swiftly with a small bucket. “I can’t believe you almost burned your hand.”

Outside, the air was colder, the way to the small forest was not as long as it seemed before, Ivan could easily walk around without tripping, he glanced at the sky, there were few stars on it but the moon was full, providing a soft light.

They neared the pond, the water was still, even though the fishes swirling. Chun Yan stopped, touching lightly the cinders, she took one, presenting it to him. “They’re still warm, so lighting one shouldn’t be so hard.”

“Lighting?”

She nodded, “Yes, the idea is to focus on the warmth, fire is very tricky because sometimes it has a life on it’s own, but I find it easier when you use something that’s supposed to catch fire.”

“I don’t know, why don’t we just talk? I don’t feel like doing much tonight.”

“It’s coal, the worst that can happen is that it turns into ashes.” She said, dropping the bucket. “Give it a try, I’ll help you.”

Ivan sighed, sitting beside her, poking the coal, his finger caught the black powder as he touched it. She seemed to notice his hesitation, taking a hold of his wrist and placing on his hand a piece of coal. “Don’t be so picky.”

She mirrored him, closing her hand on a fist. “I normally think about the flames of an oven, a bit lame, but it’s the kind of fire that I see everyday.” she chuckled, opening her hand, the coal was lit by a small flame. “It’s predictable, try it.”

He nodded, closing his hand, the lingering warmth from the fire was barely there. Warm, a candle was warm, the sunlight was warm, the fire on the chimney was warm. He opened his hand, the flame mirrored the one on her hand.

“I told you it was easy.” She beamed, closing her hand, the fire dissipated as well as the coal, leaving her hand stained with black.

Ivan mimicked her but the fire did not die out. He gave her a concerned gaze.

“That happens… sometimes.” She laughed, enclosing her hands around his. “Try again.”

He did so, several times, growing more confident until she asked him to start a small campfire with the cinders left. He hesitantly obliged, reaching out both of his hands above the small pile of coal. A small fire, like the one from the chimney, like, like...

"like the knight."

Before he could stop himself, Ivan's thoughts led his mind to the horrid cries of the knight and the blinding flames that engulfed him.

A fire started, the coals turning bright red, the flame was white, dancing rapidly. Chun Yan gasped, grasping his shoulders and shoving him back.

Ivan’s hands trembled, his heart hammering on his chest. “I’m sorry, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said, retrieving her hands. “I think I've just ruined your coat.”

Ivan paused, shaking his head, there were black fingertips imprinted on the fabric. A chuckle escaped him. “I can’t believe you’re worried about the coat.”

“I’ve only seen blue flames,” She said, observing the fire and reaching out her hand, pausing. “What did you think about to make the flame white?”

“Why don’t you tell her?”

Ivan flinched, that voice again, murmuring in his ear, he reached for his pocket, frowning. “I don’t know.”

A weight settled on his shoulders, the silvery voice resounded. “Tell her how you killed the knight.”

He retrieved the clock with a trembling hand, the silver reflecting the light from the fire. Ivan reached out his hand, placing the clock against hers and holding their hands together lightly. "I'm sorry, could you fix it again?”

"What 's wrong?" She asked, a concerned expression crossing her face, she observed the clock, opening it and running her fingers through the cracked glass.

“Tell her how you killed the knight.” The silvery voice repeated with a thunderous chuckle, Ivan’s heart sped up as the laughter increased. "Perhaps instead of telling her, you should show her."

Ivan tightened his hold on her hand. He could hear the glass break and she gasped, swiftly freeing their hands, the clock fell into the floor, blood staining the silver engravings. The smell of smoke, the feeling of blood in his hands and the sight of the horrid ghost overwhelmed him.

Ivan shook his head, lowering his gaze, stumbling over his words as he told her about the forest, the knight, the ghost, the wolf. He found himself shaking, his voice faltering until a sob escaped him.

He tried to take a deep breath, to stop his sobbing, but the tears kept on falling, covering his face with his hands, he tried to soothe his outburst. The thunderous laugh echoed in his mind.

She pulled away his hands with a firm grip, Ivan was enveloped in warmth, he was ashamed, ashamed that instead of pushing her away, he was clinging to her, wanting to be hugged. She ran a hand through his hair, Ivan managed to stop his sobbing, glad that there was silence.

Though it didn't last long as the horrid laugh resumed, Ivan felt shivers, nailing coldness into his bones, he buried his head on her shoulder, trying to keep whatever little warmth that lingered from her embrace.

Chun Yan sighed, loosening her hold until her body grew limp, her weight resting on him. Ivan drew out a shaky breath, laying her down gently, she held a serene expression, as if she were sleeping peacefully.

“There it is, well done Vanya." The ghostly figure grew visible, the cold hand grasped her wrist, humming. "Her magic is familiar, way too familiar."

Ivan observed her hand, stained with blood, his own hand smeared with the scarlet liquid but he felt no pain. Prying the cold bluish hand from her, he asked. "What have you done to her?"

"Me? Nothing, I was not the one holding her." A dry chuckle came after those words, the pale hand hovered above the campfire, the flame turned blue, growing smaller until it died out.

In the darkness, Ivan could see the ghostly figure tossing him the clock. Ivan made no move to catch it, a devious smile formed on the spirit’s face. "Now, it’s my turn to tell you a secret." The silvery voice said, "The wolf was not a wolf, it was a knight and the knight was not a knight, it was a magician. Can you guess what else the magician was, Ivan?”

The ghost hovered behind him, reaching out a pale hand and caressing Chun Yan’s head. “The magician was a father.”

#hetalia fanfiction #hws russia #hws nyo china #hws ukraine #hws belarus #hws japan #rochu #hws rochu #aph fanfic #hetalia #my writing #aph russia #aph nyo china

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chemicalcindercat · 4 years ago

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It was then Beetlejuice realized that the blankets weren't vibrating at all; Lydia was shaking uncontrollably. Beetlejuice wasted no time in scooping Lydia up into his arms and juicing them back to his house. He gently set her down on his bed, before darting around his house, desperately searching for a thermometer. Finally he found one buried deep in his dresser; Beetlejuice was already dead, so he didn't get sick, and therefore had no use for a thermometer very often. He ran back to Lydia and took her temperature.

106.8

"Shit!"

Chapters: 1 (2,420 words)

Fandom: Beetlejuice (mostly based on the 1989 cartoon, but can be read for the movie or musical as well)

Rating: T (not entirely consensual, non-sexual nudity)

Relationships: Beetlejuice & Lydia, Beetlejuice/Lydia, it could be read as romantic or completely platonic

Additional Tags: Sick, fluff and angst, fever, angst and hurt/comfort, Lydia feels like she’s dying, BJ to the rescue, nudity, but I mean it’s a story, so it’s not like you can actually see anything, slight beetlebabes, if you squint, mt. Blanket, drink the damn water, twist ending, older Lydia AU

Beetlejuice was bored.

The Ghost With The Most was currently channel-surfing, trying to find something to do. Maybe bored wasn't the best word, but he really wanted something, anything to entertain himself. Sadly, nothing was on but ghost soap-operas. They could be hilariously dramatic sometimes, but Beetlejuice didn't feel like watching them without someone (*cough cough* Lydia! *cough*) to laugh with him.

Really, Lydia was the reason Beetlejuice was bored. It wasn't her fault or anything, she didn't do anything wrong. It was just that nothing seemed appealing to do without her. He hadn't realized just how much he enjoyed her company until he was without it. Sure, they were best friends and all, and they hung out practically everyday, but Beetlejuice hadn't so much as heard from Lydia all day, and it bothered him. He understood if she was busy, she had a life (unlike him, being dead and all), but she usually at least said checked in on him to make sure he was doing fine without her, or just for a quick chat. Today he hadn't heard anything. Or the day before. This was the longest they had gone without talking to each other, and it made him get this feeling inside of him, something he couldn't ever remember feeling before, and he didn't know how to feel about it.

Worry.

Beetlejuice was worried for his friend. Being worried was a perfectly natural thing, and it showed he truly cared for Lydia, but Beetlejuice didn't know that. All he knew was that it was a strange feeling for him, which he didn't like, so he decided to go and check on Lydia.

Teleporting into her mirror, Beetlejuice was slightly confused. The door to Lydia's bedroom was shut, the curtains were closed, and the room was dark. This in itself was a bit strange for it being 4:00pm, but knowing that this was his Lyds he was thinking about, it wasn't all that weird. What was weird was that it seemed Lydia was buried under a mountain of blankets in her bed. Now that was definitely off.

"Psssssst," Beelejuice called in a whisper, in case she was asleep. "Lyds, it's me, let me in!" The blanket mountain shifted, and Beetlejuice heard a murmur. Lydia was awake, she had called his name. He hadn't been able to hear her, but he got the feeling in his gut that happened whenever someone said his name. Then another murmur, followed immediately by the same feeling once more. Then…

Nothing.

That was most definitely strange, Lydia never stopped in the middle of calling him. Maybe she'd fallen asleep? While he knew it was a real possibility, Beetlejuice couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Babes?" He called, slightly louder than the first time. "Come on, Babes, one more time! Don't leave me hanging!" He whisper shouted.

Suddenly Beetlejuice was pulled through the mirror and into the room. That time he hadn't even heard Lydia murmur, but obviously she had, for he was now in her bedroom. He quickly floated over to Mt. Blanket, which seemed to be vibrating. Lydia peeked out from under the covers, her eyes red and puffy and her face drenched with sweat. "Lyds?" Beetlejuice asked softly as Lydia closed her eyes. "Are you okay, Babes?" Lydia mumbled something unintelligible. "What was that? I can't understand."

"...old…" Was the response.

"Babes, I can't understand you. Please, you have to tell me what's wrong, or I can't help!" Beetlejuice exclaimed, trying not to freak out. He'd never seen his best friend in such a terrible state, and it startled him.

No, not startled. Terrified.

"... So...cold…" Lydia said, opening her eyes again, but being unable to focus on anything in particular. Beetlejuice's heart sank, realizing that what he had first suspected was true. He placed his hand on Lydia's forehead, feeling how hot her skin was. Lydua had a fever, and a very high one at that.

106.8

"Shit!"

As long as it had been since Beetlejuice was alive and had to deal with sickness, even he knew that a fever that high was extremely dangerous. It angered him greatly that Lydia's fever had been left untreated long enough for it to get so high. He was pissed, but as much as he wanted to go and make her parents pay, Lydia had to be his top priority at the moment. Bringing down her fever was all that mattered.

The first thing Beetlejuice did was get a nice, tall glass of water, and take it over to her. He propped up a few pillows behind her, sitting her up enough to not choke on the water, and tried to get her to drink. The stubborn teen refused, shaking her head no and looking away.

"Lydia," Beetlejuice practically begged. "Come on! You need to drink this water, please! Of the things to fight me over, now is not the time!"

Lydia flinched, starting to cry. Beetlejuice's eyes widened as he saw he made her cry.

"Oh, no, Lyds, please don't cry. I didn't mean to yell, I just… I need you to drink this. It will make you feel better."

"M-my head… hurts.. so much…"

After a few minutes of persuasion, Beetlejuice finally got the half-conscious girl to drink some water. Then he had her take Ibuprofen for the headache, and put a cool, damp washcloth on her forehead. After about 20 minutes, her fever had gone down by a few tenths of a degree, but wasn't enough to satisfy Beetlejuice.

(A/N: He will never be satisfied, I will never be satisfiiiiieeddddd!! Sorry, I had to let out my inner Angelica.)

Beetlejuice thought for a second. If a cold wash rag was the answer to helping with low fevers, it didn't take a genius to figure out that a cold bath should help Lydia.

However, even if he could get her to focus enough to get into the bath, he definitely didn't trust her to bathe in this state. It was bad enough that she couldn't walk right, and could slip and hit her head while getting into the tub, but the fear that she might pass out in the tub and drown was a whole other story. It was too much.

Beetlejuice was torn. He loved Lydia. You can't have someone you care about in your life for that long and not love them. He wasn't entirely sure just how Lydia felt towards him, (whether she thought of them as friends, or something more,) but either way he didn't want to be creepy, or make her feel uncomfortable, and most of all he didn't want to betray her trust.

In the end, Beetlejuice figured it out. He did love Lydia, which meant he would do what was best for her, and risk how it would affect their friendship. He left Lydia's side to go to his bathtub and scrub it out fairly quickly. It was filthy, and would've taken much longer had it not been for his juice. Then he filled it with cool water.

Beetlejuice approached Lydia slowly, not quite sure how to go about this. "Hey, Lyds?" He called softly as he got closer.

"Hmm?" Lydia murmured, still in a confused state of mind.

"We gotta get you in the bath, alright?" Beetlejuice continued as he returned to his spot right by her side. "Can you help me take your clothes off?"

Beetlejuice sat Lydia up, causing her to wince and clench her head in pain. He helped her stand up, and she stumbled a bit, so he put her arm around his neck, supporting her weight so she could get to the bathroom.

As they got to the bathroom, and Beetlejuice started to help Lydia out of her clothes, she suddenly pulled away from him and stumbled over to the toilet, throwing herself over it just in time to vomit. She started crying and trembling, and Beetlejuice just stood behind her and held her hair out of the way. Once she finished, he ran back to the bedroom and came back with her water, so she could get rid of the awful flavor.

After a little bit of struggling with the clothes, (Beetlejuice only struggled because he didn't want to take off her panties, and instructing a sick,lethargic sick person to take off their underwear isn't the easiest thing to do.) Lydia was finally in the bath. Beetlejuice sat nearby, facing the wall of the bathroom so that he wasn't seeing Lydia naked anymore than necessary, but he kept her in his peripheral so that he could make sure she stayed awake and safe.

It was hard to admit, but even Beetlejuice knew that if it was any other girl, he wouldn't stop himself from admiring her beautiful body- Wait, did he just think that out loud?- but he respected Lydia way more than that, so this was how it was.

After letting her sit for around 20 minutes, he helped her out of the tub (while specifically not staring at her), and gave her one of his old towels to dry off with. Then, he shut the door to the bathroom and stood right outside it, giving her privacy but staying close in case something happened.

By the time Lydia was back in bed, Beetlejuice was taking her temperature again.

103.6

It was still a high fever, but it definitely made Beetlejuice feel better about helping Lydia get undressed to bathe. He made her drink some more water, and then replaced the cool rag to her forehead, using it and his juice to help her fall into a peaceful sleep. After a few moments of hesitation, Beetlejuice climbed into his bed next to her, wrapping his arms around her. Soon enough, both the doctor and the patient were in deep sleep.

~~~

Lydia woke up feeling groggy. What a great night's sleep! She thought with a smile, yawning as she rolled over. Her smile vanished instantly when she saw Beetlejuice in bed with her.

What is he doing in my bed?? Lydia thought in a panic. Sure, she had been feeling a bit weird towards the Ghost With The Most lately, but surely nothing had happened! Then, she realized that Beetlejuice wasn't in her bed.

She was in Beetlejuice's bed!

Lydia couldn't decide if that made it better or worse.

After a few moments of calming down, the events of the night before, or at least, what Lydia could remember of it, started to come back to her. She had felt terrible, constantly freezing no matter how many blankets she hid under, and the headache was the worst! And then Beetlejuice had come, and he took her to his bedroom, and he made her drink water, and he took her clothes off so she could bathe, and he held her hair back while she threw up, and he helped her go to sleep, and-

Wait.

…Beetlejuice… took off… her clothes??

Having just woken up, this was a lot for the teen to handle. She felt her face blush bright red, imagining him taking her clothes off, (in reality it was nothing like how she was imagining) and she gasped as something hot reached over and touched her forehead. Realizing it was just Beetlejuice's hand, she was able to calm down a little more.

"Heya, Babes. Did you sleep well?" Beetlejuice asked, his voice a bit rough from having just woken up. He reached for the thermometer as Lydia thought of how to respond. "You feel normal, but this thing is more of a doctor than I'll ever be." He explained as he took her temperature again.

"Well, you still got a fever, but it's gone down quite nicely through the night. With a few days rest and plenty of water, you should be fine."

Lydia smiled. "Thanks, Beetlejuice. For everything. But...Why did you sleep in the bed? You could've gotten sick yourself!" She scolded.

"Geez, who are you, my mom?" Beetlejuice joked. "Besides, there's no reason to worry, Babes." He stuck his thumb out and pointed it at his chest proudly. "The Ghost With The Most never gets sick!"

"Well, alright, Beetlejuice. If you insist." After a few moments of silence, Beetlejuice started, "About what happened last night? You know, with the bath?" He chuckled nervously.

"Don't worry, BJ," Lydia reassured. "We'll never mention it again. I understand what a bad position that put you in, and all I can say is that I trust you, and you didn't really do anything bad. So… as awkward as it is, there's no weird feelings, right?"

"Of course!" Beetlejuice exclaimed, his face as bright red as Lydia's dress she loved to wear in the Neitherworld. "Thanks, Babes, for understanding. You really are the best."

Lydia couldn't stop herself from throwing her arms around Beetlejuice. "Of course, Beej, you're my best friend! And thanks!"

~~~

The next day, Lydia's fever was gone completely, and she hurried through her chores so she could go to thank Beetlejuice. After going through the completely normal, everyday ritual of chanting magic words to a vase, magically changing into a blood red, spiderweb-patterned dress, and saying hello to her bat friends who were always included in the intro, Lydia was knocking on the door to Beetlejuice's house. Nobody answered. This wasn't that uncommon, and after years of going through this Lydia just let herself in without hesitation.

Beetlejuice was laying in his bed, huddled under a mountain of blankets, shivering and sweating immensely. As bad as she felt, knowing what it felt like from having gone through it herself only 2 days before, Lydia leaned against the doorway to the bedroom, crossed her arms, and laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, Beetlejuice," She said, giggling. "What was that you were saying about never getting sick?"

"Shush it, Babes. You know how much I hate it when you're right."

"But Beetlejuice," Lydia laughed. "I'm always right!"

And even Beetlejuice couldn't deny that.

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another-snape-story · 4 years ago

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Always On My Mind

Chapter XII

Snape thought about you more than he should, more than he considered to be appropriate, but there was nothing he could do to resist that uncontrollable attraction he's grown to feel towards you. Being a loner his whole life, probably for the first time in many years, he found comfort in someone's company – your company. Afraid to admit the fact, Snape gave absurd excuses to explain the feeling that expanded his chest every time he saw you, realizing perfectly well, however, how pointless it was to deny the obvious. His typical mistrust in people, which escalated now, on the eve of return of Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and initial desire to find out if there was any kind of threat for school or its students in your intentions when you applied for the position of Hogwarts Professor a few months ago, played a cruel trick on the man, drawing his interest – and later his heart – to a woman, who started meaning for him more than a colleague should. It wasn't right, Snape thought, and this thought made him sad. His obligations in current circumstances – that's what he had to focus on. Moreover, who on earth would want to have him close? Nobody would accept him, he knew it; and his skeletons would always drag him back into the dusty cupboard, where no room was left for joy or even hope – only darkness and emptiness. Pulled himself together, he carried on, still remaining kind to you but trying to keep a certain distance.

Nothing has changed in his appearance – he's always looked brooding actually. Neither did you notice any change in his attitude. You shared smiles seeing each other in school corridors, had long conversations in the staff room, which led you deep into the night and brought slight headache in the morning due to the lack of sleep. Sometimes you invited him to your office for a cup of tea, but that black armchair in cold Potions classroom seemed more appealing anyway, and Snape, being aware of this, prepared wool plaid blanket for you every time he expected you to pay him a visit, pretending it's always been there. Although it didn't surprise you any longer, your heart grew a size – you knew he cared for you, and were eminently grateful for his attention. Nevertheless, you still were afraid to say or do something, that Snape might dislike or – what frightened you even more – something, that might push him away – his serious look always kept you alert. He never seemed fully relaxed, therefore you couldn't do it either. Sometimes though, you could notice his features soften in response to your random phrase or look, reflecting his true attitude towards your personality, which – despite all his feigned indifference – seemed like a promising sign of inevitable warming in your relationship.

“Professor Sprout's been too busy with pumpkins for Halloween recently, so today it's me delivering this,” you slumped a box of an impressive size on Snape's desk. You carried it through the whole castle and were happy to finally get rid of this heavy load.

“I thought it was Hagrid who took care of pumpkins,” Snape opened the lid, examining the box content. “It's always been his exclusive privilege.”

“He’s been struggling with gourd aphids for two weeks now,” you explained without showing much concern. “I added some extra item,” your eye excitedly dived in the depth of the box as your finger pointed into it.

“Snargaluff,” Snape spotted surplus jar with green pulsating pod enchanted to always stay fresh. It took him no effort to identify it at once. Perfect, almost twice bigger than prevalent, it glistened in the daylight.

“I just thought you wouldn’t mind having it in your storages,” you looked up at him to make sure he was pleased.

“Merlin, I hope its thorned vines didn’t hurt you,” he frowned worriedly, trying to get a better view of your hands – he wasn’t going to grab you, no matter how bad he itched to.

You pursed your lips to suppress a smile which threatened to give out your embarrassment which suddenly took over you, and drove your eyes away for a second. Not the kind of reaction you’ve expected, but seeing this fleeting transformation on his stone face, usually stingy for expressing any kind of emotion, felt so surprisingly flattering.

“Who do you think I am?” you grouched with discontent in a joky manner.

“If you only saw his pleading eyes – Hagrid’s – when he begged for help, poor thing!” you giggled kindheartedly, changing the topic. “It’s so weird seeing a man of his size almost crying over damaged pumpkins!”

“Never got why they can’t just conjure them,” Snape shook his head disapprovingly. “Minerva could’ve given those little dunderheads some additional practice in Transfiguration.”

“Let them do what they want,” you sighed, “unless you’re not involved, of course.”

“Instead of avoiding unwanted job, better create favorable circumstances that increase the chances of not doing it. Otherwise it’d be too late to keep away.”

“You’re a clever guy, Professor Snape,” you teased him, walking around his desk. “And how often do you make people think what is advantageous to you?”

“Some-times,” he responded stretching the word, as slowly as his glance followed you. “For instance, I let you think for a while I didn’t notice that bandage under your sleeve.” His eyes narrowed, while he stared at you with reproach. “As you’ve just mentioned,” his tone gained cold notes, “I’m a clever guy, indeed.”

“Not that clever to presume I would lie about a scratch from Snargaluff,” you approached him, smiling softly.

“What is it then?” ashamed of making quick – and therefore false – conclusion, Snape blinked confusedly.

“It has to do with the seed you’ve given me,” you clarified proudly, “but it’s a surprise!”

“How did you… What?”

“The seed defends itself, when… Well. I can’t tell you now. Will you be patient, until…”

“Until it kills you?” Snape grunted and you laughed.

“I hope it won’t go that far!”

“Let me have a look,” he stretched out his hand, expecting you’d give him yours. But you just squeezed his palm as a token of gratitude and let go.

“It’s fine, Poppy was so nice to provide me with everything I needed. It’s no more a matter of concern.”

Snape hated surprises. Never had he ever had one to his liking – all surprises he’s encountered happened to be of an unpleasant kind. Neither did this one promise to be enjoyable. What on Earth you had on your mind? And why you found it so exciting putting yourself in danger?

“I got to go now,” you announced not without regret. “Just dropped in for a minute…”

“…and stayed for half an hour,” Snape smiled warmly.

“As usual,” you chuckled. “Sorry for taking your time again.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you’d take some more,” he thought, and said in a more formal tone, “thank you for Snargaluff. It’s exceptionally good.”

“Just good?” you portrayed disappointment.

“I said exceptionally good! Okay, it’s outstanding,” he smirked.

“Outstanding,” you declaimed, savoring the word. “Outstanding sounds much better!”

You swiftly disappeared behind the door, leaving your fellow Professor smile pensively, unwilling to let lighthearted image of yours out of his mind.

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Tag: @diaryofafan17 @yul-is-sparkling @fullmoonshadowwrites @forthehonourof @mayumikurosake @redrehab @space-helen @fluffymadamina nadiigh @theworldisugly-22 @lukaerith-morningstar @sighsinkhuzdul @67-chevy-baby @rustypotatospork @aquila-leo @dandyrua @majusketch @fancygirl61 @writingmi @s00nhi @pinkininja @shizuethedragon

#snape #severus snape #snape x reader #severus snape x reader #snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfiction

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uh-velkommen · 4 years ago

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When they told me that having an unstable sense of self/identity was a symptom of BPD, the first thing my mind went to was my sexuality. Because I always struggled with my orientation and gender and I constantly felt like I was lying to myself and everyone else. I could never agree on a label because it would always change the next day. Even if my feelings stayed the same, even if I so clearly had a crush on a boy or a girl, my brain would insist that I'm not gay or straight. That it was physically impossible. I'm writing about this now because my last post was a joke about wanting a girlfriend but still wanting to mess with guys and the only tag I could think to put on it was Bisexual. Immediately after posting that I got sent down a spiral. My brain is racing, I feel like crying and I'm hating myself all over again. Because tagging that post with "Bisexual" feels like walking up to a police station and saying I shot up a school. It's not true and its extremely disrespectful to people who have went through that. That's why I like the term Queer. Because I don't have to explain to people that sometimes I only like girls but sometimes I hate the word lesbian and there's no way I could be Bisexual because this attraction towards guys is only temporary.

NSFW warning below⚠️

(I should start putting content warnings on my stuff because I keep forgetting that actual real people can see what I post and yall probably don't want to know the specifics of my sex life 😬)

The part that's killing me now is, while yes I enjoy the thought of hooking up with this guy friend of mine, what I really want is a relationship. And unfortunately I can not see myself doing that with a guy. There's not a sexual orientation that describes wanting to give all my attention to women but occasionally thinking of hetero intercourse. And for me, sexual orientation only refers to who excites my private parts (I'm sorry that's graphic lol) but it'd be way more confusing if I brought romantic feelings into it. For a short while I used to go around saying I was a biromantic homosexual. This shit is so confusing for me because I feel what I feel for who ever I feel it for but having to explain this to other people is hard. And at times, these "other people" are just future versions of myself. (Also pansexual isn't included in this conversation because again, I only define my sexuality off of what genitalia I find sexually appealing and pansexual is the exclusion of sexual genitalia)

Basically the point of this post is that I don't think I'll ever be able to define my sexuality because of my BPD. Some days I'll settle on one term, maybe just to categorize the feelings I'm feeling that day. But if and when I change it, I don't want people to go around saying, "see it was just a phase!" Because it's never a phase for me, it's just me trying to make things easier for other people to understand. I'm still gay. I might be straight. I'm still a homo even if I talk about guys for the next three months. Even if I enter a relationship with a man. I've still experienced the repression and internalized homophobia. I've still experienced the fear of losing friends and family due to being a lesbian. My sudden desire for one man does not lock me in a heterosexual box and I have to remind my own brain about this every day and so I don't need nor do I want other people to treat me the way my own mind does. It only makes me hate myself more and I'm trying to leave those feelings with teenage me.

#bpd #actually borderline #queer #lgbt #bisexual #lesbian #internalized homophobia #borderline

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rozsapalota · 4 years ago

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The Most Random Questions About Your Muse.

*Copy and paste. Do not reblog*

Name: Gábor Szilvás.

1. Do they believe in true love? Absolutely. His attention span is generally rather short and he will drift from one infatuation to another, however when he loves he always does so truly, and has never been dishonest about his feelings. He holds some terribly poetic ideas about love, any kind of love be it platonic or romantic; and if he feels it, if he really feels affection for someone, then that is all he needs to know it is true.

2. Do they believe that their life has meaning? In a personal and emotional sense, most definitely. Not in the grand scheme of things. He values the simplicity of there being no greater meaning, no real divine plan other than for this world to be here, and for us to have the means to experience it. He really doesn’t regard himself as important, and would be quite honestly overwhelmed if he were. Probably in line to some extent with Lestat’s Savage Garden ramblings.

3. What first impression do they give when they first meet someone? He looks and feels quite frail, gentle. Long-limbed, fresh-faced, a graceful and sensitive youth of alluring innocence and girlish beauty. Now more than ever he might appear a bit removed from time, perhaps due to his choice of clothing which often reflects his own era in one way or another. He is very well-mannered and soft-spoken, carries himself like a noble and most certainly gives the vibe of old money, silver spoon in his mouth.

4. Do they believe in Heaven/Hell? By default, yes, or at least he used to. For a long time now he’s been thinking that there might be nothing, and he doesn’t really know what to make of it. You tend to contemplate death a lot, when you’re a vampire.

5. FIVE things that irritate them:

1 ) low quality materials 2 ) poorly translated poetry 3 ) rudeness 4 ) any form of animal cruelty 5 ) out of tune instruments

6. First Kiss? He used to have the cutest crush on one of his older sister's friends back when he was maybe 7, and it was painfully obvious to everyone who spent any amount of time around the two. He couldn’t look her in the eye for longer than a couple seconds, and so of course when they all played charades and later on truth or dare, he was immediately dared to give her a kiss. Fortunately she was endeared or else he wouldn’t have had the courage, and she came to cradle his face in her hands and give him a kiss herself.

7. What do they find funny that other’s usually don’t? Hungarian puns can be too hard to explain sometimes ( say “Nagy Árpi” quickly and repeatedly, and don’t ask why he’s struggling to hold his laughter ). Blame Lotti for having taught him that.

8. Biggest Regret? That he was so naive as to fully trust his sire. That he never thought or had the nerve to press for answers before the irreversible took place.

9. THREE words that best describe them:

1 ) graceful 2 ) affectionate 3 ) gullible

10. Their most attractive feature. It would have to be either his eyes, or his hands. There is at times a truly disarming expressiveness to his gaze, those long lashes of his, the colour an uncertain middle ground between light hazel and green. The eyes really are a mirror to his soul.

11. The feature that they find most attractive? It’s still the eyes. They’re one of the first traits he notices and nothing works him up quite like intense eye-contact.

12. Favorite Song Lyric: He’s more into instrumentals honestly.

13. Best advice they’ve ever received: “Do not become so perverted that you would disobey your own nature. Therein lies the path to ruin.” ( you know who you are, mystery advisor. )

14. Worst advice they’ve ever received: Nothing deep or meaningful here, but he was once told that eggs would make a great ingredient for a homemade hair mask. And they are. Except he went to rinse with warm water and somehow it never occurred to him the egg would begin to cook as a consequence. Sometimes I swear there's only white noise in his head.

15. What makes them cry? It really doesn’t take a lot to make this boy cry. Try raising your voice at him and you’ll see what I mean, generally however he will get emotional over anything from films to poetry, music, sad pet adoption or life insurance commercials on TV.

16. Hardest decision they ever had to make? Permanently leaving his family home. He’d killed a stable boy the night after his birth to darkness, entirely without meaning to or really knowing what he was doing. A maid would soon share the same fate. He realised at once, of course, that staying was out of the question; but that never made the decision any easier.

17. What makes them fond of someone? Kindness, kindness has its way of ensnaring him without fail. Joie de vivre, rather like his dear Lotti, hearty and contagious laughter. Generosity, honesty. Just being nice to him or having a sense of humour. Believe me when I tell you it is very easy to get him to like you.

18. Do they believe in forgiveness? He most certainly does, though he struggles even now, to some extent, to really understand or forgive his maker.

19. Biggest TURN ON. A dominant partner, that’s what does it for him. He has a very strong preference for men in this department and likes nothing more than being courted, the spicy back-and-forth of flirting where you can sense an underlying intent. He likes to play coy after all, and baby if you’re charming and a little bit intimidating, he might as well do anything you ask him to.

20. Biggest TURN OFF. Bad manners, rudeness, callousness. Ostentatious vulgarity in general.

21. Any fetishes/kinks? Power imbalance probably tops the list. Being someone’s submissive, being told what to do. A bit of hair pulling / biting / manhandling when it gets intense, but nothing extreme. Orgasm denial / edging is another big one, and also lots and lots of praise. Otherwise he’s reasonably vanilla, except maybe for blood sharing on occasion?

22. Do they have a perception of God? Vaguely so. He was raised Christian, but he is one only at surface level. Nobody in his family was a devout believer and the existence of God was rather passively accepted as the conventional truth. He doesn’t question it, and yet religion has never plagued him or caused him any great turmoil, as it was not a very significant part of his life save for the obligatory Sunday masses. If he were to pick a label he would probably call himself something of a deist.

23. A memory from their childhood that shaped them. He was a very pampered child growing up, always complimented left and right for being pretty as his sisters, often mistaken for a girl himself. It’s a dreamy place of his past to revisit, and he’s still young for a vampire; the memories feel fresh to him, recent to his preternatural mind. He remembers well the evenings of those long gone times when the house was alive and full of music, his mother putting on her pearl earrings before the mirror of her bedroom wall. He remembers leaning against the wooden balcony railing when he wanted to trace constellations, long before they’d ever left for Budapest. He remembers hearing the wolves there, and feeling safe where he stood.

24. Birthday and zodiac sign: October 1st, he’s a Libra.

25. Do they agree with said zodiac sign? He thinks zodiacs are a lot of fun and does relate to many of the traits associated with his sign, but he refuses to believe that he is superficial. :(

26. What is ONE thing that they wish they could change about themselves? He’s pretty comfortable in his skin, as well as comfortable with his own personality. That said, he would tone down the sensitivity if he could, he genuinely cannot participate in an argument without being on the verge of tears.

27. A dream that they have never told anyone. He won’t tell this to anyone because he realises how pathetic it is of him, a product of his heartbreak. It makes him feel miserable to even think about it. He just wishes there could have been some way to be happy alongside his maker, some way to have made him realise that bringing him into this immortality would ruin everything, everything they had. Maybe what he truly needs in order to forgive, is an apology.

28. Do they believe in fate? Not really, but there’s definitely a romantic appeal to the idea.

29. Favourite season: Spring.

30. FIVE favourite singers/bands/performers: Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Liszt, and more recently ABBA and Lana del Rey.

TAGGED BY: @desanctii ( thank you ! ) TAGGING: once you see this I’m sorry but you’re it, no takebacks

#;;hc

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writinginstardust · 5 years ago

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Something About Him

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x Isaak Andreyev

Warnings: a couple of bad words

A/N: Fictober day 17, prompt “There is just something about her/him/them.” Idk if anyone else ships these two even a little bit but I love them so here is fic. This is also the first time i’ve written AU so that’s new and weird and fun. Something about this prompt just called to me for a Nikolai/Isaak coffee shop AU and I’m so happy it did!

Word Count: 1036

“Isaak, customer.” Tamar nudged him and the tired barista looked up from wiping down the side to find a man standing at the register, a warm smile on his face. It was the same man who’d come in almost every day for the last 3 weeks. The same incredibly attractive man who Isaak had been crushing on since their first meeting. They didn’t have time to talk all that much when he stopped by but he was friendly and didn’t seem to mind when Isaak stumbled over his words sometimes.

His name was Nikolai. The three girls waiting at a table by the window while he ordered their drinks were his best friends - Zoya, Genya, and Alina. He was double majoring in political science and engineering. These were all things he’d told Isaak.

He never came in on Isaak’s days off. He was single. He liked the way Isaak’s hair curled at the nape of his neck when it got damp. These were all things Tamar had told him. Whether they were true was debatable but Isaak secretly hoped they were.

“Hi,” Isaak smiled as he walked over to the register. Not his customer service smile, a real one. He genuinely enjoyed when Nikolai showed up during his shift. “What can I get you today?”

One more thing he’d discovered: Nikolai always ordered something different. He didn’t answer straight away but looked at Isaak consideringly before a flirtatious smile tugged at his lips.

“How about your number?”

“W-what?” Isaak stood still in shock. Had he really just asked for Isaak’s number? Nikolai? The beautiful guy that Isaak was half in love with? This guy could get any girl he wanted, hell, any guy he wanted, and he was asking for Isaak’s number? His brain short-circuited trying to figure it out. He’d had no idea Nikolai was even into guys and had resigned himself to pining pathetically from afar after his third visit. Never had he expected this.

“Your phone number,” Nikolai repeated, his smile only falling a little.

“I-what- you-I-” he couldn’t manage a single sentence. Luckily Tamar elected to be benevolent and help him out.

“Sorry about him,” she said with a smile as she nudged Isaak out of the way. “What can I get you?”

Nikolai ordered his drinks and some muffins and Isaak started making them to give him something else to focus on. It wasn’t an entirely successful tactic, his mind was still reeling. Mostly - but not entirely - over the shock he was left with a hundred questions, the most important being, he supposed; did he want to give Nikolai his number?

Yes. The word rang in his head, appearing instinctively. Was he rushing into something though? In truth he still knew very little about Nikolai. He probably knew more about Isaak than Isaak knew about him thanks to Tamar who could be very chatty if it might embarrass her friend. There was something about him though, something he didn’t see in many people. And no, it wasn’t just that he was hot and inexplicably into guys. Though that was a definite plus. Maybe Isaak didn’t know him well but there was something there that made him want to. He was going to give him his number.

Drinks made, he quickly scribbled his number on a napkin to give to Nikolai. The girls came over and thanked him for their drinks with genuine smiles before leaving, not bothering to wait for Nikolai who was taking his time.

“Look, Isaak, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s okay.” Isaak smiled, feeling a little more confident in his decision at seeing Nikolai slightly nervous.

“No, I shouldn’t have asked you out at work. That was such a shit thing to do.”

“Technically you didn’t ask me out, you asked for my number.” Nikolai laughed at Isaak’s teasing tone and seemed to relax again.

“Still, I’m sorry.

“Don’t be.” He handed over the napkin before he lost what nerve he’d been holding onto.

“What’s this?” Nikolai frowned.

“My number.”

“Wait really?”

“Yeah.” Nikolai smiled brighter than Isaak had ever seen before and Isaak found himself smiling back.

“Isaak, customer!” Tamar called from the coffee machine. And sure enough, when he tore his eyes away from Nikolai and looked down the length of the counter, a couple was waiting at the register.

“I’ve got to go,” he said apologetically.

“I’ll call you.” Nikolai smiled, picked up his drink, and left. Isaak fought not to stare at him as he walked away.

“Isaak!”

“Coming!” He quickly took the order and helped Tamar make their drinks. Soon it was just the two of them in the little cafe again.

“So…” Tamar was smirking and Isaak wanted to run away like he always did when she had that particular gleam in her eyes. “You gave him your number, huh?”

“Yep.”

“How come? I thought you said you were swearing off guys for a while?”

“I was. But...I don’t know.” He paused, a dreamy smile slipping onto his face as he thought about Nikolai. “There’s just something about him.”

“Translation: he’s hot and has pretty eyes.”

“You really think I’m that shallow.” He said in mock offence.

“Not usually but even I can see the appeal there.”

“Should I tell Nadia to be worried?” He teased. Tamar swatted his shoulder.

“I said I can see the appeal, not that I want to jump his bones. Unlike you.”

“That is not what I want,” he tried to defend though in truth he’d probably say yes if Nikolai asked. His phone chimed and a text from an unknown number awaited him when he unlocked it.

Hi, I’m tragically or perhaps fortunately free tonight so do you fancy grabbing dinner when you get off work?

Nikolai x

Isaak was grinning when he texted back, ignoring Tamar’s raised brow and knowing smile.

“Uh-huh, you keep telling yourself that hun.”

“Tamar-!” She disappeared into the back and another customer came in before Isaak could follow. He could still hear her laughter as he took the order. He struggled to find it in himself to care though. A cute guy had asked for his number and he had a date tonight. It was a good day.

Tag Lists: (send an ask if you want to be added!)

Everything: @wonderfilledness @writingbychelle @ad-astraaaa

Grishaverse: @chiefqueenenthusiast @unconditional-love-and-support

#tgt #Grishaverse #nikolai lantsov #isaak andreyev #nikolai lantsov x isaak andreyev #nikolai x isaak #grishaverse fanfic #tgt fanfic #Isaak Andreyev fanfic #nikolai lantsov fanfic #fictober #fictober day 17

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walkerismychoice · 6 years ago

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For Law and Love - Chapter 2

Book: Desire and Decorum - Modern day AU

Paring: Ernest Sinclaire X MC

Raiting: PG

Summary: It’s Anna’s first day of class at Harvard and she sees a familiar face (or two!) in her Business Law class

Count: 1746

Law and Love Master List - Catch up here

8am Monday morning came all too soon. As Anna shut off her alarm, she wondered what compelled her to schedule Business Law, of all classes, at 9am. She quickly showered and got ready so she had time to stop at then coffee shop on the way, as caffeine would be vital in keeping her awake in this class.

Anna arrived in the lecture hall with 10 minutes to spare, and found a seat towards the middle. As the hall filled in, a pretty girl with long, black hair and dark brown eyes sat in the chair next to her.

"You look like someone I could get along with. Hi, I'm Annabelle." The girl had a spirit about her that put Anna at ease.

"Hi, I'm Anna. Just Anna, no Belle." She laughed nervously at her lame joke.

"You're adorable. Nice to meet Anna...So, are you new here? I haven't seen you in any of my classes before."

"Yeah, I just transferred from Columbia. I decided to completely change course from majoring in dance to business. I decided to make my father happy and go to law school to fulfill the family legacy," Anna explained.

"Not to stereotype, but I thought there was something different about you." Annabelle glanced obviously around the room. "You stand out...in a good way."

"Thanks...I think?"

"Trust me, it's definitely a good thing." Annabelle winked at Anna.

"You dont strike me as a typical business student either....As you said, not to stereotype or anything." Anna giggled.

"You mean because I'm not a total bore? Oops did I say that out loud?" Annabelle's lips curved into a smile. "I'm a marketing major actually, so a little more on the creative side of things, but this class fills a requirement."

"Well, since I'm going into corporate law, I should probably pay attention and try to do well. Speaking of which, looks like it's about to start."

Anna watched as a man about her father's age approached the stage. He wasn't bad looking for an older guy, but he had an air about him that screamed conceited more than confident, and when he spoke this was confirmed. "Good morning and welcome to Business Law. I'm professor Richards. I'm teaching this class as a favor this semester, so you all have the privilege of being taught by one of the top professors at Harvard law, which is not something most undergrads get to experience. I'm a busy man between teaching law school courses and consulting on high profile cases, so I will be relying heavily on my teaching assistants for grading and any assistance needed outside of class hours.”

Annabelle snorted. “We are all should be honored to be in the great professor’s presence...right.”

“He seems a little full of himself.” Anna observed.

“Hah, a little? He has quite the reputation around here as I’m sure you’ll find out. Sounds like we are lucking out that he doesn’t have to time of day for us.”

“And now to introduce my teaching assistants, all of whom are all second year law students. Hamid Prince...”

A tall, dark, and handsome man with black hair and deep brown eyes stood up in the first row and turned to wave to the class.

“He’s cute,” Anna muttered under her breath, unintentionally loud enough for Annabelle to hear.

“I suppose if you like that type,” Annabelle replied.

“What type?” Anna questioned.

“Male.” Annabelle chuckled and Anna followed.

“Well then we won’t ever have to worry about falling for the same guy.”

“Nope Anna, you can have them all.”

“...And then we have Luke Harper.”

“Oh my god, I know him!” Anna exclaimed. “He was my brother Harry’s best friend.

Annabelle cocked her head to the side. “Was?”

“It’s...Anna struggled to find the right words. She didn’t feel like crying in her first class or putting a new friend she’d known for 15 minutes in the awkward position of not knowing how to respond to her depressing story. She been through that enough in the past couple months. “I’d rather tell you later if you don’t mind.”

Annabelle must have sensed something in Anna’s demeanor because she was happy to change the subject. “Not a problem.”

“...And last but not least, Ernest Sinclaire.”

There was something very familiar about the man, and as he turned around, it hit her. “Oh...I know him too. Well kind of. He almost trampled me in the book store. He could hardly be bothered to say sorry.”

“Sounds like he left quite the impression on you.” Annabelle smirked. “He’s that handsome, broody type that comes off all serious but is probably wild in bed.”

“Annabelle! Hush...Fine, I think he’s kind of hot, but he seems like a jerk, so none of that really matters. Plus, what kind of name is Ernest anyway? Are we in the 1800s?”

“Uh-huh.” Annabelle wasn’t buying it, and Anna couldn’t blame her. Anna was inexplicably attracted to this man who would probably never give her the time of day. It didn’t even make sense. Ernest seemed too serious, maybe a bit pretentious, and not her typical type at all. He had a handsome face, but didn’t ooze sex appeal like Hamid. For all she knew he didn’t have teeth because he didn’t appear to know how to smile. He was dressed nice in a white button-down shirt and khaki’s but he stood out as being a bit overdressed compared to Hamid and Luke who wore jeans and t-shirts. But she’s felt something in that brief moment in the book store, and seeing him now stirred up those feelings again.

“Anyway, I wonder why Professor Richards doesn’t have any female T.A.s,” Anna pondered, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“You know how I said he has a reputation?” Annabelle answered. “I don’t think you could pay most of the female law students to work with him. If the rumors are true, he’s a real scumbag.”

Anna shuddered. “I kind of get that vibe.”

The rest of class was uneventful - mostly just going over the syllabus and getting an into to the class subject matter with more than a couple tales of the professors personal accomplishments thrown in. This was going to be a long semester, but thankfully she had Annabelle to suffer through class with her.

“I’m going to go say hi to Luke.” Anna told Annabelle as soon a class ended.

“I’ve gotta run to my next class, so I’ll catch you later. Annabelle pulled out her phone. “Here, give me your number and I’ll text you mine.”

Anna made her way to the front of the class after the numbers were exchanged. Luke’s face lit up when he saw her. “Hey, little Edgewater! Bring it here.” Luke opened his arms and Anna leaned into his embrace. Luke and Harry had become fast friends their freshman year of undergrad. Since Luke’s parents were across the country in California and didn’t have money to fly him back during breaks, he often came home with Harry. Anna hadn’t seen him since Harry’s funeral, and it brought up a mix of emotions, but mostly she was happy to have another reminder of Harry nearby.

“Edgewater?” Anna hadn’t noticed but Ernest was still standing at the front of the room near Luke and Hamid. “Are you Harry’s sister?”

Anna, shocked at both his interest in the conversation and hearing her bother’s name come from his lips, turned to Ernest. “You knew Harry?”

“Of course he did.” Hamid chimed in. “Harry was friends with everyone - even with recluses like Sinclaire over here.” A scowl crept up on Ernest’s face but he didn’t respond. “I knew Harry had a sister, but he never mentioned how stunningly gorgeous she was.” Hamid’s smile was as charming as his words.

“Come on, Hamid,” Luke shook his head. “Anna’s like my little sister.”

“I’m sure Harry would appreciate you looking out for me Luke, but I’m not 15 anymore.” Although Ernest was silent, Anna couldn’t help but glance out of the corner of her eye to see his reaction. His features were still, as if set in stone, but his piercing blue eyes were fixed on her. Did he see her as Harry's kid sister like Luke did? Or did he agree with Hamid and see her as an attractive woman? Maybe he was glaring at her because she was getting in the way of whatever he needed to discuss with the other two. All Anna knew was she cared too much about this mysterious, surly guy who had hardly said two words to her.

"I have a feeling this girl can hold her own." Hamid gently nudged his shoulder against hers. "Did Luke tell you about the party at our place Friday night?" Anna didn't look over at Ernest this time, but she swore she could feel his eyes boring into the side of her head.

"No, I didn't get the chance. Anna you are welcome to come. You too Sinclaire, even though I know you won't show up." Everyone laughed but Ernest who was still stone-faced.

"I'm shocked, Luke. You are going to let me attend a college party?" Anna teased.

"Hey, if you are with me, you can't be getting into trouble elsewhere. I can keep my eye on you this way."

"Heh. You make it sound so fun." She said dryly. "But since I don't have a lot of friends here yet, I probably won't have other plans. Maybe you'll be lucky enough to be graced by my presence." She might have imagined it but she thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile on Ernest's lips, if only for a second.

"There's the Anna I know and love." Luke clapped her on the shoulder.

"It's great to see you again Luke...and nice to meet both of you." She looked to Hamid and then Ernest.

"I look forward to getting to know you better Anna." Hamid flashed her another toothy grin.

"As her _instructors, _I'm certain we'll all be seeing her frequently. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get to my next class." Ernest smiled thinly at Anna and went on his way.

Hamid and Luke exchanged looks, and Anna had no clue what to make of things. But as Ernest had so clearly emphasized, they were her instructors and partially responsible for determining her grade in the class. She was there to learn, and she just needed to focus on that.

Tag List: @quacksonlover, @cocomaxley, @tmarie82, @simplyaiden-blog, @lizeboredom, @alexanderkeith, @debramcg1106, @llholloway, @zackzilberg, @confessionsofabrokegirl, @writtenbycandy, @butindeed, @shelivesinthewoods, @nicestrokepam, @leelee10898, @fluffy-marshmallow-heart, @future-mrs-gremlin, @hellospunkiebrewster, @walkerduchess, @pens-girl-87, @sweetfluffyunicorn18, @blackcatkita, @jadedpixiescribbles, @damienazariostan, @yesterday4, @snyggflicka, @endless-vall, @choicesatnight, @hopefulmoonobject, @enmchoices, @theroyalweisme, @the-everlasting-dream, @too-poor-to-buy-keys p>For @zigthetwig, @hhiggs, @mfackenthal, @alesana45, @thatspicegirlssong, @quartzandarrow, @flyawayblue56, @choicesyouplayandmore, @catlady0911

#desire and decorum #Ernest Sinclaire #mc x mr. sinclaire #playchoices fanfiction #for law and love #my fic

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reactingtosomething · 6 years ago

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If They Liked This, They May Also Like...

Holiday Shopping with Reacting to Something

stock photo shamelessly lifted from

We know we haven’t generated original content in a very long time, but we wanted to get into the holidays in a way that was more or less on brand. So in the spirit of a Netflix recommendation algorithm, here are some suggestions for what to buy friends and family who liked some of the movies we saw in 2018 (including a couple that premiered in late 2017).

It’s probably obvious, but just to be super clear, the format below is --

If they liked this: They may also like this

Miri’s Gift Guide

The Shape of Water: I shouldn’t say a day pass to an aquarium because it’s a terrible, easy joke BUT I AM WHO I AM.

If you’re not a garbage person, maybe consider the rest of Del Toro’s creature filmography, anything related to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or a collection of fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen. Dark and gritty originals, not the tidied up versions.

Call Me By Your Name: NO, I WILL NOT SAY ANYTHING TO DO WITH PEACHES BECAUSE EVEN I HAVE LIMITS. APPARENTLY. The book is a lovely, lyrical, tragic read (or listen, if you go with the Armie Hammer audiobook as I did), and I would also recommend giving a gift of solitary artistic pleasure in whatever way speaks to your intended recipient—a CD, a ticket to an art exhibit, a coffee table book of a painter you think they will love. Something beautiful that requires a little bit of space to enjoy privately.

Black Panther: The new Shuri comic! (I am a hypocrite because I haven’t read it yet but it looks so awesome!) Also, there are some choice funko pops for Black Panther, which are a nice, reasonable price and make a great desk or bookshelf addition.

Annihilation: A DVD of Arrival and a book on fascinating genetic mutations. (The photo above is from the first linked book.) Also, tell them about the Twitter account Tessa as Goats, which is a true gift to us all.

Game Night: A murder mystery game! Or whatever game you think most appeals to them, but I personally think the immersive nature of a murder mystery is a true delight. Also, something Olivia the Dog themed because she’s awesome.

A Wrinkle in Time: For the actual child: one of the books published under the Rick Riordan Presents banner.

For the child in all of us: a soothing and/or empowering adult coloring book and some nice colored pencils.

Thoroughbreds: Really cool sunglasses.

Love, Simon: Tickets to the upcoming Clea DuVall helmed queer rom com starring Kristen Stewart and YES this is a request for myself, obviously.

Blockers: Make them a dance music playlist on Spotify!! (Or burn an actual CD for peak nostalgia/those who enjoy physical media.) And if you have some time together, have your own dance party with as many or as few people as you want.

photo illustration by

Ocean’s 8: LEVERAGE! BUY THEM A SEASON OF LEVERAGE!!! Give them the gift of even more cons and fun!

Incredibles 2: If they are parents: a night out without the children (this could mean a gift certificate or an offer to babysit). If not, try something heroic like these ornaments, or something that helps them learn to be their own hero, like a self defense or kickboxing class.

Tag: LASER TAG! It’s so fun, even if you’re bad at it! Give a gift card or book a session together and enjoy chasing each other around like giant, fun-loving idiots.

photo illustration from

Set It Up: A massage. Anyone who related to this movie too much is likely very much in need of stress relief. Also, a large quantity of popcorn to be eaten in whatever manner they wish with no shame at all.

Hotel Artemis: A Swiss army knife and a couple of airplane bottles of booze.

Sorry to Bother You: An Oaktown t-shirt (I have been told by someone from the area that this is A Thing but I don’t actually know and I’m sorry for that) and a copy of Kafka’s Metamorphosis.

Crazy Rich Asians: Ideally, a whirlwind food tour of Singapore. If that’s not feasible, a Hulu subscription so they can enjoy Constance Wu’s full comic potential in Fresh Off the Boat. And a really nice candle, because it’s a small decadence that can really go a long way.

To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before: The Wedding Date by Jasmine Guillory (if they like a steamy read), tall socks (if they like to be cozy and cute), and custom stationary (if they like to live dangerously).

A Simple Favor: A cocktail shaker, fancy bitters, a really good mystery novel.

Widows: Tickets to go see Widows again because it’s amazing and is probably even more amazing a second time.

Kris’s Recommended Reading

Wildlife or Widows: The H-Spot: The Feminist Pursuit of Happiness

As I say in my Amazon review, this is the best applied ethics text I was never assigned. In fairness to my professors, attorney-turned-journalist Jill Filipovic hadn’t written it yet when I was a philosophy student. Filipovic is also not a philosopher. But she is a brilliant writer and a rigorous thinker, and The H-Spot is fundamentally and explicitly an Aristotelian ethical project. That is to say, it takes the starting position that political organization should be aimed at the goal of human flourishing (as opposed to, say, economic growth). From there Filipovic builds a case, or maybe it's better to say several cases, for specific ways in which American policy fails women and disproportionately women of color in this aim, and concrete ways in which it could address this failure. She does so largely through first-hand accounts of several women across America, in a wide range of socioeconomic circumstances. Although the institutions and less formal systems in play are complicated, the questions at the heart of all this are simple: What do women want? What do women need?

Filipovic asks these questions without pre-judgment, and without assuming that any answers are too unrealistic to consider. Not that anyone she talks to asks for anything "unrealistic." Partly this is because they often speak from too much experience for the unrealistic to occur to them as something they deserve to ask for, but also, the idea that woman-friendly policy is unrealistic is a Bad Take to begin with. Filipovic doesn't need to be pie-in-the-sky utopian to show how things could be much better for women (and by extension, it should but still doesn't go without saying, for everyone).

I left academic philosophy over five years ago, but I really think each chapter (built around topics like friendship, sex, parenting, and food) is brimming with potential paper topics for grad and undergrad students of ethics and/or political philosophy. Whether you’re philosophically inclined or not, if you think “women should be happy” and “the point of civilization is to make happiness easier for everyone” are uncontroversial claims, The H-Spot is the book for you -- and for your friends who loved the several underestimated women of Widows, or Carey Mulligan’s captivating portrayal in Wildlife of a woman doing the best she could within the restrictions of her era.

Black Panther: A Nation Under Our Feet

Though it helps to have some familiarity with the Avengers storylines that led up to Ta-Nehisi motherfucking Coates’s first year on the Black Panther comic -- as well as with the excellent opening arc of Matt Fraction’s Invincible Iron Man -- here’s all that even a new comics reader really needs to know before jumping into Nation: King T’Challa, the Black Panther, was recently unable to prevent several consecutive disasters in Wakanda. Both as a cause and as a result of these disasters, T’Challa worked with the so-called “Illuminati” (Tony Stark, Reed Richards, Stephen Strange, and other intellectual and strategic heavyweights) to prevent the end of the multiverse itself. That crisis averted, T’Challa has returned to Wakanda to resume his royal duties.

Coates takes as a starting premise that Wakanda, the most advanced nation on earth, would only still have a hereditary monarchy if the monarch was uniquely suited as a protector of the people. In the wake of the Panther’s failures in this regard, Nation opens with a rebellion against T’Challa’s rule on two fronts: domestic terrorists with an unknown agenda on one hand, and on the other, former officers of the Dora Milaje (the all-female royal bodyguard corps beloved by fans of the movie) rallying Wakandan women who have suffered great injustices unaddressed by the crown. The leaders of the latter, lovers Ayo and Aneka, are nominally antagonists to T’Challa, but to the reader they’re parallel protagonists. You root for both T’Challa and the Dora Milaje, even though their agendas are in tension, not unlike the way one might have rooted for both Tyrion Lannister and Robb Stark in early Game of Thrones. (Shuri’s around too, though she’s quite unlike her movie counterpart.)

When he’s not fighting or investigating, T’Challa does a lot of soul-searching and debating about his responsibilities as king, the ways it conflicts with his career as a globetrotting superhero, and whether and how the government of Wakanda must evolve. Though Wakanda is too small to be considered a superpower, the domestic terror angle, an interrogation of historical injustice, and the struggle between moral idealism and political reality make Wakanda a proxy in some important ways for modern America. (You may have noticed that Ryan Coogler did this too.) Coates’s meditation on leadership and political power made A Nation Under Our Feet not only a great superhero comic but -- this is not an exaggeration or a joke -- my favorite political writing of 2016.

Nation is illustrated mostly by Brian Stelfreeze and Chris Sprouse, with colors by Laura Martin; some of Stelfreeze’s designs clearly influenced the movie.

Thoroughbreds: Sweetpea

When a clever, mean-spirited would-be journalist with airhead friends learns that her boyfriend is cheating on her, old traumas bubble to the surface and she becomes a serial killer who targets sex offenders. Darkly, often cruelly hilarious, Sweetpea is what you’d get if American Psycho was set in southwestern England and for some reason starred Amy from Gone Girl. Protagonist Rhiannon is a self-described inhabitant of an Island of Unfinished Sentences, de facto Chief Listener of her “friend” circle, and a maker of lists. Lists of the things her friends talk about (babies, boyfriends, IKEA), signs she’d like to put up at work (please close doors quietly, please do not wear Crocs to work), and oh, the people she wants to kill. Like her boyfriend, at the moment. Or ISIS, when news coverage of a terror attack pre-empts her beloved MasterChef.

Author C.J. Skuse smartly chooses not to have Rhiannon wallow in her traumatic past as many superheroes do. We get glimpses for context, but Rhiannon is committed to moving forward, to escaping her demons rather than being defined by them. It matters that she wants to get better, even if she also hates that she’s bought into society’s definition of “better.” (#relatable)

It’s worth noting that Sweetpea leans seemingly uncritically into a lot of dated gender tropes, in Rhiannon’s assessments of the women around her. (Body positive she is not.) Then again, she’s an unreliable narrator -- one of the best demonstrations of this is a scene in which she’s convinced of her ability to fool the world into believing she’s normal, then overhears her dipshit co-workers talk about how unsettling she is -- so arguably we’re supposed to laugh at how terrible she is without necessarily agreeing with her. This is, I think, a perfectly legitimate approach to a protagonist, even if some find it unfashionable.

The book is not quite as thematically rich as it first appears, at least on the topic of sexual violence; it indulges a “stranger danger” picture of rape that doesn’t feel entirely contemporary. (For a more nuanced treatment of rape culture, see the sadly short-lived but wildly entertaining vigilante dramedy Sweet/Vicious.) But as a portrait of a vibrant, layered, genuinely Nasty-and-you-kinda-love-her-for-it woman -- given Oscar-caliber-portrayal-worthy life by Skuse’s wickedly sharp voice -- Sweetpea is too fun to pass up.

Upgrade or Infinity War: The Wild Storm

Castlevania showrunner Warren Ellis helped redefine superhero comics with 1999’s The Authority, which at DC’s request he's given a Gritty Reboot (along with the WildCATS, whom some of us remember from this extremely 90s cartoon) in The Wild Storm. Ellis has always been interested in The Future, both its potential wondrousness and its probable horror. Fans of Upgrade’s refreshingly unsanitized (and unsanitary) take on human enhancement through body modification will find much to like in Ellis’s spin on the trope of second-skin powered armor. (He semi-famously wrote Extremis, one of the comic arcs that inspired Iron Man 3.)

art by Jon Davis Hunt, from The Wild Storm #1

Angela Spica, a reimagining of Ellis’s old Authority character The Engineer, is a cybernetics expert who stumbles onto a sort of shadow government conspiracy related to her employer, and goes on the run with the armor she’s designed for them. (When not deployed, the armor is stored inside her body.) Angela is quickly targeted by multiple covert organizations, one of which rescues (?) her and brings her in on a secret history of technological arms races and contact with extraterrestrials. The Wild Storm is full of big action and bigger ideas, and for smart, generally curious superhero movie fans who find the decades-long continuities of the DC and Marvel universes intimidating, it’s a great entry -- with a blessedly planned ending -- into sci-fi-comics.

Happy holidays, and have fun gift shopping!

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eideticreid · 7 years ago

Text

First Case » Spencer Reid

Pairing: Reader x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 1,988

Warnings: None

Summary: You are heading out onto your first case within the BAU, and Hotch pairs you up with your new favourite person.

Tag: @ultrarebelheart, @captainreid, @cynbx

You had never been to Dallas, Texas before. But a serial killer, known as an UnSub within the Behavioral Analysis Unit, had brought you to the beautiful city for your first ever case.

You were feeling a mixture of emotions as you sat in the SUV, heading to the dump site of the latest victim, preparing yourself for what was probably going to be a days long case.

You were excited to use your skills and knowledge you had learnt over the years; you were determined to catch the UnSub and bring justice to those who needed it, and you were nervous in case you messed this up.

It was your first and only time to prove your worth to the team. Your first time to show them that you belong at the BAU.

Whilst on the private jet, Hotch had dished out jobs for each member of the team, and much to your delight he had paired you up with Spencer. You were excited about this because it meant more alone time with him.

Yours and Spencer’s job was to visit the dump site of the latest victim, Grace Chambers.

The only information you had on the case was that the UnSub targeted young girls between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-five; all were held hostage for three days whilst being brutally beaten, and then subsequently being murdered by blunt force trauma to the head.

“How are you feeling now we’re in Dallas?” Spencer asked from behind the wheel.

He could sense your excitement had dwindled, now being replaced with anxiety.

You thought for a second, “I’m a little nervous, to be honest. I just want to prove to you guys that I’m good enough for this job.”

“No one thinks that you aren’t.” He stated, briefly looking at you. “Didn’t you graduate top of your class in the academy?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have near enough the experience you all have.”

“It’s true, the academy can only teach you so much. But you’ll be fine. You’re intelligent. Hotch would never have hired you if he didn’t think you were capable. Don’t start doubting yourself now.”

You smiled, “I’ll try my best to remember that. Thanks, Spence.”

There was that nickname again.

His heart skipped a beat when his name slipped from your mouth, although this time you were aware of the shortened version you used. He blushed; he liked the way his name sounded when you spoke it.

“You know, J.J’s the only person who calls me Spence.”

“Oh,” You blushed hard, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. In future I’ll just stick with Spencer. Or Reid. I mean, which would you prefer?”

He noticed your slight stammering, and smiled at how cute you sounded. “I didn’t mean for that to sound rude. I was just stating that J.J is the only person who calls me that. I actually don’t mind you calling me Spence.”

“Oh, okay,” You didn’t know why, but you were still blushing, “It just seems natural for me to say Spence. So if you really don’t mind, I might just stick with that.” You grinned.

He chuckled, “Totally don’t mind.”

As the conversation seemed to end, you started paying more attention to the streets of Dallas passing you by. Even though you were here under unfortunate circumstances, you still thought this city was appealing and fascinating.

“You wanna know what I do when I feel anxious?” Spencer asked, “I read. I mean, I read for pleasure mostly, but it also helps if I’m feeling anxious about something.”

“Does it really work?” You were curious.

“For me, yeah. Studies have shown that just six minutes of reading can help reduce stress levels by up to sixty percent. That’s sixty-eight percent better than listening to music, a hundred percent better than drinking tea, and three hundred percent better than going for a walk.” He explained.

“See I’ve always tried listening to music to calm my nerves.” You stated, “But if reading is more effective, then I should definitely try that out.”

You noticed that Spencer was pulling up to the side of the road, and when you caught sight of the yellow tape sectioning off an alleyway, you realised you were at your destination.

“What were you reading on the jet earlier?” You asked, stepping out from the SUV.

“Strangers on a Train by Patricia Highsmith. It’s a good read, I highly recommend.”

“You did look very invested.” You both walked over to the scene, flashing your credentials to the officer patrolling the area, “Any other books you recommend?”

Spencer held up the tape so you could both duck underneath it, “I could recommend many books,” He chuckled, “How about I give you a list later of my personal favourites?”

“I’d love that, thanks.”

• • •

You and the team had been working tirelessly all day to find clues and information on the UnSub, and now all of you were exhausted and ready for bed.

You and Spencer had returned to the police station after visiting the dump site — an alleyway in the roughest part of Dallas — and you both concluded that the UnSub left Grace’s body there for anyone to find, because he lacked concern, sympathy and interest.

When you returned to the police station, Hotch had instructed for you and Spencer to start a geographical profile, along with J.J, and that’s where you had been for hours. Trying to make connections; trying to find clues.

Your brain was frazzled.

“You know what, I don’t think I can function anymore without coffee. Do you guys want one?” J.J asked, rising from her seat.

“Yes, please.” Spencer replied.

You knew coffee at 9 P.M. was a bad idea, “Not for me, thanks. But I wouldn’t say no to water.”

J.J smiled, “Coming right up. You know (Y/L/N), I wish I could make good decisions like you.”

You chuckled as she left the room, leaving you and Spencer alone once again. He was sitting at the long table with you, staring intently at all the folders and pieces of paper sprawled in front of him.

You looked over at the big board beside you, a map of Dallas enlarged, pins located on each dump site of the UnSub’s victims and where they were last seen.

“So we’ve established the dump sites have no significance to the UnSub, just wherever is convenient for him.” You thought aloud, “But he’s got to be keeping these girls in a secluded area for the three days he holds them hostage. A place where he can’t be disturbed.”

“A place where passers by wouldn’t hear the screams of the girls.” Spencer carried on, turning to the board, “The dump sites are all roughly two miles from each other, but it’s hard to tell if there’s any secluded areas on this map around where he left the bodies.”

You smiled, you were getting somewhere. “I believe that’s a job for our tech genius friend back home.”

Just as Spencer went to retrieve his phone from his pocket to call Garcia, Derek and Elle had returned from their jobs looking exhausted and mentally drained.

“Kids, please tell me you have something.” Derek moaned, as he flopped down onto a chair.

“We might have a potential lead,” Spencer said, now watching Hotch and Gideon walk into the room, “We were just going to call Garcia for her assistance.”

He dialled her number and after three rings she picked up, “You’ve reached Penelope Garcia in the FBI’s Office of Supreme Genius.”

You smiled. “Hey Garcia, it’s Reid. We need you to look up isolated abandoned buildings and secluded houses in Dallas.”

“Preferably somewhere that’s not situated in the city. We are looking for a place where no one would suspect a thing, or hear the cries and screams of our victims.” You further explained.

“You got it love bugs.”

• • •

In no less than thirty minutes had you all pulled up outside of an abandoned warehouse, thanks to Penelope’s tech skills.

After gathering information from Penelope’s finds and then making connections to the profile you’d all delivered, you realised that Vincent Woods was your UnSub and his next target was likely his ex-girlfriend.

With your bullet proof FBI vests securely on, and your weapons firmly in your hands, you had all fanned out around the warehouse in pairs from Hotch’s orders.

You and Spencer walked around a corner, covering each other, when Hotch had started speaking into the device in your ear. “Guys, J.J has just left Gabrielle’s house. She’s missing. There seems to have been a struggle. We now have reason to believe Vincent already has her, so go easy on approach.”

You and Spencer shared a look before walking down a corridor, making sure to have each others backs the whole time.

Around two minutes later, you and Reid had entered into the main room of the warehouse, the same time Derek and Elle did from across the other side.

“FBI! Put down your weapon!” Derek bellowed.

Your UnSub had jumped at the loud noise your co-worker had made and scrambled to grab his ex-girlfriend so she was now in front of him. His own human shield.

He pressed his gun to Gabrielle’s head, “Stay away! Get away! Don’t come any closer!”

“Vincent Woods, we will not ask you again. Put down your weapon!” Elle spoke sternly.

“Or what?” He pressed, “You’ll shoot me? Good luck with that. You’ll just end up shooting her too.” An evil smirk graced his lips.

“We know she hurt you,” Spencer spoke, “We know she left you heart broken and alone. But do you really think killing her is the answer?”

“Yes!” He shouted, “She deserves to feel the hurt and pain she put me through!” He pressed the gun further into Gabrielle’s temple.

You and the team had come to the conclusion that the girls he killed were just tests to see what the best method of torture and murder was, and that it all ultimately ended with Gabrielle and what she deserved.

“No good is going to come out from this, Woods.” You said, repositioning how you held your gun, “You kill her but your pain will still remain. Don’t you want her to apologise for what she did?”

You were trying to buy some more time for the team to work out a plan in which Gabrielle made this out alive.

“Her apology means nothing.” He spat, “I know I’ll feel a lot better when she’s dead.”

The next few seconds had consisted of Hotch and Gideon sneaking up behind Vincent, alerting him of their presence, and then a shoot out happening because Vincent had been snuck up on once again.

You didn’t draw any bullets, purely because the angle you and Spencer were at didn’t give you a clear enough shot of him. But Derek had managed to shoot him twice in the back, taking him down without harming Gabrielle.

As you put your weapon back in its holster, you had noticed a small simple action that was made by Spencer.

He had stepped in front of you. When the guns were drawn he had stepped in front of you.

He turned around to face you with slight concern adorned on his features, “Are you okay?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine.” You hesitated to mention his movement at first, “Spence, you uh, you stepped in front of me.”

A blush had fastly approached his cheeks, “I uh, yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I, uh, did that.”

Before you could tell him that it was okay, he had walked off flustered at his stupid actions. You watched as he walked away, your heart thumping in your chest, but not because of the adrenaline of what just happened.

But because you was sure you were slowly developing feelings for Spencer Reid.

#Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid imagine #Reader x Spencer Reid #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds fic #Criminal Minds imagine #Aaron Hotchner #Jennifer Jareau #Penelope Garcia #Derek Morgan #Elle Greenaway #Jason Gideon

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blackbeltkitten2ficsnships-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Bad, bad Alphonse Capone (Chapter 6)

Who's that guy?

Fandom/Movie/Series/Ect: Night At The Museum

Setting: Larry is still the night guard, several exhibits from the Smithsonian are at the Museum of Natural History

Pairing(s): Eventual Capoleon, Jedtavius, Teddy/Sacagawea

Characters: Al Capone, Napoleon Bonaparte, Ivan the Terrible (Awesome), Larry Daley, Teddy Roosevelt, Sacagawea, Jedediah Smith, Octavius, Ahkmenrah, Shaka Zulu, several Zulu tribe members, Dr. Richard McPhee, several Mobsters, Antonio Villalobos, Mariana Villalobos, Ramón Espina, Doctor Jess McClain, Docteur Alain Chaput, Claude Travere

Genre/Warnings: Some slightly graphic violence, Foul language, Fic inspired by a song, I’ll come up with more tags later, Chapter names may change later

Notes: I listened to the song “Bad Bad Leroy Brown” by Jim Croce about a thousand times and decided I just HAD to make a fic. The reason Al and the boys get made into color (as a plot point) is so everyone can see what happens to Al.

If anyone is OOC or this reads like a Dick & Jane, this is my second posted fic and I haven’t done much writing in the NATM field. (Disclaimer: I don’t own the song, nor the characters.) (If anything suddenly changes, I had to fix a mistake I missed.)

I cannot for the life of me write Al’s visceral fear of needles outright, it’s like I can’t actively try to put it down, it turns out better when it happens accidentally. I’m sorry if it’s shitty but I can’t figure out how to fix it. For anyone with a real fear of needles, you probably won’t have much trouble feeling what Al feels.

I’ve read over this thing so, so, so many times, I don’t think I can do much improvement for now.

The Plot Bunny struck me! Look how many words I wrote!

Word count: 2,076

Summary: Al and the boys practically beg (Though they won’t stoop so far as to say they were actually begging.) for him and his gang to be colored up like everyone else. Finally one day they get a paint-job, despite McPhee’s ever-present paranoia; Capone and the gang being popular in grey-scale. Several weeks after they finally get what they want, Al gets in a fight, and doesn’t come out of it well. Luckily for him Napoleon is compassionate enough to put up with Al’s grating personality to help him.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Last Chapter

“I told you, I don’t know!”

Al has a switchblade to his throat and a handgun raised by his head, ready to strike him.

The smirk on the head honcho’s face is languid, almost obscene. Worse yet is the second switchblade the boss drags up his stomach, chest, and past the blade at his neck, to rest near the corner of his mouth.

“Tell me where they are, and this might end sooner.”

The chair wobbles underneath him, hands bound to the armrests and legs tied so wide his thighs touch the supports for the armrests; he’s fully clothed and yet exposed. He’d rather be exposed by choice. A choice he doesn’t have right now.

He pulls in a deep breath.

“I don’t know.”

His head throbs and blood drips down his temple from his hairline. He’ll get clubbed with the gun again, he knows it.

Even if it means his death, he won’t tell where they are, even if he did know. He’s no sniveling little rat.

The resounding smack of metal-on-flesh-and-bone echoes in the empty building, as does his shout of pain. The switchblade at his throat presses harder, and the blade at his face nicks his lip.

The boss puts one of his feet on the seat of the chair between his legs, sliding it until it’s dangerously close to his bits. The man looms over him, growling.

“You know him the best, where is he, and where is my stuff?”

The boss leans in so close his breath can be smelled, yesterday’s scotch and today’s eggs and hash. He reaches towards the table nearby and picks up a syringe with a massive needle.

Suddenly the pistol-whipping and the knives don’t matter. Al’s heart pounds, and he can almost taste blood. His thighs clench and his vision dims in a sickening, dizzying way. He can’t tell if the room is spinning or if it’s just his head.

“Tell me where he is, and maybe I won’t give you a new piercing.”

As though on cue, the man in question walks from the shadows of the room.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

If it hadn’t been for the needle dangerously close to his face, he would’ve sighed in relief. He ain’t no damsel, but that doesn’t mean he won’t fervently accept and appreciate help. Especially right now.

The man leans up and turns toward the voice, tossing the needle across the room. He sighs, feeling less sick.

“Ah, finally decided to show your face. Do ya have my things? I want them back, you know.”

The three men behind his chair that aren’t currently helping torture him pull out guns and point them towards the half-shadowed figure in the corner.

“No, but you have someone I want back.”

The shadowy man’s eyes rake across his bloody face and nearly-prostrate body, concerned.

“Seems like we’ve reached an impasse.” The crook cocks his head to the side.

“Indeed, but not for long. À présent!”

Several men in suits with various weapons jump in through windows and run in through roll-up doors. The mob boss whips around and shouts at the man with the knife. “Kill him!”

The man who had emerged from the shadows runs forward and knocks the man with the knife away, but not before he’s cut across half of Al’s throat. He grits his teeth in pain as blood drips from the wound, quickly staining his collar.

The struggle doesn’t last long, the mob wasn’t as good as they thought they were. The second all threats are incapacitated or handcuffed, the man rushes back over, yanking his handkerchief out of his pocket and pressing it to his neck.

“Why is it you that always get hurt?” The man asks shakily, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m good at gettin’ hurt, thankfully you’re good at showing up at the right time...” He glances toward the needle, shaking in his seat.

The man pulls the cloth away to look at the wound. He sighs in relief, leaning his head back and blinking furiously, eyes watery.

“It’s long and wide, but not deep. You’ll need stitches very soon though.”

“Fun... Could ya maybe get out of my lap and untie me, please? I want outta this dump.”

The man pulls out his own blade and cutting his arms free.

“When you’ve gotten better, perhaps we’ll find better things to do with a chair and rope... No needles though, I promise you that.” He cuts the ropes binding his legs.

Al stretches his legs out, leaning forward. With the hand he isn’t using to hold the handkerchief, he pulls the man closer, wrapping himself around him.

“Hospital first. Please come with me.” The man stands and pulls Al out of the chair.

Suddenly there’s an incessant poking at his arm, but nobody on that side of him.

Al opens his eyes to the dim lighting of the museum, and to Mariana Villalobo’s face. He jerks upright and grasps around on the bed, feeling like he’s dropped something.

“Ugh... Miss Villalobos, what do ya want?”

She scoffs loudly.

“I already told you, you can call me Mariana.”

“Yeah... Do ya need something?”

“Nothing specific, I just wanted to talk. The past while you haven’t said so much as ‘hello’ to me.”

Al gestures to get her to continue. He can’t think of anything he’d want to talk about with her.

“So, how have you been?”

“Just fantastic, my neck only burns and throbs with pain now instead of also bleedin’.”

“You poor thing... May I look at them?”

“No.”

“It is because you think I’d get sick? I have seen injuries, I will be fine.”

“No. I just don’t want ya to look at them. Simple as that.”

“It’s because my brother did it, isn’t it?”

Al looks down at his knees. He doesn’t want her to be upset.

“I never said that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? I am not my brother. I didn’t do this, he did!”

Al leans away slightly, eyes wide.

“I know you didn’t, but Antonio did because of you...”

Mariana’s forehead wrinkles and her eyes glint. Al clenches his fist in the quilt.

“You’re what, scared of me, because of my brother?”

“No, I’m... Concerned that being around you will be my death sentence.”

Her lips curl.

“You won’t talk to me because of my one hundred pound, lanky brother?”

Al stares at her, silently asking her to understand.

“Fine!”

Mariana stomps off, the sound echoing down the hallway. He watches her leave.

Al gets the sensation he’s being watched and shivers, and looks towards the other entrance. Napoleon stands halfway through it, looking lost and worried.

“Get your jollies, Nippy?” His says blandly, tiredly.

Napoleon blanches and walks swiftly over to the replica of his bed, stripping off everything needed for a comfortable nap; all but his shirt, breeches, stockings, and cap. Al watches his back intently.

“How much did ya hear?” Scaring Napoleon off would only serve to make tomorrow’s bandage change awkward and annoying, so he goes for a soft approach.

“All of it...”

“And ya didn’t think leavin’ was a good idea?”

“I had planned to sleep. I wasn’t going to forgo it while you had a... Lover’s spat, so to speak.”

Al snorts and shakes his head. “She’s not my lover.”

Napoleon shifts his weight back and forth, folding his clothes. Al notices the little sway in his hips, before mentally choking and looking away. He studies the big curtains and the tasseled ties on Napoleon’s bed intently. Anything to not make the same mistake twice.

“Do... Do you want her to be? Or rather, did you want her to be, before the incident?”

Al doesn’t answer, partially because he’s focusing on anything but Napoleon, partially because he doesn’t know. Napoleon crawls into his bed. Finally he makes up his mind.

“I thought about it, right before her brother decided to butcher me... But no, not really.”

Napoleon hums quietly. Al pulls the covers loose, shucking his button-up and pants before sliding in.

He rolls over, facing Napoleon’s bed. Napoleon’s eyes crack open a bit and Al has the feeling he knows he’s being looked at.

Al almost asks what is so appealing about a bigass, red velvet four posted monstrosity, but Napoleon’s eyes slide shut and his breathing becomes barely noticeable before he gets the chance.

He lies there, thinking about his dream, and glancing at Napoleon. Ever since his new slashing he’s had several similar dreams.

In one he’s going up to a guillotine when a musketeer style rescuer comes and helps him, but he almost gets beheaded anyway when the executioner swings a huge axe at him and gets cut. The rescuer wounds the executioner with a long sabre and turns to him, babbling something romantic or funny in another language.

He and the guy get into each other’s personal space and nuzzle. A promise is made and they flee together, heading for a barn on a hillside.

That dream was interrupted with Rexy roaring so loudly the paintings on the walls rattled.

In another dream he’s trapped in a mud hut somewhere with pissed off dudes. They poke and prod at him for a while, before dragging him from the building and lashing him to a tree. Before the tallest guy in the group can stab him a small group of equally pissed off people run out of the bushes, attacking.

The tall guy makes a swift slash at him but barely cuts him open. The guy is apprehended and put in a hut away from everyone.

The shortest man of the group runs over and unties him, clutching his face and breathing heavily. “You’re an idiot, we told you not to go alone.” is all Al can remember him saying. Mostly because it was in an accent.

Al wraps his arms around the man, accidentally getting blood all over him.

That dream was interrupted by one of his men waking him up, insisting something really cool was happening.

There’s been a running theme, Al getting whittled on, a mostly unrecognizable savior, and Al and the savior being in some kind of relationship.

He’s been thinking and thinking, trying to figure out what the dreams could mean, and why he’s in a relationship with some guy in his dreams.

It seems so normal in the dream, to be all up on the guy. Al’s face heats up and his skin tingles. The things his friends might say to him, might do to him, if they found out about it.

He knows that it’s a more accepting time, but that doesn’t mean his men are more accepting. Al grinds his teeth, white-knuckling the sheets.

Napoleon turning onto his stomach snaps Al out of his thoughts.

Napoleon’s fingers curl up beside his pillow. He grunts and groans, shifting around.

Al almost zones out again when Napoleon moans quietly in his sleep. Al blinks several times and rolls onto his back.

Napoleon groans again before going quiet, and Al can’t decide if it sounded more amused or giddy.

Al sighs and closes his eyes, and falls asleep.

Al blinks his eyes open to a French soldier with a bushy mustache.

If it was actually possible to jump out of your skin, Al might’ve managed it.

“What the Hell man! Don’t just lean over someone while they’re sleeping!”

The soldier shushes him hurriedly.

“Please, you’ll wake up Général Bonaparte!”

“Alright, good God man... Do ya need somethin’.... Clive, was it?”

“Claude, sir. Lieutenant Claude Léonide Travere.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard a weirder name.”

“I could say the same about yours.”

“Touché. Do ya need anything?”

“What? Oh! Yes of course, please, follow me.”

“Can I get dressed first? I don’t really wanna be walkin’ around in front of everybody in nothin’ but my union suit.”

“Yes, in fact I think everyone would prefer it. I’ll wait outside, for your comfort.”

After struggling for a minute or two, Al finally gets his shirt tucked into his pants, and the rest of his clothes go on without a fuss.

“So, Claude, where are we goin’ and what’s goin’ on?”

“A few of your men got into an argument with some French soldiers in the lobby, and it turned violent. Your second-in-command, Frankie, was part of the fight, leaving you the only one of your men fit to judge the situation.”

Al sighs loudly.

“Great, I wonder what stupid thing they were fightin’ about...”

Translations:

À présent! = Now!

Général = General

Touché = I think we all just know.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Last Chapter

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freckledskittles · 7 years ago

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Reibert Secret Santa 2017: Bathtime

Happy Holidays to @thecolossustitan!!! I hope you enjoy this rather dorky story. The prompts you gave me were absolutely heartwarming, and I hope I did a decent job of including as many as I could!

“You’re out of popcorn.”

Bertholdt was hardly surprised to walk into his apartment and find Annie sprawled on the couch, quietly chomping on popcorn and intensely watching the television. An episode of “The Office” was on, one he had seen countless times and one that had probably taken zero effort to access with his Netflix. Unfortunately, with all the stress his life had accumulated, if someone in his friend group was watching a show like that without a head’s up, it was not a cause for celebration.

“Hi, Annie,” he sighed and shuffled a load of groceries into the kitchen. Marco, his roommate, gave a more jovial greeting as he followed behind him. On the TV, the insufferable regional manager was acting as a former criminal and talking about how terrible prison was. “Is it Reiner, me, or miscellaneous?”

“None of your business.”

Bertholdt rolled his eyes; miscellaneous it was, then. Once the groceries were away, Bertholdt went to the living room and sat beside Annie, the popcorn bowl between them. Marco had offered to prepare dinner and shooed him away. “Did you break in or use the key this time?”

“The key.” She tugged on the sleeve of her shirt. “I was too distraught to kick your door down.”

“Is it about the Secret Santa?” Even though a good number of their friend group didn’t have any reason to celebrate Christmas, the twelve of them used it as a way to appreciate and spend time with one another.

Annie leaned back and let her head hit the back of the sofa. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you can guess who I got.”

Well. That narrowed the search down by a tiny margin and then some. “Seriously?” Bertholdt leaned back beside her as she nodded with a grimace. Just her luck to get the person she had been crushing on since the start of college. For Annie to find anyone appealing or worthy of her presence was enough of a compliment, but to receive affection in a romantic way was rare. He could only name a handful of people who had succeeded, whether they knew it or not. And a mutual friend was just another addition to that shortlist.

“My life is a disaster.”

“At least you know what to get her.”

Annie scowled and punched his shoulder. “Don’t try and make this better for me, jerk. I’m still in mourning.”

He was more than sure that it didn’t quite work like that, but he didn’t argue with her and, instead, took back what he had said. “You don’t have to worry about keeping it a secret, because you’re already keeping your crush from her.”

Annie chose a new episode—in this one, the office employees participated in beach games to become the next boss. “Why couldn’t we have done ‘Yankee Swap’ or ‘naughty Santa’ or whatever the fuck it’s called?”

Marco hopped into the room with a friendly smile and an apology for interrupting their conversation on his face. “Annie, are you staying for dinner?” He asked. “We just got a new bottle of wine to try.”

The blonde let out a long sigh and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Sorry about your Secret Santa.”

“Thanks.” She said it with a snort and an eyeroll, but she showed her appreciation in laughing quietly at his jokes during dinner and washing the dishes afterwards. They weren’t close, but ever since he had started rooming with Bertholdt, they interacted more and were quite friendly with each other. Not to mention that Marco knew the perfect remedy to cheer anyone up, and he set up Mario Kart after dinner for some competitive driving. Bertholdt sat on the couch behind them and commented on both of their driving styles, even though his Secret Santa was just as much on his mind.

Buying a gift wasn’t his main concern—after all, Jean had been dropping hints about what he wanted since before they chose names—but he always got anxious over who had his own name. There had been one year they had nixed picking out names and just got a gift in general, and everyone had been unsatisfied and ended up selling the gifts and just cooking food for each other. Selling a pack of thongs was not what he had in mind, however, and three years later, he always hoped that it never returned there.

The next day, he and a childhood friend, Marcel, met up for coffee to catch up and chat. They usually grouped up—Bert with Reiner and Annie, and Marcel with his younger brother Porco tagging along—but they always made an effort to see each other outside of the group. Marcel enjoyed watching the crowd pass by and had picked a table by the window, two coffees in front of him. When Bertholdt walked in, he was met with a grin and a wave.

“Took you long enough,” Marcel teased. “I almost chugged your coffee.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get both of these for yourself,” Bertholdt shot back. He took a sip of his drink and was relieved to discover that it still had some heat to it. “How’s Porco?”

Marcel snorted past his coffee. “You should already know, Bert. Still stingy and passive-aggressive.”

“At least he’s true to himself.”

“Yeah, too much. A little bird told me you got your Secret Santa for your troupe of friends.”

Bertholdt kicked Marcel under the table. “You know Annie hates when you use bird puns. And yeah, we did. She ended up getting her crush.”

“No way, the Mikasa Ackerman?!” Marcel threw his head back and cackled. A few other patrons of the shop looked at him in alarm and disapproval. “What irony! She must be dying.”

“I think she’ll be okay. This is sorta her chance to actually face her instead of avoiding her.”

Marcel smirked wide and mischievous, a look Bert had seen countless times during their childhood. Before he could bring it up, however, the topic changed. “So you have your gift planned out already?”

Although he wasn’t fond of the change in conversation, he accepted it and moved on. “Yeah, Jean’s not that difficult,” he said. “He doesn’t want anything that’s not Kit-Kats, so the candy rule is covered. And Sasha’s been talking about how much he wants a stuffed Cubone, but she’s never gotten him, and she teams up with Connie for birthdays, so they always find something better. So I’m doing everyone a favor and ending her pleas and bribes.”

“Ah, a chivalrous man, you are. Is that all you’re doing for him?”

The coffee burned his tongue on the next sip, and Bertholdt shrugged. “We roomed together in college, and we’re alike enough to where I have no worries if he’ll like it or not. If it’s sentimental and refers back to something he likes, then he’ll be okay. Bonus points if it’s a surprise.”

The smirk from before appeared again. “And you’re the same way?”

“I guess, yeah.” That was an understatement, maybe, but he supposed it was true. It was true for anyone. But that wasn’t the point Marcel was trying to make. He turned them towards a new conversation, with a sudden recollection. “By the way, have you heard from Reiner this week?”

Marcel paused to toy with the hand protector and waved his hand in a so-so gesture. “On and off. He texted me about some family things, something with his cousin Gabi? But that’s all I got.”

Bertholdt frowned. He had ended up just as empty-handed as he had when he asked within their friend group. “I heard the same thing. He hasn’t answered anyone I’ve texted. It’s weird.”

“Huh.” He tapped his finger on his chin and leaned forward. Something inside Bert told him to watch his eyes, and he noticed how they strayed from his and looked at every other aspect of the coffee shop that wasn’t him. Strange. “He’s either dead or he’s in a coma.”

“Annie shares an apartment with him. I think she would know where he is.”

“I dunno, man. I’m sure he’ll text you tomorrow though! He’s not your best friend for nothing.”

Bertholdt eventually got a text, with family issues over “who’s gonna host Christmas dinner” and struggling to get the dog to the vet while Gabi battled a cold, and relief flooded over him. Reiner planned a gym day together over the weekend, though much to his dismay, the conversation focused on Secret Santa more than anything else.

“Good thing we both got easy gifts this year,” Reiner stated. He had challenged them to a race on the treadmill and had been running for a good while. Thankfully, there were only a few people at the gym. Bertholdt would have preferred to stay in bed a few more hours, but Reiner’s early-to-rise persona and thoughtfulness was a worthy substitute. “Otherwise, I’d be stressed out.”

“Eren wants the same thing every year,” Bertholdt said, and Reiner laughed. “He just doesn’t say it outright.”

“But Mikasa will.”

“Because she doesn’t stand for his bullshit.”

“You should know, right?” The blond looked over at him and winked. “You don’t stand for mine. I got you all figured out, Hoover.”

Maybe not entirely—Bert had been interested in Reiner for a while now and had never found the courage to speak out about it—but he let his friend have his fun in believing otherwise. “My dastardly plan has been foiled. Next thing you’ll be doing is figuring out my Christmas gift for you.”

“Some stickers off of Redbubble and a giant pack of Reese’s pieces.” The silence was enough of an answer, and Reiner stopped his run to beam at the taller and bat his eyes. “I thought you were the mystery turtle that no one could figure out.”

Bertholdt slowed down and gripped either side of the treadmill. “I still am. You don’t know what my favorite Pixar movie is.”

“WALL-E.”

“Okay, fine, I’m losing my touch.”

Reiner cackled and, once they grabbed their waters and started heading over to the weights, threw an arm over Bert’s shoulder. “All that sweating might have washed it off.”

“Keep talking and you can walk home.”

x-x-x

Their Secret Santa party for the 24th. Annie had dragged Bertholdt around to look for the perfect gift—“not everyone can get a Pokemon and Kit-Kats, you idiot”—and their searching led to more dead ends than successes. But by the time the day rolled around, she had solved her problem with creativity and perfection, and Bertholdt was relieved. All he had to do was wrap his gifts up, even putting a decorative bow around the Cubone’s neck.

The party was at Sasha and Historia’s apartment, already an interesting pair of roommates, especially since Connie and Ymir spent so much time there, but they were excellent hostesses. Historia twirled around the room and passed out appetizers and drinks to everyone, conversing with anyone nearby, and Sasha kept the night going with fun games and running the music.

“You know,” Sasha said as the group of twelve gathered around the living room to pass out gifts, “I gotta say, I think we knocked it out of the park with gifts this year.”

“Don’t jinx it!” Eren cried out. “We haven’t even started yet!”

Historia did the honors of passing out the presents, though a comparison to the fiasco last year made it easy to surpass. (He was positive everyone was still embarrassed by the stunt Ymir and Reiner had done, no matter how much they blamed their drunkenness on it.) It was enjoyable to spend time with friends and laugh, as well as watch the enjoyment spread on their faces at opening their gifts. Ymir got flustered at the astronomy and space book she opened up, clutching it to her chest protectively and using it to block the thankful smiles she sent Armin. A good laugh was shared when Connie opened up Marco’s gift, a “cookbook for adults,” as the title proclaimed, and they read off a few of the suggested recipes. And Jean stayed silent in shock for a good minute when he opened his gift, shyly holding the stuffed Cubone and eating a Kit-Kat.

When Mikasa was handed her gift, she cocked her head at the interesting shape. “It looks like the Gherkin in London,” she observed, poking softly at the egg-like figure.

“Because you’re a good egg,” Sasha pointed out. Everyone agreed.

Underneath the wrapping paper was an egg. “Or because it is an egg.” There was a bow on the top keeping everything closed, and she twisted it off so that the shell “cracked” and fell apart, as if made of paper. Inside was a bowl with two movies she had been wanting to see for a while, tickets for one still in theaters, and a plethora of paper cranes. The largest one was the most beautiful, with crisp folds and a flawless form. It truly was a sight to see, as simple as it may have been, and Mikasa smiled. It wasn’t very hard to guess her Secret Santa: there were only a few people left, and Annie had been trying to pull her hoodie back on and hide in it ever since it had been opened.

Bertholdt was next. He took the box with suspicion and looked around the semi-circle. “If it’s a pack of thongs, I’m unfriending all of you,” he warned to their laughter. It was a partial joke, in that he wouldn’t actually unfriend them, but there would be some raising of Hell.

There was a mumble of “I hope it’s a g-string” “or a b-string” from Sasha and Connie, but nothing further as he unwrapped the present. It was neither of those things, and it wasn’t a pack of thongs either. It was something that was either much worse or much better; once he saw it, he was hard to get a grasp on it.

“LoveBoat Bubble Bath Set?”

The room instantly filled with a combination of laughter and confusion on what that meant. From beside him, Eren reached over and lifted the artsy tag from inside the box. “‘Three-set bubble bath soap and essential oils,’” he read, and a smirk flashed on his face. “Someone wants to get saucy with Bert!”

“Oh my god.”

Annie, who had recovered from her burrowing, pointed to a fallen scrap of paper on the floor. “What’s that?”

Bertholdt picked it up and read it. The words “a free coupon for a bubble bath party with me” were not what he had in mind. Saying them out loud only made it worse. Any other time, he would probably have joined the chorus of amusement filling the room, but this was happening to him, which meant there was nothing remotely funny about it.

And there Reiner was, sitting directly across from him, sporting a shit-eating grin and a pair of lightly flushed cheeks. He was simply grinning, fingers curled and pressed against his lips. It answered everything for Bert. And then he couldn’t hold back the smile and laugh.

It was a confession, without explicit mention, but with a request to join him in a bubble bath. There really was nothing like it.

The group finished handing out gifts and dispersed to help set up for dinner. Bertholdt was on table-setting duty and walking between the kitchen and table when he nearly ran into Reiner. The blond, instantly blushing, smiled to brush past him, but they moved the same way. Nervous laughter came from both of them—something usual for Bert, but rare from his friend.

“Uh, hi,” Reiner said. He hopped lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Hi,” Bertholdt smiled, bowing his head to keep it from spreading into something goofy. “So I got a bubble bath set and a coupon for a party.”

“Oh really?” His eyebrows rose in interest, but his hazel eyes shone with a knowing sort of mischief. “Sounds like a nice gift.”

“I think so. It was given to me by this guy I’m into.”

Reiner choked on that and looked around. Thankfully, no one was paying attention to them for the time being, despite their obviously larger frames and the fact that they were blocking the path between the kitchen and dining room. “Sounds pretty cool if you wanna bang—I mean, bathe with him.” His face only turned hotter, his nervousness shining through, and Bertholdt couldn’t help but be endeared by him. If he wasn’t interested in Reiner already, he definitely was now. It was reassuring to see someone so confident and sure and outgoing be the complete opposite, especially when he related to it.

“I, uh,” Bertholdt cleared his throat, “I would like to do both. Of those things. With you—him. With him.”

Reiner nodded, biting his lip, but his smile was too strong to hold back. “Nice. I’ll let him know.”

“Oh my god, just kiss already!” Ymir shouted from the kitchen. The tall duo glanced over at their suddenly invested audience. Bertholdt instantly covered his face and hid his blush from view. This night was going rather well and absolutely terrible in record seconds.

“Quit peeping at us,” Reiner shot back. Bertholdt peeked out of his hands to find the shorter glaring daggers at the group. “We’re having a private moment.”

“You’re the ones flirting under the mistletoe, bro,” Connie said, pointing at the dangling piece of green above their heads.

Both looked up to see that yes, there was a piece of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. It had definitely not been there before, unless it had, and Bertholdt had taken little notice of it. There was only one person he was interested in finding under that symbolic decoration, but he hadn’t strayed near it with intention.

Reiner was back to embarrassment, eyes wide at the dangling mistletoe. His eyes never stayed one color, deciding to instead remain a kaleidoscope of greens and browns and the occasional blue depending on the light it reflected. At that moment, they were a faint green, energetic but calm, warm and lively but familiar and safe. Bertholdt had known him for years, but when he was hit with feelings of affection in college, he was hypersensitive to a lot more things: the closeness of their bodies, the laugh and tone of his voice, the flicker of his smile. But most importantly, he found a new love for his eyes.

It looked like Reiner was stuck in shock, glancing from the mistletoe to Bertholdt in rapid fire. His eyes wandered briefly to his lips, but never for long. Bertholdt had little experience in taking the initiative, fueled by anxiety and worry that something, anything, could go wrong. And the possibilities were endless: a yell in the face, abandonment by a friend, rejection from the university of his choice. Things he couldn’t even imagine could turn up and ruin everything.

But this time, he was calm. He felt little worry, paired with a slight concern for Reiner and if he had fizzled out or malfunctioned or something. There was no tremble in his lips as Bertholdt leaned forward to peck him, much too short but oh so sweet, and there were no regrets. It felt freeing to do something about the feelings that had twisted inside him for so long, like a sleeping dragon awaiting provocation. Once he tasted it, though, he refused to go back, no matter how much he was fearful of it.

Which reminded him of the reality of the situation that had caught up quite quickly with him, and he realized what he had done.

“I need to help the table!” He cried out as he hurried back to the dining room. Reiner stayed in the doorway for a moment as their audience gasped and cried out, owning up to bets and struck with disbelief.

The rest of the night was fun, the food was delicious, and everyone returned home safely. Bertholdt lingered behind. He had already bid farewell to Marco, figuring out sleeping arrangements with Jean, so he would have the apartment to himself. The next thing he needed was a bath and Reiner.

“So,” he began, quietly handing over the handmade coupon, “I think I wanna cash in that free bubble bath party.”

x-x-x

“Look. I’m the Armored Titan.”

Bertholdt looked up at Reiner and burst into laughter immediately. The lingering remains of the events before the bubble bath—consisting of lips, hands, and the contact of skin, oh my—hadn’t left him. Even if his possibly-though-maybe-definitely new boyfriend was imitating a character from a dumb television show.

“You’re gonna get that in your eye,” he pointed out. Some of the suds were dangerously close to his mouth and vision. Bert had been too busy making a crown on his head, with as little help from a mirror as he could manage, to monitor the blond. Besides, he had to focus on making a beard as well.

“Psh, yeah, okay, I’ll remember that when I’m—shit.” Bertholdt laughed as Reiner lunged for one of the towels, giggling and kicking the taller once he could see well again. “It’s not funny, Beard-tolt! I have to protect my beautiful eyes.”

Bertholdt felt a blush rush to his cheeks as he sputtered for an excuse. “I’m pretty sure I did not say that!” He couldn’t tell past the pleasure that Reiner was delivering with his tongue if those words had actually left his mouth, though he was sure they had, but no one needed to know that much detail.

“The court reporter will read back your remarks and prove that you are wrong.

“Who’s the court reporter?”

Instead of an answer, Bertholdt received a multitude of kisses, along his neck and cheeks and to his lips. He had little protest for them, not when he was sitting in a tub, with the one person who could make him feel more comfortable or relaxed than anyone in the world.

#reibert #shingeki no kyojin #snk #reibert secret santa #man what dorks #bertholdt hoover #reiner braun #also known as dorks #attack on titan #aot #freckledskittles writes #marcel galliard #uhhh #annie leonhardt #this has like super light mikani so #mikani #mikaani #reibert ss

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eirian-houpe · 4 years ago

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Disparate Pathways - Chapter 11

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold<br />Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Spinster(s) (Once Upon a Time: Think Lovely Thoughts), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Black Fairy (Once Upon a Time), Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Colette (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Dove (Once Upon a Time), Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Gun Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, UST, First Time, Drama & Romance, Kidnapping, Extortion

Summary: Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go. Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into 'protective custody,' but is he all that he seems? As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 11 - True Colors

Jefferson wasn’t really one to believe in a ‘sixth sense’ but he did have an uncanny knack of knowing when something really wasn’t quite right. Belle asking him to go and get soda was one of those things that should have been perfectly reasonable, but somehow felt wholly wrong.

While he didn’t want to deny Belle something she said she needed, his suspicion, at last, got the better of him when he was half way between the rest room facilities, and the shelter where the vending machines were housed. He turned back toward the building in time to see a small, dark shape slip around the side of it, and instinctively he cast his gaze toward the grounds behind the building, and the trees that marked the boundary of the rest stop area. Somewhere back there would be an access road, and he knew Belle wasn’t stupid - if it was Belle - and figured she would have worked that out.

Swearing under his breath, mostly at his own gullible nature that had made him empathize with Belle’s needs, and acquiesce to providing for her, he turned and began to take long strides in a direction that would intercept the woman. He hadn’t gone far when she began to pick up her pace. She must have turned and seen him, because after a few more moments she began to run. He sighed, in lieu of another curse under his breath, and took off running after her.

It didn’t take long for him to gain ground, his longer strides bringing him nearer with every step, but it did present him with a bit of a conundrum. He didn’t want to simply launch himself at her and tackle her to the ground, the way he might have done for a criminal fleeing a scene of a crime. Belle wasn’t a criminal. She was the victim of kidnapping by a vicious and immoral organization, one that did terrible things to far too many innocents. At worst, Belle was fleeing his ‘protective custody.’ He also didn’t want to reach out and grab her, mindful of the injuries to her arms and hands… her shoulder too.

In the end, as he drew almost level with her, he did the only thing he could think of to do. He caught her around the waist and simply lifted her from the ground.

“Let me go!” she growled. “You can’t— I… let go of me!”

As she spat some rather colorful invectives at him like an enraged hell cat, she flailed with her arms and legs, landing a few painful kicks to his shins that were probably going to leave bruises. He just held her closer so that she couldn’t do likewise with her fists or elbows in his face. She continued to claw, and spit and fight for freedom.

He missed her hand as it flew up toward his shoulder, his neck, and tangled in the silk scarf he wore and pulled until it came away. The cold air rushed against his neck, and it was a shock to him. He’d worn the scarf, or one like it for so many years he almost couldn’t remember; since he was a young and idealistic agent who thought he knew it all, thought he could save the world until—

“No!” he cried out against the train of thought and Belle both as something in him snapped. He dropped her like a stone, and followed her down, instinctively reaching behind him for cuffs that weren’t there. “Belle stop!” he called out instead, holding her in place as she continued to struggle. “Just stop…!” He didn’t want to, but to control her struggles he had to twist her arm behind her back, his heart squeezing painfully as she cried out; knowing he’d caused her pain. “For the love of God,” he appealed as she kept moving, though with less energy, less desperation, “Just. Stop!”

She did, finally, going limp beneath him and for a moment he still held her in place and then, confident she wouldn’t try to run any more he let go, and with the hand that rested on the ground pushed himself to his feet, snatching up his fallen scarf as he went. He didn’t go far, two… three steps further perhaps before he turned and sat heavily on the ground, pouting down at the torn silk and began to unpick the knot that had held it in place, and tying another to join the place where the silk had ripped. If he were lucky he would still be able to tie it around is neck, back into place, and he glanced up at Belle to see her sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest.

“Who are you?” she asked him, soft but insistent. “What do you want with me?”

“I told you,” he answered, still petulant after their struggle. He wound the scarf into place as he continued. “My name is Jefferson, and I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Oh, by kidnapping me from the kidnappers?” she shifted from despair to mockery in an instant. “Well doesn’t that sound like a great plan? Next, why not—”

“Have you any idea what those people were going to do to you!” his voice raised over the top hers. “What they intended?”

“Yes,” she snapped back. “That woman made it perfectly clear and there’s no way my father would accept that. He would never allow—”

“Oh, wake up, Belle.” He pushed himself to his feet again, and started toward the car, leaning down to spell it out to her. “Daddy’s not interested in coming to rescue you.”

He continued down the gently sloping grass toward where the car was parked, refusing to turn back even as he heard her scramble to her feet and begin to hurry in his direction; didn’t stop walking until she reached out and caught his arm.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

Jefferson put his head back, closed his eyes and let out a long, deep sigh, before straightening up and turning, slowly, to face Belle. He met her eyes, his expression pointed, watching as the frown began to roll over her face like gathering clouds.

“No,” she began, sounding vague, confused, but gathering an overly firm resolve as she continued, “No, you’re wrong. He would never…”

She trailed off, still staring into his eyes, a horrified kind of fear mingled with hope and colored with uncertainty streaming from every pore of her. He held that gaze for a moment longer before he shrugged, and began to turn again.

“Suit yourself,” he said, almost over his shoulder. Then when he didn’t hear her footsteps hurrying to keep up after a few strides, he called, “You coming, or would you rather stay here and take your chances with dear old papa?”

After only a moment he heard her footsteps brushing through the damp grass, and shook his head at himself. He hated that he had been so cruel as to force her into facing the truth, and it was facing it, because he was pretty sure from her reaction that she had already worked it out for herself and was simply in denial.

When they reached the car, he unlocked and opened the passenger door for her. He hadn’t missed the sticky wetness she’d left on his sleeve as she grasped him, and knew he’d opened up the wound on her wrist again when he tackled her to the ground. Once he had clipped the seatbelt into place he opened up the back door, and reached in to where he expected he would find a basic first aid kit, and was not disappointed.

“Let me see your hands,” he said as he unzipped the green bag.

“I’m fine,” she answered, almost tucking her hands out of the way instead of giving them to him.

“The hell you are,” he answered. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you, but being stubborn now isn’t going to help either of us.” He offered her a wan smiled then and added, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

She sighed, and then slowly held out her hands to him. He tended them in silence, focusing on keeping his promise and making her as comfortable as he could with the supplies they had, and when he had finished, he tossed the first aid kit into the back of the car, and reached into the glove compartment. Reaching in, he felt around for a moment until he found what he hoped he would, under the papers that had been stuffed inside. He made a mental note to look at the papers later, as he figured they might give him more insight into what was going on.

As he closed the glove compartment again, he let the handcuffs dangle from one hand, and raised and eyebrow at Belle. “Not going to make me use these, right?” he asked.

Belle shook her head, then with a sigh added, “I don’t have the energy to try and run away again.”

Jefferson nodded and slipped the handcuffs into his jacket pocket instead. Then he stood up from the crouch that was making his knees ache. “Sit tight,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, and he thought she sounded almost afraid.

“To get you that soda you asked for,” he answered. “I think you’re going to need it before too long.”

#rumbelle #violence #gun violence #implied noncon #implied drug use #angst #hurt/comfort #Drama #romance #UST #eventual smut #first time #disparate pathways #i will always write jefferson

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jineatthis · 7 years ago

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This is an absolute mess of just emotional garbage, and it switches from first to second person bc some of the scenarios?? I couldnt imagine myself in and reverted to default just imagine this is you guys okay lmao.

i was tagged by beautiful @bbyjoonbug sorry it took me so long bub

Would you rather:

build a snowman with Taehyung OR have a snowball fight with Hoseok

I wanna do both, we’re already out in the snow. I can start with the snowman with T** looking so adorable all rugged up in layers of coats and scarves and giving me a big boxy grin and getting distracted by his breath puffing out in clouds. Giving me his scarf when I put mine on the snow man and pulling it up around my chin, cute cute cute. And then everything changed when Hoseok attacked. It’ll be so much fun, with lots of yelling and cursing and he’ll probably accidentally destroy the snowman which is sad, the fight will only last like 5 mins before we’re over it and laying in the snow while I try and catch my breath and he’s laughing at me, then we’ll go get hot chocolate and sit under an old blanket by the fire all snuggled up together and warm and cosy. Anyway, super cute I wanna spend a white Christmas with BTS

get coffee with Yoongi OR get ice cream with Yoongi

Sitting at the back of a coffee shop in a secluded corner with yoongi?? Holding hands under the table or having his hand resting lightly on my thigh, feeding him the cream off the top of my iced coffee and wrinkling my nose at his americano. Quietly enjoying our drinks and each others company, content to just watch the other people in the coffee shop or flip through a magazine while he might do some work on his laptop.

go to the cinema with Jimin OR the amusement park with Jungkook

Movies with jimin would be so cute and I do love going to the cinemas but listen, I LOVE THEMEPARKS, and Jungkook. Being able to share the adrenaline rush of a terrifying rollercoaster with him, and then just grinning at each other, eyes shining and racing back into line to do it again. Complaining about the expensive food but not wanting to eat the sandwiches we had packed bc ‘a hotdog sounds so good right now’. Spending most of the day waiting in lines and talking and leaning against each other when we’re tired and making conversation with the people behind us. Super cute I’m so emo.

do a dance cover with Hoseok OR sing a duet with Jin

A bitch (me) can’t dance, damn. I’d probably nut being that close to hoseok listen I’m rlly in a hobi mood. I can’t sing either but Jin???? That’s my whole entire husband?? A romantic duet with Jin, I would die??? Looking into my eyes and singing something emotional and heartfelt in his gorgeous voice and skimming his hands down my arms when he’s close enough??? Kill me. Sharing a mic with him??? The planning and writing process before we even sing?? Nights sitting on a couch together leaning over a coffee table covered in papers, bouncing ideas off each other and laughing hysterically at everything and anything bc we’re sleep deprived??? Having him nap on my lap and just play with his hair and enjoy the moment.

kiss Namjoon OR cuddle Yoongi

I can’t answer this fdhdtntrn its too hard I wanna die. Peppering Nams smiling face with little kisses, his eyelids his forehead his nose his chin his dimples his temples and jaw just tiny kisses everywhere, slow kisses in the morning tangled in the sheets?? Casual comfortable kisses over a table when we’re out to dinner, teary sweet goodbye kisses, heavy wet kisses straddling him in a chair in the studio, ‘baby baby baby’? Anyway, that’s enough of that mess. Cuddles with Yoongi??? Lazy days spent on the couch with a bunch of throw pillows and blankets and old comfortable trackies and stained sweaters, watching the fast-furious series or a sitcom, feeding each other chips and teasing each other when we get emotional over a certain scene. Crawling into bed with him after a tough day and snuggling up against his back and he murmurs in his sleep and leans back into me?? Super cute. Walking up and cuddling him for no reason and he just slings his arms around my waist and continues with his conversation and lets me just press my face into his chest and breath him in??? WOW SHE’S REALLY EMO TODAY.

babysit with Jimin OR dogsit with Taehyung

I’m so anxious around children I think somethings going wrong 24/7, also if the kid isn’t related to me…they annoying. Dog sitting with T**?? Super cute. (I’m not saying T**hyungs name ever again, he making me unfaithful to my man...I wouldn’t pass up dog sitting duties with him though...) Going to a dog park and watching them play fetch while I sit on a bench, reading a book and wondering who the real puppy is? Playing scissors paper rock to see who must clean up after the dog, watching him be Damatique ™ pulling the most adorable faces. T** passing out on the couch with the dog on his stomach and taking heaps of photos and making it my new lock screen. Accidentally letting the dog off the lead and it bolts and the two of us screaming after it, spending hours looking around town panicking and coming home to it curled up on the ‘Welcome’ mat at the front door, tail thumping lazily.

film a commercial with Hoseok OR film a sketch with Taehyung

A silly sketch with T** would be so much fun and that’s all I’m saying abt it bc thinking abt rehearsing our lines sitting on the floor of the practice room and laughing over the stupidity of it and getting excited when we think of something new to add is too much.

hug Jimin OR hold hands with Jungkook

fjgnsthtrh, IM EMOTIONAL. Jk has such nice hands I’m really such a soft bitch for him and everything about him, walking together and feeling his knuckles brush against the back of my hand and looking up and he’s staring forward and chewing on the inside of his cheek, reaching out and entwining our fingers and looking back and he’s looking away and covering his mouth with his free hand and his ears are red? Loosely holding hands in the backseat of a car, both dozing off and leaning into one another? Jk laughing at something while out to dinner and reaching out across the table to grasp my hand and give it a squeeze and his eyes are shining and I’m back to being an emo bitch.

go to Paris with Jin OR to London with Yoongi

Yes yes yes yes. Cute tourist photos with Jin, watching him go ‘WAAH’ whenever he sees something new, pointing excitedly out across the balcony of the hotel room and yelling about the view. Sharing a crepe and wiping the mess of cream off his chin with your thumb and he leans down to lick Nutella off the corner of ur mouth. Walking hand and hand through the louvre while he makes silly jokes about you being the true work of art, and jumping away from you and reminding you that you’re ‘not allowed to touch the masterpieces’ and you roll yours eyes and smack his chest bc he’s such an idiot but sososo cute.

film a drama with Jin OR do a photo shoot with Namjoon

don’t get me started

attend an award show with Namjoon OR wear couple t-shirts at the airport with Jungkook

I’m squealing. This is so cute esp if It was something ridiculously gaudy and appalling and embarrassing and one of us wants to die and the other is beaming.

spend a lazy day with Yoongi OR explore a city with Hoseok

I CAN’T DECIDE THESE ARE SO GOOD. Lazy day with Yoongi, lounging about watching tv, getting up and going to the kitchen and asking if he wants a drink while ur up and looking over and he's scratching his chest under his shirt all stretched out on the couch and watching you with sleepy eyes and the door to the balcony’s open and the breeze is ruffling the sheer curtain softly and it's all tranquil and serene and warm.

Or being dragged through streets with hobi, him holding a map with one hand and clutching at yours with the other. A lane filled with street food and you stop at each stall and feed each other samples. Struggling to read the map and talking to strangers on the street and getting lost but ending up in cute backstreet cafes and busy parks. Spotting a pretty building on the horizon and deciding that that absolutely must be your next destination. Impulsively jumping onto a passing tram and wondering where it’ll take you.

fall asleep next to Jimin OR wake up next to Jungkook

Don’t look at me I’m about to write some real gross shit. But waking up to him placing soft kisses across ur shoulders and brushing the hair off your face and laughing softly and apologising for waking you? Waking up to him crawling into bed heavily and collapsing into the sheets beside you before grumbling something about a tough practice and pulling an all-nighter and slinging an arm across your hips and immediately passing out. Waking up and feeling his breath fan against the back of ur neck and his knees digging into your thighs and his arm under your body isn’t the most comfortable but it’s perfect anyway. Taking a nap on the couch and waking up to him sitting on the armchair across from you, watching tv and looking so relaxed and at home.

have a fun picnic with Hoseok OR a fancy date with Jin

I can’t believe I’m openly cheating on my man like this but?? I’ll always choose a picnic over a fancy dinner I worked in fine dining for too long it’s lost the appeal. Cute though laying on a blanket by the beach or in a park wearing big floppy hats and sunglasses and loose flowing clothes. Feeding him fruit from the palm of your hand and his lips and chin are shiny with the juice and his kisses are sweet. People watching and making small comments abt peoples fashion sense until it turns into full on judging and giving everyone a wild backstory and you both end up in hysterics. And he sings softly under his breath and you’re fine to lay in silence and cloud gaze, murmuring occasionally about some shape you see

have Jungkook serenade you OR have Taehyung sing you to sleep

I couldn’t handle being serenaded I would combust. But t**hyungs deep voice softly filling the room as he cards his fingers through my hair and his breath is fanning across the back of my neck and shoulders lightly and the lyrics don’t make any sense anymore he’s just singing about his day and how much he loves me and his hopes for the future and he pauses to press his lips to my shoulder and hums against my skin and I’d feel so warm and safe and loved is that too much for a girl to ask damn.

go camping with Jimin and Tae OR go to the beach with Namjoon and Yoongi

I live by the beach the beach is overrated. Camping in the forest with the boys?? A dream, sharing a big bed and waking up tangled in limbs and t**hyung took his socks of in the middle of the night so me and jimin are dying but it’s too cold outside to evacuate. Roasting marshmallows and having a few drinks around the fire and playing truth or dare and telling ghost stories that aren’t even that scary but still has everyone jumping at the smallest of sounds. Exploring the forest and taking pictures of everything. Jimin and t** getting into a mock fight and ending up sliding down an embankment, ending up covered in mud and chasing me around trying to give me a mud hug. Jimin swimming in the lagoon and flipping his wet hair out of his face like a fucking supermodel and me and t** are shook. Me and t** struggling to start the fire but we watched a YouTube video abt it before we left and we’re like 100% sure we’ve got this, jimin running out of patience and throwing a few firelighters into the pit and pulling out a box of matches.

have a sleepover with the hyung line OR a birthday party with the maknae line

???? nams in a flannel pj set?? Everyone barefaced and sleepy, sharing one massive bed, sandwiched between hoseok and jin? Being able to see Yoongi curled up and adorable? Nams stretching out and taking all the room and being just straight up adorable? Circling back to being sandwiched between hoseok and jin? Snuggling with jin? Coddled by jin?

celebrate Halloween with Jungkook, Yoongi, Tae, and Hoseok OR Christmas with Namjoon, Jimin and Jin

once again I choose the one without jin but listen Halloween is just so much better also t**hyung and hoseok really got me feeling a way lately and Jungkook is everyone’s bias wrecker. Plus, we’re all adults and adults drink in Australia on Halloween and do stupid shit, so yeah. Going clubbing with the boys all dressed up, getting mortal, staying till close or till someone gets kicked out and then stumbling home? A dream. The boys drunkenly singing bst and t** trying to get into the DJ’s booth to rap cypher lmao, Jungkook and hoseok dancing like absolute hos, slut dropping and even twerking unironically what a mess what a great time. Yoongi just nodding and raising his drink that never seems to empty bc he’s just smashing them down and getting refills, looking like an absolute snack all in black. Getting the uber driver to take us through maccas on the way home and ordering four family boxes. Most of it ends up on the car floor and spilled in the driveway and we get a 1-star rating. All falling asleep with our costume sand makeup still on in the loungeroom.

GOD IM SORRY ITS SO LOOONG okay anyway what a mess ill tag @sugaas @hxtape @forestcottage @killv @jho-seok @softseoks @fhawn @hobsbf @silkguk @okimtae @joonsamor @gothicsuga @girlsheart @hxxtape @hobih

#hcs #this is rlly a mess youd think bc it took me so long to do itd be better #but i just kind of threw up on a page #and then paniced #also guys if you dont wanna be tagged in things just let me know

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