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roxwritings · 8 months ago

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Sonata of the Hollows - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – A Hollow Melody

Everyone settled down after a few minutes, once the purple-haired berserker explained herself. She admitted to following the dual sword wielder until she was confronted and forced to reveal her intentions. I chuckled, studying the girl with a sense of vague recognition, as if we had crossed paths before—or perhaps it was just a trick of the mind. Suddenly, music filled the air again, the delicate vocals riding the breeze. The familiar strumming of a guitar caught my attention, pulling me away from the conversation. I perked up, momentarily losing myself to the melody, oblivious to the world around me.

"Yashi?" A voice tried to reach me, but the melody intensified, pulling me in as if it were summoning me. A hand tugged at my sleeve, but I brushed it off, drawn toward the door of the inn by the sound of each guitar strum—a familiar tune played on a guitar that had been a gift for my 9th birthday.

"Yashi!" Lisbeth's voice finally broke through, her shout snapping the melody into silence. I felt a firm hand clap on my back, jolting me back to reality. The sudden force made me cry out in pain and stumble forward, momentarily disoriented by the abrupt return to the present.

"Liz, what the heck?!" I exclaimed, spinning around to face her. She met my gaze and, without missing a beat, seized my ear and gave it a sharp tug.

"So, you just ignore us, and then you snap when I finally grab your attention?" She scolded, her tone playful yet tinged with a hint of irritation. I glanced around, seeing varied expressions of concern among the group. Kirito and Asuna looked merely puzzled, trying to piece together the situation, while Strea and Yui examined me closely—Yui checking for any signs of distress that might explain my reaction, and Strea’s expression hard to read, though the concern in her eyes was palpable. Silica just bit her finger, concern written all over her face.

Then there were Sinon and Argo. Argo's gaze was tender, filled with love and silent questions about my well-being. Sinon, however, wore a colder expression; her concern was evident, but it was masked by a stoic facade, making it difficult to discern her thoughts. I scanned the faces at the table I had abruptly left.

"Did any of you... hear that music just now?" I blurted out, my words tumbling out before I could fully grasp them. A collective look of confusion met my question.

"Hear what?" Leafa inquired, her voice laced with genuine perplexity. I faced her, my expression mirroring the bafflement I felt.

"The guitar, the singing... didn't you hear it?" I started to say, but the words seemed to choke up in my throat, unspoken. A frustrating sense of voicelessness washed over me. I glanced around the table once more, seeking any sign of acknowledgment, but found none. Then, the melody seeped into my ears again, more compelling this time. Without thinking, my hand reached for the door handle, driven by an invisible force, pulling me toward the source of the sound. I stepped outside as Liz began to follow, concern written in her eyes as she stepped in front of me.

"Yashi, are you okay? You're acting stranger than usual!" Lisbeth confronted me, her hands cupping my cheeks as she peered intently into my eyes. I wriggled free from her grip, closing my eyes to better absorb the melody that enveloped me once more. As I did, a luminous path unfurled before me in the darkness behind my eyelids.

"That way," I gasped, setting off determinedly along the imagined path, Lisbeth's footsteps echoing behind me as her worry morphed into annoyance.

"If you're ignoring me just to annoy me, it's working!" she snapped, her voice tinged with irritation. She opened her mouth to continue, but I swiftly raised a hand to cut her off.

"Shush," I murmured, stepping into the teleport plaza with my eyes shut once more. I could hear the shuffle of more footsteps behind me.

"Liz, is she okay?" Asuna's voice floated through the air, tinged with concern.

"I don't know, Asu!" Lisbeth retorted, her frustration boiling over as she threw her hands up in exasperation. "She's being incredibly rude and—"

"Shut up!" I interrupted sharply, throwing my hand up to silence them. They all froze, taken aback by my outburst. The melody beckoned to me again, its vocals carrying a soothing, yet indecipherable message. Then, a new sound blended with the melody—a distant, quiet voice, reminiscent of a long-past conversation.

"It's such a nice song..." the voice murmured.

"It can't be," I whispered to myself, urgency propelling me forward. I sprinted, following the sound, my eyes still closed as I darted out of the plaza. The clamor of footsteps behind me began to fade until only the determined tread of Argo, Kirito, and Asuna remained. I halted in the middle of a deserted hunting field, the melody and the voice guiding me, pulling me deeper into a mystery only I seemed to perceive. As I panted quietly, trying to catch my breath, I opened my eyes, looking around the hunting ground.

“It was just here…” I murmured, the tone of my voice tinged with a haunting sadness.

"Yashi, what on earth is going on?" Kirito’s voice cut through my fog of confusion, sharp and urgent. I turned to face the trio. Asuna was visibly bewildered, clutching her knees as she tried to catch her breath. Kirito's expression mixed confusion with frustration, her eyes searching mine for an explanation.

Argo's face was the hardest to look at—etched with a deep concern that seemed on the brink of tears. I paused, heart sinking at the familiar look of pain I had seen too many times before.

"Yashi, please, talk to us..." Argo pleaded, her voice quivering, striking a chord within me. I faced them squarely.

"Can you all really not hear it?" My voice rose with exasperation. They exchanged glances, their faces a mosaic of confusion and frustration, overlapping as they responded in unison.

"Hear what?" Kirito stepped forward, her tone more forceful, echoing the urgency in her stance. I met her gaze, lifting my chin to reveal the full weight of my emotions. Only then did I realize that tears were streaming down my cheeks.

“Sachi...I heard her voice...” My voice faltered, choked by the rising emotion. Kirito froze, her features contorting into a mix of shock and disbelief. Asuna’s hand flew to her mouth, muffling a gasp, while Argo nervously bit her lip, her hood now lowered, revealing eyes brimming with empathy as they met mine.

"Yashi, that..." Argo began, her voice hesitant, carefully weighing her next words. "Yashi, that isn’t possible..." Her gentle statement tried to ground me, but it was lost, drowned out as the haunting melody resumed, enveloping me once more in its enigmatic embrace. The complex arrangement of the melody simplified into a mere hum, no longer the intricate cacophony of instruments that had earlier overwhelmed my senses.

I scanned the area intently, straining to locate the source of the humming. It was her voice; I was certain of it. Who else could it be? I turned to face the trio.

"I need to find her, or at least uncover what's mimicking her," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Argo stepped forward and grasped my hand.

"I'm with ya, kid," she declared, her words infusing me with renewed determination. "I might not hear it, but I believe ya." She offered a faint smirk, her eyes glistening as she fought back tears. I managed a small smile in response. Kirito and Asuna exchanged a look, then nodded decisively.

"We're in this together," Kirito said, her voice alight with resolve. I knew her feelings for Sachi ran deep, and how much it would mean to her to possibly see Sachi again.

"I'm here for both of you," Asuna affirmed, her grip tightening on Kirito's hand as she gently caressed it with her thumb. Turning back to Argo, I brushed away the tears streaking her cheeks before nodding solemnly and closing my eyes once more. The hum was faint, yet it now melded seamlessly with the strains of a guitar, ensnaring my senses once again. I followed the sound, my eyes shut, tracing a path that seemed only to exist within the melody. It was a direct route, and I sensed that I was nearing the source.

An odd sensation began to take hold, as if invisible forces were vying to pull me in different directions. I opened my eyes and glanced at Argo. She was surveying our surroundings but kept a firm hold on my hand. Kirito and Asuna trailed behind us, their presence not close enough to influence what I felt. Looking down, I noticed a faint blue glow emanating around me as we advanced.

"Guys..." My voice trembled slightly with alarm. They all turned to me as the glow intensified.

"You're being teleported?" Kirito exclaimed in surprise. Despite the shock, Argo's grip remained unyielding.

"We go together, kid!" she declared. I attempted to nod, but the engulfing music crescendoed, driving me to cover my ears. My hand slipped from Argo's for a moment, but she quickly seized my wrist.

Suddenly, I found myself hurtling from the swirling red and purple of a sunset filled sky. The wind roared in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Argo gripping my wrist—she had been teleported alongside me. As we plummeted faster and faster, I looked at her, but she appeared to be unconscious. Panic surged within me, and I scanned our surroundings desperately for anything that could aid us. Yet, there was nothing but the gear we carried.

"Argo!" I shouted over the deafening wind, tugging at her cloak in an attempt to rouse her. "Argo!" I screamed again, causing her to stir mid-air. She blinked several times before peering down.

"What!?" she screeched, quickly sensing the urgency in my voice. With her hanging onto my arm as we fell, I met her gaze.

"Hold on!" I called, pulling her close to my chest as I attempted to rotate our bodies, positioning my back towards the ground. Clutching her tightly, she curled up against me, radiating a fear unlike any I had seen from her before. Her eyes were shut tight, tears streaming past us in the rush of the wind. I closed my eyes too, bracing for impact as we slammed into the branches of a tree, hurtling downward until we crashed onto the forest floor below. The resounding crash echoed through the trees around us, leaving me battered and in pain, but miraculously alive. I glanced at my health bar, now a deep red, its last few pixels hanging on by a thread. Panting slightly, I turned to Argo. Her health bar was in the yellow, but she seemed relatively unharmed.

“Argo…” I muttered through the pain. “Do you have a healing crystal?” My words were strained with discomfort. Argo opened her eyes, panting as she pushed up on my chest, scanning our surroundings. I groaned again, feeling the ache in every part of my body.

“Don’t go making me lose those last few pixels,” I joked, but Argo's pout told me it didn't land as intended. She retrieved a medium-sized blue crystal from her pack, her hand barely able to grip it. Holding it out to me, she commanded, “Heal!” Instantly, my health surged back into the blue. I smiled faintly and reached out to pat her head, but she responded with a swift slap.

“That’s fer making me think I was about to lose ya when I woke up,” she muttered, rolling off of me and pulling her cloak over her head, turning away. I sighed and sat up fully.

"Thank you," Argo murmured quietly, casting a brief glance over her shoulder. I offered a small smile before standing up to take in our surroundings. The forest was a vast expanse of diversity, dominated by towering trees whose canopies were lost to view, interspersed with smaller, oddly twisted specimens that bore an unnatural light blue tint. A sense of awe enveloped me; we were clearly in an uncharted part of this world.

The stillness was soon pierced by the sound of approaching footsteps. Argo instinctively turned towards the noise. With a protective instinct, she slipped behind me, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her dagger, partially concealing herself.

Confusion marred my face as I struggled to pinpoint the source of the footsteps, which grew louder with each second. Just as I turned, I was blindsided by a figure crashing into me.

"ACK!" I exclaimed, the impact sending me rolling across the ground. Argo took a swift step back, narrowly avoiding the collision. The newcomer, quick to recover, leapt to their feet, brandishing a large dagger. As they charged towards me, Argo scrambled to regain her footing. I barely dodged a vicious downward strike, rolling aside just in time. I jumped to my feet.

"Argo, stay back!" I shouted, narrowly evading another ferocious attack from the assailant.

"What?" Argo called out, her voice tinged with confusion and concern.

"Just trust me!" I yelled back, focusing my efforts on subduing our attacker. With a swift motion, I seized the assailant's wrist, halting them mid-strike.

"Calm down, please!" I urged, my voice both firm and imploring. As we grappled, her hood fell away, revealing cascading blonde hair framing a face dominated by bright blue eyes, alive with unmistakable fear. Despite her efforts to free herself, I kept a solid grip on her wrist.

"We're not your enemies," I reassured her, gasping slightly from the exertion. She paused, her arm tensing for another swing.

“You aren’t with them?” she asked, her voice ragged with fear. I shook my head.

“No, just travelers…” My tone softened as I released her wrist. “Do you know where we are?” I inquired. She hesitated, then slowly shook her head. I sighed and flashed a reassuring smile towards Argo.

“Looks like we’re in for some exploration!” I chuckled, sharing a conspiratorial smirk with Argo. She rolled her eyes playfully as she relaxed her grip on her dagger and stepped forward, her smirk masking her initial distrust of our newcomer.

Taking the moment to size her up, I noted her bright blue armor and a silver gauntlet that adorned her right arm, complementing her breastplate. My gaze drifted to her health bar, and I noticed something unusual—an orange cursor hovered above her. I kept my observation to myself, merely letting my eyes linger momentarily before checking her health bar. She was injured.

“I have a healing potion if you need it,” I offered, drawing the potion from my pocket. She looked at it with a mix of surprise and caution before accepting it. I caught Argo’s questioning glance from behind the girl.

I shrugged subtly at Argo. From my point of view, this girl had reacted out of fear, not malice. There was no reason to withhold trust, even if her status as an orange player suggested caution. Argo rolled her eyes again, her expression tinged with frustration at my habitual trust.

“What’s your name?” I asked gently, aiming to build a bridge of trust with the newcomer. “I’m Yashi,” I added, extending my hand in a gesture of goodwill. The forest was quiet around us, the only sound a soft rustling of leaves in the breeze.

“Philia,” she finally responded, her voice just above a whisper. Tentatively, she took a small sip from the healing potion, then, seeming to trust its effects, she drank more deeply. Her health bar filled, glowing fully at its peak. I offered a gentle smile as she tucked away the empty vial, though her eyes still held a trace of wariness towards Argo and me. I nodded, my smile softening.

“So, Philia, do you know where we—” My question was abruptly cut off by a loud, disembodied announcement.

“Beginning Preliminary Test,” an automated voice declared. I glanced upwards as the sunlight began to wane, casting deeper shadows across the landscape.

“Test…” I murmured, a hint of apprehension in my tone. The atmosphere shifted, a chilling noise like the skittering of insects through the trees reached our ears. Argo reacted swiftly, her hand snapping to the hilt of her dagger. But I stiffened, a cold dread washing over me as the sound echoed once more.

“No…” My hand gripped my spear. “It can’t be,” I stammered, my voice threaded with fear. Argo shot me a confused look.

“Kid, what’s wrong…” she whispered urgently.

As I stared into the thickening shadows of the tree line, the ominous shape of a large, skeletal creature materialized, its body segmented like a centipede—a nightmarish figure reminiscent of a boss we had just battled. Its eyes burned a sinister red as it watched us, unnervingly still. Positioning myself between it and Argo and Philia, I raised my spear, intent on shielding them.

"Philia, Argo... when I say run, you run. Don't look back, no matter what you hear," I commanded, the urgency in my voice leaving no room for debate as I braced myself to confront the creature. Silence hung behind me; neither of them voiced their agreement.

"Kid, I ain't leaving ya," Argo declared, stepping up beside me with a steely resolve. I wanted to protest, to insist she save herself, but the words were stifled before they could escape.

Philia then moved closer, her presence firm and resolute. "Whatever this is, we can beat it if we fight together, right?" Her voice was steady, the chill in her words belied by the warmth of her conviction. She seemed unconfident in her words.

"Are you sure you want to stay?" I asked, my voice low and tense. I glanced at them, and their simple nods bolstered my resolve. With a deep sigh, I tightened my grip on the spear, my eyes fixed on the emerging threat.

The creature slinked out from behind the trees, stepping into the moonlight that seemed to accentuate its grotesque form. Its blood-red eyes, all eight of them, blinked erratically, never breaking contact with ours. It advanced slowly, calculating, waiting for one of us to falter. I mirrored its caution, waiting for an opening.

"That's a Skull Reaper... the same type we fought in the 75th boss room," I said, my voice laced with fear. Beside me, I felt Argo tense, her body rigid with apprehension.

"Didn't it take out fourteen of you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. I nodded silently. Using my analysis skill, I studied the creature more closely. It was a named monster, known as the Hollow Reaper, a formidable Level 80 monster. Seemingly not as strong as the boss we'd faced, its massive scythe-like arms made it deadly in its own right.

"This one might be weaker, so we have a chance..." I said, more to instill hope than from certainty. The truth was, the strength of boss enemies could vary wildly compared to normal foes, and I clung to that possibility. Argo nodded, her expression grim, while Philia swallowed audibly beside me.

Bracing myself, I lowered into a ready stance as the creature reared up, issuing a chilling roar filled with fury. Seizing the moment, I surged forward, catching my companions off-guard with my sudden charge. As the beast lowered its head to meet my advance, I thrust my spear into the underside of its ghastly jaw. The creature screeched, thrashing wildly as it tried to reach me with slashing strikes, but my advantageous position kept me safely out of range.

"Flank it now!" I shouted, as I maneuvered to keep my spear wedged in its jaw. Rather than simply pushing further, I aimed to anchor my spear into the ground, trapping the beast effectively. I heard affirmations from Argo and Philia as they moved to attack the creature's sides. I struggled to maintain its focus on me, driving the spear's butt into the dirt, securing it as the creature's violent movements only served to embed the spear deeper.

Taking advantage of the beast's distraction, I summoned my secondary weapon—a rapier—using the quick-access system. As it materialized on my hip, I executed one of the rapier’s specialized skills, Linear, aiming for precision and depth in my next strike. The radiant blade in my grasp sliced cleanly through the spine of the creature. Argo's gasp of confusion echoed beside me, but I pressed on, relentless in my assault.

As a trio, we coordinated our attacks with precision, dodging deadly blows that threatened to deplete our health bars in an instant. Argo and Philia’s dagger skills carved through the creature's ribs and legs, while I repeatedly drove my rapier into its skull and spine, nimbly evading its flailing limbs. However, an unexpected swipe from one of its legs caught me off-guard, sending me hurtling into Philia. We both tumbled across the ground in a heap.

"Yashi!" Argo's voice rang out, tinged with fear. Scrambling to my feet, I hastily navigated through my menu while regaining my bearings. With my spear still lodged as an anchor, my main weapon slot was vacant. Seizing the opportunity, I equipped a formidable two-handed sword—the Stone Moonlight—and switched my rapier for the heavier weapon. As I surged forward to reengage, I caught sight of a massive scythe arm descending toward Argo. With a burst of speed fueled by adrenaline, I intercepted the strike, the clash resonating through the air as I met the attack with the full force of my newly equipped blade.

"Argo, assist Philia!" I bellowed, my voice strained with effort as I grappled with the creature's relentless assault. She hesitated for a moment before springing into action, deftly evading the beast's thrashing limbs as she hurried to aid our newfound ally. I continued to fend off the creature's onslaught, knocking back its flailing appendages as I cleaved through its elongated ribcage with a swift, precise strike.

With a nod from Argo, I watched as she darted toward Philia, lending her support in the heat of battle. Meanwhile, I braced myself to confront the creature head-on. However, before I could close the distance, the Hollow Reaper broke free from its impromptu prison, unleashing another furious roar that reverberated through the forest.

Seizing the momentary respite, I assessed our adversary's condition. We had whittled down its formidable health bars to a single sliver, leaving it teetering on the brink of defeat. A smirk danced across my lips as I charged forward, narrowly dodging a sweeping scythe blade that grazed my side, sending a jolt of pain through my body.

Responding in kind, I unleashed a powerful two-handed sword skill known as Cascade, severing the creature's arm with a decisive blow. The clash of my crimson blade against its bone-white limb echoed through the air as the appendage shattered into a shower of blue and green shards. Enraged, the creature emitted a piercing shriek as I drove my blade into its skull.

In retaliation, the creature lunged forward, its blade finding its mark on my shoulder and throwing me off balance. With my health dwindling into the red zone, I knew I couldn't afford another direct hit. However, this dire situation triggered a passive ability. It was a passive skill that heightened my attack power temporarily, titled Blood Rage.

Harnessing this newfound strength, I unleashed a flurry of strikes, culminating in a devastating sword skill called Cyclone. As my blade danced through the air, delivering four consecutive blows to the Hollow Reaper, the creature reeled in agony, its form glitching before disintegrating into a cascade of azure and emerald crystals that dispersed into the ether. My breaths came in ragged gasps as I struggled to focus, my vision swimming with dark spots. With trembling hands, I checked my health—just 40 points out of 11,460. My strength drained from the intense battle, I sank to my knees, the weight of my exhaustion pressing down on me like a leaden blanket.

Through the haze of fatigue, I registered Argo's frantic voice, calling out my name with urgency. But before I could respond, before I could even comprehend what was happening, darkness enveloped me, swallowing me whole in its unforgiving embrace.

Chapters P 1 2 3 4 5 6

#roxwrites.den #writing #sword art online fanfiction #sword art online original character #sword art online #sao fanfiction #sao oc #sao #oc #original character #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #serious #romance

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oneoftheprettynerds · 4 years ago

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Just My Type: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 2 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Darkside

Main Masterlist

A/N: This chapter is 2K words more than the last chapter and I’ve second guessed every single line in this one. This story is getting a lot of traction guys and I’m equal parts happy and scared. Thank you for the nice comments, they do encourage me. Also I’m just ranting feel free to skip this note haha. Your support in any form: like, comment or reblog is appreciated greatly. Also you can dm if you want to be friends, God knows I need those. Hopefully, this chap was worth the wait. Also, I made a poster for this on the main masterlist so check that out, it might be foreshadowing dome plot.

Warning: Eventual Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks later.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can't ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can't get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Chapter 2: Just My Type

It had almost been a week since the incident and you had barely gotten a wink of sleep. When you drove back to your house that night, Steve surprisingly didn’t argue as you had expected. After that friend of his whispered something in his ears, you only assumed he was needed elsewhere and you couldn’t be more thankful for that. They escorted you to your car and Steve thanked you with a strained smile, words genuine but eyes calculating. You didn’t even wonder what went inside his head. You were thankful for the peace and quiet of your own car, content to just get out of the area and into your humble abode.

After you put the already asleep Grace to bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of her room. You just sat on the floor beside the bed, hand intertwined with hers as you rested your head beside her tummy on the mattress.

Your adrenaline wore off and your limbs ached as your thoughts finally settled into place, the gravity of the catastrophe a few hours prior hitting you. Tears made their way down your cheeks as you realized that you both could have very well died tonight.

One bullet could have sealed each of your lives and you were basically defenseless had Steve not saved you against the creeping assaulter. You couldn’t commend yourself for even defending yourself against one attacker, the guilt of killing someone harboring in your tired head. Your quiet whimpers eventually wore you out, while Grace’s shallow breaths lulled you to sleep.

You didn’t manage to sleep for long though, every time your eyes closed, horrific images flashed in your mind. A blood curdling scream here, heaps of dead bodies there, with distant exploding sounds all around. You could see men clad in black holding guns to Grace’s head and whensoever you woke up, you just wondered how much more creative your mind could get, making these visuals so realistic.

When 8 AM rolled in, you didn’t wake Grace up even though it was Monday and you had work. You got up, changed into a long tee after a shower and called your office and then her daycare. You knew you would have a hard time going back to your normal life, to become trusting enough to leave her alone.

Your assumption about yourself was right. You took almost the entire week off, which your boss generously allowed you to after hearing your traumatic experience, which soon made the city news headlines. All your colleagues checked on you, almost once in the five day break you took, and sweetly enough offered to bring you anything you needed.

It was kind of them, but none of them could bring you what your heart genuinely craved: peace and assurance that you and Grace would be safe.

Even though Saturdays were off, you did go to work to see what you missed and where to start on again. You went in because you knew that the random spurt of resolution you got in the bathroom to collect your life, wouldn’t last.

To ease back into your normal life, you gathered your guts, called a babysitter and left home. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave Grace at the daycare just yet. One of your good friends offered to come in to the office and help you, even on the weekend and you were quite grateful to him.

When you both decided to take lunch in the nearby dining place, you both got to talking, the conversation obviously originating from ‘How have you been?’ and ‘Is Grace okay?’. You reminisced about how you used a photobooth to hide, grotesquely and uncomfortably chuckling when you remembered Sarah calling you her mom and how her dad saved you all.

You deliberately left the part where you killed someone and Steve shot someone too. You hadn’t come to terms with it yet and you stiffly restricted your mind whenever it tried to go down that lane.

He sensed how the conversation was becoming tense and distressing for you and briskly redirected the topic.

“I hope the dad was hot though?” He wiggled his eyes creepily and you snorted at his vulgarity, light for the first time in days.

“He was easy on the eyes; I will admit that.” You played along, recalling your girlfriends and how you used to ogle people.

“Don’t be a homewrecker though, I don’t support cheating.” He said nonchalantly, checking his phone as a notification bell rang off.

“He’s a widower.”

His eyes snapped up and met yours as his head tilted in confusion. “That’s a strange fact to know about someone you met for a few minutes.”

Steve’s even stranger comment about his dead wife popped in your mind and before you could stop yourself, you blurted that out as well.

“He even said and I quote, ‘She deserved what she got.’” He put his phone down, weirdly amused.

“Ooh Creepy! Do you think he is one of those husbands who kill their wives and bury them in the backyard? The podcasts always say that the psychopaths are visually handsome and charming. And his statement was quite vague and spooky.” He continued munching, and you felt that now Aiden was really paying attention unlike before.

“Steve did have a gun while searching for Sarah, come to think of it.” You drank your tea and awaited his response. What you did not expect was his eyes to widen and worry to cloud his features.

“Um Widower Steve with a toddler Sarah? At the place where The Vices attacked?” He mumbled, grabbing his phone and doing God knows what on it. Your eyebrows furrowed and before you could ask him what was up with his antics, he resumed.

“This is a long shot but I really hope your Steve didn’t look like this.” He positioned the phone in your vision, and you could already tell it was Steve by the sapphire blue of his eyes piercing through the screen into your soul. The picture was a month or two old, his hair was much longer when you met him than in the photo.

“This is him.” Your eyes met Aiden’s and worry visibly took over his features as his forehead creased and jaw tense.

He looked around the restaurant, finding it empty in the afternoon. He leaned and whispered, “This Steve of yours is dangerous.”

You interrupted Aiden, even though you already knew Steve was, the sight of his armed men still fresh in your head, and inquired, “Why do you say so?”

“It’s just like the fictional stories we hear from our parents, except here, in this city of ours, every myth holds true. There are really powerful men, untouchable by law, who reign the city silently and live luxuriously. Every shady, under the table deal you’ve heard of, transpires. Illegal trades, fraud schemes and bounty hunters are not fictional, they exist here. These men kill whatever hinders them and trust me, you don’t want to be the deer caught in their Jaguar’s headlights.”

Ice froze in your veins again, resembling the fear you felt that night but now because of your deemed ‘savior’. You convinced yourself that you had not wronged him in any way, instead had saved his daughter’s life.

“Are you in contact with him? If you are, distance yourself cleverly, don't block him immediately.”

“No, we just parted ways near my car, he thanked me for Sarah and was called away. It’s almost been a week and he hasn’t reached out if that’s what you mean. We didn’t exchange contacts and I don’t think I even told him my full name.” You explained yourself as if you were on the witness stand in court, trying to convince yourself more than Aiden.

“Pray that he doesn’t remember you more than that, if at all. I’m being totally honest here in telling you this, I’m genuinely worried for you and Grace. You are smart but he is powerful. He has unimaginable resources and if you become more than a speck of dust on his windshield, you are screwed. There is no exaggeration here.” You took his words to your heart and swore to be careful, if not for yourself then for Grace.

The rest of the day went by and you found yourself dwelling on and worrying about Aiden’s words. At least he put it out there as it was. Heeding his advice, you did google Steve on your phone, finally finding him in the topmost news headline when you added ‘Buck’ in the search bar as well.

‘With 38 lawsuits pending against businessman Steve Rogers, the filers have lost all hope in prosecuting him. All cases are being drawn out for indefinite periods of time by the Chief Justice Bruce……’

Aiden was right.

Businessmen was code for illegal mob heads. Cases being stretched on meant he was, in fact, invincible, at least to the common man’s fists.

You flickered through several titles, each one more surprising than the last. He was believed to be involved in the carnival attack, alleged for three hit and run cases that he didn’t lose but the witnesses swore they saw him driving and was also rumored to have brought in quintals of drugs just last week, but the packets just evaporated into thin air and there was no proof of their existence in the first place even on incessant searching.

Every crime of his made you shudder and you mentally thanked Aiden for pulling you out of your oblivion. Your mind raced and heart palpated and you cursed yourself for being so drastically unaware even after living here for almost four years. Technically speaking, Steve and you were even, him saving your life and you saving his daughter’s. No logical reason came to your mind for him contacting you ever.

You wished as Aiden said and assured yourself that your paths would never cross again, Steve not having reached out in a week, so hopefully never again.

That thought went out the window when you reached home to find a box awaiting you. Hannah, the babysitter you had called, informed you it came around 5 in the evening and was exclusively to be opened by you today.

Your mind raced as you paid the babysitter, your hands sweaty as you tried not to think about the gift and its sender. There was an apparently clear answer to who mailed it but you refused to accept that, courtesy of Aiden.

The box was of the height of Grace, it was black with red hearts painted across it; some red roses also sparingly adorned it. You opened the lid and found tons of red tissues and a multi-flower bouquet adorned with mostly red roses and a few purple and pink flowers.

Because of your frequent gardening in your backyard, you knew all the flowers’ meanings. To sum it all up, red flowers, especially roses were used for courting someone. Pink meant admiration, purple for beauty and you knew the ‘violet’ flowers were for loyalty.

As your nerves increased tenfold, you willed yourself to get it over with and empty out the box first, ignoring the little card in your bouquet, saving the ‘best’ for last. You find a mini bouquet inside but unlike yours, it had chocolates of every kind. You did read its card and cringed when it was for Grace, bothered not by the deed but by the doer.

Further inside were some animal plushies, face masks, perfumes, scented body lotions and shampoos. Your head hurt thinking about the ‘single mother care package’ delivered to you by someone you refused to acknowledge.

As Grace sat in her playpen occupied, you dared to pick your card and read its message, your heart beating unrealistically fast for someone who refused to accept the cruciality of her situation.

I can’t thank you enough in this lifetime for saving my little princess. The gift of your help is more than anything money could ever buy for me. Please accept this invitation of mine for dinner tomorrow night, 7PM at La Bonne Nuit, as a symbol of my sincere gratitude for everything you’ve done. I’ll gets the kids covered and pick you up, you just be ready and look as amazing you always do. Sincerely, Steve Rogers

You stilled as you read it over and over again.

An invitation, your ass. Even in writing his authority portrayed, there was no question and hope for you coming, he just stated that you’d come. Looking pretty as always? You just met him once, in the middle of a calamity, covered in dirt and blood.

All the red roses and gifts screamed his romantic interest but you illusioned yourself into thinking they meant gratitude. You wouldn’t be able to digest it all otherwise.

Knowing what you knew now about Steve, you understood there was no denying the dinner tomorrow. You had to get out of his clutches and distance yourself, but as Aiden had so rightfully said, cleverly.

That night you laid in bed mulling over your next course of actions. You had called the gift shop to return the unwarranted presents you received but they said it was non refundable and anonymous to trace. You bitterly snorted in their face, they put a card with Steve’s name on it for heaven’s sake!

You didn’t flinch even when you realized you never gave Steve your address, neither for mailing stuff nor for picking you up. There was no number given to call him and thank or to call him and deny. The bastard had planned it all out, and you felt like you were driving in a one way lane, going deeper into the tunnel. Somewhere among your all-relentless fretting, you managed to finally sleep.

When the doorbell rang, your eyebrows furrowed. It was just 6 PM and you weren’t expecting anybody else except for Steve. You had already begun getting ready, having developed a habit of keeping an extra margin of time now having a toddler. You still had to assemble Grace’s essential backpack, fill it with her meds and bottles.

While still putting on your diamond earring, you made your way to the door, unlocking it to find a redhead grinning at you. Before you could interact with her, a small body clung to your legs and you looked down to find the azure eyed kid that put you in this mess, Sarah, smiling up at you.

“Mama! You look pwetty!” She looked up in awe and now aware that she didn’t have a mother, you were even more so coerced into accepting this title rather than telling the kid that 'you are semi orphaned'.

“I’m Wanda, Sarah’s nanny. Mr. Rogers told me to pick her friend, Grace, up for the night?” So, this was what Steve meant. Bringing Sarah was proof enough of her legitimacy, but behind her you saw ‘Buck’ salute you from the driver’s seat of the black car. One of these days, you needed to learn his real name.

You invited Wanda inside and Sarah ran to Grace immediately, grabbing and whining while asking Grace to give her some popcorn she was munching on, her fist generously full.

In your open plan kitchen, you grabbed two plastic bowls, filled them with each with the tub of popcorn that sat in the microwave and handed each toddler one, fortunately quietening Sarah. Sarah obeyed Grace, in first thanking you, their ‘mama’ and then following her to her open playpen.

You faced Wanda again who sat on a barstool and kept on beaming. If your annoyance at her amusement showed, she sure didn’t let it falter the smile.

“Mr. Rogers told me you’d worry about your daughter, but I assure you she’d be in more than capable hands.” All you could focus on was how self-reassured she was. “I’ve served him for almost two years, the last family I served, I was there for 8 years and before them, I was employed for 3. I know the general bedtime and snacks, all I need from you is information about her allergies.”

You nodded and told her about Grace, her meds and what all you packed. When you got to know that her family owned the daycare Grace went to, you were finally somewhat convinced. After seeing them off, it was about fifteen minutes later, that the devil disguised in Prada showed up at your door.

You grabbed your purse and your keys. Wiping your sweaty palms on your dress, you opened the door. Steve stood there, a smirk lodging on his handsome face. His blue, three-piece suit perfectly paired with his cerulean eyes was impressive to say the least.

He was dressed to kill, and it appeared as if you were his first victim.

As your eyes took him in from top to bottom, his did the same lazily, taking their time, resting at certain places for longer period than others.

“You look stunning.”

You knew you did. You wore one of your more expensive dresses when you found out La Bonne Nuit to be one of the few seven-star hotels in the country. In hindsight, if you’d have dressed worse, maybe he’d have left you alone.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” He offered you his hand and you obliged with your palm in his. Your other hand pulled the doorknob while you stepped out, all alarms already set-in place. He waited while you locked and put the keys in and when you were done, with a soft kiss along your knuckles, he pulled you along.

The act surprised you, your stomach turning and your gut wrenching and you wondered if you’d be able to process the food after all, with your upset digestive system.

Like a proper gentleman, he opened the door for you and when you settled, he took his position at the driver’s seat. The silence was painful for you, your overthinking finally filling ideas in your head that you avoided contemplating about all day, focusing on Grace.

He was relaxed though; his humming was proof enough.

Mid way through, your thoughts were rudely interrupted when a hand housed itself on your knee. You glanced to find Steve’s palm slightly rubbing your knee. If it was meant to be assuring, you certainly didn’t feel like it.

You frowned and looked up to Steve who still had the arrogant smirk on his face, eyes straight ahead on the road, giving no indication of his inappropriate touching.

You wanted to swat his hand away but a brainwave dashed through your head and a disturbing thought made you halt, that whether he carried guns to restaurants as well, since carnivals were no big deal.

You ignored his hand and continued looking outside, pretending to ignore it as well as he did. Your scowl was a huge giveaway though.

You didn’t know that, but when your eyes found their way out, his finally rested on your face, the smirk growing even more.

Thankfully, apart from the incongruous touching, the dinner went okay-ish. The food and wine were impeccable, perfect even, the restaurant on the hotel’s top floors was so picturesque. You tried to savor your one-time experience there, knowing you’d no way be able to come back there.

Well, you tried to relish as much as you could while your mind still sat there, wary of the human in front of you. If you’d ignore your journey here, Steve was nothing short of a true gentleman, often making you wonder if you had imagined his hand on you.

This ‘friendly’ date you were having was probably one of the best you have had, he had left no expenses. He appeared to be interested in your work, about your childhood and about Grace’s but you swiftly avoided his questions about her father. He was growing a tad bit too comfortable for your liking and you still refused to entertain the idea that this was a ‘date’ date.

When you were finally onto dessert, the last course of your meal, your table was shadowed by the broad frame of a brunette and his date. He clapped Steve’s shoulder and Steve rose to hug him, you awkwardly smiled.

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been here, Cap. Why don’t you and your gorgeous date stop by my penthouse for a bit? We could finally go over the papers you sent me, in person?” He winked, they discussed something more and then went away, his date bowing and trailing after him as well.

Steve claimed his seat again, and finally told you about the interrupter. “That was my good friend, Tony Stark, always in a hurry. I’ll introduce you to him when we meet him later.”

“I think I’ll be heading home; you need not worry about my introduction, I hardly think we’ll ever run into each other again.” His eyes narrowed and you clarified, “Me and Mr. Stark, I meant.”

That’s good, don’t associate yourself with more of his kind.

“He was so kind in inviting you though, it would be rude to refuse.”

“It’s already late, Steve. And I’ve never left Grace alone for a night yet. What if she’s antsy? What if she is bothered? What if she feels unsafe? She's only used to very few people, and after last week, I-” You had started the sentence hoping to use Grace as an excuse but every word of yours succeeded in making you more apprehensive.

The carnival night flashed in your mind, along with the nightmares and you started panicking even more. Your hands clammy, your dessert spoon fell in your lap as sought your phone in your purse, hoping to call Wanda for an update. You felt like a terrible mother, who left her child with a stranger, only a week after she suffered trauma, just to go on a date with a mobster.

Steve reached across the table and grabbed your fidgety hands and as you wriggled to get your hands free, he softly called your name. Voice stern but vocals gentle. Your blurry eyes snapped to meet his while he guided you to breathe deeply, in and out.

His firm hold convinced you to listen to him, you’d never free yourself of them otherwise.

When you had calmed a bit, he withdrew his hands and fetched his phone. Your thoughts slowed down, and you wondered if anyone here was judging you. Your little scene, mercifully, went unnoticed by the other affluent people dining here.

Steve handed you his phone where four colored frames rested, the screen showing you Grace and Sarah cuddled in a frilly, pink four poster where Wanda sat too, her lips moving.

The feed was live and the screen muted, both the toddlers’ eyes fluttering close slowly, on the bridge of sleep.

You handed the phone back to Steve and drank your water while he rubbed circles on the back of one of your hands. You never freaked out like you did right now, always collected and never giving into anxiety. What had happened to you?

Well, In your defense, you had never experienced a disaster either.

“The kids are safe; I’m never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

Your mind did catch the plural in his statement but you promised yourself you would not let it get that far and continued drinking your water, emptying the entire glass.

“The HD image you just saw was by cameras Tony recently developed. His technology is amazing, I’ll take you to his lab sometime.” You appreciated his attempt to redirect the topic but you also focused on how tech-savvy his friends were as well.

You hummed and agreed, trying to be ambiguous with your answer.

When you finished your dessert, you hoped he’d forget about his ‘friend’ Tony but to no avail.

“His penthouse is two floors above. He owns this hotel as well in case you didn’t notice.” He led you to the elevator as you recalled the Starks Group logo you saw earlier sometime.

Some AI named Jarvis opened the elevator doors for you in the living room of Tony’s penthouse. It was even more magnificent than the restaurant earlier, the place illuminated by several hues of different colours. Steve chuckled and strung you along, introducing you to a ginger-head named Pepper, who was Tony’s date earlier and went to search for his acquaintance.

She offered you wine but you politely declined, opting for water instead. She brought your glass to you from the extravagant kitchen and you both sat on the barstool there instead of the living room. Too anxious to say the wrong thing, you stayed quiet until her voice filled the deafening silence.

“So, Steve almost never brings dates around. You two serious?” She questioned, leaning towards you, waiting for some gossip, no doubt.

“Oh no! We aren’t dating. He just invited me for a friendly dinner. We merely met the other week.” You deliberately left out the part where there was bombing by crime families and attack on the common man.

“Honey, in the mob life, you don’t just introduce random people to the fam.”

Oh, she wasn’t being shy about the whole mob ordeal. It seemed weird to hear it from her, since you and Steve hadn’t used the word yet. Maybe he figured you already knew considering the circumstances you met in or how famous he was.

“We really aren’t romantically involved. This dinner was just a gesture of gratitude if I’m being truthful.”

She chuckled, as if you were a kid making stories and quizzed, “Gratitude for what?”

You trapped yourself into that one. You didn’t know how to answer her and your brain downright blanked. Surprisingly,, Steve came to your rescue and two voices interposed your conversation.

Steve called your name and as you turned to the men, he continued, “She’s the one who saved Sarah the other night. You know the story, Wilson probably got it printed.”

“Impressive, really. Hey, I’m Tony and I see you’ve already met Pepper, my fiancée.” He shook your hand and kissed your knuckles, much like Steve did earlier in the day. You bowed, smiled and mumbled a ‘nice to meet you as well’. They escorted you to the elevator and Tony continued.

“Well, it’s not everyday Steve brings brave and extraordinarily attractive women around. Welcome to the family, sweetie. She’s a keeper, Cap.” He winked while saying the last sentence and before you could correct him, Steve ushered you inside the elevator, bro-hugging him. As the doors closed, Pepper winked at you from behind Tony and a shudder ran through you.

Okay you had to make it clear, get on the same page.

As the elevator music filled the silence, you started, “Steve, look we aren’t-”, “I served in the army, that’s why Tony calls me Cap, short for captain.” And crudely got interrupted.

“I never wanted to get into the army, I thought people were fools to sacrifice the one life they got. But I went to make my mother’s dream a reality, I really loved her, you know? Sarah is named after her, my mother.”

His voice broke at the end and as much as you wanted to redirect onto your former topic, you couldn’t. This amiability of yours would be the death of you.

“She died alone in her bed; I was dispatched too far away to even make it back for her funeral.” He mumbled but you heard him clear as a sunny day, and he leaned back onto the wall for support while you awkwardly rubbed his shoulder to return the support he provided earlier during your mental breakdown.

He closed his eyes and gathered himself, taking deep breaths. As the elevator dinged, his eyes opened and he gave you a strained smile.

The car ride to his mansion was painfully silent, his mind too sidetracked to focus on harassing you again. With all that you went through today, you almost forgot about that.

His mansion was enormous, twenty guards stood outside and even more patrolled the lawn. He took you inside his house, the interior even more detailed and scenic than Tony’s temporary residence.

You just concentrated on swiftly getting Grace and Uber-ing back. As Steve showed you earlier, Grace and Sarah hugged and slept and it was a meticulous task to untangle their limbs without waking either of them up andnd get Grace with her back-pack. You thanked Wanda on the way out, hoping to avoid Steve but somehow he stood outside before you, leaning on his sleek black car. He opened the door for you before you could refuse the ride. You settled with Grace in the backseat itself, trying to be smart.

He just summoned one of his guards to drive and sat alongside you in the back. You didn’t let the annoyance at his clinginess show though. You just focused on Grace who drooled over your shoulder.

Hopefully, there won’t be any point of exposure to him ever again, your circles didn’t match, both social and professional. Your Venn diagrams didn’t overlap anywhere. This should be reason enough to avoid meeting ever again.

He didn’t try anything even this ride around. You doubted it was hardly because of the toddler or because of the driver. He did as he pleased, if he wanted to he could very well grope you. Luckily, he wasn't in the mood.

When you reached your dwelling, you stepped out hastily, thanking him in a whisper. You fumbled to get your keys out, but since everything you held slowed you down, he caught up with you without even trying.

He took and held Grace’s bag while you drew the keys out, Grace still on your hip. He handed you the bag back, “So this is it, I guess?”

“Yeah, tonight was a total delight. Thanks for the dinner and everything, really.” You put up your best façade, hoping to convince him.

“It was, thanks to you. The company matters the most.”

You awkwardly chuckled and you sensed him leaning in, his eyes flickering shut. Your eyes closed as you turned your head to avoid him, so that his lips would peck your cheek.

They never came.

Your eyes opened to find his and he chuckled, leaning in once again swiftly, catching you off guard this time. He didn’t meet your lips though, he kissed the corner of your mouth, lips overlapping for a fraction of skin.

“In due time, baby.” He stepped back and strolled to his car leisurely, content in his own world.

You opened your door and slammed it shut, the peck feeling wrong on so many levels. It felt more sensual than a lover’s kiss, leaving room for intimacy and longing.

Your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers an hour, the most absurd but nauseatingly true being, this was a date and it was not your last encounter.

Steve smirked outside in his car, the dinner an absolute success in his opinion. Tonight just made him feel that you both were more than compatible for each other. You needing him during your mental breakdown, him relaxing under your shy touch, Tony’s approval, not that important though, and your anxiety for Grace was the best part, because he, more often than he’d like to admit, fussed about Sarah the same way, agonizing and fretting her well being.

A text lit up his black screen and his grin widened even more if possible.

‘The Stark cameras are up and working, Sir.’

829 notes · View notes

let-them-read-fics · 4 years ago

Text

Die For You

Requested by Anon: “hi :) can I request Jennie scenario based on The Weeknd’s song ‘Die For You’? I also wanted to say I really love your works, they’re really good”

Pairing: Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,705

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Fluff, Near-Death Experience, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Thank you anon! My schedule is getting busy again, so writings may take a bit longer to get posted; I apologize for the delay with this one, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Let me know what you guys think!

PS ~ This is my first time writing a song request, so I kind of just went with it lol. It’s a little messy, but I think it has charm. Happy reading!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Jennie Kim has a magnetic pull to her -- one that is relentless and unwavering once it takes control of you. It’s hypnotic in every way; sweet torture in its truest form; and you’re always left to pick up the pieces.

The arrangement that you share with Jennie has been clear from the get-go: friends with benefits, no strings attached. Neither of you have time for anything serious, and this seemed like a win-win: always having someone to come home to when you happened to be in the same area at the same time? Hell yeah.

You hate that you want me

Hate it when you cry

You're scared to be lonely

'Specially in the night

Gradually, though, things got messy -- lines became blurred as feelings mixed into the equation. You did everything in your power to make them go away, reminding yourself time and time again of the agreement you had. But in moments like these, as you lay in bed with Jennie, her head resting on your chest as your hand runs through her hair, you can’t help how your heart swells. Pale moonlight traces patterns on the floor, wiggling its way into the room to offer a soft glow and ambiance. In here, you’re untouchable: no cameras or prying eyes; it’s just you and Jennie, free to be yourselves. Given this fact, you’ve grown to have a love-hate relationship with these four walls; they’re your haven -- your refuge -- but they serve as a brutal reminder of just how limited your relationship with Jennie is.

Nothing is certain: weeks turn into months -- especially when she’s on tour or otherwise occupied with her busy schedule -- and you’re left to your own devices, waiting on her return. Each day without her brings you closer to believing that you’re strong enough to move onto something better -- something more consistent; but then there she is, knocking on your door again, completely pushing that absurd idea from your mind. One smile from her is enough to reel you back in, and it only makes you feel more conflicted.

Jennie stirs in her sleep, nuzzling her face closer into you as she brings a hand up to rest against your collarbone. Her body twitches lightly, lips pursing and pouting against your neck, and you wonder what she’s dreaming about. She doesn’t seem to be distressed in any way, so you take the opportunity to get a good look at her. Within the next couple hours the alarm would be blaring that sound that you despise more than anything else in this world, signalling for her to get ready and head off to the airport to leave you all over again. Despite the circumstances, you're comforted by the fact that she always makes sure to set it for the very last second, barely giving herself enough time to catch her flight -- she wants to spend every moment possible with you, and she makes it a point to do just that. Tearful goodbyes in the back of your car would be too involved for your “relationship”, so you always try to seem unaffected (or, at least, as close to that as you can manage). You save your tears for when you arrive back home, where you spend the evening coming to terms with her absence. She would never tell you, of course, but her flights are known to bear witness to plenty of sadness for her as well; with each new mile added to the distance between the two of you, her heart breaks a little more.

~~~~~~~

It’s been 4 months since you last saw Jennie. The time apart had offered you a new perspective, something in the long nights without her affirming what you already knew to be true -- you weren’t capable of continuing on like this much longer. Nothing about your situation was ever simple; the instant you began catching feelings, it all became muddled. The one rule set -- the only principle you were tasked with following -- had been broken, and there was nothing you could do to repair it.

A knock at your door echoes out across the empty apartment, and you quickly put down the food that you had been preparing. With a swift adjustment of the dial, you set the burner to simmer and make your way to the door. None of your friends had mentioned that they were coming by, so you’re genuinely clueless as to who it could be.

“Jennie?” Surprise is inadequate in describing the feeling that courses through you upon meeting that familiar gaze. The metal of the knob is cool in your hand as you grip it, knuckles turning white while your emotions run wild. She had failed to let you know that she was coming back to town, neglecting even to text you recently.

“Miss me?” How are you to answer that? Part of you wants to blurt out your thoughts, effectively ripping the metaphorical band aid right off, but another part of you wants to deny her: the past few months had allowed your feelings to become somewhat dormant as you attempted to see a future beyond this arrangement, one void of her presence. It’s completely normal to feel like that, you tell yourself. It’s strange, but as in love with her as you are, you’re almost as equally indifferent about it all. How many more times could you watch her walk away, only to string you along until she came waltzing right back in?

The more important question of the matter is apparent: how would you even begin to tell her what you’re feeling? In the past, you’ve tried to make her aware of what you’re going through, only to be met by a change of topic. She always stayed reserved, opting to spend your time together talking about anything other than that.

Deciding that you were taking far too long to respond to her, she steps into the room, closing the door behind her. The time away from you had affected her more than she’s willing to admit, and she’s more than ready to embrace you. Her arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling your body flush up against hers, and she sighs at the feeling. “I’ve missed holding you, Y/N.” The sweet nothing does it’s job, making your heart flutter as the words register in your mind. You’re still tense, though, and she doesn’t fail to notice; before long, soft kisses are being trailed across your face -- her attempt at relaxing you. Sometimes you wonder if she knows your body better than you do: it responds to her, just like she knew it would, and you loosen up.

After what feels like minutes of just standing there, bodies intertwined, her hands make their way to your hips. She leans forward and ghosts her lips over yours, her gloss smudging a bit in the process. A battle is being fought in your mind: should you allow yourself this indulgence? Or is this the time to be strong and finally put your foot down? The choice is made up for you by the way that she slowly backs you up against the wall, along with how her mouth brushes against yours as her warm hands steady you. Before you can stop yourself, you close the distance.

Her lips move against yours in perfect time, a delicious rhythm being set in the process. It brings to mind the notion that maybe -- just maybe -- the two of you are meant to be. After all, you fit together like a puzzle, being complete in the presence of one another.

As her fingers play at the band of your shorts, hands roaming further with each needy kiss she presses to your lips, you debate with yourself. Her actions tempt you to cave in and give yourself up to her, but you decide that you can’t go down that road again. At least not until everything gets sorted. Quickly -- as to not give her anymore time to change your mind -- you step back and run a hand through your hair. Hers is messy, lips red and pupils blown wide. She reaches out for you again, but you simply hold your hand up in response.

“I can’t, Jennie.” The words come out as a reluctant declaration, your tone sounding tired.

Her brows furrow, but you continue.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

“Elaborate.” Her demand is clear, but you miss the effort that it took for her to come off that way. At your words, panic began to course through her; she can’t lose you.

“Whatever this is,” you say, motioning between the two of you. “I can’t be someone who waits around for you all the time, just keeping your bed warm.” She wants to laugh at that one; it’s almost comical how far you are from the truth. Jennie knows she’s good at hiding her feelings, but she’s shocked that she managed to make you believe something that ridiculous about yourself. You mean the world to her -- she’s just too afraid to admit it.

“Y/N--”

“No, don’t even try to change the subject; I’m sick of it. Please, just listen to me for once.”

A subtle nod from her serves as your cue to continue.

“I never meant for things to get like this, Jennie, believe me. But I can’t pretend anymore: I like you, a lot. And after having you in the ways that I’ve had you…” you pause, allowing your eyes to trail up and down her body as you clench your jaw, “I can’t bear the thought of someone taking my place when I’m not around. Do you know how hard that is to deal with?”

Happens every time

I'm scared that I'll miss you

I don't want this feelin'

I can't afford love

She seems stunned, to say the least; she blinks a few times before gathering her thoughts and speaking up. “You’re all I think about, no matter what I’m doing.” For a second, you’re hopeful: your heart beats a little faster at her confession, and you finally believe you’re getting somewhere with her. Sadly, she continues: “But I can’t afford that. I don’t have time for a commitment like that, and we have something good right now. I’ve seen plenty of relationships go bad and end in heartbreak; why should we risk it?”

“Aren’t you tired of it? Sometimes I really start to think that you like me back, but then you’re as guarded as ever, pushing me away again. I never know where I stand with you. So unless you tell me how you honestly feel, you’ll have to take me off your list of fuck buddies.”

Your language catches her off guard, seeing as how it’s unexpected and unlike you. How are you so oblivious? You’re so much more than that to her.

“Fine, Y/N! I’m in deeper than I care to admit. I’ve tried to run from it, but I can’t. You’re the one person I can’t seem to forget, and I can’t stand you because of that. And yeah..” she pauses, a bit exasperated, and takes a deep breath before continuing. “I won’t deny that I’ve been with other people when I’m away.” You close your eyes at her admission, that familiar sadness beginning to seep in -- it wasn’t anything you didn’t already know, but that doesn’t make its confirmation any easier to hear.

“They’re not you, though. They don’t know me like you do… they’re not fun like you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and I don’t want to. It terrifies me.”

“That’s kinda part of the deal, Jennie -- it’s a scary thing. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I’m willing to try with you. What we have right now is wearing me down, and I don’t deserve it; so either listen to your heart and be with me, or you won’t be seeing me again.”

Following your ultimatum, she doesn’t dare speak. Her brows are slightly furrowed again, jaw set, and she’s looking at the ground. Out of habit, your arms cross against your chest -- being vulnerable is never something you particularly enjoy (especially with so much on the line) but you’re sick of beating around the bush with her. One of the first lessons you ever learned from Jennie is that she avoids her feelings at all costs; so, standing there, you wonder what it would take to make her finally open up. Would your absence be enough? Maybe you were foolish for thinking so.

With every second that passes, silence remaining unbroken by the words that you so desperately want to hear from her, your heart sinks more and more. Every insecurity you have is swirling in your mind, further clouding it. Her lack of a response confirms your fears, and you nod quickly, knowing what you have to do.

“Okay, I get it. I’m gonna take a walk, but you can stay here and take a shower since you just got in. When I come back, though, I want you gone.”

She doesn’t even raise her head to look at you. Inside, her heart is breaking; every fiber of her being is begging to say something -- anything -- but she stays quiet. It’s hard enough for her to keep her feelings for you in check with the arrangement you have now; if you become official, she won’t know what to do with herself. She’s falling hard, but she’s fighting it all the while -- her lifestyle doesn’t have room for love. You deserve someone who can be with you whenever you want them, not someone who’s always a world away. Calls and texts only go so far, and she knows it wouldn’t be enough for either of you. She’s spent your latest stint apart attempting to come to terms with the idea of life without you; it’s the last thing she wants, but she needs you to move on and find someone better. For you, she’s willing to hurt, so long as it means you’re happy.

After a beat, she accepts your words, confirming that she heard you by giving a simple nod. Any remaining hope you were clinging to fades away completely, and you’re left feeling empty. Now at the coat rack, you pull your jacket over your shoulders and slip your shoes on. “There’s food on the stove, by the way. Don’t let it burn.” You say over your shoulder, too sad to look at her again. Maybe that’s some sort of symbolism: the wonderful thing you had spent so long creating was fizzling out right in front of you, Jennie being the one who could fix it all. She can step up and repair things, but that doesn’t seem very likely to happen. Tears are brimming in your eyes, and her heart breaks at the sound of your sniffles.

Even though we're going through it

And it makes you feel alone

With a thud, the apartment door closes, and Jennie finally breaks down. It all hits her in an instant, and soon she’s sliding down to the floor, her tears mimicking her actions as they fall onto her cheeks. Why did this have to be so hard? Seeing the pain etched so plainly into your features was definitely the hardest part to all of this; she’s being cruel to be kind… if only you knew that.

I try to find reason to pull us apart

It ain't workin' 'cause you're perfect

And I know that you're worth it

I can't walk away, oh!

As soon as Jennie had realized her feelings all that time ago, she racked her brain for any and every logical reason to end things. She would pick fights over small things, praying to every higher power that you’d get tired of the stupidity and give up on her. So many other people had in the past, so why wouldn’t you? Knowing that you’re different from all the rest -- perfect for her in every way imaginable -- only scares her more. You lit a fire in her heart the day you met, and it’s only grown stronger ever since.

~~~~~~~

20 Minutes Later

You have no real destination in mind; you’re content with just allowing your feet to take you wherever they wish to go.

Chatter from across the city makes its way to your ears, oddly offering a sense of comfort in your time of need. The night sky is full of stars, and the city bustles with life and activity. As you pass different businesses and shops, their iridescent lights shine just for you. Distant cars honk as they traverse the streets, and your mind begins to think of all of the different things those people might be doing right now. Surely some are having a great day, maybe on their way home, eager to be greeted by their loved ones. Others might be hurting just like you.

And you won't find no one that's better

'Cause I'm right for you, babe

I think I'm right for you, babe

Jennie fails to realize that all you want is her; you’re not naive -- you know how crazy her schedule is, but you’re more than willing to make sacrifices if it means she’ll be yours. No one makes you feel the way she does, and the thought of spending your life searching for something that can never compare scares you.

A slight breeze rolls in, ghosting over your skin, and you’re reminded of all the times she would pull you in close to keep you warm. Her sweet perfume would fill your nose as you snuggled into her embrace, sharing the heat that her coat offered. Getting over her would definitely be a bitch.

It's hard for me to communicate the thoughts that I hold

But tonight I'm gon' let you know

Let me tell the truth

Baby, let me tell the truth, yeah

The peace -- if you can call it that -- is broken by a shout. “Y/N, wait!” Confused, you spin around on your heel towards the voice. It’s Jennie; she’s sprinting to you, her brown locks bouncing and flowing in the wind with every step. Conflicted, yet again, your feet appear to be rooted in their spot. What does she want now? It seems that every time you get your hopes up, she’s always letting you down. With this in mind, you slowly turn back around and continue your walk. Eventually she’ll catch up to you, but you need the extra time to gather your now-jumbled thoughts.

Just know that I would die for you

Baby I would die for you, yeah

It all happened in a blur. As you began crossing the street to put more distance between Jennie and yourself, the high pitched sound of tires squealing against the pavement rang out. The car came out of nowhere, barrelling straight towards you with no signs of stopping; they had run a red light. Your eyes locked with the driver’s, both of you donning an equally terrified expression, and you had no time to react. Just as the bumper was about to come into contact with your body, you were instead forcefully shoved out of the way. Another person -- your savior -- comes tumbling with you just in the nick of time, and the driver swerves around you.

“Are you okay?!” It’s Jennie; her voice is ripe with worry, her thoughts focused solely on your wellbeing. She doesn’t even notice the cut that she received from the fall. You bring your hand up to her forehead to assess the wound.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. But you,” you say, touching her injury and eliciting a pained hiss from her in the process, “...are not.” The two of you are breathing hard as adrenaline courses through your systems; once it has died down a bit, you stand up and check each other for any more sore spots.

“Thank you, Jennie. I don’t know how to repay you for something like that.”

“I’d do it again a million times, Y/N. I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. I came to tell you that I love you, and that I’m done running. Seeing you leave really put things into perspective for me.”

“Am I supposed to believe that, or will you change your mind again?” The words are harsh, your voice laced with the bitterness that you still hold onto. You can’t find it in yourself to cushion the blow much; you’re still hurt by what’s happened in the past, and rightfully so. Beyond that, though, you’re trying to be cautious; after hearing her confess like that, you know there’s no going back.

“Okay, I deserve that one. But I mean what I said. You’re the best thing in my life -- the best I’ve ever had -- and I just want you to be happy. I’ve always been afraid that I can’t give you that if I’m so far away all the time.”

“Oh, baby,” you start, cupping her cheek and running your thumb across it soothingly. She leans into your touch, and your expression softens. “All I’ve ever wanted is you. You’re everything to me, you know that? We can do this together, so long as you’re willing to try.”

“I am.” She utters before pulling you in, sealing your new agreement with a kiss. Her lips move against yours gently, taking their time as they attempt to make up for her previous behavior. It’s soft yet urgent, a million different things passing between you without words.

Suddenly, you pull back, and Jennie panics for a second.

“Did you turn the burner off?”

“Oh shit!” She exclaims, a look of pure fear gracing her features.

Just as that cold, prickly feeling of dread begins to spread throughout your body, she grins.

“Yes, I did.”

You roll your eyes and huff loudly at her, delivering a rough shove to her shoulder.

“Don’t do that to me!”

She responds by pulling you in again, kissing away your frown. “I love you, too, if you didn’t catch that earlier.” You declare, feeling her lips turn up in that beautifully iconic smile of hers. She hums at that, pulling you in closer just as the chilly wind blows again. Huh, maybe the universe had been listening all along.

#jennie kim #jennie x reader #blackpink angst #blackpink fluff #blackpink #blackpink imagine #blackpink oneshots #jennie imagine #jennie kim x fem reader #die for you #let-them-read-fics #blackpink scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios

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okaywitheverything · 4 years ago

Note

hi! can i request minato fall for naruto kindergarten teacher please? thank you 😁

Ma'am: A Possible New Mom? Minato x KindergartenTeacher!Reader

My actual first request! Hope I did it justice! Thank you honey for the request. I wrote some sort of mixed AU so I hope you don't mind.

A/N: This took a lot of time because I have a lot of tests every month. Also i threw up a week ago and was somewhat sick. Then I lost the two drafts and was so irritated with ms word but somehow I managed to write again. So a lot of blood, sweat and tears went into this. Please shower it with love if you even read this awful Author’s note.

Positive A/N: I did like how it turned out tho, the ending is too cute and you won't know what to expect as I didn't either. I genuinely hope you have fun reading this piece.

Word count: 3K

Your POV

“It must be fun to play with the kids all day."

People who think that are the biggest fools on the planet in the universe.

You were picking up the various toys scattered throughout the main classroom, sorting them category wise while the kids took a nap. Most of them anyways.

A few babies had insane amount of energies that they refused to sleep whatsoever. But it wasn't as big a problem as people think it is. All kids have different strengths, a variety of ways to function and unique physiology. You knew if a kid was not tired, forcing him or her to doze off isn't healthy.

Just let the kids be.

So that explains why Naruto was alongside you helping you to collect the sponge shurikens scattered around while you put away the stuffed ninkens on the high shelf. Usually Kiba and Rock Lee would be awake as well, and this trio would play in the hall until their limbs gave out but today even they slept after tiring poor Akamaru out for weird challenges.

“Ma’am, I almost forgot! I want to show you something! Come with me!” Naruto suddenly grabbed your hand leaving his task in the midst and urging you to leave yours too. You looked at him puzzled but giggled at his enthusiasm nonetheless, sometimes kids were too darn cute. You loved the ways kids’ eyes lit up, so optimistic and happy and hopeful until the world snatched it all away. You wanted to preserve this for as long as could.

He took you to the room where the kids kept their small backpacks filled with their favourite articles that they thought were absolutely necessary to take everywhere.

No Neji, you don’t need to have three combs for the care of your luscious hair every possible instant.

Naruto generally brought a lot of snacks which you had to retain sometimes so that he would eat healthy but it became even harder to do so when all he wanted was for Sasuke to taste the tomatoey flavour ‘these’ chips had and gift Rock Lee the curry flavour. That boy had a heart of gold.

He pulled the zipper of his orange backpack open, and took out a stuffed fox.

“Ma’am meet Kurama! I told him all about you and he wanted to meet you!” He held Kurama up while you were gently petting the plushie’s head, he was so excited to see your happiness to meet his esteemed companion.

These kids and their imaginations! You loved every ounce of it!

“Hello Mr. Kurama!” You didn’t feign excitement, you actually were. You loved kids and their creativity and wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“He’s my best friend! Don’t tell anyone else though! Others might get sad.”

You did an action of zipping your lips, “Your secret is safe with me, sweetie.”

“Look! I also drew something!” He hastily handed you Kurama and proceeded to take out his yellow sketchbook. He kept turning pages filled with rainbows of colours morphing into one another that made some sense in his cute, little head and finally reached his desired page. He pulled your dress with his little chubby hands, an action he often did when he wanted you to sit beside him. You kneeled down, his plushie settled in your lap now as you waited for him to go ahead.

He handed you his open sketchbook where there were three figures, two adults and one kid judging by the height, all wearing triangular outfits. One kid and an adult had striking yellow hair and blue eyes while the other adult wore an orange dress with a large circle in their hands. On closer inspection, you saw your own hair colour and eye colour being illustrated to the best of the toddler’s ability, as far as the crayons allowed him to portray it. You had a circle in your hands, almost the size of your drawn head with black spots in between while the child in the photo held an orange squishy ball. To save you from your confusion, Naruto came to the rescue and started explaining.

“That’s me and Dada over here. And I’m playing with Kurama! And that’s you Ma’am! Bringing me and dada cookies for being good boys like you do in class!”

Your heart melted right there and then. For some reason, your face heated up too.

“Oh my God, honey, that’s amazing!” You pecked his cheek as Naruto blushed slightly and rubbed his head, “You liked it?”

“I Loved it! What did Dada say about it?”

“He got so red like Sasuke’s tomatoes haha. But he put it on our fridge like my other drawings and he said it was the best one yet.”

Before you could reply, crying was heard from the nap room and you sighed. Looks like someone woke up.

“Yay, someone is up! We can now play!” Naruto began running but you stopped him.

“Let’s be sure to pack this all up before, Ma’am Anko will see to your friend okay?”

Minato was waiting alongside other parents, it was 10 minutes till the kindergarten was over. His mind wandered afar, thinking about his journey to this town.

Minato was very afraid when he moved to Konoha, about Naruto settling in and making friends. Of course, back in his previous town he had already got Naruto a place in the best Kindergarten there, pulling all the needed strings but his promotion caught him off guard. Being a single parent was hard enough as it is, and with the worry of adjusting to new surroundings for his growing son, he was almost going to decline the offer. Only after much conviction from his friends that he deserved this, he took the offer, albeit hesitantly.

He was happy with his new workspace and colleagues as well, and was over the moon when he one of his erudite associates had a son the same age as his own, and recommended the city’s best kindergarten where his son was set to go. He went blindly on his associate’s word, because he knew him to be a wise dad.

For the first two months, he had to work relentlessly to prove his position as the new leader in the branch, and so he had his assistant pick Naruto up while he prepared lunch at home for his precious boy, barely making it home fifteen minutes before they did. But when the company celebrated their first real accomplishment, only then did Minato feel he could take a step back and indulge with his son more as he used to do.

When he began picking him up himself, he realised what he had been missing on: small quirky tales, new words his toddler learned, new friends’ names, his favourite teacher’s cookies apparently. Minato quickly noticed, being the perceptive man he was, that Naruto could go hours and hours talking about his Ma’am. He would have thought of it as a crush, had Naruto been older.

But when he first saw you, he could relate to his son if Naruto did have a crush. He knew he was being superficial, being attracted to your appearance at first sight but he couldn’t help himself that you were almost ethereal, too gorgeous to be true. It seemed as if you were glowing when you laughed alongside the kids or held one of them on your shoulders while searching for the parents.

However, your personality was even more so captivating when he finally talked to you at the parents-teachers conference. You were such a quality teacher, he deduced when he noticed how apt you were at describing each kid individually and how dedicated to their growth you were. He loved the bond you had with Naruto, the boy couldn’t stop grinning upon meeting you on his day off.

The bell rung, breaking him out of his reverie, and he waited as the kids ran to the parents, waving goodbyes here and there, ready for their weekend. He could hear your faint shouting over the buzz, “Make sure you have taken all your belongings, kiddos! Have a good weekend!”

He knew if you had a special place in his son’s heart, he could let you stay in his heart as well.

It was 8 PM, one hour past the Uzumaki kid’s bedtime, but the blatantly crying kid was nowhere near sleeping. A distressed Minato held him on his hip, as he searched the entire house for his favourite plushie, Kurama, without whom Naruto had never slept.

“We’ll find him, Naru. Do you remember where you last saw it?” Minato asked, pausing and sitting in the comfy sofa, looking at Naruto, hoping he’d have an answer.

Naruto’s wails quietened down, fortunately there were no tears, as he pondered and spoke, “I last showed it to Ma’am!”

Minato sighed, he grasped that Naruto would have left it at the playschool because no inch of his house was unsearched. He settled Naruto down on the couch as he deliberated calling you over a toy. He had your number for emergencies, but was this one? The real objection, the actual reluctance he had for calling was totally different though. He hated to admit it, but talking to Naruto’s daydream of a teacher always left him stuttering like a teenager. He could barely listen and respond when he met her at the kindergarten, but talking to that Goddess one on one was more terrifying and nerve-wracking than moving to a new town.

But he knew there was no way Naruto would sleep without Kurama and it was only Friday, nights to wait if he doesn’t ask you about the plushie today. He couldn’t imagine how disheveled will Naruto be without Kurama by then. He would surely award himself with wine if he managed to finish the call without fainting.

With clammy hands and a vigorously pounding heart, he dialed the number.

You were finishing up the last batch of forms and cleaning up, when you saw something abruptly put in the otherwise shipshape playroom. Before you could further inspect, your phone rang, Mr. Uzumaki flashing on top of the screen. Your heart hammered as you wondered what he could be calling about.

You were not going to lie, Mr. Uzumaki was easy on the eyes, always in class A condition with his well-tailored suits as he came to pick Naruto up. Even the married housewives ogled him not-so-subtly. He was such an excellent father, really devoted in his son’s life while simultaneously conquering the business world. An eye candy, with all the best qualities that existed, an immensely put together God’s creation. He was dream partner to have, yet somehow he was single.

Your phone’s ring broke you out of your musing, as your sweaty palms grabbed the phone and received the cal.

“Good Evening, Mr. Uzumaki.” You managed out, your neck suddenly heating up.

“Good Evening, Miss. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Not at all, I was about to head home. How may I help you?”

“If you are still there at the playschool, could you please…… If you don’t mind….. I’m sorry again I called-”

“I assure you, it’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it. Although you do need to tell me the problem if you want me to help.” You giggled lightly, amused at that man stuttering.

“Thank you. Umm Naruto left his night time plushie there I suppose and he doesn’t sleep without it. Could you please, please check if it’s there?”

“Of course.” You held the phone and as you hummed and went to the Kid’s playroom you found Naruto’s sketchbook with the drawing laying on it, and the Kurama toy beside it. You swore you promised Naruto pack it earlier in the day.

“Looks like he did leave it here.”

“Can you keep the school open a bit late, I’ll come and collect it right aw-”

“Its pretty windy right now outside, and you’ll have to bring Naruto too at this hour. I’ll drop it at your home on my way back, I was planning in leaving in five anyways.” Your mouth spoke before you could process what you said, offering to go to his house? Nice going there, you desperate weirdo.

His choked out “Okay” almost surprised you as you ended the call.

This will be a nice, little detour.

About twenty minutes later, the doorbell to the Uzumaki household rang and Minato sprinted to the door, opening it immediately.

There you stood, with tousled hair from the wind, in your long red pea coat and black heels. Your cheeks lightly tinted, no doubt because of the unruly weather outside. Somehow you still looked absolutely perfect in Minato’s eyes as he traced your form, unable to initiate the conversation.

You, on the other hand, had halted completely when the door opened revealing a ripped Minato, his muscles bulging underneath his black shirt while grey sweatpants hung loosely on his hips. His biceps were so thick, you wondered how he managed to exercise on top of all the responsibilities he had.

You handed it over to Minato whose eyes widened at the piece of paper and stood there awkwardly, processing what to say.

Somehow stopping yourself from all the gawking, you cleared your throat as you dug in your black purse and took out Naruto’s best friend and his masterpiece.

“Guess he left this as well.” He gave a forced laugh, trying to make things less uncomfortable after he stood silent for two minutes.

You chuckled lightly in agreement when suddenly thunder boomed behind you, causing you to shriek and slip, only to be caught by Minato, his hands holding you around your middle tightly in a protective manner. You coughed as you stepped back again and he cleared his throat this time when suddenly it started pouring like hell’s rage on Earth.

“You should stay for a while, at least until the rain lightens.”

You were going to decline, but when you saw how bad it was raining, you knew you would have to accept. “Looks, like I’ll have to. Sorry to impose.”

“It’s no imposition at all. I’m inviting you, don’t fret.”

You stepped inside, shrugging your pea-coat off, revealing your black dress underneath. Minato reddened visibly, taking your pea-coat from you and hanging it. He cursed himself as he thought of conversation starters, wanting to say something, anything to not stand like a fool.

“Would you like wine? I have this blush flavoured bottle reading to drink.”

“I would love that, Thank you. What are you celebrating though, if I may ask?” You agreed, maybe the alcohol would calm your buzzing nerves. Besides you were a sucker for wine.

“Nothing much, a simple personal achievement of sorts.” He said with a grin as he led you inside, hopeful of where the night might lead. Maybe the liquid courage would help him finally ask you out.

Behind the wall, Naruto grinned with a pacifier in his mouth. Mission successful.

So that was that. Until next time, cookies.

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i-dont-want-your-hysteria · 4 years ago

Text

A Certain Heartache (Joe x Reader)

(this might be the supreme Joe Hoe fic. Just simping out the fucking ass. Before I had a title for this, I just referred to it as “The Simp Fic”. I would write this late at night while lonely)

Dedicated to @heaven-is-hysteria >:3

Words: 3,494

Prompt: Holland, 1985, pre-Hysteria. You’ve been working alongside the band long before the recording of the 4th album began. Studio stress is at an all time high, so you and Joe (your mutual confidant) have a long, intimate talk one evening to vent it all away. After you part ways for the night, both of you are kept awake by the gears turning in your heads.

Romantic tension ahoy!

-----

His warm, lengthy body was perfectly contoured against yours. It was such a cold night, and you were glad he was there under the covers to provide you with an extra sense of security. The drumming of his heart thumped against your ear, and the swelling of his lungs was your reminder that your pillow was capable of breathing, too. As per his duty as a pillow, he let you cling to him in any way you pleased and had not complained once; he would just tell you "if you're comfy, then so am I."

Yes, that's what Joe would've done- if he were there with you.

Instead, there you were, in the wrong bed again. The bed would only feel like the right one if you had his company.

Romantic tension didn't even begin to define what you and Joe had between yourselves. There was no doubt in sight that both of you sensed it. It was magic in the air that only appeared when you were alone; it was something truly different. Things like a brief touch to your hair, holding hands, a quick kiss on the cheek, or occasionally dozing off on each other made this magic arise. There had been times of genuine affection with Joe, just as there had been times of platonic friendship. Unfortunately, you weren't sure where the line was drawn between them.

Based on past events, neither did he.

Stress at the studio had taken a toll on both of you over the past few weeks. That night, either of you were on the verge of a total breakdown because of it. You'd spent about two hours sitting and standing, walking and talking, laughing and crying to each other. The more you thought on it, the more romantic it felt. The social intimacy you discovered felt somehow more binding than what Joe had with the rest of his band mates.

Your heart leapt against the sheets at the realization; he let himself be open and sensitive around you that night, not the others. Of all people the mighty Joe Elliott was close to during such a pivotal time in his career, he chose to have deep conversation at night with you. And there you were, lying awake at night, unable to sleep because you were thinking about him.

For fuck's sake- this is getting too serious. You weren't sure why neither you or Joe hadn't made a move quite yet. One thing was for sure; it was killing you- especially after an evening like that.

-----

Your warm, gentle body was perfectly curled over his. While he didn't want to appear nervous, Joe's heart was mercilessly thumping against your ear. You were using him as a pillow, and he was trying to be the best one he could be. Even after Joe dismissed your concern for his comfort, you'd still try to shift yourself in a way that would feel better to him.

Yes, that's what you would've done- if you were there with him.

The game of chicken you two were clearly playing was reaching a breaking point. Joe wasn't sure who would crack first, but cracks were undoubtedly forming.

Joe stared up at his ceiling. The cold night was eating away at his skin, and goosebumps came and went when they wanted. When you both left each other for the night, it felt wrong and awkward. He felt like he should've spoken up and asked if you wanted to stay with him. Just a quick "wanna stay at my place tonight?" would've sufficed.

Joe thought that might have sounded better than "can I stay at your place tonight?", but regardless, he didn't get the chance to test either of them. It's not like it mattered too much to him. After all, you were only a hallway away from each other.

That evening, your long route through conversation topics left Joe feeling changed. He couldn't put his finger on what had changed, however. He supposed it had something to do with how you normally viewed him. For inexplicable reasons, you always seemed to get along with him the best. After that night, it was apparent you preferred him over the rest of the band.

The bumps on Joe's arms rose higher under the covers.

Out of the five Leppards, you chose him. He was the singer, and should've been used to girls picking him, but you still left him flattered and flushed like a shy child. Joe felt that of all the Leppards in distress, he was the last one who needed another heartache or another sleepless night.

Yet there he was, lying awake at night, unable to sleep because he was chosen by you. Oh, bloody wonderful. When it came to you, the line between 'friend' and 'girlfriend' was getting thinner and thinner. Joe couldn't get you to leave his heart, it seemed.

Unfortunately- to him- that only meant one thing:

There was no going back.

-----

It felt incredibly late now, but hardly an hour had passed since you went to bed. With Joe occupying every corner of your mind, you almost wanted to get up and go to the end of the hall to get him. You almost wanted that so badly. His affection wasn't just something you desired at the moment; it was something you couldn't get through the night without. It was an ache deep inside you- but you couldn't place whether it was in your heart or your soul.

Thinking of him felt like a dream, and in one corner of your mind, the phrase "man of your dreams" soon became his label.

The plain old pillow you embraced wasn't doing as well of a job as a tender, 6'2", warm-blooded, long-haired Yorkshire gentleman would have. You could still feel him all around you; his presence wouldn't leave. A hallway away and nothing but silence separating you both made the sound of Joe's heart louder than anything.

You wanted him with you, plain and simple. You just needed him there in whatever way was convenient. You wanted him to hold you and softly breathe against you and tell you he was happy to be in bed with you. Hell, he didn't even need to say anything if he didn't feel like it.

In the darkness, you blinked a few times. Your head shook and you rolled away from the fantasies of your late-night conscience. Who could ever truly know what Joe wanted? Certainly not you. He had his thoughts, and you had yours.

That night felt like the night where if a move could've been made, it would've been made.

It should've been made.

Wasted time, you thought. Maybe that's all tonight was; a missed opportunity, and wasted time. Just when you speculated things might have been getting down to the bone, you began to think too much, and an idea crushed you: what if you were just another hopeless maniac who wanted to get your hands on the lead singer? Anyone with an outside perspective would have most likely seen things that way.

You didn't feel like that, though. You knew what you felt.

Maybe you were just another crazed fan, and maybe Joe was just another rocker out of your league. Even if that were so, that didn't mean your feelings for him were fake.

Maybe Joe wasn't even the man of your dreams... but god, you still needed him so badly that night.

----

Joe lost track of how many times he'd tried falling asleep. Each and every time, he was interrupted by a flood of your imaginary presence. With you threatening every inch of his mind, he almost wanted to march down the hallway and take you back with him. Dare he say, he needed that. It was such an intense longing, he wanted to beat his arms against his bed and exert it all away- just to make it stop.

Unfortunately, he didn't have the energy for that right then. He felt like he was trapped in a dream he was unable to be woken from. Any second now, he hoped, he'd wake up and realize he'd made it through this dream-like temptation.

For a fast second, his conscience labeled you as "dreamy."

Joe shook away the label, rolled onto his side, and resumed his fantasy. There wasn't just a craving for your presence; there was a starvation for it.

As far as your previous interaction went, there were a million more things he thought of to add onto it. He didn't want that evening to stop- not then, not ever. He wanted more from your time together. He didn't just want vocal reassurance; he wanted physical reassurance. Joe wanted to experience every soft part of you cushioning him while he slept. He wanted to feel your hair frazzled against his skin. More than anything, he needed a tender touch from you- any tender touch from you. You were a reminder that tenderness still existed, and that tenderness still cared about him. Joe's eyes opened in the darkness, and he audibly sighed as the fantasy was broken. He didn't know if you desperately cared about him like that; he couldn't read your mind. Who could ever truly know what you wanted? Certainly not him. Just like Joe currently trapped in his own universe, you had a world of your own down the hall. These worlds felt like perfectly matching puzzle pieces when they collided- especially hours before. It would've been easy for Joe to make a move. In fact, it wouldn't have just been easy; it was probably expected from you. If there was any right time to make it move, it was that night for sure.

But Joe didn't do that. Instead, he wasted time regretting something he didn't do. Things seemed as if they were looking clearer to him. He finally reached the extent of how badly he needed you in the dead of the night, yet also felt you were getting further away. Perhaps he was overthinking it- but that sense of failure was overwhelming and true. He blew it; plain and simple. You'd definitely peaked in your friendship that night, and to Joe, that meant it was only downhill from there. He didn't want that.

He didn't need another thing to regret. He didn't need another reason to not march down the hall and somehow ask you to stay with him for the night. He didn't need another hour of heartsick insomnia.

But god, he needed you so badly that night. Maybe he needed you just a little bit more. -----

You were starting to rationalize that you weren't going to get any sleep. The best you could do was lay facing the ceiling and hope to fantasize yourself into slumber. If one thought could lead to another, perhaps it'd be pleasant enough to lull you to rest.

A few lovely fantasies rolled around in your head. First, it was Joe suddenly showing up right then and there, sweeping you off your feet, and kissing you deeply. Second, it was you going over to him and pulling him down onto your lips.

That aspect of your midnight brain struck you as strange. You'd never thought too much about kissing Joe before. Although thoughts about kissing were expected from romantic tension, it wasn't something you actively desired. It wasn't as if you normally thought about Joe's lips- how soft they might be, how gentle he might use them, how not gentle he might use them, or how he might make them dance on other parts of your body.

It wasn't like thinking about those things kept you up at night.

After that, the third fantasy that came your way was waiting until morning to try and rekindle the spark you and Joe created not long ago. Maybe approaching him and trying that would go over well.

Instantly upon registering the thought, you draped your forearm over your eyes with a scoff.

No, that would horribly awkward. The fourth fantasy, you decided, was a more reasonable course of action. What you would do was wait.

You'd wait however long you needed and let things run their course. While it was painful to think of, you concluded that maybe not touching anything would make things better.

While it was rational, that option sounded the least realistic.

Or, maybe, I should just sleep on it. A loud sigh floated from your mouth at the idea. You wanted to be put out of your misery in order to get away from this certain heartache. While you were half-decent at handling your problems, you weren't a miracle worker.

-----

Joe was staring at his door now. He had accepted that he wouldn't be getting any sleep. The best he could do was lay facing the door and hope he'd come up with a course of action to end his suffering and heartache.

His mind wasn't working like yours. There weren't multiple fantasies for him to dwell upon in order to lull him to sleep. There weren't several options floating around in his head. He was stuck, he was antsy, and he was impulsive. Into his mind came only one option, and, unfortunately, it stuck to him. To his disbelief, it was a realistic course of action.

Joe smushed his face into his pillow, sighing loudly. Being tired didn't just make you fantasize more, and he knew it.

Being tired also made you completely, undoubtedly, one-hundred-percent honest. Paired with his impulsive conscience, he had a perfect recipe for humiliation. The worst part of it: he didn't care. Well, she's probably just as tired as I am, he reasoned with his twilight mind, Would it really be that big of a problem? -----

Knock, knock. knock. Naturally, your brain whispered Joe's name the instant you heard a feeble noise in the hallway. Your heart instinctively leapt, but just as quickly, your mind shot down the possibility of him crashing through your door and declaring his intense mutual longing. Perhaps you were truly exhausted now, and had hallucinated the noise to begin with.

Your arm was still over your eyes when there came proper knocks at the door. A startled gasp flew from your mouth. In a wink, you were sitting on the side of your bed and staring intently into the blackness.

"Y/n?" Joe's voice gently seeped through the door. Your eyes lit up, and your heart began to tremble within you. Turns out this isn't a fantasy after all. A hand reached over and turned on the lamp, and you'd never thrown on your robe so fast in your life. Joe was there- he was there for real. "Coming," you cooed, not even thinking of fixing your appearance. None of that mattered; what mattered was getting to the door.

You carefully twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open. To your continuing surprise, your tender, 6'2", long-haired, warm-blooded Yorkshire gentleman was standing there. He was in his own robe- his rather short Union Jack robe, if that- and hadn't bothered to fix his appearance in any way at all either. As if you were looking in a mirror, you noticed how tired he seemed all over.

"Joe?" you made your surprise apparent, "What's wrong?"

Honesty, Joe said to himself, Honesty is what's wrong. "I can't sleep," he spoke with such sincerity.

You didn't hesitate to admit, "Me neither. What's got you up?"

Joe did hesitate at first.

"Oh, just- you... and everything we talked about. The gears are turning and I'm- so stressed."

He ran his fingers through his messy hair and faltered before tagging on, "I just wanted to ask you..."

You made your attentiveness clearer. You thought to pinch yourself in order to make sure you were conscious. What could Joe possibly say after seeking out your presence in the middle of the night, only to admit he couldn't stop thinking about you? Your fantasy, perhaps, may have been becoming concrete. If that was the case, you wanted to fulfill some of it yourself. "Would you wanna stay the night?" you both asked in sync with each other.

Each of you were taken aback, and giggled to yourselves as you avoided the other's eyes.

"We think too much alike, you know," Joe shook his head.

You stepped aside, inviting Joe into your apartment.

"I know."

With a twist of the lock, you felt no need for your silly fantasies anymore. You wiped away your stupid grin, and joined Joe on the mattress where he sat.

"I hope I didn't wake you," Joe apologized, "Even if you were having trouble sleeping. It's just- how was I supposed to sleep after an emotional roller-coaster like tonight?"

You sensed his emotional stress, and reached out to sloppily fix his hair from his face. His eyes bashfully darted away from you and looked down at the bed. "I know, I know. That's exactly why I couldn't sleep, either. My mind's all shook up; rattled around."

Your hand ruffled his hair, unable to keep yourself from showing him affection.

He silently laughed while masking the shiver your touch sent through his body.

Joe rubbed one of his legs and went on, "I can't stop thinking about past versions of ourselves. I feel like we could've prevented this whole fucking mess somehow. I feel... I don't know, guilty? And it's keepin' me up..."

While you were paying attention to what he said, you were paying more attention to his body language. Joe was being shy. Everything about him was oozing shyness. It was so out of character for him, even if he were half asleep. He was fidgety and avoiding eye contact with you. Even his choice of words sounded cautious. Not only that, but as soon as you seated yourself by him, there was a definite blush on his cheeks.

It was as if something had changed, but you don't know what. He almost looked like he was trying to be small. Joe's fingers traced shapes on your blanket, "I know things were never meant to be easy, but now things are getting impossible, you know? Like we had one shot and-"

His hand accidentally brushed against yours. The sound of your hearts dropping together was as audible as a gunshot. If he had suddenly taken your hand, it would've been less intimate than such a subtle gesture.

To cover up his accidental action, Joe did take your hand instead.

"-and it's like we blew it."

You could feel his quick pulse through your hand. There was no hiding he was nervous, now.

You other hand was placed on top of his. With a sympathetic smile, you looked at his blushing face and told him, "You didn't blow it, Joe. We're all in the same boat, and it's okay to have doubts. You guys are gonna have your second chance and I know it." He rolled his eyes in thought, still avoiding your look, "Maybe we're not good enough for a second chance..."

His hand was taken away shyly. Joe finally looked at you, but dashed his eyes away instantly.

"Oh, honey..."

Your hand sought him again, reaching out and cupping his cheek so he would look at you. Instead of speaking further, you leaned in and wearily planted a tired kiss on the opposite side of his face. "...you know you're worth it." your voice softly hit the side of his face. Before you could think of a way to pull back and move on with the conversation, Joe went completely rigid. Without thinking, you froze, too.

The magic was back- you both knew it. This was what you needed to get through the night.

You held yourself there at his jaw for a second or two, then carefully drug your lips over the side of his face, only stopping when they met his own. There was no other fitting action at that point; no other appropriate thing to do besides giving him a real kiss. Joe turned his head slowly, closing his eyes and complying with the sealed embrace. It seemed the thought of his lips were keeping you up at night after all. You both kept your eyes shut when the kiss ended. The dreamy sensation had captured you both; magic, indeed.

"Seems to me like we got a second chance tonight..." you whispered close to his mouth when your eyes fluttered open. Joe was now blushing even more strongly than just a moment ago.

He exhaled in surprise. The unexpected kiss had taken his words (and his breath) away. "Oh thank god, Y/n... I've been waiting so..." instead of saying something, he leaned in again to softly press his lips back against yours.

There was no more starvation, no more heartache, and no more fantasies. The only fantasy to be found was the present moment; the man of your dreams, kissing you gently, just as you had dreamed of.

Suddenly, you both felt you'd found the right bed at last.

#happy soft saturday everyone UwU #def leppard #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction #joe elliott #joe elliott x reader #def leppard x reader #joe elliott fanfic #joe elliott fanfiction #original content #fanfic #fanfiction #this doesn't have a song it's based off of #if you wanna get specific it's loosely inspired by HYENSSB #i don't even remember how i started writing this or what made me do it #but I do know I wrote it within a week or something #i finished it a WHILE ago but it never felt done

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spicycreativity · 3 years ago

Text

Intertwined - Chapter 6

Chapter: 6/8

Additional Notes: Fic published in full on my AO3, WizardGlick. This is my favorite chapter 😁

Chapter Content Warnings: Blood, respiratory distress

The record player was still in the kitchen, surrounded by puzzle pieces. Patton switched it on and watched the vinyl spin in a daze. He missed Roman's boastful chatter, missed Logan's even keel. Maybe he should just give up. They clearly didn't want him around, and at a certain point, maybe it was selfish to keep badgering them.

God, he was a mess. Virgil had been too tactful to say anything during last night's Ghost Adventures marathon, but he had kicked his feet up in Patton's lap, and that was telling. It wasn't the reassuring full-body contact he longed for, but Virgil had never been big on touch. He couldn't be what Patton needed, and that was fair. It wasn't Virgil's job to take care of Patton. It was no one's job.

Janus' voice sounded unbidden in his head, reminding him in a distinctly annoyed tone, ' It's your job.'

So Patton picked himself up off the kitchen island and opened the fridge. He liked the work of cooking and cleaning. The domesticity was reassuring and sweet and safe. He cooked and cleaned because he loved. He loved Logan, he loved Roman, he loved Virgil. He wanted to see them safe and fed and contented, free to fulfill their functions because Patton fulfilled his.

As he cracked eggs into a bowl, he wondered if he loved Janus. He probably did. How could he help it?

Janus' smile was a rare thing, and that much sweeter for it. And he was so clever, so self-assured, so determined to help. This whole time, that was what was driving him. He wanted to help Thomas the only way he could, and now he was helping Patton. Because… Because he was just good. Even if he, like Virgil before him, kept that light hidden behind walls of sarcasm and bitterness. Janus was good. And Patton loved him.

He had forgotten to turn on the stove. Patton smiled at himself, because what else could he do, and turned on the stove. As he stood there, anxiously eyeing his half-finished omelette, his fingers found their way to the friendship bracelets around his right wrist. He had two there, Logan's and Roman's. They were both made of soft embroidery floss. Roman's had a little charm, a small silver 'R' that sometimes caught the light and made Patton smile when he noticed it.

He and Janus should have friendship bracelets. It could go on his left wrist next to Virgil's. Virgil wouldn't be happy about it, but… But Patton wanted it. He wanted Janus to feel accepted and loved. And there was no way to do that and spare Virgil's feelings. There was just no winning and Patton wanted, wanted, wanted more than he'd ever wanted anything.. Would it really be so bad to indulge this?

After breakfast, Patton relocated to the living room and asked the mindscape's halls for Janus. Janus did not appear, but the fog of the subconscious at the edges of the walls solidified into a hallway. Patton got to his feet and started to walk. He had never really ventured into the space that Roman referred to as 'the Dark Side,' but there was really nothing foreboding about it. The halls were still well-lit, the carpet still plush beneath his feet.

Eventually, the hall opened up to a cozy little alcove. Janus was huddled up against the wall, staring into the depths of a pure black coffee mug. He flinched when he noticed Patton, then smiled.

It was a slow, unfurling thing: first sheepish, then courteous, and finally, genuine. It lit a fire in Patton's chest, made him feel like he was glowing.

"Patton." Janus tipped his hat, peering out coquettishly from under its brim.

"Sorry," said Patton, "am I interrupting?"

"Oh, yes," said Janus, getting to his feet, "I need to have my coffee in utter silence of the caffeine doesn't take."

He sounded a little hoarse. Patton felt himself cross his arms and draw back to examine Janus, but couldn't stop it from happening. His scales looked the same as ever, more yellow than green under the light, but both eyes were glassy in a way that indicated lack of sleep. He looked tired, Patton decided, but not sick.

"Did I button my shirt wrong?" Janus asked, not actually looking down to check. He kept his eyes on Patton.

"Is there something on your mind?" Patton asked.

Janus countered this question with another question, which Patton supposed was fair: "Did you come down here just for that?"

"Well, actually…" Patton tugged at the tight, precise braid of Logan's friendship bracelet. Why was this so hard? "I thought we could-- If you wanted to--" His nerves were taking over and he was helpless to stop them, couldn't control the way his voice trembled. He started over. "So, no pressure, obviously, but I just thought it might be nice if we, you know, made friendship bracelets together." Patton held up his forearms so Janus could see. "If you want."

Tears were forming in Janus' human eye; his chest hitched with uneven breaths. Patton was already raising his arms to offer a hug when Janus turned away and started to cough. Oh.

The fit, though it sounded terrible, ended quickly. Janus straightened, drawing a yellow handkerchief back into his sleeve like a magician. "What," he said, pretending to look at his fingernails, "are the odds of you believing that was nothing?"

"It didn't sound like nothing," Patton said.

Janus sighed and leaned back against the wall, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. "Look, I didn't want to say anything, but I think that our dear benevolent prince might be a little angrier than he let on."

"You think Roman's doing this to you?" That didn't sound like him. He could be stubborn, sure, maybe even bull-headed, but it really wasn't like him to make someone sick. At least, not on purpose.

"It's not Remus," Janus said, crossing his arms. "There's nothing else wrong with me."

"It's just a cough?"

"Just a cough."

Patton tapped his fingers against his leg, thinking. "Roman's not really talking to me at the moment--"

"Typical," Janus muttered.

Not wanting to fight, Patton let this go. "But I'll see if I can… Well, I'll see what I can do."

Janus nodded, then seemed to remember something. His jaw worked for a second, his eyes darting everywhere except Patton's face. "Thank you."

Patton nodded, still inexplicably afraid. Now was his chance to leave, since Janus hadn't acknowledged his offer. If he sank out fast enough-- But what exactly was he running from? He wasn't Logic, but he couldn't deny that it made no sense to run from something he couldn't even identify. "So, um. Did you want to…?"

"Where?" Janus asked.

The trapdoor to the speakeasy opened beneath their feet. Patton's door appeared down the hall. He and Janus looked at each other in silence.

"The lighting might be a little better in my room," Patton said finally. He wasn't sure which of them had caused his door to appear. The subconscious was tricky like that sometimes.

"By all means," Janus said.

It was a little nerve-wracking to have Janus in his room. Patton wasn't quite sure why. Maybe the idea that Janus might not like it, and by extension, not like him. After all, Patton's room was as much an extension of himself and his function as his body was.

Janus stepped quietly over the threshold, holding himself still except for his eyes, which darted from object to object.

"Let me know if you start feeling all sentimental," Patton said, a thrill of nerves tingling his spine. "I don't have a lot of practice controlling my room." Janus probably didn't want to cry today, or ever. Not that he seemed like the type to get caught up in nostalgia. Like Logan, he was ruthless, cutting away what didn't serve him with the precision of a surgeon. Or so it seemed.

Janus nodded. Patton frowned. He'd been awfully quiet since Patron had extended the invitation. He almost seemed scared, which didn't make sense. They were safe in here. Too safe, if Patton let them be, sequestered in this hall of nostalgia's anesthetic haze.

"Are those California poppies?" Janus asked, striding forward to a dresser (the design of which had come from a memory of sleepovers at Thomas' grandmother's house).

"Where?" Patton asked, turning on his heel to look. It was difficult to move without tripping over the odd bin or crate of memorabilia. He found himself faced with a choice to either bend backwards to see around Janus or to stand right next to him. Far too close for propriety, they would be wedged right up against each other like the yearbooks on the far bookshelf.

Patton's heart started to race. Why? Why should he be nervous? He bent backwards, muscles aching in protest at the awkward pose, and peered around Janus' body. "I can't tell."

Janus turned, squinting at Patton's predicament, before looking down at the bins on the floor. He seemed to grasp the issue and extended a hand for Patton to take. "Come here."

Come here. Innocuous words, but the same ones he'd used to bring Patton into his arms that terrible night. Patton's heart fluttered.

He stepped over a stack of textbooks and entered Janus' space. Janus' capelet was soft and velvety against his bare arm; his sleeve a little rougher.

"Are they?" Janus asked.

The poppies were already wilting a little and Patton couldn't help but feel sad about that, even though they were imaginary. "Yes."

"How did you get them?"

"California," Patton said, the memory coming to him on a warm breeze that smelled of the outdoors. "Thomas sees them every time he gets to go."

Janus stifled a cough into the back of his hand, nodding all the while. "He wore them in his hair once."

Patton smiled, mind awash in golden light. Thomas and his friends were making a brief pit stop as they journeyed down I-5 and someone, it didn't even matter who, had spotted the blooms growing by the roadside. And they had all worn flowers in their hair for the rest of the day, bright faces made brighter by the addition of something so beautiful. "Do you like California poppies, Janus?"

"It's funny," Janus said, in a tone so devoid of sarcasm and teasing that Patton nearly did a double-take, "It never occurred to me to like them. But seeing them like this…"

He trailed off, coloring slightly, and Patton's breath caught in his throat. He understood perfectly, too perfectly, and it made him tremble.

It had never occurred to him to love Janus, until one day it did. But this-- Oh, no. Oh, no. Not like this. This couldn't be allowed. Janus glanced over at him and Patton felt his smile snap into place despite the newfound ache of wanting beneath his ribs.

"And here I thought you were going to keep me safe from your room," Janus teased.

"Oops!" Patton ran a hand through his hair. "Give me a second here; I can make a space." He thought for a moment before sitting them both down at a wooden picnic table. He imagined embroidery floss in every color, bins stacked with beads, scissors, and two rolls of masking tape just to be safe.

"Summer camp," Janus said, smiling that crooked smile.

Despite his best efforts, Patton blushed. He tried not to hate himself for it because Janus wouldn't want that. But he also knew he was being far too selfish now, wanting Janus all for himself. There was a line and he had crossed it. "Do you remember what to do?"

Janus was already pawing through the embroidery thread. Loose strands clung to his gloves and Patton watched, intrigued, as Janus' mouth curled into that not-smile he sometimes wore when he was making fun. He withdrew his hands, trailing rainbow strings despite his efforts to shake them off, and glanced at Patton, startling a little when their eyes met.

Patton wasn't sure what to say. 'It's okay' felt hollow, less than a lie. Utterly meaningless. Janus' gloves meant something to him, something that went deeper than just aesthetics. Patton understood, in that moment, what it was all for: the gloves, the high collar, the hat, the sarcasm, the biting remarks, the exaggeration. All guarding Janus' heart. He must have been very afraid. Suddenly his irritation at Patton's inability to prioritize himself made perfect sense.

"I can help you," Patton said, not wanting Janus to feel pressured into taking off his gloves. "You can keep them on, just tell me what colors--"

"Don't be stupid," Janus snapped. "It's just clothing."

"Oh," said Patton. Heat flooded his face, impending tears burning in his eyes. Understanding didn't make it hurt less.

Janus didn't say anything, couldn't, because he was muffling those awful, barking coughs into his sleeve. They sounded so much worse than yesterday. Patton stared at a skein of auburn embroidery floss. He would have to find some way to get through to Roman.

"That was inappropriate," Janus said when he resurfaced. He was a little out of breath; his breath caused loose strings to flutter.

"I understand," Patton said.

"You do?"

Here, Patton hesitated. It seemed a little rude to read Janus, as Roman would say. He had obviously lashed out because he was scared of something.

Janus winced, pressed his lips together, shifted where he sat. "I'm sorry." He wouldn't look at Patton. "I shouldn't have said that."

"We can do this another time," Patton said, "if you're not ready. I just wanted…" It seemed stupid to say it out loud now, stupid and manipulative. "I wanted you to feel accepted."

Janus tugged his gloves off without fanfare, folded them neatly, and set them down on the table. His left hand was scaled, which Patton supposed he should have anticipated. "Don't look," Janus said. Patton frowned, trying to parse this, and Janus elaborated, "I want it to be a surprise."

"Oh!" Patton said, relief flooding his chest like morning sunlight through an eastward-facing window. "Okay." He stared at the embroidery thread, thinking. He had never been all that good at color theory, but… Maybe he could do a dark green for Janus's scales, and gold because they shimmered. To represent himself, he would of course use blue thread. And for the two of them, gray. But what shade of green…? Patton picked up a skein of army green floss, then kelly green, then moss green. "Janus?"

"Hm?"

"I need to look at you."

"Oh, Patton, I'm flattered, but need?"

"Can you just give me your hand for a second?" Patton asked, blushing.

"Which one?" Janus asked archly.

"The left one."

"...What for?"

Patton, still not looking at Janus, held up the three skeins of embroidery floss. "I need to color match."

Janus let out a huff of air through his nose. "I'm much prettier than that."

Then an idea struck. "Ooh, I know what to do! I still need your hand, though."

"Alright, alright." Janus leaned over, extending his hand to Patton. He flinched a little when Patton held it in his own, but did not pull away.

"Hmm," said Patton, examining the scales and the way they reflected back the light. It took a bit of thinking, but he managed to imagine a skein of thread in the same glossy green-gold color.

Then Janus stiffened and started to cough again, his hand curling around Patton's fingers until his nails dug painfully into Patton's skin. The fit was low and ragged and rough, left Janus teary eyed and gasping.

"You're sure this is Roman?" Patton asked, dimly aware that he was still holding Janus' hand.

"Forget it," Janus said, his voice like tattered silk. "You said you'd talk to him."

"I'll go right now if you want me to."

Janus shook his head. "Are you done with my hand? If not, I have a few to spare."

"Oh!" said Patton. "Yes. Sorry." He let go of Janus's hand, knuckles aching where Janus' nails had dug in. Janus' cough must have hurt far more than he was letting on.

Right. Compartmentalize. Friendship bracelets.

Patton picked his colors, eyeballed the thread length, cut them down, and taped the ends to the table. He decided on a simple striped pattern, flat, so it could slide easily under Janus's sleeve or the cuffs of his gloves.

"So you and Remus?" Patton said after he had fallen into a rhythm and didn't need to focus quite so hard.

"We're friends, yes."

"But you said--" Patton cut himself off, embarrassed. He certainly didn't want to be reminded of that awful night, and Janus probably didn't either.

"I know."

Patton was pulling too hard. He set his threads down and added another piece of tape. "I don't get it."

Janus sighed. "I'd rather not talk behind his back, but I will say this: He was on his worst behavior when he introduced himself."

Patton considered this but couldn't think of anything to say other than 'thank God.' That seemed rude, so he just kept his mouth shut. The silence that ensued felt equally as rude, and words slipped out of Patton's mouth before he could stop himself, "Do you love him?"

Janus didn't answer. Patton was tempted to look at him, to try to read his expression, but didn't want to risk ruining the surprise. Finally, Janus sighed and Patton heard the gentle rustle of his clothing as he shifted in his seat. "Defensive sarcastic quip."

Patton dropped his threads again so he could muffle a laugh behind his hands. "Sorry, was that too personal?"

"No, no, I love talking about myself. Maybe next you can ask me about my deepest fears."

"I didn't mean to be pushy," Patton said. It was hard not to be; he was so full of love love love he just wanted to give it away like Tupperwares full of snickerdoodles, like wildflower bouquets. He wanted Janus, wanted his whole fam-ILY to know and feel it as deeply as he felt it.

And Janus especially, Patton wanted to tell him with his lips, with his hands, with his tongue. His whole body radiating love.

But just because he wanted didn't mean he could have. He ached with a selfish desire to be held again, safe in Janus' arms. But even Patton was smart enough to understand that that moment was over and done with. They had shared it, and now it was another snapshot for the shoebox Patton kept in his closet. His own memories, separate from Thomas. A testament to his personhood.

They worked in silence after that, until Patton's wandering thoughts came to rest, inevitably, on the trouble at hand. "Hey, Janus?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think we should do now? Thomas can't keep going like this for much longer, I don't think. He hasn't done anything. And I-- I'm not saying-- I'm not trying to say it's, you know, immoral to rest, but this doesn't seem healthy." And also, it did chafe Patton a little, to see Thomas being so lazy, but he could keep that to himself.

"The sooner Logan and Roman get over themselves, the better," Janus said.

"I haven't checked on them yet today." Patton heaved a sigh and tried to focus on his pattern. He had the matte gray hooked around his finger at the moment, his own deliberate reminder to compromise.

"They haven't checked on you at all."

"So, what, then?" Patton asked, struggling not to look up. "I should get mad and ignore them right back?"

"That's what I would do," Janus said. "And you did ask. But…" A long-ish pause. "As we both know, I'm always right."

Oh. Patton closed his eyes, trying not to fold over and bury his forehead in the rough wood of the picnic table. He'd never wanted to see the worst in Janus, but he'd been bracing for it all the same. And every time he held his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, it never happened.

That didn't mean they were never going to fight. Patton knew he was naive, but he wasn't that naive. But he had been bracing for something so much worse than this.

It was for Thomas. He had to remind himself. Janus had even said so, down in the parlor. It was all for Thomas. And Patton was sure, when it came time to make the next big decision, they would be at odds again.

But maybe… Maybe it didn't have to be so hostile. Couldn't they disagree without being enemies?

"You are always right, Janus," Janus said in Patton's voice. "And you're so handsome, and smart, too."

It was equal parts creepy and amusing, but Patton appreciated what Janus was trying to do, so he smiled. "I mean, you are smart. And h--" The word caught in his throat. They did all look very similar, though the subtle nature of the subconscious altered their appearances somewhat. It sharpened up Janus' features some, took away several inches of height, made his eyes dark and flashing. "And handsome," Patton finished weakly.

"You already said that," Janus said, voice dripping with faux-innocence.

"You're sweet, is what you are," Patton teased back.

"Finished," said Janus.

Patton blinked, thrown off, before he realized what Janus meant. "I'm almost done. Give me juuuust a second." He finished the bracelet with a practiced hand. "Can I look now?"

"Give me your hand. Then you can look."

Patton extended his left hand and finally looked over at Janus for the first time since they had started. The bright colors of the bracelet caught his eye immediately; it was an intricate weave of only two colors: bright yellow and true blue. Janus fingers were deft and gentle around Patton's wrist. He made no remarks about the purple and black bracelet already tied on.

"Oh, Janus, it's perfect!" Patton said. Hot tears welled up in his eyes. He let them fall, unashamed. It was nice to cry happy tears for once. "Your turn."

Janus pushed up his sleeve, tilting his head at Patton's bracelet. "What does it mean?"

"The green is for your scales," Patton explained, positioning the bracelet around Janus' right wrist. "The blue is for me. And the gray is.." He paused, suddenly embarrassed. "Well, it's a reminder."

One of the ends brushed against Janus' forearm and he twitched, nearly pulling out of Patton's grasp. "That tickled," he explained.

"You're ticklish?"

"No," Janus said, far too quickly for it to be the truth.

Patton smiled at him, though he knew they were a long way off from friendly touches. It struck him then just how badly he wanted that future. He wanted cuddle sessions with Janus on the couch, just the two of them. He wanted stolen kisses in the kitchen and tickle fights in bed. He wanted Janus, body and soul, consequences be damned. "Noted," Patton said. "Janus: totally not ticklish, even a little bit."

"Gospel truth," Janus said.

Patton finished tying on the bracelet and sat back. "Well…" He didn't want to leave his room, which was a sure sign it was time to go. "I'd better go check on my kiddos."

To his surprise, Janus didn't scowl or nag. He tugged his gloves back on, carefully sliding the bracelet inside the cuff. "What do you say to them?"

"Just that I'm here," Patton said. "And I love them.

"You know, Patton--" Janus got up and held the door open, breaking the spell of Patton's room somewhat-- "sometimes I think you're too good for the likes of us."

And then he was gone, sinking out before Patton could ask him what he meant by that.

Patton went first to Logan's room. Logan had maintained his silence after the meeting, not even answering to tell Patton to go away. The only hint Patton had that he was still in there was that Thomas hadn't gone completely off the rails.

"Hey, Logan." Patton knocked gently. "I'll go away soon, because I know you don't want me to bother you. I just wanted to say… Well, I'm not sure what you need right now, but I know this isn't it. So whenever you're ready to come out, I'll be here." It was so hard not to spill his guts to that plain white door. Almost like a confessional, only that Logan stubbornly refused to tell him what he had to do to earn forgiveness. "I'll go now. Come get me if you need anything, okay? I love you and I miss you." He waited a few seconds for any signs of movement within, but there was nothing.

Down the hall to Roman's room then.

The sight of Virgil seated on the floor with his back pressed up against Roman's cherrywood door made Patton pause, breaths stuttering in his chest.

He kept his distance, but Virgil had startled at the sound of his steps on the carpet.

Patton flashed him a thumbs up and cocked his head.

Virgil nodded.

Patton sank out. What else could he do? If Roman would rather talk to Virgil than to him, well… Patton couldn't blame him.

He sat down heavily at the kitchen island, staring down at the half-finished puzzle. Tears blurred his eyes and he took off his glasses as they started to fall. He was so, so sick of crying. He did it all the time. Every strong emotion moved him to tears.

He wanted to crawl back to Janus' room, relive that tender night. Just once, he wanted someone else to pick him up off the ground. He was thoroughly sick of being his own hero.

He had mostly gotten himself under control by the time Virgil popped up by the fridge. It was only his breathing that still troubled him, heavy and painful in his chest.

"Hey, Virge."

"Since when do you call me that?" Virgil asked, opening the fridge.

It was reflex more than anything that forced Patton to his feet. "I can make you something."

"You don't have to," Virgil mumbled, cheeks going scarlet under his foundation.

"I want to," Patton said. That much was still true, at least. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Uh, I was just gonna make a sandwich," Virgil said.

"BLT?"

"Sure."

Patton nodded, clenching his left hand into a fist by his side. Virgil was incredibly observant; he was bound to notice Janus' friendship bracelet. Patton wasn't sure whether to let him or to bring it up.

Virgil saved him from having to decide. "Where have you been all morning?" Patton wordlessly held up his arm, feeling for all the world like a guilty child. Sure enough, Virgil's eyes narrowed. But to Patton's surprise, no lecture followed. "Janus made that?"

"Mm-hm." Patton nodded. "I made him one, too."

"Is he wearing it?" Virgil asked, looking dumbfounded.

"Yeah," Patton said, a little emboldened now that he knew Virgil wasn't angry. "Tied it on myself."

"He let you do that? Janus?" Virgil ran both hands through his hair, looking at Patton like he'd just expressed a desire to go cliff diving while blindfolded.

"I mean, I didn't have to tie him down."

Virgil sighed through his nose and wandered to the kitchen island with a lost expression. "That's weird."

Patton opened up the fridge. "Are you okay?" he said to the condiments rack, not wanting to make Virgil uncomfortable with too much eye contact.

"Watch him," Virgil said. "Watch him like a hawk… A hawk with binoculars."

"Aww!" said Patton, picturing it. "Oh! How's Roman?"

"Conflicted," Virgil said. "I told him you've been hanging out with Janus."

Patton bit his tongue and pulled a head of lettuce out of the crisper drawer. It wasn't wrong to spend time with Janus. He loved Janus. Love was never wrong. "How'd he take it?"

"Nnnot that bad?" Virgil said. "I think it helps that Thomas hasn't gone full, y'know, Squip."

"You know I wouldn't let that happen," Patton said. He moved over to the counter and paused to take a few deep breaths. His chest hurt a little. Probably just from crying too much. But that reminded him of Janus and that worrisome, mysterious cough. "By the way, does Roman seem… in control?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, he accidentally made it super cold for a little bit."

"Oh," said Virgil, "yeah. He apologized for that. He's okay now."

Patton nodded, trying not to let his worry show on his face. But it crept into the corners of his mind and kept him silent as he made two BLTs. If Janus was sure it wasn't Remus and Virgil was sure it wasn't Roman… Who else could it be? Or what else?

No answers sprang into Patton's mind. He bit his lip and stabbed one fancy toothpick each through sandwiches. He slid one plate over to Virgil, mindful not to upset any stray puzzle pieces, then rounded the kitchen island to sit next to Virgil.

"You…" he started, and paused to catch his breath. "You're not mad, are you?"

"I mean, I don't love that you're hanging out with Janus. I wish you wouldn't. I wish he'd leave us all alone and go back to slinking around in the shadows like the snake he is." Virgil turned his head to look at the new friendship bracelet on Patton's arm. "But you're your own Side. It would be wrong for me to try to control you. I just really hope he doesn't hurt you, Patton."

"So you're not mad?"

"No, pop star, I'm not mad. Just worried about you."

"Thanks, kiddo."

It seemed that these days, the mindscape was just made up of one crisis after another. After spending a pleasant day with Virgil, albeit with his breaths dragging in and out of his body like the air was too thick to breathe, the next morning found Patton doubled over in a fit of coughing so intense it knocked his glasses off. He ducked right back into his room, kicking his glasses in before him, and spat out a mouthful of heart-shaped flowers onto the floor.

Hm. Uh-oh. He wasn't an expert on biology, but he was fairly sure that wasn't supposed to happen.

The blooms were pretty, though, bright magenta hearts with little white tails. Bleeding hearts, they were called.

Patton frowned. Hadn't Janus said… Yes. 'I want you to protect that bleeding heart of yours.' How ironic. Maybe. Patton could never seem to use 'irony,' right, something Logan was always quick to point out.

He coughed again, but no flowers came up this time. That was good, probably. Coughing was bad, coughing up blood was worse. Surely coughing up flowers had to be somewhere in the middle.

He stood up straight again and banished the flowers into nothingness. Was it coincidence that Janus had a cough? Was it contagious? He hadn't said anything about flowers, though.

Patton sank out, grabbing his glasses on the way. If he was coughing, then he was probably sick. He knew how to handle that.

Since Virgil rarely spent time in the living room, Patton could hole up there with tea and toast and Adventure Time on the TV. Just until he was better, and then it would be right back to trying to fix things. He wondered if Janus would be proud or whether he would just push for Patton to rest more. Maybe both.

Virgil made an appearance a few hours later, about the time that Patton felt his patience running thin. The cough wasn't getting better, but he had no full-body fatigue to make the cartoon marathon bearable. Sitting still for too long made him antsy.

"Roman invited me in," Virgil called from the kitchen, dashing any hopes Patton had for conversation. "I just wanted to let y-- What are you doing?"

"I think I'm getting sick," Patton explained, wincing as the words seemed to claw their way out of his torn-up throat.

"Are you okay?"

Patton nodded. Aside from the cough, he really did feel fine. Maybe this would pass quickly. "Tell Roman I said hi."

"Will do." Virgil gave one last, lingering look before he sank out.

This left Patton alone with the ache in his chest and the vast loneliness threatening to swallow him whole. He tried not to think too much about Janus, lest he inadvertently summon him again, but it was so hard now. He didn't ever want to be apart from Janus. It was such a pure and simple yearning that Patton couldn't even feel guilty for it (though he did feel an echo of guilt that he didn't feel guilty). But it was a desire born of love, and how could that be bad?

The only bad thing about it was that Janus didn't love him back. Of course he didn't. How could he? All he ever did was run around babysitting Patton through crying spells, desperately trying to get him to pull himself together. There was nothing remotely attractive about that. In fact, with Janus, it seemed that all Patton did was take, take, take. He was guilty of the exact behavior that had him so wrung-out and desperate in the first place. How embarrassing.

Patton coughed into the crook of his arm, catching flowers and leaves in his mouth and banishing them without looking. He'd been sick before, they all had, but never like this. He almost wished for fatigue or a headache, something to make resting a little more bearable. Right now, he just felt lazy.

A bottle of NyQuil appeared on the couch next to him, nestled up against an embroidered throw pillow. Patton looked at it. He could already hear Logan lecturing him about the dangers of misusing medication, but… Patton was sick. And he was imaginary. And Thomas probably knew better than to chug NyQuil at the first sign of illness.

It would be fine. Patton poured out a dose and drank it down with his nose plugged in the hopes of masking the alcohol-tinged artificial sweetness. He still shuddered at the syrupy sensation on his tongue. Then he sank out, changed into his pajamas, and buried himself under his covers to slip into a coma.

#sanders sides fanficion #sanders sides #moceit #spicywrites #spicywrites intertwined

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marril96 · 4 years ago

Text

Extra to the Bone

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Unhinged members of Rowena's former coven kidnap her girlfriend, and she enlists Sam and Dean's help to rescue her.

A/N: I wrote this back in April. It just never felt like the right time to publish it. So I just figured, why not today?

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

The last thing you expected when you went grocery shopping was to be kidnapped by a group of women — girls, really, for even the oldest among them had the minds of adolescents, though it didn't make them any less dangerous.

They appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and before you could utter a spell to protect yourself, they were spouting magic of their own. Strength in numbers, because why play fair when they could gang up on their target?

Girls like them never played fair.

You supposed you should have expected it. After all, it was you who had been warning Rowena about them for months now. All your pleas to be careful fell on deaf ears; they were harmless, Rowena had said, and stood by it. Just an overly enthusiastic group of witches. A coven — hers, once upon a time, now independent, theirs. And, oh, boy, had they made it theirs.

Rowena considered them nothing more than a nuisance. A part of her, you assumed, was flattered by their antics, even as they leveled up from annoying to creepy and, in what seemed like no time, stalkerish. Even when the two of you had put on a new set of warding on your home — just in case they managed to track you down — Rowena had insisted you were safe. They adored her. They wanted her attention, her approval. They weren't interested in you.

Until today when, apparently, they were, and, god, it sucked. You hated them. Loathed them from the depths of your soul. Less than pleasant (to say the least) words burned at your tongue, itching to break free, to set loose at them, but before you could utter anything, a piece of cloth was pressed over your mouth, and, moment by moment, everything went black.

As you faded into nothingness, it wasn't fear that occupied your thoughts. Or worry, or desire to rip them apart.

It was, Damn, they can't even knock me out with magic.

Some witches they were.

*****

It wasn't every day that Rowena showed up at the Bunker — willingly — but desperate times called for desperate measures. She stormed in without even ringing the bell and started shouting for Sam and Dean as if her life depended on it.

Yours, however much she wanted to deny it, might have.

"Y/N's been taken!" she yelled when the brothers showed up, looking at her as if she'd grown a second head.

It was Sam who spoke first. "What? Taken by whom?"

"The Extra Coven!"

Dean raised his eyebrows, baffled. "The what?"

"The Extra Coven!" Rowena repeated in the voice of someone announcing the antichrist's second coming. Or was it third, at this point?

"What's the Extra Coven?" Sam inquired.

Now wasn't that a story? "It's a coven of rather mediocre witches," she explained, face contorting with disgust at the memories that flooded her brain. Screeching. Cheering. The pride she used to beam with at the sight of those girls, which quickly became unease as their antics, once cute, precious, became uncomfortable. "My former coven, to be precise."

Sam frowned. "Your former coven?"

"Aye." Rowena's cheeks flushed with shame. It wasn't something she looked back on fondly — not anymore. "After the Mega Coven fiasco, I tried again. Y/N wasn't too thrilled at the idea—" and that was putting it lightly "—but I wanted a coven of my own." She wanted the admiration. The adoration. The Grand Coven had taken it from her, and she wanted it back.

You were right there, loving her more than anything in the world, but she didn't appreciate it. Not nearly enough. Her icy heart had started to melt at that point; she could tell you cared, and she was starting to realize she felt something, too. Something she, at the time, was too afraid to give in to, to even attempt to understand. It was just there, and it was terrifying.

Amara had just been dealt with, the world saved, and Rowena was left confused. All the power she sought, all the magic wasn't enough anymore. She felt… empty. Without purpose. Brimming with feelings she was too frightened to explore. If two divine beings couldn't figure their lives out, what hope was there for her?

So she'd decided to try for a new coven. It was a new world. New beginning. New Rowena. You'd told her it wasn't the best idea, but she was adamant to give it a try. What was the worst that could happen?

"I named it the Extra Coven, because Extra is better than Mega," she continued with a grin, which earned her puzzled stares. She ignored them. People never appreciated her genius. "Things were going well at first. The girls were learning fast, everybody got along. Then a few of them started getting… odd."

Odd was too mild a word. They'd started showing up at Rowena's hotel room unannounced, bearing gifts and jolly smiles. Every magic lesson she started would be interrupted by the select few individuals asking irrelevant questions. Often they would demand help, even if the spell they were being taught was easy; they would pout and whine, and when Rowena would approach them to go over it step by step, they would dissolve into giggles.

At first Rowena was flattered. Attention was like a drug to her; the more she got, the more she craved it. So what if it was a tad unconventional? Those girls admired her. Cherished her. Loved her. She could do no wrong in their eyes. When you complained they were taking a bit too much of her time, she dismissed you. So a few of them would show up at her hotel room for some after-hours tutoring, or they would take her to dinner to the most expensive restaurant in the city — so what? What was wrong in being pampered by her proteges?

As time went on, though, Rowena's enthusiasm withered. The Extra Coven was doing well, for the most part. Most of the witches were hard workers, genuinely interested in the craft and, at the same time, mesmerized by her presence. Fans, one might call them. They were kind and friendly, and they did as they were told. Rowena was beaming with pride.

However, as the rest of the group was growing into a true coven, the girls that had taken so much of her time had started to demand even more. It was always the same five girls. They never seemed to be improving; they asked for help, but they never took her advice. She might as well have taught the wall. They wanted after-hours lessons, but never learned anything. All they appeared to be interested in was being around her. The fact would have flattered Rowena had they not gone about it in such a way.

Your warnings suddenly started making sense. They weren't in the coven for the experience of witchcraft. They were there to be close to her. It had gotten to the point where, if you happened to be talking to her, one of the girls would butt in to reclaim the attention for themselves. The first few times it looked like a coincidence. However, it soon became clear they saw you as an obstacle. You were Rowena's girlfriend. You lived with her. You shared a bed with her. It was you she kissed on the mouth, and who had her undivided attention.

They'd engaged in a war that didn't exist and they were intent on winning.

Seeing you in distress too many times for her liking, Rowena had decided that enough was enough. She'd started declining invitations to lunch and dinner. When she taught, she kept her distance. After-hours lessons were officially stopped. That didn't stop those five girls from showing up at her door every night to ask for them, so, after the third time, Rowena stopped answering and pretended she wasn't home.

It did nothing to deter them, so, after a lengthy conversation, the two of you had decided to move. Rowena was sick of being disrespected, of her privacy being invaded. She cared about the coven, about those girls who genuinely wanted to learn, but she couldn't do it anymore. Her announcement that she was leaving the coven was met with tears and disappointment. Something had come up, she'd said, and she needed to go away. Indefinitely. She wished them the best of luck, but she couldn't be their mentor anymore.

The two of you traveled half across the country and settled in a fabulous hotel, breathing in relief at finally regaining your freedom.

Then, a week after you'd arrived, a knock sounded on the door, and when Rowena opened it, she was met with five smiley, very familiar faces.

The same thing happened five more times, each in a different city, different hotel. Wherever she went, they'd managed to find her. And each time, they acted as if it were a coincidence. As if they just happened to be there and came across her door by pure luck.

Rowena wasn't born yesterday.

Sam and Dean stared at her in shock as she told her story. "When Y/N and I settled down, we put wardings around the house to block tracking spells," she said. "All was fine until today."

She supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later. The peace had lasted three years, almost four — considering those girls' track record, it was good. She should have dealt with it at the start. Should have cut it off at the root before it managed to grow and blossom. Annoying her was one thing. Taking you was crossing the line.

They would pay. Rowena swore it on her life.

"How do you know it's them?" Dean asked.

Rowena held up a glittery hex bag. "They left this." Right there by the road, where they'd taken you, alongside your wallet. A loud and clear message.

He nodded. "How dangerous are they?"

"They are more of a nuisance. But it's been three years. Who knows what they're capable of."

For all she knew, they could have found another witch to tutor them, to help them perfect their craft. They were far from good witches, but even the worst behaved dog could learn a trick or two.

"Great," Dean said with a sigh. "Crazy stalker witches who may or may not be dangerous."

"Welcome to my life," Rowena said dryly.

"Do you know where we can find them?" Sam asked.

She smirked. "Och, aye." They weren't trying to hide from her (not that they could; she was more powerful than all of them combined). They wanted her to come to them, to bless them with her presence. All Rowena needed were reinforcements, just in case, and she was good to go.

This is the one attention demand they would come to regret.

*****

As far as villain hideous went, the Extra Coven's was standard. An abandoned cottage in the middle of nowhere. Sort of cliche, though Rowena supposed that was the point. They wanted her to find them. They were counting on it.

What kind of an idol would she be if she didn't deliver?

She elected to go in first. Sam and Dean advised against it, but she was adamant. The Coven wanted her. Adored her so much they'd kidnapped her girlfriend to get her attention. They wouldn't hurt her. The Winchesters were there as backup, in case they turned out to be more powerful than she predicted.

Your face greeted her upon opening the door. You were seated on a sofa, bound in iron chains. Powerless. Helpless. Your lips were tight in anger, features arranged in a matching expression. Pissed to high heavens.

Rowena was relieved to see no marks on your body, no bruises or welts. You were unharmed. A point for the Coven, not that it mattered much. Being so obsessed with her, they surely knew she wasn't big on forgiveness. If they'd hurt her, she might have considered giving them a second chance. But they went after you. There was no forgiving that. No letting them get away with it.

A long time ago, Rowena had made a promise to never let anything happen to you. She intended to make good on it.

"Rowena!" one of the Coven girls, a perky brunette with curls, exclaimed just as you were about to call for her.

"You came!" another, a blonde, said in awe.

There were five of them in total, all bright eyed, excited, as if this were the highlight of their lives. As if they hadn't kidnapped a girl — an innocent girl — in order to get Rowena's attention. It made Rowena sick. Anger burned in her veins, and with it her magic; it roiled and coiled, boiling hot, ready to burst at her command.

If they loved her so much, surely they knew you were off limits. They'd seen her curse people over insulting you — hell, over looking at you the wrong way. You were her number one priority.

They had made a horrible mistake.

"Girls," she said in a tone that made it clear she wasn't happy to be here. Not by a long shot.

They either didn't notice or didn't care for as soon as she addressed them their faces lit up.

"I can't believe you came!"one of them — a horribly dyed ginger — said. "I thought we'd never see you again."

That was why they'd kidnapped you. Because they totally didn't believe she would come to your rescue. Rowena scoffed. Right. "You've certainly been… persuasive."

"It was Greta's idea," the ginger — Sandra? Rowena was pretty sure her name was Sandra — said happily, pointing to a pudgy brunette.

Of course it was. "I expected nothing less."

Greta had always been the most enthusiastic one of the group. The one who butted in everywhere, and sought her attention the most. At times Rowena thought she was living on it. Her praise was like a drug to the girl.

She turned to you. Looked you over one more time just to be sure. "Are you alright, dear?"

"I guess," you said with a shrug. You rattled your binds. "These chains are uncomfortable."

"Have they hurt you?"

"No."

Rowena breathed out in relief. At least there was that. One point for the Extra Coven, she supposed. Not that it mattered much. They still took you, and they would pay for that. Rules were rules.

"They kinda suck, to be honest," you said after a few moments. "I mean, they knocked me out with chloroform. Who does that?"

Rowena raised an eyebrow. Really, who did that? What self-respecting witch resorted to chloroform to incapacitate her target?

"Shut up!" the other redhead, Victoria, screamed.

"Lass," Rowena said in a barely raised voice, tone more strict than threatening, but it was enough to shut the girl up. You snorted, and Rowena barely resisted a smirk of her own. It felt good to have so much power over people. To have them obey her every command. She just wished it was under better circumstances.

"Rowena, are you—" Sam suddenly rushed in, followed by Dean, both with guns raised, witch-killing bullets ready to fire.

"What the hell?" Dean stared at the girls, looked them over one by one. "These are grown-ass women!"

"Never underestimate the power of crazy. "Like she had, and look where it had gotten her. Where it had gotten you. Even when they were stalking her, she thought them nothing but a nuisance.

You were right about them all along.

Rowena dreaded that conversation at home.

The girls gasped in surprise.

"You brought hunters?" the blonde said, outraged. As if she'd been punched in the gut.

Once Rowena was done with her, she would wish she was. "What in hell did you expect?" She was done with their antics. Done with the fake smiles and pleasantries. "You kidnapped my girlfriend!" The words were bitter on her tongue. Poison. "Was I supposed fall to my knees and beg to get her back?"

"We didn't hurt her!" Sandra said, as if that made everything better.

"We just wanted to see you," Greta said.

"I didn't want to see you," Rowena retorted. "Can't you take a bloody hint?"

"But—"

"I've had a wonderful coven, and the five of you ruined it!" The other girls were there to learn, to hone their magic, to find a place where they belonged. They were lovely proteges, on a surefire way to greatness. They could have accomplished a lot had Rowena not been forced to leave them behind. All because of five rotten, selfish girls. "I left because of you!"

All five paled. Teared up like children being chastised by a teacher.

"Don't say that," the curly brunette said. Begged. Pleaded.

"It's true."

"We love you," Victoria said.

"You're bloody sick!" Rowena snapped. "You've ruined the Coven, and you've tried to ruin my life!"

Tears fell. Sobs and sniffles sounded. Good, Rowena thought. It was time they learned the truth.

"We just—"

She put up a hand. "I don't want to hear it! I don't want anything to do with you!"

"You don't mean that," Sandra whimpered.

Och, she did. She meant it more than anything in the world. "Release Y/N," she said — ordered, really, for her voice was nothing but stone, cold and cruel. No mercy. No sympathy.

"Are you gonna leave if we do?" Greta asked.

Oh, Rowena thought, she was going to do more than that. Much more. "What do you think?"

"Please, don't," Victoria begged, red-faced and puffy-eyed.

Rowena wasn't in the mood for theatrics. "Release her. Now."

"No." It was Sandra who said it, brave face on in its full glory. As fake as the colour of her hair. Rowena raised an eyebrow. "Why should she get to have you and not us?"

Because you were her girlfriend. Because she loved you more than she'd ever loved anyone. Because you understood her like no one else ever had. Because you'd never judged her, never tried to change her. Because you loved her as the petty, flawed, formerly evil creature she was.

She couldn't expect these girls to understand that. They didn't even know what love was, their obsession twisting their hearts, turning them dark. Consuming them from the inside. They were addicts, really. Chasing a high that would never come. Desperate. As angry as she was, Rowena pitied them. It must have been a horrible life, to be so lonely amongst so many people. To crave something they could never have.

"She doesn't deserve you," Greta agreed.

"Wow," Dean said, flabbergasted.

And really, wow. Who were they to say you didn't deserve her? Who were they to even think it? They knew nothing about you. They barely knew anything about Rowena.

She blinked, two times, three. Baffled. Outraged. Blood burning white hot in her veins. "Beg pardon?"

"Greta's right," Victoria said. "Y/N doesn't deserve you. She doesn't love you like we do."

"Is that so?"

"Yes!" the blonde said. "We looked everywhere for you. We knew we'd find you." She threw a filthy look at you. "She'd never do that."

Well, they were right about that. You gave her space when she needed it. You respected her wishes.

You wouldn't stalk her.

"She doesn't love you," the curly-haired girl said.

"If she did," Sandra said, "she wouldn't have left you alone."

Rowena swallowed an array of swears that itched at her throat and uttered, "Huh."

So it was like that. They didn't just feel entitled to her. They felt entitled to act as if they knew you. Who gave them the right? They didn't know her, and they knew you even less. They had no right to take you from her. They had even less of a right to judge you. And based on what? Envy? Entitlement?

It was time to end this charade. Rowena thought she could do it the diplomatic way, but it was clear the Coven wasn't here for negotiations. They wanted war, and they would bloody have it.

"You should have listened to me, girls," she said, finally calm, at peace. Relieved to have given herself permission to do what was necessary. "I'd planned for this to be painless, but you left me no other choice."

Sandra frowned. "What do you mean?"

"As you rot in Hell, remember that you chose this," Rowena said. As their faces paled, and fear settled into their eyes, she spat, "Impetus Bestiarum!"

The girls stilled. Their eyes, so bright a mere moment ago, filled up with ripe, rich red. Blood slid down their cheeks like tears. Humanity gone, they were beasts; wild, feral. Ravenous.

Rowena allowed herself to smile at her accomplishment, allowed a relieved sigh to leave her mouth. They got their wish, she supposed. They were hers. Her pets. Her puppets, and she was the one holding the strings.

She looked them in the eyes — in those wild red eyes that were no longer human, that flashed with hunger and rage, and craved orders to attack, to finally set the beast free. Rowena was all too happy to oblige. "End it."

For a moment they just stared at her, still as statues. Then, as more blood fell down their cheeks and veins dark as bruises bloomed all over their faces, they lunged at each other with the ferocity of werewolves at the height of the full moon. They ripped and slashed and tore and roared. Blood seeped free. Screams let loose. Teeth dug into necks, and nails bit into arms and backs.

The chaos lasted no more than a minute, and by the time it was over, all that remained were pools of blood and torn strands of hair strewn around. The girls' bodies laid in a messy heap. Every inch of exposed skin was torn, bloody. Faces so ripped apart they were unrecognizable.

The room fell silent for a moment. Then Dean said, "You've gotta stop doing that."

Rowena smiled, smug, proud of her feat. "Effective, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Maybe a bit… too effective."

She took it as a compliment.

"It was awesome!" you said, grinning like the proud girlfriend you were.

"Why thank you! At least someone appreciates my talent."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

"You okay?" Sam asked as he and his brother started working on the chains.

"Yeah," you said. "Just uncomfortable."

As soon as you were free, you threw your arms around Rowena and squeezed as if your life depended on it. Reluctantly, she returned the embrace; she wasn't one for public displays of affection, especially in front of the Winchesters, but she couldn't push you away. It felt good to have you so close again. To feel your heartbeat on her skin. To hold you and love you and hope with everything she had that this would never happen again, that no one would ever get their hands on you again. Not in this lifetime.

"I knew you'd come for me," you said.

She always had, and always would. "You were right about The Extra Coven." It hurt to say it, to admit it out loud, but it was only fair, after everything that had happened. You deserved that much. "I should have killed them a long time ago."

You pulled back. Looked her in the eyes. "It's nice to know I was right, for once," you teased.

"Don't get used to it," Rowena said with a chuckle.

"I'll enjoy it while it lasts." Your eyes wandered to the blood-caked bodies. "What about the rest of the Coven?"

"I don't think they will be a problem. They're lovely girls." Were it not for the five stalkers, Rowena would have most likely still been in the Coven. "These five were the ones causing trouble. Without them, I think they will prosper."

"You thinking about contacting them?"

"Maybe." If only to check up on them. To see how they would function without the extremists. You frowned. "Don't worry, darling. I've no plans to lead them again."

"Good," you said, grabbing hold of her hand. "I don't think I wanna share you."

Rowena smiled. "I'm all yours."

And you were hers.

And so it would remain for as long as you both lived.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @evil-regal-vampiress @hellbentredhead @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock @fangirlxwritesx67 @theeasterbilby @midnight-lestrange @oster-hagen @impala-1979

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #rowena x reader #my fics #fanfiction

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aotopmha · 5 years ago

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Attack on Titan Chapter 122 Thoughts

This chapter is pretty straight-forward in comparison to the previous ones, but in a deceptive way, where a lot of moments have a bunch of nuance, when they at first glance don't seem to.

Most of the chapter is very thoroughly "show, don't tell", which I can see getting people confused and leave them asking questions, but the key to this is context.

When taking this chapter as more stand-alonish, I feel like it would 100% feel much more obtuse and confusing, but almost every panel calls back to something and the story simply asks you to put the story together based on this. I feel it still definitely leaves some stuff up for potentially varying interpretation, but much less so.

Here's my take on it.

Firstly, the only voice in the whole Ymir flashback is that of King Fritz. Everyone else is silent.

There is much talk about how AoT is this morally gray series and there are certainly many morally gray elements here, but in truth, I'd phrase this idea more in the sense of the story having really well fleshed out antagonists.

It emphasizes humanizing every character, including all those that are presented as shitty people, in a specific way of giving them at least one quality that's if not sympathetic, then at least understandable from the characters' perspectives (this is something Isayama has actually straight-up mentioned to aim to do in interview material).

Karina is a horrible mother to Reiner, but she is a product of her environment and has never gotten to see outside of the world she lives in.

Alma treats Historia horribly, but her life is in danger because of a powerful man and the society she lives in.

Floch started out as a tactless asshole and has only grown worse, but there are understandable points in what he is saying during various moments in the story.

Gross is straight-up a candidate for the most hateable character in the series, but there is a spelled out, concrete perspective to his evil you kind of understand in a twisted way that also stems from the system he's living under, which often makes for my favorite type of antagonist.

I point this out because I think the first King Fritz is the most straight-forwardly villainous character in the series so far and I think that's fine.

The truth is, sometimes there isn't a "both sides". Sometimes there is a good and evil and in this case, Isayama opted for a powerful man that exploits the weak to further gain power for the evil, which is still a very real evil, but, as said, also pretty straight-forward.

He doesn't develop in any way - he's an abuser to begin with and in a position of power to begin with.

The only sliver of nuance to him is that he's a smart opportunist: he's a powerful man who knows to take advantage of the position he's in to gain even more power.

You could argue this also comments on power abuse and how a priviledged position and availability of the means to take advantage of others encourages to do so and gain even more power. People are more likely to use a gun when they are given access to it than when not.

But even then, as he says to keep passing down the spines of the Titans, due it being at the cost of the daughters he had with Ymir, whom he already saw as a tool to be used, he most likely doesn't even do it for the good of his people, but his own self-serving desire to preserve his position of power and influence and that way remain important and influental even after his death.

He's more interesting as a vehicle for exploring the social situation he creates than as a individual character.

Him being the only one to talk is thus another neat example of the story making a narrative point through meta elements. Abusers silence and take away people's voices through fear and conditioning and this is exactly what he does and therefore is the only one talking.

In this case, it's even literal, as we see a slave having their tongue cut out. We don't ever see this happen to Ymir, but it's an easy assumption to make that she might've had her tongue cut out, as well, based on what we see done with the other slave.

Regardless of any physical element, though, Ymir simply doesn't go against King Fritz because she doesn't understand she can do so. Her chains are entirely emotional. She seems to have been a slave for most of her life, never getting to see any other perspective regarding herself, so because of the conditioning and indoctrination stemmed from her position as a slave, she believes serving him is her purpose in life:

It's how she is lead to percieve herself that keeps her a slave.

This is interesting to me because this seems to reflect Armin's initial character resolve. The only reason he didn't believe in himself was because of his own, negative, perception of himself. It's through an alternative perspective given through Eren and Mikasa he grew to see himself in a different light. His arc is one of the first arcs in the story that involves a character gaining nuance in their perspective (technically Mikasa has a moment like this before him, but I think Armin's arc fits the comparison better because it very specifically relates to his self-image):

(Chapter 11)

This later also evolves into the Marleyan Eldians' single-mindedness and unawareness of playing into a corrupt system. Neither Ymir nor them simply never get an opportunity to see the world differently/in a more complex light.

In the case of a more typical damsel, the rescue would have had a much more straight-forward and simplistic explanation and through that in my eyes would have been much less interesting and I really appreciate whenever a story understands abuse like this.

Related to this, Eren's speech in this chapter probably makes it one of my favorites.

There are some uncertain connotations to it, as Ymir truly probably is in no good emotional position to make her own decision and Eren ultimately gives her two very specific options to choose from, but I think his words are genuine and the point of the speech still stands.

It's a powerful speech that says everyone is an autonomous person and is not obligated to be bound to anyone:

As said, the elements of a typical damsel in distress story are here, but I think it's more human than just a standard crying girl asking for help situation and on a meta level, the story says that whoever is in a similar situation also has a choice.

As also said, you could tear this into pieces when you focus on a bunch of the technicalities surrounding it, but I think as a general sentiment I really do think it’s incredibly powerful.

I mentioned how this chapter commented on how powerful men exploit women, but I think it's more gender neutral than it might initially seem. I think the general feelings here would work just as well if were Ymir a boy, with the only difference probably being another woman being involved to force him to have children. The story has gendered aspects, but it handles them with not only taste, but also in a way where the general point isn’t gendered, similarly to Mikasa's backstory.

Related to this, I think the final element to look at in relation to Ymir's story specifically is Historia’s pregnancy. I think it made it directly much more harder to make natural.

It felt artificial to begin with, but before this, I was much more open-minded about it.

Okay, since Historia genuinely seems to care for everyone, maybe this could've been somehow spun around her sacrifice being genuine and of her own choosing, but now it's as literal of a representation of history repeating itself as it possiblt could get and whether Historia chose the pregnancy or not, subtextually it will always represent history repeating itself.

The pregnancy has a bunch of potential problems: erasing the gay part of a character (since Historia is the most overtly gay character in the series and this happens after her love interest is killed, it will come across this way even if it's not the intention), contradicting a character's arc, but more than that, at this point, I just don't see anything interesting and unique said through it specifically. All other options where the pregnancy is fake sound much more interesting to me.

If the story finds a way to somehow make the pregnancy work in a interesting way, I'll applaud it, but right now I don't see all that many possibilities in terms of how it could.

This chapter literally calls back to the image of the kind girl Historia saw in the book Frieda showed her that she went against and while this contradiction in her arc already existed just with the reveal of the apparent pregnancy, this now puts a big red exclamation mark on it:

It's so obvious that the story missing this contradiction and not even addressing it would be extremely puzzling (which I do think it will).

More than anything, as if it hadn’t done this as strongly as possible already, this also even further (as it possibly could at this point), fortified the idea that something definitely, most certainly, without a doubt, is up.

Moving on, though, in the same vein as I said there are points in the real world where good and evil exists, there is actually a truth in history. History is a series of facts interpreted by people and with showing the "real truth" here I think the story dodged a dangerous potential implication about history not being factual.

I think it also fixed some of the potential implications with the historical imagery the story has been using.

Firstly, the Eldian empire was born through the exploitation of the weak. We don't even know if Ymir and all the other slaves were all actually Eldians, so depending how you interpret this, it takes away the potentially historically revisionist perspective of the Jewish analogue race ever being the oppressor. There is no place for "both sides" when it comes to the Jewish parallels because it's one of the most black and white situations in all of history. If nothing else, this element at least makes it clear that the story simply wishes to explore the thematic element of the dynamics between the oppressor and the oppressed the idea of power abuse.

Then, through making the encounter with the parasite creature happenstance and the Titan power not biologically inherent to Eldians, it removes the potential implication of the Jewish analogue being biologically different, therefore being "special" compared to other races, which is not the case with any race.

The element that has been there for the longest in my eyes and I think didn’t even need to be elaborated on because it’s been there and explored so much already and that always removed the possibility of the story (at the very least intentionally) being racist to me, though, is that the story treats all characters from all races the same without ever resorting to using caricatures or excessive stereotyping. The Eldians specifically are the main characters of the story, with there being equally good and evil characters among them.

The key element to racism has always been othering and dehumanization and the story for the most part makes sure that even the characters that are awful people have fleshed out perspectives.

I think what also helps in this chapter specifically is having more of a history-inspired than strictly historical situation, showing it all through a fantasy veil compared to the more direct usage of imagery with Marley and the Marleyan Eldians.

Finally, I really liked the potential Titan lore this chapter presented us.

I think it's really neat how it might potentially connect mythology and biology with the possible inspiration being, both, the prehistoric creature Hallucigenia and the mythological dragon under the roots of the world tree Ygdrassil, Nidhoggr, more than that, though, I really like the potential "nature you scary" element of the Titan origins.

The creature driving a horror story usually either isn't explained or is explained through something like aliens, lovecraftian horror, a human-made catastrophe or an experminent.

In this case there are elements of all of these in here and I think any of these could still be revealed to be the direct origin of the Titan parasite, but I really like the potential "nature you scary" element here because we usually always look outside of our world to find horror because we fear what we don't know, but Earth's own nature has plenty of that, too.

Nature can be really unsettling and horrifying at points and I’d like to see that being taken advantage of more.

Overall, though, I really liked this chapter. I think it might be one of my favorites because of Eren's speech, but I also really enjoyed it for it's "show, don't tell" aspect. Sometimes one image can say much more than a thousand words and I think this chapter did a really solid job with that.

#Attack On Titan #Shingeki No Kyojin #AoT 122 #SnK 122 #Chapter 122 #AoT #SnK

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realm-sweet-realm · 5 years ago

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What are some ways Sammy will join joeys cult?

In my “canon”, Joey got Sammy into the occult, and then into his ink machine experiments, simply by forming a genuine human connection with him. He had a feeling that Sammy would be into this occult stuff, so he invited Sammy out to dinner (platonically- they’re both straight in “canon” but I do a grand total of whatever I want in my non-canon stories) and rekindled their friendship as they realized that they share an outlook on art and life and genuinely enjoy each other’s company. At the end of the night, Joey lent Sammy one of his books on the occult. A few days later, he invited him over to see some real-life magic. Sammy was genuinely impressed and jumped at the opportunity to start practicing it.

Sammy is actually pretty easy to manipulate- if you can fool him once (which is definitely the hard part) you can fool him a thousand times because he’s too proud and stubborn to admit he’s been fooled. He also tends to think in self-serving ways, to think in black and white, and to blindly follow leadership.

That wasn’t really their relationship, though. Joey and Sammy shared a genuine passion for the occult, and were growing closer, perhaps, then Joey and Henry were. Sammy has always been somewhat dissatisfied with his life and what he’s put into and gotten out of the world, and the occult (and the ink machine experiments, once Joey trusted him enough for that) made him feel like he was special, and that he was bringing something truly unique into the world that few could. He told himself that the ink machine could be used for good, but that was more a thin excuse for his addiction. Joey, meanwhile, felt like he’d finally found someone he saw eye to eye with, and who understood him completely- something he’d wanted desperately since Henry had left. They both felt like they’d found their missing puzzle piece.

Then the ink symptoms began. This was genuinely distressing for Joey, but he ultimately chose Sammy’s loyalty over his health and safety. Joey (far more experienced with the occult than Sammy) told Sammy that it was what the “forces that be” willed, and that they would go away in due time if he was obedient and didn’t interfere with their plans. (As Sammy began to hallucinate, he began to believe that Joey was talking about Bendy.) In addition to comforting Sammy with those lies, he also scared Sammy into not seeing a doctor by telling him that if that happened, the best-case scenario would be Sammy getting chopped up in a lab and Joey going to prison, and that’s if the forces that be decide not to take revenge. Sammy bought into it, and opted instead to let the symptoms run their course and pray to Bendy for his release.

There’s a reason why these two are my favourite friendship and ship.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #sammy lawrence #joey drew #thanks for the ask

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signaturedish · 5 years ago

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Can we have some SG Megatron and Original Harry interactions?

I should really stop dragging my feet and just make a companion fic huh. This is a pretty good setup for getting anon-inspired chapter ideas though! In like a plotline journal entry kind of way lol.

Warning! I already said I found this dynamic interesting so this got long again.

They meet almost immediately. SG Megs pops into existence right in front of his counterpart, who is rarely separated from Harry.

His psychohistory readings warned him something like this might happen so SG Megs is up and alert from the start. introducing himself and curiously peering over his sparkling’s counterpart while feeling out his own mirrored self. Harry seems quieter. He peered up at the intruder with kind optics, sitting in a claw, wrapped snugly around a digit. His wings fluttered pretty cutely too- oh! He forgot to reply to other Megatron.

Harry was fascinated by this not-Lord-Megatron. He didn’t resemble his lord much at all, more vulnerable and stable all at once. It was sort of like someone had smashed Optimus and Lord Megatron together and then gave him a unique inquisitive edge. He wanted to know more about him, felt something in him blossom happily when not-Lord-Megatron bestowed such a warm smile on him while being introduced. The way only Lord Megatron’s praise had affected him in the past.

They meet again by chance in a hallway, bereft of watchers for the moment. SG Megs can’t resist coming to a halt, Harry does the same. It’s like an atmosphere, a tension soft and sensitive as Ironhide or Ratchet. It’s so strange to find it again in a Decepticon base.

SG Megs asks a simple question- what his day was like, where his favorite spot is, what his favorite game is, if he’s tried flying yet, etc- he meant to stop, but he could listen to Harry chatter forever. Polite, intelligent, too soft-spoken but so eager to please. Whenever he stalls, a prompting hum or grin gets him right back on track.

Harry delights in his encouragement, no shadows to fight away or stiffness to overlook as the mech stares down with optics that sparkle. He finds the courage to ask his own questions, what was his favorite color? Where he’d set up base in his own dimension, what exactly was psychohistory- and they were off.

Conversation like raindrops on a windowpane, light and constant connections, easily converging as they delight in each other’s thoughtfulness and curiosity. They’re sitting in the hallway, Harry on SG Megs knee without either of them realizing they’ve moved.

Has SG Megatron ever spoken to someone so adorable? Who felt so strongly like a child after his own make and model? He had priceless comrades, but so very few seemed a kindred soul, the type of mech who would look up at the sky and see constellations instead of balls of gas. This sparkling had listened to the legend of an array of stars he’d never seen with such wonder it stalled his fuel pump.

Then a panicked Thundercracker finds out what happened to their missing sparkling and shatters the lazy afternoon they’d crafted in half an hour.

Oh right. this Harry wasn’t his sparkling. Of course, how silly, how crazy to ever mistake- they were so different! There was an odd ache in his chest as Harry left, an uncomfortable twist to his gears as he went to find SG Harry. It was ugly and unbecoming, he didn’t dare acknowledge it. When he picked SG Harry up, he resolutely ignored how quickly he could summon an illusion of picking up another sparkling instead. It didn’t hurt when he tried chatting with SG Harry and got blown off, that would be unfair to even compare. It didn’t sting to see Harry cuddled up with his counterpart that night.

Of course it didn’t. He was better than that.

Harry’s elated to have found such a great friend, someone who helped sooth that anxious pang whenever Lord Megatron wasn’t in his sight. Someone with such natural warmth and gentle words, easier to talk to than even Jazz. He was clearly a genius and it was incredible how genuinely interested he was in what Harry had to say. He only wished they would meet more often, it was ridiculous how scarce he was.

When they do meet again for more than a few seconds it’s before Lord Megatron’s throne, being coldly stared down by his own counterpart. SG Harry has been mistreating his fellow sparkling, SG Harry should be punished and forbidden from making Harry cry.

SG Megs bristles, they’re just children, rivalry and scuffles are to be expected. He knows his sparkling had probably distressed his counterpart but he was a first frame sparkling and such things are just growing pains. Rules will be enforced, but no ultimate forbidden actions or harsh punishments.

It’s fair, he’s practical, he even shushes SG Harry when his tantrum gets too shrill. He was perfectly behaved.

So why did he feel so awful?

Why was it impossible to look away from Harry as he trembled through his account of being bullied, hesitantly dragging out the confession as though he wasn’t sure what they wanted to hear. He should want to comfort his sparkling after being reprimanded but all he wanted to do was cuddle Harry until his shaking stopped and his wings raised high.

Not even that, he wanted to take Harry away from Megatron and show him how to pet a sparkling the correct way. They needed more coverage and surface contact, dammit.

He already had a sparkling, he cared for SG Harry, he did. Was he really so low he’d covet his own counterpart’s child too?

He watched gloomily as Harry found a quiet spot to put together a little puzzle piece box set, allowing helpful suggestions from his Decepticon comrades to fly overhead as he chirped his thanks.

Lord Megatron gazed on in satisfied silence, SG Harry was trying to unscrew a bolt from Barricade’s ped without him noticing.

SG Megs was standing at the back, wishing with all his might that he could have the right to plop in front of Harry and watch up close as he slowly understood the best way to reconstruct the image was by starting with the edges. He was almost there- SG Megs could see it. Methodical, careful, enjoying the process as much as the result. He was going to pick it up fast. He was already proud of him.

SG Megs wanted to teach this child prealgebra next

He wanted to be Harry’s parental unit.

Frag.

A few days later Harry hunts him down to ask if he’d help with his gliding practice that day with huge, shining optics and SG Megs replies with all seriousness ‘you are literally killing me’.

He still fights the other seekers for position as flight teacher for the rest of time. It’s only by the grace of already being a parental unit as well as an adept survivor of ambushes and assassination attempts that he lives in the base after that though.

Okay I’ve got to stop at some point.

Bottom line is that they’re kind of incredibly compatible and just lonely enough for this to be a Huge Deal for them. Harry’s still loyal to his lord, but it’s insidiously easy to incorporate SG Megatron into his life without it feeling directly like a challenge to his actual guardian.

Megatron has got to keep on his toes, SG Megs even makes learning math kind of fun so you can see the kind of threat he’s up against.

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eggshellsreview · 5 years ago

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Steven Universe (Season 1) review

The now incredibly popular Cartoon Network animated show created back in 2013 has only spiked even more in popularity due to the recently released movie that caught my eye and made me decide to dive into the show first hand just to see what I've been apparently missing out on the past few years.

Unfortunately for me, Steven Universe started airing on Television before the time that I was more open minded about animated series or even just wider genres as a whole. However, since then, a lot of animation and other content has made me spread out my taste and turned me not just willing to watch more animated content, but gladly willing to watch. And I will say, that so far, Steven Universe has only reinforced that new mentality as it surprised me in great ways.

Steven Universe follows a very young, very enthusiastic protagonist of the same name in his abnormal childhood adventures, rooted to his unwilling connection to what I can only describe as sentient rock extraterrestrials. These extraterrestrials are permanently referred to as Gems in the series and are equipped with what you'd expect: Super advanced technology/intellect, superhuman abilities, and a whole lotta backstory to unpack.

For context, I spent several years with a best friend who absolutely adored the series, and even though I wasn't particularly interested in the show, I'd always let her gush to me in great detail her favorite aspect of it; the lore. Because of this I'm already familiar with a decent chunk of the backstory that surrounded the main characters and their origins so to say, but I will say, that even though hearing about the show never made me want to go running and put it on to watch, watching how the information that I know unfolded through the show in its incredible pacing was a completely different experience.

The Gems that the story follows are a small group of short and sweet personalities. Pearl, the level headed scholar. Amethyst the rowdier, messy fun haver. Garnet, the quiet neutral one who doubles as the muscle of the team. And of course, the star of the show, Steven, the 10 year old rare half-human, half-gem hybrid trying to become a full fledged member of their team; The Crystal Gems. With their sworn duty to defend Earth from mystical threats, we watch as the Gems teach Steven some basic training and lessons of what it means to be a Crystal Gem as we simultaneously learn alongside him, who the Gems are and why they're here on our planet doing what they're doing.

This is where the show excels most. The way the show feeds information to the audience is incredible. As a loose comparison of another family friendly animated series with lots of lore about non-human characters saving the planet, I'll use My Little Pony (MLP): Friendship is Magic. MLP is a show I binged entirely for its lore and characters after hearing about it from the same friend who put me onto Steven Universe. However, despite being very interesting world building and lore exploration, the delivery of all that information was almost exclusively the scholar characters giving us very lengthy discussions in between action of episodes. Steven Universe doesnt do that though. Instead we get the engaging method of the show dropping hints, clues, and tid bits of information in a chain of loosely related episodes. For a simple example, in the lore of the show, there's a cave of important value to Steven's character. However, instead of just having Pearl go "Oh, Steven, let me show you this important location and give you a 4 minute conversation about its importance", we see implications to this place's existence over the span of the first episodes. After that, we see Steven discover it through an entirely nontraditional manner and explore it alone not knowing what it is, therefore not giving us any information about what's truly going on. Finally, a bit after in the season, we get a formal introduction to the location by Pearl to wrap up what we need to know about it in a brief minute or two. What this does, is allow us as the audience to theorize the meaning of things or people for a while, then be gifted actual on screen information in a nonformal history lesson kind of way, then have suspense for when we finally get the last pieces of the puzzles. Its a much more engaging method of giving information while eventually saving time for the formal information which may not sound like much. But when the episodes are 11 minutes long, cutting down 4-5 minutes of a history lesson, to just 1 or 2 minutes leaves more room for episodes to visually show case the significance of key information in action rather than just spend half the episode talking about it.

I'd say the only thing more important than the lore of the show however, is the atmosphere. With its watercolor sort of aesthetic to help set the general feel good and innocent tone the show it usually carries, it tends to use its art style to also butter you up for some crazy emotions. Steven Universe may have simple characters, but their dynamic between one another ends up pretty deep. Whether it's something like Garnet's quietness dropping for a moment of genuine anger or hurt because of her reaction to something. Or Amethyst dropping her carefree attitude to reveal how much she cares about something happening. The context of these moments are always INCREDIBLY powerful and filled with sincere dialogue that has left me tearing up more than just a couple of times and in my opinion, are what truly made this first season of Steven Universe a phenomenal pleasure to watch.

Another reason this show manages to have extremely good portrayal of emotions is due to its now iconic music numbers. Though they're expected, the songs sung by the characters in their appropriate moments always portray just what they have to. Funness, sadness, distress. It's a real treat, and really helps characters with simple, but strong personalities express a larger array of emotions than natural dialogue could. My favorite parts are always when they sing during action scenes because admittedly, the non musical number tracks of the show arent especially stellar. They get the job done and fit the atmosphere, but there were fewer times than I wouldve liked that I actually thought, oh hey this background track is great.

All in all, Steven Universe is an incredible show so far. One that I'm immediately continuing as soon as this is posted. The show knows what it wants to be and how it plans to do it, leaving us just an objectively well paced, well written, and crazy fun ride through an original fantasy world where you constantly want to learn more and where teases leave you constantly engaged. There's so much more I could've said, and want to say, about things like side characters, character designs, Gem abilitied (especially Gem abilities), but with this season being so long, I'd like to prioritize the more key elements of the show. Though rest assured anyone who hasnt watched the show, the things I just listed are presented and written as well as everything that I was able to talk about. Ultimately, I give Steven Universe, Season 1, a 9.5/10 rating. With genuinely nearly no complaints, even though it took several years to even give the show a try, I was left not only entirely satisfied in every category, but it exceeded all expectations and had left me crying, jaw dropped, and emotional every time it wanted to. I'm a huge fan of the show right now, and I seriously think anyone who hasn't, should really give it a watch.

#steven universe #cartoons #cartoon network #crystal gems #review #phenomenal #stellar #mlp #animated

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v-thinks-on · 5 years ago

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Into the Time Slip: A Second Chance

Day 13 (Part 1) of Holmes for the Holidays

Previous | Next

Today’s Prompt: Sherlock Holmes stuck in a time loop (from hold.my.coat)

Note: I liked this prompt so much, I ended up writing two responses. This first one doesn’t fit the prompt quite as well, but I’ve been rereading the Sherlock Holmes stories and recently read Sign of the Four, and I have some thoughts on it.

“The division seems rather unfair,” Watson remarked. “You have done all the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit, pray what remains for you?”

“For me,” said Sherlock Holmes, “there still remains the cocaine-bottle.” And he stretched his hand up for it.

Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.

“Which is it today?” Watson asked, startling Holmes’s attention away from the old black-letter volume which he had opened as the drug surged through his system. “Morphine or cocaine?”

“Cocaine,” Holmes repeated himself with some impatience.

Watson hesitated before abruptly protesting, “Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which you have been endowed?”

“You have done everything in your power to extricate yourself from the matter. I would say it is no longer in your hands.”

“No longer in my hands?” Watson demanded. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

Holmes waved it off, though he was truly touched by Watson’s fervor. “You say that now, but a married man has other more pressing duties than to an old friend.”

“My dear Holmes,” Watson exclaimed, “I fear the drug has addled your brain. What talk has there been of marriage?”

“It is a cruel trick you are playing, Watson, for I know you are a man of your word and would not have lied about your engagement to the lovely Miss Morstan.”

“Who?” Watson asked, now on his feet to examine Holmes properly. His concern could not have been mistaken for anything but genuine.

“I assure you, the lady is not my invention,” Holmes said, smiling at the absurdity of it all. A thousand possibilities crossed his mind, each more impossible than the last.

Watson’s concern showed no signs of abating.

“At ease, Doctor,” Holmes said with a dismissive wave.

At last, Watson settled back in his chair, though his eyes did not leave Holmes. Holmes, for his part, found he didn’t mind the attention, perplexing as it was.

He was just turning the peculiar puzzle over in his head when his thoughts were interrupted. “Aha! If I am not mistaken, that is the lady herself ascending upon the stair!”

Sure enough, Mrs. Hudson stepped inside, bearing the card of Miss Mary Morstan.

“Come to see Dr. Watson, no doubt,” Holmes said with a sideways glance at the doctor, though he could not deny that she had gone about visiting her intended in a strangely formal way.

“I have come to you, Mr. Holmes,” she said, “because you once enabled my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic complication. She was much impressed by your kindness and skill.”

It was impossible, and yet, there was the very evidence before him. He could only confirm, “You come on account of a letter, received this morning, inviting you to meet an unknown friend at the Lyceum this evening at seven o’clock?”

She gasped. “How? How could you know?”

“Watson, I fear I have been most unjust to you,” Holmes murmured. “Could you do me the favor of reading the date off of today’s paper?”

He did so and it confirmed Holmes’s most irrational suspicion and then some.

“I fear I am a day off,” Holmes said, again perhaps more to himself than either person in the room. He could feel Watson watching him with the fear of seeing someone go mad.

“I’m sorry,” Miss Morstan said, “Have I arrived at a bad time?”

Before Watson could confirm it, Holmes silenced him with a wave and turned to the lady. “My apologies for my irregular behavior. You could not have come at a better time; your arrival has resolved a small dispute between my friend and I, and I am afraid I was in the wrong, rather more than I expected. I would not miss your case for the world, but I request that you entrust it fully in my hands.”

“What do you propose?” the lady asked with the guarded air of someone who does not know what is going on, but does not trust it.

“By a rather odd coincidence, I have come by some knowledge of the case which you present and I have a good reason to believe that I know the identity of the man who sent you that mysterious letter, as well as the pearls that preceded it.”

“How on Earth?”

He waved off the question. “Unfortunately, that I am unable to say. However, I find myself in an ideal position for providing the advice you seek. Allow me to contact your mysterious correspondent. I believe he will need to postpone your meeting, but that it would be to your great advantage to see him when he is available, and my friend and I would be happy to accompany you.”

She hesitated, but at last she said, “Very well, if you know of the matter I suppose it is best to leave it in your hands.”

“Excellent. I expect you will hear from your correspondent tomorrow if not today.”

After the lady had taken her leave, Watson turned to Holmes and asked, “Are you certain you are quite alright?”

“In truth, Watson, I am half convinced I must be dreaming. However, that is a poor presumption to act upon, and so far everything seems to line up precisely.” He gestured for Watson to hold his peace. “There is much that still needs to be done, and if I am correct, a man’s life hangs in the balance, as well as our fair visitor’s fortune. When it is done, then I will have a clean breast of it and you can send me off to the madhouse if you believe it is warranted-”

“My dear Holmes!” Watson exclaimed.

Holmes forged on with a shake of his head, “Until then, I ask that you trust in my decisions and make no hasty decisions, especially not on the matter of marriage.”

“Certainly.”

“Now, we must make for Pondicherry Lodge with due haste.”

Only after it was all done; Jonathan Small apprehended for the attempted burglary of Mr. Bartholomew Sholto, the story of the Sign of Four revealed, and the Agra treasure divided between the Sholtos and the worthy lady, did Holmes face Watson by the fireside of their Baker Street flat.

“I owe you an apology, my dear Watson,” Holmes said softly, as though he was not quite sure he wanted the words to be heard. “You have been most unfairly treated.”

Watson appeared startled. “I have been concerned,” he admitted, “But not mistreated.”

“For some time now, I fear I have been rather trying on your patience. I saw it, but I did not observe, did not heed your distress. I did not realize how serious it was until” - Holmes hesitated - “You may think me quite mad.”

“I would hope you would reconsider your use of the needle after whatever has occurred, but I fear that somehow you have been right in nearly every particular. Did you have some warning?”

“In a sense,” Holmes said with a wry smile. “When we spoke the other morning, when I was so disoriented as to think you had left me for a wife, I truly recalled that you had. I recall it still. It seems as though it must have been a few days ago, though the date was the same. We were disputing over some ill chosen words of mine when Miss Morstan arrived and presented her case. We accompanied her to the Lyceum Theater at 7 o’clock, and were brought to the home of Mr. Thaddeus Sholto who told us the incredible tale of which you are now aware. With him, we went to Pondicherry lodge, only to find his brother dead, murdered by Mr. Small’s peculiar friend. As I investigated the murder of Mr. Sholto, it appears you fell in love with Miss Morstan and her with you. Mr. Small dumped the treasure into the Thames, leaving you free to ask the lady for her hand, and she accepted. And so, I was left to my cocaine-bottle until it appears it had not yet occurred.”

“Why, it must have been a dream!” Watson exclaimed. “And yet, you were not wrong in a single particular. I confess I do find Miss Morstan attractive, though I have been rather preoccupied with your condition.”

“My apologies for losing you a bride - for it can only be on account of my altered behavior that you are not now engaged.”

Watson waved it off. “She is much better off with her treasure than an old army doctor.”

“And yet, I find that I do not envy her nearly as much now that treasure is all she has. I am certain she make a most eligible bride,” Holmes amended with a wave, “but I assure you, Watson, you would have been most dearly missed.”

“My blushes, Holmes!”

“Having deprived you of a wife, it is only fair that I do what I can to make it up to you. You have never yet recognized my merits as a housekeeper.”

#v writes #Sherlock Holmes #H/W #Holmes for the Holidays

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smoakmonster · 6 years ago

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Runaways

A/N: *dusts off brain cobwebs* Hey, it’s been awhile since I wrote fanfic, let alone spec fanfic. Feels good. Hope you enjoy this little post-7x13/early 7x14 scene between Mia and William.

xxx

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” muttered Mia. Again. Exactly how many times was a person expected to apologize for unintentionally causing injury? Ok so, the punch was her fault, but that had been pure survival instinct before she’d realized who Baby Warbucks was. “Though, for you information, the whining? Not so endearing right now.” Still, Mia was careful as she reapplied the towel to his split lip.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry if my pain is inconvenient for you.” Baby Warbucks shot her a glare before wincing again.

William. His name was William.

Mia swallowed, ducking her head to shield her face behind a wall of hair. She had a brother. She’d known that, of course. In theory. Growing up, Mom had recounted as much of her family history as she’d had the preference to provide, but Mia’s thirsty inquisitiveness was never fully quenched. Mia read more into her mom’s quiet frowns than in her meticulously vague answers. There was always more to know about the missing gaps in her childhood and in the years before that, of a different time, a time where her mom had been happy and her dad had been...still accessible.

And now, by some twisted miracle, all the answers she’d spent years searching for were sitting right in front of her. Of all the worst coincidences.

Mia pulled the towel away, relieved to see the bleeding had finally stopped. She suspected her newfound family member would not have taken to stitches very well. And she was terrible with a needle anyway.

As it was, William hissed when she pressed a bandage to his face.

Mia rolled her eyes at the ceiling and barely resisted the temptation to press harder. Was he so pampered he can’t even go five minutes without complaining? Pain tolerance was clearly a skill he needed to learn, and soon. He wouldn’t last a day in Star City with that pitiful attitude.

For the second time in the last hour, a strange wave of concern washed over her. She wanted to protect him.

Mia flinched, pulling back like he’d struck her.

Why did it matter what happened to him? Because he was suddenly family?

No. Mia dismissed that thought with a shake of her head. She only wanted to keep him safe because somehow he was the key to helping her find Felicity...find Mom.

While she hated to admit it, she was intrigued why Mom had risked contacting someone who clearly didn’t want to be here. But she wouldn’t tell him that. Information was power. And he may have been her long-lost, half-brother, but that didn’t erase years of zero contact on his part. If he’d wanted to help earlier, he would have.

Yet for some reason, her mom had trusted him enough to lead him to the Archer program, hoping to bring him back to her. Whatever Mom was up to, William was a part of the puzzle. That made his safety a priority.

Well then, Mia was just going to have play along at a safe distance. She could protect both of them--from each other, if it came down to it. And she knew whose side she’d fall on when things came down to the wire, as things usually did in Star City. Besides, once he got whatever closure he was after, he’d leave. And then she and mom would be all alone again. Best to steer herself against disappointment later.

As though listening to her train of thoughts, William looked at her and asked, “So, you willing to help us find Felicity?

Mia huffed, crossing her arms. “I’m sorry, us?” She shot a skeptical look around the room at his so-called friends. “Look, just because we’re...family does not mean that we are working together now.”

William looked more annoyed than frightened, so that was an improvement at least. “You can trust me. Felicity is the reason I’m here. She sent for me.”

“Oh, she sent for you, did she? Well, that wouldn’t have been necessary, if you’d been here in the first place.”

With surprising agility, William jumped out of the chair. “Hey, I’m not the one who abandoned her! She abandoned me!” He hesitated, a sudden, pained looked clouding his face, sending a sharp ache through her gut. She knew that look very well. It was the same, secret look her mom wore when she thought Mia wasn’t looking. It was the same look she saw in the mirror when she tried to force newborn memories to the surface of her mind.

In a softer, more unsure voice, William said, “She and my dad.”

Mia shut her eyes, fighting the onslaught of pain that was always creeping up behind her, ready to swallow her whole. It wasn’t fair that he got to utter that word and know what it meant, have an entire array of memories to go with it, while she...she had nothing but a stolen documentary and the secondhand pieces of a grieving mother.

Her lips shook, but she managed to keep her voice in check. “Look, I’m sorry that I hit you. But you should leave, go back to where you came from. This isn’t your fight.”

Mia turned away, her feet scraping against the concrete, echoing in tune with the dull pang in her heart. Long moments passed, and then...

“Is that what Dad would have wanted?” William called. “For us to turn our backs on each other?”

Mia spun, fire rushing through her veins. “You know nothing about me or my life!” she spat, retreating to the dark side of the platform and into the darkest parts of herself. She let the anger take over, let it guide her, let it remind her of her mission. Anger was safe, familiar, protective. Anger was the only emotion she could feel that drove her to do something, to be something…something more than the frightened daughter of two vigilantes. If she wasn’t angry, she’d have no reason to go on.

“You’re right.” William lifted his hands, resigned. Desperate. “But I want to. Let me help you.”

Mia raised an eyebrow. “You help me?”

But his eyes were genuine, even if his perspective was naive. If there was one thing she’d honed after all these years, it was the ability to read people.

“We’ve both been hurt by our parents. Let’s not make the same mistakes they did.”

Mia regarded William in a new light. Underneath all that geeky insecurity, there was a heart that wanted to do good, even if it was misguided in its efforts. She could help with that, at least. They had nothing in common, except they were both chasing something their parents had put into motion long ago. She knew what she was after, but what kind of closure was he seeking? What more could he possibly want after having unfettered access to Dad and still leaving like he did?

Knowing Felicity, she’d probably been sending that distress signal for months. So why was he only now responding to it? What had changed?

The only thing Mia hated more than the vigilantes that had destroyed her life was mysteries. Mysteries needed to be solved. And her new brother, wealthy yet a runaway just like her, was a terrifying enigma.

#arrow #arrow spoilers #arrow fic #arrow spec fic #arrow season 7 #william clayton #mia smoak #will and mia #queen family feels #flash forwards #shelley does fic

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the-fickle-anglachel · 6 years ago

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Infinity War Speculation

I just watched Infinity War for the first time (I’m late to the game, I know) and there were a few things that really struck me, apart from the deaths and the shock of everything that happened.

First of all, I want to discuss the psychology of Thanos. Now, Marvel puts an extraordinary amount of detail into their villains, ESPECIALLY recurring villains. Yet, even though the ties between Thanos and various other characters were not unusual for a Marvel villain, I was still struck by how emotive the writers made a character with absolutely no redeeming qualities. Thanos appears to show genuine regret for the “necessity” of killing Gamora, and the audience even witnesses him shedding a few tears for the girl he considered his daughter, and the one object he seems capable of loving.

When confronted with the ramifications of his actions, Thanos sees Gamora as the little girl he first became enamored with, and he seems genuinely distressed when he hears her reproach and visually observes her hatred.

Thanos respects relationships, if nothing else, and the writers took pains to emphasize that. Unlike Loki, however, this particular alien who shares a familial connection with a main character has neither the love nor the support of their family member. Thor obviously loved Loki to a fault, although he (somewhat) willingly confined him when he became a danger to humanity. Gamora despises Thanos with all of her being, so much so that she considers him incapable of love and does not perceive her sacrifice for the soul stone. Thanos cannot be construed as “misunderstood,” for he has not been lied to by a parental figure, or had to vie for attention against another, as Loki did. Even if his emotion COULD land him a place with the misunderstood villains, his blatant disregard for human life disqualifies him immediately. He murdered half of humanity and chalked it down as mercy. The writers knew how hated he would be by fans, and yet still mysteriously wrote him with enough emotion to be pitied under different circumstances and without other contradicting evidence.

Either Marvel is opening up the possibility of Thanos actually reverting his wrongs HIMSELF in the next movie, which I HIGHLY DOUBT with how much Marvel loves our pain, or they are just being Marvel and wanted to create a complex villain that frustrates fans even more, since he has emotions and they want to pity him at the same time that they want to murder him. (Probably less of the pitying and more of the murdering, but I’m speaking theoretically here, so bear with me. I hate Thanos with a burning passion for hurting my babies.)

The second thing I want to discuss is how Captain America was portrayed in Infinity War. The first thing that immediately drew my attention was the beard and the hair. Now, multiple characters sported beards in Infinity War, including Bucky. Yet all of the other characters’ beards seemed shaved recently and cut close, which isn’t unusual for Sam, T’Challa, and Tony, but could have been excused in Bucky. Granted, Bucky’s beard has a few unruly pieces, but it has obviously been shaped, and maintained in that shape, for some time. Those unkempt portions are simply the result of missed stubble or the fact he didn’t expect being called out that particular day to fight.

Steve’s beard is the full beard of a man who hasn’t had to be presentable for some time, or doesn’t think shaving, of all things, is the most important use of his time.

His hair also creeps down to the collar of his uniform, annoying or even unacceptable for a man of military habits, and the combination of both beard and hair are very uncharacteristic of the Steve Rogers who prides himself on his coifed hair, clean-shaven face, and impeccable appearance.

The second thing that struck me about Captain America was his distinct lack of emotion throughout the movie. In other movies, he tends to wear his heart on his sleeve, with his heart-breaking smiles, anger, frustration, and depression.

Even if his face is schooled into a stoic expression, Chris Evans, amazing actor that he is, still contains a wealth of emotion in his eyes.

The Steve Rogers of Infinity War had the disinterested, glazed look of a man who has been depressed for some time and has no more reason to live.

The less-than-pristine appearance merely confirms that. He throws himself into the fight with the kind of reckless determination that only comes from a man desperate to save the world, even when the world no longer holds a place for him. In fact, the most emotion from Steve in the entire movie (barring the few smiles when he’s reunited with friends) is when he starts fighting, the natural adrenaline response to threats kicking in and allowing him to feel because it is necessary for survival. Whether or not he himself desires survival is irrelevant at that moment, because Captain America kicks in and he goes on autopilot, the motions of fighting and strategy as natural as breathing. Even the few quips he exchanges with friends mid-battle are automatic reactions to the changes in atmosphere and his instinct to keep track of EVERYTHING going on around him.

It is only when the fight has been lost, and he kneels grasping at the remnants of his last friend, the puzzle piece to his old life, that Steve Rogers, just a kid from Brooklyn, returns, and he crumbles, shaking with emotion and letting himself truly feel for the first time since Tony lay bruised and beaten beneath his feet.

#SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: INFINITY WAR #IW spoilers #Marvel #Thanos #Steve Rogers #Captain America #Psychology #Speculation #Gamora #Headcanons backed by canon #Bucky Barnes #Sam Wilson #Tony Stark #T'Challa

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xxbyimm · 7 years ago

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Enya’s unexpected journey - Chapter 21

For all other chapters, click the number: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16a, 16b, 17, 18, 19, 20 .

OR: List of chapters

Hi.

It's been three months (yes, I feel SO FUCKING ashamed about that) but I finally found some energy to finish this chapter! I feel a bit anxious about posting again, but there we go... the damage is done. I have to admit I fucked this up by allowing Thorin and Enya to do their thing. And I'm not even sorry.

Please let me know what you think of the next chapter of their story!

Enjoy <3

PS. Gelek menu caragu rukhs = you smell like orc dung Uzfakuh = my greatest joy Ghivashel = treasure of all treasures.

Chapter 21

Summary: Enya meets Bard the bowman. Will he allow her to leave Laketown? And will Thorin be happy to see her arriving in Erebor, or... not?

Taglist: @symphony25 @oakenshieldsmizimel, @nelswp, @bellastellaluna, @imagines-for-multiple-fandoms, @leah-halliwell92, @sassytyphoondetective, @jotink78, @armitageadoration, @patanghill17, @sweeticedtea, @evyiione, @fergrigori, @thegreyberet, @maeoneill, - Tumblr doesn’t want to tag some of you properly, I’m sorry!!! If you wish to be on this list, please let me know.

Warning: Enya’s swearing. Contains smut. Seriously. SMUT AHEAD. Proceed with caution.

‘Da, she’s not waking up!’

The sound of a honey-sweet voice in distress lured Enya from her slumber. Her body felt wrecked. She clenched her teeth when a burning sensation spread through her limbs, making her hiss softly. Good gods, what happened? She felt like she had a little (alright, a lot) too much to drink last night and then decided to run the marathon. Enya slowly opened her heavy eyelids, her senses still hazy from her recent unconscious state. Her surroundings seemed blurred and it took her vision a few seconds to adjust to the dimmed light. There was a wooden ceiling above her, the thick beams hoovering over her body. The room was warm though and Enya heard fire crackling in the distance. She was wrapped in a woolen blanket.

What the actual fuck?

The last thing she remembered was practicing her water skills on the docks… What happened? It seemed like she built a new habit in which she accidently woke up in all kind of places; not being able to recall how she got there in the first place.

‘She will wake up, sweetheart. Don’t you worry…’ The voice of a man hushed the little girl. ‘What if it’s the same as with mom?’ she answered. ‘What if she….’ There was a short silence between the two. ‘Don’t talk like that, Tilda. She’ll come around eventually, I’m sure of it. All we have to do is get her warm. Can you get some extra blankets from upstairs for me?’

Enya groaned softly as she attempted to get herself to sit up straight. How many hours had passed? For how long had she been like this? There was no time… The others must have reached the lonely mountain by now. She had to join them. She had to… ‘Hold it, my lady.’ Strong hands supported her sides and gently pushed her upright. Enya hissed again as a sharp pain shot through her spinal cord, a sign of her body to take it easy and let it be. She clenched her jaw, knowing she had to pull through. There was no time. She would kill for a heavy painkiller right now… Stupid damned middle earth!

‘Easy now…’ the man coaxed. ‘You’re lucky to be alive, my lady. You need some rest.’ ‘No time.’ Enya replied and looked up to see to which kind villager she owed her life, and probably her dignity as well.

‘Well hello there!’ her mind squealed and Enya bit her lip. If Thorin hadn’t been her one, if Mahal hadn’t designed them for each other… She would definitely not mind to hit that! This human male was very easy on the eye with raven black long locks and carefully trimmed facial hair. His hazelnut colored orbs were beautiful. The man himself was eyeing her in a friendly manner. He seemed intrigued by her appearance. Enya smiled faintly and sensed there probably was a lot of passion hidden below that kind surface. Yes, he was good-looking… But still… there was no way he could beat Thorin, nor could he best her king’s panties shredding gaze. ‘Jeez, how could we ever forget about that intense “sexual predator” stare our king can muster?’ her mind mused. ‘I mean, I know I lost my panties at some point… where are they anyway En?’

Well, since Thorin ripped them off her in the bedroom of the master of Laketown... Probably there. What if the master looked under his bed and found that shredded, lacy piece of underwear…

Oh god no.

She could only hope the master didn’t know what panties were… Or never found the need to search under his bed. Or be sexually active for that matter, because who would…? A giggle got stuck in her throat and pressed her lips together. This was no moment to get all jolly, god damnit.

‘Thank you.’ Enya murmured softly to the man as she tried to regain her composure. ‘I believe I owe you my life.’ The man shrugged. ‘It was nothing my lady. Allow me to carry you closer towards the fire.’ ‘I’m fine, I can walk.’ she muttered, scrambling herself together. The man inclined his head and took a step back. Enya took a deep breath and carefully lowered herself from the table. ‘See? I’m-’ she began, but then her surroundings became quite blurry again, making her grasp the table behind her. ‘No, you’re not fine. You’re as white as a sheet!’ He established. ‘Please…’ Enya nodded shortly, not liking the fact that this stranger was right. There was no way she was gonna walk towards the fireplace without collapsing down on the floor. She needed a break to catch her breath again. The man lifted her up and took her in his arms.

‘I found you on the docks. You were freezing cold and for a moment I thought you were dead.’ The man told her as he lowered her into a chair next to the hearth. ‘To be honest, I was a bit surprised to find a dwarrowdam like you. because I was under the impression all the dwarves of Erebor left this morning. Are you part of the company of Thorin Oakenshield?’ ‘Oh… Yes.. I-I was delayed.’ Enya answered, a little distracted by the fact that stranger knew the name of her one. ‘I meant to go after them as soon as possible, but something went very wrong.’ She stared in the distance and her brows furrowed together as she tried to remember what happened to her. ‘What’s your name?’ the man inclined as he studied her curiously. ‘Enya Blueheart.’ She said. ‘Princess of the firebeard clan.’ ‘I am Bard. Or Bard the bowman, as they like to call me around here.’ ‘Bowman? Now that’s an interesting name. What is your trade?’ ‘I’m a bargeman. I enable the trade between Laketown and the Woodland realm.’ ‘So where does the bow come in?’ Bard smiled faintly, not really looking forward to share his painful family history with a mere stranger. A dwarrowdam even. It puzzled him that this dam seemed genuinely interested. Every local was familiar with the story. Didn’t she know…? ‘The story is widely known around here, my lady.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ Enya said. ‘I didn’t mean to insult you. I grew up in...’ she paused, trying to figure out how much she wanted to share with this man. ‘The land I grew up in differs from here. I didn’t even know about my own heritage until I came to middle earth.’ ‘So you didn’t know you were a princess?’ Bard asked. Enya laughed. ‘Up until recently I believed I was a human. It was quite a shock when I learned that I am, in fact, a dwarf with royal background.’ ‘Nogrod…’ Bard muttered as he vaguely remembered something about the firebeard clan and the awful way they met their demise. It was a gruesome tale in which the last fire warlock of the clan died fighting a foul creature that served Morgoth: a dragon.

‘Miss Blueheart…’ Bard began as he handed her a drink. ‘May I ask how you ended up here?’ ‘Please, call me Enya.’ Enya replied and took a sip from the ale he had given her. ‘It’s a long story, I wouldn’t even know where to begin… Also…’ she grinned. ‘You successfully dodged my question about the bow, but that doesn’t mean I forgot it. Why the bow?’ ‘Alright. If you tell me your story, I tell you mine.’ The bargeman gave in. ‘Deal, but you start.’ ‘My family consists of a lineage of bowmen, but the people, or rather the master and deputy in this town like to call me by this name to give offend. My grandfather was Girion, the lord of Dale. He is the human who failed to take down Smaug with the precious black arrows when that wretched evilness came to take the lonely mountain. The city of Dale was destroyed because of this failure.’ Enya sensed the deep resentment Bard had for his forefather, but she decided not to pursue the matter. Instead she gave him a bright smile. ‘Mine died fighting a dragon too.’ ‘The warlock…?’ Bard immediately asked. ‘But your family was…’ ‘Yes. My grandfather was Emrak, the last fire warlock of the firebeard clan.’ Enya said, choosing her words carefully. There was no need to tell him more than he needed to know right now. Black holes, another dimensions, witch powers, memories that had been wiped away… it would be too much for a man who basically lived in the middles ages. Even a kind one. ‘My grandmother escaped from our city and got my mother elsewhere. I grew up thinking I was human.’ She laughed when she saw a frown appearing on Bard’s face. ‘A very tiny human.’ She added. ‘I just thought that my family was… different.’ ‘So you never met a dwarf before?’ Bard questioned, clearly puzzled by her story.

Well, shit. This one was clever, too. ‘All inhabitants in my country are men.’ Enya admitted. ‘Except for me and my family, of course.’ ‘What is this country you speak of?’ he asked. ‘It’s called America.’ Enya replied matter-of-factly. ‘A-me-ri-ca?’ Bard repeated slowly. ‘I’ve never heard of such a realm in middle earth.’ ‘And that’s why my grandmother Gigi chose to live there.’ Enya grinned. ‘Very few know of its existence. It’s quite a small country, and safe too.’

Lies, of course. Oh well, it wasn’t like Bard knew she was telling lies. She just alternated… the truth. ‘Whoooooop guuuurlll!!!!’ her mind cheered. ‘We dodged that question with style!!!’ ‘When I found out about my ancestry, I went looking for my roots.’ She continued. ‘And I ended up in the company to reclaim their homeland.’ Bard nodded, seeming to find her story reasonable enough, at least for now. ‘Yes, I heard about this quest. You support their mission?’ ‘I think they’ve got a noble cause.’ Enya smiled. ‘But something tells me you don’t.’ ‘No, I don’t.’ Bard agreed. He tried to keep his facial expression clear, but there was a flicker of anger in his eyes. ‘I seem to be the only one in this cursed town who thinks straight and thinks Thorin Oakenshield cannot enter the mountain. I tried to reason with the master but he wouldn’t listen.’ He ruffled his fingers through his hair, clearly upset by the subject. ‘The master is only thinking about the wealth that lies beneath those rocks, but he won’t consider the safety of his people. The dwarves will awake the dragon, I’m certain of that… and then what, Enya Blueheart? No one will be able to stop that evil thing. You and your company will die trying, leaving Laketown vulnerable to bear the consequences of their greed.’ ‘This is not about greed!’ Enya countered fiercely. ‘Erebor is their home, it’s the place where they belong! They just want to live in peace, don’t be-’ ‘As do we.’ Bard interrupted her. ‘Everyone in this town has lost someone that day in Dale. We don’t want any more trouble.’

Her blood started to boil as she heard this complete stranger judge the dwarves she had grown to love. He was harsh. He didn’t know how much they suffered, how much they were longing for their home… ‘But he lost things too.’ Her mind mused. ‘I bet he dreads the fact that our little journey towards Erebor will more or less force him to take his grandfather’s place. He’s just terrified. Cut him some slack.’

‘I understand you, I really do.’ Enya said, exhaling slowly to keep herself from yelling. She was in his home, after all. She’d better suck it up. ‘But don’t be harsh, you shouldn’t underestimate the dwarven race. We found a way to kill Smaug without him leaving Erebor.’ Bard shook his head. ‘I doubt that. Smaug is said to be huge and terrifying. And you’re telling me there is a way, INSIDE the mountain, to deal with such a great fire-drake?’ Enya tilted her head and her lips curved into a smile. ‘I’m certain of it. And I promise you I will do my best to make sure Smaug doesn’t leave Erebor, unless chopped up in pieces.’

There was a short silence between them, as they both pondered about the discussion that just had taken place. ‘What kind of weapon other than a black arrow can pierce a dragon’s hide?’ Bard mused while drinking his ale. ‘Do tell me: what does Thorin Oakenshield possess that is THAT powerful?’ Enya smirked. ‘I can’t tell you. It’s confidential.’ ‘Oh come on!’ Bard laughed. ‘It’s not like I’m going to tell Smaug about it.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Nope. I’m not spilling the secrets here.’ Bard shrugged and held up his cup of ale. ‘Alright, if you won’t tell this poor man how you plan to kill that fire-drake, let’s make a toast instead. To our grandfathers. Our ancestry.’ ‘To success.’ Enya approved and the cups clanked as they clashed against each other. ‘Thank you for saving my life, Bard.’ Enya repeated. ‘I don’t know how I can ever repay you for that.’ ‘You don’t-’

‘Da, is she a REAL dwarf?’

Both Bard and Enya almost jumped from their seats as a little girl appeared next to her, viewing her meticulously. She had the same brown eyes as her father, but her hair was much lighter; a more dark blonde color. She wore a blue dress and held a few heavy blankets in her arms. A teddy bear peeked from under the folds. She couldn’t be older than ten and Enya found her adorable. Bard wasn’t as taken with his daughter as Enya was, and he heaved a sigh. ‘That’s impolite, Tilda. You cannot ask that.’ ‘It’s okay.’ Enya reassured him. Bard smiled apologetically. ‘This is my youngest daughter, Tilda. Tilda, this is Enya Blueheart, princess of the firebeards. She belongs to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.’ ‘But.. where is your beard? And why isn’t it fiery?’ Tilda inquired. ‘Da always says that ALL dwarves have beards!’ A giggle escaped Enya’s mouth when she saw Bard’s humiliated face. ‘I know. But thank god, beards don’t run in my family.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘That is a very good question.’ Enya replied as she stood up, ignoring the pain in her back. ‘I will ask my fellow dwarves when I see them again.’ ‘I really think you should rest, because-’ Bard began, but he was interrupted by his daughter. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked as she stared up at Enya. ‘You just arrived here! I brought you blankets! Can you please stay and tell me more about your family?’ Enya shook her head. ‘I’m sorry Tilda, but I really have to get going. I’ve got things to do.’ But Tilda wasn’t having any of it and folded her arms, a haughty demanding expression displayed on her face. ‘Will you get back?’ ‘I might.’ Enya answered. ‘I can’t promise you anything.’ ‘But I never talked to a princess before!’ Tilda sulked. ‘Well, you talked to her just now.’ Bard told his daughter while sending her a warning glare. ‘Miss Blueheart has to be somewhere else, she doesn’t have time to chat with you.’ ‘I’m sorry, da.’ Tilda murmured. Enya tilted her head. ‘You know what, Tilda? When Erebor will be restored to its’ former glory, you are a welcomed guest and then I’ll show you all of my dresses.’ The child beamed. ‘Really?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Alright, then that’s settled.’ Bard said and turned to Tilda. ‘Will you put the blankets upstairs again?’

As the child ran upstairs the bowman eyed Enya curiously. ‘Do you even own a dress?’ he asked. ‘No.’ Enya granted. ‘But I have no doubt I will, in the future.’ ‘Let me get you one.’ Bard offered. ‘I still don’t think it’s wise for you to leave right away, but if you must… please let me find you other…’ A frown appeared on his face. ‘clothes.’ ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll be fine.’ ‘No, you’re not.’ Bard pressed. ‘Your clothing is still soaked and you’ll get sick if you travel like this.’ Hm, she knew he was probably right. Her skinny jeans hadn’t recovered yet from her recent adventure, and she doubted that they ever would. She knitted her brows together as she tried to regain the events of the previous day. She knew she had been practicing her water skills at the docks. And then something interrupted her, disturbing her. Wounded her.

But what?

The room started to spin around her and Enya took a deep breath as she tried to steady herself again. ‘You’re probably right.’ she muttered. ‘That would be most kind of you-’ A gasp left her mouth as Bard broke her fall by catching her in his arms. ‘See?’ he told her. ‘You’re exhausted. You’re not going anywhere before you have something to eat and I’ve found you some decent clothing to keep you warm.’ ‘There’s no time…’ Enya spluttered. A grin rose on Bard’s face, his eyes sparkling. ‘You’re not gonna kill a dragon like this, miss… Patience is a virtue.’

Finding her way towards Erebor was easy. The dark-brown colored breeches that Bard had given her were a bit too big, but one of Bain’s belts prevented them sliding down from her hips. The loose grey shirt and a blue coat she had put on weren’t perfect either, but it worked. Bard hadn’t been keen on the idea that Enya would have to cross the town like this, and he insisted she should wear some sort of dress above her clothing. He told her that the climate in the town already was unstable and that the master wouldn’t be too happy to find out that there still were dwarves in his territory. On the other hand, Enya insisted that she was fine; she could handle any situation. For a moment it didn’t look like they were going to find a satisfying compromise, until Sigrid came in and turned out to be a very resourceful young lady. She had wrapped a skirt around Enya’s breeches to mimic the presence of a dress. Enya shivered as the cold wind howled against her. It was surprisingly cold around the mountain and she suddenly felt very grateful that Bard had insisted on her wearing some sort of dress. Although it made the process of climbing the slopes a bit more complicated (she never wore those things anyway), she luckily didn’t have to worry about getting sick. She groaned as she lifted her skirt for the hundredth time to conquer the hill towards the old overlook where the company was supposed to meet Gandalf. If they still were there…

During her visit at Bard’s she learned that he had been very kind to the others in the company by smuggling them into town and delivering them some weapons. She didn’t understand why the town master and his creepy deputy Alfrid had decided to scrutinize the poor man’s every move. Although he was wrong about the quest- he was generous man, loyal to his neighbors and a hard working widower. They probably didn’t like him because he was a sight to behold, and they were… well… ‘Butt-ugly.’ Her mind commented. She smiled as she remembered Bard’s goodbye words as they parted their ways on the docks.

‘I do hope you succeed, Enya Blueheart. If you should fail, I’ll promise you I’ll take my grandfather’s place on the wind lance and shoot the last black arrow.’

It was a generous promise, because he didn’t owe her anything. He had done more for her than needed. In fact, her female intuition told her that Bard had been a little bit too kind. Enya shrugged away the thought. A groan escaped her as she finally reached the overlook and found it to be empty. The dwarves were nowhere to be seen, and even Gandalf (who was known to be notoriously late) wasn’t there. Had they managed to get inside Erebor? Enya closed her eyes and tried to remember the outline of the map Thorin had carried with him. She wished she had paid more attention to the destination of the journey instead of the dwarven king’s gorgeous features.

Well, at least it wasn’t entirely her fault. She couldn’t help it that her one was excruciatingly beautiful. Even Dolvira had noticed, right?

She continued her path northeast, making sure to keep the ruins of Dale on her right hand. Apart from the wind, a deadly silence reigned the slopes of the mountain. Enya almost felt like the bull in the china shop. What if she accidently woke the dragon? ‘That’s impossible.’ She huffed. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re less loud than thirteen dwarves…’ Well, to be fair that actually depended highly on her mood. She could, in fact, be a lot louder (screaming and cursing came to mind) than the others. A smile went across her face when she remembered Fíli and Kíli’s faces when they learned she was able to swear like a sailor. They weren’t that shocked though, they mostly seemed impressed anyway. She bit her lip. The rascals even asked her to learn them a few. In turn she learned some Khuzdul swearing words that had left even Bifur shocked. ‘Gelek menu caragu rukhs’ she muttered with a smile. ‘No… No.. don’t go there.’ She rubbed her eyes in an attempt to focus on the task that laid before her. She had to pay attention now. The secret door was on one of the mountain slopes. She scanned the area around here. The fact that there was a door, meant that there had to be a way to access it somewhere, a stairwell… or…

She stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth falling open in awe. A giant stone dwarf-soldier stood proudly against the mountain, carved directly from the mountain slope. It was magnificent in its own right, but once you looked closer… you could see the stairs carved in it. Enya gasped. Jesus, that was brilliant. Scary, but brilliant nevertheless.

‘I AIN’T CLIMBING THAT!’ her mind screamed. ‘I REFUSE! BLUEHEART, YOU’LL DIE IF YOU TRY!’

Enya heaved a sigh. So much for stunning self-confidence, eh? She walked up to the soldier and looked up. It was a pretty long distance to climb, and since she hated heights she probably should give the fire witch way of traveling a chance. She sat down on the rocks, making herself as comfortable as possible. She closed her eyes, focusing on the kilometers of earth stretching out beneath her feet. And all that she had to do was getting it to move upwards. She took a deep breath and smiled as there was something stirring under her. ‘Grow.’ She whispered. ‘Bring me to the platform I ought to be.’ The ground started shaking and she felt herself rising.

‘WE’RE GOING TO DIE!’ her mind howled. ‘STOP! STOP IT! OPEN YOUR EYES!’

Enya resisted the urge to do what her stupid inner voice suggested. There was no need to panic. She was totally safe, totally…

‘ENYA!!’ The voice of Dori happily greeting her reached her ears. The peeked through her eyelashes, and was relieved to see a platform. She quickly got on it and gave Dori a hug. ‘Glad to have you back again.’ He said with a big smile. ‘It’s a bad idea to try to kill a dragon without our fire witch…’ ‘You had instructions, Blueheart.’ Dwalin stood there watching her, his arms folded. ‘Well…’ she winked. ‘I’m bad at listening to my king anyway. I’m sure he’ll overlook the matter after he calms down.’ She looked around. ‘Where is he anyway? And where’s my favorite halfling?’ ‘Bilbo just went inside, but Thorin went in earlier.’ Balin replied, his face expressing genuine concern. ‘Are they both looking for the Arkenstone?’ Enya inquired. Dwalin shook his head. ‘No. Thorin went to the east wing, had to collect something before we go down.’ ‘But he’s gone for quite some time now, brother.’ Balin pressed, his tone worried. It seemed like they had been arguing about this subject for a while now. Dwalin gave his brother an ominous glare. ‘I still think we should go looking for him.’ Balin continued. ‘NO!’ Dwalin countered. ‘He told us explicitly not to follow him. He’ll be back. He’s our king and we should listen to him!’ ‘Which way?’ Enya mouthed at Balin while Dwalin continued yelling at him. The dwarf smiled at her and gestured with his head.

Turn right.

She nodded and slipped past Dwalin, through the secret door. She turned right and took a little sprint to make sure the dwarven warrior wouldn’t come after her to drag her back outside. Time to find her king.

‘Blueheart.’

She had wandered through the narrow corridors of Erebor for about twenty minutes when she heard his low voice calling her. It resonated through her body and evoked pleasant shivers that ran down her spine. She cocked a brow and turned around. ‘Oakenshield.’ He stood in the doorway of one of the many chambers in the hall, his arms leaning casually against the doorpost. The tension between them sparked and immediately became unbearable, the sparkles shooting between them almost visible to the naked eye. ‘Balin was concerned about you.’ She began. ‘He thought we should start looking for you.’ ‘I should have known that you would end up here anyway…’ Thorin grumbled, but his eyes twinkled as he spoke. ‘You never listen.’ ‘Mmm… You’re dodging my question, sir.’ Enya purred as her hands caressed his face, the coarse facial hair scratching her fingertips. ‘But alright... Does my presence here in Erebor make you mad?’ The dwarf king closed his eyes and sighed. ‘Yes. I want to protect you, I need you to be safe. And you won’t let me.’ Enya smiled and kissed him gently, earning a soft growl in return. ‘I was born to do this, Thorin.’ ‘I know.’ ‘And I can look after myself.’ ‘I know, but…’ His arms wound around her, pulling her closer to him. His lips brushed faintly over her cheek, finding their way to the pulse point under her ear. His breath tickled her neck and Enya’s brain, once again, stopped functioning. It was too easy for him to seduce her… Far too easy. ‘But what?’ she dared him, her voice sounding heavy with lust. She felt him smiling against her skin and she bit her lip. ‘But I want to take care of you.’ Thorin whispered in her ear. ‘You cannot deny me that.’ ‘I wouldn’t dare…’ she hummed softly against his lips. ‘Please take care of me.’ A low chuckle escaped his mouth, a faint smile opening up his face and his blue eyes already darkening with desire. He knew exactly what she meant, and it seemed that he had no problem with that at all. ‘Right here, my queen?’ A deep pink blush rose on her cheeks. ‘Yes.’

Thorin wasted no time and lifted her up, his arms sliding around her and his big sturdy hands covering her bottom. Their mouths clashed, hungrily taking in each other; like they had been apart for ages instead of twenty-four hours. Enya’s hands wandered over his torso, struggling to take off his heavy belt that held his clothing together. Thorin groaned and with one arm he steadied her against him, while leaving his other hand free to pull at the strings of her shirt. Enya pushed herself onto him, grinding against his hard length and Thorin hissed in response. They both gasped in surprise as the belt gave in and sprang open. It slipped down his body, landing on the floor with a loud clank.

‘Who gave you this clothing?’ Thorin inquired matter-of-factly, but the slightly tense undertone in his voice made Enya smile. Oh, she couldn’t help herself when he did the whole protective and jealous lover thing… It melted her heart. As if he ever would have to fear competition from others… Though it was really sweet to see how much he cared. ‘Bard.’ Enya replied, while kicking off one of her boots. ‘The bowman?’ the dwarven king muttered while knitting his brows together. ‘Oh Thorin, don’t be ridiculous!’ she giggled as she dropped the other boot on the floor. ‘I met him this morning in Laketown. He seems to be a nice guy.’ Thorin narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Enya shook her head in disbelief. ‘Thorin…’ ‘As long as he doesn’t think you’re nice.’ He growled. ‘I will not-’ Enya put her lips on his before he could tell her the consequences the poor male would suffer for simply being kind to a future queen. ‘Are all dwarves this jealous and protective?’ she teased. ‘Yes.’ Thorin stated. ‘We are. And you’re no better.’ ‘No better?’ she countered. ‘Who says I’m-’ ‘Very.’ Thorin said in a low voice. A shiver went through her body and Enya bit her lip. He carried her into the room, towards a desk that stood in the corner of the room and put her on it. The dark-brown wood was cold against her bum and Enya was vaguely aware that the room must have been a private library once. The walls were covered with bookshelves and in the corner of her eye she saw a fireplace with a cozy chair, but.. At that moment she didn’t care where the fuck she was. Thorin was holding her and she needed him. She stripped him of his thick woolen vest and threw it in a corner. Her own blue coat followed seconds later. ‘And you… You stir things in me...’ He confessed while staring down at her, setting his hands on either of her sides. ‘Which makes thought of him eyeing you in ways he shouldn’t unbearable.’ His jaw was set in a harsh line, his lips pursed together, and his blue orbs were watching her fiercely. The red and blue undershirts he wore complimented him, the low V-necks revealing some bare skin and chest hair.

The sight was mouthwatering. Thank god her panties got lost hours ago, because with him looking like this, they would’ve come down on their own accord.

Enya couldn’t help herself and her hand traveled from his neck to his broad chest, her fingers unbuttoning the blue shirt. Thorin eyed her intently, his gaze fixed on her movements. She rucked the piece of clothing up and pulled it over his head. The red fabric followed the blue one on the floor shortly after. She bent forward and kissed him softly. Her nails trailed down over his abdomen, the muscles jolting under her touch. Thorin inhaled sharply as her hands went further down and cupped him through his breeches. A mischievous smile was displayed on her lips as she proceeded by undoing the laces and letting one her hand slip inside, stroking him slowly. Her other hand palm caressed his strong jaw, while her mouth left a pattern of kisses along his throat. Thorin’s head fell back and his lips formed a perfect ‘o’ shape when a moan escaped him. Enya dipped her tongue into his collarbone and trailed her way up to his jawbone. Thorin buckled his hips in response, pressing himself further in her hands. ‘Mesmerizing vixen!’ He hissed as his mouth searched for hers again. ‘Let me-’

He grasped her with force, but was alarmed when she whimpered in pain. ‘Are you alright?’ Thorin asked and he loosened his grip on her, careful not to strain her further. ‘Did I hurt you, uzfakuh?’ ‘No, not you. It happened… earlier.’ She said absent-mindedly as she gnawed on her bottom lip. His bared chest was very alluring to her, making the simple task of forming words difficult. Or remember the vague pain in her back. All she wanted was to go back to kissing his muscles, the scars, the… ‘Do enlighten me on this subject.’ he interrupted her train of thoughts. ‘Oh…’ Enya replied. ‘I hurt my back when I took a tumble from the docks into the water. That’s why I got other clothes…’ Thorin heaved a sigh while eyeing his queen with a soft smile. ‘And I thought you would be safe in Laketown…’ Enya laughed. ‘I told you- you’d better keep me close.’ ‘Perhaps I should...’ Thorin whispered, his breath tickling her face. Enya licked her lips in anticipation as he leaned in slightly, their lips almost touching. The air around them was so loaded, so strained, it made her head spin. He’d called her intoxicating many times before, but she was certain he himself was more tempting than she ever had been. ‘Let me do the work...’ He grumbled against her mouth. ‘You take it easy here.’ ‘You know that’s not in my nature…’ she hummed. ‘I’m not gonna take it laying down, if that’s what you mean.’ Her mouth curved into a smile. ‘In fact, I remember something you said about me being allowed to torment you once we’d be in Erebor…’ Thorin chuckled, lifted her up and on the other side of the room he lowered her on a soft rug before the fireplace. Enya moved her hand and five flames shot from her palms, ready to devour the carefully stacked logs that had lain there for… ages. Thorin hovered over her, his lips ghosting over her collarbone and making their way south in an antagonizing slow pace. His coarse beard caused her skin to burn slightly and his kisses left a tingly sensation. Enya’s cheeks reddened, her breathing changing rapidly. ‘I said that?’ he purred. ‘I don’t recall…’ ‘That damp prison wall we almost made love against…’ Enya blurted out. ‘Almost, yes…’ Thorin agreed. ‘But I think we caught up with that a few days later, don’t you?’ ‘Aye.’ She replied, as her mind went back to the long night in Laketown. Especially that round in which he had her pinned against the wall, slamming his hips against hers… The mere thought was enough to make her legs turn into jelly again. It had been perfect, he was simply perfect. She could’ve died a happy dwarrow that night…

Her thoughts stranded as Thorin pushed her shirt up, pulling it over her head and dropping it carelessly on the floor. His fingers loosened the skirt around her hips, stripping the cloth off. He undid her belt and slid her breeches down her body. He then kicked his own boots off and got rid of his trousers. ‘You’re so beautiful…’ he murmured while his hands traveled over her bared skin. ‘Mine.’ Enya groaned and their mouths met in a passionate kiss again, tongues swirling around each other. Her hands raked through his hair, tugging on the braids, her fingers memorizing the beads tied in it. Thorin broke the kiss but went on by caressing her face and leaving small bitemarks in her neck. His tongue journeyed south and dragged over her chest, flicking over both nipples before sucking on the sensitive skin. Her eyes rolled back when she felt his thick hand shoving between her thighs, parting her folds. One finger entered her while his thumb grazed her clit. A soft hiss escaped her mouth. ‘Fuck!’ Thorin sat up and with his free hand he lifted her right leg. Enya cried out as he kissed her foot and worked his way up; his beard deliciously scraping over her skin and leaving her with a slightly burning sensation. It was too much pleasure; his one hand still working her up and his mouth coming closer and closer towards her heated core… Her legs started to shiver in anticipation.

Oh god.

His hand pulled away from her, and her body arched up involuntary. Thorin chuckled and the low sound vibrated against her thighs, leaving her aching for his touch even more. ‘Oh god.’ She murmured softly. ‘Please..’ He leaned forward, placing featherlight kisses between her legs. She whined as the world stopped spinning, every nerve in her body focusing on the movements of his mouth. She cried out in agony as the tip of his tongue slipped briefly over her clit, the feeling leaving her begging for more. Thorin groaned softly as his hands moved under her ass, his fingers digging in the flesh of her buttocks. Enya bit back another moan as she felt him moving between her thighs, his beard setting the sensitive skin on fire. That damned beard was an absolute turn-on, a- Her breath hitched when his tongue lazily dragged over her entirely, swirling back to flick over her sensitive nub. Her fingers tangled into the rug beneath her, desperately seeking something to cling unto. Her teeth sunk in her lower lip as she gave in to all the remarkable pleasure he was giving her. Boy, he never stopped to amaze her. He knew exactly how to work her up and then to cool her down just enough to get her all crazy in seconds again. Her mind briefly wondered how he had become such a- She lost track of her thoughts when Thorin purred against her, the sound against her setting her off. Her body started shivering and Enya knew she wouldn’t survive long. Of course, she wanted more, in fact she wanted him to stay between her thighs forever, but she also wanted to last. And her treacherous body.. it would come undone far too soon for her liking, it had proven her that before.

‘Thorin, I NEED you!’ she demanded. ‘NOW!’

With ease, he pulled her on top of him. ‘Your pace. Ride me.’ He rasped as his fingers trailed over the curving of her hips. ‘Take me, my queen.’ ‘Your wish is my command.’ She breathed in his ear. ‘Alas I changed my mind… YOU can easily wait a little longer…’ ‘Cheater.’ Thorin husked while delivering a sharp smack to her ass. Enya shot up, her mouth opened wide in shock and her cheeks burning bright. ‘Excuse me sir!’ she exclaimed. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Thorin cocked a brow, arrogance all written over his face. ‘You asked for it.’ ‘Did I?’ With a smile she placed soft kisses on his neck, traveling down to his chest. She swirled her tongue over his nipples and playfully tugged on them with her teeth, earning a loud groan from him. Then she trailed further down south, her hands massaging his abdomen and her tongue delving over his hipbone. She then took his thick shaft in her hand and swirl her tongue over the head. ‘Enya...’ Thorin panted, his blue eyes wide open as he was watching her movements. Enya smiled coquettishly, her gaze burning though his while she took him in her mouth. Thorin made a strangled noise and his head fell back against the rug. The warm light of the fire brushed over his skin, making him even more irresistible. Enya went down on him, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked him hard. She flicked her tongue over the head, and her hands traveled just further down to caress his balls. A harsh, Khuzdul word left him and the sound echoed through the room. Enya smirked, feeling quite certain she was well on her way to drive him as insane as he had done to her before.

But it was not enough. They craved each other, the feeling of being united once again. She straddled his lap, lowering herself just enough to touch him. Her breath hitched as she grinded herself against him, the friction causing sparks of pleasure through her body. Thorin moaned, his hands gripping her hips and kneading the soft flesh. Their eyes connected as she allowed him to enter, his girth deliciously stretching her. Her eyes fell shut as she took in the feeling of him being entirely inside her. It was a powerful and addictive sensation, satisfying but then always leaving her hungry for more. She never knew she was even capable of being insatiable like this, but then she met Thorin, who’d easily complied with her wishes for hours… there were no limits. She never had wanted someone this badly, but he was her aphrodisiac, her life.

Thorin huffed, his hips surging forward and his fingers digging into her hips. ‘My pace.’ She growled while lifting herself up and eyeing down fiercely. A dirty smile crossed his lips, his eyes displaying pure desire. ‘I’m yours.’ He agreed. ‘Take me.’ Enya bent down and their mouth crashed. Her hips surged forward, making them both moan into the kiss.

Oh, she liked this, having all the control… Her view was absolutely stunning, her breathtaking king laying under her. She knew it wasn’t easy for him to let go, which made the meaning of their lovemaking so much more intense. A token of trust, of his love for her. She threw her head up when her hips found a circular rhythm that made him stroke the sweet spot inside of her.

It was all too much, and at the same time too little. She watched Thorin under her, his face displaying nothing but sheer pleasure. His eyes were darkened. Over his chest laid a thin layer of sweat, which made him even more desirable. She wanted to tell him how much she cared, how much she loved his stubborn and majestic ass, but her brain short-circuited and left her as a panting, sputtering mess. Thorin lurched up, taking her into his arms as she still rode him. The gesture was intimate, sexy as hell. And his eyes... she couldn’t bear to look into them, or to look away. He was intense, blazingly hot. She needed him more than life itself. ‘Mahal, Enya…’ he panted, his lips brushing over hers. ‘Ah!’ ‘Thorin!’ she moaned, rocking back and forth against him. He was incredibly close, she could feel him getting more rigid with every second. His breath hitched, coming in unsteady pants and fanning her ear. Waves of pleasure surged through her and every move of her hips took her higher. Her heart pounded in her chest, her vision became blurred. She was standing on the edge, she needed to… Thorin groaned and his mouth crashed on hers, they hopelessly clung onto each other while both seeking their impending release.

‘Enya, ghivashel!’ The sound of Thorin’s low voice in her ear, speaking in the language of their kin… It was enough to send her over the edge. Her nails dug into his back as she realized she had crossed the point of no return. She cried out as her orgasm peaked and took hold of her, shattering her body and numbing all of her other senses. Thorin stirred. A harsh growl left him as his own pleasure cracked; his shaft pulsated as he spilled his seed inside her.

He laid on his back and nuzzled her against his chest as they circled back to each other. ‘I wish we could stay like this forever.’ Enya whispered. Thorin smiled and caressed her hair. ‘I know.’ ‘How does it feel?’ she asked softly. ‘Being home again?’ ‘I can’t wait to show you everything’ Thorin confessed. ‘It’s confusing ... For a second I allowed myself to believe that it was alright. There was no dragon, just us... risking to be caught in my father’s study.’ Enya giggled and kissed his jawline, his beard tickling on her lips. ‘Now that would be something…’ Thorin smirked. ‘He’d probably kill us both if he found out.’ There was a short silence between them wherein they let their thoughts wander. ‘I’m sorry.’ Enya muttered. ‘For everything you’ve been through. I’m sorry for being such a pain in the ass sometimes.’ ‘Sometimes?!’ Thorin countered while biting his lip in an vain attempt not to laugh. ‘Would you imply that I’m always difficult?’ Enya sniggered and she moved her fingers to tickle his sides. Thorin burst into laughter and it was the most beautiful thing she heard. He didn’t laugh often, and she enjoyed the sound of his baritone voice vibrating through his chest. It was a warm sound, comforting and tempting at the same time. ‘Yes… you are.’ He breathed. ‘But you’re also incredibly sweet, kindhearted, witty and the most beautiful dwarrow I’ve ever seen. Every male envies me.’ He caught her gaze, a stunning smile displayed on his lips. ‘You match my temper, Blueheart. That’s good.’ He cleared his throat. ‘As for me, I owe you an apology. The way I acted towards you during the journey was unforgivable.’ ‘Hey’ she said. ‘I would have made myself very clear if you were really crossing hard boundaries. I understand you weren’t all too happy that I destroyed your self-control while you needed all of your strength to focus on the quest.’ ‘I kept insisting you were doing everything wrong. I wanted to keep myself sane, but you were so… alluring. Even when you... breathe.’ ‘Don’t worry.’ Enya smiled. ‘I understood your tirades as: you’re devilishly charming and I want you but I can’t lose my shit.’ Thorin chuckled. ‘Lose my shit...’ ‘I do have unusual ways of expressing myself.’ Enya admitted, biting back a giggle. ‘I assume I have to adjust my vocabulary once I become queen?’ ‘Perhaps.’ Thorin mused. ‘Although I wouldn’t mind watching you shock a few annoying and tedious nobles with your language.’ Enya grinned, picturing the scene in her head. ‘We have to go back.’ Thorin told her, his voice sounding full of regret. ‘Yes…’ Enya agreed as she sat up straight and grabbed her shirt. She threw it over her head and shot him a playful glance. ‘Now let’s go kill that dragon...’

#enya's unexpected journey #Thorin Oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin x oc #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #the hobbit #adventure #fluff and smut #definitely smut #romance #magic #smutty chapter

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