#there should be some asks and some small comics I post before the proposal but at least that one is all drafted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sseanettles · 4 months ago

Text

nothing grows in corpses (in the earth of me)

dream x hob gadling || mature || Finally cross-posting my take on the fandom classic of the show progresses as the comics do, even to The Wake. Until Death resurrects Morpheus and forces the choice of "redemption" upon him instead of suicide. It goes...horribly. No good. Very bad. Instead of learning the lesson, Morpheus (in his infinite wisdom) opts instead for a highly effective existence strike until one day Hob Gadling stumbles upon his ghastly handiwork and immediately decides that this just won't do. Man Who Refuses To Die vs. Man Who Refuses To Live: fight.

Dead Dove, Do Not Eat for the following: graphic depictions of starvation, illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, blood and gore, loss of autonomy, etc. etc. This is some classic old world whump, folks! But I promise it's also supremely healing in the end.

CH. 1: wait for me (reprise) | 7.4 k | AO3 link | prev part | next part

(or: the one where The Siblings spin their web, & Hob has a dream.)

In the Dreaming, upon Grecian cliffs, Death finished her proposal and awaited her companion’s response with a smile that was no less beaming for its lack of teeth.

“I think it’s perfect,” she prompted cheerily when no reply seemed forthcoming.

Dream of the Endless’ young brow only furrowed more intensely.

“Will he not be angry?” he asked after a long moment, the words as equally uncertain—as if doubting themselves even as they were spoken, as if certain he must have missed something obvious because surely his comment should have been apparent.

Death looked over the sea, and her smile now gleamed in the last strains of the sun.

“Oh, he’ll be furious.”

Dream’s puzzlement only deepened. His hands moved with studious concentration to clasp at the small of his back.

“And…that is reason alone to do it?”

“Oh, Dream…” Death sighed and dropped her boots to the earth to clap a hand on his melodramatically flared shoulder. She beheld him with a fond sort of exasperation. “I’m your big sister, and I’ve always loved you dearly. But Morpheus has never learned a lesson without being furious the whole time.” She patted him once. “Especially the ones he needs to learn most.”

Dream’s head tilted, and she watched that distant look come over those black eyes that she had only ever seen in Despair before now—the new one. It was the look of summoning that which was not him but was. Her brother’s young face briefly twisted in a begrudging concession, and his head straightened once more upon his shoulders.

“I seem to recall this,” he admitted in a manner to match his expression.

Death clapped her black-nailed hands together and rocked onto her toes until they buried beneath the earth.

“So, it’s decided then! I’ll give him one last lesson.” She landed, flat-footed once more, and side-eyed him with an arched eyebrow. “That is, if you’re okay with it?”

She watched him once more retreat into the multiplicity of the self, watched that ponderous distance come over him. When he returned, it was with quiet decision.

“…Yes,” he said. “I believe we are.”

Death’s beam returned.

“Peachy keen.”

They stood together on the cliff’s edge, basking in the golden warmth, and watched the sun sink into the Aegean Sea. For a time, there was only them, the sound of gulls overhead and surf as it rolled in and out…an endless, cosmic metronome.

Dream turned.

“Thank you, my sister.”

Death smiled at his quiet earnestness, the deep well of gratitude in a voice that had not yet forgotten how to give it.

“You’re welcome, little brother.” She sighed and bent down to pick up her boots. “You should call him now. Tell him to piggyback off my exit.”

She waited, watching as he stepped aside to one of the trees for a modicum of privacy. It was not really necessary, but it was cute to see how awkward he still was about it all. Like a young foal still learning how to coordinate his limbs. Those black void eyes slipped shut in a porcelain pale face set aglow by the sun, and he spoke under his breath with a bowed head as he raised his hands before himself, palms up, in quiet supplication.

He was just wrapping up when there came a flutter of wings, and a raven lit upon his shoulder.

Death smiled and waved as she moved to leave. “Hello, Matthew.”

The bird pivoted to face her, balancing himself with his beak as he moved and flapping his wings a bit as he negotiated the extravagant garment.

“My Lady,” he bowed, suitably situated.

Dream turned back, and Matthew gurgled indignantly as he once again had to shuffle around.

“He has heard me,” he said and returned to her side at his graceful pace.

She nodded and tapped the back of her fingers to his elbow with that soft smile of hers.

“Then, I’ll see you around.”

Hob Gadling finally let his hands tug free of his hair with a heavy, body-wracking sigh and his anger enough released to leave him now with only utter exhaustion. He surveyed the derelict pub.

“Suppose there’d be an awful neatness to dying here, wouldn’t there?” he murmured and rocked to his feet with the aching slowness of ancient, rain-deadened joints. “Goin’ on to whatever it is one goes on to…” He ran his fingers along one of the pillars. Splinters of wood flaked away with him, rotted and termite-shredded. “Like coming full circle…”

Death rose from her seat in a whisper of silver-grey, her dark fingers still laced together. Hob moved cautiously about the room. The shadows grew long in his face the further he drew from the lamp; the hollows of his eyes grew dark.

“Like the last six hundred and thirty-five years were nothing more than a dream I had in the White Horse…” He continued to slowly circle, to drink in and memorize and feel and smell and see and taste all that he could in his shrinking world. “One last wondrous tale sparking between the failing synapses in my brain….” His softly treading feet carried him back to where he’d begun, and he stared at the empty table between him and the bench where he had sat, both then and now. The whole space glowed in the lamp light just as it had in 1389, and for a moment, he could see himself.

Could see him slumped face-first beside his shitty ale, just as Death had promised.

That pressure pulsed once more in his chest and jaw and arm, a church bell’s sepulcher toll.

“But really, I never left,” Hob mumbled, as if to himself, as if alone in that mausoleum of a time long past. Death watched him in shadowed silhouette and waited. “I was always just there, fading into oblivion over a pint. None the wiser.”

“Is that what you want, Hob?” He looked to her: leaned there against the mantle where he had stood. “If it is…I can give it to you.”

Death’s hands parted. And one lifted, a warm, earthen shade amid the dark, until it reached for him through the gloom.

She no longer smiled.

“Just take my hand.”

The lamp flickered as its batteries neared their own ends. For a moment, Hob Gadling swore he saw the shape of mighty wings in the shadows behind her, rising from their slump in the dust like great, welcoming arms.

His Stranger’s eyes flashed in his memory: pale, mournful ocean eyes that glistened with tears as they beheld him at his lowest. As they watched him drowning and drowned in turn beside him in pity, in sorrow, in…in now, Hob knew, the deepest empathy. He heard that voice as deep as seas even now, as velvet black as the night he walked.

“So, do you still wish to live?”

Hob Gadling breathed in until he could breathe no more and stepped back with a shake of his head. If he had been paying attention to the face above the hand he now refused, he would have seen the flash of relief in Death’s eyes.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said and was startled by how dry his throat was, a desert where once it had been gummed shut, “I really do. But,” he shook his head again, firmer now, surer, and hiked up his tunic hem to shove his hands into his jean pockets—just to make his choice unmistakable. “I don’t think so, love, thanks. I’m not ready to die.”

A wry smile touched his mouth that even now tried on reflex to curve back into its customary expression. But even it broke a touch on his next phrase.

“I’ve got so much to live for.” The full saying, the full oath, was not hers to hear. It belonged only to Him. He scuffed a toe in the dust and straw, the humidity dampening the cloud that followed and settling it almost as soon as it rose. “Anyway,” he shrugged. His smile half-heartedly returned, sheepish this time. “Gwen’d kill me.”

Death took back her hand and shoved off the wall with an understanding nod.

“Alright,” she gently smiled and made her way to pass him for the door. “See you in 2089?”

Hob stifled a small, pained noise of surprise. She had meant nothing cruel by the simple question, he knew, but all the same he swallowed its gut punch, even as he felt the wetness resurge in its wake. It was cold this time, cold and sucking, like mud and peat and bogs and moors in the winter. It came on faster than the volcanic heat of anger, and Hob felt the beginnings of panic as it flooded his eyes, his nose, his heart—as it filled him with the swift mercilessness with which water filled a drowning man.

Hob was built to survive Hell’s flames, to temper himself within rage’s forge. He had done it many times before and would do it many times again. He was a man born of spite and lived as such.

But drowning…oh, Hob had so frequently drowned.

This he could not withstand for long and could not bear to fall to it in another’s company.

“Y-Yeah,” he managed to answer, as wobbly as a still-wet fawn. “Yeah, sounds good.”

His hand flexed at his side, and he counted how many heartbeats fit within each unsteady breath he took as Death passed him by, squeezing his shoulder with a gentle smile as she went. He might have returned the expression and gesture. He certainly had intended to do so. It was His sister, after all. But he might have also just stood there like a casting, fighting to keep his fault lines together as finally, finally they shook apart.

Those levees, first fissured by heat then turned brittle by cold, creaked and groaned and split in a racing domino, and he begged Death’s Angel in jaw-aching silence to leave as quickly as she could, to please spare him this indignity—

The door creaked shut with that dying breath.

And then, there was only him and the dark and the lamp and the table where a meeting would never come again, and Hob bowed his head to his dirtied hands with a loud, ugly sob. It tore through him just shy of a wail, nearly dropped him at his knees, and he stumbled hard into the table and bench. His shins shrieked, his knees quick behind them, and he would have sworn, as loud and foul as a sailor, if he hadn’t instead used the precious, rattling gasp of air he took to keep himself from passing out as, finally, the tears came in full.

He sagged atop the table, very much alive, and downed the rest of his crappy beer between sobs. Finally, he could see the bottom of the blasted tankard, and he hoped this would be the final bit to kick him over the edge to wasted numbness.

All the while, his Stranger sat opposite him with that smile…that honest to god smile with blood in his cheeks and a foreign, settled air about him that was so strange to behold but suited him so well….

Late but there.

He was slouched a bit, not sitting all proper and stiff and practically perched at the edge of his seat in readiness to flee as he had been in every prior meeting they’d had. His long, lanky legs extended beneath the table as he settled in, boots bumping briefly against Hob’s own before quickly correcting back into their own space.

Late, but there….

A tiny, broken part of Hob still held out desperately for the fake pub doors to open with that ghastly sound, one last time.

Please, just once more, he begged. Just once more as I finish this pint.

C’mon, Stranger.

The door did not open. There was no one left to open it.

He hid his face within the folds of his arms atop the table, and he finally succumbed to the weight of water that dragged at him like hands, vanishing below the surface. His shoulders quaked in jack-knifing inhales and sobbing exhales. His hands alternated between desperate claws that held to nothing at all and helpless, trembling fists that closed on all they could touch and even that which they could not: his clothes, his hair, the lamp-lit dark. And his voice disintegrated to piteous sounds of heartbreak and lonely sorrow honored in song and tragic tale for as long as humankind had breathed.

His Stranger smiled opposite him.

His Stranger would never smile again. Would never pointedly avoid food or drink around him again, would never give cryptic advice and sarcastic commentary again, would never set foot within Hob’s dreams or his New Inn again, would never….

Gone. Lost. Finished. Over. Ended.

Dead.

‘S not fair, Hob wanted to sob to the universe, wanted to yell and scream and berate. I just got him back—it’s not fair.

Instead, he used the meager breaths he stole between sobs to keep afloat and to fuel the next heart-rent sound.

I hate you.

Stranger, I hate you.

Dream of the Endless watched Death vanish around a bend in the cliff trails, watched her hair move with her barefooted gait, watched the sun glow off her salt-kissed skin. He had barely begun to reflect on how he could only hope that she knew what they were doing, that this was, in fact, the best course of action, when a rumbling warble struck the Dreaming. It was the metaphysical shift of something Other, of intrusion undetectable to any but the newly reborn plane itself, and it resonated in the land’s very fabric and so in turn resonated in him. The young King’s calm demeanor stuttered into something that could almost be named a flinch and then, with little warning, deepened.

“Whoa!” Matthew flapped as the boy beneath him swayed, and a pale hand extended for the tree beside them as his equilibrium wavered alongside his Kingdom’s. “Whoa, kid—” Matthew nipped at the boy’s white tresses in an alarmed preen, his taloned grip shifting on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Dream blinked: tight, slow, deep, a clearing of that obsidian vision as he stared far beyond the sands beneath them. He leaned a touch more firmly against the tree, grounding himself in the scent of its leaves and the feel of its bark—things wholly of his own creation. The disruption in the core of his being, in those spaces where Daniel had once held bones and viscera and Dream now only held the unfathomable, eased.

“He has entered the Dreaming.”

Matthew’s feathers raised in a vibrating ruffle that left him nearly twice his already impressive size, and his head whipped to and fro as it lowered from the height of his Lord’s temple to his jaw. His wings snapped open in low-hanging challenge. His talons flexed and pried from their embedding within Dream’s extravagant pauldron, preparing to take flight at the slightest command.

“Who?” he demanded, the croak all but a growl, and a flash of warmth pulsed through his Lord at the display.

Posturing as if he were as mighty as the Palace guardians and not a bird approximately the size of a Jack Russell Terrier.

“Such protectiveness,” he murmured. Matthew let out an indignant grumble of a trill at the equal measure of gentle ribbing and affection in that voice that still seemed too big, too grand, for its body. Dream recovered, straightening with all the grace of a sleep specter, and answered his companion’s question. “My brother.”

Whatever defiance Matthew possessed fled like blood from a struck jugular, like a shock correcting an attack dog’s bullish posturing. His feathers slammed flat once more, his grip redoubling into Dream’s regalia, and his hunch snapped up to the tallest crane he could manage. His legs and neck stretched to their limit as his beady eyes scoped all they could set their sights upon for the slightest sign of the only brother that came to mind.

“Destiny?!” he squawked and nearly startled right off the Endless’ shoulder as one slim, paper-white hand rested upon his trembling back with steadying calm.

“No,” he assured and only lifted his hand away when he felt the feathers relax and settle into their usual light ruffle as the raven processed his words in first bafflement and then mild dismay. “Leave us, Matthew.”

“Uhh,” Matthew gurgled. He leaned forward with a tilted head to peer into the closest of Dream’s black eyes even as he prepared to begrudgingly obey. “You sure?”

“I am,” Dream promised with a mild, amused smile playing at his lips for a moment before once more stilling into their usual solemn line. He offered his hand to the raven, and he reluctantly stepped up onto the steel-cord fingers. “Lucienne will have also felt the disturbance of his arrival,” he said and moved at an easy yet careful pace to extend his arm for Matthew’s departure. “Assure her that all is well. It is merely a family matter.”

Matthew cast him a truly baleful eye.

“I don’t think those two things go together,” he began and sighed with a still-so-human shake of his head, “but okay, kid. You got it.”

And with a bow, a bend, and wing-spreading leap, Matthew took to the air, setting off swiftly in the direction of the palace where Lucienne was no doubt pacing in worry and summoning staff to scour the Dreaming for the source of the incursion. All would be well.

Dream reflected that this would be a perfect time to take a deep breath, if that was something he needed to do. He tried it. It felt…nice, he supposed. He took another one. Yes. Nice was the correct word. His hands rested at the small of his back, loosely looped together by his fingers and hidden within the cascade of his sleeves.

All would be well.

“You summoned me?” a great voice echoed.

Dream looked in the direction Death had departed and watched a hulking figure with long red hair and a well-kept, once-wild beard hike toward him. He had a bindle propped over one shoulder, and his boots, work pants, and pullover were stained with every kind of paint, dye, and chalk known to man, all of which Dream knew were presently crammed in the most haphazard of manners into the messenger bag slung heavily across his chest.

“I was not sure you would come,” he admitted, and the Prodigal shrugged.

“I was intrigued,” he said at a volume that was somehow both quieter and still just as loud. “Figured I’d risk it.”

He closed the last of the distance between them and after a moment smiled down at his sibling with a mischief that had Dream’s eyes narrowing.

“Besides,” he grinned, “I think you’re cute, little brother! Look at you—” He moved with a swordsman’s surprising speed to pull Dream close with one arm around the shoulders and pinched his still slightly baby-faced cheek with the other. “—you’re all soft and squishy still!”

Dream intercepted him too late and a touch more slowly than Destruction knew he was capable; he smiled to himself as he was pushed away but commented nothing further.

“I believe I am still your elder,” Dream scolded and adjusted the lie of his clothes.

“Sure, you are,” Destruction smirked. “So….”

He drove his bindle in the ground, gripping the wood with both hands like the hilt of a great sword planted tip-first into the soft earth, and let his weight shift to a single leg. They stood there, side by side, and watched the coast for a bit. The Prodigal squinted into the lengthening sun and the gentle wind while beside him Dream weathered the coastline unbothered.

It was…peaceful. Wonderfully so.

Despite his best efforts, Destruction found he did not do peaceful. He let his attention drift from the both beautiful and tragically familiar vista to his brother.

“…What did you need?”

Dream looked to his feet, and if Destruction did not know better, he would have said that, for a moment, the Great Dream Of The Endless seemed unsure of himself.

“…A favor,” he eventually said.

Destruction’s brow raised.

“Oh?”

“Death and I are about to grant…” he hesitated, seeking a word, and ultimately decided upon “…a boon.” He looked to the sun, to the sea it ignited, and to the azure blue waters that met the glowing sand. He looked to the beach and tried to prepare himself for what was to come next. He spoke, and he spoke with the weight of one who had put a great deal of thought into his words and who uttered them now with the grim resolve of a monarch issuing a solemn decree. “I would ask that you be present after the fact. To…help him settle.”

Destruction leaned now upon the bindle itself as he peered into his brother’s face. He still refused to meet his eye, and after a bit, Destruction shook his head in slow marvel. He felt like he should grin at the fact that his brother was obviously, finally, partaking in some inter-sibling troublemaking. But Dream’s strange, dogged gravity kept him from jumping too quickly to celebrate.

“What did you two cook up?”

Dream supposed this would be a time that mortals swallowed. He tried it. It did not ease the anticipatory anxiety that hummed away lowly within him.

“A final lesson.”

At the Renaissance Faire, in Ye Olde Pub, Hob had finally, finally tipped over the edge to drunk. He knew he had reached that blessed milestone at last because his thoughts were now maudlinly poetic, the sort of heavy, soul-crushing lyricism that only anciently long life could grant. In this state, he could’ve put Will fuckin’ Shaxberd to shame, if only he were coherent enough to connect mind to tongue and then to hand, to pour the thoughts and emotions that sparked abstractly within his drowned mind into something that lasted.

He'd never quite managed it over the centuries though he had tried, and here in the graveyard of an age past, he seemed doomed to fail at it again. He was thinking the most lyrical things of symmetry: of life’s start and its end and how there were multiples of each that all fed and led into each other and that could not be quantified by most until they had already reached the end of it all, and it was such a waste to only see it all then, wasn’t it? Such a waste to not see it, to not see the grand design of chaos and cause and effect until there was no more of it to have, and so here he sat—the man behind the curtain of it all, if he chose to pay attention. And hoo boy, was he paying attention now.

He thought of his Stranger, as old and expansive as he had been, so sure in his immensity that the true grasp of existence was to see the forest for the trees, when really it was always the other way ‘round. It was the other way ‘round, it always had been; the wonder of life, the purpose of it, the why of it, it was in the trees…it was always in the trees, in the people around them, in playing cards and handkerchiefs and electricity and lightning captured in a bottle, in the same jokes they told century after century, in children’s handprints in Paleolithic caves placed on walls far higher than they could have reached because parents have always lifted their children to participate in the world they could not touch even thousands of years ago, in people and the choices they made and then made again and again and again and again, until they learned better—and God’s wounds, did Hob hope and dream that they each and all reached a day when they learned better—and that everyone held within themselves their own symmetry.

Everyone was what they once were and what they would be, a start and an end, a beginning and a finish. Everyone was dead and alive all at once, all the time.

They only had to pay attention.

One day, Hob knew, he would end. Law of nature, wasn’t it? Earth would one day burn in the heart of an expanding star and would become uninhabitable long before then. Even if he could finagle his way to be granted continued life on another habitable planet, just to see how it would all continue to go, this universe would falter, gutter out, and die. One day, Hob Gadling would end. He would go on to what came next, if for no other reason than the lights were going out on the whole universe and there was no more life to be had, by anyone, by anything, anywhere.

It would just be him and Death, alone at the end of all things. Hand in hand, going out of the universe.

And he found himself thinking, as his head sagged upon his arms atop the tacky table, how much he would like to see His Old Friend again at the end of all that. He found himself thinking of taking a pale white hand and looking into shining pale blue eyes cut by a mess of bedraggled inky hair as he did, instead of earthen warm skin and full kinky hair and grave dirt eyes that all glowed with the comfort of a fading hearth. He wondered if she would allow it…if she would allow him to come with her to collect him.

At the end of all things, Robert Gadling, upon Earth’s scorched remains or upon the surface of some foreign world as the last of the stars went out, wanted to look up and see him. He would pull that threadbare, weathered glove from where he had tucked it against his chest—snatched up and pressed there ever since his Stranger had cast it between them in a year once called 1389 upon a planet once called Earth—and hand it back to him so very, desperately well-loved.

What tales he would have to tell him then, enough for eternity.

And his Stranger would take it…

And his Stranger would take his hand with it….

And then, they’d…

And then, he’d…

…fall asleep.

Destruction laughed, a guffawing sort of thing, and both he and Dream gazed over the edge of the cliff to the far end of the beach as a fissure split along the rockface where the coastline curved out into the sea. That disturbance returned, different from the Prodigal’s arriving. This sounded like the rush of a great flock taking to the sky. It rippled through the Dreaming, vibrated like wind through wing feathers…like the slow, final exhale that passed from failing lungs.

The split widened and molded and grew until the mouth of a cave remained.

Dream swore, for a moment, that he heard a whisper of a song that would have taken his predecessor out at the knees, would have felled him like a brittle tree long dead and hollow.

Would’ve ripped him to shreds with all the mercy shown by Dionysian revelers in lawless woods.

“Ohh,” Destruction sighed with a wicked delight. He had his arms crossed over his chest now, hugging his bindle to himself. “He is not going to be happy with this.”

“No,” Dream agreed. “No, he is not. But it is…necessary.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” his brother replied, still smirking, and watched beyond the bulky cross of his arms as a vague shape emerged from the cave mouth far below. It started as a shimmering, a shade against the beach that gradually took form until a dark-clothed figure with pale skin and a shock of black hair remained to pick its mindless way along the sand. He angled his head toward his sibling but took care to turn only so far so as not to take his eyes off the newcomer’s progression. “Desire and Despair know about this, yet?”

Dream watched the figure, too, his inkwell eyes glittering in a painstakingly neutral face.

“No.”

“Del?”

“No.”

“Destiny?”

“One would assume.”

Destruction laughed and laughed and laughed, and it sounded of thunder and mortar fire. He grinned, as broad as the side of a barn.

“This is gonna be terrible.”

Terrible, fantastic—Dream was not yet familiar enough with the Prodigal to know for certain which meaning that delivery carried, and he was not sure if even his predecessor would have had any better insight. But he watched all the same as his hulking sibling stepped off the cliff’s end with a careless sort of grace to land in an earth-shaking kneel far below. And as he rose from the resulting crater in the sands, dusting off his pants, another form began to take shape further down the beach.

Hob Gadling sighed in the warmth of the sun, the salt air heavy in his lungs and the sand hot about his half-buried feet. His throat was not sore. His eyes were not swollen. His chest did not hurt, and his mind was not fogged with the haze of alcohol. For a moment, he lingered there, in that orange-red-pink of sun-backed eyelids gently shut. The driftwood beneath him had been polished to smoothness by a combination of the waves, wind, and sand, and when he opened his eyes to look down, he found the aged wood peppered with lichen and tufts of ice plant where sprouts had taken hold in the pockets of earth and sand that filled in the wood. The trunk itself was massive, the remains of a tree that had been felled and, at some point, washed back up by the sea where it now lay, half-buried upon the coast from whence it had come by the storms and tides and winds.

He reached for one of the blossoms, rubbing the fuchsia petals between his fingers, and looked about the beach.

He didn’t recognize the cliffs. Nor did he recognize the vibrant aqua-azure waters or the curving beach that led into them. Perhaps it was Greece…he did not believe he’d been to Greece in the last couple centuries, but life was a long thing for him, and he had seen a great many coastlines in his time. So, who could say for sure?

He must have been recently enough, though, because the longer he spent wondering where he was, the more certain he became that it was Greece. Somewhere in the Aegean Sea, even.

Hm. Odd, but he had experienced odder.

And there were certainly far worse places to be.

He had just closed his eyes again, breathing deeply, sinking into the sensation of being, when he became aware of footsteps behind him.

They were methodical even in the shifting sands, placed with a quiet focus Hob knew as well as his own stride. And as he turned to face the small dune rise behind him, he spied the top of a very familiar head of wild raven hair. And he could only watch, transfixed with wide eyes, barely daring to breathe, as….

“Stranger?”

There he stood! As plain as the daylight that illuminated them both and reflected in those pale blue eyes that smiled down at him in that ever-enigmatic way of his. It ignited his paper pale skin until it looked almost human, lent a liveliness to his angular features and a comforting warmth to the long coat that came to close about his black-booted feet as he stilled.

Just as tall, just as sharp-boned, just as skinny and decked out in head-to-toe black as he had always been.

The Stranger’s lips curved in that barest smirk of his, the one that had set Hob’s heart racing back in 1389 and never once let it slow since.

Hello, Hob Gadling.

He had not spoken the words, but Hob heard them in his heart, borne on his memory and spoken in the curve of those lips, and just like that he was on his feet. He vaulted the driftwood in a practiced leap, and his Stranger only had time to widen his eyes, to take the smallest of steps back, before Hob locked his arms around him.

“My Friend!” he laughed, the sound as bright and glittering as the setting sea beside them.

…As bright as his eyes that burned and stung as he fought the urge to bury his face into the meeting of his Stranger’s neck and shoulder. He forced his hands to stay open and lift to pat the spindly back beneath them, to not fist into this inky coat that he had never once even dared to touch before now.

“Oh faith,” he pulled back, holding his friend at arm’s length and grinning that eye-creasing, beaming grin of his, that contagious thing that lit up rooms and defied Death to her face with raised glass and a winking eye. “It’s good to see you, Old Friend.” He clapped his shoulder, drinking him in head to toe with that same, head-shaking wonder. “What are you doing here?”

His Stranger seemed uncertain, his gaze shifting from Hob’s face to take in the beach in turn as if he, too, did not quite know where they were or why they had come to be here. But as his lips began to part, the barest of openings, a boisterously loud voice burst forth.

“We’re going on a journey!” it boomed, and Hob jumped. “Don’t you know?”

Who’s this now?

From behind Hob trudged a mountain of a man, with long, wavy red hair pulled back in a ponytail by leather cord and both a beard and a bear-like physique that would’ve put a lumberjack to shame. This was a man who could split wood with his bare hands if not fell the whole tree, and yet he carried with him naught but a bindle tied off at the end with a red handkerchief spotted with white polka dots. His boots were stained with chalk, as were the knees and shins of his paint-streaked work pants, and his green pullover bore the faded marks of old stains he’d managed to scrub clean.

Wait. Hob did know him. In London, ages ago—he’d met a pavement artist armed with an impressively expansive chalk kit. He’d been nice enough but a bloody useless artist despite the quality of his tools. Hob had stayed, chatted with him for a bit, fumbled to find something nice to say about the mess scrawled across the ground between them, and gone on his way.

Now, what was he doing here?

“The three of us?” Hob asked.

“In a fashion,” the artist said and settled between them with a broad grin of his own. It was not a grin like Hob’s. It was bigger, yet emptier at the same time. It made Hob think of battle frenzy, and if he had been anywhere and any-when else, he thought he might have reached for a subtle weapon of his own. Here though, it only made an odd sort of sense. As if, despite the initially bewildering nature of his arrival, of course the pavement artist was supposed to be here. “Think of me as The Ferryman.” He waggled the bindle atop his shoulder. “Got my stick and everything.”

Hob looked to his Stranger and the last of his confusion faded away beneath his friend’s persevering smile. They were all meant to be here: the three of them.

It was a bit odd for his Stranger to be so silent, let alone to hold that smile of his for so long. It was as if he were waiting for something, processing the world on a bit of a lag or through a fog. And looking at him, Hob became so sure that there was something he had to ask him. It had been important, it was….

His Stranger patiently, silently, held his eyes. And that Mona Lisa smile dimmed in tandem with the shift in Hob’s own mind as he realized.

No. No, not realized. As he remembered.

The question didn’t really matter, did it? It didn’t matter, because….

Hob swallowed. His hand, he realized, still held his Stranger’s arm.

“You’re dead, aren’t you?” The Stranger’s gaze fell for a moment; Hob’s heart twisted. “…And this is just a dream.”

That dark head nodded, wordless still even as the pavement artist began to laugh a laugh as loud as cannons that set Hob’s ears ringing, and he couldn’t help but laugh along in that way that one did things in dreams that they wouldn’t have in life. The Stranger remained silent and still as Hob’s hand left him to bury in his hair in marvel.

Because of course he was. Of course.

He’d been the King of Dreams, hadn’t he? This…this was just a gift of farewell from a newly-coronated successor.

Hob quieted and sniffled, wiping briefly at his nose as he squinted into the sun. It was almost gone now, sinking below the sea and setting it aflame as it went.

Well, that was alright, then. He knew how to accept a gift.

“Alright, then.” He smiled softly at his Stranger, his King. His Endless. And he did the other thing he had never dared to do in life, for he knew now it would have no consequence.

He held out his hand.

“You ready?”

And because this was a dream, his Stranger peered at his hand, blinked owlishly once, and then reached to take it in the same measured way in which he walked.

He was cooler than Hob had anticipated given the sun, his skin a touch firmer than natural with an odd sort of yield to it. As if he were more packed down into something that was only human shaped.

He was everything Hob had ever dreamed, and his smile grew back into that boundless thing. He ignored the watery burn in his eyes.

“C’mon then,” he winked. “I’ve got so much to show you.”

And the three of them walked off together, the pavement artist straying from them a bit and leaving Hob and his Stranger to walk alongside one another—shoulders knocking on every other step, tightly clasped hands hidden in the folds of the coat.

“Robbie?”

Into the sunset.

“…Robbie…”

Into the end of the story.

“…it’s time to wake up.”

Destruction paused and looked back as three sets of footsteps in the sand became two and sighed as he saw only Morpheus, standing alone in that same sort of baffled, half-awake manner on the shores of a kingdom that had once been his.

“Looks like our friend had to wake up, then, huh?” he said and glanced to his left as Dream of the Endless made his way to them across the beach, his white gleaming in the sun’s last rays. “That’s alright. You and I have to do the rest of this on our own anyway, brother.”

Morpheus blinked again, struggling to straighten thought from perception. The world felt far away, felt heavy and light at the same time, felt like grabbing at mists and impressions. The Sunless Lands worked quickly, it seemed.

Destruction. He thought that great figure ahead of him might be Destruction. And this…this beach, it felt familiar, the very fabric of it, the taste of its particles in some near-forgotten way. The visual of it of course, too, was familiar in a manner that seemed great and terrible all at once and warned him to not try too hard to remember. But the issue of the space’s essence occupied more of his attention, perturbed him further.

…The Dreaming?

Yes. Yes, it must’ve been. Hob Gadling had certainly been there. While much else had been fogged and difficult to discern, that had been crystalline. He could still feel the weight of the man’s hand in his own, the crush of his arms around him in a lingering echo, and he recalled enough about his existence to know the immortal would not have yet relinquished Death’s boon. Given that and the fact that this was certainly not the Waking, that left only one place they could have been.

Even his friend’s name rested heavy upon his tongue and mind, grounding and real and true.

…Gadling.

It had been…good to see him, one last time.

Perhaps that was all this had been: a final mercy from his sister and the Prodigal, a chance to say the one remaining farewell that mattered free from the weight of impending doom. A chance to apologize for not fulfilling his final request.

I worry, Gadling had said that final night in the street, staring into his eyes with such earnest concern while the snow fell about them. His breath had fogged before his cold-bitten lips, his breath as passionately warm as the rest of him. The air before Dream’s mouth had remained undisturbed. He’d not practiced consistent breathing since Burgess suffocated him for a century, after all, and when he’d reattempted it since, especially of late, he’d found his breath to be cold. You take care of yourself.

Take care of himself.

If Morpheus had the energy or cogency, he would have laughed. But as it stood, all he could manage was this listless, half-present stand amid a sunset-bathed beach. He was tired, so very tired still. All of this—the surf, the sand, the sun, the azure waters that all wailed with grief and pain in parts of his withered mind he fought to keep forgotten—belonged to Then. He had made his choices in that time; he existed Now. In the Now, he had accepted his consequence, and as…as good as it had been to see his friend again, it was time to go once more.

“You know,” Destruction said as he watched Morpheus’s dazed attention begin to wander, searching, no doubt, for their sister and the road back. “I almost pity him.”

Dream looked on beside him, his eyes almost sad.

“The realization will not be pleasant,” he agreed.

“Sweet dream,” Gwen smiled in a parking lot outside a Renaissance Faire in North Carolina and prodded her still yawning boyfriend toward their car as he finished his tale. The rain had stopped, and the day’s sun began its own setting arc. “So…what was it?”

Curious. Morpheus did not see Death anywhere. Perhaps…perhaps this was something different, then. Perhaps…

A figure in white stood beside the man he had since confirmed to be Destruction, and Morpheus faltered. It was a face he had once known and at an age he had not seen since the dawning of the universe. It watched him now with such a complicated expression he couldn’t parse in his current state.

But he knew the creature’s name. It had once been his own.

Was…was this Lucienne’s offering extended to him, then? The existences of Cain, Abel, and Eve now made his own? Continuation as a dream, rather than the Dream?

Perhaps.

Dream of the Endless started toward him, solemn beyond his years.

His head hurt.

“What was what?” Hob asked as they reached the car.

Gwen gave him a look that clearly warned him to stop playing; the headlights flashed twice as the car unlocked. Overhead, the oil-slick storm clouds began to part, and the sun shone through.

“The end of the story,” she needled and ducked into the driver’s seat.

Morpheus watched Dream come, like a rabid animal barely able to see straight, awaiting its executioner. But there was no such cruelty in the young Endless’ face as he arrived before him, the same height as his predecessor by nature and yet somehow so much greater at the same time. He regarded Morpheus with immense weight, the heaviness of a monarch above his subject with passing judgement ready in his waiting hand.

“You will appreciate this in time, Morpheus,” he intoned with mercy-filled eyes.

The New King of Dreams raised his hand in a motion intimately known, and Morpheus barely had time to register his fate, the truth of it, its horror, before the sand beneath their feet began to rise.

“Forgive me the coming shock.”

“Ah, well.” Hob teased as he buckled in. “There’s only one way to end a story, really.”

Gwen twisted the key in the ignition.

“Don’t tell me,” she groaned. “They all lived happily ever after?”

“This dream…”

Hob’s sunshine smile hesitated, bathed in the golden hour that filtered through the dusty windshield. The distant highway roar turned to surf, near-forgotten in the Waking.

“…is over.”

Morpheus awoke in knifing panic, sprawled on his back in the dark. And promptly sucked down two lungsful of warm Aegean seawater.

Hob recovered and grinned.

“…That’s the one.”

#dreamling #dreamling fanfic #the sandman netflix #nothing grows in corpses #sandman comic spoilers #fanfic #dreamling fic

2 notes · View notes

cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years ago

Text

Tips for Presenting at Conventions

YOU can present at conventions!

Seriously. You reading this. You can.

As a programming director for a local convention with several years of experience (and a lot less hair than I started with), I thought I'd make an informative post to help newbies join the fray and have some fun.

Here are the basics:

Know what you want to present, and get specific with it ("Vampires" is a lot less inspiring than "America's vampires: slavery, class warfare, and myths of antiquity." It will also up your chances of being accepted if someone else is presenting about another vampire-related topic.).

Make sure you're addressing the right topic for that convention (the above presentation would rock at horror or steampunk cons but probably not an anime or comic con).

Check the convention website for proposal directions. There will probably be a form. Take your time and fill out the whole thing.

If there are issues when the programming director reaches out to you, address them promptly. They won't be able to do much except drop your presentation from the schedule if you wait til two weeks before the show to explain you have other commitments at the time you're supposed to present.

Assume things are hellish behind the scenes and be patient and polite if things go wrong (I can promise things are worse than you think).

Come prepared. Bring the tech hookups your show director advises for projectors/any handouts/etc.

Engage the audience, but don't feel bad about ignoring problematic audience members. If the know-it-all in row three wanted to do this presentation, he should've submitted a proposal and done the work.

Have fun! And don't feel bad about a bit of shilling. Want folks to know about your website? Book? TikTok? Share it! If they liked your presentation, they probably want more of your content.

And now, my dears, we must address the "Don'ts":

Do not submit an idea for a panel (a presentation with more than one presenter/usually a group of experts discussing the topic) without having put together a panel. It is not the programming director's job to find panelists for your panel. It is not the programming director's job to contact your dream panelists and enlist them to your panel. It is your job. All yours. You literally signed up for it. It should be fun. Do it.

Do not assume that because you are friends with someone on staff and have discussed your presentation that it is accepted and on the schedule. Submit the form. If you aren't sure you did that, and you haven't received confirmation of receipt, email and ask BEFORE THE SUBMISSION DEADLINE.

Do not become the bully by playing victim if you don't get what you want (a time you don't like/room you don't like/aren't accepted/etc.). (This is different from discrimination, and you know it, so don't @ me.)

Don't complain about attendance/imply it is the programming director's job to wrangle people in for you. I have a friend who walked around in a sandwich board sign challenging people to duels to draw attention to his presentation. It worked a treat.

Don't claim you're only available during peek hours. Everyone wants to present on Saturday. No one wants to present in the morning. Anticipated hangovers do not count as a disability (there are probably presenters with genuine time-related needs linked to their disabilities - so don't be a twat). The friend mentioned above could pack out the largest room during the earliest time slot. Have something interesting to say and make sure people are aware. Then you'll have an audience as hung-over but enthusiastic as you are.

Really, though, I hope more of you get out there and participate in local conventions! Small ones are eager for new blood, and they're a great way to meet people with similar interests. Have fun out there, and remember the two key rules: enjoy yourself, and don't be a dick.

#totally not personal venting #conventions #cons #presenting #diy #local conventions #small cons #horror #steampunk #anime #comic con

7 notes · View notes

aphrodite-would-be-proud · 4 years ago

Note

I dont know if your accepting requests right now, but I love your kiddo headcannons. Could you do the Kiddo's reacting to Reiner asking you to marry him? I just really want to know who's going to get excited for the wedding, if any of the kids are going to be upset...your headcannons are just the best!!

Hey! Yes my requests are open, it's written in my bio tho i get it might be confusing. Imma make sure to also write it on the navigation post.

And by the name of persephone this the cutest most wholesome kiddo scenario! How did i not think of that? Just what realm of heaven are you living on Anon? Whatever it is thank you for blessing us with this thought💛

You're with Reiner, he wants to propose but his cousins overhear him.

{ Reiner x reader | tw:marriage tw:proposing tw:parental-neglect tw:heavy-angst | cartoony?, fluff, angst with comfort | modern }

{ The Lanterns, circa 1910 by Charles Courtney Curran 1861-1942 }

"And no opening the door to anyone no matter how sorry you feel for them, okay?" Colt said while adjusting the tie around his neck, making sure it's even as he takes one final look at himself in the mirror before putting on his coat.

"Okay" Falco replied, watching as his brother was getting frustrated with the too many buttons on his coat. "Do you need help?"

Nodding his head, Colt let Falco do his buttons while he reached for the cup of coffee he left on the table, quickly finishing it all. "And make sure to get to bed on time, no staying up reading comic books, you have school tomorrow."

"Don't worry I won't" Falco looked in concern at the empty coffee cup, "isn't this your third one today? I don't think you should be drinking this much..."

"You worry too much Falco, just take care of yourself okay?" Colt rubbed his brother's hair, before patting his head. "I'll text you to check on how you're doing so make sure to charge your phone."

And just like that, Colt wrapped a scarf around his neck, grabbed his keys, and left through the door. Leaving Falco standing there at the entrance, alone in the house.

Looking around the quiet room, Falco picked up the empty cup before washing it in the sink. Just as he was putting it away, the door bell rang.

'Did he forget something?' He thought, wondering if it's his the keys again. But looking at the table, he could see nothing was there.

Wait...Colt did take his keys before leaving, why would he be ringing the doorbell.

The ringing got more frequent, followed by aggressive knocking. Falco took a step back into the kitchen, thinking if he could dash upstairs to get his phone in time.

But he didn't want to trouble his brother...Think Falco think! What would captain america do in this scenario? But Reiner always told him he should think for himself...

And so he grabbed a knife, slowly inching towards the door but then he heard it, that fimilar sound.

"Falco? You in there? It's freezing open the door!"

"Gabi?!" Dropping the knife, Falco rushed to the door. Quickly unlocking it as a very cold looking Gabi stepped inside.

"What took you so long? I can't feel my fingers!" Rubbing her hands together to attempt to warm them up, Gabi glared at Falco.

"Sorry I thought you were a-" he looked away at the knife "uh..anyway let me get you a blanket" before he could rush up the stairs, Gabi pulled him back.

"No there's no time! We have to leave now." Holding his hand, Gabi dragged a very confused Falco out the door and they began making their way to the next destination.

Soon enough, the pair found themselves standing outside Udo's house, directly under his window.

"You still haven't told me why we're here." Falco watched as Gabi was looking for something on the ground, he stiffened when she smiled after picking up a small rock.

"I will tell you once Udo and Zofia are here, it's very important." She handed him the rock. "Now let's focus on getting Udo here, make sure to aim for his window because his mom is a really light sleeper."

"Wait if that's the case then why didn't we go to Zofia's house first? She lives right opposite of mine!" Falco whisper-shouted.

"Because! Neither of us can deal with a sleeping Zofia and you know that, only Udo knows how to wake her up." Gabi explained, crossing her arms while getting impatient. "So hurry up and throw the rock!"

Flaco looked at Udo's window, then at the rock. He looked at Gabi one last time before closing his eyes and throwing it, it made a sound as it hit the window....nothing happened

"Why am I the one throwing the rocks?" He looked anxiously at Udo's dark window, moving his weight from one leg to the other.

"I'm stronger. If i throw it, I'll break the window." Gabi was looking for another rock, having found one slightly bigger than the last. "Here try this one"

Having reunited again, the four of them were walking down the street to Reiner's house late at night. Gabi leading the group, Falco following her reluctantly, Udo keeping a still sleepy Zofia from walking into a wall while in her pajamas.

"This better be good Gabi, otherwise you can forget about copying my math homework for a month." The thought of just turning around and going back home to bed was still in the back of Zofia's mind.

Having almost reached Reiner's house, the four of them could see multiple cars parked outside of it, some of them they recognise.

"See! I told you all it'd be worth it. They're having a secret party without us! I heard Reiner talking about it on the phone with Zeke this morning when I was pretending to be asleep so I don't have to walk home." Gabi said as they sneaked to the side of the house.

"That's mister Zeke's car, miss Annie's and...even Porco's too.." Udo said as they climbed the house fence.

"They invited Porco but not us?" With that information, Zofia was fully awake.

"That's exactly what I've been telling you guys about! Here look!" Standing on her toes, Gabi looked through the window, between the curtains. Three heads joining her soon.

Looking inside, they could see the living room they were so fimilar with, looking really different. For once it wasn't a mess of pillows and candy wrappers! It was actually clean with various candles adding to the atmosphere.

Zeke and Pieck could be seen siting next to each other on the couch, drinking some wine while Colt is in the arm chair next to them with Porco pushing a drink in his hands.

Annie and Bertolt are leaning against the wall, she's holding a plate of donuts while he's talking about something.

Finally, you and Reiner are sitting on the couch opposite to Zeke and Pieck. His hand is around your shoulder and he keeps taking glances behind him at bertolt, while Zeke stares at him from the front.

If you focus, you can hear the muffled sound of music playing in the background.

The four kids watched as Reiner whispered something in your ear, before you noded, got up and headed towards the kitchen. The second you left, all of them crowded at the couch next to Reiner, Talking in hushed tones.

"What...are they doing?" Udo watched as Reiner took out a small red box from his pocket, hands shaking while the people around him leaned in to see what's inside as he opened it.

Quiet gasps and awws followed after as the ring inside came into view, glittering in the dark by the candlelight. Although that only seemed to fluster Reiner even more.

The four of them looked at each other with wide eyes, then back at the ring as Reiner reached out to hold it delicately in his hand for a few seconds as if he's offering it up to the air in front of him, the room got quiet, everyone holding their breaths.

"Oh " Falco said, "i...think i know what's going on." Both Udo and Zofia noded.

"What?" Gabi knitted her eyebrows, tilting her head, "what's going on?"

Before any of them could answer, Zofia told them to keep quiet when she noticed you walking back in the room, the ring back in the box inside Reiner's pocket.

Everyone was now standing, smiles on their faces, even Annie showing one of her rare ones. You were holding a new plate of donuts when you noticed them, with Reiner in the middle, nervous eyes staring right at yours.

Stepping towards you, Annie took the plate before going back to her spot. A few chuckles from Zeke, Bertolt and Pieck followed while Reiner shock his head.

Still outside, the kids saw Reiner start talking about something. Whatever it is, it must have been emotional because everyone in the room was listening with anticipation.

"I can't hear anything" unlocking the window, Gabi opened it just slighly. The muffled sound of music becoming clear as Reiner was finishing his speech.

"And you'd make me the happiest man in the world" he got on one knee, hand taking something out of his pocket. "If we could spend the rest of our lives together and I'll cherish every single moment you're by my side."

He opened the red box, holding the ring in front of you, eyes pleading. "Will you please marry me?"

The second you said yes, Reiner pulled you in the tightest most loving hug in your life, muttering "thank you"s under his breath. You could taste saltiness of his tears when he kissed your lips, still not letting go.

"He's crying" Udo said, feeling his own glasses getting a bit blurred.

"They're kissing." Falco's face was as red as a tomato, covering his blushing face with his hand but looking through his fingers.

"Annie finished all the donuts" was Zofia's comment with a pout.

Gabi's hold on the window got tighter, her lips quivering. "We have to stop them. They can't get married!" And like that, she slammed the window open before climbing inside.

"Gabi! Wait!" Falco tried grabbing her sleeve but was too slow, so he climbed after her into the room.

As expected from two children suddenly breaking in the room through the window, everyone's eyes were on them with surprised expressions.

Looking straight at Reiner, Gabi pulled you away from him before snatching the ring box from his hand. "NO! no one is marrying anyone" with all her might, she threw the box to Falco before telling him to run away.

Having been dragged into the middle of this, Falco looked at Colt's concerned expression, Reiner's confused face and Pieck's amused one. Stepping near Colt, he was about to give him the ring when he saw Gabi's face, making his stop midway.

"Run Falco! Just go!" She yelled, tears streaming down her face, legs shaking. "They can't leave us! Not like our parents did..."

Falco felt his chest tightening, recalling how empty the house feels with just him and Colt being away for work most of the time. How cold it is, unlike the warmth he feels whenever they stay over at your house.

He began tearing up too, holding the box so tightly to his chest.

It was Reiner who made the first move, while everyone was stunned looking at the two crying children. Pulling the both of them to his chest as they sobbed, he wrapped his arm safely around them. He looked at you and you followed in his steps.

After some time and explaining, Colt was comforting Falco while on the couch with Pieck doing the same on his other side. You had Zofia on your lap while she ate some Donuts you stashed away from Annie. Gabi was still clutching to Reiner with Udo on his other side doing the same.

Gabi would take a bite out of a donut, cry a bit then take another bite. Sometimes glancing at the red box on the table.

With time, reassuring words and Zeke making the kids laugh, things slowly got better. Reiner and you completely reassured them that you're never leaving, you love them more than anything in this world. That getting marriage is going to get you even more closer together than anything.

Hearing those words calmed Gabi down, each of them made you make a pinky promise to not replace them ever, same thing to Reiner.

That's when Bertolt brought up the fact you still haven't worn the ring, and it might make them feel better if they were the one to place it on your hand. And that seemed to grab their attention as they began arguing between themselves which one of them should do the honour.

{ The Lanterns, circa 1910 by Charles Courtney Curran 1861-1942 }

Headcanons

Strap in because boi are we in for a ride. These kids went through a lot even in a modern non-war world

They all have an altered negative view on marriage, especially Gabi and Falco.

Both of Falco's parents are deceased, he lives alone with Colt who's trying his hardest to work and take care of both of them, of course Zeke and Pieck help a lot too and try to be his stand in parents.

He knows about love and how good it is, he just thinks marriage would mean you and Reiner might also go away.

Gabi's parents are alive and well, they're just rarely in her life. She's an alone child with no siblings, so far Reiner has been her only relative that she counts as family.

Her parents often leave her at her aunt's house whenever they go on a trip away, or as she started getting older, alone in the house. It gave her a lot of freedom but also a misguided and neglectful life.

Reiner has been trying to fill both roles of her parents for her, and when you came along it was like a dream coming true, she suddenly has someone who truly cares for her being and loves her unconditionally.

So when she heard you were getting married, something in her snapped and fears about you both leaving her too just like her parents clouded her mind.

Udo and Zofia both have their moms only, they bond over it. In Udo's case it was after his father passed away in an accident that his mother became really overprotective and Borderline overbearing.

She's worried about everything, he feels like it's his fault somehow and can't help but copy her anxiety and paranoia.

When he heard about you getting married, he felt a sting of pain and guilt, like he's getting in the way and it never was his real family to begin with.

Zofia's mom is another case, her dad left them when she was younger without a word. Her mother lost trust in anyone after that and was emotionally unavailable.

She saw how hurt her mother was over her dad, she wanted to be strong for her mom and never have to depend on anyone.

So when she heard you were getting married, a sense of dread filled her at realising one of you will hurt the other somehow and she will have to be strong on her own again.

The four of them looked up to you both, were loved and cherished by you both like they've longed for so long.

They fear losing you, they fear losing the warmth, love and care you showed them.

So take it slow with them please, they've been hurt a lot. They don't mean to be ungrateful or rude they're just kids who are terrfied.

Be paitent and slowly introduce them to marriage in a new light, let them grief over their own parents in a healthy way while comforting them. Make them feel included in the planning and wedding and everything and I promise you they'll be fighting for the flower girl spot at the wedding if you just take it slow and gentle.

Yes even Falco and Udo want to be the flower girl.

297 notes · View notes

haikyuu-sins · 4 years ago

Text

Fluff Alphabet-Trafalgar Law

Since no one wanted to send me any Law requests, I took matters into my own hands and did this. I got the prompt from @dragonprincess18 so thank you for this because I needed it! :)

*********

A-Activities: What do they like to do with their boyfriends/girlfriend? How do they spend their free time together?

For the most part, if you’re on the sub with him and there’s nowhere to go but yours and his rooms, his office, and the kitchen area he prefers to stay in his office and room because he enjoys the quiet. Law absolutely loves reading with you. Especially if you’re reading one of his medical books and you ask questions about it. He just really likes that you’re interested in it and want to learn more. He also likes that you know about this kind of stuff in case you need the information. If you do know that he likes Sora, Warrior of the Sea, (he will try to hide it) then he’ll probably geek out once or twice about it. You can’t help but smile when he talks about it so in depth because you love seeing him talk about something he enjoys. If you aren’t on the sub and you’re on a new island, he will begrudgingly (he secretly loves it, but won’t admit) explore the town with you as long as the last stop is a book store of some sort.

B-Beauty: What do they admire about their boyfriends/girlfriend? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He admires how much you care about him. He can see how much you do and he hasn’t had someone like that since Cora. He melts on the inside when he sees you smiling at him and he’s the reason for it.

C-Comfort: How would they help their boyfriends/girlfriend when they feel down, have a panic attack, etc?

He understands what it’s like and sometimes because from time to time he’ll get them when he’s alone. It depends on how you want to be comforted. If you don’t want to be touched, he won’t. He’ll probably just go to the kitchen and get you something warm to drink to help you calm down. But if physical touch helps you, he’ll have you sit on his desk and he’ll rub your thigh or he’ll let you sit on his lap while he rubs your back up and down or cards his fingers through your hair. He’ll reassure you that everything is going to be okay and it’s going to pass and it’s not going to last forever. He lets you talk about it after it’s over and listens to what you have to say. Law will give you advice on what he thinks will help you in whatever situation you’re in. When he sees you sad, he just wants to hold you because he hates seeing you sad. He’ll bring you your favorite comfort drink and food to his room with you (even though I think he’d hate having food and drinks in his bed, he would absolutely make an exception for you) and you guys will just cuddle together while you talk about what’s wrong.

D-Dreams: How do they picture their future with their boyfriends/girlfriend?

Law doesn’t exactly think very far. He’s basically on a suicide mission so honestly he doesn’t see a future yet. Once everything is over and if he survives then he starts to think about his future with you because he really doesn’t want to get your hopes up. He really just always wants to be around you and as long as you’re there with him, everything is perfectly fine.

E-Equal: Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He’s a little bit of both, it depends on the day. I’d say he very much tends to be on the more dominant side but there are days where he’s just kind of, whatever about things. That’s only when he has time to relax and that’s almost never.

F-Fight: Would they be easy to forgive their boyfriends/girlfriend? How are they fighting?

I think you’d probably fight with him about how he’s so willing and ready to throw his life away for his causes and how much it bothers you. He says some hurtful things that he’ll admit that he only said out of anger. He’ll be angry for a while but eventually he’ll go and talk to you about the fight and apologize for what he said to you.

G-Gratitude: How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their boyfriends/girlfriend do for them?

He’s very grateful for the things you do for him but he may not show it all the time. Like when he forgets to eat and you bring him something that you made for him. He’s also very aware that you take care of him better than he takes care of himself in terms of making him eat and drink water instead of coffee for once.

H-Honesty: Do they have secrets they hide from their boyfriends/girlfriend? Or do they share everything?

He hides a lot. Law is not a very open person and I don’t even think he’s told his crew about his entire past. You might be an exception but honestly, don’t count on it. It’s difficult to get him to open up about himself and you do have to pry a lot. He might get a little annoyed, but when you tell him that you just want to know more about him, he may give in a bit and tell you a thing or two. Definitely hides the fact that he loves Sora, Warrior of the Sea. He doesn’t know that there’s a good chance that you’ve seen the comics before so he thinks he does a good job at hiding them. They’re either in a box under his bed or in his desk drawer.

I-Inspiration: Did their boyfriends/girlfriend change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things, or helping them overcome personal problems?

If you do get him to open up, you made him realize how good it feels to get things off his chest. Law has been living with this weight on his shoulders about his past and everything that has happened to him. So when you sit there and just listen to him, he likes knowing that you’re actually listening and taking it all in. Don’t say anything, just let him talk. It’s very rare that he comes and talks to you about his problems because he feels like he’s dragging you into unnecessary drama about his plans. He’s taught you to look at things from a different perspective and to think things out thoroughly.

J-Jealousy: Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

He doesn’t get jealous at all really, mostly annoyed I guess. He doesn’t really do anything unless you can’t get out of the situation, it gets out of hand, or you look to him for help. If he does get jealous, he doesn’t say it and you’ll have to ask Mr. PoutyPants about it. He’ll be shut in his office and probably be a bit petty about it. I can see him hating the fact that Sanji gives you a lot of attention if you don’t shut it down. He may or may not tell you to “go talk to your other boyfriend” at some point because, well, petty.

K-Kiss: Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Oh he’s a good kisser alright. Among plenty other things. Something tells me that pre timeskip Law would be a cocky bastard and pull you to him by your shirt and lift your chin and whatnot- just being a tease. But post timeskip Law just gives me awkward vibes but in the best way possible. He’d be a little more shy about it, honestly I think he may even plan it out in his head and just hopes that everything goes accordingly.

L-Love Confession: How would they confess to their boyfriends/girlfriend?

He didn’t realize his feelings until the two of you were in real danger. Well he actually did but he didn’t want to admit it. He thought he was really good at pushing his feelings down and not letting bubble up but seeing you so bloody and beat up, it changed in an instant. He knew that he couldn’t lose you. When he was able to patch you up and you woke up after asking how he was, Law was mad. “How am I? You should be asking about yourself, dumbass-ya.” “Seriously Law, are you okay?” “No. I could have lost you.” That’s basically his confession and it’s the best you’re going to get until you actually hear him say that he loves you.

M-Marriage: Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

I don’t think Law would want to get married-officially, anyway- he’s not the kind of guy to settle down. He’s a pirate. If you wanted a ring, then sure he’ll get you one but I don’t think he would actually propose to you. It would be more like an unspoken thing that you guys are very much together so technically you’re married in his eyes and he’ll call you his wife/partner. **Spoilers for Wano Arc!!!** When you get captured and are in the prison with Bepo and the others and when Shinobu says to kill you guys after she thinks you snitched, he’s pissed. Absolutely livid. “You think I’m going to let you put a finger my wife/partner? You’ll be dead before you can take one step towards them.”

N-Nicknames: What do they call their boyfriends/girlfriend?

The only name I can think of him calling you is possibly “love” but it is in the utmost of privacy when he absolutely knows that no one can hear him. He just gets all flustered when others tease him for it and it’s happened a handful of times. The bedroom though is a different story

O-On Cloud Nine: What are they like when they’re in love? Is it obvious to others? How do they express their feelings?

Oh it’s so painfully obvious when he loves you to everyone but him. He thinks he’s hiding it so well, but the small unnecessary touches say otherwise. A brush past your shoulder, “Here, I made extra tea,” or him not yelling at you when you come into his office without knocking on accident. It’s the little things that make it obvious when he thinks it’s not.

P-PDA: Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag about their boyfriends/girlfriend in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss, etc, when others are watching?

Not really. The only time he would do something like that is if you needed some sort of help and someone was hitting on you and you asked him to come over. “I don’t think my partner is very interested. I think it would be best if you leave.” He doesn’t brag very much, I’m sorry, he’s just not that kind of guy. He would much rather have your relationship be private. That being said, yes he’s way too shy to kiss you in front of others. Unless he’s sleepy, you might be able to get away with a little peck here and there.

Q-Quirk: Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

He’s in no way romantic but what he does notice is when you and him are walking along some shops and he sees when something catches your eye or when you look at something longer than the rest. You may find it on your pillow that night. (He will have stolen it.) It makes you happy and that’s all he cares about.

R-Romance: How romantic are they? What would they do to make their boyfriends/girlfriend happy? Cliche, or rather creative?

There is not one romantic bone in this man’s body. He very much relies on his crew to help him. It’s not like they set everything up, although they have a few times but it was a surprise on both of your parts. They wanted you two to have a nice evening together by yourselves and be able to relax without planning it all. That all being said, the romantic stuff is a little on the cliche side, but in the best way possible and it makes really nice memories.

S-Support: Are they helping their boyfriends/girlfriend achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Oh my goodness yes yes yes! He might not show it often but every once in a while he’ll say that he’s proud of you at how far you’ve come as a pirate. Especially if he’s helped you train and feels how much stronger your punches and kicks are.

T-Thrill: Do they need to try out new things to spice up the relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Routine. Routine. Routine. He does not want to differ from his routine. Sure one new thing every once in a while is okay depending on what it is. But he probably won’t want to incorporate it into the everyday relationship. He likes what he has going with you. Though if you insist on something new, then he’ll try it and see if he gets used to it. If he doesn’t he’ll say something about it. If he does, he’ll stay quiet and not mention it. The second you do is when he wants to stop.

U-Understanding: How well do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He gets you. How well depends on how far you are in the relationship and how much you’ve talked. He’s also not very empathetic, I’m sorry. He’ll say what he thinks is best no matter what you may think about it and how much it will hurt your feelings. Sometimes it’s best because you can see another perspective and maybe he can help you from there. He will empathize with you if there’s a death or something tragic happens, he’s not that cruel. He would be there for you.

V-Value: How important is the relationship to them? What is it worth in comparison to other things in their life?

You’re one of the most important things to Law in the world. He’s even found himself second guessing his plans and missions because he doesn’t want to lose you somehow. *spoilers I guess* If Doflamingo or Kaido ever got his hands on you and hurt you, he’d never forgive himself. He does put you first though and like I said before, you’ve argued with him over his plans and he’s very headstrong about it so he’s not going to back down.

W-Wild Card: A random fluff headcanon.

He’s let you paint his nails black one time and one time only. He won’t tell you that he actually didn’t mind it but he made you take it off before you guys went out to eat with the crew.

X-XOXO: Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Only in private. He’s a touch starved baby and he does actually really appreciate your touch when he’s stressed. So if you come into his office when he’s working on something and you can tell he’s ready to rip his hair out, he’ll love if you came up to him and hugged him from behind or rubbed his shoulders. Law actually does like to cuddle at night though when he’s trying to sleep. He’s found that when you’re either on his chest or he’s holding you it’s easier for him to get some shut eye even if it’s just for a few hours.

Y-Yearning: How will they cope when they’re missing their boyfriends/girlfriend?

He copes well enough. Of course he does miss you but he’s not going to cry about it. He might just kinda lean back in his office chair and sigh while he’s thinking about you. But when he’s really missing you, he’ll take a picture out from his desk that Bepo and Penguin made him take with you. He looks annoyed in the photo and he’s rolling his eyes, but he only pays attention to you and your bright smile and goofy pose. He can’t help but smile fondly at it. He won’t admit it but he actually really loves the picture and would never tell Bepo and Penguin that.

Z-Zeal: Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind?

Absofuckinlutely! He loves you with all his heart even if he doesn’t say it very often. He hasn’t loved someone like this in a very long time so he wants to protect what he has with you at all costs. I 100% believe he would risk his life for you. He does not want to lose you or anyone he loves ever again.

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law headcanons #trafalgar-law-headcanons #law headcanons #one piece trafalgar law #op trafalgar law #trafalgar-law headcanons #one piece headcanons

240 notes · View notes

dork-empress · 3 years ago

Text

Singing in the Dead of Night

Damian Wayne meets a new masked persona in Gotham, and everyone has to adjust to her.

AKA I have a lot of headcanons about Lucy Quinzel and I'm making it other people's problem.

I want it up front that I haven't read these comics, just a lot of wiki pages and tiktoks. If there's a fun thing in the comics you can tell me, but this is my own version of this universe and these characters.

This is going to be the main story, but I may do some offshoots. If you want to subscribe, chapters are also posted on my Ao3 (link in my description).

“You need to take things less seriously.”

Damian looked up, looked down, and then looked back just to be sure it was really his father who asked. It was hard to tell sometimes if your superhero father had been replaced or possessed or something. “Are you serious? YOU’RE telling me that?”

“That should enforce to you how dire the situation is.” Bruce said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re still a kid,”

“I’m 15,” Damian said, then thought about his varied adventures, “Technically…”

“My point exactly,” Bruce said, turning a page on his crime reports, “You should enjoy being a kid, for a while.”

“Oh, did you enjoy being 15?” Damian said, and maybe that was a low blow, but if Bruce wasn’t ready for him to call him out he...shouldn’t have made him upset. Hmm.

Bruce looked up and stared into his soul, and Damian worried he might have stepped in it a bit. He backed up a step in case. Bruce took a deep breath, looking at him. “My childhood was stolen from me, but I at least had one. As did all the other Robins. You’re not responsible for what happened to you,but I think you could use some time. I couldn’t offer you a childhood then, and I can hardly do that now, I know, but I can do what I can.”

“And what are you doing?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re suspended from Robin duties.”

“WHAT?!” Damian exploded, getting in his face. “What are you talking about?!”

Bruce didn’t flinch, “Until the Wayne Manor Christmas Party,” Bruce said, “I’ve called Tim and he’s willing to cover for you until then.”

“He doesn’t NEED to cover me,” Damian snarled, “I’m right here! I’m not injured, or dead, or ANYTHING I just--WHY?”

“I told you,” Bruce said, “You need to find other...hobbies, or form connections or SOMEthing. Anything other than the lifestyle. You have two months, you’ll live.”

Damian curled his fists, shaking, but had no more arguments. “You’re the WORST!” He said, and went off to his rooms.

The room was left in stony silence for a moment. Alfred came in, changing out Bruce’s cup of tea. “You don’t actually expect that to work, do you?”

“Not really, no,” Bruce said, “But he’ll be out of my hair for a little bit.”

Alfred was very dignified and so did not snort. But it was close.

Damian went out at night, saying he was off with a friend. Best to keep things vague, but if Bruce pressed, he’d say he was with Jon, and could probably bully Jon into vouching for him.

He dressed all in black, jumping from the rooftops, looking for trouble. There was usually plenty of it in Gotham. He just had to avoid the Bat Signal hanging in the sky and he’d be fine.

He heard a crash and looked down. Jewelry store robbery. Perfect.

He jumped down to ground level and approached the broken in window, taking out his sword. “Anyone in here, it’s better to surrender now,”

Of course, because it was Gotham, he wasn’t met by a normal jewel thief. No, instead, what approached him was a small walking orange balloon animal dog.

Because of course it was.

With an act first, think later attitude, he stabbed at it. He regretted it instantly as it let out some sort of opaque gas, the effects of which he didn’t want to find out. He pulled his shirt up over his mouth in hopes of preventing himself breathing too much in.

“Oh wow,” a voice said behind him, “Are you Robin?”

Damian whipped around and scowled. The gas was obscuring whoever was there, but the silhouette seemed like something of a ballerina. Why couldn’t one criminal just be normal?

He jumped back, ready to attack, but she didn’t fight him. “I’m not Robin,” he said, “I’m…” he didn’t think of another name. Ugh, this was more complicated than it needed to be.

“Huh,” she said, heading over to the display case, “This city sure has a lot of teenage ninja fighters, doesn’t it? Is ninja appropriative? Hmm, will have to think on that.”

She picked up a diamond ring from the display case and headed for the door. “Put that down!” Damian yelled at her, lifting his sword up.

“What, are you going to kill me for one ring?” She said, holding it, “Kinda overkill, don’t you think, Blackbird?”

Damian put his sword up to her, blocking the exit. “I’m not going to kill you, I’m just going to stop you,” he said, determined, but then her words sank in. “Blackbird?”

“Well, I’ve got to call you something, isn’t that how these superhero fights all go?” She stepped forward out of the fog, a girl about his age with a white painted face, lips painted into a heart, and bright orange and pink eyeshadow. “I’m Commedia, the hero of funny, the dancing clown, the laughing knight, etc etc.” she said, “im still working on my name too.”

She did a fancy twirl, getting out of range of Damian’s sword, which he countered to block her from the entrance again. “Oh, you like to dance?” she said.

“Clown, huh?” he said, staring her down, “You work for the joker?”

She laughed, high pitched and sweet, “Very much no,” she said, twirling again through the store, “Though I understand the confusion. No, Joker is...well, a joke. He’s not even registered in the clown registry.”

“There’s a clown registry?” He swung his sword.

This time, it came to a stop, with a matching jingle. He frowned, and saw it was a tambourine that the woman had lifted and stopped the sword like a shield.

He stared at the girl, Commedia, in stunned silence. She smiled brightly at him. “Well, this has been fun. But I really ought to head out. Raincheck on that dance, Blackbird.”

With a spin and a jump, she made it past him and rushed out the door, throwing a pink flower behind. A gas filled up the room in her wake, obscuring the view. Damian unfortunately got a whiff before he could block his nose, but he knew a simple fog cloud scent when he smelled it.

Damian went back into the shadows before the police inevitably arrived. It did seem below his paygrade, fighting someone who only stole a single diamond ring. But it was even stranger for that fact. A strangely dressed clown woman engaging in very strange and specific crimes in Gotham screamed “beginning of a dangerous plot.”

He wanted to go in swinging as usual, then remembered that if his father heard anything about a young person with a sword threatening police, he might catch onto the fact Damian went out that night. So, he went with the subtle approach. Breaking into the jewelry store’s records.

He was glad he did. It turned out that ring in particular had a history. It had been bought, returned, bought again, and returned once more, all by the same man, a Matthew Crenshaw. A quick records search brought up that he was a simple caller at a center. Nothing special about him. But, he was tied to the ring, and that tied him to the girl, so that was his first stop.

He tracked down the apartment to find Matthew Crenshaw in the middle of a very strange day. Damien watched through the window as Matthew lay on the floor of his meager living room, looking up at Commedia herself. She held the ring out to him, offering. “Well come on, man! Take it!”

“I don’t…” he mumbled, “Who...who are you?!”

“Just call me your fairy godmother,” she said. “Come on, you said you wanted it! So take it!”

“That’s…” Matthew said, “That’s the ring that Jenny liked...that she…”

“That you said would make the perfect proposal!” She said, dancing around, “So? Here it is! Now you can propose for real!” she said, giving it to him.

He juggled it, nearly falling over. Commedia came rushing over, jumping through the window and onto the fire escape. “Alright, hands up,” Damian urged her.

She turned, smiling. “Why, Blackbird? We going on roller coaster?” She put her hands high in the air and swung around the fire escape ladder, “Weeeeee!”

Damian followed her, pointing his sword tip at her chest. “Stop,” he said, “What are you planning?”

“Well, I’m planning to go sneak up to that window up there so I can look in and see what Matty and Jenny have going on,” She said, “Wanna join--OH!”

Damian pressed his sword up to her neck. “Cut the games,” He said, “You’re up to something, I know it. So tell me.”

Commedia sighed, giving in. “Matthew doesn’t want to get married.”

“I...what?” Damian said, confused.

“Matthew Crenshaw, the guy up there,” Commedia said, “He’s a nice guy, and he cares for his girlfriend Jenny, sure. But she’s been pressuring him about getting married, even though he doesn’t really like the idea of getting married. He’s talked himself into saying that he needs the perfect ring, but when he bought it, he decided he couldn’t afford it, and gave it back. So, I got it for him.”

Damian’s scowl only deepened as she kept talking. “Who’s he to you?”

She tilted her head, confused. “He cold called me to try and offer me a deal on car insurance.”

Damian put down the sword. He just. She said it so sincerely. “Who ARE you?” He demanded, now out of confusion more than anger.

She smiled brightly once more. “Why, I’m Commedia! The hero clown, the dancing--”

“Yeah, you said all that before, but like,” He sighed, “Why?”

Commedia’s smile fell down to something simple and kind. She offered a hand to him.

Hesitant, curious, and just...confused, he took it.

She led him to the other window, where they saw Jenny walking through the door. She gasped and ran to Matthew. “Oh, Matt! Matt, yes! Yes, I do, I do, I never thought this day would come! Oh gosh, I gotta call my mom, I’ve got a few dresses all picked out. You’ll see, it’ll be a huge party with everyone we know and-”

“Jenny,” he said, “Jenny wait, I...you know I don’t...I’m not comfortable with crowds and...and I don’t--

“But it’s MY DAY!” Jenny wailed, “You wouldn’t take MY day from me, would you?”

“C’mon,” Commedia muttered.

“Please, Jen,” Matt continued, “Look it’s just...if, if we did get married, shouldn’t--wouldn’t it be my day too?”

“Oh come ON, Matt,” Jenny said, walking to the counter, “We both know I’m the one who knows what’s best for you. It’ll be good! You’ll finally get to shine, and if you don’t like it, you’ll have ME there to take the rest of the spotlight!”

Matt’s hands balled into fists, and his face set, “No.”

“What?” Jenny said, incredulous.

“I’ve had it! I’m tired of-of you telling me what I like and what I don’t!” his lip trembled as he stood up. “I knew I was hesitant, but I didn’t know why! Now I see it’s becasue I didn’t want you in the rest of my life!”

“Hey now,” Jenny said, “Matt, calm down--”

“Get out of my house!” Matt went to the open window Commedia left behind and tossed out the ring.

“Whoopsies,” Commedia said and dropped away. Damian, confused, dropped down after her.

She picked the ring up from the ground and held it out to Damian. “I trust you can get this back to the jewelry store.”

“So, all of that…” he said, “was to help a guy get out of a bad relationship? That you barely knew?”

“He sounded sad on the phone,” Commedia said, “Made me curious.”

Damian scoffed, staring at her. “Who ARE you?”

She chuckled. “My guess is you’ll find out sooner or later,” she said, “So I’ll pick later, for now. But I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Blackbird.”

She took out another flower. This one shot off into the distance like a grappling hook, and pulled her twirling into the night.

Damian could have followed her, maybe. But, holding the ring in his hands, he didn’t see much need to.

Across town, Batman was called to a bank robbery in the middle of the night. Inside, however, he didn’t find the vault broken in, and nothing stolen, other than a number of complimentary lollipops. “You know there are easier ways to get my attention.”

“Aw, Come on Bats!” Harley said, swinging from the ceiling with one of the lollipops in her mouth, “Ain’t this a classic? Brings me back to the old days.”

“Oh, you’ve stopped doing crime then?” He said, leaning back and looking up at her, “News to me.”

Harley flipped down in front of him. “Batsy, you know I’m tryin’! I do good, is it a crime to have a little fun while I do it?”

“If you hurt people, yes.” Batman said.

Harley deflated. “I haven’t done that in a while now. I’m goin through some life changes.”

Batman hummed, staring down at her. “I’m guessing this is about the small clown that has been reported around town recently doing strange acts of minor crimes to help people?”

Harley brightened again, balancing on the teller counter. “She’s my new apprentice! A bit of a goody-two-shoes, but I’m doing my best to train her.” She did a handstand, “I came to ask for some advice at raising child soldiers, considering you have so much experience.”

Batman always scowled, but it seemed his scowl deepened on that. “I help some people come to terms with terrible things that have happened to them, and teach them to be a force of good in the world instead of falling to the world’s darkness.” He thought back on his children, “It doesn’t always work.”

Harley laughed, “No kidding,” she said. She sighed, thinking. “To be honest, Commedia is already pretty good. I can’t claim credit for that.” She rocked back and forth, feeling uneasy.

Batman approached, slow so as not to scare her. “Well, we both know she didn’t get it from her father.”

Her face was already white, but she blanched further. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, “She’s my niece, she ran from home so I’m taking care of her and-”

“Harley,” Batman stopped her rambling, “I’m a detective, remember?”

She frowned, shaking at him. “He doesn’t know,” she said, “No one knows, she...she’s never met him and I don’t want her to I--”

Batman held up his hands, stopping her again. “I know,” he said, “I understand, really. And I’ll help.”

She blinked up at him, smiling. “Really?”

Batman nodded. “I’ll help you protect her. As for advice....if you ever figure out a perfect way to raise masked vigilantes, let me know. I mostly just do the best I can, and make sure they can do a proper spin-kick if they need to.”

Harley snorted. “I’ll make a note of that.” She grabbed the box of free lollies on the counter, “I am going to be robbing these though, and you can’t stop me.”

She headed for the back entrance and away. “Harley,” Batman called her again, and she froze, “The year you were gone, when you disappeared and suddenly your sister had a child she wasn’t pregnant with. I want you to know, I noticed.”

Harley smiled, turning, “Thanks Bats-” When she turned, he was gone. “And people call me a drama queen.”

#lucy quinzel #batman #damian wayne #harley quinn #batfamily #joker

22 notes · View notes

summonerscenarios · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! I hope you're doing well now that your well rested because you've got me worrying here a bit for you. Also since you wanted some fluff here's a scenario that I hope that you'll enjoy. Toji, Ryota and Moritaka hear sounds of a piano and a soothing voice singing in the distance. As they go to where the sound is coming from they are surprised to find that a bunch of kids are napping on the floor while the MC plays on the piano and singing a lulluby. As the MC finishes and spots the three, MC awkwardly explains that tthey were tasked by Ziz to take care of the kids while she goes out as Behemoth was in some kind of trouble again. The MC then looks at the sleeping kids smiling before looking and inviting the three to sleep with the MC and kids. Do they take the invitation or not? (PS: Pls for the love of all things holy go to sleep when the time calls for it, otherwise I'll end up worrying my head off.)

wow been a hot second since I posted any hcs - sorry about the slow posts I’m hoping to make more of a balance with some more soon! and don’t worry I am very well rested so rest assured hun!

---------

Toji

You’d mentioned something about having to stay after school and telling the others to go ahead without you, which Toji was fully prepared to agree to since you could always meet up with them all later once you’d finished your tasks. However Toji also found himself running errands around the school with Ryota after the latter had been asked to deliver a few things. As a result the two of them had ended up staying later than intended, and by the time they were ready to head home they’d ran into Moritaka, having finished his own club for the day. However before they could leave a noise had made them all pause, turning to look down the hallway of the floor they’d just entered.

It was music - Toji recognized the soft unmistakable tones of a piano, accompanied by the gentle croon of a voice that filtered down the hallway from one of the nearby rooms. The sound was enough to give Toji pause; given the time of day the only people who should have been on school grounds were either the teachers or one of the after school clubs, and most of those activities took place in the other school’s on-site buildings. His first thought was that someone was staying behind - maybe even one of the previously mentioned faculty members, but the voice didn’t sound like any teacher that he recognized so it must have been a student or someone else. That’s not his concern however, and Toji was just about to propose that the three of them leave and walk back to the dorms together when Ryota moves to investigate what’s caught their attention.

The sound of the singing leads them down the hallway, with Ryota’s interest obviously peaked as he attempts to discern which room the sound is coming from, looking through windows as he goes past for good measure. Whilst Toji does chide his friend for trying to snoop, it’s clear that Ryota’s not going to back down until he finds out where the singing is coming from, moving from door to door as he assure Toji that as soon as he sees where the music’s coming from they can go. For all they know, it could be a player someone left on! In which case they’d be able to turn it off and just go on their merry way; that’s Ryota’s excuse anyways, right up until he reaches the third door down. The music is loudest here, and Toji can even make out some of the words that the voice is singing in time with the thrum of piano keys; he can almost swear that he’s heard this song before, as well as the person singing it, but can’t quite recall where when Ryota’s expression catches his attention.

As he looks in his smile turns into a stunned expression, and almost comically Toji and Moritaka move to join him, though more hesitant than their excitable friend as they lean up to see what Ryota’s seeing. Toji notices you immediately, sat at the piano and singing along with the soft melody that you play and as soon as he sees your face it clicks - he’s caught you humming before on the way to classes or when you’re focused on something, and recognizes the tune from those times as the same one that he’s hearing now. It’s a lullaby from what he can guess, but that realization only comes to him as Toji turns his gaze to the floor of the room your in, and sees it littered with children, all sleeping the day away apparently lulled to rest by the sound of your lullaby. When you’d mentioned having to stay behind to do something earlier that day he never would have imagined it would be to take care of children - having someone who’s so reckless about putting themselves at risk for the sake of others, Toji doesn’t miss the irony of seeing you now, playing to an audience of sleeping kids and watching over them like a protective parent.

Toji also doesn’t miss the moment that you spot them, as for a split second the piano ceases, and all three of them tense when they realize it’s because you’ve caught them looking in, giving them a baffled look as though silently asking them what the hell they’re doing on school grounds. He’s got the right mind to ask you the same thing - how did you end up roped into doing all of this? You’ve been dragged into situations before, but he doubts that the role of babysitter has ever crossed that list before this point. It seems as though he’ll be getting that answer sooner than he thinks, when you tilt your head and motion them inside, turning back to the piano you’re sat at when you see Ryota peek his head into the room, followed my Moritaka, and then, after a brief hesitation, Toji.

You’d offered to help Ziz out watching over the little ones after school, something you admitted to them you hadn’t originally planned to do but ended up stepping in anyway when the kids took a shine to you and wanted to play. It was only when Ziz had gotten called out to sort out a small emergency that you’d carved and assured her that you’d watch over them, an offer that had very quickly become quite the handful having to deal with a group of excitable kids practically running all over the shop looking for something to do. You were just lucky that you knew how to play well enough and knew enough songs to convince them to stay put and listen for a while, and they’d only just nodded off by the time Toji and company had arrived.

You’re frazzled as you recall it, but even as you talk about the previous chaos Toji can see you smile, expression softening with relief as you turn back to look at the kids, watching them sleep without a care in the world. Moritaka makes a comment about how Miss Ziz was right to entrust you with their care and you chuckle at the praise, shaking your head as you hold one of the notes, movements slowing as you think. When you ask them if they’d like to stay for a while Toji’s taken aback not expecting you to offer - he’d assumed you were busy enough making sure the kids were content until Ziz came back, and that the extra company would just make them restless.

He’s torn between agreeing and leaving when you assure him that his presence won’t upset the kids in the slightest, however, Ryota and Moritaka don’t seem to have the trepidation that he does, as the pair are quick to settle down close to one of the spare spaces and make themselves comfortable. Toji turns back to you, and seeing you still with that soft smile he caves and decides to stay, taking a seat closest to the window and leaning back against the wall as he sits down. He almost looks like he’s keeping guard, arms folded as he looks out over the room of sleeping children and his friends as his gaze flickers between watching the door and the group. He doesn’t end up sleeping, but when you turn your back to him and begin playing again, the soft sound of your humming once again filling the room, Toji watches you play, eyes trailing over the piano keys as your fingers dance back and forth along them, creating a pleasant sound that Toji can’t help but find himself relaxing to, lowering his guard as he closes his eyes to listen.

Ryota

Upon hearing that you’d have to stay behind after school to finish something Ryota was one of the first to help - after all, work goes faster when you’re doing it with friends! You’d assured him that this was something you could take care of yourself and that you wouldn’t be that long, and it was with a promise of meeting up as soon as you were done that you went your separate ways. It was honestly pure chance that he’d ended up having to run a few errands in the school, but Ryota had wanted to help and convinced Toji to come along with him as he got the work done. It was pretty late by the time the two of them had finished, late enough that they’d ended up meeting with Moritaka right as he was leaving his own club activities for the day. Ryota was looking forward to walking back with his friends, and was wondering if maybe you were still in the building too, but before he was able to pull out his phone and message you, the trio stopped in their tracks.

When Ryota hears the sound of singing he perks up, even more so when he realizes that there’s a piano as well. The music wafts down the hallways towards them, coming from one of the rooms loud enough that he can hear the basic tune it’s playing - it’s slow, but sounds undeniably pretty as he takes a second to listen in. From this far away it sounds like it could be some kind of recording, like a radio had been left on or something, and he honestly can’t help but be intrigued - because honestly, how often do you hear piano music and singing after school hours? And that’s when he resolves to find out where the sound of music is coming from, walking down the hallways and over to the closest door, peeking inside to see if he can spot anything making the noise. Toji isn’t too fond of the idea of looking, but relents in light of Ryota’s assurances that they’ll be out of there before he knows it!

The first door yields no results, as well as the second one, but once he reaches the third door he just knows that the music is coming from the room inside. The piano sounds louder, and the voice that accompanies it is clearer, rising and falling in pitch but remaining soft throughout as he leans over to look into the room. He catches sight of someone perched at the piano inside, and not only does he realize that it’s not a recording but someone actually playing, but he also notices exactly who’s playing. It’s you - he didn’t know you could play and sing like that! It’s amazing! Ryota almost can’t believe what he’s seeing, even more so when he looks away from you and sees who else is in the room - a small gaggle of children sleeping contently all across the floor cuddling up to one another as they doze completely unaffected by the sound of you playing. Ryota snaps his attention over to Moritaka and Toji, waving the pair over as though to make sure that he’s not the only one seeing what’s happening.

And sure enough they both look equally shocked by what they see through the glass, a sight that apparently does not go unnoticed when Ryota notices your head turn, scanning over the kids to make sure they’re okay before your eyes drift past the window. You almost do a double take, not expecting your friends to be right outside of the door when you’d thought that they had all gone home. After a moment of pause, you silently motion for them to step inside and Ryota jumps at the offer, peeking his head into the room and being mindful not to disturb any of the sleeping children as he steps inside and makes his way over to where you’re sat, fingers still brushing over the keys albeit slower this time. You explain what happened to them as you continue to play, checking up on the kids throughout as you tell them about the small emergency that Ziz had to deal with and how she’d entrusted watching the kids to you while she went to settle the situation.

Ryota expected as much from you - you’re always willing to jump in for your friends and lend a hand when they needed it, and this is no different. It’s one of the qualities that made you who you were, though he can tell that you’re relieved to have them all finally asleep rather than bouncing off of the walls like they had apparently been earlier. Soon enough the topic of conversation switches, and when you offer to let them stay for a little while until Ziz comes back Ryota’s again one of the first to take you up on your offer, and you’re more than happy to have the company when Moritaka and Toji follow suit and agree to stay as well.

Ryota actually ends up sitting next to you at the piano, whispering questions asking what you’re playing and praising you for how nice the melody sounds as you play. After a little while he goes quiet and listens to the music, lulled into a relaxed state as the piano notes continue to flow from one song to the next. Eventually, you notice that he’s nodded off when you feel Ryota lean against you, expression content and you can’t help but smile, shifting your weight so that he can rest against your side more comfortably as you play the last notes of your lullaby.

Moritaka

When you had first told the others to go off without you and that you had a few errands to run before you caught up, Moritaka understood - after all, he also had commitments to attend his own after school club the same day. So the two of you had ended up going your separate ways from the other Summoners and walking together for a short while before your paths diverged. The last he’d seen of you was a flash of a smile and a wave before you were gone around the corner, and Moritaka thought little more of the encounter. He assumed that you had already returned to the doors by the time his club had concluded, but on his way through the building he ran into Ryota and Toji, the two of them being later than usual running some errands of their own in the building.

Out of the three of them Moritaka has the best hearing, so it makes sense that he’s the first of the trio who picks up on the soft piano tune that begins to filter into the hallway as they step onto the floor making their way to the exit. His ears perk up at the sound. He’s aware that the kendo club isn’t the only afterschool activity on the property, however he’s never had the chance to actually see all of them for himself and so he doesn’t believe it’s too out of the realm of possibility for there to be some kind of music-based club that finishes later in the day. Moritaka does have to admit that he’s curious though - he can make out a voice singing softly just below the noise of the piano, with a slow tempo as though it’s some kind of lullaby. It’s surprisingly soothing, and it appears as though his interest isn’t the only one peaked when Ryota moves to peek into some of the door windows, looking for the source of the music. Toji’s a little more strict, warning Ryota not to snoop, however, it isn’t long before those scoldings cease when his friend rationalizes that it’s fine to look so long as they don’t interrupt.

It turns out that the source of the music is closer than they all thought, as three doors in Ryota’s expression turns from curiosity to surprise as he whips around to face his friends and silently urges them forward with a quick gesture of his hand. Confused, Moritaka joins him to see what’s taking him so aback, and finds himself stunned as well at the sight behind the glass. It’s one of the music rooms, where a piano sits on the far end - there’s a figure perched on the stool and Moritaka watches for a moment, entranced by the way that their fingers dance across the keys, their voice alternating between humming and singing as they sing what Moritaka is now fully convinced is a lullaby. He isn’t sure what surprises him more - the fact that he recognizes that you're the one at the piano, singing and playing the instrument, or the fact that you’re flanked by an audience.

There’s a sleep mat rolled out on the floor, where a handful of children are splayed out on it in various stages of sleep; most of them are curled up with their blankets or cuddling up with one another as they rest, but one or two are still awake, heads resting in their hands as they try to watch you play, though it’s clear they’re equally drowsy as they’re lulled to sleep by your soft tune. This certainly wasn’t what any of them expected to find, much less Moritaka, and he honestly doesn’t realize that the three of them are so blatantly staring at the situation through the glass until you turn to look at the children, still playing as you check to make sure they’re all okay - your gaze is soft, as though happy to see them all so content and peaceful, but your eyes turn wide when you catch sight of your three friends, fingers freezing for but a moment when your eyes meet.

A flush of embarrassment fills Moritaka at your gaze, given that the three had essentially been caught snooping, however instead of waving them away like he expected you to do, your surprise melts into a bashful shrug and you tilt your head, indicating for them to come in as your hands return to playing the piano. Ryota’s the first to take up your invitation, and Moritaka is next to follow, carefully stepping around the sleep mat and moving over to your side to talk to you as you play. When you explain why Ziz left you in charge here the situation makes a lot more sense - you’ve always been good with people, so it makes sense for Ziz to have entrusted you to keep an eye on the children while she rushed off to an emergency; it’s not a decision she’d make lightly, and it seems her faith in you has paid off, and Moritaka mentions as much upon hearing your explanation. His praise is genuine which makes you a bit flustered given that you hadn’t thought much about helping Ziz out in the first place - you’d just decided to jump in when she needed an extra hand - so before you start getting bashful you swivel round and gesture over to the floor, offering to let them stay a while if they want, maybe even join in and take a nap until miss Ziz returns to take over.

Assuming that you’d like the company, and willing to help out should you need it, Moritaka ends up taking you up on your offer to sit down for a little while, finding a vacant space and making himself comfortable along with Ryota and Toji as you turn your focus back to playing, picking up where you left off. Being warm and fluffy it’s only natural that some of the kids, half-asleep and content, gravitate towards him, and there’s almost a tiny circle of children around him the next time that you turn to look at him - Mori doesn’t seem to mind, and so long as one of them doesn't make a grab for his tail he’s fine remaining like this for the duration of your time there.

#suafamily0003 #tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo #housamo imagine #housamo headcanon #headcanons #imagines #the summoners #toji #housamo toji #toji sakamori #ryota #housamo ryota #moritaka #moritaka inuzuka #housamo moritaka #request #ask

68 notes · View notes

elizaisthetruehero · 4 years ago

Text

Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now Chapter 1

So, I started writing another Eureka fic. Even though I have a WIP that isn't finished yet. What's probably going to happen is I'll get stuck on one and then switch to working on the other to beat procrastination. That's the plan anyway.

But here's the AO3 Link, that I posted there last night, and forgot to put here and on FF.Net. I'm doing FF.net because Eureka is an older fandom, and I think there's a couple people there who never made the switch.

Summary: Jo rushes into the Sheriff's station after 1947, and is greeted by a Zane who does not remember proposing to her that morning. But they're definitely still together. It just seems that Jo can't figure out what they hell they are, and why he's still going on dates with other women.

Zane doesn't understand why Jo's suddenly done an about face, but if it gets her to stop acting like nothing's going on between them, he can work with that. He just wishes he knew why she looked so sad when she looked at him.

Chapter 1

Jo strode into the Sheriff’s station, heart hammering against her bruised ribs, terrified of what she would find. The statue had changed. God, she hoped that was the only thing they’d changed. It would be a ridiculous change they would have made, back in 1947, but one Jo would have no problem living with.

There Zane was, sitting in her cell like he’d been that morning, casual and cool, like she hadn’t ripped his heart out and thrown it in his face. Hope bubbled up in her chest, and Jo could feel it showing in her smile. Maybe they’d be okay. She could feel the weight of the ring still in her pocket. They could still have their happy ending, walking into Café Diem, congratulations from all their friends, phone calls from their parents. Everything would be okay.

“Zane. I can't believe you're still here.”

He didn’t even look up at her, just kept thumbing through his magazine, “Where else would I be?”

“I thought after the way that I reacted,” she broke off sighing, not sure what to say about what she did that morning, or how to fix it. She’d never been good with words. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I was just thinking too much. You know, I... I do that sometimes and...”

He cut her off, disinterest in his tone, “Lupo, what the hell are you trying to say?”

“I'm trying to say, ‘Yes.’”

“Yes? Yes, you’ll what, stop hogging the covers? Seriously Jo, what’s gotten into you?” he asked as he threw down his magazine.

“What we, this morning, you,” she cut herself off, dread filling her stomach like a weight. She looked around the room and saw that while Zane was in the cell, it was empty. None of the trappings or reminders of how they met that had been there when she'd first walked in that morning, before 1947. No framed poster, no bedding on the cot, no damn Panini press, no, no Liza’s box. And… Oh.

The cell door. It was locked, likely with the key that was on her belt loop. Why the hell was Zane in a locked cell?

“This morning you kicked me out of your bed at 3 am when I asked you to stop hogging the covers. And then this afternoon you threw me in jail.” Her bed. She’d kicked him out of her bed. Not their bed anymore. They didn’t live together?

Jo sat down at her desk, no able to look Zane in the eye while she tried to process everything that had happened. "Yeah, well, you shouldn’t bother me when I’m trying to sleep. You should be smarter than that," she said, forcing a smirk to her face, slipping into the familiar biting banter she and Zane had when they were fighting. Had she and Zane never gotten serious? He certainly wasn't looking at her the same way he had that morning.

“Look, Dungeon Master, when am I getting out of here?”

She played with her hands, picking the dirt out from under her nails, “I don’t know, what’d you do?”

“Nothing, you just like throwing me in jail,” she fixed her least impressed look in his direction, careful not to look in his eyes, but just above his head. If she did that, she might do something irrational and ill-befitting of a Deputy of Eureka. Like start beating prisoners. “So I unlocked a few cages, those monkeys deserved some freedom. Look, could you just let me out? I’ve got a date."

What? "Really? A date? With who?"

"Yeah, I'm meeting the blonde chick with the Ph.D. in Reproductive Biology. We're going to play doctorate," he smirked, without any of the soft and nervous affection he'd had that morning. Just the sarcastic bravado he’d had when he’d bought her lingerie to get under her skin. Did he even remember doing that anymore?

"Seriously?"

"Come on, Lupo, don't start acting like you care what I get up to or who with. We both know what's going on here, and what we’re not." No, I don’t know what we are, or why you’re sleeping with me but going out with other women. Why the hell wouldn’t I care about that!

She rushed to his cell door to unlock it, desperate to get him away from her, “Go. Get out.”

“You gonna taze me in the ass again?” and there was that grin, charming and handsome, that had caught her eye two years ago. Obsession with firearms can be a sign of an unfulfilled sexual appetite. I'm not saying that's you. But if it is, I'm at your service.She’d had to be talked out of shooting him back then. Now she wanted to shoot him, whatever blonde chick he was meeting up with, and maybe herself.

"Just get out," she snapped at him, blinking back tears that she couldn’t let fall. He walked out the door, facing her, clearly puzzled, his eyebrows drawn together in a way that she normally found cute, but right now, made her want to punch something. Anything would do.

The door shut behind Zane with a click, and Jo leaned against the cell bars, took a breath, and winced. She’d managed to clean up the blood on her face while Henry and Fargo were repairing the phones, but her ribs still needed to be taped, and the scrapes on her hands and head needed to be cleaned. She should still have an almost full tub of GD-grade bruise gel at home. Hopefully, it was still there.

Jo unlocked her door and stepped into her house, shutting the door behind her before leaning against it, letting her breath rush out of her. She took moment to close her eyes and just breathe after the chaos of the day that wasn’t even over yet. But she knew her peace couldn't last. She would have to go through her house to try to put together the pieces of the picture that made up her life, and figure out where everything went wrong.

Well, she had her minute. Time to face the music. She pushed off of the door, opened her eyes, and headed to the kitchen. She glanced around, her fingers trailing along the cool counter, taking it in. Didn’t look any different than it had when she had left that morning. Except…

She peered into the dishwasher and sighed in disappointment. Gone were Zane's plates with dried-on eggs, or his TARDIS-shaped mug, and she didn't think that was because he'd washed them already. They were probably at his old apartment, the one he'd barely spent any time at after they got together. Oh, they hadn't officially moved in together until after he'd gotten home from the Arctic, but that had been a formality, almost. Like he'd thought his question that morning had been. So let’s make it official. He’d really wanted to marry her. Spend the rest of his life with her, like she was the obvious choice.

Jo shook her head. She couldn’t think about that, the proposal that had never happened. She didn’t know how to fix the timeline, so she had to deal with this Zane in the meantime, if not forever. She really hoped she didn’t have this smarmy asshole forever.

She moved onto the living room. It looked like it had before Zane moved in, same décor, same pictures, and the same piano along the wall. The books on the shelves and her coffee table were just her books here, no physics journals or sci-fi novels or comic books. Just the thrillers and murder mysteries she liked to read on the rare occasion she had the opportunity. And, she checked the ottoman with the small storage space, some romance novels with shirtless men on the cover that she did notpull out in public. Zane had teased her the first time he’d seen her reading one, but she’d come home early one day and saw him on the couch, curled up with the blanket his mom had sent as a housewarming present, reading one. He insisted he was just being a good boyfriend, taking interest in her interests. And then he cracked a joke about the cowboy on the cover and positions. She’d been mad at him, but he made up for it.

She moved over to the stairs, heading up. At the very least, she would have to get changed and clean up, get 1947 off of her as quickly as possible. Hope that when she got out of the shower and back to town, Henry would have figured out a way to fix this.

Jo opened the door to her bedroom and stripped off her costume, heading straight for the en-suite bathroom. She showered quickly and efficiently, noting that, like most of the house, Zane's belongings were not there. She got out, wrapped the towel around herself, and headed to the sink to check the scrape on her temple. She applied GD's liquid band-aid to the cut, ignoring the sting, and went to put it away in the cabinet when she stopped, heart in her throat.

A used men's razor. She lifted it off the counter delicately, noting the short dark hairs caught between the blades. Zane's. Jo took stock of the rest of the vanity and felt a glimmer of hope that she hadn't felt since Zane spoke, back in the station.

Two toothbrushes in the holder. A can of his shaving cream. His aftershave, cap off because he could never remember to put the lid back on. She checked the shower again, and saw the bar of soap in the corner of the caddy, the kind that she never used, but, had clearly been used by someone.

Okay. Zane didn’t have any of his stuff downstairs, but he was over often enough that he had some space on her bathroom counter. Though not over enough for them to be exclusive. She really hoped she didn’t have to see him on his date. Her self-control was good, but not that good, she thought as she taped up her ribs and smoothed gel over her bruises. Those needed to fade, and quickly. The last thing she needed was someone asking what happened to her arms.

After giving the gel a minute to dry down, Jo walked back into her bedroom and got dressed, jerking open her drawers to see what was in each one. Her underwear, tank tops, T-Shirts and sweats all still in drawers. She yanked the last one open, wondering if it was empty if it was still being used for her sweaters, or…

Zane's clothes. Not all of them, his wardrobe probably had more than just a pair of jeans, two pairs of boxers, a couple of V-necks and, a crumpled-up plaid shirt. But he kept clothes here. Not enough to be living here, which the bottom floor had told her. But clean clothes for those rushed mornings when he wouldn't have time to run home before heading to work. He'd probably shown up to GD too many times wearing yesterday's clothes, thick stubble on his face.

Who had suggested it? Had she cleared it out and offered it to him? Had he brought them over in a backpack or duffle, slipping them into the drawer with a nervous grin? Were they the result of lazy weekends spent in her bed, ignoring the world outside?

She pulled her jeans on before picking up her dirty clothes and bringing them over to her hamper, and right on top of her clothes, was a pair of his boxers. Just more evidence that Zane was part of her life, but she didn’t know how she fit into his. If she went over to his apartment, would she find similar signs of her presence? Travel-size versions of her shampoo and conditioner, a change or two of clothes, maybe part of a spare uniform? Would her robe be there, or, no, she caught herself. He was fucking other women. If she got cold over there, she’d borrow one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweats.

And that was if she even went over to his place. She really needed to stop dawdling and get back to town so she could talk to Carter and Henry, see what was going on, and if they could fix this. And if they couldn’t, well, she’d been a Special Forces operative and was now a Deputy in Eureka. She could adapt. Maybe she could get Zane to adapt with her. Maybe, she thought as she slipped the ring onto a chain and placed it around her neck, not willing to be without it in case Henry found a way to fix this, maybe he’d even try to put this ring on her finger again. But that wasn’t happening tonight. Because she froze.

#eureka fic #eureka #jo lupo #zane donovan #a town called eureka

9 notes · View notes

flameraven · 5 years ago

Text

Good Omens Fic Rec Masterpost - Part Two

Hello hello I have read MANY MORE fics in this fandom now so it’s time to add on to my previous recs. Part One can be found here: https://flameraven.tumblr.com/post/187742832545/good-omens-fic-recs-masterpost General info! No fics rated higher than M, and that’s usually for violence not sex. I headcanon the husbands as being in an asexual relationship, so any fics I rec will have no sex, or only have sexy stuff alluded to or briefly mentioned.

The Soft Zone (TM)

all the days - G / darcylindbergh

War of Attrition- G / out_there / 8k - 3 gifts Crowley gives Aziraphale

A Meddling of Houseplants - T/ wingedspirit / 6k - Ophelia (a peace lily) is tired of Crowley and Aziraphale’s hopeless pining, and takes matters into her own leaves.

Sweetest in the Gale - T / wingedspirit / 3.8k - Gabriel can sense Aziraphale’s love for Crowley, and confronts “Aziraphale” about it before his execution

Deck the Halls - G / forthegreatergood / 18k - two idiots attempt to acquire mistletoe for the holidays in order to convey their feelings for the other.

Tartan Wrapping Paper - G / Arej / 2k - Crowley may not have quite gotten the message about the tartan all those years ago

a prize-winning philodendron - G / Elsajeni / <1k - Crowley does look, and sighs heavily. “Angel,” he says, “of all the plants you could have tried keeping, why did you start with something this fussy?”

Silver and Gold - G / asparkofgoodness / 1.5k - Crowley buys a ring.

Futile Devices - G / ticketybye / 3k - Yes, Crowley has imagined. He has craved. But being in Aziraphale’s close proximity has had to be enough. He’s not even sure he deserves that. But this, this feels like it felt to be commissioned the stars. It feels like being entrusted with something precious and fragile.

The Weight of Words Unspoken - G / rattatatosk / 1.8k - Aziraphale has always hinted to Crowley when he needed to leave. After the Apoca-wasn’t, he asks Crowley to stay.

J’Aime (I Love) - G / yourpaceangel - Crowley is searching for what the ‘J’ means.

the other way round - G / darcylindbergh / <1k - Aziraphale gets hair pets for once.

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life Too) - G / soft_october / 1.5k - Crowley is trying not to go to fast, ends up stalled out completely. Aziraphale decides he will have to get creative.

In Good Hands - G / Sunjinjo / 14k - Aziraphale was created wearing a golden ring. It’s now the last remaining aspect of his original attire.One day, he tries to take it off. The rest follows naturally. (Marriage Proposal)

One Golden Glance (Of What Should Be) - G / Sunjinjo / 8.5k - Crowley takes up painting after the Apocalypse.

Misfit / Safe Haven - G / Mothfluff / 2k - Aziraphale provides a safe space for the Soho queer community to gather

seasons, changes - G / the_pen_is_mightier / 2k - In the autumn Aziraphale and Crowley go out apple picking.

on the necessity of a temptation - M / darcylindbergh / 4.5k - Crowley squinted at him. He said, slowly, as if sounding around the words [...] “But doing things is what we do. Why would—what would be the point of me being here otherwise?”

In Other Words, Baby, Kiss Me - T / mikkimouse / 4.5k - Five times Aziraphale kissed Crowley and one time Crowley (finally) kissed him back.

It's Getting Hard, This Holding Back - T / ZehWulf / 13k - Crowley decides to lure Aziraphale into Explicit Gestures of Romantic Affection. Aziraphale sets a cuddle trap

give you more to hold on to - T / cryptidkidprem / 4k - Crowley nods. "It's..." He looks down at their joined hands, and takes a long, deep breath. “We’re not— We’re not supposed to need this, y’know?” He lifts their joined hands up, lets them fall again. “You and I. Angels, demons. We're not meant to need all this. This touchy-feely stuff, all this affection, this—” a hitch in his breath— “Love.”

two parallel lines -lineffability

don’t let me wake up - acuteangleaziraphale

how to let go - jlmarch

Mornington Crescent -politeanarcy

Wingfic

Symmetry in Favor - G / kedreeva / 8k - Five times Crowley preens Aziraphale's wings, and one time Aziraphale preens Crowley's.

London Calling - G / forthegreatergood / 30k - Come for Crowley’s ridiculous 1970′s bed, stay for Feelings and extensive wing pets.

Hurt/Comfort

Be Ye Therefore Merciful - T / AmberDiceless / 9.5k - Book!Verse. Crowley does something utterly unexpected, and Aziraphale must face an opponent who cannot be thwarted.

Pigeon Girlfriends with a Long Preamble - T / SleepySelfLoathing / 8k - All Crowley wanted was to spend a nice night in with his husband, so of course he ends up summoned by a bunch of cultists instead. Why would he expect anything different....This would probably be a lot easier to deal with if he wasn't wearing Aziraphale's fluffiest bathrobe.

All Creatures that Have the Breath of Life - G / Elsajeni / 4k - Aziraphale fishes a very sodden Crawly out of the water during the Flood.

Touched by an Angel (And it Bloody Hurts) - G /hedgehog-o-brien / 7k - Aziraphale can’t touch Crowley without burning him.

Douse the Fire, Help Me Breathe - G / Arej / 1.5k - Even demons fear fire, when they've watched their world burn.

In a City Under Aerial Bombardment - G / battle_cat / 3k - After the church and the bomb and the books.

Small Mercies - G / rattatatosk / 4k - Crawly gets smited. Aziraphale lends a hand.

Easier Than Air - G / A_Candle_For_Sherlock / 3.5k - The world hasn't ended, and everything is fine. They're fine. It's terrifying.

attachment - T / artenon / 4.5k - Crowley crosses over to open the passenger door for Aziraphale, and Aziraphale’s attention is drawn to Crowley’s uneven gait, the light, too-quick steps and the rocking back and forth on his heels as he holds the door open and waits for Aziraphale to get in.“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, heart sinking, “your feet.”

Hell Freezes Over - M / charliebrown1234 + Turcote / 18k - The year is 2002, and Crowley and Aziraphale are sent to Alaska to investigate a decommissioned entrance to Hell. What could possibly go wrong?

Better The Demon You Know - T / mikkimouse / 1.2k - When Crawly falls out of the sky and into the flood, he gets help from a very unexpected source.

Gently, gently - G / the_pen_is_mightier / 3k - Heaven is cold and lonely. Hell is filthy and crowded. Aziraphale badly needs to be touched; Crowley needs fresh air, and light, and space. They can’t seem to connect on days after they’ve returned from their respective head offices.

Of Firsts and Foremosts - T / kedreeva / 6k - Aziraphale is left vulnerable and injured as his first molt approaches. Crawly comes to the rescue for the first time.

The Brazen Serpent - T / ImprobableDreams900 / 11k - Some other angels come to help Aziraphale at the end of the Isrealites’ 40-year exile in the wilderness, unfortunately for Crawley.

hold my hand tight (we'll make it another night) - G / cryptidkidprem / 3k - The night at Crowley’s flat. He’s having a hard time not panicking.

Harbours of My Own - T / wingedspirit / 30k - Crowley knows that, as a demon, his freedom is limited. He doesn't get to have a home; he doesn't get to love. Aziraphale would very much like to change that, but he, too, is limited in what he can do. It takes the better part of six thousand years, but they'll get there.

crack me open, feel me shatter - T / rattatatosk / 2.5k - Crowley dreams of the Fall. Aziraphale is there to catch him when he wakes.

Angst (w/a Happy Ending)

Where His Angel Dares to Tread - M / PinkPenguinParade / 16k - Crowley is taken by Hell. Aziraphale disguises himself as best he can for the rescue mission. Newt and Anathema help.

Remembrance of Things Past - T / Fyre / 18k - Hell takes Crowley’s memories all the way back to Eden as punishment for his crimes.

Drunk Theology - G / battle_cat / 3k - Aziraphale had been hoping tonight for Giggly Drunk Crowley, which was his favorite drunk Crowley. That didn’t seem to be how things were working out, though.

Like a River Flows - T / kedreeva / 15k - Five times Crowley was not allowed to love Aziraphale, and one time he succeeded.

The Cultivation of New Growth - T / Vitreous_humor / 3k - “I mean,” he said carefully, “if you want a plant, let me give you one of the snake plants or maybe the big coleus. They'd be good for the shop, pretty stalwart in the dark...You don't want this one, it's rotten.” “Actually,” Aziraphale said firmly, “I do want that one.”

The Holy Essence of Experience - T / Dragonsquill / 4k - They know how they feel, but giving it a name would be too dangerous. Ineffable husbands from the beginning to the end of the world, aware and wanting.

AUs/Crossovers

be mine tonight (be mine forever) - T / artenon / 11k - Human!AU. When Aziraphale finds out his coworkers have made a bet that he won’t bring anyone to the company party, he asks his best friend Crowley to go as his date just to spite them. Things quickly spiral out of control.

Siren’s Song - T / kedreeva / 30k+ (WIP) - Siren!AU. Crowley, a lone siren, calls a ship to wreck upon his reef, but finds when he meets pirate captain Aziraphale that sirens are not the only ones able to lure another creature to their heart's desire.

Adopt Don’t Shop - G / lucky_spike / 6k - Cat!AU based on Chekov’s “Good Meowmons” comics.

The Ones Who Walk Away From Nevaeh - T / soft_october / 15k - AU based on “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas”

The Grinch Who Sold Christmas - T / darcylindbergh / 60k - Human AU / Hallmark Movie AU. Crowley is a big city lawyer sent to seal the deal that will destroy the quaint town of Tadfield forever, right before Christmas... and then he falls in love with the town, and a certain bookshop owner. Ridiculously sappy fluff that hits all the right notes.

The Odd One Out T / RainyDayDecaf / 2k- A meeting of many different Crowleys and Aziraphales.

Beat Again - T / TeaCub90 / 7k - Human AU. Two neighbours keep each other and their respective conditions company in the dead of night

Outsider POV

Ophidiophobia - G / lyricwritesprose / 7.6k - Pepper is afraid of snakes. When this is abruptly revealed in an encounter with Crowley’s serpent form, she immediately goes about trying to cure herself of it.

What’s in a Name? - G / lyricwritesprose / 4k - “You do realize,” Brother Francis said, “that Warlock is just your name, not some sort of, of directive?”

Damaged - G / lyricwritesprose / 6k - Aziraphale is struggling after the Apocalypse. Madam Tracy offers some advice. (Very good spooky/nonhuman Aziraphale in this one.)

Angel’s Favor - T/ PinkPenguinParade / 10k - A hundred years ago, Aziraphale gave one of his feathers to a woman who helped him. In the modern day, her descendant calls in the favor.

Protective Camouflage - G/ politeanarcy/ 2.3k - The Antichrist isn’t the only one with defenses against being noticed.

Disposable - T / lyricwritesprose / 7k - Eric the Disposable Demon attempts to become Crowley’s vassal after the Apoca-wasn’t. Nothing goes the way they expect after that.

on deceiving appearances - G / asideofourown / 2k - The Disposable Demon realizes the truth of Crowley’s deception in Heaven.

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon and Airbnb Superhost - G / TheOldAquarian / 3k - What are you supposed to do when you've been fired from your sweet job in Hell for thwarting the schemes of Satan, you've got a swanky flat in Mayfair, and you're looking for an excuse to spend all your time in someone else's bookshop? Obviously, you turn to the dubious world of short-term vacation rentals.

Other

the best laid schemes - T / asideofourown / 4k - How Crowley got his Rat Army

Incongruous States of Being - T / ZehWulf / 8k - “Who would win: Aziraphale or Crowley.” “Oh!” Aziraphale startles. “Well—such a question. It’s not as though either of us has engaged in so much as fisticuffs in ages, and one does need to keep up practice with these sorts of things.” His fretting dies abruptly when Crowley cuts over him clearly, baldly: “Aziraphale.”

No one expects the Spanish Inquisition - T / WoodsWitch / 12k - The Arrangement is 500 years old, and Crowley and Aziraphale have been having a fine time in Renaissance Florence. Things start to go a bit pear-shaped with the arrival of a Friar Savonarola, so Crowley suggests that they meet up in his favorite refuge from the rest of medieval Europe: Spain. ((Don’t let the title fool you, this is an incredibly in-depth and well-researched historical fic and deserves way more hits than it has.))

#fic recs #good omens fanfic #good omens fic recs #fanfiction

273 notes · View notes

self-ships-ahoy · 4 years ago

Text

My Heart in Your Hands

Saturday (Feb 13th) Heart / Soul / Confession

Summary: During the events of Mann vs. Machine, Technician faces her greatest fear for the good of her friends - and the love of her life.

Warnings: General depictions of surgery (nothing too graphic, but there is a lot of talk about Tech’s heart in the second half)

Word Count: 1,307

A/N: Ok...I am very very nervous about posting this fic. I had to scramble to find a good reason for Tech to have this surgery done (i.e. if lives were on the line), and I’m just always nervous when presenting my writings with Medic. I have seen quite a few people be critical about his depictions, if he’s ‘in character’ enough, and I was afraid of being met with that kind of criticism. But writing is supposed to be for fun, and IF I’m a little ooc with him, so what? I put a whole lot into this fic, and you’re going to really see the extent of their feelings, so I’m proud of it. (Also, about the end, I am totally one to use wordplay even if I’m just coming out of anesthesia, so yeah Tech is like that too.)

~ 💖 ~

For as long as she could remember, Technician's greatest fear and weakness had been anything related to medical procedures. From the smell of a sterilized office to the mere sight of a needle, it all made her anxious at best and panic-stricken at worst. Everyone at the RED base knew this, since they heard how she ‘freaked out’ during her initial physical examination. Fortunately, although her phobias still remain, her reactions have started to become less severe over time, thanks in big part to her relationship with Medic. Forming a friendship, and later a romantic affair, with him helped her tolerance to her fear triggers greatly. Her desire to see him had her visiting the medbay often, where she soon became accustomed to many sights and smells of the lab. The doctor remained supportive of Technician working to overcome her fears, and he took an active role in the process. Still, Katie had a long way to go, and he knew that. He knew, by now, what kind of answer he would get to a proposed surgery, even though he only offered what was for her benefit. "It's very sweet that you care that much, but it's just not worth it to me." So, he would sigh in defeat and drop the subject, loving her too much to breach the boundaries she set.

This pattern continued until 1971. Mann Co. was under siege by Grey Mann, effectively taking control from Saxton Hale with an army of robots. Both Red and Blu teams were hired to take back the company, so far with little avail. It all seemed pointless to Technician, at first, if not fortunate; this could be her ticket out of here, if she could convince Grey to fire her. Then the game changed. In an effort to drive the mercs away for good, Grey's forces managed to sabotage and shut down respawn - for good. Now, they could actually die. After so many years of being alone, Katie couldn't bear the thought of losing her friends. With Medic's new reviving invention still a work in progress, that thought could become a reality. She would do anything to keep them safe, even just to increase that chance by a fraction of a percentage. This was what she came to talk to Medic about, one quiet afternoon at the base.

The two of them sat on the couch in his office. The programmer remained silent, a hesitant and apprehensive frown on her face. She had yet to reveal why she called Medic here, and the longer she waited, the more concerned he became. However, his patience was finite, and spending the whole day on this conversation could be time otherwise spent working on his invention. "Darling," he addressed her gently, but with seriousness, "Vhatever is troubling you, don't be afraid to tell me about it; I cannot help you if you don't tell me...nor do I have time to vait much longer."

Technician's chest tightened, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment. She couldn't wait forever. Sighing nervously, she began, "...I need you to...do something for me."

"Anything," he answered without question.

Another short pause. "I'm scared. I really think we could die out there..." She held his hand for support. "I can't lose you, Ludwig. You're the most important person in my life...and you're all my friends... You're the closest thing I have to family. So, I want to do whatever I can to help protect you."

"...Vhat are you saying?"

"...I want you to put Über in me."

Medic couldn't believe what he heard. Technician seemed to have a knack for surprising him, but, understandably, this was a big deal. Thus far, she had refused every surgery offer presented to her, and now she comes to him and requests one? The man was no reader of emotions, but judging from the tension on her face, and how she squeezed his hand, it didn't seem like she was completely positive of the decision. Excited as he felt, he had to make sure they were on the same page, or he could lose her trust in him forever. "You are...absolutely sure of zhis?"

Technician went quiet again before answering. "I don't know. But...I want to be. I don't want to be afraid of this, especially if it could help you stay alive. With how often I've fallen onto front lines, it could even protect me, too. But..."

"If it's pain you're concerned about, I promise zhe pain medications I use, in addition to zhe medigun, vill decrease anything you feel down to manageable levels." He couldn't help but try to convince her to go through with it. Despite her indecision, he agreed with her points that supported the procedure; this could protect her and her friends, should she fall into danger. "You won't even need stitches," he added with a small smile.

He was getting excited, she could hear it in his voice. Technician expected as much, but she had to finish. "It's not just about the pain. I just...I don't like operations, I never did. You know that... And...I wanted to make sure I could...trust you with it. And I do, now. It's just...hard."

Medic's smile grew when he heard that he finally earned Technician's trust. That alone made him feel so accomplished. "I promise you, I vill handle zhe procedure vis as much care as I handle our fledgling doves. You have my word as a doctor - license or no." He tilted his head down to further meet her gaze. "Does zhat ease any of your fear?"

"...Yeah. It does."

~~~

On the day of the operation, Technician's friends all came to give their support. She was facing a great challenge for the good of the team, and for her own safety, a decision that they all could commend. Soldier told her she was making her country proud by pushing through the fear; Scout brought her some comic books to read for when she's in recovery; Sniper and Engineer pledged to stay by her bedside when she goes under and when she wakes up; even Spy said he would anticipate hearing her wake from a successful operation. Their faith and encouragement helped Technician move forward with this, and she kept their words and gestures in mind when nervously changing into her special hospital gown. Above all, she remembered all Medic promised to do for her, to keep her as comfortable as possible.

Placing her jewelry in a plastic bag, her thumb brushed over the heart-shaped pendant of her necklace. That was a prized possession now, a symbol of how much she was cherished. As she stared at it, her mind began retracing every instance of Ludwig prioritizing her happiness. This...this was a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And why: because she knew she could entrust him with her very life, even on the operating table. She knew that if she asked him to do or not do something, he would take that request seriously. She's going to go into the operating room with full confidence that Medic will do nothing more than implant the Über device in a human heart. That was true love.

Technician made her way to the hospital bed, and squeezed Dell's hand as the I.V. went in her wrist. As she settled down from that, Medic gleefully presented his patient with precautions he doesn't usually take during surgery, such as a clean pair of gloves and keeping Archimedes at a distance, so the dove doesn't get tempted to play assistant surgeon. In the time between now and the first Über implantation, Medic had even been experimenting with his invention to make it more efficient, i.e. less likely to overload the patient's heart and what not. There was a good chance that Technician could come out of this with her original heart in tact.

At last, the time came for her to be put under anesthesia, per her request. Katie kept her eyes away from the sight, but listened to Medic's voice as she slipped into unconsciousness. "You'll be awake and feeling good as new in no time, my dear. Don't worry..." he told her calmly as he watched her drift off. Engineer and Sniper then left the room, and the procedure began.

Everything was running well. Throughout the procedure, Medic talked to his patient as if she was awake, from making light (one-sided) conversation to commenting on each step he was taking. (He said she had very healthy ribs, for instance.) At last, Technician's heart was successfully removed and resting in the doctor's delicate hold. He was being timely about each step so far, never stalling or rushing; but here was when he began to pause, staring at his love's heart while the medigun kept her on life support. The power he felt was indescribable, surmounted only by the honor of being granted the chance to literally hold Katie's very life in his hands. He, too, understood the significance of being allowed to perform this surgery on her, the amount of trust it showed she had in him. There was excitement from finally getting to operate, yes, but...it had yet to truly sink in until this moment.

As he cradled the tiny, life-giving muscle, a euphoria began to overtake him. This was more than just the thrill of practicing medicine; this was finally realizing the meaning of his beloved not only allowing, but asking without prompt, to partake in her greatest fear. The love she had for him was stronger than her fear and doubt, for she realized that he would never hurt her. And for all the love he felt for her, and how much closer he would feel to her if given the chance to do this, hearing her finally approve was his strongest wish. Ludwig was already sure he had found The One, but now - oh, now he was 100% positive and then some. His breathing cut short a couple times as his eyes began to well up. But, instead of crying, he began to laugh - slowly, quietly, then rising in strength with his elation. It was a laugh of pure joy, unlike anything else ever heard in the operating room.

~~~

Awaking from the anesthesia was a slightly difficult task, only due to Technician's penchant for prolonging sleep. With the pain medication still in her system, she had almost forgotten for a moment that she had underwent surgery. But a growing echo of voices helped pull her out of her induced slumber.

"I think she's comin' to, doc. Hey, Tech, can ya hear us?"

"Come on, mate..."

"Vake up, meine geliebte~. Zhe surgery is all over now."

The sing-song tones of Medic's call lured her out of her sleeping state, and cerulean eyes fluttered open to the sight of the doctor's beaming smile. To her left, Engineer and Sniper sat with their own happy expressions. Technician turned her gaze back to Medic, attempting to speak through her haze. "Did...everything..."

"Everything vent perfectly, darling, visout a hitch." Medic answered her, "I hadn't completed a procedure zhat smoothly in years, heh." In truth, there had been one or two slight deviations in the plan - minor errors that he was able to work around, and certainly not worth mentioning to the tomophobic programmer. That being said, it was still one of Medic's more successful operations. "How do you feel?"

She thought for a moment, hesitant to feel her heart in case she might feel the Über implant. "Strange...Tired... Chest feels tight. Is my heart okay?"

Engineer spoke up with more words of reassurance, "Heart's a-OK, Techie. Doc said it survived the whole thing, no transplants 'r anything like that."

"It vas remarkable to witness," Medic commented with glee, "For a heart of such small size, I vas expecting more resistance to zhe device. My upgrades must have made an even greater improvement zhan anticipated!"

The corners of her lips began to curl as she heard the great news. Above all, she was worried about her heart needing to be replaced with something bizarre for the device to work. But, the doctor fulfilled his promises and kept her heart intact...as did another force unbeknownst to her. Should someone tell her of it, she would show no surprise at the fact.

Facing Medic again, Technician inched her hand closer to him, a kind look in her sleepy eyes. "I knew you could do it... I was in good hands."

9 notes · View notes

moonstruckbucky · 5 years ago

Text

Come Over (6/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader. Neighbor AU.

Warnings for Chapter: ....Smut. There’s smut ahead. And this is fucking long. And I’m sorry?

Notes: It’s the penultimate chapter, guys! I can’t even believe it. I would really, really love some feedback on this one! Enjoy x

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Bucky is early the morning of Thanksgiving. The knock itself is quiet, as if he’s pulled his knuckles back too soon. Still it startles you, has your hand jumping and nearly impaling your eye with the mascara wand.

A hissed “dammit”, you set it down, double-check your eye that it hadn’t smeared, hurry to the door as that soft knock sounds again. All the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. Being his neighbor, you’ve seen him in various states of dress, but never like this.

Hunter green looks good on him, you decide. The satiny material looks about ready to give where it’s stretched across his broad chest. A flat plain of forestry you want to trace and memorize with hands and tongue. Dark charcoal dress pants wrap tightly around his thick thighs, and your mouth waters. Shiny black dress shoes cap off the outfit. Your neighbor is a tall drink of water and goddamn are you parched. Subconsciously you lick your lips.

His clearing throat jostles you, eyes snapping up to his. They’re glittering, those crystalline eyes of his that pull you in like a lighthouse beacon. The edge of his mouth is turned upward, a sure sign that you’ve been caught ogling him, too lost in the beauty of him to notice he’d done the same to you.

You cough lightly, poorly covering yourself. “You’re early. C’mon in. I’ll be done in twenty.”

His body brushes by yours as you step to the side, cocoons you in his warmth and a clean, fresh scent with a hint of spice. Eyes flutter closed, deep breath in and then out to compose yourself, give yourself the confidence to get through today without ending up a puddle on the floor. Bucky’s seated on the couch, flipping through a magazine with Tony Stark on the cover. It’s the newest issue—the first publication of the upcoming “super suit” demo and he flips right to it, already engrossed.

You duck past him back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. A few more touches to your makeup, a pair of black tights, black boots, and a light jacket, and you’re ready. Bucky turns his head when he hears your heels on the floor, eyes widening just a fraction, but you notice. You notice everything when it comes to him. He rises slowly, and it’s almost comical. Like that scene in a teen romance where the girl, in her beautiful prom dress, descends the stairs and her date is rendered speechless, jaw dropped, eyes full of adoration.

“You, uh.” Voice cracks, clears his throat, tries again. “You look really nice.”

Your smile is easy, gentle, a little bashful as your cheeks flush. “Thanks, Bucky. Shall we?”

His answering grin is just as bright, just as easy, as natural. He holds out his elbow. “We shall.”

The drive to your parents’ is spent chatting back and forth, mostly about the new projects you’re allowed to talk about. Bucky’s enthusiasm is addicting, makes it easy for you to just keep going. You almost feel badly about doing all of the talking, but the excitement on his face covers it up, and his responding questions are eager and hurried, like he can’t get them out fast enough. Conversation with Bucky is easy. He makes it easy.

You’ll come to realize later that Sharon is far from both of your minds. So far, nothing could sour this day.

Clint and your family are extremely welcoming when the two of you arrive. Clint takes your coat and purse, claps Bucky on the back and leaves you to do the introductions. Your mother raises an eyebrow, aims it at the two of you and inquires how long Bucky’s been seeing her daughter. Matching blushes creep up your necks and without thinking, you take a step sideways, put space between you because you hadn’t realized just how close you’d been standing to him.

“Mom, we’re—we’re not dating. He, uh, he has—”

“I’m her neighbor,” Bucky interjects with a charming smile. The look on your mother’s face clearly says yeah, right, but she moves the conversation along, asks Bucky about his work and gets lost in his stories about the tattoo shop.

Clint comes up behind you, where you’ve moved to the small bar in the kitchen and have poured yourself a hefty glass of wine. Judging by the sly, fleeting looks your mother sends you, you’re going to need it.

“Mom seems to be digging in the claws,” Clint murmurs, pulling from his beer. You hum around your wine glass. “She doesn’t buy the neighbor bit, does she?”

“How could you tell?” you deadpan. Despite your concern your mother will spill something she’s not meant to, you’re relieved Bucky seems to fit in with your family.

Your parents have hogged him mostly, though Clint’s stepped in here and there to help him along, but his eyes are never far from you. Every few minutes they’ll find you, sparkle under the dim kitchen lighting, before he looks away again to give your family his full attention again. Once or twice, he sends a wink that warms your body more than your wine does. Oh boy, are you in trouble.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), Sam arrives not too long after to break up the growing tension between Bucky and you. He greets Bucky excitedly, hugs him like he would a brother, offers him another beer from the fridge that Bucky accepts. The grin on Bucky’s face, the rumbling echo of his laughter, the lightness in his features all do horrible, horrible things to your belly and your heart, and you have to duck out of the room and find Laura, distract yourself, before you do something stupid.

She must see it on your face when you drop beside her on the couch in the living room. Cheeks rosy red, and not just from the wine, pupils dilated just a bit with a few tiny beads of sweat at your hairline. Laura and Clint had been together off and on since high school, until your brother manned up and proposed to her while out on their anniversary date. He’d taken her on a whale watch in Nantucket, something she’d always wanted to do. She said yes through a bout of sea sickness.

“You’ve got it bad,” she tsks, the ring on her left finger sparkling and tinkling against her wine glass. You groan.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Why’s he with that she-witch again?”

You hurry to shush her, glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re not heard. “Jesus, Laura. I don’t know why, okay? From what he’s told me they don’t even click anymore. Except...in the bedroom, which I can hear usually.”

Laura’s frown is sympathetic, both for your ears and for your heart. It doesn’t really make you feel any better, and despite how close the two of you have grown since you moved in, you still haven’t quite found it within you to tell him to break it off. Sharon’s already wary of you, though whether that’s from her rising insecurity or because you’re not hiding your feelings as well as you think you are, you’re unsure. The last thing you want is to stick your nose where it’s not wanted.

You and Laura go back and forth, straying from the taboo topic of Bucky’s relationship, until the men enter the living room. Bucky grasps a fresh glass of wine for you. You can feel Laura’s smirk from where you sit, hide your blush behind a long pull of the bitter red. Bucky sits beside you on the couch, close enough his thigh touches your knee where your leg is tucked up under you.

“Thank you,” you murmur once you’ve drained half the glass, tongue swiping over your top lip for the excess. You miss the slight dilation of his pupils, the way his chest rises with a deep inhale.

“Sure, doll.”

Your insides twist at the nickname and on the other sofa Laura smirks. Subtly, you flip her the bird and she snickers into her glass of water. Conversation buzzes between all of you, and you have to really focus on it instead of how warm Bucky is beside you. Maybe you should lay off the wine.

When your mother calls that dinner is ready, you’re the first one out of your seat. Clint makes a comment with a knowing grin.

“I’m hungry, dammit,” you snark back with a smirk. The others laugh a little, and you all find your seats.

Bucky pulls yours out for you before he takes his, a charming little side grin that sets your stomach to fluttering. You’re not sure if it’s just because the holiday has him in a good mood or if he’s purposely laying on the charm. Probably a bit of both.

He captures your attention over dinner, holds it as he converses with your family. You know your ‘heart eyes’ as Wanda would call them are on full fucking display, but it’s getting harder and harder to hide how you feel. Especially when he makes a dad joke that has your father howling with laughter. Sam nearly chokes on his beer. He clearly adores them, and it appears the sentiment is mutual.

And while your stomach feels like it’s flying, your heart suddenly takes a nosedive. The realization that he won’t be yours is heavy in your gut, icy tendrils slithering up to your throat to choke you. Pressure behind your eyes, a rising need to get away for a minute. It’s too much, knowing he isn’t yours when he damn well should be.

The chair scraping across the floor cuts through the conversation, halts it as everyone watches you in confusion. Your eyes are shiny, blurring all of their faces, so you keep your head down with a muttered “excuse me”.

A sharp, deep breath that’s almost painful once you’re locked away in the upstairs bathroom. Where you know no one will hear you as you let out a sob into your arm. For a little while it’s a gross mess of snot and tears and smudged makeup you wipe away with a tissue, only to have another black rivulet sliding down your face. The pent-up longing, confusion, and outright love comes pouring out, unable to be held back.

Nose stuffy, eyes crimson, you know you’re a mess and you’re going to have a hard time explaining it away. A rap of knuckles on the door, momentary fear that it’s Bucky coming to check on you, a rapid search for an excuse. More tissues swiped under your eyes and your best attempt at composure.

You open the door just a crack, surprised and relieved to see Sam instead of Bucky. His smile is sad, understanding, as if he knows exactly what’s in your head. You swing the door open a little wider, enough that he can get his body through to tug you into his chest. Large hands sliding up and down your back as you fight back another round of waterworks.

“This sucks, Sam,” you whisper. Eyes drift closed, squeeze, when he kisses your forehead and shushes you.

“I know, honey. You need to tell him, or don’t. Start dating, help yourself move on. Do something because I hate seeing you in pain.”

“I can’t tell him, Sam,” you murmur, stepping out of his space. You wipe your nose with your soggy tissue. “How could I put him in that position? I guess...maybe I’ll see if Wanda knows anybody…”

Sam smiles gently, tucks your chin with two fingers and nods his head towards the stairs. “C’mon. Let’s get through dinner and dessert.”

You’re nearly ready to cry again when Bucky lays worried eyes on you. You manage to choke it down, wave him off as you retake your seat. He tries to catch your eye but you avoid it, pointedly look to your other side. Your mom rests her hand on yours, a silent question. You smile faintly and nod, give the others a nod as well, and dinner resumes. It’s a little less light, less jovial, but soon Sam has everyone chortling again.

Your mood slightly improves once dinner is over and dessert begins. You’re laughing with Laura and Sam, Clint rolling his eyes because he’s the butt of the joke. Bucky’s a little quieter now, still perturbed from your earlier breakdown. You dread the car ride home, knowing he’ll ask you what it was about.

You gorge yourself on pie—apple and pumpkin because your mom is an exceptional baker. By the time the dishes are cleared from the table, you feel like you’ll have to be rolled out of the house. But then you remember who you’re riding home with and immediately volunteer to do the dishes for your parents if only to push that off a little longer.

Laura, bless her soul, doesn’t ask you about it. Instead, she asks you to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. Immediately you say yes, and the following conversation is a pleasant distraction from your earlier embarrassing episode. But there are only so many dishes and eventually, your time runs out.

Bucky and you bid goodbye to your family, your parents hoping they see Bucky again (thanks for that, Mom) and Clint promising to have a guys’ night soon. You barely feel his hand on your back as the two of you walk out to the car, breaths expelling in puffs in the cold November air. Immediately you crank the heat once the car is on, turning up the radio when a soft classic rock song comes on.

Bucky doesn’t ask you until you’re about halfway home. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

It’s slow, deliberate. The chance to spill your guts, risk everything. He’s giving you the choice and you almost want to take it.

Almost.

“I’m okay,” is your reply instead. I’m fine is too much of a giveaway that you’re not. He’s quiet in the other seat, jaw muscle jumping and eyes sweeping outside the front windshield, but he nods, lets you have this because you can’t. Can’t say it, can’t cross that line with no hope of stepping back over it.

In the hallway outside your apartments, he thanks you, kisses your cheek, and it feels an awful lot like goodbye.

Two weeks. Fourteen days, three hours, and thirty seven minutes have gone by since you’ve last seen Bucky. You’ve heard him, walking through his apartment, on the phone, his door opening and closing as he comes and goes.

But not once do you ever see him.

It’s obvious he’s avoiding you, and once the initial confusion and sadness fades, anger takes over. What right does he have to avoid you? You’ve done nothing wrong except maybe get your heart tangled up somewhere it shouldn’t have been, pined for someone who’s unavailable. But are those crimes really so heinous?

When the anger fades, resignation settles in. You’d been too obvious, it seems, especially near the end, so he’s backed off, given you room to sort your feelings and shove them away. But it’s easier said than done. In the time you’ve lived here, Bucky has somehow taken root inside your heart, spread himself out within it and dug his thorns in. With each beat of your heart, they pinch a little more, leave a sharp ache in their wake. He’s implanted in you, unable to be shaken, like a giant redwood towering above the others, shading and guarding. But at the same time, smothering.

Another week goes by. The demo goes well; no injuries, and aside from a minor short-circuit, it’s a success. Investors scramble for possession of the super suit. It keeps you occupied, your mind off your suddenly-absent neighbor when before he only seemed to be ever-present. Always popping out of his apartment as you were leaving or arriving. At the mailbox when you came home from work. His absence is, to your displeasure, heavily felt.

Until there’s a knock on your door one Friday evening. If a knock could be hesitant, this one surely is. It’s slow, a long beat between the first and the second. Like the knocker almost wanted to turn tail after the first but changed his or her mind.

He stands before you, arms crossed, hands tucked under them, shoulders hunched and head ducked. Looking every bit a kicked puppy. At first, you’re ready to chew him out, let him have it for ignoring you when you’re not the one at fault.

But a sniffle from the hulking man before you makes you freeze.

“Buck?” you question on a whimper. He looks up, lifts his chin away from his chest, and your heart stutters, stalls completely at the tears running down his face. “Bucky, god, what happened? Come in.”

His arm is hot where you grab onto him, tug him into your apartment. His feet are bare, as if he hadn’t had time or care to find socks, much less shoes. You know you should be angry with him, are such underneath, but it’s easy to brush it aside when he’s so obviously hurting.

He takes up half your couch when you sit him down, offer him tea to which he barely nods. It only takes a few minutes, but Bucky’s damn near sobbing again when you return with the hot mug. It burns a ring into your coffee table but it’s ignored in favor of wrapping Bucky in the blanket you keep on the back of the couch for lazy movie nights in.

He tugs it up to his nose, calms himself by taking a few deep breaths. Those oceanic eyes glimmering again with tears and it breaks your heart all over again. You’ve never seen a man look so broken, so lost.

“Bucky?” you ask, lay a hand on the blanket over his knee. His eyelids flutter as he looks over at you, eyes clearing just a bit in realization, and he seems to recoil in embarrassment. It’s visible, the wall he tries to throw up but you grasp at his hand when he reaches to rub at his face. “Bucky, what happened?”

He sniffs hard, coughs a bit to clear his throat, and mumbles, “I don’t know why I came here.”

It stings, but he continues, “You’re mad at me. You should be.”

Fingers lace between his tattooed ones, squeeze reassuringly. “Bucky, the only thing I am right now is concerned. What happened?”

“Sharon came home, uh, yesterday. We’ve been fighting more.” You don’t say anything; you’ve heard him through the walls enough recently. “She came home, apologized, we made up. She went in to take a shower this morning, left her phone on the nightstand. You know, I never realized she locks her phone now. Never even crossed my mind. Has a password and everything. Well, it, uh, it went off, and I looked at it. The preview anyways. It was a photo, from what I could see from some guy named Rob.”

You feel like your heart plummets into your stomach. You don’t need him to finish before you’re wrapping yourself around him as he begins to cry again. Your own eyes burn with suffering, with the obvious heartbreak in his voice, in his eyes.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” you whisper. His hair is silk as your fingers card through it, nails scraping gently along his scalp, the back of his neck.

His face is tucked into your neck, breath hot against the skin there, and you have to push aside the realization that it brings goosebumps to your arms. His massive arms wind around you, tug you closer as he lets out all of his anguish. Months of arguing, of insecurity, of pointless arguments have all come to fruition, come to a sharp, jagged head that you swear you can feel yourself. It’s all laid out for you to feast your eyes upon.

His kiss is unexpected, makes your eyes fly open and hands to tightly grasp his wrists where his cup your face. It tastes of his tears, salty-sweet, and while your heart soars and tries to relish it, your brain jumps in.

“Bucky.” It’s weak on your tongue, but you tighten your grip on his wrists and attempt to pull back.

“Please,” is his sobbing beg, cheeks shiny with new tears, “please, I need…”

To feel something, are the unspoken words, something besides this heartbreak.

You give in. You let him pull your mouth back to his, let him part your lips with his tongue. It’s heaven, kissing him, and it’s so overdue. So goddamn overdue. You whimper against his mouth, against the wet curl of his tongue, and you can feel when it shifts. The atmosphere, the kiss itself. It becomes less about curing his heartbreak and more about his desire for you.

He lifts you from the couch, whines when you wrap your legs around his waist and grind against him. Hands fisting in his hair to wrench his head back and latch your lips onto his neck. It’s exhilarating, having this mountain of a man at your control. He finds his way to your bedroom, grunts an apology when he knocks your bottom against the door frame.

You sigh when he sits at the edge of your bed, his large hands cupping your ass and pulling you into him, into the hard length of him tenting his sweatpants. It’s too much and not enough all at once, feeling the firm planes of him under you. Shuddering when he slides his hands under your shirt, you let him strip you of it. You’re braless, your bare breasts on full display for him and the heat of his gaze raises goosebumps on your arms.

Part of you wants to cover up, but the sheer awe and adoration on his face makes you bold. You scramble off his lap, stand before him and tuck your fingers into the waistband of your own sweats. They pool at your feet, and you’re naked for him. His gaze alone takes you apart, like fire as it rakes over your form.

His broad chest heaves as he lifts a hand to reach for you, but you dodge it, sink gracefully to your knees instead. Bucky’s eyes go wide and his cheeks fill with pink. Jaw muscles jump with the need to tell you, you don’t have to.

But you’ve been waiting to have Bucky, all of him, and you’d rather die than wait any longer.

He offers no resistance when you tug on his pant legs and raises his hips. They’re tossed elsewhere, and you smirk when you see he too is bare underneath. With one hand he reaches behind his head and tugs his shirt off, and dear God, you nearly want to faint.

Every inch of him is sculpted muscle, adorned beautifully with tattoos in both black and grey and in vivid color. He’s magnificent, and right now, he’s yours. The moan that pulls from his throat when you wrap your hand around him is music to your ears, a beautiful sound that sends wet heat straight to your core. You feel it between your thighs as you kneel, brace yourself on his thigh, nails scraping gently across the sensitive skin and the coarse hair there.

A small taste, a flick of your tongue along the underside of him. A strangled hiss from the man above you, who leans back on one hand, cards the other into your hair. You mouth at his length, velvet-covered hot steel, beautiful to match the rest of him. Tease him to madness with your tongue and hand. A curl of the hot muscle around his glistening tip and he tenses, falls back against the mattress.

“Fuck,” he nearly shouts as you take him in your mouth finally. Warm, wet, and soft as you sink down on him inch by agonizing inch. He peers down, almost comes on the spot when you gaze back at him, pretty pink lips stretched wide around the girth of him. He has to close his eyes as he groans, fingers clenching in your hair.

It’s torturous, the pace you set. A warm glide up and down his shaft, your free hand teasing his balls, heavy and soft in your hands. It’s maddening for you, the sounds you pull out of him cause your thighs to clench. He twitches in your mouth, heady and tangy and something you decide is just him, and you pull away. His chest deflates as he exhales, a near whine in the back of his throat.

But then you’re straddling him, leaning over to kiss him deeply. Bucky’s inked arms snake around you, his stomach muscles shifting and clenching as he sits up, rolls the two of you over. He’s solid and heavy above you, wet from you where he pokes your inner thigh. He smiles against your mouth as you gasp at the intrusion of his fingers at your core. Slides them up and down and then finally, inside, and as he moves them, a twitch of your hips. It’s a beautiful fullness, but it isn’t enough.

“Bucky,” you moan, lay your head back and let him ravage your throat, your bare breasts. His tongue swirls a nipple, blunt teeth tug at the bud until it's pert and erect. You need him. Like air in your lungs you need him. You tell him as much.

He resettles over you, withdrawing his fingers, ruts his length against you before taking himself in hand. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he presses in. A gasp that’s swallowed by his mouth, an echoing groan as your walls stretch to accommodate him. You’re so tight around him, he thinks he might burst.

“G-God,” he sighs, forehead pressed to yours. He bottoms out, waits, meets your eyes when they flutter open. He’s so beautiful above you, dark hair in his face, nothing but pure want and love in his eyes. You see it, know he sees it mirrored on your own face. No more hiding.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he admits as his hips pull back. You shudder at the drag of his cock. He’s nearly completely gone from you and he halts there, just the smooth tip of him inside. He slams forward, punches a cry from your throat. “So long.”

A steady pace, slow but god, is it deep. Plants his knees wide and opens your legs wide. You’re so full, it’s so much, but you beg him for more.

“Oh - Bucky, please.”

He braces his hand beside your head, the other pushing your hair out of your face as he leans on the elbow. Hands on his sides, his back, his ass, anywhere you can reach for more. Buck your hips to meet him, send him deeper. He grits his teeth when you toss your head back and moan, loud enough he’d be able to hear it next door.

“James.”

It sets something off in him, something primal. And in the back of his head he remembers how Sharon always called him James, but it has nowhere near the same effect as you calling him that. It’s heaven on your tongue and he kisses you deep, tongue and clashing teeth and he pulls your hand from his back. Laces your fingers together and presses them deep into the mattress. This is what it feels like, he knows now. Knows he’ll be ruined for anyone but you.

You’re seared on his heart, burn him from the inside out, and god, he needs you to come because he can’t hold back.

“Fuck, gotta come for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your ear, breathing harshly into the shell of it. “Shit, ‘m so close.”

“Fill me, James, oh, I need it.” Your needy whines echo in the room, the burning in your belly about ready to erupt. He growls low, thrusts his hips even harder and faster against you until you cry out, see stars bursting behind your eyelids, and you clamp down him so tightly he comes, too.

His thrusts are languid now as he fucks you both through your climaxes. His arm trembles where he still grips your hand, and he slides off you to the side, tugs you with him while he’s still buried within you. He kisses your forehead, slick with sweat, and can feel your eyelashes against his throat.

When your heartbeats slow, the sweat dries on your skin, you feel the weight of what’s just happened. It sinks like a lead weight in your heart, and you feel your throat closing up, eyes burning with your shame. Bucky shifts, feels the wobble in your chin, but you pull away from him to sit at the edge of the bed.

He’s alarmed when he hears you sniffling, a hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs. He panics internally, the hurt slicing through him like a blazing knife. But he reaches out to touch you, flinches back when you shove off the bed. You begin to gather your clothes, meet his glistening eyes with tears of your own.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you sob before whirling on your feet to shut yourself in the bathroom.

Bucky’s chest rattles, teeth gritting together as he bites back the emotion welling up. You’re sorry? For goddamn what?

He leaves your apartment in a noxious mix of anger, hurt, and confusion.

End

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #neighbor au #bucky barnes neighbor au #neighbor!bucky #neighbor!au #marvel fanfiction

899 notes · View notes

savageannah666 · 4 years ago

Text

Umbrella Academy 🌂 One shot

Prompt: shooting at comic con (NO SMUT)

Umbrella Academy cast x Reader

I walked up to the large arena, up to the security lanes outside the Comic Con. I placed my backpack on the conveyer belt and took my concealed carry glock off my hip. This alerted the cop, who I assured by showing him my concealed carry license and supplemental paperwork allowing me to carry into the arena.

While I was not working as security for the venue, I got a tipper from my friend who found a post on Twitter about someone wanting to shoot up the arena during Comic Con. I alerted the police, who brushed me off and insisted that the facility was so secure that nobody can get past security.

I also alerted the venue security chief, who brushed me off as well; but once I told him of my concealed carry, he hesitantly allowed me to carry.

I entered the large venue, seeing thousands of people dressed in costumes from movies, shows, and anime. I wanted to see the Umbrella Academy panel that was starting soon, and wandered the halls until I found the conference room.

I sat in a hard plastic seat in the conference room, hundreds of fans of various ages filing in and seating themselves. Soon enough, a microphone was set up in the middle of the aisle for fans to ask questions.

I was still a bit paranoid about the tipper of the possible shooter, so I made sure I was close enough to the stage in case I needed to get to higher ground to shoot back.

I placed my backpack on the floor between my feet and opened it, making sure I had everything. I prepared for the worst, bringing first aid supplies, water, and snacks; I also bought some souvenirs from the various vendors earlier that day.

The cast started to come up on the stage and the crowd exploded into cheers. Tom Hopper, who plays Luther, stepped up first and walked to the end of the table. He was followed by Ellen Page (Vanya), Emmy Raver-Lampman (Allison), Aidan Gallagher (Five), Robert Sheehan (Klaus) and David Castañeda (Diego). They took their seats and introduced themselves. The cast gave some announcements about the next season of the show, which caused the crowd to scream in excitement.

During the following Q&A session, I started to tune out some of the questions. They were some of the same basic questions celebrities probably hear all the time. If they were on a deserted island, what would they bring; any plans for the show in the future; favorite color or animal or something else; and the occasional marriage proposal, which are never not embarrassing.

A woman in her early 30s stepped up to the microphone to ask a question, and I tuned her out. Instead, I heard a woman in the hallway on the other side of large wooden doors shout at someone approaching the door. I heard a gunshot on the other side of the door, startling the crowd. The door was kicked open and three men in black clothing entered, guns shooting into the crowd.

The crowd began to scream and panic, and I crouched between rows of chairs. The cast flipped their table and it acted as a shield while the men shot around the room. I saw one of the men shoot at the table on the stage, and from where I was hiding, I saw David get on his stomach from behind the table and I assumed the rest of the cast did the same.

Adrenaline shot through me and I ran to the table on the stage. I hid with the cast, who seemed terrified and bewildered as to why I was there. I saw Aidan got shot in the bicep from the bullet through the table. He was laying with his head on Ellen's leg as Robert was wrapping his shirt around Aidan's arm to stop the bleeding.

Rage entered my bloodstream. Who the fuck enters a Comic Con to shoot people? Who in their right fucking mind commits mass shootings anyways?

My hand flew to my concealed glock and I immediately rose to my knees behind the table shield and began shooting. I was wearing a bulletproof plate under my shirt and positioned myself to shield Aidan and Ellen while shooting at the attackers.

The gunmen were taken aback by someone else in the room having a gun and began to scramble. One by one I started picking them off, shooting each gunman multiple times. I killed two of them for aiming their gun at me, the third one surrendering after I shot him in his knee and shoulder, incapacitating him.

By the time the police arrived, twenty-three victims were killed, thirty were wounded and two gunmen were lying in their own blood, guns limply hanging from their fingers. The third gunman was writhing on the floor in pain and security had confiscated his gun. The police took him away while I sat behind the table again.

I opened my backpack and pulled out a first aid kit. Robert removed the shirt, now soaked with blood, as I cut Aidan's shirt sleeve open to reveal the wound. I didn't want to remove the bullet yet and make the wound worse, so I used antiseptic around the wound and gently gauzed and wrapped his arm.

Paramedics entered the room to tend to the wounded. Two paramedics with a stretcher came and took Aidan away, David going with him. Because the bullet wasn't in a fatal location, the paramedic told us he should be fine after surgery to remove the bullet.

I was putting my first aid kit back into my backpack when Ellen came over. "Holy fucking shit, what just happened?" she exclaimed.

"I don't know. I'm just glad none of you were killed." I replied.

"Did you know this was going to happen?" Tom asked. I nodded sadly.

"The police didn't believe me when I warned them."

"How did you know?"

"Twitter." I shrugged. "You'll be surprised what people post on there."

Emmy came over and hugged me, thanking me for saving them. The remaining cast members followed, each giving me a hug and a similar message. I was invited to go to the hospital with them to meet with Aidan after surgery, which I gladly accepted.

Later that night, Aidan came out of surgery and was in a hospital bed. The doctor wanted to monitor his blood pressure for the night because the bullet was so close to the artery in his upper arm.

We came into his room while he was still sedated, his breathing appearing calm and even. He woke shortly after, seeming drowsy still. His arm was in a cast and he moved it around a little to test his mobility. He winced from the pain and rested his arm back on the bed.

He looked over at me as I stood by the bed. "You saved us," he smiled his childish grin. "I can't thank you enough. I'm assuming the others told you the same." His smile faltered. "But how did you know?"

"I have my ways," I gently laid my hand on his. Because he is younger than the rest of us, I felt particularly protective of him, but in a guardian angel-type way. "I couldn't have any of you guys killed. I did what I could to stop it." Robert walked over and rested his arm across my shoulders. I moved my hand from Aidan's and walked out of the room with Robert.

"I don't know how any of us could repay you," he said, his Irish accent wrapping around his words. He laced his fingers in mine and kissed my forehead gently, lingering for a second. "Keep in touch, okay?" His green eyes gleamed as he stared into mine. I nodded, a light blush burning my cheeks. He took my phone and put his number in it so we could text later.

We returned to the hospital room as the doctor was finishing Aidan's discharge paperwork. We left as a large group to the parking lot, where I split from the cast and went to my car.

I reached my car and before I got into the driver's seat, I felt a small frame hug me from behind. I turned around and was embraced in Aidan's hug. He mumbled a small thank you into my shoulder before pulling away. "Thank you for saving us. Seriously. If it weren't for you, I could have died." He scribbled his number onto a small paper he had in his pocket and placed it in my palm. "Keep in touch." He walked back to the group as I got into my car and drove home.

My heart felt content to not only have made new friends but also saved lives.

#umbrella academy one shots #number five #number seven #number two #number one #number four #number 6 #number 1 #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #aidansarmy #aidan gallagher #tom hopper #comic con #luther hargreeves #ben hargreeves #allison hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #five hargreeves

33 notes · View notes

kenkamishiro · 5 years ago

Text

zakki:re Q&A replies megathread

A translation megathread of the zakki:re Q&A contest letters Ishida sent back to winning contestants!

As far as I know there were 100 winners, though I only have around 40 in this post. There were more on Twitter, but some opted not to release them publicly on Twitter for personal reasons (such as if they asked personal questions). Some didn’t reveal their question, or all of Ishida’s replies, but I’ve tried my best to guess at their meaning if possible.

The ones I’ll post here are from Twitter, specifically if they came with pictures of Ishida’s art or handwritten replies. I’ll also mention some context if I felt that the conversation/topic between the OPs and Ishida was interesting.

If you see one that I missed, please let me know and I’ll update this post.

Enjoy!

-----

From songbirdfaraway (X):

No question or answer revealed. OP mentioned that since they drew Touka and Kaneki on the postcard they sent Ishida, that Ishida must have figured OP liked them and drew them in his reply.

From mochi_XIII13 (X):

A huge Juuzou fan. OP stated they asked something they’ve always wanted to know from the bottom of their heart for ages, and that they couldn’t stop crying when they got the answer from Ishida. (No question or answer revealed.)

From __rsks__ (X):

OP must have asked how Naki proposed to Miza, because:

Naki: (Oh yeah!) Dunno what kinda pose a “pro-pose-al” is, but I said we gotta be together ‘til we die!!

Miza: You didn’t need to mention that!

From choco__morinaga (X):

The answer was hidden because OP wasn’t sure whether Ishida minded if it was shared publicly since the info he gave in the answer wasn’t mentioned before. Ishida said it was okay to share, but I can’t seem to find OP tweeting anything about what the question and answer was.

Uta: It’s a secret. Just kidding.

From SatoshigeKiya (X):

OP mentioned they sent in a question that didn’t have anything to do with TG, and Ishida’s response:

Soba.

From 00ibushigin00 (X):

No question shown.

Ishida: Correct.

From tsukihoryst (X):

OP asked for Chie’s biography (one of two, actually!).

Hori Chie Birthday: September 30th 136 cm / 33 kg / 21.5 cm Currently on break from university. (Voluntarily on leave.) Hobbies: photography, travelling, going for walks, enjoying drama

Tsukiyama: Little mouse, what are you doing? Chie: I got asked a question.

From Hosaka_0405 (X):

Seems like it was a personal question, so I won’t translate.

From take2129 (X):

OP asked if Aunt Satou, Takizawa’s neighbour who was mentioned in his will, was killed by Ayato? But Ishida stated that it wasn’t Ayato who killed her, just some random ghoul.

From reirei_reina_ (X):

OP was so happy they got a nosebleed LOL. Not exactly sure what they asked.

Ishida: It’s great that I can know about the people who have been reading the series for a long time in this manner.

Touka: Thanks!

From cmnme17 (X):

OP’s question: Please give us more details about Hairu’s hairstyle!

Side: (fluffy bangs) Hairu: Hm...more details…?

Front: Long straight across.

Back: Looks like this from behind.

From go_t35 (X):

Seems like OP asked about the name of a fan club for Ishida based on another tweet of theirs (X)?

Ishida’s attempts: Ishida Club, The 9th Laboratory, Us [Oretachi], We [Wareware], umm? Muscle Lover’S [Kinniku Daisuki’S]. Please tell me of a good one you came up with.

(This is Tsukiyama-level naming lol)

OP later replies to Ishida, saying they were thinking of Sui Sui Club (“club” in kanji).

From 4njo_Usa (X):

OP’s question unknown.

Ishida: No matter how hard things get, don’t forget your goals.

From mishumi_jugem (X):

This OP also asked for Chie’s biography. Similar to the first one, except that she has blood type O.

Chie: Me? I guess I also like seeing drama.

From ChirolMaronLevi (X):

The question wasn’t sent by OP, but by his father. Both father and son are fans of TG (OP grew up reading Jump comics since the father reads them a lot), which amused Ishida greatly. OP is jealous, and his father is smug/happy about it lol (there’s a photo of him holding the zakki:re letter with a glove, with the letter itself wrapped in plastic, with a giant smile on his face).

Also a bit sadder to mention, but OP’s maternal uncle passed away from esophageal cancer. Hearing that his son (so OP’s cousin) has all the TG volumes, OP borrowed the letter from his dad to show to his cousin, which made the cousin happy.

Ishida: Isn't something like that decided at the very end? You're admirable. Please do your best to stay till the end.

From inou_uoni (X):

OP’s question: This is related to Tokyo Ghoul:re. Ihei Hairu has pink hair, but why did you make her hair colour stand out from everyone else’s?

Hairu: Cause I’m cute, of course?

From 3110_mai (X):

OP asked some question about Urie, and the reply:

Urie: Why indeed.

OP is really amused Urie doesn’t know the answer, and it might even be possible that even Ishida himself doesn’t know.

From GW3Q1od9vzXccOM (X):

Funny enough, the preview of the postcards Ishida tweeted shows more of this illustration. (I’m planning on also translating those postcards that weren’t posted by their owners at the end). But it seems OP was concerned about Ui’s smoking habits, because:

Ui: It’s fine, I’ve got strong lungs.

From paralysis_2626 (X):

Seems like OP asked where Furuta’s pseudonym “PG” when he was masquerading as Souta came from. This is what I could salvage based on OP’s multiple photos:

Furuta: Eh, what “PG” stands for? Huuh, is that what you’re asking…? What to do...hmm, alright, this is just between us, but the truth is...PG is [redacted by OP]. What!! Just kidding~ Actually, [mostly redacted, I can make out the parts where OP didn’t blur the text in another image, something about eating bulgogi]. Ahaha!

This is just my personal guess, so take it with a grain of salt. But:

Bulgogi = プルコギ = purukogi = PurukoGi = PG…

OP did mention they were going to get bulgogi after this, so chances of this being right are pretty high lol.

From ute9pmr1 (X):

I think OP asked about what animal Ishida would want to become to relax (for example, OP wants to become a sea creature became they’re drawn to the ocean).

Ishida: If I’m given time to relax someday...I’d keep working as a human. I don’t really want to become an animal…

Ishida later adds in a tweet it’s more fun being a human.

From hare__1127 (X):

OP got back a Houji from Ishida when they asked about hojicha (roasted green tea).

Above Houji’s head: It smells nice. Next to Houji: This is Houji-san.

From re_cord01 (X):

OP was debating whether they should keep it to themselves, but decided it’d be better for them to share so everyone can see (thank you OP, this is personally my favourite reply I’ve seen).

OP’s question: What is Kaneki-kun's life like now? (something small like a simple diary entry...)

Month X Day X

I wake up to the sounds of Touka-chan and Ichika's voices. For some reason, they're excited over some news on TV. I read through the documents related to Countermeasures [most likely something to do with the United Front] , and summarize my opinion on it until noon. Time for lunch. Since Touka-chan went out to the shop, I make lunch for Ichika using the rice I bought. "It tastes better than Mama's," she said, so I replied, "Keep that a secret from Mama." In the afternoon, I think I'll take a short walk with Ichika, and try visiting Anteiku with her.

From Nia__86 (X):

Question or answer unknown.

From OKASHI_monster (X):

Question unknown.

I wasn't prepared at all... If I think about this and that it makes me think, "Ah, I don't wanna do this," so there's times where it's easier not to think about it. It may have been better if I had a "there's all kinds of things huh..." kind of resolve.

From utahira_flour (X):

Question and the full answer unknown. (The postcard on the left is just OP’s message to Ishida about Uta and Hirako).

Uta: Try it out?

From gongon0514 (X):

OP’s question: What is the name of Hirako Take’s Shiba Inu?

Ishida: Kotarou.

From S8OkMMRsYsB7H8i (X):

OP’s fiancee got the reply from Ishida!

OP’s fiancee’s question: Why does Takizawa, when he became a ghoul, begin to hold his fingers in his mouth?

Ishida: Like infants, the reasons can include stress, and suppressing his appetite.

I actually can’t find the OP for some reason, so if anyone finds it, please let me know!

Based on Ishida’s preview of the postcards, it seems like OP asked how Hirako felt when he first got his dog.

Ishida: Something like this. Hirako: …(it’s a dog)

From tacto_0 (X):

Seems the question was personal, and I can only make out something about how once you’re satisfied it will end there.

The reason the mask is in the picture is because OP asked Ishida advice about making Kaneki’s mask a few years back.

From secret_fairys (X):

The first reply that Ishida worked on.

Ishida: I like guys that can win with a hard blow. The weapon is a two-handed sword. Dialogue bubble: I will cut you down.

From kuranosukezemi (X):

I can’t say what Ishida replied to OP since the revealed text doesn’t really say anything substantial, but seems like OP asked something related to the final chapter based on their tweet.

From @S_R_Snow (X):

OP must have asked what Touka named her keychain lol.

Touka: No...since I’m not the kind to name things… Yoriko: She called it Usakichi!

From @rio_080910 (X):

I have no clue what OP asked so the reply doesn’t really make sense. Basically if Ishida has tried doing something.

I never thought about it during serialization. But since it ended, I’m thinking it’d be good to try that kind of thing.

From @Utinni_jawamori (X):

OP seems to have asked a Star Wars-related question since Ishida drew Darth Maul.

Why of course...here. But I also like Count Dooku. Exar Kun symbol.

From @ume__oni (X):

Ishida’s reply was covered up by OP, but OP mentioned in their tweet how they named the onigiri Ishida drew “SSR onigiri”, and that they were thankful for receiving a reply despite their silly question.

Ishida replied to their tweet, and it seems like the question OP asked was about his favourite kind of rice or onigiri since Ishida mentioned something about koshihikari, a type of rice.

From bobriorio (X):

OP’s question: Is there a specific character’s expression that makes you go, “Drawing this face is fun, I love it!”?

Ishida: Something like this broken-looking face, for a lot of reasons…

From nato_noir (X):

OP didn’t mention what question they asked, but probably had something to do with the species of butterfly that appears throughout TG. They also mentioned they started reading TG in 1st grade of junior high, since Ishida addresses that in his reply.

From 1st grade of junior high! I'm happy to hear that. It may look like a "butterfly", but specifically it's a moth called a mock swallowtail butterfly moth. I drew it to symbolize the difference between humans and ghouls even though they look similar.

From Fyt120 (X):

Question is unknown.

Ishida/Matsuri: Even if it cannot be reached, it will be in your thoughts for eternity.

(Why do I get the feeling he’s talking about Urie lol)

From pencil_15 (X):

OP asked about Tatara’s biography.

Now published...!

Tatara (Zhū Lú) [朱鑪, 朱 means 'red' and 鑪 is fireplace, the kanji for Tatara] 186 cm / 96 kg Blood type A Hobbies: Go (taught by his older brother), reading (Takatsuki Sen)

From hachiyone_arai (X):

If you can't stop thinking about the person even though you know it will never happen, that is love. ...according to Matsuri. (I love Urie too.) Urie: No.

From nanasiFAST (X):

Miza: Hm...me? I don’t really rank the things I love.

From Ishida’s preview (X):

Top right - Saiko: Kah!

Bottom right - Maid.

Top left - Nakarai: Recently, Japanese waxwings, I think. (has a rock look to it)

Bottom left - Ichika comic: (you can read here)

I’ll just summarize what I can figure out here since so much of it is concealed.

Higemaru - I think OP asked about how Higemaru ended up working for the CCG because it talks about his history at the Academy and the Qs. Also that Hige really looks up to Urie and wants to keep working with him.

Akira - I think OP asked for advice on dealing with the difficulties with their transfer family, because Ishida suggests using phrases such as, “I see...” or “That’s why~!”. (The alternative is Akira giving Inoue-san (from the transfer family) a Mado Punch lol)

Uta - A personal question, in which Ishida mentioned something about how if OP realized they messed up, and doing what OP needs to do.

Letter below Ui’s - Hide in :re volume 14, huh~ Kaneki also lost his way in OG volume 7 and :re volume 16. [Something about other guys like Naki, and something about how deciding the most important thing is difficult]

-----

The end! If there’s any other replies from Ishida that you didn’t see here, please let me know!

#Tokyo Ghoul #Ishida Sui #zakki:re #Ishida Q&A #Translations #my translations #if you manage to get to the end #congrats :'D

398 notes · View notes

manekinoodle · 4 years ago

Text

The Worst (TM) Pathologic Ship

A preamble is probably necessary here. This is written in good fun and is not meant to offend. Imagine me cackling obnoxiously while you’re reading. It’ll set the right mood.

TLDR: Andrey/Mark conceivably works as a ship.

How was this idea even born?

Y’know when you say something funny and then a friend says something funny and it keeps building up? That’s what happened. If you remember my little comic about Andrey teaching Grace to shoot, the dummy was in Mark Immortell’s likeness. The following conversation happened with regards to that:

>Peter was just trying to save Andrey from getting even more on Mark’s shitlist

>mark “oh please, if you want to use my likeness for target practice, just hit me up”

>Sounds like a date

>i mean you can’t shoot mark right

>OH NO

>Andrey/mark

At this point the gears started turning. My first thoughts were “haha cursed” as they are about a lot of things, and then I decided to hit up Wattpad for some terrible x reader fanfiction to help me write a Mark Immortell x reader fic. I didn’t hit up Wattpad because I’m currently at home with my parents who dictate me a nice early bedtime. I slept on it for a bit.

The next morning, I screamed (internally) because somehow the Mark x reader idea I had slept on became a strong urge to write/draw Mark/Andrey. Ironically, of course. That’s my brand. Heh.

I chewed on the idea until it wasn’t so ironic anymore.

Actual stuff under the cut.

Ok, but why?

Look, this isn’t gonna be full of evidence or whatever since these two don’t interact, but this is a joke post anyway, so why do you care? I’m half-kidding, please keep reading. I used the wiki as a loose reference.

An important note is that I’m mostly taking my points from Pathologic 2 characterisations here, especially with regards to meta.

The Players

Let’s take a look at each character separately first. I’ll bring up important canon personality traits and personal interpretations which will play into the relationship dynamic.

Mark Immortell

The most relevant part of Mark’s character for this is his relationship with control. His relationship with it is straightforward in both the play and the meta. After all, he is one of the few impervious to the plague in the story and as the showrunner in meta. In between games, he wrests control of the metanarrative too, so there’s another point for him. I like how he seems to enjoy exercising his power too! He’s a Utopian through and through; he breaks the limits of the play and exercises control beyond what he should be able to as a showrunner in the game. In short, nothing gets on top of Mark Immortell. Figuratively. I think his back might say otherwise.

Andrey Stamatin

I have a lot more to say about Andrey! We’ll start with what lies on the surface, though we’ll get to the good stuff later. Andrey is the red oni to Peter’s blue; he’s the more outwardly aggressive and impulsive of the twins. In canon, Andrey’s character is about breaking the limits set in front of him. We see him do this quite effectively with the construction of the Polyhedron, but what happens when there’s a limit that can’t be broken placed in front of him? We never see this in either game. While both twins drown themselves in something or other that stops them reaching their full creative potential (at least when we see them), no limits are placed in a way where they’re seen actively having to tackle them.

We can get an idea of how an unbreakable limit might present itself to Andrey by taking a look at his relationship with Peter. There’s a lot that can be said, but I will focus on the aspect of control. Andrey fashions himself as Peter’s caretaker, taking control of the latter in a sense. This isn’t a bad thing, considering Peter can barely look after himself properly. On the other hand, Andrey allows himself to be dragged around by Peter’s creative visions. He’s the driving force that brings those ideas to life, sure, but ultimately his strings are being pulled by someone else. From this I think that Andrey is receptive to being controlled in a relationship. Being presented with an unbreakable limit can conceivably end up with him being pliant.

Let me make a slight detour by giving you a couple of personal thoughts on Andrey. Feel free to disagree on this since it’s all interpretation based on gut feeling. A good first impression to Andrey Stamatin would be having your figurative fangs out. A seemingly pure existence without hidden fangs is something that cannot exist to him (an exception can be made for Eva, since she’s so out there that it’s 100% not an act). I don’t believe he places sole value on honesty, per se (think Grief and how soft he actually is), but it plays a large part in his perception of someone. Basically, put your worst foot forward. Andrey is down for that.

How would this work, exactly?

On one hand, we have the meta-dealing Chris McLean himself, and on the other, Mr Andrey “I break all the rules” Stamatin. Let’s try and tell a short story, and I’ll bring up the points I made above when appropriate.

SCENE 1

Every romance must start with a meet cute. Refer to the comic I mentioned at the beginning. PETER has tackled ANDREY to the ground. GRACE is holding a fake gun. There is a training dummy with the likeness of MARK IMMORTELL.

Enter MARK. He calmly walks past the scene and examines the dummy. Impressed, he turns to ANDREY, who has since stood up.

MARK IMMORTELL: Quite an impressive dummy you’ve made, Andrey.

MARK snickers. The focus is on ANDREY and MARK as PETER and GRACE slowly back away. They expect a fight. Just let them leave, they don’t do anything. PETER and GRACE decide to get some ice-cream off-stage, or maybe paint at home. Anywhere that isn’t here.

MARK IMMORTELL: If you really wanted to use my likeness as target practice, you could have hit me up.

This was his attempt to provoke. I read this as Mark acknowledging his invulnerability, but this could also be read as an amorous proposal. ANDREY takes the bait and tries to intimidate this tiny little theatre man. He makes to kick MARK in the shin, but Mark’s valise finds itself under his chin before he can do so. ANDREY stalls. MARK looks satisfied with his reaction. He won’t be satisfied for long.

MARK IMMORTELL: I hope you don’t mind me taking this. I’ll use it in my next show. Do come to see it, won’t you, Andrey?

He leans in towards the other. ANDREY tries to verbally protest, but he finds he cannot speak.

MARK IMMORTELL: It would be quite a shame if you didn’t.

MARK calls a tragedian to pick the dummy up. As quickly as he entered the stage, he leaves with the tragedian. ANDREY’s gaze follows him, confused. Fade to black.

SCENE 2

The Theatre at night. Enter ANDREY, somewhat nervous. Well, he is nervous but doesn’t act like it. He’s hoping nobody asks him what he’s doing here. BACHELOR and HARUSPEX are chatting in a corner, noticing but not acknowledging Andrey’s presence. CHANGELING is on the second floor, looking down at the scene. ANDREY doesn’t notice her. She snickers into the camera.

Lights are cast on the stage and a pantomime plays out, featuring Andrey’s dummy. ANDREY watches, spellbound. I don’t have an idea of what the pantomime would be, so use your own imagination. After the show ends, only ANDREY is left in the Theatre. The three healers have left in the meantime. They knew what was going to happen. ANDREY, as if possessed, approaches the stage. MARK enters the stage from stage left and they stop in front of each other. MARK looks down at ANDREY almost derisively, but to his surprise, ANDREY just stares back. Beat.

MARK IMMORTELL: I didn’t expect to see you here today, little shark pup.

Pet name? It’s Mark being a meanie! Andrey is eating this up, however, because overt control is something he can accept. Mark just established dominance over him in Scene 1 and he’s okay with not fighting back… If this was longer, I would have had him try to push a bit more, but we don’t got time for that. Back to the actual play.

ANDREY tries to say something, but it comes out as an unintelligible mumble. MARK lifts his chin up with the end of his valise so ANDREY is properly looking at him.

MARK IMMORTELL: Did you say something?

ANDREY expects to be unable to speak again. He hesitantly opens his mouth.

ANDREY: (his voice cracks slightly) You… asked me to come, didn’t you?

MARK is taken aback (not visibly) by this honest admission. He (and probably you) expected Andrey to put up a small fight at least. However, this little puppet does not mind his strings being pulled. Mark decides to try and push a little harder.

MARK teleports ANDREY up on stage. ANDREY stumbles a little, but Mark’s valise still being under his chin steadies him. MARK pulls the valise so Andrey’s face is quite close to his again. I don’t know what to do from here, so fade to black.

The way I imagined the dynamic going is Mark teasing Andrey and trying to provoke him. Andrey does get pissy sometimes, but it’s extremely cute and low stakes, like teasing a pet. Then, at some point Andrey doesn’t get provoked which would throw Mark off guard. It’s a moment where two characters are going at each other and suddenly stop, allowing the weight of the moment to sink in. It’s in almost every romance story, but I can’t exactly put a name to it. Have enough of that, and we’ve got a nice rom-com on our hands.

Of course, this is just a theory. A Game Theory…

#pathologic #andrey stamatin #mark immortell #shitpost #dear lord this is terrible #text post

12 notes · View notes

doroyamz · 4 years ago

Text

Love in Accra

The road looked like it was sweating.

Rain. Heavy rain. The rush hour traffic on the 37 Military Hospital Road had come to a standstill. The downpour, from nowhere, was a welcome distraction for Tony. Last night’s encounter with his wife, Alicia, still all too fresh in his mind.

Cars were barely moving along on in the ever-rising storm.

He felt a movement on his right thigh but was too preoccupied with his thoughts to give it any attention. Esi by this time was growing restless, tired of Tony’s now constant rebuffing of her advances. Last night, and for many nights in the past month, he was totally limp when she unzipped him, a far cry from the throbbing pistol that had thrilled her to no end when they first began their countless rendezvous.

In those early days, they were lust personified. Crazed and addicted to each other beyond reason. Their constant need to feel each other’s skin had a near cataclysmic pull on them and their respective worlds. Alicia got pregnant in those early days, an event Tony privately regarded as a spillover from being with his now long-standing mistress. Esi’s marriage was virtually in the gutter. She often showed up at home disheveled and night after night, retired to her marriage bed wearing a satisfying post-coital daze on her face. Her husband, would just watch her. Mute and completely emasculated.

But now her once insatiable incubus was limp to her touch. She could not understand it.

xxx

Alicia had found the video on his phone.

Tony’s entire world came to a screeching halt. His throat was so dry, he wasn’t sure if he had one anymore. He stood paralyzed; the phone screen thrust in his face. Cocked his head at an angle as if in disbelief at the two actors in the tiny screen.

The man in the screen was bald, tall and dark and looked very much like him. He stood at about 6”3 with an NBA player’s build and had the beard to match. The male actor was indubitably approaching climax and his voluptuous female understudy, on cue, fiercely gripped onto dear life – which in that moment, was her male lead.

The ochre-skinned woman in the screen was of the finest fettle. Folasade was a full-blooded Nigerian but her unapologetic curves screamed South Africa. She looked like a Marvel comic heroine brought to life.

Fola and Tony met at a seminar for West African business executives at the Kempinski Hotel, a few months after his wedding. Fola was leading a breakout panel session which Tony sat in on, intoxicated by her form and presence. The two had exchanged steamy glances all day long, making no attempt to restrain their mutual intentions for each other when the conference ended.

Tony could never get enough of Fola and in Tony, Fola had found a man who could satisfy her every whim. They could go for months on end without so much as a text message to each other. But whenever contact was made, their respective schedules were cleared until further notice. They were fully aware that their combined desire was a vast black hole with the potential to consume them, so they took conscious steps to maintain some modicum of balance in their meeting arrangements.

The night the fated video was shot, Fola was headed for a month-long business trip in Morocco. They had arranged to meet at her private office on Volta Street in the Airport Residential Area.

Fola’s suggestion to record themselves as a temporary parting memento was inexplicable to Tony. Her claim that it would be something that would hold her while she was away, seemed puzzling to him. Her feigned desperation, even more perplexing.

Tony was completely against the idea of recording their liaison. Remonstrating over and over again about how technology and affairs of love should never cross. Fola ogled him for a while, offered tiny chuckles as he groped her every now and then during his rant.

Tony became so engrossed in his personal deliberations that he missed her slip into the bathroom. When he finally took a moment to break from his monologue, he was out of breath and had worked up a sweat. The man felt he just needed to wash away all traces of that unholy proposal.

Once on the other side of the bathroom door, Tony became Pavlov’s Dog.

That was over a year ago and Fola still hadn’t returned from her trip.

His mind slowly drifted back to the screen. The soft moans and cries. The sound of skin on skin rhythmically playing from the Samsung phone speakers.

He didn’t feel shame. He didn’t feel regret. He heard Alicia’s cries, felt her pain slide across his skin. He just stood there. Numb.

xxx

“We have asked around about Tony…Alicia…for your sake, for your parents’ sake, for all our sakes…please…do not marry this man.”

One of the many admonitions Alicia fielded from her aunts and cousins after announcing Tony’s marriage proposal at her younger sister’s festive birthday party.

In the ensuing weeks after her announcement, the family matriarchs conducted an extensive background check to gather as much intel as they could on her suitor. From what Alicia’s mum told her the matriarchs searched far and wide, even unearthing some very unsavory stories about Tony’s maternal grandfather in Mampong, a township in the Ashanti region.

The women came back with a most damning report on Alicia’s debonair Asante. Alicia, however, was defiant and unmoved by their findings.

She stood up to address the mini-assembly.

“Each woman here knows how highly I value them. You have all shaped me, guided me and helped me become the woman I am today,” she said in a restrained voice.

“But with all respect, none of you know Tony like I do. You don’t know what I see in him, his potential. The depths of emotion I have felt in the time I’ve gotten to know him. None of you can know that. He’s not perfect, Lord I know he’s far from it, but I know he’s the one for me. Nothing you say or do can make me feel differently.”

She loved Tony deeply. She had never believed she was capable of loving a man, let alone marrying one, after all the damage she had seen men wreak in and around her life. And Tony had flaws, many serious ones, but he had a certain light to him and he had showed her honesty and a vulnerability she had never known men to possess.

Deep down, she believed she could change him, iron out his weaknesses and over time drive out his especially troubling womanizing habit. She knew he liked women and on countless occasions, with her own eyes, she noticed the magnetizing effect he had on them. Alicia also believed some of his troubles with women lay in the fact that he was a true empath. That he, unfortunately, had never learned to draw boundaries to his empathy which inadvertently led to his many ‘situationships.’

“I won’t lie Alicia. I know I have a woman problem. It’s like an addiction. The intimacy, the need to connect, the sex.” They were having lunch at the Hinlone Chinese Restaurant in Labone. The night before, as they lay in bed, Tony had told he loved her for the first time. Alicia simply smiled at his declaration, electing to play it cool although inwardly, she was beside herself with joy.

Flashes from the video.

The woman’s legs splayed. Tony’s thrusts. The glistening sheen of sweat.

“But I swear to you, most of my things with these women often start out because I pity them or I want to help them in some way…along the line, things just get muddled up and…I lose my way...”

The woman crying out in throes of pleasure.

Her mind was a broken dam. Thoughts, memories and conversations flooded her head and receded at their own leisure.

She wondered why these memories and conversations were coming up at this time. The video was still a freshly opened gash, one she had already accepted was going to be a large and permanent scar. But for the other flashbacks, she questioned their relevance to her current predicament.

He was always a monster. Why was I pretending all this time that he wasn’t? Who was I kidding?

The video was the bomb but Tony’s desensitized demeanor and harrowing forced confessions were the firestorm. She knew there was so much more he would have confessed to if she had had any more emotional stamina during her five-hour interrogation of the stranger she called her husband. She had been beyond foolish.

Time had lost its meaning. She had spent three days huddled in the corner of their bedroom tormented by her broken heart and mind.

Alicia just wanted to disappear.

xxx

One week and seventy-seven unanswered calls had passed since the explosive encounter. Tony wasn’t sure if Alicia was alive.

He was parked outside the Total House Clinic in Adabraka on a Saturday morning. Completely engrossed in his thoughts and yearning for divine intervention to offer him some guidance. Since his exposé, his mind had been in a fog that thickened with each passing day. The only silver lining were the test results from his urologist. Tony’s recent erectile issues were deemed a stress response and his dysfunction persisted due to a lack of proper rest. He needed to relax.

His wife was even more inaccessible now than she’d been during the miscarriage. For Tony, the miscarriage was a living hell made more intolerable by how suicidal Alicia had been. He was disappointed to have lost the baby especially after how hard they’d tried over the years but a small and, perhaps, darker part of him felt relieved. He didn’t think it was right to have conceived a child with his wife barely an hour after stealing sordid moments with another woman. A woman he met through his wife. In his mind, it was perhaps the universe’s way of warning him that he had gone too far this time. He would never have been able to look at that child without seeing Esi in his mind’s eye.

This time though, he had overstepped the good faith that the universe seemed to constantly extend to him. He knew his credit line with the powers-that-be was now in the red and would stay there indefinitely. His latest debt, while not his most damning by a long shot, was irredeemable. He had nowhere to hide. There were no more lies he could spin around Alicia.

But he needed her. He couldn’t lose his North Star. She was the only thing that prevented his chaotic nature from engulfing him or so he thought. Surely, after all these years she knew what she was signing on for. Why was she so surprised? That video was nothing compared to the numerous other unspeakables he’d committed over the course of their marriage. Of all the things to do him in, it had to be a twenty-minute porno. What a sick joke.

In a bloodrush, he let out a hollow scream. His mind was drowning in haphazard thoughts.

“What have I done? God what have I done?” he blurted out repeatedly at his steering wheel, as he fought to hold back tears.

“Why? Why now? Why did it happen like this?” he plaintively questioned.

No answer.

Deflated and resigned, he took out his work phone and called the only person who would always welcome him with open arms and accept him for the depraved and gluttonous animal he was.

xxx

Incense burned as Jill Scott’s ‘He Loves Me’ played softly from the soundbar. The room had been steamed to perfection.

The Executive Suite at the La Beach Hotel was their favourite love nest. Any sexual fantasy - from orgies to swing parties - either party happened to be in the mood for or could imagine, this was the room that staged its enactment.

Tonight it was just the two of them.

The toned, dark-skinned Ga woman on the bed was in her early seventies but inexplicably did not look a day past twenty. Tightly twisted Senegalese crochet braids, flowed magnificently from her scalp to her dainty waist. Her oval-shaped face remained flawless as did her soft, wrinkle-free skin. How she managed to defy time with her looks and poise was a much pondered upon mystery to all who knew her.

Dede was naked underneath a black, sparkling see-through gown. Her shea-butter glistened body glowed through the gown. A wet, willing and wanting goddess. Ready to be ravaged by her young midnight warrior. She rose to sit on her knees, directing her eyes to her nude captor’s crotch. She rendered a wry smile.

The warrior was flat-out flaccid.

“Mm,” she remarked, as she beckoned him to draw closer.

“Looks like our little man needs a little something before he comes out to play eh?” she teased in playful Ga.

He smirked as he approached her, only stopping when his groin and her face were level.

The mind-fog was still present but he closed his eyes as he begun to feel the slow and perfectly measured licking sensations in his nether region. Dede was always masterful with the things she could do with her mouth. Two lifetimes worth of experience to draw from.

Two minutes passed but Tony’s situation did not improve.

She paused to look up at Tony, “Is something the matter? You usually perk up for me with no effort. Have I done something wrong?”

“No…it’s not you love…,” he paused, longer than he’d intended.

“Just been under a lot of stress lately,” he sighed as he pulled away. He turned his back on the regal woman to look around the room for his clothes.

Dede wasn’t buying it. His tone. That pause. Something was definitely up. She had never known her beast to act or sound so tame in all the years she’d known him, not even during his grooming period.

“But you’re even more marvelous when you’re stressed…or have you forgotten Abidjan?” she asked, biting her lip.

He shrugged at her retort.

Tony was troubled by his recurring limpness.

xxx

Esi’s heart froze when she saw the Caller ID on her phone screen.

Alicia.

Why would Alicia be calling her? For what reason? Was it about Tony? Had she found out about them?

The phone was still ringing but Esi just stared at her mobile. A million worst-case scenarios flying around in her mind each time her ringtone looped over.

She decided she would not answer the call.

It’d been over eight months since they last spoke and the distance that had grown between them suited Esi, considering the increased frequency of her liaisons with Tony in those months. After years of clandestine maneuvers, she felt she was finally closing in on Alicia’s husband.

Both women had known each other from childhood. Esi even witnessed Alicia’s declaration of Tony’s marriage proposal.

The announcement was a mild shock for her at first but she remembered feeling something resembling happiness for her longtime friend. Alicia had found a man who could actually hold her attention. He had to be special. She’d seen Alicia turn down the most desirable of bachelors - a few of whom Esi herself subsequently sampled extensively - on countless occasions.

In her quiet moments, she sometimes wondered why her then soon-to-be-engaged friend seemed to routinely attract men of a higher caliber without even trying, while she often had to go above and beyond to pull a semi-decent man. She felt she was equally as - if not more - attractive than Alicia and just as accomplished professionally but somehow, she always seemed to come out second-best to her childhood friend when it mattered. These thoughts irked Esi more than she cared to admit to herself.

Alicia mirthfully introduced her old friend and soon-to-be-husband to each other a few days after her announcement.

Their eyes locked for a brief but intense moment during the exchange of pleasantries.

xxx

Nyarko Abronoma could not look at the man she called her son.

She was disgusted.

Why were the men in her family such cancers?

To the uninitiated, her family’s men were walking gods. Dazzling men who could bend the wills and desires of the staunchest hearts. They were gifted manipulators and they used their power to wreak havoc. Their preferred targets, were often women of high standing and character. They swarmed on these women like bees to honey. Once ensnared, their targets were mentally and emotionally stretched and bent beyond their limits, enduring relentless acts of gross disrespect and shame on account of these bedeviled men. And in no time, the prey merely became a shell of their former selves.

Nyarko, at the age of nine, saw her mother gradually lose her mind. A year later, a young Nyarko watched on as her mother was lowered into an unmarked grave. Both events, her father’s handiwork.

Her mother used to say that the men of Nyarko’s lineage were descendants of the fallen angels from the Book of Genesis. The Nephilim.

Even in her womb, she already knew Tony was one of them. Throughout her pregnancy, Nyarko prayed, fasted, sought the counsel of several spiritual leaders to save her unborn child. She desperately wanted her son to chart a different path than the men before him.

Tony didn’t know how to break the silence between them.

His mother had always been his trump card whenever things between him and Alicia were coming to a head. This time around though he was seeking his mother’s intervention as a Hail Mary. He knew she admired and loved Alicia. She would probably have traded her for him as her child if she had her way.

He told her what had happened, leaving out a few details.

Nyarko knew her son hadn’t told her everything.

She raised her head to observe her son. A beautiful boy with a Machiavellian heart. He was a poisoned chalice like his predecessors.

Tony looked away, uncomfortable with her soul-piercing stare.

“I can’t help you and I won’t,” she said in Twi.

He was stunned.

“I won’t let you drive that poor woman to the grave. If I help you, you are only going to repeat what your grandfather put my mother through and what my brothers did to their wives. Alicia is too much of a good woman for that. Too much. She deserves better. This time you have been exposed for all to see and we both know there are countless more lies and secrets behind those scheming eyes of yours!”

Tony’s throat tightened. He hadn’t anticipated this tirade from the old woman.

“You think I don’t know about you? The things you scurry around town doing like a possessed rat? I weep for Alicia everyday. I always pray to God to give her strength in dealing with you. You have no shame. Even during your wife’s miscarriage you had no decency, no respect for her, not an ounce of self-control. Hiding in and out of Accra with your concubines.”

Nyarko spat at her son’s feet.

“If anything should happen to Alicia, it will be on your head and I pray you pay for it.”

xxx

Three weeks and still no word from Tony.

Alicia’s call coupled with Tony’s prolonged radio silence led Esi to assume the worst.

She was driving back into Accra, via the Accra-Tema Motorway, after wrapping up a meeting in Tema's harbour area. Hawkers streamed along either side of her car, as she neared one of the highway's three toll booths.

Esi's mind was spinning. Everything seemed to be falling apart. Had she been stupid? Why couldn’t she be allowed to have her own slice of heaven? Was it a crime to want to be loved? She didn’t mean Alicia any harm but the connection between her and Tony was unavoidable.

Why was Tony all of a sudden ignoring her? Why weren’t they making love anymore? She knew he had a harem of ‘playmates’ he could call on but he always came back to her. Was he over her? Had somebody else taken her place?

Too many questions with no answers. She wracked her brain to think of a solution, a way out through all the madness.

Dede. The Madame. The old woman would probably know something. She and Tony were close, a little too close for Esi’s liking. But Esi figured that a woman at that age didn’t have that long to live, no matter how well she kept herself or how many boys she gobbled up, so Esi was fine with their relationship. Besides she was on good terms with Dede, the three had had some raunchy episodes through the years.

Esi called Dede and inquired about Tony.

“I last saw him about a week ago but I haven’t heard from him since then,” Dede stated.

More worry for Esi. He had gone to see Dede but had not even bothered to call her for three weeks? What was going on with him? Was he over her? She knew Dede had some skills but the old witch had enough boy toys to keep her satisfied.

Dede hummed an Erykah Badu tune. Esi forgot she was still on the line.

“Thank you Dede. I’ll give him a buzz again.”

“Dear girl, hold on for a second please.”

Esi was caught off guard by The Madame’s request. Outside of their fervid love-ins, Dede was typically brisk and forthright with her.

“Have you noticed anything…strange about Tony lately?” Dede asked, an almost mischievous lilt in her slivery voice.

“Strange? What do you mean?” a puzzled Esi asked.

“His performance, has it changed in any noticeable way?” The Madame was sipping on something in the background.

“Oh Dede…,” Esi responded bashfully.

“My girl let’s not beat around the bush. Is anything different or not?”

The sudden firmness in The Madame’s voice unsettled Esi.

“W-Well…recently he doesn’t respond to my touch. You know…,” she didn’t know why she was so shy in speaking to Dede about her sexual affairs with Tony. She had seen the woman on all fours.

Static on the phone.

“He can’t get it up,” Esi muttered feebly.

“Mm..I see. Thank you Esi, that’s all I needed to know. Best of luck reaching him.”

The line cut.

Why would Dede ask that? Was she experiencing the same issues she’d been having with Tony?

The suspicion that had been floating in Esi’s mind for the past few weeks was too absurd to now consider an actual possibility. It was impossible for that to happen to Tony, he was too red-blooded, way too potent for that.

It couldn’t be.

No...no..not Tony...

Tony couldn’t be…?

No!

It isn’t possible. Tony couldn’t be impotent. The mere thought alone was utterly absurd.

But how else could she explain his sudden limpness? Plus Dede would never have asked that question if she hadn’t noti---

Esi fatally rear-ended her Nissan Qashqai into a heavy cargo truck.

xxx

Their luxury three-bedroom apartment home on Second Circular Road, Cantonments, was a stone throw away from the U.S. Embassy. It was a $600,000 property that Tony had astoundingly managed to wind down to a sale price just short of a $100,000. Alicia used to call him ‘Puppet Master T,’ for his uncanny ability to always get what he wanted.

Tony lingered outside the apartment door for nearly half an hour. He was jittery.

A flurry of deep and quick deep breaths filled his lungs as he steeled himself and turned the doorknob.

The apartment felt hostile as if it despised his presence.

His sweep around his marriage home confirmed Alicia had packed up, that much was clear. Their bedroom was half empty, with no trace of his wife left in the room. Alicia was gone and she was gone for good.

A small stack of papers was neatly arranged on the bed. Divorce papers and a small sheet with a number to call when he was done signing. That was Alicia, methodical and precise, even in the worst of circumstances.

Tony sat on the bed, staring at the divorce papers.

He wanted to call Alicia but thought better of it. She’d probably blocked him on all platforms. When his wife didn’t want to be found, she did it well.

The die was cast. There were no more moves he could play.

Something vibrated under his left thigh, briefly snapping him out of his self-pity. He shifted his weight to find the smoking gun that had ended everything.

Tony unlocked the phone to find a freeze-frame shot of a busty Fola in a most compromising position. Alicia must have watched the video countless times, trying to make sense of it all. Her soon-to-be ex-husband zoomed out of the video application to the notification center.

Ato, his closest friend and fellow degenerate, had just sent him series of confusing text messages.

The first message read: “Bro...I have been trying to reach you.” Tony checked his call log to indeed find several missed calls from his main man.

Second message: “I don’t know if you’ve heard already.”

Third: “Bro…I’m so so sorry about Esi...I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. I’m so sorry bro. Please call me if you need me. I’m here for you…”

xxx

Marijuana smoke filled the air of the love nest.

Tony’s head lay buried in Dede’s bosom. He was silent, as Dede gently stroked his head and offered hushed words of consolation.

She drew a few more puffs from her joint and moved it down to Tony’s lips but her wounded warrior declined.

They stayed silent for a lengthy period of time as Dede spaced out from the weed.

Memories of a lifetime’s worth of sexual dissipation with her favorite boy streamed across her mind. Despite her wanton admiration for his sexual prowess, she had grown to develop an affection for her former protégé over the years.

The Madame, as Dede was referred to by Accra’s high society, had known Tony since he was fourteen. Even as a sprightly teenage boy - and much to her pleasant surprise - he oozed raw potential with his savage-like lovemaking abilities. By seventeen, the boy could do things she had never known men to be capable of. He had a frightening and near bottomless appetite that bordered on the frenetic, that even her infamous grooming techniques couldn’t temper.

She shed an unseen tear for her paramour’s wasted manhood. To be completely robbed of his virility in his prime was a cruel blow from the gods.

Dede nonchalantly crushed the end of the burnt-out joint into an ashtray on the bedside table.

“It’s a pity but it seems I have no use for you anymore, my dear,” she said sofly.

Tony was still, his eyes shut. It was what he expected from his Madame.

“There’s a young French couple coming by shortly. Quite the adventurous duo. It’s a shame you wouldn’t be joining us,” she sighed airily.

“A shame,” he whispered.

She started running rings around his lips.

“You’re of course welcome to stay and watch if you please my love,” she said somewhat coyly.

Tony slowly reached for her moving hand and kissed it.

He rose from his resting place, stretched to his full height, and promptly made his way to the door without looking back.

“Tony..,” he heard Dede call out before he shut the door.

Two spirited European-looking girls gaily passed him in the lobby hallway.

As he stepped onto the elevator, the vivacious couple turned around to take in the view of the brooding stud exiting the floor.

xxx

Tony hopped over the fence that separated the La Beach Hotel premises from the beach.

It was a little past midnight and the cool and salty breeze of the sea, soothed Tony’s mood. The mind-fog was clearing up. Whether the fog’s retreat was a result of the second-hand smoke from the weed or the effect of the beach, he wasn’t sure but he was grateful.

It was a moonless, starless sky. The ocean’s waves roared gently, calling to him. He had been here before, in another life perhaps.

He took in the scene before him one last time and smiled. All was fair.

Tony took the first steps towards his death.

xxx

#love accra ghana short story

3 notes · View notes

kyarymell · 5 years ago

Text

[Fic] Ghost Touch

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Pairing: fem!Byleth x Felix Fraldarius Rating: Explicit towards the end (lol) Summary: Felix finally gets a clue and proposes. Note: I don’t have an explanation for this other than I wanted some angsty pining. Post GD route, where (almost) everyone lives.

The war is over, hidden enemies defeated and yet the festivities continue for a whole week. Felix is lost, knowing that the following peace would dull his blade. It’s foolish thinking this way, with unnecessary sacrifice finally coming to an end.

As part of the ‘band of heroes’ that saved Fódlan, the swordsman was obligated to go on a peace tour of sorts. He’s still a young man, revelling in drink and celebration at the war’s end. The constant socialising eventually loses its appeal, even if Sylvain tries to convince him otherwise.

Finding himself by the edge of a stream, Felix brings himself into familiar motions. Lifting his arms, he brought his sword down as he stepped forward. It seemed like forever ago he had first trained as a Mortal Savant, his professor finding out that he had a knack for magic.

Professor...

It’s too easy to fall into familiar titles. They were equals now, having fought side by side for a year and a half in the war. Byleth was an enigma, deadly in battle. Only once has Felix gained the upper hand in a spar, but not before earning a few bruises to the face.

(Mercedes brought it upon herself to heal him that day, a hint of laughter in her eyes.)

Since then, Felix has been unable to best the mercenary in combat. He doesn’t know why, but the very thought of her twists his stomach into knots. It’s maddening and he has to fight the urge to seek her out at every convenience.

The want for her to be by his side... it causes the silver loop in his pocket to burn. There’s been many suitors after the new Ruler of Dawn and so Felix deemed asking for her hand more trouble than it was worth.

However, that sort of thinking could not be further from the truth. The swordsman should have asked as soon as the sun rose over the peaceful new era. It seemed at the time, he was not the only one who spotted Byleth retreating to the Goddess Tower that morning.

Uncharacteristically, he hesitated. There was a huge possibility that his former classmate had the same intentions as he did, essentially beating him to the punch.

Despite all that, Felix couldn’t bring himself to throw the ring away.

Sparks of lightning crackle between the swordsman’s fingertips in response to his clouded thoughts. Shaking his head, Felix continued to go through the motions of training. It was he who told Dimitri that he’d never let his emotions get in the way and here he is, lamenting over a lost opportunity.

He had changed in more ways than one and it was all her fault.

“Felix?”

...Speak of the devil.

When Byleth first came to the academy, she rarely articulated her thoughts outside of teaching. Stony-faced and unrelenting in a fight, Felix was disturbed by the concept of the mercenary lacking emotions. An ironic notion, considering he kept his feelings to himself most of the time.

Now, she made an effort to talk to everyone... even a bitter soul like himself.

“...Byleth.”

It’s still strange calling her name, even if she insisted on it in the first place.

“Dedicated to training as always.”

“Haven’t people had enough celebration? My sword arm itches.”

The woman shrugged.

“It’s important that we build morale and help with the post-war effort. Even if that means... people feel the need to celebrate in my presence.”

Byleth leaned against a tree, pensive.

“I understand what you mean, though. The... socialising. It’s difficult. Just wanted to get away for a while.”

Felix nodded in response. The very last war council meeting was about fostering good relations with everyone. Claude and Dimitri insisted that their former classmates accompanied Fódlan’s new ruler for a little longer. If the people saw the diverse comrades she had, perceptions would change.

Nobles, commoners, the next queen of Brigid, the man next in line to Almyra’s throne, the former king of Faerghus and a man of Duscur... they were a lively bunch, brought together by their professor. No one was pressured to stay of course, but many did of their own accord.

“Do you ever wish to go back to your life as a mercenary?”

If this was five years ago, he’d have no interest in small talk. The world was on the verge of change and so he made a little effort himself. That, and the fact that Annette made him swear to stop being so anti-social.

“No. While there were times of suffering, I wouldn’t have met all of you if I were still a mercenary.”

A smile graced her lips, instantly seizing Felix by the heart. He tries to rationalise the feeling as surprise, seeing as Byleth seldom smiled. Twirling sword in hand, he feels put on the spot.

“Let’s spar. If you have the time to be sentimental, then clearly your presence isn’t needed at the festivities. I need to brush up on my brawling anyway.”

The soft expression was replaced by confusion, followed by acknowledgement. Biting the inside of his mouth, Felix realised how harsh he sounded. Again.

‘There’s no point thinking about it.’

He placed his sword against a tree, shedding his coat, gloves and boots. Byleth did the same and it’s with a tinge of nostalgia that Felix realised: no matter what finery she was made to wear as the new Ruler of Dawn, she always kept her tattered mercenary coat.

It almost felt like old times at the monastery training grounds, trading blows like this. He was young and arrogant back then, convinced that he would win and was promptly made to eat the dirt. Felix remembers being angry that day, but his motivation to learn other fighting styles grew.

It seemed like some things never changed, as he ducked under a punch to his right. Byleth is still unpredictable as ever and he holds his arms up in defence as she comes at him with a flurry of strikes. The swordsman manages to catch one of her fists in his hand, about to throw her to the ground when she twists easily out of his grasp.

Thrown off-balance momentarily, Byleth goes in for the kill. She rushes at Felix before he’s able to react, stumbling backwards and hitting the ground hard. Grunting, he tries to lift a hand to touch the back of his head but he realises his arms are pinned.

“Yield.”

Her breath comes out in soft pants from the slight exertion. Meeting with stuffy people and holding peace talks didn’t help her stamina.

It takes a moment for Felix to realise what position he’s in. Byleth’s strong thighs hold his shoulders in place and he’s distracted by the fact that her ornate stockings are absent. Before the war, he always believed her outfit impractical. Now, he’s entertaining treacherous thoughts.

Remembering that he was still in a fight, he shifted his weight, successfully flipping their positions. Straddling her waist, the swordsman sighed. It was all too easy.

“Yield.”

Felix is devoid of smugness, knowing that something was distracting his sparring partner tonight. He’s slightly disappointed that she didn’t put up more of a fight but he would take what he could get.

“I yield...”

She closes her eyes, as if she let him win. As if a man possessed, he stared at her soft lips. He was so close-

“How long are you going to make me wait?”

She reached up and pulled him by the collar, bringing their lips together in a kiss. Felix melted instantly, the one thing he’s wanted for so long, finally in his grasp.

Unable to help himself, he catches her lower lip between his teeth, biting on it gently. Byleth shivers from the attention and it emboldens the swordsman to continue. Swiping his tongue against hers, he tastes wine but nothing could compare to how intoxicating her vulnerability is.

Felix takes control, tugging down her robes. Their hips grind together unintentionally and he hisses. He won’t take her in a clearing next to a lake-no, she’s precious to him and there’s an order to everything.

For now, however, all he wants to do is touchtouchtouch.

Skin is revealed little by little and she allows him to drink in the sight of her. For every inch of smooth, unmarred skin, there are also scars from times of sorrow and bloodshed. Light ones from skirmishes and deep ones from hard-won battles, Felix can’t help but trace them with his fingers.

His breath catches in his throat upon seeing a jagged scar under her breast.

The memory is still fresh, gnawing roots of guilt taking hold. If only he had been more attentive that day out in Gronder Field, if only he had been quicker, Byleth wouldn’t have had to take a hit for him.

He was blinded by anger back then, saying words that were unkind, unimportant. Why did he do that? He regrets it now- yelling at someone gravely injured instead of calling for help.

When Mercedes finally arrived by horseback (assisted by Sylvain) and Byleth was safely back at camp, it was the Bishop who reprimanded him.

“Felix, instead of suffocating us with your attitude, leave and let me do my work!”

Taken aback by her uncharacteristic outburst, he left without a word. Days after that, cowardice consumed him and he avoided both women outright.

There must’ve been a strange look on his face, for Byleth’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Felix? Is my appearance... not to your liking?”

She moved to cover herself and Felix shook his head furiously.

“That’s not it! I-I...”

“Are you still feeling guilt about that day?”

His bad habit of deflecting comes up again, following his sudden anxiety. Eyes roaming everywhere but her own, they land on the ornate ring upon her middle finger.

A convenient excuse.

“That ring... why did you kiss me if you’re already betrothed?”

Byleth takes the bait, sitting up and smiling.

“It’s a memento from my father. He said someday, I’ll find someone special to give it to.”

“So you’re not involved with anyone, is what you’re saying.”

“Yes.”

“A small comfort.”

Felix looks comically relieved and Byleth has to push for an explanation.

“This is not the right time, perhaps.”

“Will it ever be the right time? You’ve been avoiding me on and off, but you returned my touch.”

The swordmaster stares, hands suddenly trembling. There was no way to get out of this one. Standing up, he goes over to where his coat is.

“Hey-!”

“Shut up.”

He almost wants to slap himself.

‘Good going, Felix. Insult the woman you want to propose to.’

Drawing a nervous breath, he rummages through his coat pocket, finding that damned silver loop. Felix almost drops it, annoyed at his sudden lack of co-ordination.

“The truth is, I’ve always wanted you by my side. As a worthy opponent... no. I...”

Suddenly choked for words, he thrusts his hand forward, almost hitting Byleth in the nose with the ring.

She blinks, dumbfounded. Felix sighs, eyes darting back and forth.

“Don’t you know what this ring means?”

Byleth pulls Jeralt’s ring off her finger. Not very subtle. Felix hates the way his heart races- it’s almost an affirmation of her decision.

“I want to hear it from you.”

“Stop messing around! I... I thought all this time you had someone.”

He’s clutching her hands, the coolness of the rings a contrast to his clammy palms.

“Fine! Listen carefully, I’m not going to say this more than once. I want you to be my wife. Please say yes. Let’s get married and stay together until we die. I love you.”

An awkward pause follows and Felix, having lost his nerve, turns on his heel. He leaves the ring in her hands.

“That’s all.”

“Wait!”

Byleth shoots forward, grabbing the back of his tunic. Felix almost topples over from the force, and he whips around to steady her. Incredulous, he bites his lip.

“What? You have something to complain about?”

She hands him her ring with as much grace as someone half-naked can muster. It’s Felix’s turn to be dumbfounded and he almost misses the offering due to having her bare breasts so close to his face.

“I love you too and I accept.”

“Oh... okay then. In that case, I’d better start planning for the future. My future... with you.”

She laughs at his typical ‘okay’ and they embrace, falling onto the soft grass once more. She leaves bruises on his skin and he responds in kind, whispers of adoration on his lips. They were for her and only her alone.

---

Even if he said he wouldn’t take her out in the open, the new ruler of Fódlan is good at convincing him otherwise. She’s wild and insatiable- riding high above him while he’s catching his breath and leaving scratches all down his back when he has her against the edge of the stream.

They laid side-by-side and clothed once more, fingers intertwined as the stars disappear to welcome the break of dawn. Felix admits his guilt into the cold air, feeling inadequate as he failed to protect her all that time ago.

“It’s going to be okay, I don’t blame you,” she says as she leans into his touch, “we’ll always be together from now on.”

“I will be your sword and shield victorious.”

“I know you will.”

Despite his shortcomings and prickly exterior, he wants to believe her words.

“Your highness? I’ve been looking for you everywhere and- oh. Apologies! I did not know you had company.”

The moment is dashed by Ferdinand’s concerned voice. Felix sighed, knowing that Byleth gave him a position on the new government, meaning that he was here to talk business.

“I told you not to call me that... what is it?”

“You disappeared last night after mentioning you wanted to hear the agenda at dawn and... should I come back later?”

Byleth stretched, standing up and adjusting her robes.

“No, no. Now is a good time. Thank you.”

She turned back to Felix.

“Let’s go together.”

The swordsman’s eye caught a glint in the low light and lifted his hand to inspect it. Byleth’s ring. Since when did she...?

Felix smiled.

“Let’s.”

#feleth #bylix #felix fraldarius #fire emblem byleth #byleth eisner #fire emblem felix #fe felix #fe byleth #felix x byleth #fe3h #fire emblem fanfiction #my stuff

23 notes · View notes