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smilingformoney · 11 months ago

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The Eternal Summer | Elliott Marston/Reader

III. Moth to a Flame

Summary: Elliott has a plan.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

You were sleeping peacefully in Elliott’s arms while he struggled to fall asleep. His mind was spinning with plans. He had to find Quigley and kill him, that was certain. Earlier that day, Major Ashley-Pitt had arrived at the station with the bodies of the men who’d taken Quigley into the outback and sealed his fate.

Turning down the work was irritating, considering the lengths he’d gone to to get Quigley there, but he’d have let the man go on his way back to America without any fuss if he hadn’t decided to raise his fists.

Elliott’s back was still sore from his fall. You, with your tender heart and soft hands, had patched him up the best you could, but it still ached. Not only had Quigley made Elliott seem weak in front of his men by throwing him out of his own house, but he’d embarrassed him in front of you too.

Now, Quigley had killed his men, and probably stolen their supplies too. Which meant that he was probably still alive, and though Australia might still do her work on him, there was a chance he’d survive.

Elliott couldn’t let that stand. He had to make sure the American was dead, and if Australia didn’t do it for him, he’d do it himself.

Matthew Quigley wasn’t his only problem. He also had his cousin’s shadow looming over the beautiful woman in his arms, who he was falling more in love with every day. Sometimes he thought perhaps you might be falling for him too, but then you’d mention that bloody husband of yours.

As well as the bodies of his men, Major Ashley-Pitt had also delivered the news from Melbourne that Judge Turpin had been held up in finding suitable accommodation for him and his wife, he’d be travelling to collect his wife as soon as he could and he apologises that she may have to stay at the station a little longer.

That gave Elliott an idea. He didn’t want to have his cousin killed - they were family, after all, and he hardly expected you as a grieving widow would want to be with the man who’d had her husband killed. But he could delay William’s arrival a little longer, giving himself more time to win you over. Then, when William arrived to pick you up, Elliott would challenge him to a duel for your hand. William would either accept, and inevitably lose, or decline and give you the choice to stay.

You hummed with contentment in your sleep and wriggled closer to him, as if you’d heard his idea and thought it splendid. Yes, he’d do that, he decided as he planted a kiss to your head and finally closed his eyes to settle into sleep. In the morning, he’d send three of his craftiest men back to Melbourne and task them with delaying Judge Turpin’s arrival at the station for as long as possible, giving him the time he needed to win your heart.

***

Thanks to his sleepless night, Elliott awoke later than usual in the morning and found the bed empty. He got himself dressed and stepped out onto his porch, the hat on his head protecting his eyes from the glaring sun as he looked around to make sure everyone was at work.

The only person not at work that should be, he in fact noticed, was your brother, Tommy. He had apparently decided that 11 o’clock in the morning was the perfect time to be playing hopscotch.

“[L/n]! Why aren’t you working?” Elliott called just as Tommy hopped onto one leg, causing him to lose concentration and fall down.

“Elliott, you did that on purpose!” you said with gentle admonishment, appearing from around the side of the building with a hat in your hand. “That can only mean that Tommy can go again since he was unfairly distracted.”

“It’s almost noon, he should be working by now!”

“He’s working very hard, aren’t you, Tommy?” you said as you placed the hat on your brother’s head. “Tell Mr Marston what you’re doing.”

Tommy bit his lip, a habit he shared with you. “I’m - erm —”

“Yes?” Elliott prompted, leaning against the pillar with his arms folded.

“He’s keeping me amused, since you’re too busy sleeping to do it yourself,” you said, standing next to Tommy with a protective hand on his shoulder. “I had to have breakfast all by my lonesome this morning, so Tommy offered to keep me company until you woke up.”

Elliott narrowed his eyes at you. You were picking up an attitude, and while that kind of cheek wouldn’t have been acceptable from any of his men, in you it stirred something inside him.

“I don’t accept cheek at my station, Lady Turpin,” he reminded you with a low growl. “[L/n], go find Coogan, he’ll give you something to do. [Y/n], inside.”

Tommy ran off quickly, glad to have avoided Elliott’s wrath, and you followed Elliott back into the house with far less subservience than he would have liked.

As soon as the door was shut, Elliott pushed you up against the wall, lips tantalisingly close to yours.

“Where’s this attitude come from, hm?” he said in a low voice, eyes boring into yours. “Have you forgotten your place?”

“I must have,” you replied with a mischievous grin that only served to stir Elliott’s cock. “Are you going to remind me?”

Elliott’s hands ran down your body, resting on your waist, his fingers flexing as he resisted grabbing you elsewhere.

“Your place… is right next to me,” he growled. “If I’m in bed, so are you. If I’m oversleeping, you wake me up with your mouth. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Elliott grinned. He pressed himself against you, and you could feel the outline of his growing erection through your skirt. He took a deep breath, as if collecting himself.

“Normally I’d teach you a lesson by taking you right here, right now… but as you say, I overslept. I have work to do. I’m afraid your lesson will have to wait.”

“How are you gonna work with this?” you teased, brushing your fingers against his crotch, and he groaned in frustration.

“Fuck, [Y/n]… what happened to the innocent lamb I met in Melbourne, hm? The girl who was so shocked at the idea of laying with another man.”

“You happened.”

Well, there was no way he could resist that.

But… he did have work to do.

He’d better multitask, then.

Elliott took you by the arm and dragged you over to his desk. He pushed his chair back, giving you room to kneel as he pushed you to your knees, and you knew immediately what he had in mind when he sat in his chair and unbuckled his belt.

He pulled his cock out, hard and dripping with precum, and you instinctively opened your mouth for him. Elliott sighed with relief when he slipped past your lips and his cock sat heavy on your tongue, stopping just shy of the back of your throat. You instinctively tried to open your throat to take him fully, but Elliott grabbed the back of your head and held you still.

“Stay still, darling. I just want you to use that slutty mouth of yours to keep me warm while I work. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded as best you could, and Elliott smiled hungrily. You were so good, so obedient. The perfect little wife.

He pulled out a pen and some paper and began drafting demands for Quigley’s capture and promises of a reward. His servant came in with a plate of jam and toast for his breakfast, and you tried to extract yourself when you heard movement, but Elliott put a hand firmly on your head and kept you in place.

He considered drafting orders to the men he’d choose to delay William, but he decided against it. If written proof were found of his instructions, his cousin could cause him some serious trouble. No, this was something that would have to be done surreptitiously.

Since he was so comfortable at his desk with you between his knees, Elliott wasn’t keen on moving, so he took the time to work on some other paperwork he’d been putting off. He wrote some letters, kept his accounts ledger up to date, and occasionally slipped his spare hand below the desk to stroke the side of your face, making sure you knew he appreciated how good you were being for him. He’d have to think of a worthy reward for you later.

About mid-afternoon, satisfied with the paperwork he’d got through, Elliott sat back in his chair and looked down at you. He gently pulled your head back to pull out of you, and you immediately rubbed your aching jaw.

“Oh, are you aching? You’ve been such a good girl, [Y/n],” Elliott cooed, stroking your jaw affectionately. “Come on, get up here. I think it’s about time we had a break, don’t you think?”

You nodded and stood up, desperate to get off your knees and onto his lap, and Elliott chuckled at your eagerness.

“Skirt up, bloomers down. Be a good girl for me.”

You obeyed, and when your bloomers came down your knees they were soaked. Elliott looked so handsome, sprawled in his chair with his legs spread out, shirt half-buttoned and chest hair poking out - how could you not be dripping for him?

You hitched your skirt up to your waist as you climbed onto Elliott’s lap, knees either side of his hips, and slid yourself down onto his waiting cock. He groaned with relief, finally giving into the desires that had been swirling around his mind for the last few hours, the desperate need to fill you up until you could take no more.

Even though your knees were aching, you desperately wanted to feel the friction of his cock moving inside you, so you ignored the ache as you rode him, focusing instead on the delicious pleasure inside you, the stretch you felt as you impaled yourself over and over again on his cock, the beautiful way he groaned with pleasure, letting you know you were doing well.

“Such a good… good girl…” Elliott muttered. He sucked on your breast through the fabric of your dress, desperate to rip the fabric apart to get at the soft flesh beneath your bodice. If it were easily replaceable he would have, but it was a dress you’d made yourself and he wouldn’t dare ruin your hard work.

There was something so deliciously sinful about watching you ride him fully clothed. Your skirt fell over both your laps, and if it weren’t for your skilled bouncing and both of your sinful groans, a visitor might think you were sitting on his lap quite innocently.

Yes, you looked innocent, but underneath the exterior image of the sweet little Lady was a cockhungry slut, desperate to be fucked and loved the way you deserved, and Elliott knew he was the one to give it to you. Sure, William fucked you three times a day, but did he make you cum? Did he look after you, make sure you were clean and comfortable, adore and worship you the way you deserved, even out of the bedroom? From everything you’d said about him, Elliott suspected not.

He grabbed your hips firmly, stilling your movements, and lifted you up to place you on the desk. He supported your back with one hand while he laid you down, hair a mess and dress crinkled, your cheeks bright red, all splayed out on the desk for him to see.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, before thrusting into you once more.

Elliott’s face was red and sweat was dripping off his brow thanks to the Australian heat plus the exertion of fucking you into the table, but that didn’t slow him down. You could see his chest glistening too between the loosened buttons of his shirt, and the way he looked at you, with both adoration and hunger, was an image you wanted to burn into your memory forever.

“Have I ever told you how handsome you are?”

Elliott nearly faltered in his movements, and if he weren’t already bright red from exertion you might have seen him blush.

“You think so, huh? Even when I’m fucking you into the desk?”

“Uh-huh. Especially now. You’re so lost in the moment, it’s - ah! - it’s beautiful.”

Elliott laughed and shook his head. “I’ve been called a lot of things, [Y/n]. That sure isn’t one of them.”

You were too lost in the moment to hear the door open, but you did hear the voice of one of Elliott’s men as he walked in.

“Hey, Mr Marston, me and the boys were wondering - woah!”

Elliott stopped his movements but stayed buried inside you.

“I am busy, Cavanagh,” he hissed.

“Yeah, I see that. Hey, I thought we weren’t allowed to fuck this one?”

“This one has a name. And no, you’re not allowed to fuck her. She’s mine.”

“Ain’t she married?”

“None of your business, Cavanagh, now fuck off.”

The door slammed shut, and Elliott sighed. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly. “Just keep - keep going, please…”

Elliott grinned. “As you wish.”

Cavanagh had a point, Elliott thought as he continued his desperate thrusting into your cunt. You were married. And yet — here you were, on his desk, legs spread open for him, telling him he was handsome when he fucked you. Telling him he was beautiful. And when he slid his hand under your skirt to press his thumb against your clit, you moaned his name so sinfully, he wanted nothing more than to mark you as his.

Your orgasm washed over you, causing you to scream his name loud enough for the whole station to hear, and the way your cunt clamped down around his cock made withdrawing impossible as he exploded inside you, shooting his seed into your womb, a long, sinful groan stuttering from his throat.

Elliott almost collapsed on top of you, just about catching himself with his elbows, and you took the opportunity to kiss him, silencing any apology he might have been forming for spilling inside you. In fact, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in further, as if trying to push his seed as deep inside you as he could.

He trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, murmuring words of praise, telling you how good you were for him, how beautiful you looked in the throes of pleasure… he had to stop himself from telling you how much he adored you, how you invaded his every waking thought, how desperately he was falling in love with you.

Those words would have to wait. But if your words and actions that afternoon were anything to go by, it wouldn’t be long until he could have you all to himself.

***

A few days later, you were sitting in the shade of a tree with a pile of the men’s clothes next to you. You’d offered to patch up the holes in some of Elliott’s older shirts, and when the men heard what you were doing, they began bringing you their torn clothes too. Elliott made it very clear to them that they had to ask you politely, and if he heard of anyone treating you like a servant, they’d have no dinner that night.

You, of course, had no idea of this instruction and thought the men were all just being very polite, and you were too polite yourself to say no. Not that you minded - you liked being useful, you liked sewing and you liked sitting under the tree. Most of all, you liked that you could look up and watch Elliott at work, ordering his men around. Even the way he stood was attractive to you, his hands on his hips, stance relaxed yet powerful at the same time. Any stranger coming into the station would know he was the man in charge.

You had no idea, as he stood giving instructions to three of his men, that he was telling them to sabotage your husband’s journey to pick you up.

“When you can’t delay him any longer, you offer to escort him here,” Elliott was saying to them. “Keep him alive, treat him with respect, but make the journey slow as possible. He’ll get here eventually, and when he does I want him unharmed. Understood?”

“Yessir,” the men all said.

“Good. Get your supplies together and get going. The longer he takes to get here, the more I’ll pay you.”

Excited at the prospect of more gold, the man clapped each other on the back and scarpered. Elliott looked over at you and smiled when he realised you were watching him. He gave you a little wave and you waved back before ducking your head to focus on your sewing, a little embarrassed that he’d caught you watching him. He had a spring in his step as he went around the back of the station to find the women where he’d hoped he’d find them, tending to the allotment that had been cultivated to the rear of the station.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said, tipping his hat to them. “I wonder if any of you are versed in floriography?”

***

The next day, you spent almost all day patching up the clothes you’d been given, and it wasn’t until almost evening that you were able to finish the last shirt.

You laid out the men’s clothes in a pile outside their lodgings, then you were about to go searching for Elliott when you saw him approaching you with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

“I thought tonight we might dine under the stars,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Just you, me and Australia. How about it?”

“I’d love to!” you grinned.

“Excellent, I’ve got the wagon all set up. I know just the spot!”

He took your hand and led you out to the wagon, which was waiting at the gate with Elliott’s servant at the helm.

Elliott helped you up into the wagon, which you hadn’t been in since your arrival, and you noticed that he’d already loaded it up with baskets and blankets.

“Why, Mr Marston, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were taking me on a date,” you teased as he heaved himself up into the wagon and took a seat opposite you.

Elliott winked at you, then hit the side of the wagon twice to signal to the servant that he should start moving.

You were excited for your date, or whatever it was. You always ate alone with Elliott, but your meals were too often interrupted by his men bursting in with some question or news. He always shooed them away, but that didn’t stop them interrupting again when something else came up.

“How’s your search for the gunman going?” you asked.

“I’ve put up a reward for his capture, and I’ve got men out looking for him,” Elliott replied. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll be heading to Melbourne to get the first boat back to America, so I’ve sent some out that way too.”

“Is it a good idea to send so many men out to find him? What if he kills them like he did the last two?”

“There’s never a shortage of men looking for work,” Elliott shrugged. “Besides, I’m sure they’ll bring him in soon enough. He’s a long-range shooter, he’ll be useless at short range. They just need to get close enough to him.” He shook his head and put a hand on your knee. “But never mind that nasty business. I want to know all there is to know about you. You’ve been by my side for a week now and I feel I’ve hardly scratched the surface of you.”

You shrugged coyly. “You know all there is to know, Elliott.”

“I doubt that. For example - I’ve noticed there’s a scar on your left arm. There must be a story there. How does a gentle thing like you end up with a scar?”

Your hand instinctively grabbed at your upper left arm where the scar in question was. You forgot about it most days, as it was hidden underneath your sleeve - but Elliott, of course, did everything he could to get your clothes off.

“Oh, yes… that’s from when I was shot.”

Elliott’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You were shot?”

“Why so surprised? You love shooting things.”

“Yes, but not women!”

You laughed.

“I suppose not. I was shot by the sailor who stole William’s ward away. She ran away quite literally; I chased after down the street. He shot at me to keep me at bay. He only grazed my arm, but it was enough to delay me, and enough to leave a mark.”

“Why were you chasing after them and not William?”

“He was busy finding a constable to arrest the man who’d tried to kill him.”

The confused frown on Elliott’s brow deepened, and you laughed.

“I’m sorry, I’m telling the story backwards. I should tell it from the beginning. It was frightening at the time, but looking back on it now, it’s quite an exciting tale.”

Your telling of the tale of Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street, lasted the whole journey, and you were just telling Elliott about the death toll on the final night of Todd’s reign of terror when the wagon pulled up at your dinner spot.

“What a horrifying experience for you,” Elliott said as he helped you down from the wagon. “No woman should be exposed to that sort of thing, especially not someone as sweet as you.”

He took a blanket from the wagon and laid it down on the ground for you.

“Here, have a seat and admire the view while I get our dinner unpacked.”

Seated on the blanket, you admired the view just as Elliott had told you to - but the view you were admiring wasn’t the horizon, as beautiful as the Australian landscape was, but Elliott as he unloaded the baskets from the wagon - particularly when he bent down to open the baskets, and you got a lovely view of his bum.

You were restless after the journey, so you stood and looked out over the landscape. Elliott had taken you to the top of a cliff that looked out over the outback, a landscape that stretched for countless miles, with not a building in sight. You saw trees, and animals, and a few ponds, but mostly it was empty plains. It made you feel small, but it also filled you with pride, knowing that the land you were looking out on was Elliott’s.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Elliott said softly as he came up behind you.

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” you replied with a smile. You turned to him, and you gasped a little in surprise when you saw that he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I gathered these from the allotment for you,” Elliott said, and you blushed hard when he held them out to you. “Would you accept them as a token of affection from my humble self?”

Your heart was all aflutter. Who knew he could be such a romantic!

“Oh, Elliott, they’re beautiful!”

You took the flowers from him, and your heart skipped a beat when you realised they were red tulips. You hesitated, then held the flowers to your chest and smiled at him shyly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, as if speaking any louder might be heard in Melbourne.

Elliott smiled, and you swore you saw relief cross his face. He offered his hand to you and led you to sit on the blanket, where he’d laid out an array of snacks for you. You sat there together for hours, and when the sun went down and the air became chilly, Elliott wrapped his coat around your shoulders to keep you warm.

“Now, I’m sure you’ll agree that the best way to enjoy strawberries… is with chocolate,” Elliott said proudly as he opened a tin of melted chocolate, and your eyes widened.

“You’ve got chocolate!” you gasped. “I haven’t had chocolate in years! And so much of it too - Elliott, you shouldn’t have, this must have cost a fortune…”

“Nonsense. It’s worth every penny to see the look on your face right now.”

You glanced at him and blushed when you saw the way he was looking at you, eyes alight with admiration.

“Oh, but it’s all melted!”

“Trust me, that’s how we want it.”

Elliott picked up a strawberry, dipped it in the chocolate and held it up to you.

“Open.”

You obeyed, and when your teeth sunk into the strawberry, you thought you must have died and gone to Heaven, because nothing on Earth could possibly taste this good.

“Do you like it?”

You nodded your enthusiasm, mouth too busy savouring the flavour to speak. You took a strawberry and dipped it, then held it up for Elliott to take a bite. You giggled when you saw that he’d managed to get some chocolate in his moustache, and when you pointed it out his response was to dab some chocolate on the end of your nose.

“Why have chocolate-dipped strawberries when I can have chocolate-dipped [Y/n]?”

“Oh, sure, I bet you’d love to lick it all up off me, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elliott replied innocently, before licking the chocolate from the end of your nose.

“Hmm, then I guess you won’t mind if I do this?”

You forwent the strawberry and dipped your finger straight into the chocolate and dabbed it on Elliott’s lips. He caught your finger in his mouth and sucked it clean, but you still managed to get some on his lips, so once your finger was free you licked his lips clean in a motion that one might have mistaken for a kiss.

Elliott wrapped his arms around you and pulled you with him as he fell onto his back, both of you giggling like children.

“Careful, you’ll knock the food on the ground!”

“You think I care about that?”

“I don’t want to lose any of the chocolate.”

“Have a preference for sweet things, do you, [Y/n]?”

“I like you, so I must do.”

Your words flooded Elliott’s brain as he kissed you, and though the chocolate was long since cleaned up, he continued exploring your mouth with his tongue, and to his surprise your tongue fought back, fighting for dominance between your mouths.

“God, I want to fuck you right here, beneath the stars,” Elliott growled when you both called the battle a draw and paused for breath. “All of the land below us… and my cock in your cunt, just as it was made to be.”

You grinned mischievously and sat up, scooting back slightly to sit on his legs, pinning him to the ground while giving yourself access to unbuckle his belt.

“You’ve done so much for me today, Elliott. Let me return the favour.”

He stared at you, flabbergasted, wondering what had happened to you to suddenly want to take the lead. But he wasn’t complaining - there was something so incredibly sexy about you owning your power.

Elliott closed his eyes and groaned when you took your cock in his hand, and his eyes shot open again in surprise when he felt you sinking onto him almost immediately.

“[Y/n]…”

You hummed inquiringly, as if you didn’t know exactly what had him so surprised.

“Are you… not wearing any bloomers?”

You grinned.

“Why bother? They always end up a mess anyway. I might as well save on the washing, and be ready for you whenever you want me.”

Now it was Elliott’s turn to wonder if he’d died and gone to Heaven. But he’d killed too many men to ever get anywhere near the pearly gates, so he must still be in the mortal realm, you the visiting angel who was blessing him with your grace, your presence, your kind heart and — son of a bitch, your damn fine cunt too.

He loved watching you ride him with your dress still buttoned, your skirt pooled around your waist, your hair just about still pinned up but threatening to fall out at any moment with the ferocity of your movements. Dressed like a prim and proper Lady, fucking him like the desperate slut he knew you really were underneath. Even under the confines of your corset, he could see the movement of your breasts bouncing in time with your hips, desperate to be free of the stifling confines of your dress.

If only you could always be as free as you were now, taking your pleasure because you wanted to, not because you thought you had to. Elliott could give you that freedom here, the freedom to be your own woman. Even if you were his wife, he’d let you be free, doing whatever you wanted. If you wanted to have five kids and devote yourself to being a mother, he’d happily build a bigger house to keep them all; if you wanted to devote yourself to creating and mending clothes to earn your own money, he had plenty of space to build you a shop. He’d give you anything you wanted, anything at all. You only had to ask. You already had his heart; what was anything more on top of that?

You grabbed his right hand from where it was holding onto your thigh and guided him under your skirt towards your sweet spot.

“Touch me, Elliott,” you begged. “Please…”

Oh, with pleasure, he meant to say, but it came out as more of a mumble, his brain too addled by the pleasure you were bringing him to focus on something so menial as forming coherent words.

You could have happily stayed there for hours, bouncing on Elliott’s cock while he caressed your sweet spot in just the right way, but your cunt had other ideas, and you could feel the pleasure building up inside you.

“If you cum on my cock, [Y/n], I don’t think I’ll make it,” Elliott warned you, his voice high and whiny, betraying the way you were sending him absolutely fucking wild.

You leant down, pressing your clothed torso against his, and Elliott gasped when you nibbled on the skin on his neck.

You pressed your lips to his ear and whispered, “Go ahead. I want you to.”

Elliott immediately increased the speed with which he was touching you, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, and just as he’d promised, when your cunt clamped around him and you moaned his name into his ear as ecstasy overtook you, Elliott shuddered as his seed spilled inside you, filling you up with his desire, his adoration and - fuck it - his love for you.

“[Y/n]… [Y/n]… oh, [Y/n]…”

He mumbled your name like it was the only word he knew, as if saying it over and over again would be enough to tell you everything he could never say.

You stayed in his arms even long after you’d both come down from your highs, savouring each other’s presence, lingering in the cloud of everything you could never say to one another.

But maybe you didn’t have to say it. Because once upon a time, when Johanna was teaching you to read, she showed you a book with many pictures and short descriptions, a book which also taught you about the secret language of flowers among the social elite, and you remembered the entry for red tulips very well.

I declare my love.

You were in big trouble.

***

You’d been at the station for over a week now, and you were starting to get worried.

William had promised to join you within a few days of your own arrival. Elliott tried to assure you that delays happened, he might have been held up in Melbourne or on the journey, and there was surely nothing to worry about.

That didn’t ease your mind. You remembered what Elliott had said to you in the bathroom about your husband taking whores in Melbourne. Surely he wouldn’t? He had promised fidelity in his wedding vows, after all, and your husband was a pious man. He didn’t make promises lightly, and certainly not promises before God.

Then again, he’d ordered you into Elliott’s bed, even knowing it was infidelity. He’d sworn no one else would ever have you, yet he’d offered you up as if he were simply lending a book. Was he getting bored of you? Did he even intend to pick you up at all, or was your ‘visit’ a ploy to get you off his hands? Perhaps he’d found whores more skilled than you in Melbourne, or even a better wife, one of good standing whose womb would take his seed.

Or… perhaps he had left Melbourne, never to arrive. Maybe he got lost in the plains. Maybe… maybe he was lying dead in the sun somewhere, dingos picking at his corpse —

You pushed the thought out of your mind. You couldn’t stand to even imagine it.

You were sitting atop the hill that shielded the station from the worst of the sun, looking out across the land that stretched to the horizon and, somewhere beyond it, to Melbourne. It was peaceful here; with your back to the station, far enough that you couldn’t hear the goings on, you could almost imagine you were alone.

That was, until you heard the footsteps of someone coming up the hill behind you. They stopped, and you ignored them, continuing your watch over the horizon.

“What on earth are you doing up here?”

When you didn’t reply, Elliott clamboured over to you and sat by your side.

“You know, sitting in the sunlight for too long can make you sick.”

He pushed back a strand of your hair that had fallen across your cheek, and you winced.

“[Y/n], you’re bright red. You need to get inside. What are you doing out here?”

“Which way’s Melbourne?”

Elliott looked at you for a long moment. Then, he looked out at the horizon and pointed. “Two or three days that way, speed depending. Maybe four if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Elliott seemed to know what you were thinking because he put his hand over yours and said, “Sitting here won’t bring him any closer.”

“But I’ll see him sooner —”

“And he’ll be greeted by a burnt red tomato for a wife. Believe me, [Y/n], you don’t want to be burnt by the sun. Please will you come back to the station with me?”

You hesitated, but you agreed, and Elliott helped you to your feet. You took his arm to steady yourself on the uneven ground, and as you walked, you noticed your skin was feeling dry and tight. You raised your spare hand to your cheek, and noticed the heat radiating from yourself.

“Am I very red?”

Elliott stopped walking, turned to face you and pushed your bonnet back to examine your face properly. He winced, and you knew it wasn’t good news.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, we need to get you inside. I’ve got some ointments to help with the dry skin. I’ve caught the sun plenty of times, but it’s not a pleasant experience, and certainly not one I wish for you. You should have told me you were going up there, [Y/n]. You could have been taken by an Aborigine or worse.”

“I wanted to be alone,” you replied dejectedly. “And I wanted to wait for William —”

“I know, sweetheart,” Elliott said softly, gently cupping your face in his hands, and though he smiled sympathetically, a fleeting sadness crossed his expression when you said your husband’s name. “But you need protection, even from Australia herself. I could have given you a parasol for the sun, a gun for defence… Well, never mind that now. Come on.”

As you entered the station, you passed some of the men practising shooting tin cans, and you recalled Elliott’s comment about giving you a gun for defence.

“Would you teach me how to shoot?”

Elliott looked over at you, a hint of excitement on his face. “You’d want to learn? A delicate lady like you?”

“I’m tougher than you think!” you insisted stubbornly. “I grew up on the streets of London, remember?”

Elliott chuckled and put his arm around your waist as you entered the house, and you had to admit the shade was a relief.

He sat you down on the sofa and pulled out a jar of ointment from his desk drawer. “Alright, I’ll teach you how to shoot. But only for emergencies, understand? You should stay with me whenever possible, so you’ll always have me to keep you safe.”

He sat next to you and carefully took your bonnet off to start applying the ointment to your reddened skin.

“You’re so protective,” you said with a giggle. “Like a lion. Will you protect me from the scary dogs and the wild people, my big strong lion?”

“I’ll protect you from anything,” Elliott said seriously. “I’m the fastest draw in Australia, there’s nothing and nobody I won’t shoot down to protect you.”

“You can’t shoot the sun, Elliott.”

“I can try. How do you feel?"

Scared for where my husband is. Frightened of how I feel for you. Terrified that I want to stay.

“It stings.”

“It will, but it’s necessary to heal.”

“I know. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Because I’ll do anything to have you.

“I’m a dangerous man, [Y/n].”

He gently turned your head to the side to pay attention to your other cheek.

“You don’t seem so dangerous to me.”

Elliott smirked. “The most dangerous men seem harmless, until they stab you in the back.”

“You won’t stab me in the back, Elliott. You’d shoot instead.”

He smiled.

“Shoot you? Never. But if a man threatened to harm you… I wouldn’t hesitate.”

He glanced at your eyes before returning his focus to your skin, wondering if you understood his meaning. He didn’t want to tell you that he planned on challenging William to a duel for your hand as soon as he arrived, but when it did happen, he wanted you to understand that he was doing it to protect you, because from everything you’d told him, no man had harmed you as much as your husband had.

“Have you had news of the sharpshooter?”

Elliott’s lips thinned and his brow furrowed in the adorable way it did when he was annoyed.

“He killed more of my men last night. Seems to have decided he’d rather protect the Aborigines for nothing than shoot them for pay.” He scoffed. “I’ve upped the reward. I can’t afford to lose so many men so quickly. There, I think I got it all.”

Elliott stood to return the ointment to its drawer.

“What will you do when someone does bring him in?” you asked. “Oh, if you have him arrested, maybe William can send him to the gallows.”

Elliott smirked and pulled his revolver from its holster. “Nah, no point in all those formalities for the same outcome. I’ll kill him myself.”

He turned the gun around in his hand and pointed the handle towards you.

”Still wanna learn?”

Frankly you were still scared of guns, but you were more scared of Matthew Quigley and, though you’d never tell Elliott this, the men at the station, who leered at you when Elliott’s back was turned.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

***

Wary of your fresh sunburn, Elliott waited until sundown to teach you how to shoot. He stood behind you in the middle of the station, hands on your waist as he guided your stance. The heat being what it was, you’d taken to wearing thinner skirts, which made it a lot easier for you to feel the outline of his cock pressing up against your bum.

“Do you stand this close to your men when you teach them to shoot?” you said with a smirk.

“Of course I don’t,” Elliott murmured in your ear. “But I find myself drawn to you like a moth to a flame.”

“Careful, sweetie,” you whispered in reply. “The moth dies in the flame.”

“And what a way to go that’d be. Now… remember what I told you?”

“That I look pretty in this dress?”

Elliott chuckled, his breath warm on your cheek. “You look pretty in everything, darling. No, I mean about the gun. How do you make sure you don’t accidentally set it off?”

“Safety on at all times. Click it off only to use it, then straight back on.”

Elliott kissed your cheek. “Good girl. You wanna give it a shot?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Alright. Show me your grip.”

His heart swelled with pride when he saw your fingers slide into place around the barrel of the gun, as if you’d held one a thousand times before.

“Good. Now, aim it at that can over there.”

He pointed to a can that he’d placed on the fence. You raised your arm, holding the gun straight, and Elliott gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Relax your arm a bit. You don’t want to be tense, or the recoil’s gonna be a bitch. Now, I wanna see how you aim naturally. Give it a go, but don’t worry, I don’t expect you to get anywhere near it on your first try. Take your time. Breathe. Line it up… then take the safety off and pull the trigger.”

He still had a hand on your waist, but rather than distracting you, you found it soothing, as if his very presence was grounding you.

You thumbed the safety off, then pulled the trigger, and winced at the loud bang as the bullet shot out the end - and the can toppled off the fence.

“Holy shit,” Elliott breathed.

“Hey, I got it!” you said with surprise.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ did,” Elliott growled. He wrapped his arms around you, groping you hungrily, and you felt his cock pressing against your bum again. “God, that was so hot. You’re a natural, [Y/n]. You sure you’ve never shot before?”

You blushed, excitement tingling through you, pleased with yourself that Elliott was impressed with you.

“I just figured it’s not much different from sewing, right? Except it’s a gun and a bullet instead of a needle and thread. The target’s just the hole for the thread.”

Elliott grinned. “Brilliant. So brilliant. Here, let’s see where you managed to hit it.”

He jogged over to pick the can up from the floor and examined it. It was dented right at the top - you’d managed to hit it, but only just. He brought it back to you and showed you the mark your bullet had left.

“Not perfect, but a damn good shot, especially for your first try. I have men who practised for days before they could hit it.”

“Not perfect?” you repeated with mock indignation. “If that was a man’s head, he’d be dead either way.”

“True enough, sweetheart. Even I don’t shoot it perfectly on target every time.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you show me what you’ve got, cowboy?”

Elliott looked at you with a devilish glint in his eye. He loved to shoot, he loved to show off, and he especially loved to show off in front of you.

He replaced the can on the fence, then took your spot to ready himself to shoot at it.

“Nuh-uh, mister!” you protested. “That’s a beginner’s spot. If you’re such a good shot, you need to take another… six paces back.”

Elliott shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

He took six steps back, making sure they were big strides too, and you stepped back as well, not wanting to be close to his firing range - not that you expected him to miss so wildly as to hit you.

Elliott locked eyes with you and grinned cockily. You hardly had time to smile back when his gun was out and the can was flying off the fence.

You retrieved it this time, and just as expected, there was a round bullet-sized hole slap bang in the middle of the tin and mirrored on the other side.

Elliott jogged up behind you to examine his work.

“See? I told you,” he said proudly. “Best shot in Australia.”

“Sure you are.” You grabbed his hat, which he’d left hanging on a fence post when the sun went down, and placed it on your head. It was a little big for you, so you tipped it back to stop it covering your eyes.

“Look at me, I’m Elliott Marston! I like shooting things, making jelly and fucking [Y/n] [L/n]. I own so much land in Australia but I wish I was an American cowboy. I have a massive cock and I know how to use it. I —”

BANG!

You let out a squeal of surprise when the gun in your hand went off, and you instinctively dropped it to the floor. Fortunately, the bullet only lodged into the fence post, but Elliott instinctively pulled you back anyway.

“What’d I tell you about the safety!” he hissed. “You gotta turn it off as soon as you’re done shooting!”

He grabbed the gun from the floor and clicked the safety on. He tucked the gun under his belt and turned to you to check you were okay, and to his surprise you were standing with your head tucked, your fingers fidgeting anxiously with your dress.

“I’m sorry,” you said meekly. “I’m too simple for guns, I shouldn’t have tried —”

“Hey, hey, shh!”

Elliott cupped your face in his hands and forced you to look at him.

“Hey, come on, now. You’re nothing of the sort. You forgot in the excitement, that’s all. You’ll remember next time, won’t you?”

You nodded, and Elliott thought he might just melt at the sight of your doe eyes, so sweet and innocent, looking up at him as if you were frightened of him. Had he ever given the impression you had anything to fear from him if you did something wrong?

No, he thought as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you tight, murmuring soothing words against your skin as he littered soft kisses over the top of your head. He’d never done anything to make you fear his anger - but he was willing to bet your husband had. You’d been so timid in Melbourne, so frightened of disobeying William that you’d even agreed to warm a stranger’s bed because you had no choice but to obey your husband.

And simple? In what world were you simple? Or was that just an insult your husband used to keep you believing you weren’t good enough to be anything more than his obedient wife?

“I think you’re brilliant, [Y/n],” Elliott said, pulling back from the embrace to look at you. “You hear me? I…”

He faltered. He’d nearly slipped and said what he should never say to another man’s wife, what he couldn’t say, not here, not now.

You knew, surely? Could he make it any more plain without saying it?

“Why don’t we work on your draw, huh?” Elliott said, ignoring the thoughts swirling inside his head, willing himself to draw his attention away from your beautiful doe eyes. “It’s all well and good aiming, but if you’re too late to draw, you won’t have chance to aim.”

You nodded, and Elliott kissed your forehead warmly.

“Come on. Bet you can draw faster than half the men here.”

(You could.)

#elliott marston #elliott marston x reader #quigley down under #alan rickman #the eternal summer

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bobattef · 2 years ago

Text

I don’t need a baby sitter:

Storming up the stairs and slamming your bedroom door shut (so loudly that the walls shook) probably wasn’t the best way to prove to your dad that you were a grown ass woman but hey, he needed to know just how annoyed you were at him.

Being the daughter of ‘the’ Tony Stark definitely had its perks, what 20 year old had their own fleet of cars for one?

But it also came at a price, and not the legal tender type price.

You were only introduced to your father 3 years prior.

At 16, you were kicked out of the American adoptive system for now you were classed as an adult.

And it was only by pure desperation did you seek out your real parents, you thought you hit the jackpot when you matched your DNA with a billionaire.

Fast forward a few years and you had well and truly established yourself in this life of the fast living.

You had attended parties on top of parties.

Rubbed shoulders with real life superhero’s, one’s from even out of this world.

You also had a fair few arguments with actual government personnel and once was escorted out of the White House.

Still, the massive falling out you had with your Dad that particular day would be nothing compared to this one you were about to have as just…13 minutes ago, you had been told you will be given a personal bodyguard.

Yes, your Dad may have said body guard but you translated it to ‘babysitter’.

And at 20 years of age, who would possibly want a babysitter?!

Morgan doesn’t even have one for gods sake!

“She’ll calm down soon” Tony sighs out loud.

Pepper smiles weakly as she strokes Morgan’s hair.

“Do you think it will be any easier when this little one is her age?” She asks him but doesn’t really want an answer.

She knows deep down Tony feels guilty about missing out the fact he had another Daughter out there somewhere.

***

“Rise and shine starlight…” Your Dad raps on your bedroom door the next morning, or more like afternoon.

“I know you’re mad at me but you can’t be so mad you’ll miss out on brownie-pancakes!”

“Ergh!” You throw the pillow you were laid on over your head.

“I’m not a child!!” You shout out into the soft fabric.

“I know” your Dad feels the guilt pang at him again as he remembers that he never saw you as a child.

“But who can refuse brownie-pancakes??…”

“…I’ll be down in 5” you roll your eyes like he can hear them!

You thought about getting showered and dressed before going downstairs (it was gone noon after all) but the promise of sweet treats for breakfast were too good to miss out on.

Throwing some slacks and a hoodie on, you make your way down stairs, hugging Morgan hello as you walk past her in the middle room.

“I didn’t make them myself so they’re good!” Your Dad says as you take a place at the breakfast bar.

There was quite a spread as you gathered a few brownie-pancakes on a plate, topped them with the whipped cream and strawberries your dad had put out whilst also pinching a few chocolate shavings for the top.

He just smiles at you as you get started on the pile of food, enjoying the silence for once.

It’s short lived though, as you hear the clicking of Pepper’s heels along the corridor over the sound of her speaking quietly, is she on the phone?

“Ah, glad you could make it Cap” Your dad looks up, past you sitting at the breakfast bar and towards the 2 men now entering the kitchen.

You freeze on the spot.

You weren’t expecting guests, hence the choice of relaxed attire you had on so are hugely embarrassed anyways but the fact that it was THE Captain America was 10 times worse!

You’ve met him a few times at parties, but that’s when you were done up to the 9’s.

You’d never come close to being with him of course but that never stopped you flirting outrageously with him at every chance.

One, he was ridiculously handsome and two, you knew it would piss your Dad off to no end to see you giggling and grabbing the arm of his Avenger team mate.

He definitely didn’t have anything to worry about now though as you’re sure when Steve sees you dressed the way you are with no make up on, he’ll never look at you twice again!

“Morning girls” the heavenly voice of his rings around the room as Morgan squeals whilst saying her hello back.

You haven’t turned around yet.

Hopefully your Dad and Cap and whoever else it is will go off to the offices for the business it was that had him here.

“Good morning Y/N?” Steve says to you as you pop your hoodie on over your head, at least trying to hide your look of homelessness.

“Mmm, Morning” you quickly speak up, still not facing him in the doorway.

Your Dad laughs.

He knows exactly what you’re thinking and he’s loving every minute of it.

Maybe now you’ll leave his team mate alone at parties?

“Y/N?” He sounds so innocent as you glare back at him from underneath your hood.

“This is the bodyguard I was telling you about…” he smirks at you again.

You are fuming.

Not only did you point blank refuse his idea of having a personal bodyguard but not even 24 hours later, he’s brought someone in for you to meet whilst you’re looking like a hobo!!

“I don’t need a baby sitter” you say to him through gritted teeth but it soon disappears as you hear Steve’s laughter from behind.

“He’s not a babysitter y/n” he says walking over to you, (oh no!)

“Your Dad’s right, you need protection, 24/7 protection and when we’re not around, then…”he’s in front of you now as you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Smiling as you turning pink he carries on “…then Bucky will be there for you if and when you need it”

Your heart sinks at his words.

Did you even hear him right.

Bucky will be here?

Bucky Barnes?!

You turn your head towards the doorway, forgetting about the state of your face, needing your eyes to confirm for your ears.

And sure enough, there he is, taking up the whole frame of the doorway pretty much, it’s the winter soldier.

***

You had met Steve’s old war pal a handful of times before today.

He didn’t really like the whole ‘Stark Party’ vibes you had most weekends and he rarely hung with the others around the compound much.

He would sometimes acknowledge you when Steve would say hi or bye but that’s about as far as interactions have been between you both.

So you have no idea why your Dad thought the ex Hydra assassin would be the best pick of the bunch to be your bodyguard.

You had yet another argument with him about it, this time with Cap and Bucky stood there in the kitchen to witness it.

You were being a massive brat but you didn’t care.

You had to get your point across but it, once again, fell on deaf ears as just 3 days later you were left alone in the compound with your new security.

It had been exactly 4 hours and 37 minutes since you watched the Quinjet pull out of the landing bay with the Avengers on board.

Off out on some pissy little mission in the Middle East somewhere, you kept your best pouting face on the whole time your Dad explained himself to you.

Turning to Bucky stood just behind you, you could have sworn he sighed out loud as he turned and walked back inside.

Perhaps he wasn’t happy with this arrangement either?

Not that you could ask him.

He stayed in the kitchen whilst you were laying on the sofa, scrolling aimlessly on your phone.

A light rumble from your stomach reminded you that you had skipped breakfast this morning, too annoyed to eat!

You practically dragged yourself up from the comfort of the lounge area, wrapping the blanket you had around your shoulders like some sort of cape.

Bucky flickered his gaze up to look at you as you walked over to the fridge.

You tried not to look his way as he was leant over the breakfast bar, his dark blue shirt showing off his vibranium arm.

The silence in the room got louder as you finished making your lunch, deciding to sit at the opposite end of the bar.

Bucky sighed, making that same exasperated sound he had done previously on the balcony today.

The noise made you look up towards him, your eyes found his staring straight at you.

Your cheeks heated slightly as you he kept his eyes on you.

“You er…” you cleared your throat “hungry?”

You ask the Super Soldier, why was he staring at you like this??

But he doesn’t answer, instead he stands from the breakfast bar, the sound of the stool legs scrapping on the floor caused you to jump a little.

He maintains your awkward eye contact with him as walks out the kitchen, away from you.

“Ooook…” you say to yourself.

***

The next couple of days were pretty much the same, you knew the super soldier was in the compound with you whilst your Dad and the others were still out on the mission but you never found yourself in the same room as him, ever.

If you were in the kitchen, he’d wait in the lounge.

If you were in the lounge, he’d be upstairs in his room.

If you were in your room, he’d be down in the gym.

He always made sure he’d leave which ever room it was, just as you were coming in.

It was weird as hell.

You tried to smile at him as you crossed paths in the hallway or stairs but he never gave you anything back.

You started to get annoyed with him.

You weren’t happy with this arrangement, that was obvious, but why did he agree to it if he’s not even going to nod a good morning greeting once in a while.

On day 4 of no Dad or Avenger’s here, you finally snapped.

You had wanted to go and meet your bestie in town but Bucky said no.

You didn’t even ask him if you could, so you wasn’t prepared in the slightest to hear his very firm ‘no!’

“I’m sorry…did you just tell me no?” You gave Bucky a chance to change his answer, rewrite his little script of this conversation but he wasn’t budging.

“You’re not going” he said to you as he turned to walk away but you step in front of him.

This is the most words he’s ever said to you and yet they aren’t what you want to hear.

“I don’t think you can…” you try to argue your point but he cuts in.

“Your Dad said I’m in charge whilst he’s gone” Bucky snaps at you.

“But, I…” the way he’s glaring down at you makes you stutter, what is his problem??

“But nothing” he simply states, walking around where you had been standing he goes back into the lounge.

You stand there for a few more seconds.

Trying to take in what had just happened.

Did the winter soldier just ground you??

***

You were fuming.

You thought about stomping after Bucky, tell him what’s for and that he can’t speak to you like that but you were still pretty intimidated by him.

He was a trained assassin once upon a time.

So, you opted for the plan which you did best, you’d sneak out instead.

Of course you haven’t had to do this for a long time but you didn’t realise it would have to come to this.

You stayed in your bedroom until you knew Bucky had gone down to the gym, like he always did when you were up here.

You peeked out the crack of your door, just about catching the screen above the elevator as it dinged to say it was at the ground floor.

Perfect.

You eased out of your bedroom, closing the door ever so quietly.

I mean, he was a super soldier after all, who knew if he had super senses??

You tiptoed to the stairs, one last look to make sure the elevator was still displaying the ‘G’ for ground floor, you bolted down them, maintaining those light foot steps each time.

You stepped off the last one and into the reception area, your feet squealed from the rubber on the bottom of your trainers as they hit the shiny surface of the floor.

The noise startled you but you carried on running, you cleared the distance to the front entrance doors in no time, you could feel your hand starting to sweat as you reached out to grab the handle.

Twisting it frantically, it took a little longer than it should have to realise the top was bolted across.

Something you’ve hardly ever seen on this door as it’s never needed to be locked so tightly.

“Eurgh!!” You can’t keep your frustration inside as you desperately try to jump and reach the lock.

One, two, three times it took you to outstretch your arm long enough to be able to slide the metal across but you did it.

A loud sigh escaping from your mouth as you finally go to swing the door open, almost tasting freedom, but the sound of someone clearing their throat comes from behind you.

Dread fills your body.

You know damn well whose mouth that left from.

Closing your eyes in defeat at getting caught, you drop your head down to the floor also.

“I thought I told you no” Bucky’s voice almost echoed as you both now stood in the reception area.

You could feel your body start to pump adrenaline as his words hit a nerve with you.

“You can’t tell me no” you bite back.

Staying where you are, facing the, now unlocked, door.

You put your hand back onto the handle, you got this far you might as well carry on.

What could he possibly do to stop you from leaving?

“Take your hand off that handle Doll” Bucky threatened you, you almost got annoyed all over again at the tone he had used.

Like telling a child off but the name he added at the end of his sentence took you by surprise.

“Doll?” Your inside thoughts decide to break free as you question if he meant to say that to you.

“Let go of the door” Bucky repeats himself, leaving out the pet name he previously had said.

“Or??” You pushed it a little further with him.

Maybe because you still had your back to him, so you couldn’t see just how scary he probably looked right now.

You gripped a little tighter on the door handle too.

You hardly heard his footsteps yet he closed the distance between you both in mere seconds.

His breathing was suddenly very close to your neck as he stood almost flush behind you.

He reached up, leaning over you slightly as he slid the bolt back across the top of the door with ease.

You still had hold of the handle, even though the top bolt made your action redundant, you felt like it was your only way to help prove your point.

You didn’t expect him to wrap his hand around yours that was still clutching onto the metal to pull it away.

“Just do…” the sound of him talking so close to your ear almost sent a shiver down your spine.

Why was he so scary?

“…what you’re told. For once”

He added on that last bit through gritted teeth it sounded like.

With his hand still entwined with yours, he uses this contact to pull you round, so you were now facing him.

Your back hit the wooden paned door as you glance upwards to his face.

His eyes pierced into yours, almost trying to read what was going on behind them.

But you had nothing.

No plan, no action, no words.

#bucky x female reader #winter soldier #marvel #the avengers

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blackink-onpaper · 2 years ago

Text

The Descend and the Resurface

Damian Hart (Beyblade) x OC

Summary: OC comes from a complex background, and in the midst of trying to save it all and help her family she enters a strange arrangement, which will change her life forever.

Masterlist 🖤

Tags: Beyblade, Beyblade Metal Masters, Zeo Abyss, Jack, Damian Hart, OC, Gingka Hagane, team Starbreaker, team Gan Gan Galaxy, dr. Ziggurat, Hades Inc.

A/N: (ambience suggestion) this chapter and the next will go along with the canon storyline, for this chapter watch Beyblade Metal Masters episode 92 if you like, it’s available on youtube! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 15

Early in the morning, when the sun had just come up to creep over the miles of empty desert surrounding Hades City, I woke up to see I was alone. At first, I thought Damian might have gone to the bathroom, but then I recalled they had to do a round of Arrangement before takeoff to the final battle. Returning to my own room, I took a refreshing cold shower and washed my hair, before moving onto planning my appearance for the day. A cheeky thought crossed my mind as I was flipping through my folded clothing, as I considered dressing in Damian’s colours as a sign of support: this was my first public appearance with Starbreaker, after all.

Checking the schedule match time on my phone, which was at noon, I understood I had to be ready at least an hour earlier in order to be on time. I dried my hair and curled it into very loose and unintentional waves, and did my makeup lightly but a bit more sophisticated than usual, because I was unsure if I will be a target for the paparazzi, although I definitely intended not to be and remain hidden if possible. For clothes, I decided on a white linen button down tucked into my straight white ankle length jeans, black chelsea boots with a small blunt heel, and my powder blue Dior bag I got as a gift from Julian’s mom a couple of years ago for my birthday - the colour would serve good as a reminiscent of Damian’s hair. To complete my look, I painted my bare nails black to match my boots, and added gold chain bracelets as the final touch: I was very pleased with my look. Just after texting Ziggurat’s assistant for details, I also remembered I had a thin black velvet choker in my jewelry bag which I immediately added to my ansemble, excited to see if anyone is going to notice.

At breakfast, a familiar situation happened with boys from the Academy; there were too many looks and whispers for me to not notice. I tried to ignore them, but I think today’s match got them too excited to remember some manners. Nonetheless, I did my best to tune them out and read what Ziggurat’s assistant texted me back:

Dear Camila,

The departure time is 10:45AM by helicopter. Please be present in section B3, platform 4 at that exact time to meet the team. Your tickets have been sorted, please find them attached.

‘Great’ I thought to myself, because I had just enough time to finish my meal slowly and make it in time. At 10:40, I was already at the platform, and I was surprised to meet Zeo there. He seemed very, very upset:

“Zeo, are you okay?” I came up to him, but he slapped my hand away as I tried to touch his shoulder, yelling:

“Leave me alone!”

I stood in silence, with shock caught in my throat. He then realised what he did:

“Camila… I feel like I’m losing my mind.” He said in an almost sobbing voice: “I couldn’t finish my Arrangement again, and if I lose Toby-“

“Zeo listen to me” I interrupted him, realising he needs to hear a proper pep talk: “What does Starbreaker stand for? The American flag, and breaking stars: breaking stars like Masamune and Gingka” he stared at me, probably shocked at where my sudden agency came from: “and you were not picked up from a dumpster to play, you were selected as a rarity. Please remember this!”

He stared for a second longer, before clearing his throat, and then giving me a strong, tight hug: “Thank you Camila, really.”

“Well well, what do we have here?” Damian’s voice echoed behind us, he was accompanied by Jack. Zeo broke off the hug gently: “Camila helped me with my nerves before the battle, which is usually a captain’s job.”

“There’s no need for nerves, Zeo. Simply don’t dissapoint and everything’s fine.” Damian brushed him off with his trademark grin.

“Damian!” I gasped at how inconsiderate he was being.

“I’m not even being rude” he said to all of us very bluntly: “I am just saying if he recalled the number of zeros behind his training costs and his paycheck, he should forget all about nerves!”

“Now, now, kiddies” Ziggurat came up to us as well: “No commotion please. Today is an important day.” He shot me a glance as well: “Starbreaker is about to make history, Hades is about to make history, and we also have our debut with Camila.” He added the latter in a noticably more condescending tone, but then again I was just an accessory in this narrative. We boarded the helicopter and were brought to the stadium by 11:15, accomodated to a room in the backstage.

“Camila, from what I understand you’re on the first row next to the exit, correct?” Ziggurat asked in a very dry manner while looking over some paperwork. The boys and I were seated at a table:

“Yeah, right next to where Starbreaker stands.” I caught Damian’s glance.

“Excellent” he concured, before flipping his folder closed: “Could I please ask you for a few minutes alone with the boys?”

I hated how cold and alienating talking to Ziggurat made me feel; as if every answer I said was considered mostly incorrect but tolerably acceptable. I agreed and left the room, deciding to have a small walk along the hall before coming back. Strolling around the empty tunnel-like hallway, my boots’ short heels made much more noise than one would’ve expected. Because of this, I didn’t hear other footsteps approaching from behind:

“Ah, sorry miss do you maybe know where the bathroom is?”

I turned around, equally surprising and being surprised by Ginka and the girl that accompanied them: “Gingka!”

“Camila! What are you doing here?”

For some reason, I suddenly felt utterly embarrassed to say I am here with Starbreaker because the last time he saw me I was wheeping for Excalibur; I also didn’t feel like doing myself a disservice in a moment where I didn’t have time to explain myself properly:

“I am actually also looking for the bathroom!”

“Ah good let’s look for it together!” He smiled at me, the girl adding: “Yeah, the bathroom can’t remain hidden from three people looking for it!” I followed them to the bathroom, which ended up being nearby, and reapplied some lipgloss just to do something until they came out of the stalls to wash their hands:

“Guys, I need to go now, but I wish you lots of luck okay?” I smiled at them, although I was lying through my teeth: “Have you found a third member?”

“Ah no, unfortunately I’ll probably take on two from Starbreaker. We’ll see who though!” Ginka smiled at me, with no idea he was talking to a Starbreaker informant: “Thank you, please cheer for us!”

“Of course” I gave them a thumbs up, adding: “see you out there!” Before swiftly leaving to return to the Starbreaker room.

After closing the door behind me, I realised the boys were by themselves and Ziggurat had gone somewhere:

“Gan Gan Galaxy don’t have a third member” I announced, observing Damian for his reaction: “I just ran into Gingka and that girl in the bathroom”

“Resourceful” Jack said in a kind of flerting voice. Damian grinned: “Look at you, Camila, a real Star-breaker.” He alluded to the metaphor I told him last night. Soon after, Ziggurat returned and I had to depart to get my seat before the match began. I was nervous and excited, mostly for Damian’s sake, but also for Zeo and Jack; I wanted to see Damian win and to see Zeo get his revenge against that moron Masamune. With the exact strike of noon, the presenters announced the final battle with energising theatrics:

“The first team to arrive are our very own US representatives: team Starbreaker! There they are!” The one in the ridiculous white suit and tophat announced as the boys stepped out into view. I clapped very hard, and tried to whistle as a sign of support but failed miserably at the attempt.

With a blush, I observed how attractive Damian looked in the displays on the screens across the stadium, as the presenter resumed: “These finalists have won their way here with complete ease! Making a live appearance today is this newcomer: Zeo!”

“Zeo! Zeo! Zeo!” I clapped and chanted.

“And the guy who might carve out his art of victory into the stadium again today, the true artist of Blading: Jack!”

“Wooohoooo! Jaaack!” I clapped even harder, knowing my darling is up next:

“And last but not least, the fearsome guide of Hades, his opponents tremble before him: Damian!”

I stood up and managed to push out a whistle, clapping my already pink, sore hands: “Go Damian! Break stars!”

Gan Gan galaxy was announced next, and I saw Starbreaker were talking something inaudible among themselves before Jack noticed where I was, and waved at me. Zeo waved as well, while Damian shot me wink and a pearly winner’s smile. The first battle between Masamune and Zeo was announced, and I was back on my feet again cheering him on.

The beginning of the match was quite dramatic, as Masamune and Zeo exchanged a heated argument before ripping: one that is very cryptic to those who are not familiar with what happened between them. Zeo’s tall Bey resisted Masamune’s continuous reaches for an attack, which was an entertaining start to say the least. But the entire match was laced with absolute hate; a side of Zeo I didn’t see even when he was telling me about Masamune and Toby. Zeo’s special move had Masamune’s Striker in a chokehold, so I expected the match to be over soon. But then Gingka yelled some instructions to Masamune, telling him to strike Byxis from above.

“How is this fair?” I uttered under my breath. I wondered how is it allowed to help out your teammate in the middle of a battle like this, while the American fans booed loudly with the same idea in mind. According to Gingka’s instructions, Striker descended onto Byxis with great force. But then, Zeo suddenly burst with a massive wave of blue, cold energy, which blew away pamphlets from the hands of the audience; but where did this come from? Consumed and confused with the situation, I was at the edge of my seat trying to understand what I could expect next. Zeo was yelling something that was unintelligible to the audience because of the wind and sounds of the energy burst, when suddenly - it was over.

“Did he win?” I heard a boy sitting next to me ask his friend, as we were all onlooking over each others’ heads to see the outcome. Masamune was unconscious, his bey next to him, and Zeo was on his knees briefly before slipping onto his side, fainting as well. I assumed this entire and abrupt win was the result of the Arrangement, and because this was my first time seeing Zeo in battle I understood how much struggle he had to go through to get this far; he truly deserved this win. A brief recess was called as Zeo and Masamune were taken away on stretchers, but the crowds blocked every milimetre I could move in, so I was halted from joining Starbreaker in the backstage and forced to simply await the next match between Jack and Gingka.

#beyblade #beyblade fanfiction #damian hart #damian hart x reader #oc #beyblade jack #zeo abyss #masamune kadoya #beyblade gingka #gan gan galaxy #beyblade damian #beyblade zeo #beyblade metal fusion #beyblade metal fury #beyblademetalmasters #beyblade smut #anime #gingka hagane

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throbbin-bobbies · 2 years ago

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I stayed inside the rest of the day. After dinner with everyone, I decided to take a shower and wash off the stresses of my day. While Bailey and Will were outside finishing some chores, I opted for getting into bed and putting something on the tv to fall asleep to.

As I go to set my alarms on my phone, I notice that the time is 7:57pm. “Wow. This is probably the earliest I’ve gone to bed in a long time” I chuckled. Setting my phone on my side table I quickly fell into a wonderful and deep slumber. What will tomorrow entail?

——————

The night was decent. Usually I would be up and down all night especially my first night somewhere I’ve never slept. The long journey must’ve tired me out more than I expected.

Looking at my phone after turning my alarm off, it read 8:36 am. “Hmm. I’m sure the house is empty.” Getting up and out of bed I picked my outfit for the day. Will and Bailey both have school just like everyone else. Well. With the exception of the adults since they’re not in school.

Opting for some light wash jeans shorts and a red t shirt with a white tank top underneath, all I was missing right now was my boots. I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. I noticed a note on the kitchen counter.

‘ Misty,

We figured you’d sleep in some. The boys are at school and unfortunately we’re out for the day for business. Help yourself to anything you’d like in the kitchen!

Call us if you need anything at all,

Mr. & Mrs. Handler’

“Ah. That’s too bad. I wonder when the boys get out of school?” I thought of loud. Looking through the cupboards I found some cereal. “I wonder if everyone goes to the same school?” Pouring myself a bowl of cereal, I take some time to simply breathe. Trying to relax and ease my mind as much as I can. You can only relax so much while eating cereal. When I finished I cleaned up my mess and decided to head out to the barn.

“Good morning Little Miss! Did you sleep well!?” I called out as I walked in. Little Miss gave out a happy whinny, likely happy to see me. That or she had a great night of sleep. Hopefully both haha.

“Let’s get you turned out into the pasture.” I mumble while petting her nuzzle. “Smokestack and River should be here around noon I heard. So that’ll be fun!” Smokestack is my American Quarter Horse stallion and River is my dog. She’s a long haired black German Shepherd. They were traveling ahead of me like Little Miss. but the trailer had a flat tire and it put them behind a night.

Seeing all the other horses in the barn I couldn’t help but wonder what their personalities were like. Are they like their owners? Only time will tell!

And with time, it came and went faster than I realized. The sound of a couple honks grabbed both mine and Missy’s attention. It was Erik with Smokestack and River! The truck and trailer rolled to a stop, and then Erik hopped out of the front seat along with River right behind him.

River ran straight to me. “River! We’re you a good girl? Who’s a good girl?! You are! My goodness girl!” She bombarded me with her body and kisses.

“Thank you Erik! I’m glad you all arrived in one piece!”

“I’m glad I arrived in one piece too!” He chuckled, heading to the back of the trailer. “So, how’s your first official full day at the ranch?”

I played with River on the ground while Erik unloaded Smoke. His liver chestnut coat shined in the sunlight. He has four socks of varying lengths and a white blaze down his nose. Standing up from playing with River, I greet Smoke. “Smokestack! My baby!” I hold my arms out to him and he gives out a happy whinny, bobbing his head up and down with excitement.

He nibbled at me while I was petting his nose. “Alright. Let’s get you some feed and water. Later we’ll get in a small ride to stretch those legs!” I take the lead from Erik. “You take care kiddo! I’ve gotta go, see ya!”

“See ya Erik! Thanks for dropping them off!” I wave as he drives off. Walking over to the pasture I let Smoke take off. There was already a water trough so that part was simple enough. Walking back into the barn I grabbed some feed and placed it into to separate bins. One for Smoke and one for Missy.

“Alright you two! You eat up, I’m going to go make something for myself! I’ll be back out at 2 o’clock Smokey. We’ll getcha all tacked up!”

————

My meal was just some simple eggs and bacon with toast. Cleaning up my mess I headed back outside. Smokey trotted up to the fence line, eager to get out of the pasture. He greeted me with a snort and a whinny. “Alright boy, let’s get you ready.” I clipped the lead rope onto his halter and tied him off on the fence. His tack was in a box in the barn, along with where Missy’s tack box was. I dragged the box out, all the horses in their stalls watching as I did so. It feels like some of them already aren’t fans of me? Or maybe they’re just stirred up with two knee horses. ‘I’ll settle with that as the answer.’ I thought as I opened the box, now placed by Smokestack.

All of his tack was wrapped in newspapers to keep it in good condition. You never know when a box is gonna get extra bumpy and break something. When I got him all finished up I decided to leave Missy and bring River with me. Missy was busy sunbathing so I won’t interrupt her. “Come on River, let’s go explore some!” She gave a couple barks and started off on one of the trails that go to the woods. “Alrighty! As long as we stay on the trail and don’t go too far we’ll be okay. Let’s go Smokey!” I squeezed my legs in the saddle and off he went.

————————

Some time had passed and we were by some apple trees. We were all having a taste of the sweet apples they had to offer, even River was knowing on an apple. Feeling a buzz on my smartwatch, I look down and see I have a call from an unknown number. “Maybe it’s one of the others.” I mumbled as I chewed a piece of apple. Tapping the green phone I hear a familiar voice.

“Hello!? Misty?”

“Yeah! Who is this?” I chuck my apple core near the base of the tree.

“This is Bailey. We were starting to wonder where you went. You weren’t in the house, the barn, and Missy is here. Where are you?”

“Oh, hey Bailey! Yeah, I got kinda bored and decided to go for a ride. I’ll head back to the barn now, we were getting ready to head back anyways.”

“Ride? But your horse is here? Who’s horse are you riding!?” Bailey sounded confused. I could hear another voice, “She’s out riding?” that sounded like Will’s voice.

I gave a small chuckle walking over and mounting Smokey. “Yeah. I actually have two horses I brought with me.”

“Two!? Wow, your parents must have money.” Bailey commented. “Well, anyway. Just about everyone is here at the barn. You should come watch todays practice!”

“Okay, I’ll be back in 10. Bye!”

“Ride safe, bye!”

And with a click our call was over. I wonder how they’ll react to Smokestack. Maybe they’ll be expecting a big draft like Missy. I let out a hearty laugh and urged Smoke forward. River followed close by, bobbing and weaving through the bushes. I urged Smoke to go faster, and we were at a full gallop. We could see the clearing coming up and we quickly broke out into the open where the trail ended. I could see everyone standing in the practice arena with their horses. Might as well make an entrance. We did a sliding stop on the opposite side of the arena fence, kicking up dirt and dust.

“Hey guys! Hope I’m not late!” I chuckled with a huge grin.

“Ugh, you’re going to get me covered in filth.” Chloe whined.

“Yeah, some of us have standards.” Zoe chipped in.

“Blah blah. Go cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it girls.” I poked at them.

“Wow, that’s some great reining skills Misty. Do you do western?” Bailey complemented, riding closer on Aztec.

“I do a little bit. I mainly did ranching back home. But I always found time to have a little fun with Smokestack. Right boy?” I gave his neck a pat and as if on cue he gave a big whinny.

“You did ranch work? That’s pretty cool!” Will rode up from the back in the pack.

“Yeah, if you’re poor and like getting all dirty.” Zoe scoffed.

“I don’t know about that, Zoe. Ranch hands are a big reason why you even have a horse. Without them we really wouldn’t have the same horsemanship like we do today.” Will explained.

“Ugh whatever, if you guys wanna be dirty and gross don’t count us in.” And with that Zoe and Chloe started to ride away, towards another trail perhaps?

“What’s this horses name?” Sarah asked trying to sheer up the situation.

“Smokestack! But I’ll typically just call him Smoke. Or Smokey. Either works really.”

“Oh that’s a cool name!” Sarah seemed nice. I can only wait to see if it’s a facade or not though.

“Alrighty! As pleasant as it is, enough chit chatting. We have practice we have to get through!” Will brought everyone back on task. “We’ll be going over jumping….” Will started going on his speech about jumping and all the dynamics. “Alright, since Misty is our newest guest, we’ll give her the option to go first. Misty? What do you say?”

Without missing a beat. “Absolutely! Can I jump all the jumps or just this first one?”

“If you’d like to do all of them and feel comfortable enough to, then by all means. Go right ahead.”

“Pfft. You’re just going to fall off that big clumsy horse of yours.” Chloe grumbled. I gave Will a ‘I’ve got this look’. For Smokey this course was child’s play. But for them it’s probably new to them. We quickly and swiftly made our way through the course, not hitting a single pole. As I made my ride back to the group, everyone was clapping. Except Chloe and Zoe of course.

“What can I say? He’s allergic to wood.” I chuckled.

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findingvigilante · 2 years ago

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Date: May 17, 2022

Word gets around pretty fast in Evergreen. That's like with any small town, I guess. It's like a game of telephone except all the right information is being relayed and everyone knows the story by noon. It was even revealed that Goff was using his campaign money to do sketchy things as well as receive money from sketchy people. But are we really surprised that a Senator was dirty? I'm not.

But back to my research. I decided today that maybe I'm looking in all the wrong places. As I'm scouring through the files, I noticed there was one common denominator in all this. One factor that was mentioned time and time again in quite a few reports was none other than Peacemaker himself. Somehow he and Vigilante have teamed up quite a few times while taking down criminals in and around Evergreen as well as the state of Washington. To the untrained eye it would look like a hero and sidekick combo but it didn't look that way to me. I knew deep down that Vigilante wasn't the type to be a sidekick. Everything that I read and heard didn't suggest that he was the sidekick to a hero. Hell, he's not even a hero. Not really. Or is he? I don't know anymore. This case is starting to mess with my thoughts.

So going back to the Peacemaker idea, I thought trying to speak with him would be a great start. As luck would have it, everyone knows who he is. His address is even in the phone book. His dad was in there too but if I learned anything growing up in this hick town, it was that you avoid Auggie Smith and his crew at all costs. I'd only get into contact with that man as a last resort. Maybe not even as a resort at all. If I couldn't get into contact with Christopher Smith, then I'd probably scratch that lead off my list. Anything to not have to get in touch with August Smith.

By 1 pm I found myself parked outside a very patriotic looking trailer in a trailer park near town. It looked weirdly normal but at the same time it was weird; like I wasn't expecting a man of his type to be living in a trailer park but at the same time I did. So mustering up my courage, I went to the front door and knocked. When no one answered, I knocked again. But I did hear weird screeches coming from inside. When I peered into the window for a quick look, I was surprised to see a bald eagle staring right back at me. It gave a screech as I stumbled backwards onto the ground, flapping its wings at me. I guess at the time I forgot that Peacemaker's real sidekick was a bald eagle. Which I guess in turn made sense since his whole shtick was patriotism and all that American crap.

That lead was a bust. Which then led me to the one person I absolutely did not want to speak to. Auggie Smith only lived a few blocks away from my childhood home and all the kids knew to avoid his home like the plague unless you were a child of one of his followers. Then that was a different story. Even pulling up in front of the house gave me shivers. But gathering up my courage, I marched up the walkway to the door and knocked. No one answered here either. So I called out and said I was a reporter for The Daily Planet and wanted to speak to him about his son. No one answered then either. Then a soft voice made me turn around. A little old man stood behind me, his hands in his pockets. He asked who I was and what I was doing so I told him I was a reporter for the Planet and wanted to ask Mr. Smith a few questions about his son. The man chuckled and said no one was home. Auggie Smith had been arrested early that morning and was taken into custody by the police. When I asked why, the old man just shrugged. He then said that I had just missed his son who had come to the house not too long ago. My eyes practically bulged out of my head when he said he had a friend with him. When I asked if it was the Vigilante, the old man shrugged and said he didn't know who the man was. He also didn't go into details which now that I look back at it, I should've asked for a description.

Both of my leads were a bust. But the nice old man did give me a new idea: visit the prison. There was bound to be someone in there who had a run-in with Vigilante and could tell me a bit more about him. And if I was lucky, maybe I could speak to Auggie but that was only if he was in there. Evergreen Corrections Center had some serious offenders there. Everyone from sexual assault right up to murder was sentenced and tossed in there for their crimes. No one wanted to be near them let alone speak to them, which surprised the guard at the front desk when I asked if I could speak to Auggie Smith. He shrugged and said that Smith wasn't taking visitors right now because he wasn't in a good mood (he was never in a good mood, if my memory serves me correctly). So when that didn't work, I asked if there was anyone on file that was here because of Vigilante. The guard looked at me before checking the files on the computer. After a minute or two, he said I was in luck and that there was one man here that survived Vigilante's attack. Lars Owens, a sexual predator that prayed on elementary school kids. The guard mentioned that he was caught one night trying to get after a child when Vigilante attacked. He....cut off his nether regions as well as both his hands. He almost lost a tongue too when the police arrived on the scene and had to rush Lars to the hospital for his injuries. Then he was thrown in here for violating his restraining order to not be near 30 feet of a playground.

Lars wasn't exactly thrilled to see me or be pulled out of his cell to be asked about the night he was attacked. He had a bit of a lisp due to the fact that the tip of his tongue had to be surgically removed. Plus he had no hands. When I asked him about the night of the attack, he said that it happened so fast. He left out the fact that he was stalking a child and dove right into the details, saying he was jumped from behind and threatened with a sharp object. I won't go into details of what he said but it adds up to what the guard said was on his file. He asked why I was so interested in Vigilante because he was nothing but a murderer hiding behind the hero complex. I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. I was the one asking the questions. Not him. He's the one here for a serious crime. Vigilante just happened to be the one to stop him from taking it another step further.

Just as I was about to ask another question, a flurry of guards raced past the visitor's area, yelling and grabbing for the weapons at their waist. Lars groaned and said something about missing another brawl but I was too focused on the door to hear what he was saying. I watched as the guards returned a minute later with Auggie in cuffs, a look of pure murder on his face. Whatever went down in the common area had something to do with him. But who was he fighting with? No one here had the guts to get on his bad side. Plus I didn't see the guards pass by with the aggressor in cuffs. They must've taken him to a different cell in a different area.

After thanking Lars for his time, I returned back to my apartment to make note of everything that has happened. The board of nonsense was filled with even more nonsense now that Peacemaker was tossed into this mess. So he and Vigilante were buddies. Comrades. Partners. Now what? I can't even get a hold of Peacemaker let alone find him and speak to him personally. Maybe if I asked around town, someone would have seen him somewhere. From what I've seen in pictures, he's not exactly a guy you'd miss in a crowd. He was tall, muscular with a bright red shirt with a yellow symbol of a dove. And he wears that stupid silver salad bowl on his head. He's literally the exact replica and living version of a child's drawing. But Christopher Smith himself was a handsome man. Not gonna lie about that. If it weren't for the whole killing people for peace thing, he'd be every lover's dream husband. But I guess this wasn't his fault. Everyone in town knew his story and how his dad trained him to be a killer. Since Auggie had the police in a chokehold, there was nothing they could do to take little Chris out of the abusive home. So he ended up like this. As Peacemaker.

To end off this blog update on a whole other note, I went to Fennel's for a coffee tonight just to relax my mind from this whole mess. I noticed Adrian limping so I asked what was wrong. He laughed and said he was in a snowboarding accident and hurt his pinky toe. This was weirdly specific but I didn't think anything else of it as he refilled my cup and limped off back to the kitchen.

What a strange little man.

#have you seen the vigilante?#vigilante #finding vigilante

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creativepromptsforwriting · 3 years ago

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Hi, hope you're having a great morning/noon/night and I'd just like to say I love your blog!

If possible, could you give me some advice on how to write bi- or multi-lingualism, please? Either stereotypes to avoid or things mono-linguals like me tend to get wrong, or common experiences to include for relatability?

For context, I'm thinking of writing fanfics for various anime/manga where the characters all speak Japanese, but non-natives also speak their own languages with each other.

One main question I have is: when you've got groups of people where some of them speak only their own language and some of them speak more than one, can it happen that the multi-linguals not only forget to switch between the right language to the right group, but also not necessarily even realise that they're speaking the wrong language to the wrong group in the first place?

Hope that makes sense

Hi, yes it's a beautiful morning outside :)

I have made a post about that, but it's quite a few years old, I think it was one of my first big writing help posts and I'm not sure I completely agree with it anymore. But you can check it out here, I will probably re-write it sometime.

To answer your main questions: it can happen that they forget which language to speak, but in my opinion it would depend on their mindset in that moment and how well they speak the other language. If both languages are their mother tongue, it's not as likely as if one was their native and the other one was one they learned.

That they not realise that they are speaking the wrong language is a given, since they forgot which language to speak, but I would definitely say that it depends on a few things. They would have to be thinking in that language in that moment and probably be preoccupied with something else, so that they don't realise who they are really talking to. But they would probably realise that pretty soon.

It definitely happened to me before as an au-pair with an American best friend and a lot of German friends, where we would always speak English and then don't switch back to German, even though the American left. Or I would be thinking about something else and my American friend would ask me something and I would answer with 'ja' instead of 'yes'. And I went to a few Model United Nations that were entirely in English and my group was completely German except for one girl and while we were at a conference, my group all gossiped in German to each other, so I accidently asked this girl something in German, because she was right next to me and we all had to whisper, which really confused her, because I just had forgotten that she couldn't understand me, even though we've known each other for a while now.

I hope this is helpful for you and good luck!

- Jana

#cynical-roll #ask #creativepromptsforwriting #writing prompts #writing ideas #writing exercise #writing inspiration #creative writing #writeblr #creativepromptsforwritingask #writing advice #writing help #writing tips #bilingual

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baebaejooheon · 3 years ago

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Corpse husband x cottagecore! Reader headcanon

Just a cottagecore esque thing where it’s readers birthday and they throw a big meet up/sleepover thing.

Fem reader just bc. Mentions wearing a dress/skirt

A/N: uhhh leave me alone Ik I have a series in the works that I haven’t written for in months. Leave me alone 😎 not edited pls it’s rlly not good , as well as written at 6 am. Based on a maladaptive daydream I had for like a week straight. I could turn this into a real fic if anyone wants it but like ahaha I can barely write once a year 😌🤚🏻 I will probably reread it and fix it later but as of now you get what you get. I literally just typed this on my phone with no sleep so like 🤗🤪

Originally posted by datchidatchi

A little background, Y/N lives in a medium sized cottage esque house. She has a small garden in her back yard, as well as a free roam fluffy brown cow named dellie, and a big chicken coop. As well as a duck that roams the property and a couple of other animals. As well as a huge flower field a little off the premises. (All of this is infact important.)

It’s Your 23rd birthday, and for this big occasion you decided to invite over all your friends, even those who live outside of the country, to your small home in the middle of nowhere. This would be the meetup that would break the internet.

Many people were invited. The typical among us group:Jack, Felix, Rae, Sykunno, Toast, Poki, and even Corpse who was given the option even tho the likelihood was low given the situation.

A few SMP friends you had made through association were also invited: Karl, Alex, Nick etc.

Many people, lots of fun.

The morning of your birthday, You awoke to many messages and posts for your birthday. Lots of bomb selfies on the feed as well as #HAPPYBDAYY/N trending on Twitter. Along with this, you were greeted with a few texts from your non American friends stating that they arrived safely or that they were checking into the hotel rooms they had booked for the weekend.

When the time came for the party, most of the people had managed to show up. The party was in full swing, everyone had a drink in hand, posting pictures, celebrating being together as well as it being your birthday.

Filling the trending tab on Twitter with so many hashtags

Around 10 pm you got a call from corpse and decided to head upstairs to get some peace and quiet from the loud music in your living room.

Answering the phone the conversation wasn’t anything special, corpse wishing you the fourth happy birthday for that day, as well as asking how everything was going. It was a normal conversation, that was, until his breath hitched and his voice started to quiver as he grew quiet, barely mumbling. Asking what was wrong, corpse went on a small tangent about how he wished he was more confident with his looks, how he wished it wasn’t scary showing his closest friends what he looked like etc. and how he wished he could be there at the party with everyone.

“Corpse I’ve told you 100 times. I understand your situation and it’s ok that you couldn’t show up. I don’t hold it against you, but I didn’t want you to feel left out :))”

“What would you say if I said I just pulled up in an Uber and I’m absolutely terrified of what’s gonna happen?”

Sneaking out of the back door as quickly as possible and running to the front lawn preparing herself. Corpse steps out of the car and You just jump in his arms. like full on koala grip on this man.

Holding his face and just showering him with compliments. Lots of reassurance and sweet nothings.

Heading to the back porch in order to allow him to calm down and prepare. The two end up sitting outside in the dark talking for like 30 minutes.

Finally working up the courage to head inside. You hold his hand the whole time and you see his hands start to shake.

Stepping into the living room, Jack noticing corpse was there, smiling but not saying anything after realizing he’s nervous. Meeting eveyone for the first time really being hard on him. No one else knowing what he looks like so no one really has a reaction

“Look who I found”

“Oh Y/N!! We were wondering where you ran off too. Who’s your friend?”

Corpse just hits them with a “uhh, hi 🤗”

Everyone freaking out as soon as they realize who it is and trying to talk to him.

Phones were put away for most of the night in fear of leaking anything.

You going the extra step to check everyone’s camera rolls (with consent of course) just incase and deleting any photo with any form of corpes face.

A group selfie with just corpse’s hand doing a peace sign

Many drunk escapades

Everyone finding a place to crash for the night. Some staying awake on their phones, some heading to hotels, some alresdy passed out for the night.

You check in on corpse before you head to bed, knowing today was a lot for him.

“Surprisingly? One of the best nights I’ve had in awhile :))”

Heading off to bed.

6 am rolls around and ms Y/N is up at the crack of dawn to do morning chores for the small farm.

Cute hobbit esque dress. Brown skirt, off the shoulder white flowy shirt tucked in, white frilly apron, brown corset belt Etc. you know the fit

Walking down the stairs, you see corpse on his phone in the dark sitting at her dining room table. Everyone was still asleep and it seemed like corpse hadn’t even slept a wink. You know, his insomnia and all.

“What are you doing awake? It’s only 6 am and you partied pretty hard last night?”

“Farm life doesn’t stop for a hangover, but I could ask you the same thing mister :) come on you can help me out”

Corpse is 100% not dressed to do anything outside, especially not any farm work.

Tells him to wait on the back porch while she gathers some stuff from the house. coming out with a messenger bag as well as a basket and a blanket.

Sets everything down and continues to feed the animals with corpse, asking him to grab the big bucket of feed. showing him the ropes, filling up everyone’s water dishes. Collecting eggs etc.

Corpse just watching you with a smile on his face. Your just talking to all your animals, yelling at fiesty hens for pecking at your legs and/or talking to Gerald the duck for getting in the way.

Corpse lowkey obsessed with dellie the cow. Pets her and coos for like 5 minutes straight.

When they finish the sun is barely rising everything still looks like a silhouette from far enough away. putting what needs to go inside away, and then grabbing the messenger bag off the porch.

Dragging corpse to the flower field just down the hill at the edge of the property.

Laying out the blanket and sitting just talking for hours.

You plays music from your phone through a small speaker, dancing around and twirling, lost in your own world.

Corpse’s Instagram story is just full of videos and pictures of you in the sunrise, small captions like happy birthweek to the most amazing person Ik. Or damn who knew farm girl had moves.

Literally 30+ story posts at 7 am.

Corpse takes a picture of you making a flower crown. Shadows cast across your skin, the small bit of sunrise light casting a soft golden glow. The field of flowers all around. Literally goddess worthy.

Fans going crazy reposting the pictures, spamming Twitter etc.

His camera roll is FULL of pictures of her.

Giving corpse A flower crown full of an array of wild flowers

Dancing together. Just twirling and laughing.

City boy corpse loving the farm life

Secretly of course

Relaxing and just sitting with eachother as it slowly reaches 10 am.

“Uh, thanks for this morning, I had a lot of fun.” A small sleepy smile on his face. The flower crown crooked on his messy curls as he just stares into your eyes.

You both end up leaning in for a kiss bumping noses as you gently pull away

Definitely the best birthday gift you could have asked for

Heading back inside to see how everyone’s doing.

Rae being one of the few awake asking where the two of you had been seeing it was already around noon

“Those of us awake took it upon ourselves to raid your kitchen sorry not sorry”

Corpse getting sleepy wanting to take a nap seeing as it was noon and he was running on little to no sleep.

You let him rest in your bed as you occupy everyone downstairs

Everyone leaving around 3 pm, corpse is still asleep so you go outside to check on all the animals once again.

Letting Gerald in the house bc he’s being a pain in the ass.

When you come into the house you see corpse coming down the stairs rubbing his eyes and streatching. His shirt twisted and raising slightly, the jewelry and chains he was wearing now gone.

Giving him a good “morning” kiss.

The day is filled with you cooking for him. Making fun of his foil troubles, watching movies, laughing and overall joking.

Spending the rest of the night cuddling together and making the most of the time you had together.

Making things between you official

✨Extra✨

When you post about eachother to tell the fans that the two of you have been dating for like 6 months the captions are wild.

Corpse is like “ugh look at my gorgeous girlfriend, so pretty, so nice and kind, the most amazing person ever” just full on simp. The pictures he uses are from the morning after your birthday.

Your picture is just you guys holding hands. His usual chains and jewelry. Caption just “eww a city boy 🤮, gotta take all the love I can get tho”

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maryeve-the-bitch · 3 years ago

Text

Un jour de février

Fruk week 2021

Day 4: winter / spring

Words: 2,565

Summary: Domestic fruk. Old married couple vibe. The couple is visiting Matthew in Quebec city during the cold month of february.

Warning: French, so much french (Translations are at the end), and mention of sex. Not really explicit though.

Francis couldn’t wait to visit his son in february. However, he was dreading the cold and the weather he would face when they’d arrive in the city. He wasn’t used to that kind of cold anymore ergo he knew how much he would suffer through it. At least, he would be in good company and his boyfriend Arthur was coming as well.

As soon as Francis and Arthur landed in Quebec city, they traveled straight to their hotel since Mathieu would only be coming the next day and his meeting in the capital got delayed. Hopefully, Francis would enjoy a nice evening with his dear Arthur. The hotel room they picked had a cozy fireplace with a plaid fluffy blanket laid on the king bed. The decor of the room reminded Francis of a lumberjack’s cabin with deer antlers hanging down from the wall and the wood-like walls. While it wasn’t the usual style Francis would like, he did appreciate the coziness of it. He reminded himself not to let Arthur choose a hotel for them by himself again. At least, the bathroom was huge compared to what he is used to and in the middle of it, there was a bath that could easily fit 3 people in it. At the sight of the bath, Francis gave Arthur a teasing smirk as he tucked a lock of his blond hair behind his hair. Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Sure, love. Later.” Arthur agreed to his boyfriend’s silent plea.

Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur’s from behind.

“Je te promets qu’on passera un bon moment.¹” Francis whispered to his ear as he delicately bit it.

“I promise I’ll kick you in the arse if you don’t stop teasing.” Arthur said with his jaw clenched and a blush on his cheeks.

The comment made Francis chuckle and hugged his boyfriend closer.

“C’est trop facile de te taquiner."² Francis kissed Arthur’s cheek and let go of him.

Since they were both exhausted from the flight and the jetlag, they decided to go to bed early after they took a shower.

In the morning, they decided to wait for Mathieu to tell them when and where they would meet in their room after they got back from eating breakfast on the first floor. Francis looked outside the windows, contemplating the landscape from the city under the snow, as Arthur finished getting dressed and buttoned his shirt up.

“On n’a plus d’hiver comme ça par chez nous, hein?”³ Francis sighed.

“You never had winters like this before. Unless you count the ice age.” Arthur commented.

“Ouais. Du coup, c’est ben mieux que ta pluie 10 mois par année.”⁴ Francis retorted, looking back at his boyfriend.

Arthur glanced at Francis before taking his jacket from the bed and put it on.

“Tu sais que la reine vient pas aujourd’hui, hein?”⁵

“Shut your bloody mouth and get dressed, Francis.” Arthur sighed.

Francis let out a dramatic sigh as he let himself fall on the bed face first and grumbled Arthur’s name on the pillow. Arthur just rolled his eyes, ignoring his melodramatic scene as he was well too familiar with it. Francis turned around and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Peux-tu m’aider, mon amour?”⁶

“What? Help you get dressed? You’re not a child anymore.” As Arthur spoke, he received a notification from his phone that was placed on the desk and charging. He picked it up to see what it was.

“It’s Matthew. He wants to meet at the castle at noon.” Arthur paused to look at the time. “You’ve got one hour to get ready.”

“Quoi? Une heure?” Francis whined. "Ça nous donne même pas le temps de faire l'amour."⁷

"We would if you hurry the fuck up and stop whining."

Francis finally got up from the bed, not without whining even more. At the end, he did get ready in under an hour. When Francis got out of the bathroom, he paraded in front of Arthur who was sitting on the chair in front of the desk. Francis wore an open blue see-through shirt with some kind of green flower pattern on it. As for the bottom part, he wrote black trousers with the same flowery pattern.

"We're not going to a gay pub or a fashion show."

"Ah mais il faut que je sois à la hauteur de moi-même quand je sors. Je ne peux pas sortir comme si je serais un pauvre paysan. Pour qui tu me prends, putain?"⁸

"What the hell does that mean?" Arthur sighed. "You're going to wear a warm coat at least?"

Francis walked over to his suitcase and pulled out a navy blue double button wool coat and put it on.

"C'est sublime, non?”⁹ Francis turned around to show all angles of his outfit, feeling proud of it.

“Yes. You’re looking very handsome. You’re going to be cold though. Have you not brought something warmer?” Arthur put his hands on his waist.

“J’ai une écharpe qui ira bien avec. De toute façon, on restera pas trop longtemps dehors. Qui serait assez fou pour aller dehors en un temps pareil?”¹⁰ Francis replied.

“Right. Don’t say I haven’t warned you, frog face.”

Francis would probably die of humiliation if he had to wear something ugly so he’d rather die of hypothermia and being pretty than be seen wearing something hideous. The couple left their hotel room and took a cab to get to their destination. They were still a few minutes late, but nothing Arthur would mind and Mathieu was already waiting for them in front of the castle as agreed.

Upon meeting, Francis hugged Mathieu tightly since he hadn't seen him for months. Arthur greeted him politely under his giant coat that he brought to make sure he didn’t freeze to death. He wore both a winter hat and the hood of his coat with a scarf and at least 2 pairs of gloves. Since Mathieu knew both Arthur and Francis, he didn’t make a comment on how they were dressed. In his opinion, one was overdoing it and the other thought fashion was more important than warmth.

Since Mathieu was getting hungry, they went and looked for a restaurant. While Francis wasn’t hungry, he was gladly welcoming the idea of getting inside. He’s only been 2 minutes out and thought his nipples were already frozen. On their way to the restaurant, Francis tried to warm himself with his hands in his coat pockets and holding his arms close to his body, without much success.

After going down some stairs, at Francis’ displeasure, they walked down a small street that led to the restaurant. Francis remembered that street, he visited it during summer a long time ago. It changed a bit but not enough to not recognise it. He would admire the scenery if he wasn’t so goddamn cold. He just couldn't wait to get to the restaurant at last. Mathieu was explaining to Arthur the historic facts of some buildings even though Arthur already knew those facts; he just forgot. Their chatter sounded mostly background noises to Francis as his focus was mostly on his movements.

Finally, they reached the restaurant. They got seated and offered the menu to order.

“You’re awfully quiet, frog.” Arthur commented as he opened the menu. “Not complaining. That’s just unusual for you.”

Francis glared at his boyfriend. They both knew why he was quiet.

“Can you two stay civil please?” Mathieu asked. He knew his dads and their tendency to fight or argue way too well.

“Of course, lad.” Arthur replied. “I’d offer you my coat for a while, at least until you warm up, but I know too well you won’t accept it.” He continued.

“J’ai pas besoin de ta pitié. Je vais juste commander un bon café chaud et ça ira.¹¹ Francis replied.

“If you say so, love. I hope they offer good tea here.” Arthur said, dismissing Francis’s passive aggressivity.

The waitress came soon after and they all ordered their food and drinks. She took back the menus and left for the kitchen.

“You two are so different. I sometimes wonder how you are still together.” Mathieu commented.

Both Francis and Arthur looked at each other, Francis smiling lovingly.

“Cause we have great sex. That’s why.” Arthur answered Mathieu’s wonderment. He soon received a kick under the table from his partner.

“C’est vrai.”¹² Francis added.

“Please stop. I don’t want to know.” Mathieu interrupted Francis before he would add anything too explicit for him. The Frenchman chuckled while Arthur smiled. Well, at least, Mathieu succeeded to ease the situation between the two.

While they waited for their order, Francis grabbed Arthur’s hand under the table.

“Fucking hell, Francis!” Arthur exclaimed when he felt his boyfriend’s cold hand on his.

“Ah. Je suis désolé, mon amour.”¹³ Francis apologised, looking dejected.

“It’s fine. You surprised me, that’s all.” Arthur said softly as he took Francis’s hand in his.

Thankful, Francis smiled and let Arthur warm his hand. Usually, Arthur hated public displays of affection even as small as hand holding, so it overjoyed him that he accepted to do so.

They talked about Alfred the rest of the time they waited for the order. The American was quite busy at the time so he couldn't make it, but Matthew was grateful he couldn’t because he could easily bring all the attention to him. He appreciated the rare times he got alone with either of his parents. Even when Alfred wasn’t here, he got all the attention, but that was fine with Mathieu. He’d prefer that over Alfred present and talking loudly and interrupting him.

After lunch, Francis felt warmer and happier from the cup of coffee he drank and the small affection he received. His joy wouldn’t last long when Mathieu offered to walk alongside the river and the old port since they were close by. Arthur agreed to it too quickly, Francis thought.

“Et si on allait faire du shopping? Ça serait pas mal, non? Tu m’avais pas parlé d’un centre commercial avec un mini parc d'attractions à l’intérieur?”¹⁴ Francis suggested.

“Well, Matthew and I never liked shopping much and I don’t especially like theme parks either.” Arthur protested as he put his coat back on.

“Besides, there are probably too many people there already.” Mathieu added.

Francis pouted and followed the other two outside. They walked a few minutes until they reached a pedestrian path near the river. Arthur narrated the scenery with tales of the past, including Mathieu in it. Francis would normally enjoy joining in and teasing his partner, but he had troubles following them up even though they walked at a relatively normal pace. The Frenchman wished he was anywhere else other than outside in the cold. He thought of leaving them, calling a taxi and going back to the hotel on his own, but his fingers were already frozen again and he would have to look for the taxi’s number. Arthur probably had the phone number since he called one earlier. However, Francis was too prideful to ask him the number.

They walked and walked until they reached a small park in front of the train station. By that time, Francis thought his fingers were so frozen that he might lose some of them. His feet weren’t any better. Arthur and Mathieu spotted a bench and sat on it to take a break while Francis stood in front of them. At this point, Francis had his hands inside his coat pockets and the bottom half of his head hiding behind the scarf. Some of his hair locks were frozen too for some unknown reason and his cheeks and ears were red, almost turning to purple. When Mathieu sat down, he noticed how cold Francis looked.

“Es-tu correct, papa?”¹⁵ Mathieu asked him with concern.

“Ouais”¹⁶ was all Francis could be able to say through his shivering.

“Would you like to go back to the hotel, Francis?” Arthur sighed.

Francis nodded.

“You could have said so before, you dumb bitch.” Arthur added as he took his phone out to call a taxi.

The Frenchman didn’t have the energy to insult him back. Mathieu stood up and removed his jacket and offered it to his papa. He wouldn’t have taken it if he wasn’t so desperately cold and if he didn’t appreciate and enjoy gifts he received from his kids. The inside of Mathieu’s jacket was really fluffy and warm, like wearing a cloud.

When Arthur was done telling the taxi operator their current location, he hung up the phone and noticed Mathieu gave his jacket to Francis and only wore a red t-shirt.

“Aren’t you cold, Matthew?” He asked his son.

“Nah. It’s only -10°c anyway.” Mathieu shrugged.

Arthur almost choked himself with his saliva at this comment.

“What do you mean, ONLY -10°c? That’s too bloody cold, lad.” Arthur replied, making the taller blond boy laugh. “Even I want to go back inside and get warm. Perhaps get a cup of tea or something.”

“We can wait for your taxi inside the train station if you want.” Mathieu suggested.

The other two didn’t even have to say anything; they both agreed and followed Mathieu inside the train station.

Back at the hotel room, after Arthur took out his own coat, gloves and hat, he helped Francis get undressed and wrapped him around in the fluffy tartan blanket from the bed.

“Sit down on the chair and I’ll light up the fireplace for you.” Arthur requested him.

Francis smiled softly as he sat down in one of the two sofa chairs in front of the fireplace. It didn’t take long for him to sit with his bare feet on the chair, holding his legs close to his body. Arthur took a match out of the matchbox sitting on the top of the fireplace and lit it up. He quickly threw the match inside the fireplace and closed the glass door.

“Right. I’ll get some water boiling for tea. Would you like a cup?” Arthur asked.

“Oui, s’il te plaît.” ¹⁷

Arthur kissed his boyfriend’s red cold cheek and left to the small kitchen to boil some water with the kettle. Francis laid on the side of his head on the chair and watched him, smiling. While Arthur rarely said he loved him or complimented him much, he did care a lot when it mattered. He was there for him if he needed him and of course, Francis would do exactly the same.

Arthur came back with two cups of boiling hot water and put it down on the side table between the two sofa chairs and sat down next to Francis. The Frenchman noticed his boyfriend brought his own tea bags and even thought of bringing Francis’ favourite kind of tea even though he preferred coffee over tea. He watched as Arthur soaked the tea into the cup.

“Are you feeling better, love?”

“Oui. Merci.”

“You’re welcome”

Francis got up from his chair and went to sit on Arthur’s lap.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Francis wrapped his arms around his partner’s neck and kissed him tenderly.

“I love you.” Francis whispered after he was done kissing. Arthur blushed and pulled Francis closer.

“Je t’aime aussi.”¹⁸ Arthur whispered back.

Translation:

¹ “I promise you a great time.”

² “It’s too easy to tease you”

³ “We don’t have winter like this back home, do we?”

⁴ “Yeah. At least, it’s better than your rain for 10 months a year.”

⁵ “You know the Queen isn’t coming today, right?”

⁶ “Can you help me, my love?”

⁷"What? One hour? We won't even have time to have sex."

⁸ "I must be at the top of myself. I can't go out like a poor peasant. Who do you think I am?"

⁹ “It’s gorgeous, right?”

¹⁰ “I have a scarf that would look good with it. Anyway, we won’t stay long outside. Who in their right mind would stay outside in that kind of weather?”

¹¹ “I don’t need your pity. I’ll order a nice hot coffee and I’ll be fine.”

¹² “It’s true

¹³ “Ah. I’m sorry, my love.”

¹⁴ “What about going shopping? Wouldn’t it be nice, would it? You told me about a shopping mall with a mini theme park inside, didn’t you?”

¹⁵ “Are you ok, dad?”

¹⁶“Yeah”

¹⁷ “Yes please.”

¹⁸ “I love you too.”

#frukweek #frukweek2021 #aph fruk #hws fruk #fruk #ukfr #aph ukfr #hws ukfr #aph england #hws england #aph france #hws france #THIS TOOK ME TOO LONG #i do love fluffy old married couple trope #no beta read #we post the first draft like the finnish in russia #i legit thought we were during winter at the end like bruh we're only in August. its hot out

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sherrybaby14 · 5 years ago

Text

Moral of the Story

Summary: Steve’s girl likes to party all the time and he’s at his wit’s end. Then he meets you.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader.

Warnings: Alcohol, Smut, ANGST

Words: 5k

A/N: This is for the wonderful @captain-rogers-beard challenge. Congrats Doll! My prompt was “Party all the Time” by Eddie Murphy.

The music was a bit louder than you would have liked, but at least the song was catchy. You sipped on your drink as you watched the dance floor, your friend’s waving you over.

With a smirk you shook your head and lifted your drink, far too sober to dance.

“I think they want you to join them?” A voice boomed in your ear.

You did a jump as you turned to see a gorgeous blonde next to you.

“I don’t want to spill my drink.” You ran your hands down your now wet dress.

“Oh Jeez, I’m so sorry ma’am.” He reached for some cocktail napkins. “Let me buy you another.”

“It’s okay.” You began to pat your dress dry. “It’s probably better on my clothes than down my throat. I don’t drink often.”

“Me either.” He gave a warm smile.

“Then why are you in a nightclub?” You turned to the bar, trying to block out the loud music and not have to yell so much. “Here to pick up women?”

“A friend invited me.” His gaze went to the dance floor.

You followed it and saw he was looking at a dark haired man. You couldn’t see his face because it was being covered by a gorgeous brunette. She pulled away and you blinked a few times, she had to be a model, a perfect ten.

“I think your friend is going to get lucky.” You turned back to see his jaw clench up.

“Yeah, it looks like it.” He looked away, there was a pain in his eyes. “If I can’t buy you a new drink how about a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, I don’t think they sell coffee here.” You shrugged.

He erupted in laughter and you glanced around, not noticing the punch line.

“There’s a diner a block away.” He leaned against the bar. “Open twenty four hours. I know I’m a stranger, but I could get out of here and by the looks of it so could you.”

“I’m game.” You put your glass on the bar and started walking to the door.

“I’m Steve by the way.” He held out his hand.

“I know who you are.” You smiled. “I think the whole world knows who you are.”

A confused look spread across his face. The brisk nighttime air made your arm get some goosebumps, but you let out a sigh of relief when the music died down.

“That’s not the reaction I get from most people who know who I am.” Steve grabbed his chin. “Maybe I should grow a beard again.”

“Would you rather I asked for an autograph and a selfie?” You raised an eyebrow, then put the back of your hand to your forehead. “Oh Captain my Captain?”

“Alright, I get it.” Steve laughed. “So what’s your story? I guess your the one whose the stranger here.”

“It’s not like I know everything about you, just the headlines.” You winked. “Workaholic, I love my job, it keeps me busy. In my free time I do the basics, read, watch movies, attempt and fail at the newest workout craze.”

“Pilates man.” Steve pulled the diner door open. “It’s a lot harder than it looks.”

“I fall in every yoga position.” You followed Steve as he slid into a booth. “Zumba was fun, but I’m lacking in rhythm.”

“You?” Steve’s eyes went wide. “You look like you would be a great dancer.”

“I’m great at a lot of things.” You flipped over your mug. “But bad at more.”

“I’m really bad at board games. I flipped the board last time I played Monopoly.” Steve leaned back in the booth. “But I am amazing at tic-tac-toe.”

“Oh yeah?” You reached in your purse and pulled out a pen, drawing the lines on a napkin. “Prove it?”

“Even with all this coffee and stimulating conversation.” You brought your hand to your mouth to stifle the yawn. “Exhaustion is setting in. I’ve got to get to bed.”

“How far do you live from here?” Steve reached for his wallet. “It’s almost 4 am. Can I walk you home?”

“Four am?” You hadn’t checked your phone since you told your friends you were safe after vanishing, that was five hours ago.

Sure enough the device read 3:56.

“Damn.” You grabbed a menu. “Might as well order breakfast then.”

Steve looked shocked, but then nodded in agreement, not pulling a menu. The server took notice and came over.

“I’ll have a meat lovers skillet, side of country gravy, sub American cheese, eggs over easy, wheat toast?” You but the menu back.

“I’ll have the same.” Steve leaned forward.

“Really?” The waitress was confused. “Not the usual?”

“I’m being adventurous tonight.” Steve winked.

“Okay.” She walked away.

“I like the way you know what you want.” Steve leaned back. “Kind of no nonsense. It’s refreshing.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You laughed. “Maybe when it comes to diner food at 4 am. I’ve been eating my whole life after all.”

“So why isn’t there anyone special in your life?” Steve almost seemed fidgety.

“There’s lots of special people in my life.” You smiled. “I’m very close with my parents, my siblings, have some great friends I’d call family, my coworkers are amazing too.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Steve’s eyes showed a strange wave of vulnerability.

“No reason.” You wished you had a better answer. “I’ve dated plenty, had some serious partners, some not so serious. I guess I’m picky? What about you?”

“The friend who invited me to the club tonight, it was the girl.” Steve gave a pressed smile. “We were very serious, she broke it off about two months ago. Wanted to try being friends. I agreed to give it a go. I don’t see how it’s going to work.”

The perfect 10 brunette. Your heart started to ache for the man. He was heartbroken. It was all over his face, body language. Everything clicked.

“What a bitch.” You brought your hand to your mouth and looked at him with wide eyes.

He laughed and you relaxed.

“There you go, being honest and direct again.” Steve put his elbows on the table. “I don’t think people can be friends with exes. It’s not in the cards.”

“I’ve never tried.” You were more of the it’s done it’s done type. “My philosophy is look forward. The future. Thinking about the past, it’s a dangerous trap.”

“I’m starting to think the same thing.” Steve’s eyes lit up. “She is a big party girl, I mean, she’s a model so sometimes its a networking thing. But I never really fit into her life.”

“Wait, were you guys like a tabloid couple?” You tilted your head. “Can I read all about your breakup on instagram?”

“No!” Steve rolled his eyes. “That was part of the problem. I think she wanted that. Being with me could elevate her career and it made me feel used, so I wouldn’t allow public photos. There’s a few that leaked, but nothing confirming our relationship.”

“Wow, you celebrities are a different breed.” It never once crossed your mind to post about who you were having coffee with.

“I am not a celebrity.” Steve wagged a finger at you.

“Oh I’m sorry.” You brought your hand to your chest. “Historical figure.”

Steve cracked up. His laugh was infectious and you joined, chuckling away.

“Without being too forward young lady,” Steve reached out and grabbed your hand, sparks shooting down your arm. “Could I have your telephone number?”

You knew he was bating you for a joke. But you preferred the natural type.

“Yes.” You reached for your phone, breaking the hand touch. “You can have my number.”

Noon hit and you forced yourself out of bed, six hours of sleep was doable. You began to make your mental checklist of projects for the day while you brushed your teeth.

There was a giddy ness in the back of your mind over last night. He was a cool guy and it was a fun time. Your brain started to think about work. You had to call your parents and check in, probably explain to your friends about where you went, you would leave out the Captain America angle.

You grabbed your phone and your jaw about hit the floor. There was a text from Steve already.

Are you going to say good morning?

You didn’t think you would hear from him for at least a few days. It made you smile and wiggle as you sat on the bed.

Good morning! Or afternoon?

Before you set the device down the reply bubbles started to form. You parted ways seven hours ago. It was a Saturday. This was unexpected. The bubbles disappeared and then reappeared several times. You were on the edge of your seat.

Then your phone started to vibrate. You almost threw the thing, seeing Steve’s name pop up. Instead your smile grew as you slid it to answer.

“Was good afternoon not appropriate? Technically it’s 12:15, that is literally after noon.” You tried to stifle the excitement.

“You want to have a beer with me tonight?” Steve’s voice was just as sexy over the phone. “I would say dinner, but I know you had some things to take care of. There’s this sports bar I love, I promise I won’t spill anything on you and coffee keeps us up too late.”

“I’d love to.” You didn’t see a point in trying to act coy.

“Great, nine o’clock? I’ll text you the address.” Steve’s smile carried over the phone.

“Sounds like a plan.” You ran your hand over your hair and wondered if you could get away without washing it.

“Have a great day. I”ll see you tonight.”

“Bye.” You clicked off the phone and did a little happy dance.

You didn’t see that one coming.

Your phone lit up with Steve’s message right away. You sent a thumbs up emoji. To your surprise, Steve responded:

Emojis, it’s like hyrogliphics are coming back? Why did we skip the sonnets?

You didn’t even think before responding.

You: Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s Day? Thou art more lovely and temperate.

Steve: Sonnet 18, one of the greats.

You: I stole it from Clueless.

Steve: What’s Clueless?

You woke the next morning, at your normal 8 am. Even more thrilled with the date from the night before. It was fun. It was a fantastic time. Of course the texting all day long made the conversation flow right to person-to-person.

“I can’t sleep until noon tomorrow.” You stood up from the bar stool. “Plus I hit my three beer maximum. Maybe once I know you better you can meet four beer me.”

“You’re guarded in the strangest ways.” Steve beamed at you.

“Me?” You were shocked. “I’m an open book. Nothing to hide.”

“Well would this bother you then?” Steve cupped your cheek and before you could react his face leaned in.

Warm lips met yours. You melted into him, your body felt like it was floating. Nobody in the bar paid you any attention as his tongue slid into your mouth before pulling out. A little moan came forward when he pulled away.

There was a devilish grin on his face as he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“Let’s get you an Uber.”

All you could do was nod in a numb state. This amazing man kissed you. It was like a dream.

You were all smiles as you rolled out of bed, straight to the bathroom. Sundays were your lazy day, but you missed too much yesterday that you had to squeeze some work in. It wouldn’t be too much.

When you left the bathroom you grabbed your phone. Your heart exploded when you saw there was already a text from Steve.

Today you can say good morning. I have faith.

Steve Rogers was perfect. Three dates in a week, not including coffee night. Every other day he wanted to see you. He made you laugh, listened to you, was always available. Sent you little comics you found funny. You giggled at the last gif he sent you of a puppy eating bubble.

You: I’ve got to head into a work meeting. I’ll text you later.

Steve: Knock ‘em dead.

Supportive too. You smiled as you slipped your phone into your pocket. It had only been a week, but you couldn’t remember the last time you connected with someone this way, if ever.

“You’re smiley.” A coworker bumped you with her arm. “It’s almost like you have a glow.”

“Just a happy person.” You shrugged. “How is your son doing? Any luck on that math test?”

“Oh he did much better!” Your coworker dropped her shoulders in relief. “That tutor was worth every penny.”

She continued to talk and you tried to listen, but your thoughts kept drifting to Steve. This was the best week of your life.

The meeting got your adrenaline pumping. You left and went straight to your office, typing away the e-mails, ready to get the new project off the ground. It was almost time to call it a day, the sun was starting to set.

That was when you picked up your phone. Two messages from Steve. Fuck. Guilt set in.

How was the meeting?

Everything okay?

You grabbed your phone and started typing.

You: Sorry work got crazy. Major project. Just leaving now.

Steve: Do you want to over to my place for dinner? Unwind? I can have a meal and some wine for you, straight away?

Unwinding with Steve sounded perfect, plus you were more interested in the version that didn’t involve a meal.

You looked down at your work clothes, your makeup probably long smeared off, but did that matter? Steve didn’t seem to care about your appearance. He wanted you for who you were. And right now that sounded perfect.

You: Do you have ice cream?

Steve: Oh my freezer is overflowing. Any flavor you like. Popsicles too.

You: I’m in. Text me your address?

Every other time you arrived at a paramour’s place for the first time you were nervous. Not this time. Your brain played a slide show of the last week. The way Steve listened, hung on your words, followed up with questions. He made you feel like the most important person in the world.

Your past experiences taught you that people were either fantastic talkers or listeners. You prided yourself on being both, but Steve seemed to fall in that same category.

With a strange confidence you hit the buzzer for his apartment. The door unlocked and you walked up the stairs, speeding up with each step.

When you got to his floor you spotted him hanging out the door, waving at you. This was going to be the hard part.

“Before I step inside, I have to let you know something.” You rehearsed this in your head a few times. “Work was insane today, and I know tomorrow is Saturday, but I have to put in a few hours. This happens about twice a year, not a common occurrence. But as much as I want to, I can’t spend the night.”

“Okay.” Steve nodded and held the door open. “Again I love your honesty.”

You walked in to see all the only lights on in the apartment two candles on the clothed kitchen table. Your heart started to sink at the thought he’d put into it, but then you noticed the meal set out at each end and began to laugh.

“Full disclosure, all I had was some TV dinners.” Steve came behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “And there’s no ice cream or popsicles. But I can think of something I want for dessert.”

You spun around and put your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss. He reached underneath you and scooped you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you, deepening the kiss.

Nothing had ever felt so right in your life. It was as if the cosmos had brought you together.

“You’re too perfect.” You pulled away as he dropped you on the bed.

“You’re a one-in-a-million.” Steve’s breath was heavy as he started to pull at your clothing.

Hands were everywhere, lips randomly touching whatever skin they could. Shoes and socks flying off with pants and shirts. You shoved his boxers down as he unhooked your bra, the feeling of your bare chests pushed together making you shudder.

Steve grabbed your panties and yanked them down as you settled back on his bed. On your back, legs spread, knees up. His arm encircled your thigh as he began to kiss. You moaned and fisted the blanket, lifting your pelvis up inviting his mouth.

He wasted no time and began to devour you. You tried to pay attention to what he was doing, but you couldn’t keep up. Was that his tongue? His lips? You cried out when something slid inside of you.

“FUCK!” Your body convulsed around his mouth.

Your chest heaved while your brain tried to keep up with the pleasure. Steve kept licking, touching, working you. Everything was frenzied. Your head collapsed to the side and you tried to regain control.

“I knew you were primed.” Steve kissed up your stomach. “But you have one more in you.”

He climbed until he was over you, his cock lining up with your entrance. Never had you came that fast from another person.

Steve pushed forward and filled your aching pussy. You squealed and grabbed onto his shoulders. Rolling your body against his.

“That’s it.” He nipped at your neck. “You were meant for me. Never felt this way before.”

You grabbed his face and pulled his lips to your own, enjoying the taste of yourself on him while he railed into you. He returned the kiss and sped up. Slamming his cock, teasing your clit while your g-spot came to life.

There was no hiding your moans and his grunts as your bodies melded together. Your breath started to tighten, and then your muscles started. The edge came fast and you flung yourself over.

Your head went back into the pillow as your screamed, it was impossible to tell if your vision went black since the room was too dark. But Steve let out a grunt and pulled out of you.

Instead of blowing all over your stomach he pushed your head down. You slid down the bed and opened your mouth.

His aim was perfect and for the second time you tasted yourself, enjoying the way he finished in your mouth, letting your lips wrap around his tip. Drinking him all down while your body shook.

“I think I’m falling in love.” Steve pushed forward before pulling out and landing on his back.

You nodded, breathless as you curled up to him. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head.

You ignored the tears forming in your eyes, fighting them away. If pure happiness existed, this was it. How did you get so lucky?

Steve: I’m going to hug my pillow all night wishing it was you.

You glanced at the clock, it was already approaching midnight.

You: I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. Thank you for a wonderful night and a gourmet meal.

Steve: Get some sleep. I miss you.

You: I miss you too.

You grabbed your pillow. If Steve was pretending his was you, maybe you could do that same. A huge smile on your face as you drifted off.

You woke with a smile. Maybe Smiley could be your new nickname. You grabbed your phone eager to see what Steve had sent. To your surprise, there was no message.

All week long you’d woken up to messages. You smiled even bigger, maybe you’d finally worn him out and the man needed more sleep than you did.

You rolled out of bed to brush your teeth, thoughts filled with nothing but Steve.

Work was so intense, you turned your phone off. No distractions. When the team broke for lunch you flipped it on, your heart racing to see Steve’s messages. When the screen came to life you saw nothing.

Maybe it was wrong? Messages glitched sometimes. You clicked the app open, all you saw was your last message. It said read at 12:03 am.

You shrugged it off. Steve knew you had a big work day. He was being respectful. You thought about texting him, but you had to get back to it and didn’t want to come off as needy. It wasn’t like you could text him all afternoon.

The project finished an hour early, 4 pm on a Saturday. Everyone gave themselves a round of applause and you did a lazy golf clap as you reached for your phone.

Your heart exploded when you saw a message from Steve.

Steve: How was your day?

You: Good. I have so much to tell you!

There was no bubble response, or read receipt. You stared at your phone. Maybe turning it off had been a bad idea.

After saying goodbye to your colleagues and walking to you subway stop your phone dings with a message.

Steve: Can we meet for coffee?

You giggled.

You: Why not dinner? The real kind this time. It was a big day for me! I want to celebrate, you can supply dessert again.

Steve: Coffee. Now? First night?

Maybe he had a big day too. He’d been so supportive of you, it was due to return the favor.

You: Sure. I’ll be there in twenty.

You headed to the other subway line, more than eager for a sleepover tonight.

When you arrive at the diner you scan it, not seeing Steve anywhere. Maybe you beat him here. You were about to grab a random booth when a man in a black hoodie, baseball hat, and sunglasses sticks his hand in the air.

You smile, wondering if this is some Avenger’s mission.

“Are you going as the Unabomber for Halloween?” You slide into the booth. “I couldn’t even recognize you.”

“There’s no easy way to say this.” Steve cracked his jaw. “Ashley called me last night. Very upset.”

“Whose Ashley?” You blurted out the first thought that came to your mind.

“My ex.” He let out a huge sigh. “She’s a mess.”

“The bitch from the club?” You were a little interested in the drama.

“She’s not a bitch.” Steve put his hands on the table and your blood ran cold. “She has some problems. She is working on them. And we have a lot of history and she needs my help.”

“Oh.” You felt like your soul floated out of your body.

“You’re so perfect.” He reached out and grabbed your hands. “But she needs me. You don’t need me. We have a lot of history and I owe it to her to try.”

“Oh.” Everything went numb.

“I wanted to let you know in person and before things got too serious.” Steve squeezed your hand. “If I could take back last night, I wouldn’t. It was perfect, you’re perfect.”

“You already said that.” Your voice was getting tight.

“But I mean it.” He pushed the hood off his baseball cap. “I can’t leave her. Without me, I mean, you saw her at the club that night. She’s a disaster.”

The tears started to boil in your throat they were so deep. You yanked your hands away, thoughts flying to wild to speak clearly. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream at him or plead with him to pick you.

“I hope we can stay friends?” He let out a sigh. “I mean, you’re amazing and you made me so happy this past week. Probably the happiest I’ve been in my entire life. You’re smart, and witty, and beautiful, and you’re everything.”

The way he said week hit home. It was only a week. Not a month, not a year. Just a week. A lot of digs ran through your mind, ways you could make a joke, ways you could state your feelings. But instead you said one thing.

“Sure.” Your brain started to scream at itself.

“That’s such a relief.” Steve dropped his shoulders.

“I had a really long day.” You stood up from the booth. “Talk soon?”

You didn’t look back as you ran to the door, the tears spilling over. With a shaky hand you pulled out your phone, screaming at yourself for being so stupid to develope feelings, but smart enough to do one thing. You highlighted his contact and clicked delete.

Friends, family, whoever would talk had to listen to you cry. You didn’t hold back for them. You made sure they alternated duty. You even took a week off of work.

“If I would have stayed that night, would he have ignored her?” You sobbed to your best friend.

“No hunny.” She ran a hand through your head. “No. You got caught in a weird game.”

Steve: How do you kill a circus?

It’s a random number not saved to a contact, but you know that’s the first text you get from Steve. You know the punchline, but rather than responding you delete it. The last thing you want is to memorize his number.

You would’ve broken down and sent some very dumb stuff you would’ve regretted. It’s only been five days. He should send his girlfriend those jokes, not you.

Three days later you get another.

Steve: How are you?

You think about deleting it, you think about screaming you broke my heart, acting cool like you’re busy, or just gushing about how much you miss him and what a great guy his is.

You: Fine.

Steve: Glad to hear.

You don’t hesitate to delete the thread.

Steve: I miss you.

Your heart races. It’s been two weeks since the night you had the best sex of your life. The tears sting your eyes. You’ve been apart longer than you were together. Did he realize he made a mistake? Was he coming back to you?

You start typing: I miss

But then you stop. No. You had to frame this right. State it right. But what was there to do? Yell at him into loving you? Did you love him? Your heart hurt like it had, but this was wrong.

With a shaky finger you highlighted the number and moved it to block. The sobs came again and you cuddled your phone, regretting your choice.

The day you hit the month mark you were trying not to think about Steve, but then the celebrity hit: CAPTAIN AMERICA ENGAGED! It ran all over the headlines.

Him and his fiance were plastered everywhere. You couldn’t escape. It hit you then. You were a rebound. You were nothing. A temporary step on his life path. It hurt. It hurt more than anything. No ice cream could repair the hole one week with Steve Rogers had created.

“I’m glad we got you out tonight.” Your friend poked you in the side as she screamed in your ear. “What’s it been, months since you’ve been in a club?”

“Yep.” Two, but you tried not to think about how your last time in a nightclub ended, how it could derail your life. “But I’m here.”

You still hated the loud music. Memories of a sports bar with Steve tried to come forward, but you buried them before they could.

“Let’s dance!” She grabbed your hand.

“Not yet.” You yanked it away. “In a few drinks.”

“I’ll wait with you.” She settled next to you. “But that dance floor is inviting.”

The bodies were moving and you scanned the area. Your eyes bulged when you spotted a familiar face, tongue down a mouth.

“Is that…..is that Captain America’s fiance?” Your friend grabbed your arm, you never told them the mysterious Steve’s last name. “She’s not kissing Cap.”

She pulled out her phone ready to take a picture, but you put your hand out and lowered her arm.

A wave of clarity rushed over you.

“His girl wants to party all the time. He buys her champagne and diamonds.” A weird smile settled over you. “He thinks he can fix her.”

That was the problem. You didn’t need fixing. And if you ever did you would figure it out for yourself, with the support of people around you. Steve hit the nail on the head when he said you didn’t need him. You never would.

“Go dance.” You gave your friend a playful spank on the ass.

For the first time in two months you felt like yourself and turned back to the bar hoping to block the music.

A finger tapped your shoulder and you looked up with no jump.

“It’s loud in here.” A handsome man with dark hair looked down at you.

“There’s a coffee shop a block away.” You stood up. “Can I buy you a cup?”

“Yes.” He nodded and set his drink down.

“What’s your name?” You yelled over the music.

“Stephen.” He was right behind you.

“Do you go by Steve and what are your thoughts on needy women?” You pushed open the door to the club.

The air was hot and you rolled your shoulders back, embracing the lack of obnoxious music.

“If I went by Steve I would have introduced myself that way.” His intense eyes glared at you. “And I am a surgeon. Everyone I encounter is needy. I don’t have time for it in my personal life.”

You stifled your laughter at the response. At least Steve had taught you to speak your mind. Having a flashback to leaving the bar with him.

“Well Mr. Stranger, I will never need you.” You grinned at him. “Except for good conversation and occasional support.”

“It’s actually Doctor Strange.” He chuckled. “I think that’s the first time I laughed in months.”

“Tell me about it...literally.” You kicked at the sidewalk. “How do you kill a circus?”

The man scoffed at you and then wiped off his sleeves.

“You go for the juggler of course.”

#Steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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givemeweasley · 4 years ago

Text

First Things First pt. 2

Fred Weasley x Reader

Word Count:8.8k

Warnings: hella fluff, and ooey gooey romance, and then some angst (I couldn’t resist)

A/N: here's part two! Hope you enjoy!

First Things First pt. 1, First Things First pt. 3

-----

You remembered the first time you told your friends back in the States about him.

After about a million rounds of hugs the lot of you had settled down around your bedroom. You and Louisa were sitting on your bed, Danny sitting reverse in your desk chair, Thomas claimed the bean bag chair as soon as he walked in the room, and classic Iris who had opted to sit on the floor and lean against the wall. The familiarity of it all felt wonderful. Yet, almost new. You hadn’t seen them in a year, things had changed.

Once everyone was settled, the questions shot out at the pace of rockets. You could barely hear who they were coming from.

“What’s Quidditch?”

“How’s England?”

“What’s Hogwarts like?”

“Are there really prisoners running loose?”

“Did you see a dementor?”

“Did you almost die?”

“What are their houses?”

“Can you understand anything they say?”

“Are the boys cute?”

At that everyone shut up, glaring at Thomas.

He lifted his hands in defense and shrugged. “What?! Don’t act like we weren’t all thinking it!”

Like that instantly reminded them all of something, they shared a look before they all glanced at Iris.

She raised a brow. “I’m not surprised you bunch of cowards. I thought you were Wampus’?” She rolled her eyes before looking directly at you and smirking. “So who’s Fred Weasley?”

Your jaw dropped. You could’ve heard a pin drop in the room as all your friends stared back at you. Clearing your throat you answered, “He’s a friend of mine.”

Danny chuckled. “A friend? Is that what you ‘em in England?”

You crossed your arms, but Louisa nudged your sides. “Come on, Y/N! Tell us everything!!”

Whatever reserve you had had about saying anything, much less admitting it to yourself, dissolved with Louisa’s urging. You pulled your sleeves down until they curled around your palms. “Well, you already know his name.”

Louisa squealed, clutching your arm excitedly. She immediately got hushed by everyone else in the room.

“Um.” You furrowed your brows looking between all our friends. “I don’t really know what to say, honestly.”

“How about you start with how you two met, kid?” Danny smiled softly crossing his arms over the top of the chair. You huffed a laugh.

“Yeah. I suppose that’s a good place to start. Well, we met on the train to Hogwarts. It’s called the Hogwarts Express-”

“They get a train?!” Thomas shouted from the beanbag. A quick glance told you your other friends shared your sentiments. You had forgotten the stresses of using a portkey to get to school. A shiver went down your spine before you continued.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice too. They come by with a food cart around noon that has all sorts of treats-”

“Fred?” Iris raised a brow.

“Right. Well I found an empty car and sat down. He and his brother, George, and their friend, Lee, found me and wondered if they could join me since the other train cars were full.” Louisa awed from beside you. “Well at first I was so stuck in my head that I didn’t say anything so they almost left, but then I remembered I had working vocal chords and responded. That’s when they realized I was American.” You found yourself fondly rolling your eyes at the memory. “They then proceeded to pelt me with questions for the next several hours. Hm. Almost reminds me of some other people I know.” Giving a very pointed look at the four friends around you. But instead of guilty looks, they were all smiling, besides Iris who looked vaguely amused.

“What then?” Danny urged.

“Well, then I got sorted into the same house he was in. And no, Louisa, it was not love at first sight.” You said, noticing her hopeless romantic look. “He’s an identical twin, remember? I could barely tell him apart from his twin.”

“What houses do they have?” Iris interrupted. That was just the sort of thing she would interrupt for.

“Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.” Iris raised another brow, hinting that you should continue. “Gryffindor is the brave, Ravenclaw the wise, Hufflepuff the kind, and Slytherin the ambitious. That’s the best I can sum it up.”

“Hm.” She nodded. “Continue.”

“Right. Well. I got sorted into Gryffindor, which was his house. Then he and George called me over to sit with them and I did. Honestly, it was kind of history from there. They call me ‘Merica.” A small smile crept up on your face almost without your knowledge. “But there were lots of things we did. We had detention together.” You glanced up at Danny seeing his head thrown back in laughter. “We ate breakfast together every morning, had classes everyday, went to Hogsmeade-”

“Hogsmeade?” Louisa spoke up again.

“Oh- uh- it’s a little wizarding town outside of Hogwarts. We get to go there a couple times a semester.” Louisa nodded. “Anyway, there were lots of little things I think that we did together. Although a lot of the time we did them with George, Lee, and Angelina.”

“When did you know?” Thomas said grabbing the bean bag and dropping it a few feet closer to the bed before plopping down in it again.

“Know what?”

“You know, like, know.” Thomas winked dramatically.

“Oh-oh. Um.” You leaned back against your headboard. Was there a specific moment? “Well, I think I first started to-” You cleared your throat, “like him when I first got your letters at Hogwarts. It was probably a month or two into school and I was opening them before our Hogsmeade trip. I was- sad. I read Danny’s letter first and it reminded me how much I missed you guys. Fred sat down across from me and instead of saying any bullshit like it’s okay or I’m sure they miss you just as much or you have new friends now, he said well then, it’s a good thing we’re going to Hogsmeade today so we can buy them a couple of souvenirs to send back. I don’t know.” You looked down at your comforter and traced the pattern in the cloth. “It was just exactly what I needed to hear.”

“You can tell Fred I loved those Dungbombs.” Danny smirked.

“Tell him yourself. You have paper and quills.” You smirked back. “But-” Turning back to face Thomas, “I think I knew when I had to leave for the end of the year. Something about not being around him all the time made me realize holy shit I want to be around this buffoon all the time!”

With that you looked over to Louisa who was dabbing at imaginary tears, Thomas had his hand clenched over his heart, Danny was just shaking his head with a smile, and Iris was actually smiling.

Iris looked over to Danny. “Kids in love.”

You grabbed a pillow from behind her and chucked it at her. “Am not!”

“Sure. Sure. Whatever you say, kid.” Iris laughed as she caught the pillow and tucked it under her arm.

“Last question.” Louisa placed her head on your shoulder. “What does he look like?”

Hm. Good question. Your mind took you miles away and weeks ago as you waved goodbye to him on the Hogwarts Express platform. “Bright red hair that brushes his broad shoulders. He’s really tall too. Soft brown eyes. Muscular arms and a really warm smile.”

The room had quieted once again. You hadn’t realized you were staring off into space blushing until Danny spoke up breaking the silence looking at Iris.

“She’s in love.”

You flopped back onto the pillows and threw your arm over your eyes.

“Guys!”

But their laughter and teases had already overtaken your voice as the rest of them piled onto the bed on top of you.

You couldn’t help but smile underneath the weight of them and the thought that they were probably right.

-----

You remembered the first time you stayed at the Burrow.

Your mom had driven you to the Burrow early in the morning and parked around a hundred feet away from the front gate. You both walked to the front door, your suitcases in your hands, your football (and one extra for Lee) under your mothers arms. You set your suitcases down and knocked on the door.

If it had been quiet before that, all hell broke loose at the sound of your knock. You heard vague sounds of griping and fighting, before the door was wrenched open by who you assumed was Mrs. Weasley. Your first thought was she looks like the kindest woman I’ve ever met. It made you wonder what Fred and George and even Ron whined so much about.

“Oh! You must be Y/N and you must be Mrs. Y/L/N! Come in, come in!” She waved you both into what was the most out of order, magnificent, mismatched house you’d ever been in. And you couldn’t wait to stay. Mrs. Weasley hurried you both over to the chairs at the table before flicking her wand. You and your mom sat down before two cups of hot tea came flying (not spilling a drip) and landed on the table before you.

It was right at that moment that two boys came crashing down the stairs. Your head twisted to see Fred and George laying on top of each other in a weird pretzel at the base of the staircase. They both scrambled to get up and make their way over to you.

“Boys, be gentlemen and take Y/N’s stuff up to Ginny's room.” The boys looked at each other and then back to their mom.

“But mum-”

“Ginnys!” She raised her voice the slightest bit and gave them a smile you recognized seeing on your own mother several times before. The one that garnered zero arguments. Hearing them sighing, you placed your tea back down on the table and stood.

“I’ll go help them, if that’s alright?” Your hands were clasped tightly together. You didn't want to offend Mrs. Weasley your first night here. You could hear the twins grabbing your suitcases from behind you.

“Of course, dear. It’ll give me a minute to talk with your mum.” She gave you a kind smile which alleviated some of your nerves as you pulled the footballs from your mothers grasp and followed Fred and George upstairs.

As soon as you hit the second floor, Fred grabbed your arm and pulled you into a room. They both dropped your suitcases and threw their arms around you. The footballs fell onto the floor as you wrapped your arms around the both of them.

“Missed you, ‘Merica.” George mumbled.

“Things have been boring around here.” Fred smiled pulling back. You tried your best to conceal the blush that threatened to make itself more known than it already was.

After they both let go, it gave you a chance to see their room. You knew it was their room the minute you saw the mess. Papers of what you assumed were plans for joke shop products were scattered everywhere but mostly concentrated on the desk. Their beds were littered with a few of those test products that you had been on the receiving end of a few times. Your eyes lifted back to the boys.

“I’ve missed you guys too.” You bent down to grab your suitcases, but Freds hands snatched them out of your grip. “But your mom is going to hate me unless you take me to Ginny’s room.”

“No she’s not.” George rolled his eyes but squeezed past you and into the hall. You followed him, leaving the footballs in their room. “We’ve told her too much about you and how you’ve tried to get us to stop doing pranks-”

“That’s not true-”

“She doesn’t need to know that.” Fred whispered in your ear from behind you, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. His head appeared next to your shoulder as he followed close behind and winked.

“Stop that!” You swatted at him, but he had already moved laughing as you missed.

“And here we are.” George led you into Ginny’s room and Fred followed before placing your suitcases on the floor.

“Where’s Ginny?” You asked, turning to the twins.

“Down at the lake with Ron. We were gonna go join them but then Fred here remembered you were coming today, so we decided to wait.”

“How sweet.”

“Well get dressed so we can go join them!” Fred called as he and his brother left the room, shutting the door behind them.

As soon as you heard the click you plopped down on the nearest bed. Your heart felt as if it was about to beat itself right out of your chest. You could practically hear it. For a moment you wondered if Fred could.

And then you realized you were being paranoid. You shook your head trying to get your mind off the way Fred’s arms felt around you. Strong. Comforting. Warm.

Those could’ve been George’s arms.

With that, you stood up and quickly got changed into your swimsuit and grabbed a towel. Holding it over your body, a little self conscious, you poked your head out the door. Seeing Fred leaning against the wall in nothing but swim trunks almost made you fall flat on your face, but luckily you caught yourself on the door frame.

You cleared your throat as you walked out and closed Ginny’s door behind you. Fred looked up. You couldn't have been lying to yourself as you saw a faint flush light up his cheeks as his hand lifted to rub the back of his neck. The tension only seemed to build as neither of you spoke.

Finally you managed to choke out, “so where’s George?”

A light seemed to go off behind Fred’s eyes as he straightened and shook his head. “Oh- um- George. Right. He- uh- he already left to go to the- uh the lake. Said he got tired of waiting.”

You nodded. “So are you ready?” You asked taking a step closer to Fred. He choked and stumbled backward grabbing onto the wall.

“Yeah- uh yeah!” Abruptly, he turned around and made his way down the stairs. You stood there for a second thinking about what just happened before shrugging and following him down.

“Oh there you are sweetie!” Your mom smiled standing by the door. “I was waiting for you to come down so I could say bye.”

You strolled to the door and hugged your mom tightly. “Love you, mom.” She kissed you on the head.

“Love you, too. Have fun and treat Mrs. Weasley with just as much respect as you would your father and I.”

“Yes ma’am.” Giving her one last hug, she walked out the door and to her car. You watched her at the door as she drove away.

“I’m really excited to have you here Y/N! Your mum is a kind woman.” Mrs. Weasley said from behind you.

You turned and smiled at her, nodding. “She really is.”

“Anyway!” Fred interrupted, grabbing your hand. “We’ve got a lake to go swim in! Bye mum!” Fred pulled you out the door and past the gate before you even had time to wave.

“Be careful!” Mrs.Weasley called out at the door.

Once you two were far enough from the house, you figured Fred would let go. But, he didn’t. You allowed your heart to expand just a little. He slowed his pace to a casual walk instead of the frantic run he’d started with.

The problem was he wouldn’t look at you. Actually, he seemed quite interested in anything that wasn’t you.

You stopped, half expecting his hand to leave yours as he continued walking. Instead, he jerked to a stop too once he realized your hand was tugging on his. You tried not to think about the fact that he was still holding your hand rather than continuing to walk on without it.

However, he still didn’t look at you. He only tilted his head in your direction, still facing forward.

“Are you mad at me?” You whispered laying it on thick, hoping it would do the charm. It did.

Fred’s eyes snapped to yours worriedly. “Mad? Bloody hell no. Why would you think that?” He asked, taking a step closer to you.

“Well you weren’t looking at me or talking to me, so…”

Fred ran his free hand through his hair and closed his eyes sighing. “I haven’t looked at you, because you’re killing me here.”

You took a step closer.

“How so?” You tilted your head innocently as you gazed up at his still closed eyes. At feeling your body heat, Fred’s eyes snapped open. He took a step back. This felt like a dance you only vaguely knew the steps to.

He visibly took a deep breath before shaking his head. “Forget it, let’s go before they start having all the fun without us.”

You let him pull you this time. A small hope blossoming in your heart and a secret smile forming on your lips.

-----

You remembered the first time you almost admitted how you felt.

Turns out Fred’s surprise was an invite to the Quidditch World Cup. Something he insisted was the very height of all world sports. You didn’t tell him you still thought Quadpot was better. You were appreciative either way.

The day leading up to the match was quite eventful. From the portkey that instantly took you back to America and Ilvermorny, to watching as Fred and George gambled away their entire savings on the game you were sure the game couldn’t possibly be as entertaining as everything around it. Especially not when Fred and George painted their faces in Irish colors.

“So you enjoying yourself?” George asked from beside you in the stands. Fred was on your other side not paying you a bit of attention as he took in every aspect of the general splendor.

Your eyes shifted to look at George who still had his eyes on the pitch.

“Yeah, I guess. Honestly, I’m just happy to be here with everyone.”

“How were The States? I don’t think I’ve gotten the chance to ask, with that one-” he nodded at Fred, “hogging all your attention.”

That sent a blush straight to your cheeks. It almost made you sick how often that was beginning to happen.

“I-”

“Don’t even try to deny it, Y/N. We all see it.” He nudged your shoulder with his. “Mum supports it wholeheartedly if that’s what you’re worried about.” Your jaw dropped at that. You quickly glanced to see if Fred was paying any attention, but his focus was still on the ads flashing before him.

“George- I-” You sat back and huffed. “How’d you know?”

He scoffed. “As if everyone couldn’t tell. You two are constantly making googly eyes at each other.” George leaned in close. “Fred wouldn’t shut up about you the first night after we met you. Kept raving like a madman about how pretty you were and how he wanted to hear about football and a million other American things.”

You had to keep from looking behind you at the boy who was the focal point of your conversation.

“What you are lot talking about?” Speaking of the devil, his head appeared over your shoulder.

You frantically looked at George hoping he would come up with some sort of-

“We were talking about how her trip back to The States was.” George replied leaning back in his seat. “Now focus, the game’s about to start.” You nodded way too energetically, and you almost thought Fred was going to say something about it. But he seemed to hold his tongue after meeting George’s eyes and turned back to the game.

“The Irish are gonna win. I’m sure of it.” He mumbled.

“You better be. You bet all your savings on it.” You whispered back a slight smirk on your face. Fred shook his head and opened his mouth to respond.

“Well if it isn’t another dirty mudblood in the stands.” A low voice hissed in your ear. Your head whipped around only to see Draco Malfoy sitting behind you, an evil little smirk on his beady face. You felt both the boys tense beside you as they both prepared to presumably respond. You immediately turned around and grabbed both of their arms firmly.

“We’re just gonna pretend he’s not here.” You whispered quietly enough you knew the twins would hear, but hopefully not loud enough Draco-

“I almost forgot-”

You muttered under your breath.

“How beautiful and kind hearted you are.” The shriek of indignation was a clear sign of it’s effectiveness. You smiled broadly as Fred and George both turned to you as Draco continued to mumble niceties.

“The hell did you do?” George laughed.

You shrugged. “Wandless magic. I call it the Sweetheart Charm.”

Both boys' jaws dropped. “You know wandless magic?!” Fred leaned in.

“Not strong magic, but it’s kind of an elective at Ilvermorny. A useful one apparently.” You giggled still half listening to Draco talk about how much he admired Harry Potter.

Fred huffed. “You could’ve told me that before I borrowed George’s wand to scourgify Snape’s classroom last year.”

You turned and nudged his shoulder with your own. “A good magician never reveals her tricks.”

With that, the game kicked off. Quite literally. The players took flight and from your mid-pitch seat you were able to see everything well enough. The excitement in the stadium was tangible. Both sides were rowdy and exuberant and became even more so as the game went on. Especially when the Veela and Leprechauns began to fight on the pitch.

Quadpot would never.

Finally, Victor Krum caught the Snitch meaning the game was over. And the Irish had won the World Cup. Fred and George jumped up throwing their hands in the air before Fred hauled you up with him and pulled you into his arms.

“We won!!” He shouted, smiling broadly. “We won!! That means we won our bet!!” Now that was something you could cheer for.

You screamed, throwing your arms around his neck as he picked you up. With your face pressed into his neck, you breathed in. He smelled like face paint, sweat, and a tiny hint of firework ash. You dug your face deeper never wanting to forget it.

Eventually he set you down, but his arms were still wrapped tightly around you. For a moment, just a moment, you contemplated leaning up barely a fraction of an inch to join your lips to his. You could feel his breath on your skin. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you began to rise to your toes.

“Fred! George! You won!” Ron shouted from below you. You two jumped apart as if you’d been shocked. You heard Fred clear his throat while you stood next to him trying to remember how to breathe.

“Yeah, Ron. We did!” He smiled but it looked more like a grimace. You should’ve known he was being weird when he didn’t immediately find something to tease Ron about.

After that, Mr. Weasley led you out of the stands and back down to your tent. For a while, you all stay out and celebrate. Shouting and screaming and laughing and just having fun. But there came a point where even you got tired and had to retreat into your tent. You practically collapsed on your bed after changing into sleep shorts and a random No-Maj band t-shirt. Sleep was instantaneous.

“Wake up! Girls get up!” You awoke to someone shaking your shoulders. Blinking rapidly, you focused on Mr. Weasley standing above you with a panicked look. “Get up!” He moved on from you seeing you were awake, to wake up Hermione or Ginny. You didn’t know. But the fear in his eyes made you roll out of bed and grab your wand.

Hermione and Ginny were both waking up looking just as frightened, shivering in their nightdresses as Mr. Weasley ushered you all out of the tent. All you managed to piece together in your terrified state was Mr. Weasley saying the woods and stay there. You barely registered as Fred grabbed onto Ginny and George grabbed onto you, as they whisked you into the forest.

Your bare feet tripped over souvenirs and sticks. You tried to ignore how it stung and how the bitter English cold bit through your thin t-shirt and shorts.

I am way out of my depth.

Fear trickled into every inch of your body as George kept tugging you into the forest. But you tripped. George lost his grip and in seconds you lost sight of him.

“Get up!” Someone yelled as they grabbed your arm and yanked you into a standing position. It took a second to see it was George who had come back for you. Relief flooded your system. Finally you both broke through the trees, but you had lost Fred and Ginny in the process.

George didn’t let up, he kept pulling you in whatever direction was away from the campsite. Your feet were definitely going to be cut up. You tried not to think about it even as tears poured down your cheeks.

After what felt equally like hours and no time at all, you both came to a halt. George pulled you into a sitting position behind a tree, you settled between his legs and his arms around you. Your heart was pounding. Your muscles were aching. You had never felt more ill equipped than you did at that moment. Even with being a witch.

“George, I’m scared.” You whispered so quiet you could barely hear it. It felt odd that the forest was so quiet. You could barely hear the screams and shouts coming from the campsite, whether that was a good thing or a bad thing you weren’t sure.

“Y/N,” You knew that voice. “It’s Fred.” His hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear. His head resting on your shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Trust me.”

You leaned your head against his and closed your eyes. “Okay.” You tucked your knees into your chest and just waited. You could feel Fred’s chest heaving from behind you. It countered your own labored breathing. That one solitary fact provided the smallest bit of comfort. That he was breathing in while you breathed out. That he breathed out while you breathed in. It felt safe. You couldn’t describe it any other way.

Briefly, you thought back to what George said in the box earlier that day. You turned your head ever so slightly towards Fred. You licked your lips as if giving yourself just a second more before gaining the courage.

If the fear of death wasn’t motivation enough, you didn’t know what would be.

“Fred?” You breathily whispered.

“Yeah?” He whispered back.

“I have to tell you something.”

He let out a small laugh but it sounded so devoid of any humor. “Then tell me, love.”

“For awhile now, I’ve been-”

Green light flashed like lightning above you. You scrambled to your feet, Fred following, to see what it was that lit up the entire forest in an eerie green glow.

A snake coming through a skull.

The Dark Mark.

You stumbled back into Fred who caught your arm before you fell.

“Let’s go.” He mumbled before fiercely tugging you in the opposite direction of the mark in the sky. Fear rattled through your bones then.

Even as Fred tugged you through the forest, your eyes were on that Dark Mark in the sky. You didn’t know if you wished your parents had never brought you here or if you were glad they did.

-----

You remembered your first kiss.

The Triwizard tournament held more excitement for you than for most. It wasn’t because you could enter under the name of Ilvermorny (although you did consider it but you were a year too young). Nor was it because the prospect of spectating the tournament held a special excitement. It was because for the first time in your Hogwarts life, you were not the only foreigner.

French and Russian wizards and witches were now at Hogwarts which meant, for the first time, no one cared that you were the only American in a British Wizarding school. Your friends still called you ‘Merica, but that had never bothered you to begin with.

Everyone was instead focusing on the fact that Quidditch World Cup player Viktor Krum was in attendance at their school.

You, however, were using the time everyone was focused on stalking him to find some peace and quiet. The start of classes had been even more stressful than last year. You had gotten your OWLs back and had gotten ten total. Considering your aspirations to be a healer, you had no choice.

You had stopped studying in the library as Viktor had decided, for whatever reason, to make it his personal haunt. Meaning that there were always a gaggle of girls following close behind, trying and also failing at being quiet. Also meaning that you had to find a new study hole.

Instead of picking the obvious choice, the Gryffindor Common Room which always seemed to be bursting at the seams with signs and people chanting Harry’s name, you went with something a little more hidden.

The kitchens.

The house elves were friendly and welcomed you everytime you came in carrying your books and papers. They’d been kind enough to help you set up a little armchair in the corner of the room with a small side table next to it to lay your work on. It had been a life saver. It gave you an escape from everything and an opportunity to make new friends. Although the thought of slaves enjoying slavery sent a chill up your spine, but if you knew anything about Hermiones attempts at SPEW, it was better to leave the subject alone.

You’d been spending more and more time alone since returning to Hogwarts from the Burrow. Especially after Defense of the Dark Arts with Moody. The thought of that specific class made you want to hurl. Your boggart had been nearly unbearable.

The sight of your mother dead on the floor of the classroom had been nightmare material for the past month. You didn’t tell anyone, not even Fred you were having them. You just pulled back figuring that once everything stopped feeling so fresh and raw, you could talk about it.

“More coffee ma’am?” One of the house elves you’d come to know as Jippy held out a cup of pitch black liquid.

You reached forward taking the cup from his hands, breathing in the welcoming aroma.

“Thanks, Jips.” A broad smile overtook his big eyed face before he nodded and went back to work.

You continued to work through your Potions homework with the utmost concentration. The NEWTs class was indeed harder, and took up most of your studying time.

“There you are.” A voice called from across the room. Your eyes lifted, seeing none other than George Weasley strolling towards you with his hands in his pockets. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Who’s we?” You asked sitting up from your slouched position in the chair as George grabbed a nearby stool to sit on next to you.

“Who do you think?”

“Well is he wearing an Invisible Cloak?” You replied just as sarcastically.

George let out a small laugh. “No, we split up to cover more ground. He went to check the upper levels. If only we still had the Marauders Map.” He shook his head wistfully.

“What if I didn’t want to be found?” You lifted the corner of your mouth in an attempt at a smile, but he saw right through it. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and gazed sharply at you.

“Then I’d have to ask you why.”

You looked away unable to hold his stare. “George. I don’t wanna talk about it.” You hesitated. “I’m not ready to yet.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw George nod sadly. But he understood, you could tell. “Alright, Y/N.” He stood and pushed the stool back to its original position. “But you’ll find us whenever you’re ready to talk?”

You met his eyes and smiled softly. “Of course.” With that he nodded and began to make his way to the back of the portrait. “Wait!” You stretched your arm out as if you could reach him.

“Yeah?” He asked, glancing back at you.

“Don’t tell Fred about-” You waved your hands around you. “I wanna still be alone here.”

George nodded. “No problem.” And with that he stepped through the portrait and was gone.

You slumped on the chair, lifting the hot coffee to your mouth. All you could do was think. Think about nothing and somehow everything as the coffee stung its way down your throat.

It was past midnight a few nights later when you snuck out of the Gryffindor tower. The hood of your cloak was pulled over your head after you checked that the coast was clear. Quietly you made your way down to the Trophy Room on the third floor. It was the only place you could think that would have what you needed. The halls were dark and the only sound was your light footsteps on the stone. The light from the candles flickered as if they were minutes from going out. But you reached the room in enough time.

You closed the door quietly behind you once you reached the room and began to look around. The trophy room was almost always empty. Plenty of dark nooks and crannies within the cases and trophies themselves. The trophies themselves seem to stare at you from behind the glass of their cases, following you through the room, knowing what you were seeking. You slowly made your way around the room listening for any creaks or sharp noises.

“Lumos.” You whispered walking steadily through the room. The light from your wand caused shadows to stretch up to the ceiling. They leaned over you and stared down causing a sliver of fear to creep it’s way into your heart.

Finally, closer to the back of the room than you would’ve liked, you heard it. One of the bottom drawers in what looked like a dresser filled with cleaning supplies was rattling. You lifted your wand higher and whispered.

“Alohomora!”

The drawer snapped open as the boggart flew at you, almost causing you to drop your wand. You stumbled back into a trophy case before catching yourself. But that moment was all the boggart needed to shift before your eyes.

Your mother was clutching her bleeding throat, blood pouring down the front of her dress. Her eyes were desperate, until they focused on you. They shifted to burning rage as she stumbled forward choking out a few words as she stumbled towards you.

“You...disappoint...me. You’re no…daughter...of mine.” She choked out as you fell backwards onto your hands.

“Rid-R-Riddikulus!” You pointed your wand at your mother. But the boggart shifted into your father. Clutching his abdomen as blood poured out onto the ground.

“You did this.” He spat at you.

“No. No, Dad- I-” It shifted again into Danny.

“You abandoned me. Abandoned our school. Our friends. Our life. Don’t ever come back.” He lifted his hand which held a wand with a frightening look on his face as he shifted into Iris.

“I never liked you. You were always weak, too weak to be a Wampus. Too weak to even be called a witch, you mudblood.” She spat at you.

And then her face shifted into one much taller with flame red hair. The gentle brown eyes you’d come to love looked at you with utter loathing. You shook your head desperately wanting it to stop.

“You think I would ever love you? As if you’d ever be worthy of my time much less my affection. It’s hilarious to think I would ever want a vile creature like you.” You crawled backwards, scrambling to get away. Bumping into trophies and trophy cases as the boggart gained on you. Every shadow that had once seemed lifeless, seemed to peel off the walls before you, multiplying your fear tenfold.

This wasn’t real, you tried to remind yourself.

It’s not real. He’s not real.

“Not real, am I?” Tears spilled down your cheeks obscuring your view of Fred. But you could see the disdain on his face clear enough. “I’m flesh and blood, Y/N.” He took another step closer, you felt the sound of that footstep in your chest. “You have no future.” Another step closer.

“You will die alone.”

Another step.

“No one to love you.”

“Riddi-Riddi-Riddiku-”

“No one to mourn you.”

Another step.

“Bury your body.”

“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head frantically.

“You are nothing.”

“R-Riddikulus!” You shouted again with tears in your eyes. “Please!”

But Fred kept gaining on you, until his hand wrapped around the front of your cloak and hauled you close to his face. His brows were furrowed deeply, the lines around his mouth almost made it look like he was snarling. His eyes looked at you like he couldn’t even stand to touch you or even look at you. “I hate you.”

“Riddikulus!” A voice shouted from behind you. You fell to the floor as the boggart shifted into a firework before disappearing altogether. Sobs wracked your body as you laid crumpled in a heap. You heard footsteps gaining on you but couldn’t even bear to see who it was. Despite knowing the answer.

“Y/N?” A hand gently laid on your back. The flinch that followed couldn’t be helped. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry.” He immediately whispered, lifting his hand. You heard a soft sigh before you felt hands softly grasping your chin.

Fred was kneeling in front of you with the gentlest expression you’d seen on him to date. And yet, you saw the deep pain in his eyes. One hand swept your hair back then moved to wipe the tears still falling from your eyes with his thumb.

“C’mere.” He opened his arms. He made no move to force you into his arms. For a moment, you hesitated. His words- the boggarts words- were still reverberating around your skull. But you needed him. Fred. Not- not- the Fred of your nightmares. So you crawled into his arms, still shaking.

His arms came around you immediately, rocking you both back and forth on the floor. He shushed you softly while running his fingers through your hair. Fred pressed a kiss into your hair before tucking your head under his cheek. But he remained silent. As did you.

Slowly but surely your breathing slowed. You leaned further into Fred’s embrace as if that was possible, relaxing your muscles a fraction.

He seemed to take that as a sign that you were ready. “Y/N, what happened?” His voice was soft in your ear. You lifted your hand and placed it on his chest. You felt the steady thrum of his heart, and it gave you just enough peace to answer.

“I’ve-” Your voice broke off, hoarse from trying to scream a spell that wasn’t working. “I’ve been having nightmares.” Your fingers curled into his shirt. “Ever since Defense Against the Dark Arts. I saw my mom.” At that it seemed like everything came spilling out.

“I’m so scared, Fred. That Dark Mark-” Fred’s grip tightened. “My grandfather died in the First War against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I didn’t know him, but my grandmother talks about it sometimes. It’s why we moved to America.”

“I didn’t know.” He whispered in your hair.

“How could you? I never told you.” You sucked in another breath. “I’ve been having nightmares about death. My parents dying, my friends dying, you dying. I can’t get it out of my head, and it just keeps playing on repeat like some horror film that only shows one scene. Maybe it’s the stress of NEWT classes, maybe it’s because I’m weak, I don’t know.”

Fred gripped your chin in his hand, turning you to meet his eyes. The softness was still there but it was buried underneath determination. “Y/N, listen to me very closely. No one is dying. We’re all here. We’re all safe. Okay?”

You nodded.

You desperately wanted to look away as you asked the next question, but Fred’s grip was firm. “How much did you see?”

His thumb brushed over your cheek. “I walked in the room when he said ‘not flesh and blood, am I?’ but it took me a minute to figure out how to get over to you.” There was real pain in his eyes as he spoke to you this time. “Y/N, I would never never say those things to you. They are simply not true.” Fred released your chin to tuck you under his own as he brushed back your hair. You wondered if it was more for you or him. “When you die, a long time from now, it will be surrounded by those whom you love and who love you in return. You will be missed for as long as the sky is blue and your children's children’s children will get to say they are a part of your family.” He pressed a delicate kiss to the crown of your head. “You are important. You are magnificent. Breathtakingly beautiful. And I-” He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t know how to live without you anymore.” The warmth that bloomed in your chest dissolved every shadow in your soul that carried those fears. They were pressed and suffocated by the light that Fred was.

You leaned back to look him in the eyes. Your faces inches apart. Your hand reached up to brush his hair from his face and tuck it behind his ear. Instead of pulling it back, you slid it behind his neck. It wasn’t you pulling him or him pulling you, it was a tacit movement from both ends. And your lips met.

It felt like falling. The sky before you in shades orange to pink to yellow to blue. Like a sunrise on a beach. Morning dew in a quiet wood. Cold rain after a drought. All the best things the Earth had to offer were experienced in one moment. One person.

Your fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck while one of his arms lifted to cradle your shoulders trying to pull you closer. As if somehow the two of you could become one and never separate.

His lips were soft and warm. Everything you knew him to be. They moved over yours gently, like he was afraid to break you.

Just as naturally as you two eclipsed, you pulled back. Your hand still wound in his hair, his still tightly clutching your shoulder and waist. The world could’ve been falling apart around you and neither of you would’ve noticed.

You began winding a piece of his hair around your finger. “How’d you know where I was?” It came out breathier than you anticipated.

“I left my sweater in the common room and saw the portrait shut behind you. I had a feeling I’d need my wand so I ran back up to my dorm to grab it before coming back. I knew Harry still had the Marauders map so I snuck up to his dorm to grab it before coming to get you.” He twisted a bit as his arm left your shoulders. He pulled out the map from his pocket and opened it, showing the two of your footsteps in the Trophy Room. You stared at the spot you two were intertwined on the map way too long to be considered normal, before looking back up at Fred.

“Thank you.” You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Always, ‘Merica.” He whispered back, clutching you to his chest. “Always.”

-----

You remembered the first time you fought with him.

It had been several months since that night in the Trophy Room. But whatever you’d been hoping for when you left that room was not quite what happened when you actually did.

Everything went back to relatively normal. Forgetting the unspoken tension between you and Fred whenever you were next to each other or even remotely close. It took only a glance now for your heart to start pounding out of your chest as you were reminded of the feeling of his lips on yours.

You turned your head back to Professor Sprout who was going over the many uses of Moly.

“It’s most common uses are as a counteragent against a range of enchantments…” She went on as you scribbled the notes down. This was probably a plant you used in multiple antidotes if you wanted to work at St. Mungos.

You desperately tried to focus, but it was difficult when you could feel his eyes on you every five seconds. You quietly slammed your quill down before looking at him.

“What?!” You whisper-shouted.

Fred’s already wide smile broadened. “Nothing.” Then he turned to look back at Professor Sprout.

He was doing shit like this all the time. It was driving you up the wall. You couldn’t decide if it was because you were upset at the fact that nothing had happened between you, if he really was just being annoying, or maybe because he hadn’t asked you to be his date to the stupid Yule Ball. You supposed you should at least be glad your life had gone back to semi-normal. You’d stop shutting yourself in the kitchens (although you still made time to visit Jips). George, Lee, and Angelina practically cheered the next time you joined them in the library to study. Fred smiled secretly from his chair, that day, as you tried to avoid eye contact.

Shaking your head, you got back to taking notes. This was an important class that you needed to do well in if you wanted to get the job you dreamed of. Rolling your shoulders, you studied the Moly in front of you.

You tapped it with your quill before continuing to write.

“Taking enough notes, ‘Merica?” Fred whispered right into the shell of your ear. The shiver it sent through your body caused your quill to jerk across your page right through your notes. Your jaw dropped. Your notes were...legible at least.

You snapped your head to him. “Fred! What the hell!” You punched his arm.

He had the decency to look guilty. “Sorry, love. Didn’t think you’d react that way.” He scratched the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you’d come to realize. You hated how it stretched the muscle on his arm making it much more noticeable. Your eyes flicked back up to his. He was smirking, the prick. He knew what he was doing.

You huffed before turning back to Professor Sprout. “It’s fine.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.”

You’d been walking back to the common room with Fred and George after dinner with Adrian Pucey grabbed your arm. You jerked to a stop as you turned to face him.

“Oi mate!” Fred shouted and stepped forward with a heated look in his eyes. “Bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Let her go.” George seconded.

Adrian wasn’t looking at either of them though. He rolled his eyes before focusing back on you. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Can it not wait? I kinda need to study for-”

“It can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Did you not hear him? He said let her go.” Fred growled, stepping forward between you two. You laid a hand on his arm pushing him away gently.

“It’s fine. I’ll meet you two in the common room okay?” You smiled and he seemed to deflate as he furrowed his eyebrows. Nonetheless, he and George walked away (not without Fred huffing the entire way to the staircase).

You turned back to Adrian. “So?”

“Wanna go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Huh?

You glanced around for a moment, half expecting Draco or Pansy to jump out with a sign that says ‘Surprise! You thought a Slytherin would ask you??’ But no one jumped out. In fact the hall was pretty quiet.

“Y/N?” Adrian shuffled.

“Oh, um.” You paused. “I can’t. I’m going with-” with who? Fred? The guy who hadn’t asked you yet despite kissing you in the Trophy room months ago? “You.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could take them back. You looked up at Adrian expecting to see his face break out into a cruel laugh, but it didn’t. He just smiled.

“Cool, I guess I’ll uh come get you from Gryffindor Tower at like 7:45?”

You nodded mindlessly, still not believing you’d said yes. “Uh- yeah that works.” You lifted your hand, stumbling backwards towards the staircase Fred and George had disappeared up. “Alright- bye.” You spun on your heel and practically catapulted yourself up the steps.

You said yes. To Adrian Pucey. Because Fred hadn’t asked you yet. Despite the ball being only a few weeks away.

What did I do? You shook your head and almost turned back to tell Adrian you made a mistake, despite being at Gryffindor Tower. But bumping into a solid frame prevented you from walking in either direction.

Two strong hands grabbed you by your forearms steadying you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“What did Pucey want?” Fred spat his name out like it was poison. You tried hard not to look guilty as you looked up into his eyes.

“He wanted to talk about the Yule ball.”

Freds grip tightened on your arms. “What about it?”

You sucked in a deep breath. “He asked me to go with him.”

“You said no.”

“No.”

Fred jerked back as if you’d stung him with nettle. “No you said yes, or no you said no.”

You pulled yourself out of Fred's grip, taking a step back. “I told him I would go with him, Fred.”

Fred had the nerve to look affronted. Anger swept over his features. For a brief moment, you were reminded of the face of the boggart. Yet even in Fred’s obvious anger, it could never compare to the deep loathing set in the face of his mimic.

“Why.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Are you serious?”

“Obviously.”

“Because no one else has asked me, Fred.” You said his name with the same venom he addressed Adrian with. “The Yule balls only a few weeks away and I don’t want to go alone.”

Fred’s eyes softened as he stepped closer to you. “I would’ve-”

You pushed his shoulders as hard as you could, causing him to stumble back a few feet. “Then why didn’t you?! I was waiting! There was no reason to say no to Adrian, who has only ever been nice to me, when there was no guarantee that the guy I wanted to go with would even ask me if he hadn’t already.” Tears unwillingly built up in your eyes.

“Will you go to the Yule ball with me?” Fred asked, reaching out for you. You couldn’t believe your ears. The question you’d been waiting for for weeks and here he was asking you only minutes after you’d been asked by someone else.

You let out a loud humorless laugh, gripping your stomach as you doubled over. Nothing was actually funny, you were just in such a state of shock that it bubbled out of you in the form of laughter.

“We kiss. Never bring it up. Never do it again. Never say so much as the word kiss around each other.” Every word you took the smallest step towards him until you were standing a foot away. Yet somehow it still felt like miles. “And suddenly when someone else shows interest, you want to too.”

Whatever you said seemed to anger Fred even more than hearing you’d said yes to Adrian. His eyes narrowed into slits as he glared down at you. “You could’ve brought up that kiss just as easily as I could’ve, Y/N! Hell, you could’ve asked someone to the Yule ball instead of waiting for him to ask you!”

A part of you hated how right he was, but the other part just wanted to win the fight. “Well one guy decided I was worth the risk of rejection, while the other was apparently waiting for me to build up the courage to ask even though I’d practically handed my heart to him on a silver platter.” You pushed past him to whisper the password to the Fat Lady.

The portrait swung open, the Fat Lady doing her best to not meet either of your eyes. Your hand still gripping the frame you turned back to Fred. Tears slipping down your cheeks in waves now.

“You know, for a Gryffindor you sure are a coward.”

The portrait fell shut quietly behind you.

#Fred Weasley x reader #Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #fred Weasley fic #George Weasley #harry potter #Harry Potter fic #hogwarts #ilvermorny #First Things First #fw

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secretshinigami · 3 years ago

Text

strike to incinerate

Author: @jeevas-exe (ghoulhunt on ao3) For: @jam-knife Pairing/Characters: Light Yagami, B, L Lawliet Rating/Warnings: T, major character death Prompt: Light and B join forces to bring L down. How does that work out? Your choice to make it Blight or keep it platonic Author’s notes: I had SO much fun writing this piece! It was new and experimental for me to write in this style, but it was lots of fun going back and forth between perspectives and time. The biggest thing was consistency. Happy reading, I hope you enjoy! <3

—

It’s close to midnight and the cars seem to be zooming by.

Adrenaline runs through B’s veins. Riding down the highway going upwards of eighty, ninety miles an hour, weaving between traffic, cutting other drivers off and getting honked at. Travel, travel, travel, his days and nights, following, trying to catch up to the black Mercedes with the blacked-out windows ahead of him. Wind whips by, caressing the parts of his body not covered in leather.

It’s cold.

There’s a sound. A shot. Shit, he thinks. He hopes it’s someone’s exhaust backfiring. There’s too many people around for this. The Mercedes zooms across six lanes of traffic, taking the closest exit. Trying to lose him.

He follows. He weaves between traffic on his bike, getting to the car, and he sees the other man leaning outside the window with a gun drawn, pointing in his direction. B grips his own, tight in his hand. He can see his steely grey eyes as he approaches, or maybe that’s just another memory.

B shoots.

The man slumps. Lifeless.

There are lights behind him, red and blue.

The day Light Yagami meets him, he’s wearing the watch his father gave him.

It’s still on Japanese time, where it shows it’s about four in the morning, there. Here, it’s noon. He yawns. He’s restless and jet-lagged, making his way through the customs and the terminal and baggage until he’s out the door and headed to the address he was given.

5512 Highland Park.

The cab he climbed into forty minutes prior parks along the sidewalk of a rundown street. Apartments and small houses with chain-link fences dot the opposite side of the road; where he’s pulled up, a neon sign hangs, buzzing, the lights flickering and not really noticeable in the LA sun. Light notices the peeling, yellowing paint on the outside, the dead flowers in the flowerbeds, the rusted hinges of the dark green door; apparently, the only new renovation that Maple’s Bar & Grille has made in the past who-knows-how-long.

Light looks at his watch. The time ticks away. He pays the cabbie, walks through the squeaking door and up the small step, and is quickly greeted by a waitress, who tells him to take a seat wherever.

He spots him.

In the booth off to the side, sipping on a Shirley Temple, with a coke on the side. A brown-haired, flannel-donning fellow staring down at the newspaper. Light can’t discern what the headline says from here, but the photo shows the destruction of a building. It’s from the L.A. Times. It doesn’t matter, he thinks. Light slides across from him in the booth.

“Hello. Light Yagami.” He extends a hand. The American way.

The man lifts his head. Takes a sip from the glass of sugar he drinks. His eyes bore into Light’s soul, unsettling him, deep in his core, not acknowledging his hand whatsoever. Light retracts it.

“I’ve been waiting quite a while, you know.”

Light blinks. He looks away, tearing his gaze from the man sitting opposite him. He looks down at the menu on the sticky table. “The cab driver didn’t know where this place was.”

“No? This is one of the more popular places around here.” The man looks at the bar, towards a bunch of drunk men, off of work and watching a game on the TV in the upper corner of the room. They don’t even notice them in the booth. Good, he thinks. They don’t need attention. “Call me B.”

B is handcuffed. B is sitting in a chair, alone in a cell, with cement walls and cement floors and fluorescent lights that sting his tired eyes. They buzz. The sound is drowned out by people walking in and out of the jail, police talking, drunk people and others mumbling to themselves.

He knows why he’s here. It replays in his head, over and over. The sound of gunshots, the squeal of tires, the sound of sirens, so many of them, blaring out along the highway. His ears seem to ring despite the hours that have passed.

This is temporary. Soon, he knows, he’ll be back to square one.

Was it worth it?

Light and B meet up everyday for the next few days. It’s always the same restaurant, and the same booth, with varying waitresses, the same water, and the same man sat across from him. Papers have started making their way onto the booth. B looks at them with an intensity Light hasn’t seen before, other than in one person.

The one person they’re trying to take down.

“What’s your connection to him, anyway?” Light asks at this meeting, because for all he knows, this could be as impersonal as flicking one’s cigarette ashes on the floor. He watches B do this as he takes a sip off his water.

“Oh, that’s a little personal, isn’t it? Let’s just say we grew up together.” B replies.

Light feels a jolt go through him; he didn’t know this. Not the specifics, at least. Proof of his name was enough to go through with this arrangement. “You grew up together? Then why are you doing this?”

“That’s really none of your business,” he snaps. “You’re paying me for a service. Be grateful it’s on the table.”

Which, Light supposes, is fair. He looks down at the newspaper in front of him, its headline emblazoned on the front cover:

L IN CONNECTION WITH INTERPOL; CRACKDOWN ON KIRA GROUP COMING.

L Lawliet.

B hadn’t heard the name in years. Rather, he chose to ignore it, because seeing it now and again in the newspapers or on tv really didn’t help his case.

Too many years were spent left alone in that house. And then, alone in L.A., and then, around the world. And now, sitting in a cell, he counts on his fingers how many times he’s spent his days alone, thinking about him, and thinking about all the fucked up things that led to this point.

He continues to wonder if it was worth it. He wonders if things could have been different, if L had just listened to him, had stayed, and had not pretended that B just didn’t exist after everything that happened in the house.

L is dead.

L is dead because of him. No longer is the World’s Greatest Detective but a corpse in the ground; and here he is, stuck in prison for it, because everyone knows he did it. They saw it. At least, everyone who knew who L really was knew it was him. He hasn’t seen the news at all, and probably won’t. He hopes to God, or the Devil, or any other force out there that can hear him, that L–or his place–doesn’t happen again.

Light Yagami has his ducks in a row.

As a part-time investigator himself, he’s learned to always be one step ahead of the game. He’s learned to pay attention to his surroundings, to organize his thoughts before he speaks, to look at things from all sides. L got involved in the Kira Group case alongside him and the rest of the department he was working in, over in Japan. The L. The one that’s solved countless crimes around the world, some of the hardest, all under a pseudonym. For him to get involved meant he had his suspicions, and he knew where to look; in the very place where the police weren’t looking.

Light Yagami has played his cards right; working with groups like Yotsuba and third-parties, such as The Shinigami. Working between them, they’ve obtained quite a bit of money–here and there, of course, and Light turns a blind eye to the way the money is obtained. He’s only in control of how and where the money goes, of course. The rest is up to Ryuk, to gain it, while the accounts are hidden between Yotsuba’s various company expenses and profits. It works. So much, in fact, that they were able to transfer billions upon billions within a matter of months.

He isn’t sure what caught L’s eye. Maybe it was a fuck up on Ryuk’s part, or something between Yotsuba, or maybe it was the sudden influx of profit and stocks and the company doing “well” on an international level. Maybe that was it. Light wouldn’t be surprised.

Light isn’t greedy.

Light is, simply, bored.

It was never his intention to get L onto this case, but it makes for extra fun, he supposes. Doubling and tripling and quadrupling the work he usually does for the Kira Group, all for the sake of laughs, while dollar bills light up in the other’s eyes. And he knows he won’t be caught until L can connect him to any of these groups, which he never will.

Let him have his suspicions. Light knows he’ll get off scot-free.

B remembers the first time he met L.

It was summer, and he was just a kid. Small, maybe around ten, tired from the flight, gripping balling his fists into the sleeves of his shirt. Summer here was colder than home. The mansion was somehow even colder.

It was nighttime. B doesn’t remember the exact time, but he was hungry. He didn’t go down for dinner; instead, he sat at his bed, looking at his minimal belongings. This was his room, now. This was his new home, but it didn’t feel like it. Nothing felt right. Not the windows, not the furniture, not the smell. It was unsettling, being here; like his whole life had been uprooted.

It had, but not because of the change in home.

He refused to think about it. Instead, B trotted out of his room, trying to be as quiet as possible. It was past curfew, and he didn’t want to get in trouble on his very first day. His stomach growled, but he didn’t know where the kitchen was; it wasn’t shown to him on his little tour around the house. He assumed it was past the dining room, somewhere downstairs, and after a little bit of wandering, he found it.

He found another boy there, too. With the man who had picked him up and showed him around. Maybe he was also new. He was eating dinner, soup, at a small table. The elder man smiled; he ladled another bowl for B, setting it across from the other boy.

Despite how unsettling the day had been, it was comforting. It could be home.

Things weren’t supposed to end up like this.

Light can feel L on his heels. He’s uncomfortably close to the end of this, and it’s suffocating. And thrilling. Scary, but electrifying; being in the same room as him, knowing what he knows, but knowing there’s nothing he can do about it just yet.

L knows of The Shinigami Group. He’s asked about Ryuk, and has started researching who he is. There’s only so long until contact is made, and Light knows his connection is fairly solid, but not enough; if Ryuk goes down, so does he, and so does Yotsuba. He needs to do something. Anything.

Contact with B is a blessing in disguise. He doesn’t know who this B person is, but he claims to know L. He knows enough information that catches Light’s eye; details about his aliases, specific cases, his appearance, even knowledge of Watari’s role. It intrigues Light, because he isn’t sure what this person could possibly want from him, or why he’s contacting him.

He says he can help. He knows L is close to solving this case. Let him help.

Light books a trip to California. It’s sudden, but he says that between school and work, he’s really stressed out. His dad understands, even defends him; he’s working too hard on this case he’s not even technically being paid to do, while trying to figure out how to manage school in between. He needs time to himself to sort things out, and maybe a trip out by himself is what he needs. He wants to visit the forests up north, and maybe explore some of the other cities. A two week trip should be enough time for that.

So he goes. He spends part of the first week up in the Redwoods, goes down to San Francisco, and eventually gets to Los Angeles.

This means, when L expects him back at headquarters by the weekend, that he really only has seventy-two hours to finalize things with B. They need to settle on a plan.

“Here’s how it’s going to work,” B starts, sitting across from him in that same booth. Light thinks he must be sweltering under that leather jacket; it isn’t exactly cool in here. “I come back to Japan with you on an earlier flight. You need to find a way to get L out of headquarters. You know, he’s secretly an adrenaline junkie. Get him into the action. Did you already plan on the Yotsuba thing?”

Light nods. He looks down at his watch. Back at B. “Higuchi is greedy, it’ll take no time for him to want to get extra money. I just have to dangle it in front of him in just the right way.”

“Perfect. Arrange it so Higuchi will meet with…whoever, I don’t really give a fuck. Just get him at this location,” he insists, pointing at the Port of Tokyo on the map, “and L will eventually get there, too. I’ll do my job accordingly.”

“Right.” Light responds. “I would like to know more details about that, if you don’t mind.”

Dramatically, B sighs. “Don’t worry yourself. Nothing that a bike and a gun can’t take care of.”

B is ready.

Light is ready.

It’s the day of. Light’s been on edge all day. The whole group has been on edge; they all know they’re on to something big, and they’re about to crack it.

L’s learned of Higuchi, of Yotsuba, of the laundering. At least, part of it, but Light knows better than anyone else here this is just a big red herring. He really thought L would know better. He supposes not, because here he is, taking the bait. Is it for show? Does he really believe it?

He doesn’t know.

It’s close to midnight, and Aizawa and Ide have been tracking Higuchi all day, between the live feed on their screens to monitored calls (thanks to Wedy, who was only there for a few days). L climbs into the front seat on the passenger’s side, where Light can drive.

Light starts driving to the location. L sits, hands gripping his knees, tense. Police are starting to arrive towards the location; they’re receiving live updates about their statuses throughout.

“Heading south, about twenty minutes from location,” Light says into the receiver.

“Got that. We’re watching Higuchi right now.” Aizawa’s voice reports. “There doesn’t seem to be much going on.”

L hums. Light grips the steering wheel.

“We have enough evidence to arrest him already,” Light says. “Why are we holding off?”

“We need sufficient, hard evidence. This will be enough.” L grits.

“The bank statements aren’t enough?”

B was right. L is an adrenaline junkie. Light sees the way his eyes change, and he knows this isn’t just for evidence; it’s so he can say he did it. So he can say he was right. He caught one of the largest white collar criminals the world has ever seen.

Light looks in the rearview mirror. He sees the bike. He hears a shot. L looks in the side mirror, and sees the same.

“We’re being followed.”

“Shit,” Light mutters. He speeds up, trying to weave between traffic. His heart is racing. He’s trying to stay calm. “Do you think–”

Another shot. This one hits the car.

L reaches into his pocket and grabs his gun. “Keep driving.”

He leans out the window.

Light hears a shot.

And then, L slumps.

B realizes, far too late, that working with Light was the worst possible thing he could’ve done.

He sees it from behind the bars of his cell. Sentenced to life, sitting in San Quentin State Prison. Found guilty of first-degree murder and conspiracy to commit murder. He’s not surprised in the slightest. He held up his end of the deal.

Light didn’t.

Instead, he let him be arrested. Had his team follow him, get him arrested, extradited back to the States. He got his money, but not for long. He sits alone, biding the rest of the time he has on Earth, eating shitty prison food and fighting with inmates and ending up in solitary for a few weeks. He watches stupid reruns of Law and Order and reads books and occasionally steals a newspaper off of his cellmate.

That’s how he sees Light Yagami come up in the world. He sees him becoming what L used to be. He reads about how Yotsuba was dissolved, but other companies–smaller ones, like Yotsuba once was–grow into the large, influential entities they are. It’s because of him. All of it.

He thought he got what he wanted. It was just another way for business, and it shouldn’t have been personal, but oh, it was. He knew that as soon as he pulled the trigger, as soon as he met Light Yagami at that stupid little restaurant in that stupid, sticky booth.

B didn’t want that. He needed something from L, something permanent to soothe the pain of everything between them, but death was something that stuck; the bullet, an indefinite solution, holding his anger, his resentment, his grief and sadness.

He’s paying for it, now. He knows that well enough.

So B sits.

He thinks of the watch Light Yagami wore.

—

#fanfiction #death note #submission #light yagami #l lawliet #beyond birthday #rosyoongi #jam-knife #Near's Bday Finale 2k21 #ratings: teen

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lovelylogans · 3 years ago

Text

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, warnings, and notes here!

chapter two: limbic resonance

limbic resonance: the idea that the capacity for sharing deep emotional states arises from the limbic system of the brain. these states include the dopamine circuit-promoted feelings of empathic harmony, and the norepinephrine circuit-originated emotional states of fear, anxiety, and anger.

PATTON

“My best guess, Patton, is that I think you’re just very social, in sensate terms.”

Patton blinks. They’re sitting in his apartment, this time, a variety of writing practice sheets spread out on his carpet that he really should be grading, but Emile had popped in, and, the same way he has for the past five days, Patton immediately turned his attention to him, in hopes of figuring out what’s going on.

“Well,” Patton says, unsure of what to really say, before he just settles on, “that’s not new.”

Emile smiles, reaching over to pat his hand.

“What we’re doing right now, we call visiting,” Emile explains. “Sharing is something you can only do with your cluster; parents of a cluster, like me—”

“And our psychic grandpa Harley?”

“And your psychic grandpa Harley is to me,” Emile agrees, “is a bit more of a fuzzy area. I can share a bit with you, though—” he gestures to the mostly-finished meal he had made for Patton, the dirtied pot, pan, and utensils sitting on a countertop in Patton’s apartment, “so that’s nice! Harley could only share with us a little, memories, mostly. Young sensates, like you and your cluster, tend to have very little control over it at first. It usually comes with practice. You seem to be visiting almost everyone in your cluster.”

“Well, I don’t even know if I’m controlling it,” Patton says. “I just find myself in places sometimes.”

Emile nods in understanding. “Visiting isn’t like calling or texting someone. It’s not something you make happen, it’s something you let happen.”

“...I’m not sure I understand the difference,” Patton admits.

“It usually takes a while to get,” Emile says affably.

“And I never really stay for long,” Patton says. “I kind of had a conversation with one, I think, but I don’t know how much I imparted hi, I’m one of your psychic partners in life now, you know what I mean? The longest I’ve ever stayed is about five minutes, and I’m pretty sure he was out camping and asleep.”

“You’ve got time to figure it out,” Emile says encouragingly. “And I’m here to help, or explain questions you have, whenever I can. None of that vague you are more than yourself then whoosh, disappearing into thin air thing Harley pulled for our cluster. I want to be a helpful parent, thanks.”

That’s mostly what they’ve been doing over the past five days—Patton’s been trying to figure out what on earth is going on.

He’s already figured out that Emile isn’t a hallucination—his kindergartners had only been too eager to shout “HI MR. T’S AMERICAN FRIEND!!!” into his cellphone, and they’d all heard Emile’s responses back, so the is this really happening or am I seeing things? question has been resoundingly answered.

It’s the whole surprise! You’re not exactly human! thing that’s been tripping him up. Emile’s been trying to explain it in scientific terms, but honestly. Patton is a kindergarten teacher. He has no idea what epigenetic factors means. He just knows that Emile’s been throwing around the term homo sensorium a few times. That sounds like not exactly human to Patton.

“Have you gotten through to anyone else in the cluster like you have with me?” Patton asks Emile, rather than think about that a bit more. All he gets is another headache.

At least the migraine’s fading.

“Not quite,” Emile says, frowning. “You’ll probably connect with them sooner than I will; you have been connecting with them much more than I have. I just see glimpses.”

“So, just to make sure I get it,” Patton says. “I’m now psychically connected through—what’s it called again?”

“Psycellium,” Emile prompts.

“Right. I’m now psychically connected through something called psycellium, a psychic nervous system that we have because we are sensates, or homo sensorium.”

Emile gives him a thumbs-up.

“Sensates are a species of humans that are telepathically connected to each other. Every sensate is part of a group or cluster of sensates and members of a cluster can connect and communicate with each other wherever they are in the world.”

“Got it in one,” Emile says.

Patton huffs, flopping onto the bed.

“Honestly,” he says. “I’m so glad I’m the one blinking to you most often. I’d hate to try figuring this out without anyone who knows what’s happening.”

LOGAN

It’s been a demonstrably strange past five days. Logan has been keeping notes.

He typically carries around a small notebook as a virtue of his profession—it’s very helpful to jot down things like observations of unusual penguin behaviors, supplies he needed to put in a request for, or potential questions to ask scientists within other disciplines, rather than relying on remembering it all by rote.

He usually does remember it all by rote, but he thinks that’s greatly helped because he bothers to write it all down anyway. Handwriting information has been proven to help send information to the hippocampus, where the decision is made to either store the information long-term or let it go. If he writes something by hand, all that complex sensory information increases the chances the knowledge will be stored for later.

Anyone who happened to crack open his notebook and look at his notes for the past five days would surely think he was going mad.

May 8th—Migraine @ approx. noon; strange man in pajamas @ approx. 4 pm.

May 9th—tasted savory (meat?) when drinking tea @ 6 am; strange man (codename consideration?) cursing loudly in spanish @ approx 10 am; diff. man on computer pages that should have been locked to him @ 3:21 pm; saw a flash of sunny road @ approx 5 pm; migraine persists.

And so on, and so on. The frequencies have been growing over the past two days; he’s filled up the entire page allotted for usual day-to-day notes with just the strange things he’s been hearing, smelling, tasting.

Seeing.

He’s seeing things. That is rarely a good sign for one’s brain chemistry. And it’s not like there’s a proliferation of therapists, brain surgeons, or MRIs in Antarctica.

Now, he jots down May 12th at the top of the page, adding migraine persists, 6.5/10 pain @ 7 am, which is at least a little bit better than days past. He taps his pen on the desk, wondering if the dream he’d had about sitting on a couch beside a man as he proselytized a cartoon amid couple’s therapy warrants notation. It had all been people he’d never seen before.

As he taps, he frowns and pauses his movement; then, he gently nudges the notebook aside, in case of shadow.

No. There is a pile of dirt under the notebook.

Logan glances around the barracks, and moves to sweep the dirt off his desk; even as he is trying to be tidy about it, the dirt gets under his fingernails, and Logan scowls down at it. The dirt’s very stubborn. He sweeps at the dirt again, and again, but the pile only seems to grow, and he sweeps and manages to knock his notebook off his desk—

Logan groans, getting down on his knees to retrieve it, And then he puts two hands down, to press himself back up, and—

He looks up. The scent of spices, familiar and yet unplaceable in his mind, is in the air. The sun is beating down on his back.

Logan’s lips part slightly with surprise; for one thing, he is in Antarctica, and sunny hot days are not something he experiences particularly often there.

For another, a man is staring at him. His lips part, too, his hands in the dirt, fingertips bare centimeters away from Logan’s; it’s as if they’re looking into a mirror.

They stare.

The man is black, his hair freshly cut, by the look of the clean, fresh shave along his sideburns, his hair buzzed short. He has a strong jawline, and thick eyebrows, set into his face to make him look as if he’s perpetually furrowing them. His mouth is set in a thin line as if he’d been pressing his lips together in concentration.

His skin is clear and glowing in the light. He’s rather handsome, Logan thinks nonsensically, and then firmly attempts to set that thought aside. There’s a slight smudge of white from where he has not rubbed in his sunscreen along his cheekbone.

His bare hands are buried in the dirt; he’d been planting something before Logan showed up, Logan knows it.

“Where am I?” The man asks, in a language that Logan does not speak and yet still understands; they are back in the barracks in Antarctica, Logan sitting at his desk and the man kneeling on Logan’s bed, and yet simultaneously they are in that sunny garden, fingernails encrusted with dirt. “What is this?”

“Antarctica,” Logan says, confused; if this was a figment of his mind, surely the man would know where he was? “Where are you?”

“Pretoria,” the man says, and they’re kneeling back in the dirt. He looks as confused as Logan feels.

“In South Africa?” Logan says, befuddled. Of all the places his mind could place him—why somewhere he’d thought about studying, but never actually gone?

The man’s eyebrows actually furrow, now. “Do you speak Xhosa?”

Logan shakes his head. He returns, “Do you speak Polish?”

The man snorts, but he shakes his head too.

“Then how are we understanding each other?” Logan murmurs, and jots down in his notebook, language differential? Research Xhosa.

“I don’t know,” he says.

They stare at each other a bit more. Then:

“Logan,” the man says, suddenly certain with it.

He knows my name, Logan thinks, something in his stomach fluttering with what he’d like to think is unease. It would be much more appropriate if it was unease.

But a hallucination would know his name.

“You drink black tea in the mornings,” he continues. “With raspberry in it.”

Logan blinks rapidly because suddenly he can place the scent of spices in the air—the meat he’d tasted.

“Umngqusho,” Logan says, the word rolling smoothly off his tongue despite never having said it or heard it in his life. And then he recoils, because—

“This cannot be real,” he says, rapidly scrawling it in his notebook, even though he can feel the dirt under his fingernails, see the street filled with people out for walks, smell the dinner’s spices lingering on the air, feel the heat of the sun.

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to visit my psychologist again,” he agrees gloomily.

Virgil. Virgil agrees gloomily. His name is Virgil.

Fantastic. Now his mind is naming these hallucinations. Isn’t there some saying about not letting children name animals because then they’d get attached? Would there be a similar philosophy with hallucinations?

He notes it anyway—PRETORIA, VIRGIL—and swallows, looking to the door of the barracks. He’d be expected to do some kind of work within the hour, and to get some kind of breakfast before that.

“I don’t understand this,” Logan says, and if that isn’t terrifying, “So, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to assume you are a very vivid hallucination.”

“Sure,” Virgil shrugs, gesturing to the pile of dirt. “I’m busy transferring a new jacaranda tree anyway.”

“Now that’s resolved,” Logan says, heart pounding, “I’m going to resume finishing off these notes and get some tea.”

“Of course.”

“And I’ll be pretending you’re not there.”

“Same,” Virgil says, and he returns his attention to his jacaranda sapling.

Logan swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and adds a starting time to this hallucination before he closes his notebook, gathers his bag, and walks in the direction of the dining hall.

Or, he tries. Because—

There is a fence in his way. Logan scowls, turning to face Virgil, who has turned his attention away from the jacaranda.

“Sorry,” Virgil mutters. “I don’t know how I came here, or how to go back.”

The hall, again, Virgil still crouched, looking suddenly absurd attempting to plant something into the tile. The absolute lack of any sensation to note the transition is more of a surprise than the transition itself.

“Maybe it’s some kind of calling system,” Virgil muses. “Like a subconscious call we can’t control, in case of danger or changes in our environment—like pisum satvum, they communicate stress cues via their roots to allow neighboring unstressed plants to anticipate an abiotic stressor. Falik found that unstressed plants demonstrated the ability to sense and respond to stress cues emitted from the roots of the osmotically stressed plant.”

“Perhaps,” Logan says, then, “You’ve studied this?”

“Well, I’d hope so,” Virgil says. “I just got through defending my thesis for a botany doctorate.”

Logan blinks. “Congratulations.”

Virgil gives him a curt nod, then says, “You’ve got a doctorate too, don’t you? Astronomy.”

“How did you know that?”

“No idea,” Virgil says, examining Logan. “Just did.”

“Well, our respective doctorates aside,” Logan says. “I don’t detect any stresses in my environment apart from this.” He gestures between them.

Virgil frowns at him, before he says, “Have you had a migraine lately?”

“...yes,” Logan admits. “A dreadful one.”

“Well,” Virgil says. “Maybe that’s our stress.”

Logan frowns. “Maybe. I don’t see how that would cause me to start hallucinating someone an ocean away, though. Or sending stress to you. Surely we aren’t the only two people in the world with a migraine at the moment.”

Logan focuses so much on attempting to continue what he usually does in the mornings that he doesn’t notice a woman lingering in the shadow of the dining hall, frowning thoughtfully after Logan.

“Larry, honey?” she says, to what anyone else would see as thin air. “I might have one.”

A pause.

“Well, that’s always the question with these science types, isn’t it.”

JANUS

Janus pulls back from his home PC with a slow exhale, rubbing his fingers along his brow. Well, the migraine hasn’t been solved, but at least this question has been, even if it raises an entirely new one.

Bright side: he’s found a name.

Dark side: Why on earth is a fugitive Mexican murderer blinking in and out of his life?

And a New Zealander, and an American, and an African, but he thinks the murderer should probably be at the top of the list of why on EARTH.

Janus examines the admittedly scant description; no one seems to know what this R.J. Duke person looks like, or even his real name, but Janus does, somehow. He knows that R.J. Duke’s real name is Remus, even if R.J. Duke’s legal name is different from that. He idly toys with the concept of messing about with the Mexican equivalent of the DVLA to swap over his gender to the proper one, but he figures hacking a foreign government and especially hacking a foreign government concerning the information of a wanted murderer even if no one seemed to know that this name listed is the wanted murderer.

That seems quite confusing. Janus turns to the legal notepad on his desk—writing things down longhand is a pain, but even as secure as his home setup is, he doesn’t necessarily trust this information falling into Key’s hands. He doesn’t even trust Key with his normal cell phone number.

REMUS REGIO Trans man—deadname in system hasn’t legally transitioned? Remus=RJ DUKE, no one seems to know?

Janus pauses. He drums his fingers on the table, staring at the latest ID photo of Remus Regio. There are a few notes of juvenile delinquency in his record. He could crack it, if he wanted, to get the full reports. He’s about to when he feels a soft, slight gust of wind; like someone’s walking up behind him.

And then there’s a hand on his desk, someone leaning in to stare at the screen with a look of longing on his face so agonizing it makes Janus look away.

He knows who this is, too: there’s a segment on his notepad labeled ROMAN REGIO, stage name Roman Prince. He looks very similar to Remus, enough that if anyone got them side-by-side the familial resemblance would be undeniable.

Good thing R.J. Duke wasn’t the type to add an about the author section in the dust jackets of his books.

“Are you looking for him?” Roman asks, brusque. He has an accent, one a casting director would request as a “sexy Latin accent.”

Janus chances a look at Roman; the longing is gone, as if he’d imagined it, replaced by a mask of general indifference, with a slight look of contempt in his eyes at the sight of Janus.

“I suppose,” Janus says. “Are you?”

Roman’s face twists up again.

“You aren’t?!” Janus says.

“He hasn’t told me where he is, he didn’t bring his phone—” Roman says, anguished.

Janus stares at him.

“Are you stupid?” He says incredulously. “Of course he didn’t bring his phone, it could be tracked.”

“Stcheww-pid,” Roman says, in a frankly ridiculous attempt at mocking Janus's accent.

“Oh, very mature,” Janus huffs. He should have figured an actor would be the bratty, stuck-up type.

Roman sticks out his tongue. Janus rolls his eyes.

“Why am I hallucinating a tiresome family of famous Mexican creatives,” Janus asks the air.

Roman’s face screws up into a scowl.

“Why am I hallucinating a snobby colonizer?”

He turns, just to be sure. Roman is gone.

“Rude,” Janus says loudly to the suddenly empty air, in case he can still hear him.

EMILE

Emile carefully folds his top lip over his teeth after years of practice, engaging in his maybe-once-a-month shaving routine. He’s never really been able to grow a beard or mustache, but he does grow stubble, very slowly, which makes him look rather scruffy if he just leaves it.

He taps the razor on the sink to shake off the foam, rinses it, before he returns his attention to the mirror and beams.

The face that isn’t his own meets his eyes a moment later and jumps in fright, before whipping his head around to check if there’s anyone behind him.

It’s not strange to see another face looking out of a mirror at him—honestly, he’s a little surprised Linny hasn’t shown up to make faces at him in the mirror before now, like she usually does—it’s just that this isn’t the face of one of his cluster.

The man frowns, confused, which pinches the scar on his face, which—

“Oh!” Emile says excitedly and puts a hand to the mirror. “Oh! Hello! You’re, um—you’re Janus, yes?”

“What the hell,” the man mutters in a distinctly British accent, and reaches for the edges of the mirror; Emile thinks he’s trying to prise it open, as if to see if there’s some kind of device behind it to project Emile’s image.

“I’m not actually there!” Emile says brightly. “Oh, this is wonderful, this means that you’re all going to start breaking through a bit more—I think, it’s not like there’s a parenting book for this kind of thing. Anyways, you’re not going crazy, or whatever you might think, it’s just that your brain is built a bit differently, and it turns out to be the exact same type of different as five other people, so you’re all psychically connected now!”

There’s a very long pause. Then:

“The fuck?”

REMUS

“Don’t eat that.”

Remus twitches, which honestly, is the best reaction he’s had to all these weird hallucinations so far. If this is some kind of form of demon retribution from Miguel Contreras, one would think he’d send the demons after his actual murderer who poisoned him, rather than the person who wanted to kill him but didn’t.

He can imagine the way Roman’s face would twist up if Remus freely admitted to wanting to kill someone, which is how he knows it’s maybe not normal to admit that he wanted to kill someone, outside of the slightly joking, oh, I’ll kill him! thing people say.

But hey. Remus didn’t kill him. The didn’t part has to count for something. Right?

“That’s a hallucinogen,” the man continues.

Remus stares at him. Is that meant to sound like a bad thing? Because going on some kind of mushroom-induced trip would be awesome right now. He slowly raises the plant to consider it.

“It’s an aphrodisiac,” the man adds hastily.

This does not sound like a bad time at all. He brings the plant closer to his mouth.

The man slaps it out of his hand.

“It also might kill you,” he scolds, looking at the plants that Remus has managed to gather. “I’m assuming you’re going to try to eat all of these?”

“Yes,” Remus says.

The man stares at the plants. He nudges one aside with his foot to survey the pile.

“So there’s like a sixty percent chance you would have died if you ate all of this in one sitting,” he says.

“A forty percent chance I would have survived this mind-meltingly great time, though, and I’ve taken worse odds,” Remus points out.

The man pinches the bridge of his nose as if he has a headache. Remus is very familiar with seeing people perform this gesture at him.

“How do you know all this, anyway?” Remus continues.

“Botanist,” the man says, crouching slightly to press his hands against the dirt, rubbing it between his fingers. “Where are we? Seems like a tropical climate.”

“Mexico,” Remus says, refusing to give a more specific location than that.

The man gestures vaguely, and Remus looks around—he’s in a dark bedroom, lit only by a desk lamp that’s busy shedding most of its light on a tray full of what Remus thinks are maybe flower saplings.

“South Africa.”

The man rises to his feet, hands planted on his hips.

“Right,” he says decisively. “You’re in a forest environment, it should be easy enough to gather enough edible plants to form some kind of meal. Maybe not an appetizing one, but a meal. C’mon.”

And so begins a very odd day, even by Remus's standards.

The man—Doctor Virgil Wright-Nkosi, Remus spots a diploma waiting to be framed sitting on his desk—starts teaching Remus about stuff called quelites, which are edible sub-products of other crops, usually vegetables, as well as a variety of edible flowers, which cacti are safe to crack open and use as food, and which plants need to be tossed into a fire and which are fine to eat raw.

All the while, even as they’re hiking through the forest, Virgil occasionally reaches back to his bedroom in South Africa, pulling down thick textbooks to show Remus pictures of the various growth stages of plants, or googling things on his laptop to double and triple-check his knowledge (he does that for literally almost every plant, and somehow Remus knows it’s because Virgil absolutely wants to be sure Remus isn’t poisoned) or just to check on his little flower saplings.

So by the time the sun is setting in Monterrey, and by the time it’s the witching hour in South Africa, Virgil and Remus survey their little pile of plants.

“Do you know if this is a hallucination or not?” Virgil asks him abruptly, a sudden about-face from his day full of somewhat normal behavior.

Remus shrugs, spreading his hands.

“Maybe I ate one of those hallucinogens—”

Virgil winces, almost on instinct, as if the thought of shrugging away concerns and popping a random plant into his mouth is giving him heart palpitations. It probably is.

“—and my brain’s trying to give me a plant expert to, I don’t know,” Remus says, smiling humorlessly. “Get some knowledge about rosary peas. Free me up from that pesky murder charge.”

Virgil turns to him, his jaw dropping.

“That what?!” He says, and then, as if the shock of realizing he’s been educating a fugitive all day is just too much for him, he pops away. Gone.

Remus looks at the plants.

“Thanks for dinner, I guess,” he says to the empty air and goes about sorting all the plants they’d plucked together.

VIRGIL

Murder charge. A murder charge.

Virgil’s mind is spinning even as he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his hands folded on his stomach. He is making absolutely no attempt to fall asleep.

Murder charge.

That is not the type of thing someone should just casually drop in the middle of a conversation!

Virgil had, obviously, figured out that this was kind of a strange dude; very specific types of people tended to camp out in caves without in-depth knowledge of the plants around them. Campers who overestimated their hunting capabilities, for instance. Hikers waiting to see rare animals.

Also, Virgil had just kind of figured that he was in an extended hallucination, and, to quote an American comedian he’d been introduced to in college, he’d been in one of those days where you’re like...this might as well happen?

He’d made an appointment with his psychologist, regardless. So he was a little less stressed about the whole hallucinating strangers thing, if only by the virtue of figuring he’d know what was going on with his brain soon.

And also maybe because the nice Polish scientist in Antarctica had been a strangely settling presence, simply by virtue of how solid he’d seemed, but Virgil’s very carefully not thinking about any feelings that could have been inspired in him at the sight of a Polish man with very nice hair and a deep voice and very blue eyes. Not even the thought of how it had felt like Virgil had been straining to reach something and meeting the scientist felt like some kind of blessed release.

But now this stress has ratcheted up even higher, way past his original stress levels.

Murder charge.

But—wait.

A Mexican accused of murder whose weapon of choice was rosary peas?

Virgil rolls onto his side, knowing before he even stands up to go to his bookshelf that he’s going to be researching all night.

ROMAN

“Honey, I’m home,” Roman calls out wearily, dropping his keys into the bowl on top of the entry table. They clatter against the ceramic and rest side-by-side with their twins.

“Welcome back, beloved!” A much perkier voice calls from their living room, completing the joke. Roman traipses into the room.

Sasha is lying on the floor on her stomach, feet kicked up in the air, eyes narrowed at scripts spread across the floor.

“Hey,” she says. “My agent says I should probably post something, people have been resorting to pap shots of us to create buzz and I’m trying to pick new projects. I hope I get another slasher film, I’ve wanted to do another one ever since I finished my last one. Scroll through our prepped shots and pick one for me, will you?”

“I can take a selfie and put it on your story, the Roshas loved that last time,” Roman says.

“Mm, repeating ourselves, too close to the last one we did,” Sasha says. “Nah, I think a throwback one would be better. If you wanna do a story, get over here and I can kiss you on the cheek.”

“I’m all gross and sweaty,” Roman says. “Hardly swoon-worthy.”

Sasha mutters something under her breath about that working for some people, but Roman shakes his head. He looks at the floor to peek at a script. He immediately sets it out of her reach.

Sasha raises her eyebrows at him. “No?”

“No,” Roman says, flicking aside the script for good measure. “He almost always writes a homophobic role in there. Early on, I got called in to do stunts for the scene where…” He tilts his head slightly, trying to recall the exact line. “Oh, right. The Hispanic coke dealer is about to give another kind of blow job when he finally gets the bullet he deserves.”

“Jesus,” Sasha says. “Yeah, keep that one far away from me, thanks. Oh, here—”

She unlocks her phone, goes to the photo album she’s entitled Rosha PR Shots and hands it to Roman.

Roman scrolls through. They’re all very posed, but they don’t look like it—a virtue of two actors together, he guesses—shots of them lounging on the couch, shots of Roman and Sasha at a romantic dinner, shots of Sasha fixing his tie before a red carpet.

“This one,” he says at last, coming across a more candid shot of Roman cooking dinner (for Sasha, it is implied by the candles on the table and the low lighting of the room.) “Nice and romantic. Domestic, even.”

“Perfect,” Sasha says and sends it off to her social media manager to be posted, surely with some kind of caption like dream guy, dream dinner, or something like that. It’ll drive the Roshas crazy, and maybe it’ll help things die down.

He also knows he’s hoping in vain. They’ve been living together a year and a half, “dating” for another year before that, and it’s never died down. Last time he went to a grocery store he’d seen a tabloid with the pair of them out getting coffee on the front, speculating about what they’d done the night before by the state of Sasha’s hair (they’d eaten only egg rolls for dinner and watched a lot of The Good Place together and she’d fallen asleep on the couch) but the unsettling part was he hadn’t even seen the pap that snapped it.

Roman thought it would die down, but naturally Roman and Sasha have stumbled their way into the nationwide favorite couple.

Shame the whole nation doesn’t know they’re rooting for roommates bearding for each other.

It’s a mutually beneficial relationship—they have a default red carpet partner in each other, the fact that they share an apartment (Roman’s bedroom is converted into an office whenever a magazine invites themself over for a profile) means they can afford a suitably glitzy place with very good security, and they also don’t get blacklisted from the business for being gay.

People writing fanfiction about them is a bit weird, though. Roman’s all for creativity, and he wrote some back in his day, but reading it about himself is a trip and a half.

Sometimes Roman and Sasha have nights where they drink lots of wine and read particularly graphic paragraphs out to each other. It’s honestly way funnier than any comedy movie they could pick—the concept of either of them would have heterosexual sex alone. Let alone the widely-spread fan theory that Roman has a heart-shaped mole on his ass.

It’s very weird being famous.

“You wanna order in tonight?” She asks him. “That place that does that really nice chicken dish down the street’s running a pretty great deal.”

“Yeah, I’m not up for cooking,” Roman says.

She frowns at him, rising up to put a hand on her forehead, the way she has for days. “Migraine still?”

“Migraine still,” Roman agrees. Her hand feels cool, but not cold, the way it would if he was feverish.

Sasha sighs. “And you’re sure you don’t know why? No other symptoms?”

Roman feels a little twist of guilt in his stomach.

“No,” he lies.

Sasha believes him at his word, the way she always does because they know everything about each other. He knows about the long-term girlfriend she’d had when she was in college in San Diego and the nasty end; she knows about Roman’s lactose intolerance and how little he heeds it; he knows about her line memorization techniques; she knows about his parents’ messy divorce.

She’s his best friend. They know everything about each other. Everything.

Or, at least, they did, before Roman’s mostly-hermit brother got accused of murder and Roman got a horrible migraine a week later. And the hallucinations.

Sasha would probably send him straight to a hospital if she heard like a good friend would. But he can’t go to a hospital now—not in the middle of a shoot, not when his brother’s on the run, not now. And that’s not even going into what the tabloids would say if he suddenly got shipped off to a hospital because he was seeing things.

Roman rolls over on the couch and smashes his face into a pillow, blocking Sasha’s face from his sight. She’s a good friend, a great friend, the best friend he’s ever had. And he’s lying to her.

Sasha makes a sympathetic noise and pats his ankle. “I’ll grab dinner this time, okay? You go ahead and take a nap.”

It’s very sweet of her to try and make him feel better, but it makes him feel just a little bit worse.

#my fic #my fanfic

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loubatas · 4 years ago

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How to keep your house cool when there’s a heatwave and you don’t have A/C

So, some of my North American friends are having unusual high temperatures righ now, and as someone who grew up and lived for more than 25 years on the Mediterranean coast, with normal summer temperatures between 36°C and 40°C (97°F – 104°F) and temperatures above 40°C regularly, all without A/C (or even fans for the first 18 years actually), I thought I could give some advice on how to keep your house cool

1 - DO NOT, under any circumstances, let the sunlight enter your house. Close your shutters/blinders/curtains to keep your whole house in the shade. The shade is cool. The shade is your friend. If you don't have shutters or opaque curtains to block the sunlight, use safety blankets (the kind you have in your car, you know?) , aluminium foil, even cardboard will do. Cardboard is not too shabby actually Just block the sun from entering as if you were a vampire and even the minimum amount of sunlight will kill you. Block it even before the light hits your windows directly : reverberated light will still heat up your house

2 - CLOSE ! YOUR ! WINDOWS ! when the temperature outside is higher than the temperature inside ! You live in a place with cold winters, which means your walls and windows are well insulated. So use this insulation to keep the COLD inside instead. I see a lot of advice saying “open your windows for air flow”, but the only thing air flow from the outside will do when it’s hotter outside than inside is to make the inside temperature go UP until it matches the outside temperature. You don't want 35+°C (95+°F) inside your house, you'll get a heatstroke

Blinders/shutters/curtains are shit at insulating, unless they're insulating curtains or thick (5cm+) wooden shutters. And even those aren't insulating enough for when temps go above 35°C. Glass windows however, especially if you have double-glass which I hope you do considering your winter temperatures, are well better for insulation

Plus, the layer of air trapped between the window and the shutters/blinders will act as an extra layer of insulation, which is good because air is actually the best insulating material 3 - OKAY, now that you're in a litteral shadow bunker, what do you do? You try your best to not make the temperature go up from the inside. This means :

- No cooking. Cook at night, when the temperature is cool. Prepare your food for the next day in advance so all you have to do is take it out of the fridge. You probably won't be hungry much btw. On that point, it's better to snack a bit 4-6 times a day than eating only two big meals - No exercising. Who the fuck exercices during a heatwave without A/C anyway you'll kill yourself ! - Keep all the doors between rooms open, and if you have fans turn a few of them on in different rooms. This will create a nice cooling air flow inside your house - Speaking of fans. You can put cold water, or ice, or a humid towel in front of your fan for extra coolness - Turn your computer off. Not only your computer generates a fuckton of heat when it's on, but it won't even work properly and will probably end up shutting down in the middle of your (unsaved) work because it's overheating - Go to sleep. No seriously, the best way to go through a heatwave is to sleep through it. There’s a reason why in most Mediterranean countries and cultures, people nap between 12 and 16 p.m. and are a lot more active at dusk and late in the evening. If you can, go fully or partially nocturnal. Sleep at least during the hottest hours (from noon to 16 p.m.) so you can stay up later at night or wake up earlier in the morning, but the longer you can sleep during the day, the longer you can stay up at night when the temps are a lot cooler

If you have to work during the day because of capitalis-eeh, because your workplace won't let you reorganize your schedule, pack your laptop, get out of your house (still in Shadow Bunker mode) and find a place with A/C to work in. My mom used to go to work at the local library during the summer

OKAY, the sun is setting, the temperatures are going down, now what ?

4 - Only once the outside temperature is lower than the temperature inside your house, OPEN YOUR WINDOWS! OPEN YOUR SHUTTERS! OPEN YOUR DOOR ! Let the cool air in! And keep it open for as long as the temperatures are cool. Now you can also do all the things you couldn't do during the day (work on computer, cook, etc.)

If you've gone fully nocturnal, you can stay up all night and let everything open all night as well. If you're splitting your sleep between night and day, depending on your situation you may not want to let your windows and doors open while asleep. In this case, I recommend you to close your shutters while keeping the windows open (remember, shutters are shit at insulating so the cold air can still come inside a bit) and getting up one or two hours before sunrise. Temperatures will go down all night until sunrise, making the hour before sunrise the coldest hour of the day, so take advantage of it and use that hour to cool down your house and trap as much cold as possible inside before sunrise comes and you have to turn your house into Shadow Bunker Mode again

I will not go into 'how to cool yourself' territory as many other people already gave good advice on that point, and there are so many ways it would be too long, but general advice : stay hydrated, wear loose clothing made of natural fibers (linen's the best, cotton is good too), don't eat too much fat, don't eat too much at once, take a shower, take a bath if you have a bathtube, etc.

TL;DR : - live at night, sleep the day - don't let sunlight go into your house - close everything (including windows) when outside temperature is above inside temperature - open everything (especially windows) when outside temperature is below inside temperature Stay safe, friends!

#heatwave #heat warning

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siyeonjisoo · 3 years ago

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AVATAR GOING HUNTING NYC 9/3

It has finally happened, y’all! Concerts are back in my life and I am more than thrilled about it. Last night was the first concert I’ve been to since February 13, 2020 so over a year and a half when I’m used to maybe 3 months at most between concerts. Felt so SO good to be back at it and see concert fam folks again!

My comeback was with the incomparable metal band Avatar who I first saw in 2019 when they toured with Babymetal and I had no clue who they were. How things have changed since then. Now without any further ado, I give you how the day went.

I sadly had to go to work in the morning but I left at noon and made it to Irving Plaza around 1:40. I was really worried that I was going to have a horrible spot in line and thus have to hide in the back or along the walls to avoid the mosh pits but I ended up being only the 7th person in line. I had GA ticket and was the first person in line for that. Between already knowing some of the folks there and spending the next 6 hours making friends with them, I ended up being promised they would help me get as close to front row as they could get me which was AMAZING.

Doors opened actually on time and we were able to get into the venue pretty quickly! I ended up SECOND ROW for this show DEAD CENTER. An intense place to be but so very amazing.

Touring with Avatar are two other bands, Tallah and Magic Sword. Tallah performed first with about 5 songs. I’m always completely unfamiliar with the bands touring with folks so I didn’t know this group either. And they aren’t bad but not a group I will go out of my way to listen to again. Drummer kicked ass though, apparently he only joined the band as a replacement drummer 2 months ago and he killed it. The singer has the ability to do splits but that’s the only thing about him I think I like. The other members of the band were just as memorable as their songs, which is to say, not at all.

Next was Magic Sword. That group is a trio, of drummer, guitarist, and keyboardist. They were amazing, 10 out of 10. If you can get the chance to see them in concert, I beg of you to do so. That said, I can’t say I’ll be listening to their music again unless it’s live because they don’t have a vocalist and I like to be able to sing/rap along with music unless it is loud enough I can feel it in every single cell of my body, which is what Magic Sword delivered. Only bad thing to happen here was the crowd was starting to be...less than sober...and the person behind me spilled a quarter of their beer down my ass, right into the pocket where my phone was. I was less than thrilled with this person and was thankful they traded places with their friend for Avatar’s set because the second person was kinder and actually made conversation with us a little bit and apologized for how drunk they both were.

The stage was cleared after Magic Sword performed probably 6 or 7 songs? I can’t tell for sure since their songs do seem to run on the longer side so I may have split a song that is actually one into two. And then it was time for the reason I was there, the main event: AVATAR.

The roadies came out and set up the stage for them with a very different setup than ANY of us expected. There was a projector screen blocking most of our view but we could see three mic stands set up in the front middle, the usual lights and drumset in the back, and then another drumset on stageright next to the microphones.

After many attemted Avatar chants and false alarms from the crew, the band came out. They all lined up, John at the front drumset, Henrik, Johannes, Jonas, and Tim in that order filled in the microphones set up. They all stood looking dead ahead, barely blinking, for a few moments of us screaming before jumping into the first two songs of the night, Colossus and Let it Burn. They performed Colossus without moving or smiling or anything, they looked like robots so so perfectly. They held the positions for what felt like a full minute or two with Henrik trying so so hard to not smile, I could see the corner of his mouth twitching. He looked so happy to be here the whole night!

The lights went down after those 2 songs and they took off the front drumset and changed the microphones back to the usual ones that they can kick up and spread them to give them all more space. When they did, a drumstick dropped on the ground and got left behind so a friend of mine got the venue staff to pick it up and hand it to her! She got a drum stick from Tallah, too I believe.

Next came SIlence in the Age of Apes, Bloody Angel, (Johannes said he thinks of all of us as his) Child (ren), and The Eagle Has Landed. This is where things started getting a LOT more intense in the crowd. I could feel the crowd moving more behind me in Apes so I could tell that there was a mosh pit that was at least starting out by then and by Bloody Angel, people were crowd surfing. At least one person per song would come crashing over us for the rest of the show and I didn’t really love it. I was scared the whole time a foot was gonna come crashing into my head or a staff member was gonna punch me in the nose AGAIN to keep me from getting a foot in the head. which yes, the dude full-on punched me in the nose to catch a foot that swerved away from my head and into the person in front of me instead. An adventure of a moment.

Everyone went off-stage for a few minutes except for Johannes who took a moment to greet us and thank us all for coming He was in his full glory the whole night, that cocky grin glued to his face and a manic joy in his eyes that was genuine happiness to be back in front of a crowd after so long. He gave us some kind of witty (but obvious if you know song names) intro into the next set of songs and the rest of the band came back out.

(Insert quirky pun her) Paint it Red, Secret Door, Swarm, Torn Apart. This was the period of time when I could barely keep my eyes off of Tim because he looked so giddy half the time. Either making faces to tease us or just looking around himself in amazement. More moshing pushing us around and crowd surfers kicking us in the head but oh-so amazing.

Then came the grand piano being carried on stage. No, it wasn’t actually a grand piano, it was a keyboard put into a wood frame to look like a shrunken down grand piano so it looked real but was able to be lifted by three or four people and carried on stage. Johannes sat down and seranaded us with Gun and I have not hated being in an American crowd so much before in my life. Every time I would start to get into the emotions of the song, someone would shout something hardly intelligible because they were so far away or it would be someone screaming “I LOVE AVATAR!” Made me so so so annoyed but Johannes was smiling so I tried to ignore it and let it go.

The piano was taken away and the rest of the band came back to perform Going Hunting. And lemme just tell you that it was an honor to be in the third ever audience to hear that song performed live. It hits all the right feels to kick ass live and at home so I hope people are loving it.

Johannes thanked us for tuning in and making their streamed Dream concerts happen in Avataruary. He said it gave them all a chance to reflect and think about the songs they haven’t performed in years, leading them to their self-titled album, leading us Deeper Down. This song was actually one I don’t know if I’ve listened to before, I’ve kind of stuck with the 4 albums I really like and haven’t branched out much. But it slaps hard.

Next it was time for us to worship our king. Everyone but Kungen left stage and he looked at us like we were ants beneath his feet, barely worthy of being acknowleged while the roadies came and changed his guitar and gave him his royal attire. Kungen slowly started playing the intro and Tim joined him, standing back to back and both of them looking gorgeous while everyone else slowly joined them on stage to build up A Statue of the King. They followed that with zero comments jumping immediately into The King Welcomes You to Avatar Country. Both of those songs are so effing hype that when they all just walked off stage after, I was shook.

I think this was when Johannes started getting a little sappy with us in his comment. He said they’d all agreed that they wouldn’t get emotional on us but he had to take a minute and thank us all for being back here with them. And the way he knows that we’re really back together is because even though we all look so different we all *snifs armpits* smell the same. We all Smell Like a Freakshow. I don’t know if it’s just me but it felt like we were all saving up energy for this song and went absolutely feral. I used up almost all the energy I had left so I just did the bare minumum for Wormhole right after. Moved just enough to avoid getting hit in the head with someone else’s head.

Then for what I think was only the second time all night, everybody went off stage. Every other time, Johannes has stuck around and chatted while the others were gone but he left too. They did a quick little outfit change behind the scenes I think, Johannes came back on with his overalls undone so clearly he was hot. And, you know, a warm temperature as well. Yup.

And just like that, as though 3 hours hadn’t passed since the first band started, it was time for the last song of the night. It was time to Hail the Apocalypse. This song is the only song I know for sure they performed the last time I saw them live and I feel like it only gets better the more I hear it. They could make a 10 minute version of it and I would still be asking for more.

They went off-stage for a second and everyone put down their instruments and came back without anything and just let us cheer for them. They gave us a little bow and then started saying thank you and waving good bye. I saw Tim say “I love you” at the crowd and I think John and Jonas both blew kisses at us.

And then it was over. They left the stage, the lights came up in the house, we all made sure everyone was okay from all the flying feet that came at us, and the venue staff told us it was time to go home. I had friends going the same way I was so I was able to keep the magic going for a little while longer before I started my journey home alone.

These guys are all so amazing and I am so lucky I got to fall in love with them the way I did. And I am so happy to have the friends I’ve made at this show and every other show I’ve been to. It was an amazing way to get back to concerts, starting it off with a bang. I have blisters, bruises, and sore everything but I would do it all again tonight if only I could. It is now time to start counting down the days till I follow Miyavi around for a week on tour in October!

THANK YOU FOR TAKING ME HUNTING, AVATAR! Glory to Our King!

The setlist was given to my my friend. All other photographs are taken by yours truly

#avatarmetal #johannes #john #henrik #tim #jonas #kungen #concerts #going hunting #avatar going hunting #magic sword #tallah

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